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) News 4gents can increase their sales ofthe NEW YORK WEEKLY *
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by informing their Customers that M i
| rs. Eiarriet Lewis has commenc
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"| @ Great Story, entitled “AMBER, THE ADOPTED,” in the NEW
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: | Sees Entered Accordina to Act of Conaress. in the Year 1879, bu Street & Smith. in the Office of the Librarian of Conoress. Washinaton. D. €.
d | ee ee - TTT eeeeecowO03OwWwwO8O8e—— = — — = ond
| Vol OFFICE No. 31 Rose St. : ena
. o4. »| PRANCIS 8. STRE New York, July 28, 187
P. 0. Box 2734 New York. NCIS 8. STREET e or 5 WU 9 e PRANOIS 8. SMITH ian je ee ree 0. e
rl |* Sa wd Ae To eect pee 8S se eee Te = OvIES Live ‘
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F i {“Amber, the Adopted,” was commenced last week. Ask | like all the Courtneys! You are just in time for | __\
a Po your News Agent for No. 36, and you will obtain the | dinner, I believe.” | BEA
. . opening chapters.) He was, indeed, for at that moment dinner was | ‘ x
a announced. The baronet led the way to the! } .
ae CHAPTER TIT. dining-room, and Jasper, giving Amber his arm, |
he : . fs
j JASPER LONGLEY GAINS SOME INFORMATION. faliowed clogs behind ‘Irim.
~y He acistae to dhs Z . The dining-room was a large and lofty apart- |
Se senna ree ket draw aaa —_ ; a ment, adorned with paintings from the hands of
ea . . a
+e Pa eee 4 apartments, Sir John foun \masters, with deep bay-windows at the sides, | “pi -%
Ww : = ; ooh ANS
ef a ee een jand with a beautifully fresceed ceiling. The! =
rot “Well, Amber,” he said, lightly, “how do yoa |} ; : !
z a S14, *. * ‘3 , , | carpet was rich and dark, and the furniture was |
= , r : |
1 a See a aay bas | of massive mahogany.
s 2 . r hesitated, and a ow passed ae ae table gave a sort of lightness and grate to |
her face. ( | the room a Phar, ¥ SATO wb Cr uF ,
he h “h-T hardly know,” the said. ““Trdon'’t know | grystal and pores ee = So os Risks
Ly much of the .world, fathes, sa = “re ~~~ Bin | Guru wy aamade, and the de 1c@ OV s
ieh Longley is good. Of course, he must be good, | were heaped with dainty ee t : zi
IDs : : Fate o Bo » bay-wi r oking out upon | : iil NK : serene
. being your cousin. ; In one of the bay windows, " , +: ‘1 Sat Pty} | TLL OS DY SQQGQ_ SK | WHete MN
wi “Not necessarily,” returned the baronet, with the splendid gardens of Courtney & a ! i Pia Pity etd yy =F \ dy SS Qws : ; ‘ i Wt [ |
ag é - ' . ‘ 7 . “a ab . a ® ack s ‘ ' | t } | | net
ae ‘ asmile at the unconscious compliment to him- {| Mrs, George, arrayed in rustling black _ ; |
self. “My relativesare not all perfect, any more); She came forward on the entrance of pet ried |
> * a . « t t ~- | : nate! % 3 Bi
to ; es A aspers father was a sad | was introduced to Jasper as the faltDe- | “ AB i got une
fur eee ena erticatt of teabterlly 80 Y0U THINK MY LITTLE AMBER HERE I$ A GREAT MUSICAL "
aa t scapegrace, and made ducks and drakes of 118) ful and honored friend of tne family. i . GENIUS 2" SAID SIR JOHN
' : 7 peek ge EAS a Yeorge, | eC a ee = Se F
; property, notwithstanding that he wasmy Own) After dinner, the party, including Mrs. ee a = ——— LSE PST aoe Ee cs
hex y; : iat 1 Ww . a pleasan f 8 5 s tere Foe oe RRS ;
cousin!” And again he smiled. returned to the drawing room, W hank, I taal a more formal a ol a a long time, she | tery of Amber's. If the mystery is known to any At this m h ‘ ‘
a i “How do you like your cousi, papa ?” asked | evening was spent in conversation and a mus ry succeeded in suiting;hrself, and finished her let-} one in Hepney, I dare say the landlord ef. the | tered i eg the object of his soliloquy en-
38D m j : > ‘ ‘ : n j . 5 8 DE
: the girl, thoughtfully. | entertainment, Amber and Jasper singing ter. ; a Crown knows all about it.” “Yo eee
Very 44 is i i | | Wher C TO! :, she f ; ie ; . u are waiti ;
| “Very well, indeed, Amber. He is intelligent, gether. When she yh oe ner nook, she four that |_ Arrived at the inn, he entered the cool shaded | said. “Wh ‘ ak - on eee
yA well educated, and extremely polished. He will) “You have a beautiful voice!” exclaimed the baronet 2n oe had completed their! little parlor, whither he was immediately fol “He Ww chi ao
the | be agreat addition to our little home-cirelo ; t | Longley, when they had finished their first tasks, and were engasd in conversation. | lowed by Mr. Goss. ws pe : Wane one of the shops, Miss Amber,
2 . : f ss « ‘is writta, pap: te as se . ‘ se6 a tradesma: sh * 4 :
es * then he plays so splendidly !” lauet. “It is so sweet and so flexible, yet so My oT P *pa, she said, butI) Jasper recognized him immediately as the | yourself witl we re a ia
“Yes, he does play well,” said Amber. ‘Even | rich.” don’t knof Miss Blache’s address. If you'll) baronet’s visitor of the previous evening, and as vy i is ey akanea
. f J ? e 3 * 4 , . . pee eS ges . ii > ; | 2 2 . g ‘ Ss © - +o 3? on? ‘
the : when I was in London,and went to all those | Ho tried her voice in different styles of sing- direct + seal it fome, Pll run up and dress | the landlord had now on a big white nie ii | tis toa ank ta said Amber, going to one of
will | , 7 ‘ utes i ' teers a  coenile its , pde, | was ins : : paeeidies etree dhl, <i
grand concerts and recitations of celebrated per- | ing, and his admiration of it increasec, until he for Sade ‘ ‘ : se instantly aware of his vecation Jasper w t hed i iy fg
: ; 2 ; . " rit shi The ¥ et § Of & rif Ww , : asper wate or g =
formers with you, papa, I did not hear better | declared it actually marvelous, with which The ; eg € aoa withdrew. | “Youare the landlord of the Crown, I sup- Penete atched her as she stood there with a
rate ; 7 : ; he st | reatly deli ed. | Theehree letters we ¢< and sealed. | , wa EP ? Tangely eager gaze.
—— musio—none with more soul init. Yes, ne — | compliment the baronet was greatly delighted. Tht a ~ wes 7 ressed and sealed, | pose?” he said, inquiringly. | He ot hit ra. : es
gee . i Y whi g sir Johu then orered ¢ ‘30S | “7, tn : ‘ “EF Waite, wide torehes shape of her
the be a good man, or he couldn’t play as he does.” | ua pice young man—a true gentleman! whis- and 5 alg orered the horses to be “I am, sir,” replied Mr. Goss, with a deep bow. | tures, the sl ae eee ee een acto:
; = : . as | ‘ “oS around, 2 spel an separ: “— 7 ; +; Lures, > shade 3 ai i oj i
ee “89 you've been in doubt as to whether he we |pered Sir John to Mrs. George. “He’s a real. est ko a und, and aspetand he separated, | “You are Sir John’s visitor, sir? Won’t you the sunli ie Boas ae ee
J 4eUIT ea + Anal »1te F ? | " be a 3 tis
the good or not, eh?” laughed the baronet. Well, Courtney !” ee es = apabinenis, have something, sir ?” | cron boa litt ek bn ae ee ent
' a ‘ = : 3 é short time the tr me sf aher ‘ : yes, even h } er form, : rere
dis- that is better than falling in love with him. one | At a late hour the party separated, and the oe me th tro meton the front steps,! “A glass of lemonade,” was the reply by nt a 1e, slender form, all were noted
bright, frank Ralph will contrast favorably with Hall was soon afterward wrapped in darkness. : ric Beis grooms were waiting with the| Mr. Goss brought it. hes ai tt . e when he had finished his survey,
: ’ * aronet 20Tses, and they the x od 36 : ‘AL ik bite 3 Cera
ust him !” h nte | At breakfast the next morning the bare A Ohnais y tha nountd and set out for “A fine country this,” remarked Jasper, as he “She is thatchild. I} 4 439
ach- wad’ Qs iherthoughts| . age. ippe ere oer fii 1: 3 Oe . <now 1b:
Amber blushed, and Sir John reac oe | said: Amber looked welon horaback, with her red Seped the: cooling liquid. “Sir John hag‘a| . “Did you speak, Mr. Longley? ; ked
£ Nste on the question in her kindling eyes. __»{| “We must look about the country a little t 1S ccraancoamaete eoack, with her red- { magnificent estate.” sited hace | Senyndp Bley asker Amber,
nan. “As you think s0 little of Jasper, my darling,” | : Fag : : Suppose we all write to Blan@ i a a W if curis, Shounte’ by a low cae “He has, indeed,” exclaimed Mr. Coss iiiliien sid af ‘ r head, having heard a faint murmur
my aye . 5. | day, Jasper. ‘ yf ae , iat with : ne. wav lute. and } lat olaa? Hire . ee eee sUNUS- | from Dis By
’ he said, after a pause, “perhaps you Ww pe re direc io kant after dispatching the letters, ° fi ss Pee ol an a piute, and in her close-! iastically. ‘And there’s no one in the kingdom | Jasper BN li
: ‘ ‘ i sctly, g SI} ; & tt green clot § Y y ; : : , : oe ately recove i > C
1 ther not invite his sister to Courtney Hall? id 9” ek fe ‘tens cade VO Tote Well, 't00,/ sir, ‘better deserves his prosperity than Sir John | siot ’ eg te one raer
dis p ” oried the girl, with | 2 ride red With a fearless grace: Court ; : uae : ae
ina “Oh. I want her to come?” cried the siti, | **}) would like it ve sh indeed,” de” Th: <n " vourtney, He's always doing good, and every “Iw i ‘
Dh, fy would like it very much , of det. hiticsou ' : Good, and every- was ring,” se ‘
DOF. sit “Did you notice, papa, that Mr. | I wo y heir way lod throwh fielcof billowy green,| body loves him, sir. Indeed 5 : 7 + wae wondering, he said, quietly, “what
ante enthusiasm. eS : od? Lam | Jasper. oad- along pleasart roadi bordied by beantifn) | Re a 7 - indeed, they love the! could keep Sir John so long——”
hing Longley said that she was ae i 1 | ‘This decision meeting with favor, the’ “it hedges under the a 1 $ wilt erat | Whole fepudhy, ‘Mr. Ralph, and Miss Amber—” | “He is here,” said th k ; sas hi If
right ‘oc nratty. and Il know Ishall love her: | ’ 7 nies te? mace Olspreading trees, “Miss Amber? Ah, yes—l ej : a gai ai o0 a a ga
sure she is pretty, an ls urned to the library, and proceedec : ¢ ; An, yes—but then she isn’t a] ins , “ . ;
toh urned to the ary, é until they finally «: “ura ’ ; © isn't a| ing the room. rmy é : i
Her name is pretty, too—Blanche! And Blanche iis 4 tters to Blanche Longley an | they finally cam to ta rural village of | Courtney, you know ?” a m I offer my apologies for having
é ‘ stty, ; -he lette anche ngley. i epney. ee en gone so long. The 43 are waiti
— means ‘white,’ you know, and sho must og ry i His napa enh was rather unique aie tt Ww . 2 lazy little vil a © Cneaiaay,” responded | the door Eee ae
x §0- . i apalu F nes iaibet o so » Was a LaZV UELO 0 3 19 int ‘ 7) ’ 5
thew: verfect darling; and I know Ishall love her! shits furniture was OT pple asta a oS vilage, Ht the late intro-| Mr. Goss. “And I take it she will be o f
with ms Y ; neither coherent nor logical, my | 8Pects, ee Tt h ly ver Cl-laden duction of a railway station \d given it more | these fine days,” he added. sl ii en cat Amber came forward, took his arm, and he
~ “You are neither cohere iat) : oak : zreen. The shelves wer, / ‘ siness ay i y eo aYB, added. shrewdly. xd her ~ assisti :
and ES a Sir John, with a laugh, “‘but | dox oak and gr : scted with the air of business and bustlchan it had ever! “Perha * 80. My cousi Sir. (od her to the door, assisting her to monnt—his
ht in dear,” returned SIT « ’ : : ith choice works, which were D.,, before joyed. Th 4 aps 60. y cousin—Sir John is my! manner, as it always w i ;
you are warm-hearted and loving, which is all | with Choly oe f glass doo’ Soe eee et Sey OC © manne} and customs of | cousin—has confided to me his plans for her,” !d ie eT re en
are wé eee ; ses 1 r suocession of glass sf thel the people were quité primiti, whic } ee? a5 Pr tale psorerae trig Beni iM campbell hee
‘ : ne 4 4 ahi ¢ ll come, since vou | a long . 3 16 arge 2 E 8 Qu prin , whic h perhaps | sald Ji 8 s #3 ‘
A tla that is required. Blanche shall come, c aree sly ' wo Si ' ik faa : ! asper, emptying his glass. “Poor child! I! The ge
“Ths dosire it—if she will. If she should turn out to | garved shelves oe ; ty oy windows, accounted for the fact. that of te quite a num- | hope that strange woman sal a 1 aah : PRgyre cigps Baer aapeeryitaredhig Sprathadtias
2 y—if she . 2 ‘ . 5 snd were tw ; sasure-seeh j mae ee fy bever cle sr | Goss, : ittle party ;
ever, | be a fashion-loving and affected young lady, [| apartment. At one ent * Y interspersed ber of pleasure-seekers had ce to Hepney in| —_” 3 y tT claim her | Goss, and the little party set out on their return
co 8 hs “ge f f her spoiling you.” at the other end were hung ™ ¢apje in the the summer. Sh, re me ane
Inve 1ave no fears of he ; ; Yi x Hic vo. An Of ; . te ‘I hope so, too,” sai Oss. ; 1 .
or “Oh, but she won't,” declared Amber, who had with a picture or two art with maps,|' The village strect was quitdeserted when | lect “Te » said Mr. Goss, as his guest} The manner of Jasper Longley was very pleas-
; ? 5 ym was C0.; t . thy odin ah DS Anal ¥ . | Pausea, 4 my o ; : , ‘ : . ri
rR le ‘es her mind that the unknown Blanche | center of the - m we ig with deep draw- the trio rode up to the Crov Inn and Qt | Suore iat nailed hy eye the woman is no/ ant; he exerted himself to the utmost to be
; } ¢ stc ; was Pp ic 7 , u JAN. ‘ is. whv aij rreac . Ss ‘ j in
- c was a paragon of goodness, although she would | papers, ran ae 5 | mounted. she fly as she dia? a If she i; why did agreeable. He succeeded so well in his efforts
. Bos- as c arage : 7 ‘ \ ers ¢ it. ‘ . ; ; a 2 Z . ak ) 16 Was OT VY 12 ‘ ‘ In £¢ * ye a
face, have found it impossible to explain the reason | Ts te, yl a this table. | “Pll go and match my woolser the way,” | while the poor baby h a a é Hes y dre 2 | that the baronet’s favorable opinion of him was
‘ 5O>U Ss © ry 7> | oad “6 ‘ y Caen _—se é re nes r 3 sranca é
for such a belief. ‘Iam sure she must be wor-| Sir John sea “ 1 to oné¢ the bay-windows, ' said Amber, “while you gentlem post the let- | worth of diamonds rt Sa , — greatly increased, and Amber reproached her-
; oh ¢ . : . > 10 ODE. ; it a ne : Bean” b ay . 160 Wome ‘ sf for her unreasoni instinct :
mum shy Of tat name, papa.” T hope she is beautiful, Amber retrea “tains, stood a little ters. I shall be ocoupied only ay minutes,” pais Hii Ac ikea Hie W oe an didn’t stop at | self for her unreasoning and instinctive distrust |
ame, papa. | ' Ped ; bas ees rs ’ es, m: —she knew better. She fanc} da
for I do love beauty; but, after all, beauty of yer nee ith Tee? little writing-desk| She gathered up her dress anlitted across} would question thi bout tl a fa ob Cd fates
e tae Dr ts oars ,| French table with a ¢ , j , " seine +413 pe ; sr about the chi self in | "hen Jasper )
‘ tae form and feature is nothing compared to beauty Fren h i rhe ee foperty. Here, buried the narrow street, and within t POHAIN GF «| the sctvante’ room at the. hal? “ - re in; When Jasper had entered his own rooms after
CLDY P . = ar Ww TAhair i . P » : ro - : : o 3 , ( & sir arrive € é é ‘
of debe et bial upon it “8 oO ; = A chair, in ee of the small, dingy shop. Siiual? chinbn ane but she found | the il arTiN al at the hall, and locked the door be-
ll at “Very true, you wise little Solomon said Sir | in the dept Mate cep 2 ie smooth lawnand, §ir John then conducted his ative to the Jasper Steir elie 40 ‘thi | hind him, there was a strangely exultant look
Ty . : : ; X rith a vif oe Laden , ‘ er maT age Ot A, © ing | is dark fac
Jobn, looking tenderly upon the girl, who, in his low oe i VV 7 vision, Amber pro-' post-office, and delivered the miyes into the | over the points of it oe cc 1i8 ge ae 7" his dark face, as he muttered:
’ : : ; Li £ re her wistle, ih weno ae RUae, : , 8 mind, althoug : ave solv > *gterv ;
IBtICB i sight, combined all the beauties of whioh she park be or an é. ad hands of the postmistress, sayiz as they re- | seemed to be but barel iitorektoil' 3 oF onthe ion eerved ar mystery of Amber's . birth,
were | spoke. “And so,” he added, “you don’t object | ceeded to inc 7, paper in her well-furnish- | entered the street: cd Ly erested in the sub-|I am positively certain. The singular resem-
As f ‘ > a i ~ s +7 g P . | ‘te F , 4 Jv Se rn ‘ : ‘
to what I purpose doing for these young cousins There was a unlike most young ladies, | “If you’ve no objection to walgon tothe} A few excl_mations from hi laf ane ee: ee een, §
ail) ilies Ik eas ede Ly ao ‘i i : Ww exci_mations nim, anc -] ca A anne sis
sib of mink’ ed desk, for ic avin regard to her lette ra. ' Crow n alone, Jasper, I will steposs here to fully-put questions, placed ibis 4 : & few art- | cannot be a mexe accident. Besides, Amber was
ait ‘ae “Object? Why, what an idea! Why should | was rather fs written upon the heaviest | give an order to one of my tradesn My doing | the mystery so fax a Stiesciales t a Sra of stolen. Amber knows little of men, and I can
sean : Pomteeh: anni aaa They ee Soe with her initials stamped | so will save a journey for some onde,” ‘Seedlond 1. . inn Seas | Wink her affections, I am sure. She has aro-
ial va- i | They were in the midst of a pleasant conver- and whites Np " always inclosed in large, Jasper asserted that he would ajyon goon} “A stolen child! A diat i ‘el mantic passion for Ralph, whom she hasn’t seen
; i : : in t 8, Sealed wit slearest vermil- , ‘ arone ‘atin or shes : vee : nond necklace wit "ea ive he ality i ac
‘itous, | | sation when Jasper Longley re-entered the in the cor, ith the clearest vermil | alone, and the baronet, promising »llow him | initials on it,” he thought, afte . 1 ith for years, but give her areality in place of the
a: © Py ee ah dither. | Pithout deley; bpaubedtin his enn ae. a : ght, : €Y sending Mr.jideal, and she will yield! The real Jasper
th : } c sh o5~ J . « : +7 ¢ > >» - : wm) : . ° e > Lemonade cost oy i 4
oo : He had dressed himself in the most fashion- | ion W ght a ee ene “This is the very opportunity wanted ” It seems to me that I have yh = no. ea haa ge ge Sak meter
pea ‘ gse : iy Bor ei 4 : aie Poul > that ive hes as ; ini i *
vere able style and in the best taste, and looked even Thi; a obi vies hp She headed one! thought Longley, as he hastened jk to the | where that Goodie A: dats idee c rs some- | begin immediately to lay siege to her heart by
5 take { j é : a. " ; vh “ earest, pus. 99 Y J Fig ‘ wend of ‘ : JLLe 2 18, moder ls a a : ‘
to dis- 4 more handsome than in a his traveling suit. he ae ds Blanche, then concluded | inn. Now, if I manage my cardoperly, zt teen, and—why, that child would be ] ys ie indi petit suventions. "Oe ouarte, T sbal
a 2 “Dressed so soon, Jasper?” exclaimed Sir John. | she® 400 familiar, and chided herself into may find out something more abohis mys- | teen, if alive Perhaps alte tie oo six- la unvail this mystery of her birth until she
i dressed § : : ’ : ee 6 Same ecomes my wife.”
4 “You have prompt and punctual habits, 1 see— ‘tl a c
s 1 ae EE a
Si 7 F om A Sey WE LR at eR OO AETEET Oe ee ae aaeeeeneenene ————— daca chelate ile us “ig x
6, VD ST et ene ceeinet rnd an skims licen SCD
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| : | - \ ia we al qurs a ODD ywe wi ado 6 1a », I } ave aed adi a ly 18, Ww ar ¢ de ‘git na ely ed V: Ce lov : dt B
: : 7 ; : 3 + ist he } as eu 1d le sel bo ahs ife Ww és nd da ne eu aid ily eecly I as Ta lit te n of te ini nt ve b ni <
: | 7 3 : : z pare ite w - Will y, 1 not t¢ a ; ft ir vale. 1 | borvig y ad of “Be Ss: re my ORS u ut m Re
ORG 16 in ‘Ww ou man ou 01 y or SST 6 gi ‘SS A ; wa t tk yt ty< 1e V o t you 1ar ers. ho 8 L: ill 2 “7 in ost i . - ; : | : | | | | 7 | )
: | : : | = a e i hatin ani ell a, “5, d oy . list ae Fae aoe ta heb a l ab to 0 8 ‘ne ca Mari ant mi w au sue usti u x
e Aen, he 5 KO ’ , as : e malt r; ’ : ste aay 3 h ‘ J 3 ar’ of ie or sete! .
: | 7 : | Ht = me 3 Bk e@ | 1D nee th id 8 ling W ira? ine ord 2n8 gee ine fa tell m yl ri ow risf see ne wl or on ior fl of la € tl et ‘
| i ; i i wt 7? 8. ski ee ATIC I nae 1a ef » DP it ti nk mn it 1 OV 1 , y ai t
th o- Oo ae Jol n ou | 6m Mra J 5] eh | tle gni he ner i sf vette d hy ] s} spe ing yc mn’s ne eh nd ‘ re ai sp . thi I I ms rai ve 1er ita ngs ell 7
an er vith 8 t in 1arr Kno 6 to tol da ares e,” iw on. antly clp in yh ter oO. } pec he eae sm yl a s fa we ye q” ply ned ace is atl fee q ake , an dz ys as | eg 8 m
: 97? 10u 50 W will yh wi he as YB, é 1e88 } hil As ly, + —8C tan” to a. opl said M ae B : : | | |
“Bi ti od Cc er? Jasper an a ore h it e a di ich. her Poe et : on , it. ay isk me, | as to h Tine oie tie net ee yh eu om U er f aL yo ef an d
| | : 2 : . ith y igh ad », & ske yo an 0 e.” eye be hi sr at nd 1n¢ ai at u att d th 3
: : : EB ite ae Sec eI re 1e eart Kt nd w a ‘bh } id, ¢ de ai u¢ a,” ne >| le BR: fae my m ders ler r,t of -attenti li ©
2 ik : : te Soon 1er ie ; Cc fr hoe m ui » a ri ro aft naic 68a l e mo’ I y¥:4 ts at e tr sp jo ke
| : 7 : 2 ‘ : i, ‘tel m ‘O1 er il a sa 1e el nea dae a ar- ut ec nD
7 ; x nad at ell sve ed ; WE 1 te son aj ex he e- F ise hi we ot ou I so 16, t id | wa ng sp th re sb sti d nd,’ sti b ts} to
: : : | : “= cn om a oul ai O1 you a his _La vay te wi eak nel th and net my » air ree! nim
| | ; zt 7 c tr Voi se er ote 3; thi ee ee wif d jevi 10 1. eg dy I oO iti cS Dn an a t y sh ne Ww
\ er OU La ji ich | rtly oe ppy ce,’ ue id nsi t sd is “ ly eI Ww fe 8e iv t Yy. y I a oge hl a4 I n tel aane d f Or
7 | ‘i “ 2? tal th ibl 0d him Wh Ghana whi 3.2? eh er ap oO je revi ric th 1er of He kr oe f sai ae: ae
, : : a ‘ i | shi do ha > at sh 6 8 ee den m A. bay 2a ich wi ws pro uh alc in “sg ner. OF, it 1er ek how: a me, T d, e.
er u d ,if | ¥ po not ave there ead ibj aioe pra 1 is dos ~ i : | | |
: . “i i s) to are i aid; ect ane ae ef the co ak ee. bu nev of re be ne Ye a see ter as th Sa If ne wud wl
eae Blan port had ae ce th tell you is an Pelion vere at a io crt nih = ‘ S = = = :
: j “3 | 3 you?” i mu I acti a 10t aD. arc vi pi « re ee ou 1 j >is tk g B ~ ane at is
3 : " tel ro. betwee! h ng 1av 4 tic shi be - en 1 is © ¢ ise any h e} vell 1t jea he te ght nt itl tl he 8,
z ct “Sa : aod ee e ask gto toll ae oe D does not ead of u of se any hands t is recuse a3 Steerer ent Vole there ts
aneey wit ye 4 Fer econ vett Mz yar ed, i " yrat ou; fidine it.’ Ly 8 a 1us- | hat tre we we + sai ie SOU e; ere 8
Aah ry ike fossion 0 * cee , impa- oe tbe oe said nda ll, ke ; eee tl wih ais amen
| | : 2 ; 7“ you n believed m — pr nd pt Aa ck yu er!” an m 28 1us 16 i ny d at
my é 3e a a * ! . u J e 20
| s | 2 . ve om yo ir y k irs elf yin yo I rii Stet id t ea on oO nt} ere
s ‘ = , nd "ec cr uaiaa a & ao oi wie set L: hey xf ery for fe “ApPY ert
ge . LT 1e di er, i tf he > ae 7} ve n pe ts i] fs s wa 1 a im I scare wi are
: : s as 1e: st toc 18 my do 30 el 1e ae as ag sa li ny if ¥, ife
7 ; ] friends. ‘ ro it ni yuys 8: k wa f: ae ba in we ike b y Ah? ‘
‘ Ms ‘ : a 8 are ng res tire v te 2 “st th 8 at thi i gy f: iffl sil 8 e fi neal ou a! ‘b
; OL ve be te are tru WwW ach aw ry r e at < 18 . ae ed ee se ‘ ji |
not i th na’ any j 2 } e oO ero he Oo ne re al m pr e MLGUC nh . b ne wad
2 : ) - : isu rhs ‘Ol aie, ce; e Oo er Wi
ae oe ett 8, Lad or I rst "ithe n ay, aoea . the for supe h, ats) .
8 He: cou a © rth y : 1: ns 1] ost er >> Bt on t Wife in °, .
4 ; 8 lé mR w e : lie n n | ay b hi he id von ‘ 7
: woke, ia 7 hav e womeny are \ iGee ta | auitte at olen laid | as cas |
;J¥ m wuld 8 to 1wW sth in Ww re om ift 1d no nf I he pe sion. ;
3 | ss a iy” 8 ee es omplete had n for Je ee nassion | n thee of \
ee Y aeeten © BE jiated trom" aid h eel tore a nk - i : :
eal hi un nid: ‘ I el 1 ig pa i 1an ar 01 : %, . |
a rm d, ¢ : ; th m Bh no ple Ove ht Shokan oe ne 2 é - i
: = : * My nye In be or 0 be 1 ere mm = rst: > sh pr m railed ~
tee, me, sev ae a i a th, had ite,
: 7 ake 3 wi the? ous I ac » 8 da e ad if
oe t ‘nN vo il y i 8 of t x , : ie
3 3 : = y . ee or, Ww en ve
m re’ v rt not n oO Li . f | :
. a Bor ca n others. | os a th
rm eat sor ted ite Ma ‘¥ wi 8 1e ¢ love " uh
t ‘B e.” bh uf La gis ife he lid S suiting
= “s i : Le n,” ’ ahead ra he a
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<neeercet bine eyes raised wistfully to hers were An Astonished Boy. : HS Senate) a qpeee en tie pk Bank, edna aton, whe felt phat he must surrender at discretion. Tom pricked up his ears.
of pain. ; A young lady abruptly turned the corner and very | looked all right. Tt was’ payabie to bearer, and was | ‘If I find thé bill, [ shall know I did.” “Then you could pay me back my ten thousand dol-
“You do not see—you do not understand, Only rmiely ran against a a § who was amail, nity ragged, in the sum of six-bundred dollars aa he alleged. He felt in his vest-pocket, and produced the bill lars 9” F ss

ithink how mueh intimacy there must have been be
_tween them before he would ask her to g0, or she
-consent te spend a day with him. If they are but
strangers, or even every-day friends, what could they
‘find to talk about for a whole day %”

The countess shrugged her shoulders.

“Tai surprised,” she said, “for I thought Madame
Waniraso far above all coquetry. If I were you,
Marion. I would forget it.” ’

and freckled, Stepping a&@ 800n as she could she
turned to him and said:

“IT beg your pardou. Indeed I am very sorry.”

The small, ragged, aud freckled boy looked up in
| blank amazement for an instant; then, taking off
about three-fourths of acap, he bowed very low,
smiled until bis face became lost in the smile, and
answered: ;

; , : ‘ | ‘You can have my pardingand welcor iss; anc
“I cannot forget it!” she eried ; “would to God that yer may run agin aoe noe knock ne clane ae =
Itis eating my heart away! | won’t say a word.”
~« “Then,” said my lady “1 will speak to Lance my-| After the young lady passed on he turned to a com-
self, and I am quite surd that at one w erd from me rade and said, half apologetically-:
-he will give up the acquaintance, forthe simplerea-| “[ never had any one ask my parding, and it kind
-son that you do not like it. | 0’ took me off my feet.”

And with this promise the countess left her daugh- | 5
ter-inlaw. Once before, not at her bidding, but by |
her intrigues, she had persuaded him to give up one
‘whom he loved; surely afew words from her now
would induce him to give up one Whom he could not

The Lawyer aud the Tramp.

The wit of the late Mr. Butt, the eminent Irish law-
yer, often stood him in good stead. Going home late
one night, he was accested by a desperatelooking
surely love. It never occured to her to dream that’ puffian in one of the suburba of Dublin, and asked
they were the same. | what he was going to give him.

She saw him as she waa driving home, and stop-| “Well,” replied. Mr. Butt, meekly, “I'm very sorry
-ping the carriage, asked him to drive with ber. | that Lean’t give you much, my friend, but what I

“Lance, [have something very serious to say to have we willshare. Here,” he continued, drawing a

ou. There is no use beating about the bush. Marion | revolver from his pocket, “is a weapon which has six

s very ill, and very unhappy.” {| chambers. I will give you three, and——” But here

“T am sorry for it, mother, but add also that she is’ the lawyer found himself alone.

very jenlous and very foolish.” |
“My dear Lance, your wife loyes you—you know; Addressing a Dummy.
it; she loves you with all her heart and soul. If| A dulllooking young man, not accustomed to trav-
yonr friendship with Madame Vanira annoys her, } eling, entered the cabin of one of our best steamers,
why not give it up?’ and inistaking a tall mirror fer a door-way, thus ad-
“T choose to keep my independence as a man; I} dressed the reflection, thinking if was a stranger:
will not allow any one to dictate dyhat friends,” “Say, mister, when does this boat start?”
T shall have-- whom I shall give t fain.” Not receiving any answer, although he repeated
“In some measure you are right, 6,” said the | his inquiry two or three times, he yelled out :
countess; “and so far as gentlemen friends are con-! “Go to thunder, you flat-nosed, shock-headed fool!
cerned, Ishould always choose ay OS but as this ’ You don’t know anything, anyhow.” W.d.
8 aly rho , Mario as certain suspi- |
is a lady of whom Lady Marion has certain suspi ; Pissisling: Glenitll

cions, Lshould most certainly give her up.” } : senaatlo

My wife has no right to be jealons,” he said, an-| How pleasing the sensation is—it’s alike to heaven-
y; “it dees not add to my love fer her.” ly bliss—to be clasped by a pretty girl, and from her
‘t me speak seriously to you, Lance,” said the | get a loving kiss.
countess. “Marien is so unhappy tuat I should not But at the same time it can't hold a candle to the
wonder if she were reaily ill over it; now, why not sensation which steals over a man in. a crowded
do as stie wishes; Madame Vanira can be nothing to streetcar when the cenducter has just passed him
you—Marion is everything. Why not giye her up?” without asking for his fare. He says to himeelf,
’ A eertain look of settled deterniination that came | “Keep still, aching heart, thou wilt have a schooner,
on ber son's face vous Se Eonar peer ané won- | for indeed Providence has befriended thee.”
der. She had seen it there for the first and last time | St hos
when she had asked hersan to renonuce his young The Tramp 8 Soliloquy.
wifé, and now she sawit again. Strange that his bic: ee co

r 7 ¢ age ik . , eye nMacK Le && . day,
es ae should seem like an answer to her For “na we journey through Itfe
thoughts. a is ae Let us live by the way.”

Mother,” he said, ‘do not ask me; yen persuaded There’s nothing like free lunch,
me to give up all the happiness of ny life years ago For there’s aothing so dear
—do riot try ine a second time: T refuse, absolutely, When washed by a schooner
to gratify my wife's foolish, jedlous wish. I say, em- Of fresh lager beer
phatieally, that I will not give up my friendship for Jamus F. BUTTERY.
Midame Vanira.” .\). Gomething Bitter

Then my lady looked fixedly at lim. ;

“Lanoo,” she said, sternly, ‘what is Madame Vani- Love is sweet,
ra to yon?” He could not help the flush that burned | But oh, how bitter!
his handsome, angry face, and that flush aroused his | To love a “gal,” | es
mother’s curiosity. “Have you known her. long?. And then not “git her.

:

Pid you know her before your marriage, Lancet I sty when her parents are wealthy and sho
remember now that Iwas rather struck by her - ne and amiable. BAkT A. GREENE.

manner. She reminds me ao forcibly of some one.
Poor Marion declares there is some tie between you.
What can it be?”
; She mnsed for some minutes, then looked in her
son's face,
“Great Heaven, Lance!” she cricd, “it can never
be! A horrible idea bas occurred to me, and yet it is
not possible !” |
He made ne answer, but a look of more dogged
defianee came over his handsome face.
“Tt can never be—and yet [ believe it is 80.

i Something Sweeter.

| Whatis sweeter than the close of day, when the

' gun smiles down on the new-mown hayf And when

| the flowers seem to bidus adien? Ah! there is some-
thing sweeter—kidncey stew!

A Faanily Bawi.

A man in Harrisburg invited his friends to his
‘grand annual bawl.” He haa been married eleven
Can it *e2"% and has eleven chitdren.

be Spee that Madame Vanira—is the—the dairy- To P. P. ConTRIBUTORS,—The following MSS are ac-
maid t» whom you gave your young affections ?” cepted: ‘The Toothless Three Thousand ;’ “That Fellow

“Madame Vanira is the girl I loved, mother, and Sanders ;’ "The Sizzling Hoosier,’ ‘Jake's Dilemma ;’ *A
whom I believed to be my wife—until you parted Poor Leokout;* ‘So They Did;’ ‘A Rich Man;’ ‘A Poor
as," : ldeeieceas oe Ones we tea Neat sane mae Ee
And ny bly ie in her _— lage with a low , Ghosts, ‘Steamboat Blowup'—published before; ‘Sailing ;’
ery ot caren fr0 Be CONTMNUED.) | "Yoo Much Politeness ;' ‘Anecdote of Franklin’—old.

NTO } pag

isthe ae ;
Read “AMBER, THE ADOPTED,” the charming story

 

-

 

 

 

: St EEe. iptv Ahn reer See ie DIghY by Mrs. HaRRreT LEw!s, and then advise your friends
praised. Say a good word of it to your friends, that to 1 it. :

they too may be indueed to read a grand story, one
of the best Mrs. Harrast Lewis hus written. >
Eee | THE
d a ;
Bully of the Village;
ufing toward inaking this column an attractive feature of ; 5
the NEW YORK WEEALY, and pny will oblige us by send,
ing for publication, anything which may deemed of |. OR,
au neni interest for general perusal. It is not necessary .
that the artieles should be penned in scholarly style; so TO
jonz as they are pithy, and likely to afford amusement, |.
minor defeets will be remectied.} \
Nichts Verstch.—A Oar Incident. : ]
About three months since a young Parisian trayel-
ing in Germany took the road from Augsberg to Ber-

lin. In the can he selected there were four other
Jersons-ztmp iemmas and two daughters, yh voy

 

Pleasant Paragraphs.

{Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contrib-

M TEMPLE’S CAREER.
By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.

(“The Bully of the Village” was commenced Li

Back Nos, can be obtained from any Nows 4

HAPTER XVI.

  

nage TL eases
Tom ARKIVE IN KEW TORE

Torn reached New York sbout neon. Ts: was
bright, pleasant day, and he was in ar spirits,
although he had just lost a fortune. is Was partly
due, no doubt, to the pleastire which he anticipated
from his visit to the great city.

Tt was not his first visit, but he had not been tn it
for six years, and then he only staid a day. To all
intents and purposes it was new to him, tor he re-
membered very little about it.

As Ton left the cars witha small carpet-bag in his
hand, he was accosted by the hackmen.

“Have acarriage, sir?”

“How much do you charge?” asked our hero.

“Two dollars.”

Tf Tom had still been rich, he would probably have
said yes, and got into the cab. bnt he felt the need of
economy, and he declined.

A thin, sallow man of thirty-five heard the colloquy
between Tom and the hack-driver.

“You are right, my young friend,” said he, stepping
to Tom’s side, ‘not to take @ carriage. These hack-
_ men are extortionate.”

“Two dollars seems rather a steep price,” said

ecoruer; the young man took “Opposite, and found
himself face to face with the young ladies.” The
young man put en a distraught and absent air, The
conductor came to demand the tickets. The young
man paid no attention at all, when the request was
many times repeated. Roused from his reverie in the
yresonce of the ladies, the young man had recourse

ya ruse to avoid exciting ridicule.

“What ara you saying?” said he. “Why do you not
apenk French? I know not a word of German.’’

“The conductor then explained by signs, the ticket
waa changed, and the young man returned to his |
reverie. But not to enjoy it long, for this time the ©
young ladies aroused him. They began in full
voice: |

“This young man is very handsome,” said onc.

“ist, Bertha!” said the other, with a sort of
affrizht. :

“Why, he doesn’t know a word of German; we can
talk freely. How do yor find him?”

“Only ordinary.”

“You are difficult. We hasa charming figure and
distingue air.

“He is too pale; and besides, you know I do not

Saeed yo know T prefer dark to blonde. We havo te is. Very likely they’d have charged yon five
r “It is monctonous ®t the end of the route. Tho city is full of

nothing but blondes in Germany.
and commonplace.”

“You forget that you are a blonde.”

“Oh, for women it is different. Hoe has a pretty
mustache.”

“Bertha, if your mother should hear you ?”

“She is busy with her talk. Besides, it is no hurt to
Speak of mustaches.” 5

“T prefer the blonde mustache of Frederick.”

*“Tunderstand that. Frederick is espoused to you;
but I. who am without a lover, am free to exercise
my opinions, and TIT am free to say that this young
man has beautiful eyes.” f

oy" - have sx pression.”

Sec nieknew. aun sure he has much spirit, “Suppose you go to Freneh’s. Tt’s on the European
Ani it’s a pity he does not speak German; he would 8yetem. You pay for your room 80 mach a day, and
Ghat with us.” extrn for meals, Uy

“Wonld you marry a Frenchman ?”’ “Til try it,” said Tom.

“Why not, 12 he looks like this one, and was spirit. , “Taen come with me.
ed, well-born, and amiable? But I can hardly keep '82 tfar, W © Cau walk. the ie
from laughing. See, he doesn’t mistrust what we are [should like that. Tt will give mo a chance to sco
gsavine.” something of the city.

Tae young traveler was endowed with a great _5o tho two walked together till they reached
power of self-control, and he had preserved his ab- French’s Hotel, at the corner of Franktort &treet,
gent and inattentive air all the time; and, while the facing the City Hall Park. :
dialogne continued, he thought how curiously his at- aoe ree room if we took
Ort avert 2 eh. by pretending not to k © together,” 8: she stranger. .
Grease Sere ama Pe Pte deneaiy a Tom hesitated. Ho didn’t altogether like Ae ar-
Bertha, and his resolution was taken. At anew sta- Tangement, but it acer ungracious to reuse,
tion the conductor came again for the tickets. Our Very well,” he said.

; : : , “Then put down your name in the books.”
ri Finan Ww Sy slaboration, and in excellen 7 : ; ‘
Sr Pat extra elaboration, and in excellent Tom with some pride, for be had never before
x t i » Sia.

“Ah, you want my ticket. Vory well. staid at a hotel, wrote in the hotel register, "Thomas
{ believe it is in my porte-monnaie. Temple, Centerville,” in a bold round hand,
iis.” ene ane armen scrawled the namo
The effect of the yonng man’s speech was startling. ARO! FA VRRSS UPS pos sila 4
Bertha nearly faidted away, Suk soon recovered un- “Give U8 a good TT oe allt me new io tho clerk.
der the polite apologies of the young Frenczman. sae nthe pean te NO, ADT ling @ setvant. “Show
They were pleased with each other, and ina few BO OP TPG TOT A! re
aaa Sertin ratified her good opinion of the young , They were shown Shoe * raged ot oes eee te
man, and practically demonstrated her williigness fottebly furnished. oT ilee wee ie oat! Tolkeahed
to marry a Frenchman. himself by washing his face and hands.
; : “Are you hungry ?” asked Mr. Livingston.
The Joke Reversed. “Pye got rather a healthy appetite,” said Tom.
Some yonthful inhabitants of a Western town re-' “After you've washed, we'll go down into the ro-
solved to play a joke on Mr. Mirth, a wealthy gentle- fectory, and have some dinner. It will be more
man who resided in the village, by taking his family social dining together.”
carriage from the carriage-house, and drawiug itinto “Just as you like.”
some field outside the town, and leaving it there. A! “You must be my_guest at dinner.”
certain time was set for the event, but unfortunately |
for the effectual execution of the trick, Mr. Mirth be-') my own dinner.”
came aware of their mischievous intention; 60,on' “Oh, don’t be squeamish.”
the evening appointed, he went ‘to the carriage-!  “T den’t like to accept favors from a stranger.”
house, entered the carriage, pulled down the curtains, ! “Then to ease your seruples, I will take
and quiotly seated himself to await further proceed- | with you.”
in zs. ;
Soon the jokers approached, end cautiously draw-' pendently of Mr. Livingston, but as the latter said,
ing the carriage’ into the street, proceeded conntry- | if would amount to yery mach the same thing, 80 he
ward with it and its oceupant, unaware of the pres- made no further objections.
ence of tiie latter. | They adjourned to the refectory, and althongh it
Finally they arrived at a suitable place to leave it. ' was not yet one o'clock, both exhibited a hearty =p-
They placed the tongue ina atoed Aetilar position, petite.
But the joke was tiekets only came to one dollar and a half.

sharpers.”

“Ts it?” asked Tom, with interest.

“T regret to say itis. Are you a stranger in New
York?”

““Yes, sir.”

“Tf Tecan be of any service to you—I am a mer
chant from Buffalo, to be here a few days on business

'—I will with pleasure.’ I have a nephew of your

age.”

“Thank you,” said Tom.
good hotel—not too dear 1”

“Up town or down ?”

“Down town.”

“Can you recommend oa

T’m going there myself. It

Let mo see,
Ob, yes, hero

and chuckled over their success,

about to be reversed. A slight rustling of the curtain “Give me the checks,” said Livingston to the

an: Mr. Mirth’s head appeared at one of the doors, to | waiter. :

the creat surprise and consternation of the horses. Fie opened his pocket-book, and examime.u _.- con-
“Young gentlemen, although 1t is rather late, ney- tents.

ertheless [have enjoyed the ride with which you
have been pleased to compliment ine; but I think
you will find it better wheeling in the road than in
this vacant lot, and would prefer being returned
the same road we came, if you pleasc.”

The curtain was dropped, and he resumed his seat.
The two-legged ‘animals hitehed up again and re-
turned with the carriage and its occupant at the rate
of 2:40. The team could have been purchased ata |
very, very low figure just about that time.

T. C, SLOVER.

pay for the dinner, and I will pay for the supper.”
Jom looked surprised, and he explained.

' going to get cashed. Besides this, I have ohly a little

change,”

had become rather suspicious.
“To be sure,” said Lis companion.

 

 

  
  

“Tank you,” said Tom, “but I would rather pay for

supper

Tom would prefer to have paid his own way inde-

But prices were reasonrble, and the united

“On second thougit,” he said, “my young friend, T
will sugvest a change in our arrangement. You may

“Vou see,” he continued, in an off-hand tone, “I've
got a check here for six hundred dollars, which I am

“Will you show me the check?” asked Tom, who

Toin’s suspicions were allayed. He concluded that
his new friend was all right, and settled the bill.

“Where are you going this afternoon?’ asked Liy-
ingston. :

“T shall walk round the eity a little,” said Tom.

“T’m sorry I can’t go with you. I have some goods
to buy, and some other business to attend to, but I'll
meet you in the reading-room at six o’clock, and we’ll
go down to aupper.”

“Very well,’ said Tom.
enough.” |

“Hope you'll have a good time. Iam glad I fellin |
with you. I don't often take up with strangers, but
I took a fancy to you at first sight.”

Tom felt that he ought to be grateful for this com-
pliment, though he could not reciprocate it. Glanc-
ing eritically at Mr. Livingston, he acknowledged to
himself, that he was not a man te whom he would }
have felt attracted. Of course he answered politely,
and they separated.

Aas he steped outside of the hotel, he looked about
he nm 2 little, and thus attracted the attention of a boot-

ack.

“Shine your boots, boss?” asked Johnny.

“Go ahead,” said Tom.

The job was accomplished, and Tom thrust his hand
into liis pocket.

“What's to pay?” he asked.

“A. quarter.”

“What ?’

“Twenty-five cents.”

“Do you think I'll pay such a price as that?” asked
Tom, indignantly.

“Reg’ lar pie mister,” said the umnprincipled
young raseal, who knew from Tom’s appearance that
he was a stranger. “‘Rey’lar price, isn’t it, Micky ?”’

“*Course it is,” said the confederate. ‘You don’t |
live in the city, mister, or You’d know.” ve

But Tom's sharp eyes detected a gentleman near |
him paying ten cents for a similar service, and he
quietly tendered the same amount to the boy.

“You ain’t so green a8 you look, mister,’ said the
latter, with a grin.

“Thank you,” said Tom. ‘You'll have. to try that
game on somebody else. Do you often succeed ?”

“Sometimes,” said the bay —

‘if a quarter waster lar priee, 'd go into the
business myself," said Tom.

“Maybe you couldu't pey tho lieence,” said the
knight of the blaeking-bruan.

“How much isit?”’

“Five hundred dollars.”

“If that’s all, Pll buy two,” said Tom.

“Pil sell you mine.”

“7 don’t want one second band.”

“You'll do,” said the street boy.
oye-téeth cut.”

“TI think I shall need to learn in this city,” thought
Tom, ‘where even the boys in the street try to swin-
dle moe.’”’

“That will suit me well

 

“You've got your

CHAPTER XVIIL
A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE.

Tom strolled about the lower part of tho city, keep-
ing his eyes wide open. He mmst have walked sev-
eral miles, but he did not feel tired. There was so
much to see, and every thing! was so different from
the quiet villages in which hecthad lived hitherto, that
he was delighted and fascinated.

“I wonder if I couldn't get. a place here,” thought
our hero. Bi

He determined to see the city pretty thoroughly,
and then decide.

A little before five o’ciocinbe went back to the hotel.
He sat im the reading-room, reading the papers, till
stx.o’clock, when Livingston entered.

‘How long have you been here, Temple?’ he
asked. j

*About an hour, Livingston,” said Tom, coolly.

Livingston langhed.

“You mean to be even with me,” he said.

“Tt’a a poor rule that wou't work both ways,” said
Tom, 4 ts

“That’s where your head’s level, my son. Shall wo
go down te supper?”

“Have you cashed that check!’
cautiously.

*Yea,” said the other, laughing.
sharp.”

“T tind I have tobe,” said Tom.

“Well, you won't have to pay for supper.
way, I’ve done considerabie business.”

“Have you?”

“Pye purchased
goods.’

“With six hundred doliars ?”"

“Sharp again, my son. You don’t understand busi-
ness. I pay twerty-five percent dewn, and get ninety
days’ credit for the balance.”

“That's five hund cash.”

“Precisely. Youll make a smart business man.
woe won't you come out to Buffalo and go into my
employ ¢’

asked Tom,
*T seo you are

By the

 

another room; if makes me nervous to occupy the

two thousand dollars worth of

 

“By gracious, that’s strange !” said he. “I wouldn’t
have believed it. Whydidn’t you wake me up when
you saw me ?” ,

“T thought I wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Tt’s a good joke, my robbing you in my sleep!”
seid Livingston, with « forced laugh.

“Capital! said Tom. “But I think I’ll have to take

same room with a sleep walker ”
sig ie a8 you like, Temple. What a joke it was!
a! ha!’

“It might have been something else than a joke,”
thought Tom, as he went down stairs. ‘You'd better

 

take ‘’ tirst train for Buffalo, old chap!”

CHAPTER XIX.
TOM MAKES A STRANGE PROPOSAL.

Tom spent the first three days in making himself
familiar with localities in New York. He procured a
pocketsnap of the city, and guiding himself by it,
walked about to so much good purpose, that atthe end
of feur days he knew more about the streets and
public buildings than many who have lived in the
city a8 Many months.

It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that Tom
was walking through the lower part of Pearl street,
when he found himself passing a warehouse, on
ae was the firm name of Richard Armstrong
& Co,

“Richard Armstrong!” repeated Tom. ‘Why, that
must be the merchant to whom my father lent ten
thousand dollars. By his failure one-quarter of my
property is gone.”

There might, of course, be another Richard Arm-
strong, but Tom was impressed with the idea that
this was the man—his father’s friend.

He paused before the entrance.

“Shall T goin?” he thought’ “Perhaps Ishall hear
so nething that will give me a clearer idea of my
prospects.”

A clerk brushed by him as this theught entered bis
mind, sxying, rather impertinently :

“What business have you here, boy? Den’t you
kmow any better than to fill up the passage-way ?”

Tom was spirited, and in the habit of standing up
for his rights. He decided, upon the moment, to
go in.

“T have aa much business here as you,” he retorted,
and followed the clerk in.

‘*ifave you, indeed?” sneered the clerk.

a have,” said Tom, quietly. “Is Mr. Armstrong
in %”

“Yes, he is; but he can’t see you.”

“How do you know ?”’

*“He’s busy.”

“T think he’ll see mo,” said Tom. ‘Please hand
hint that card, aud let me know what he says.”

- The elerk was half inclined to refuse; buf there was
such a calm confidence in Tom’s tone, that, in spite of
hia reluctance, he felt constrained to obey.

“Tt’s likely Mr. Armstrong will allow himself to be
interrupted by an errand boy,” be said, sneeringly.

*T suppose you mean yourself,” said Tom, quietly.

“No, I don’t,” said the other, provoked; “I mean
you.’ ;

“Then you’re mistaken. Iam not an errand boy.”

“Are you a newsboy or bootblack? If you've got a
bill against Mr. Armstrong for blacking his boots, it
won’t be necessary to see him.”

“T don’t black boots,” said Tom. ‘Sometimes I do
a little in blacking eyes.”

*You’re the cheekiest youngster I’ve met lately.”

*“And you're the most impudent clerk.”

The young man would have replied, but a voice
from an inner room called him, and he hurried away.

“T wonder whether he’ll do my errand,’ thought
Tom. “If he doesn’t, ll make a fuss.”

But the card was delivered. The clerk was actn-
ated partly by curiosity, partly by the desire to carry
back to Tom a curt retusal. But he was rather a&
Se ae when his employer, with a look of interest,
said:

“Tom Temple! bring him in at once.”

“You’re to go in,” said the clerk, coming out and
ealling Tom.

“T told you so,” aaid Tom, quietly.

“T wonder what business he has anyhow,” thonght
the clerk, “or who heis. He's an impudent chap.”

Entering the counting-roem, Tom found himself in
presence of a stout, dignified-looking man of about
fifty-tive years of age,

-“Are you Tom Temple?” asked tho merchant,
abruptly.

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, respectfully.

“Tam glad to see you. Takea seat. Your father
was my intimate friend; I was several years older
than he, but we went to school together.”

“T have beard him say so, sir.”

“You find me under a cloud,” said the merchant, a
shadew sweeping over his face. “Perhaps you have
heard of my failure.”

“Yes, sir, Ihave,” said Tom.

“T suppose you know also, that you are one of my
creditors.”

 

  

 

_“f{ think L- would prefer 4 place here.”

“Tt you change your mind, Jet me know.”

“T don’t think baould Hketo be in your em
i Lb). Tt ab)

   

 
    
 
  
 
       

  

iteven, TF

“No, thank you,” saidTom. “I don’t like that way.
We will cat together, if You wish it, but wo will each
pay his own bill.’

“Oh, just as you like. Th will save mo something,”
said Livingston, carelessly.

‘How are you going to spend the erening?’ he
asked, as they were going up stairs.

“T shall stay in the hotel. I am tired, and shall go
to bed early.’

“TI shall probably go to some theater,” said Livings-
ton. ‘“Won’t you join met” .
“T gness not,” said Tom.

“Then good-ni
when I come in.”

“Good-night.” ¢

“Yom went into the Dilliard-room awhile, and
watched the playing. Then he read the papers once
more. About nine o’elock he went up to his room.

“T wish I hadin’t taken a poom with this Livings-
ton,” he thought to himself. “He may be all he pre-
tends to be, but be is a stranger, and it may be danger-
eus to trust him. Suppose he should be a swindler?”

This set Tom to thinking He had about seventy
doilara with him, including the tifty he had received
trom Mr. Sharp.

“What's to prevent his taking this money when I
am asleep?” he considered. :

By way of precaution, Tom..took out all the money
bat five dollars from his pocket-book, and tucked it
into one of his stockings. His wateh he tucked into
the other. ‘These he concealed bencath the sheet at
the bottom of the bed,

“It won’t do uny harm,’ he thought, “thoughit may
be unnecessary. My friend Livingston wouldu’t feel
particularly complimented if he knew what [ am
doing; but T mean te keep him from temptation.”
More easy in mind after he had taken these precau-
tions, Tom composed himself to sleep. Lt was not long
before he was uneonscious, for his walk had made
him weary, though he did not realize ifat the time.

How long he slept, Tom did not know, but it was
actually a@bout twelve o'clock when he woke, and by
the moonlight that streamed in through the window,
detected Livingston examining his poekets. He had
placed his clothes on 2 chair beside the bea. If Tom
had not forescen that thi«imight happen, he would
probably have been startled. As it was, he was
rather amused when he pictured to himself Living-
aton’s disappointinent at his small booty. Desirous
of getting all the tun he could out of it, he pretended
to be asleep still,

Livingston at that moment was opening Tom’s
pocket-book.. TH6 moonlight was sufficient to show
him the contents,

“Con tound it!” Tom héard him mutter; “the boy’s
only got five dollars. It isn’t worth half the trouble
ve taken. The young beggar! I thonght, to be
sure, he had thirty or forty dollars with him, judging
irom his clothes. However, [ll take the five. His
watch will make up, perhaps. I can get something
at the pawnbroker’s for it.’

He felt for the watch, but did not find it.

“Where’s the boy put it?” Tom heard him mutter.
“Jt certainly isn’t here.” ;

Apparently Livingston concluded that. it might be
unde? his pillow, tor he began to search there. This
did not altogether suit our hero, and he purposely
made 2 noise, as if on the point of waking up. It
answered the purpose. Livingston cautiously re-
treated, andasg Lom changed his position in bed so
ag to face him, he seemed to conclude that it was best
to give up the search.

“so he’sn awindler too!” thotight Tom. ‘He warned
mo that the city wns full of them, and T find he’s
right Of course his story about being a merchant
from Bufflo, and buying two thousand dollars’ worth
of goods, is all a lie.”

Tom lay @wake half an hour.

 

h

At the endof that

aston Was asleep, he allowed himself to fall asleep too.
When he woke up it was six o’clock iu the morning.
Hia companion was still asleep. Tom quietly dressed
himself, and then went to Liviugston’s bedside, and
shook him.

“Eh! what's the matter?’ demanded the merchant
from Buffalo, opening his eyes. “Oh, it’s you, is it?
What makes you get up 80 early ?”

“TL went to bed early, you know,” said Tom. “By

way. Mr. Livingston, Pil trouble you for that
Mou borrowed of ne last night”

“j—porreyed money! You must be erazy,” said
Livingston, looking uncomfortable.
five-dollar bill,” said Tom, coolly. “TI shall need it,
and must ask you to return if.”

: “Do you mean to insult me?” blustered Livingston.

“By no means,” said Tom.
in your asleep.
ing about it.”

 

  
   
 
   
  
   
   

ght, I suppose you will be asleep !

time, judging from the deep. breathing that. Living-

“T saw you open iny pocket-book and take out a

“You probably got up
Giys ine the money, and Ill say noth-

“1 do sometimes get up in my sleep,” said Living-

“T have heard that also, sir,” said Tom; “but T am
sure that your failure is the result of mistortune, and
hay od to express my sympathy tor my father’s

  

, my boy,” said the merchant, warmly,
and of our hero. “You say this with
jedge that you have lost-e large sum by

en”
ou remind me of your father—a noble, generous
man, and atrne friend. I regret more than before
that you are involved in my losses.”

“Don’t think too much of it, sir.”

“Twillat any rate give you some explanation of
my failure, so that you may know that it was as
much my misfortune as an error of judgment.”

“TI don’t ask any explanation, Mr. Armstrong,” said
Tom, who was quite won over by the merchant’s
friendly manner.

“T would rather be understood—by you, at least.
You must know, then, that though IT dad met with
considerable losses, which had of course crippled
me, I should still have remained solvent but for the
treachery of a clerk, in whom I reposed the utmost
confidence.”

“Indeed, sir!” said Tom, surprised.

 

“One morning I bad very heavy eee to
-make,” the merehant proceeded. “I had, however,a

considerable sum in bank, and valuable securities
couvertible at amoment’s notice, sufficient to pro-
vide for the balance required. At twelve o'clock I
sent the elerk to the bank with a check. He didn’t
return. I waited in the utmost anxiety for him to
come back, but he had drawn the money, abstracted
the securities, and taken to flight. Money was tight.
[ was unable to provide for my notés. The day
passed, nnd I was a bankrupt.”

“How much did this man carry nway with him?”
asked Tom, interested,

“In money and securities, about
thousand dollars.”

“Have you heard nothing from him since ?”

“J have reason to think he is concealed somewhere
in California.”

‘Why don’t you pursue him?’ asked Tom, energet-
ically.

“I ean’t go myself. I have communicated with
detectives there, but I have not much faith in their
suecess.””

“It would be better te send a special agent.”

“Perhaps so; but I shéuid not knew whom to
send.’””

Tom's thoughts had been busy. A strange plan had
entered his mind.

«Send me, Mr. Armstrong,"
Jind him for you.”

ono hundred

he said; “Iwill try to

CHAPTER XX.
AN IMPORTANT CONFERENOR.

The merchant starea at Tom in undisguised amaze-
ment.

“Send you!” he repeated.

“Yous, sir,’ said Tom, composedly. ‘My time is at
my disposal, and it is necessary for me to do some-
thing.’

“Necessary to do something? Have you no other
property than that which I have lost for you?”

“No,” said Tom, ‘or very little. I too haye met
with losses.”

He set forth the condition of his affairs briefly.
The merchant listened attentively.

“T am very sorry for yeu,” he said. “Without any
fault of your own, you are reduced to comparative
poverty.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, “bnt I don’t let it trouble me.
Tam sorry, of Gourse, but I can make my way.”

“TJ think you can,” said Mr. Armstrong, observing
him attentively. ‘You look like one who is destined
to succeed. If I were where I was a month ago, I
would take you into my employ, and give you a start
in life.”

“Can’t you do it now, sir?”

“T shall be compelled to wind np my business.”

“T mean, can’t you employ me to find the clerk who
has defrauded you?”

ruptly.
“Sixteen, sir.”

eredulously.
“Yea, air,” said Tom. confidently. “Ho would have

one advantage over an older person.”
“What is that?’

errand.”
“That is true,” said Mr. Armstrong, thoughtfully.
“Then, sir,are you willing to send me?’
Tom, eagerly.
body,” said the merchant.
“Why not, sir?’

itors? Iam a bankrupt.”

the clerk.”’

chase.” ‘
“T don’t, and T am one of them.’

“Tf Leould reeover that money,”

hutely.

left.”
even as it is, of paying thirty cents on the dollar.”

dollars.”

“How old are you, Tom?” asked the merchant, ab-
“And you really think a boy of sixteen can succeed
in such a difficult task?” Gemanded the merchant, In-
“He would be less likely to excite suspicion of his

asked

“Tam afraid Iam not ine position to send any-

“Do you forget that my estate belongs to my cred-
“But yeur creditors are interested in your finding
“True; but they may consider it a wild-goose

said the mer-
chant, reflectively, “I could pay my ereditors dollar

 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
    
 
  
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
    
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
    
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 

“Yes, and with interest.”
“Then Ill go on sapscoulation,” said Tom, reso-

“How can you go? It will cost money.”
“T know that, gir, but I have a few bundred dollars

“You will have more, my boy. TI feel confident,
“Why,” said Tom, “that would be three thousand

“You are right.”

“Capital!” exclaimed our hero. “I feel rich al-
ready. Mr. Sharp thought you weull only pay five
per cent.”

“Mr. Sharp was misinformed.”

“Tam glad to hearit. Suppose, then, I spend the
tour hundred dollars cash I take with me, I shall
are something to fall back upen.”

4e fés.”

‘Then I'l do it—that is, if Mr. Sharp consents.”

“Tam afraid you will soon get to the end of your
small stock of money, Tom.”

“Ob, [mean toearn money as well as spend it.
oe I get to California, I shall see what I can find
to do.

“You seem to be an cnergetic young man.”

“Thope I shall prove so. It ts time, for I never
earned a penny in my life; but, if you are willing, I
should like to ask you.a few questions, Mr. Arim-
strong ?”’

“Go on.”

“How shall I know this clerk, if I happen to come
across him ?”

“You want me to describe him? Let mesee. Ho
diye feet six in height, of rater stout build,
complexion, has 2 cast in the left eye.”
‘ait &@ moment, sir. I should like to write
down.” :

And Tom, producing a pencil, wrote down the de-
seription.

“Ts there anything else, sir?”
“He usnally wore an emerald ring on the middle
finger of bis right hand, but it might oceur to him to
throw this aside. However, there is one thing Le
could not lay aside.”

“What is that, sir?” ; «
“He had a sear gn the back of his -teft hand, the re-
sult ofa burn. This is a permanent mark.”
“Good!” said Tom. “He will be easily recognized.
How old is he?”

“Probably about thirty-five.”
“What colored hair ?”’
“Black.”

“Thank you, sir. You’ve given mo all the informa-
tion I need, except the name.”

“His nameis Samuel Lincoln, but as he will un-.
doubtedly change it, the information will do you lit-
tle good.”

“Tt is as well
down. :
“Yes. no information will come amiss; but, Tom, I
must warn, you that I may be mistaken in thinkmg
he has gone to California.”

“I’}l risk it," said Tom. *Something teils me that
he is there. If had stolen money, that is where I
would go.”

“Mr. Armstrong laughed.
“Thope you'll never be under the necessity,” ho
said. ‘When do you propose to start?”

_ “Next Monday,” answered Tom, “tt I can. I must
go and see Mr. Sharp first.”
“Shall I see you again ?”
“T will come if Ineed any more information. I
will write you from California. Good-morning, sir.”
opener ine, Tom, and good luck, for beth our
sakes.

As Tom passed through the outer room, he saw tho
cierk who had admitted him surveying him cu-
riously.

“Good-by,” said Tom.
neas here after all.”

“I shouldn’t think Mr. Armstrong would waste his
wind with a boy like you.”
“Shonidn’t you? He has
fidential mission.”

“T don’t believe any such nonsense,”
“Just as you like,” said Tom, carelessly
“T’dilike to have that boy under me,” im
elerk. “Y’d cure him of his impudence ”
(Po BE CONTINUED.)

The.Ladies’ Work-Box.

Edited by Mrs. Virginian Ingram

 
 
  

8

oe

that

io know it,” sald Tom, noting tt

You seo I had some busi-
intrusted me with a con-

uttercd the

 

“J. A. 8."—It is not an easy’ mattot to select dresses for
young girlsof fourteen or fifteen years, as they are too
tall for the slender desigus for smalier girls, while those
appropriate for their older sisters are too elaborate for
them. At present the furnishing houses provide very sim-
ple girlish costumes, made with a basque, long round
apron overskirt, andalower skirt that reaches to the
ankles. There are alsomany dresses for misses made with
trimmed skirts that simulate two skirts, but althongh this
requires less material, it is not s0 economical as the sepa-
‘rate akirts, because it does dot allow so many changes to
vary the wardrobe, nor will such dresses wash well. The*®
kilt skirt ismore popular for thisses’ dresses than tt hag
been at any previous season. Wide side-plaits, or else’
very large box-plaits are most popular, although the very
harrow religieuse plaiting forms the front breadths of the
dress. When the, skirt is gored in the front and on the
sides, it may be entirely plain, if made of striped material,
or it may have a single berder flounce, and show the plain
part entirely untrimmed below the overskirt. Sometimes
two or three deep kilt-plaited flounces are used, and are
thought more dressy than the single-plaited kilt. The
trimmed skirts of simple dresses have the back laid in
loose kilt-plaits from the beit down, while the front and
sides have along apron sewedin with the belt, and fas-
tened down the side seams; a narrow-plaited fiounce is be-
low this on the gored breadths of the lower skirt. The re-
verse of this is seen in pretty wool dresses, and also in the
white muslin dresses soli as confirmation dresses, but
used for summer evenings afterward. These have the
front and side breadths laid in box-plaits from the belt
down to the ankle, where they are tucked in a cluster, and
edged with Valenciennes or Breton lace. The back then
has a fuil width of the muslin draped upon if in pufis and
trimmed down the sides and across the end with tucks
and lace. The waist for such a dress is merely a round
belted waist, with box-plaits in front and back; bows of
white ribbon are set low down on each box-plait of the
skirt, and a white sash is worn around the waist. Basques
and polonaises that button behind can scarcely be found a&
the furnishing houses, as these have been replaced by
vest garments that fasten in front, or efse by those that
lap in double-breasted fashion. A plaiied silk or satin
vest, and a fan of the same for the back oi the basque, give
a pretty finish to wool, fotlard, and grenadine basques.
Gingham dresses are made with cool neglige corsage
that hangs loose like a sacque in front, while the
back has a yoke with plaits extending te the end
and held in place by an Ulster belt that begins in
the side seams, and buttons in the middie of the back.
With this the skirt has a kilt back, with an apron front
and asingle flounce on the front breadths. This is pretty
in the Scotch plaid ginghams, and in the delicate stripes
of pink with blue, or blue with buff. Bias bands of the
same, piped with turkey-red calico, are the trimmings.
Pretty gingham dresses may be bought ready-made
for $6.

“Nellie Lake,” Salem, Mass.—lst. We receive a great
deal of money through the ma Sometimes ladies send
it in a letter, without eiti: r registering or without a P. O,
order, and it comes to .u

 

safe; but we wonld not recom-
mend any one to send it that way. for if it ia lost there is
no way of tracing it; but if a registered letter er post
office order is sent and it goes astray, there is always some
chance of finding where it is. 2d. If you want the French
“Complexion Mask’’ complete, it will cost you $3, and the
express charges are paid by you when you receive the
goods. 3d. 1f need not be sent to your house enless you
desire it to be. You can call ferit in person at the express
office, and pay the charges there, which will probably be
about twenty-five cents. 4th. We can send the “Mask”
Cc. O. Ds, but the expense will be twenty-five cents more
for the return charges. Address your order to Street &
Smith’s NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, and we
will be sure to get it.

“Nellie Ann,” Green Bay, Wis.—lst. If you will send
your name and address, we will send you a catalogue of

patterns, and mark a pattern from which to make youy
mother’s dress. Itis No. 6,524, and especially designed
for an elderly lady. The price of the pattern 18 35 cents
We think that it is the most sensible model that we hava
seen fora very long time, for there has not been anything foy
years that has been suitable or appropriate fom a lady of the
age you mention. 2d. A chain of “rotled” gold, measuring
60 inches, will cost you $12. The slide will have a real
gold front, highly polished and richly chased, and a came
set in a plain rim and surrounded with polished balls. Thq
“rolled” gold chains will wear well, and look nice for a
least five years. 3d. It would be safer to have the chait
sent to you by express. It could be sent to you in a regis
tered package. but it would cost you about as much td
register the package as the expressage would be.

“Mrs. H.,” Galveston, Texas.—ist. For your little gir
of twelve years there is nothing more simple or graceft
than the “Clarissa dress."”” This dress is in eco style
tight-titting, with side-forms back and tron oateuding q
the shoulder-seams, and side-gores under the arms. h
front is turned up ala laveuse (Washerwoman style)
showing a kilt-plaited flounce, and the back has the neces
sary fullness imparted to it by plaits formed by extention
cut ou the side-forms and back-pieces, and is ormamepted
by a large bow and ends. It can be suitably made up 2
all the fabrics usually selected for children’s wear, and th
trimming should be simple and in accordance with th
material used. Pattern in sizes tor from eight to"twelv
years of age, price 25 cents each.

L

“Gertrude,” Lynn, Mass.—lst. Your blue silk is not
fashionable shade, and will require a combination of som
kind to look well. A trimmed demi-trained skirt and dee
basque will be the most useful way to make it, and th
garniture should be black and white lace, the white pu
underneath the black, or a narrow-striped black and whiff
silk. A vest of the stripe would Irpreve it. 2d. W
might be able to match the shade of biue in some of ti
striped and figured grenadines or Pekins, but, as rou sug
gest, the silk is a brighter shade than 1s now fashionabl
therefore hard to match.

“Sylvestus Shelly,” Vanseburg, Ky.—We can ;send yo
the book on crayon drawing upon receipt of fifty cent
Yon can send the amount in postage stamps, if more
venient.

“J. B.,” Amaterdam, N. Y.—A copy of Shakespeare
works can be sent tf you for $l. Wecan send it to yo

 

 

tor dollar.”

 

 

postage paid, upon receipt of the price named.

 

 
.
.

-

aes THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3=

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
 
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
   
   
  
   
 
   
    
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
   
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 

ee

NEW YORK, JULY 28, 1879,

DPR RR te eee ee

Terms to Mail Subscribers:

1 month, (postage free) 250 | 1 Year—1 copy (postage free) $3
© TAROT, 6.2% 9980 cas 50¢ x 2Oopies.......+- 5
3 months........ ore ms A OODINE:. «a0 ssa oe 10
4 months.......... $1.00 a 8 copies......... 20

 

All letters should be addressed to

FRANCIS B. eet} STREET & SMITH,
FRANCIS 8. SMITH. Proprietors,

P. O. Box 2734. 25, V7, 2D & 31 Rose Si., N.Y.

 

 

Mad Anthony’s Victory.

Mad Anthony Wayne's great victory at Stony Point,
N. Y., on July 16, 1779, will be commemorated by a
centennial celebration on the same spot, on the 16th
of thismonth. During the Revolutionary War, Stony
Point, on the right bank of the Hudson, and Ver
planck’s Point, on the opposite shore, were each de-
fended by a fort erected by the Americans. About
the Ist of June, 1779, both of these forts were cap-
tured by the forees under Sir Henry Clinton, and
subsequently strengthened and garrisoned. Mad
Amthony Wayne became “madder” than ever when
he saw the British standard tauntingly floating over
the captured forts, and he determined to attempt to
neutralize the British victory. A daring night attack
Was planned, and successfully executed on July 16.
With a foree of 1,200 men, Mad Anthony recaptured
the fort at Stony Point, aud made prisoners of its
garrison of 543 officers and men. Fifteen Amer-
icans were killed during the conflict, and eighty-three
wounded; while the British suffered more severely,
losing sixty-three killed. The centennial celebra-
tion, on Wednesday of this week, will be of a very
interesting character. A temporary fort is to be con-
structed, and an exciting sham battle will stir the
patriotic blood of the witnesses and participants, and
effectively remind them of the great exploit of Mad
Anthony Wayne, one hundred years ago.
a

WASHING DISHES.

1f there is-any kind of work particularly hate-
ful it is washing dishes!

That is merely our opinion.

Perhaps somebody else thinks it is a delight-
ful occupation, and if so, we congratulate her
on her happy disposition, and hope she may
have dishes to wash every day, except Sunday
and Washington’s birthday; and that the =e
tron saint of dish-washing, if there be sucha
saint, may bless her with long life, and plenty
of soap and hot water!

Most kinds of work can be put off for a little
while to make room for more pressing duties,
but you cannot put off washing dishes for any
length of time in a well-ordered family. It has
got to be done. And the sooner the better.

Allow your dishes to ‘“‘set” after a meal fora
couple of hours, and you’il have to soak them an
hour to get off the dried tood, and there’ll be a
sink full of them, and the hot water will fail
short, and you'll have to wait for more to heat,
and while you are at it some gossiping neighbor
will come in and “‘catch” you, and in three days
afterward it will be known all over that neigh-
borhood that ‘‘you are not much of a house-
keeper, and that you dom’t wash your dinner
dishes till you are obliged to, in order to have
them to put on the supper table!”

And all the old maids and widows who labor-
ed so hard to catch your Tom, when he was
courting you, will be delighted to hear of your
deficiencies; and they will tell each other that
“they guess if Tom Jones had his life to live
over again, he’d be full as likely to marry some
folks they know of as some other folks!”
Washing dishes has to be done so often, and
s0 continually, and it is never done! Itmust be
one through with to-day, and to-morrow, and
the day after, and next week, and next month,
and next year, until your death, and it will
have to be done that day just the same as usual,
though it is a comfort to you tothink that
somebody other than yourself will have to do it.

No matter how hot it is, or how cold it is, or
how your head aches, or however much you
may want to go out and breathe thesummer air,
you have got those dishes to wash! No matter
how blue the sky may be, and how poctical you
may feel, all those greasy cups and saucers, and
that pudding dish, and the pan the joint was
roasted in, and the coffee-pot, and a half score
of stew-pans, and kettles have got to be washed!
Yes, gotto! and if that isn’t good grammar it
expresses just what we mean. And if there is
anything which will take the poetry out of the
soul, and the crimp out of the hair of a wo-
man, it is to stand in a hot kitchen and wash up
a sink full of dirty dishes!

Scrub, scrub, scrape, scrape, and wipe, wipe. to
he end of the chapter, and then the chapter is
“to be continued” indefinitely.

And as yet no man has invented a dish-wash-
ing machine which is practical. Everything of
hat kind which has been originated makes
wice the work it does. What we women want
is a machine which will take the dishes from the
able, scrape out the cheese parings, and other
denis, take them tothe sink, wash, wipe, and
polish them, put them in the cupboard, and
hen wash out the dish-cloths, and hang them
onalineto dry, while the woman of the house
stands serenely by, and smokes a cigar (figur-
atively), and exclaims over the triumph of ma-
hinery! That is the way the other sex do over
he machines which do their work.
Go ahead, Edison! It would benefit the worid
p great deal more than the phonograph to invent
BR good, practical, dish-washing machine, and all
he women in the land—the great army of dish-
washers—will rise up and call vou blessed!
KaTE THORN.

tp

Cox’s Crime.
A correspondent asks, “Can Chastine Cox be
ponvicted of murder in the first degree %”
Life taken in the perpetration of a felony is held to
be murder by the laws of this State. The crime may
not have been premeditated, yet it is considered
murder in the first degree if the culprit, to prevent
his capture, or for any other reason, when discovered
perpetrating a robbery or felony, so injures a person
vyho might betray him that he dies. This was the
ase of John Dolan, who entered a brush and feather
tore in Greenwich street, New York, for the purpose
frobbery. Mr. Noe, the proprietor, discovered him,
nd was attacked by the robber, who knocked him
enseless with aniron bar. Dolan, to prevent fatal
esults, bandaged the head of the unconscious man,
sing for that purpose his (Dolan’s) handkerchief.
his handkerchief proved a clew which lead to Do-
nn’s arrest. Mr. Noe died from his wounds, and
Dolan was tried, convicted, and executed. Dolan’s
6 is similar to that of Cox, for although life was
ken, it is not probable that in either case murder
as premeditated.

 

oe. _____—.
AN enterprising minister of Seneca Falls augment
d his income by a series of rapid horse trades. Ata
very stable he hired a horse and wagon, and soon
fter exchanged the animal for another. Within two
ays six exchanges were made, and at the last swap
e recovered the first horse, which he returned to the
able from which he had borrowedit. He cleared
00 by his transactions, and accounted for his pro-
bnged absence by 4 well-told story, which satisfied
6 livery stable proprietor that his customer was a

atural romancer.
—_————-_->-@®-<

PERFUMED toothpicks are in demand at some of
he Western hotels. For people whose breath is not
sweet as new mown hay, they possess wonderful
utralizing properties.

 

CONEY ISLAND BEACH.
BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

Oh, brisk is the breeze blowing in from the ocean,

And white-capped the waves rolling in from the sea ;
But even when viewed in their wildest commotion,

The roar of the breakers is music to me.
How cool the embrace of the turbulent waters

As they leap to our arms on the ocean-washed sand,
O’erwhelming in rude sport our sweethearts and daugh-

ters,
And spending their fury far up on the strand.

Oh, smooth is the beach on the Island of Coney,
And safe are the wild waves that over it play;

‘Tis the great bathing spot of the world for my money,
Superior far to Long Branch or Cape May.

Great are its hotels and exquisite their cooking,
Majestic its storms and serene are its calms;

Its landlords are generous, brave, and good-looking,
And tender and sweet are its succulent clams.

The ponies their infantile burdens trot under,
The little ones send their glad shouts to the skies,
While numerous babies gaze seaward in wonder,
As they pause in their labor of making sand pies.
Meantime the side shows and the music 80 charming
Have their share of the patronage at the sea-shore,
Delighting the old and the young without harming,
While many a bright urchin clamors for more.

Oh, long may you prosper, dear Island of Ooney,
And long may your tide-mark old ocean defy !
Thou land overflowing with lager and honey!
Thou glorious retreat from the heats of July!
Thou solace to toil-worn and sweitering bread-winnera!
Thou land of delights without blemish or stain!
Thou soother of saints and reformer of sinners!
May thy power to bless us forever remain!

Se ee

ON THE BEACH AT ROCKAWAY.

BY E. T. TAGGARD.

 

 

 

“On Long Island’s sea-girt shore

Many an hour I’ve whiled away,
Listening to the breakers roar

That washed the beach at Rockaway.”

“It isa pretty song, Mr. Adams, and exceedingly
well rendered. Seated ina richly-furnished parlor,
with all the comforts and luxuries that money un-
stintingly expended can furnish, you can at least ad-
mire the beauty of the lines, although, unlike myself,
you have not heard those selfi-same breakers roar
when, instead of awakening poetical inspirations in
the breast, they have aroused feelings of horror and
despair in the heart.’

The speaker was a man who had reached the mer-

idian of life, and his broad chest, bronzed features,
and the deep intonations of his voice plainly indi-
cated that at no remote period he had “followed the
sea.”
“T have known more than the breakers to have
washed that self-same beach at Rockaway, which
forms a partof one of the most treacherous and de-
structive coast lines in America, and the little church-
yards in the many little villages that dot the coast
are filled with the unmarked graves of the unknown
dead that have been washed by the self-same break-
ers of which you sing into eternity.

*““P’ve whiled away’ many an hour upon its sea-
gixt shore, but it was not as an excursionist carried
thither on a palatial steamboat, the ear charmed the
while with the soft melody of music. I did not wan-
der thither on a broiling hot summer’s day to escape
the torture of city life, to breathe the exhilarating
and cooling breeze that is wafted in from the ocean,
or to bathe in its health-giving waters.

“My experience of Long Island’s sea girt shore was
the very opposite, the very antipodes, I might say,
of what is depicted in your song. There is a certain
chorus which is impressed upon my memory when-
ever I speak of the place; the shrieking of the wind
through the rigging of my good old ship, the roar of
the angry waves, the crashing of the falling timbers,
and above all the shrieks of my drowning crew, brave
fellows every one. Thisis the solemn music that
falls like arequiem upon my ear whenever I recall
my experience ot that dreadful night.

‘Certainly, gentlemen, if you desire it, I shall give
it te you, but first let us fill our glasses, for there are
certain events in the life of every man, if resurrected,
will unsteady his nerves, and this is one of mine.”
Captain Jack Brown was the host on this occasion,
and a party of his college companions had assem-
bled on this particular evening as his guests. He
was aprince among good fellows, asa host genial
and hospitable, and jovial withal, with but one dark
spot upon the sun of. his life, and that was the one
that he had feelingly referred to. Exceedingly for-
tunate in his speculations, a learned navigator, and a
thorough business man, he had aecumulated a large
fortune, and it was his delight whenever a fitting op-
portunity presented itself to gather around him the
friends of his boyhood days, andin their compan-
ship to live over again the bright days of his youth.

“Well, boys,’ said he, ‘‘many of you Know every-
thing concerning my first voyage tv sea, but none of
you know aught concerning my last. I remember
the bright spring morning when I first started to
‘folow the sea,’ how you all congregated on the
wharf to see me off, and gave me a parting cheer. I
have heard some inspiring words and sounds since
that day, but none that ever touched the chords of
my heart like that one.

I have been in many a calm and many a tempest

water, we heard above the shrieking of the gale the
war of the breakers.

“My mind was immedia‘’ made vp what to do.
I determined to run the ship before the wind and
ump her upon the beach, hoping to meet high water,
in which case, if the ship held togethor until the tide
receeded and we were not all swept into eternity be-
fore, there would be a fair chance of being rescued.
When she was brought before the wind, the old Re-
liance, like a blooded racer, fairly jum away, and
in a few minutes we were in the midst of the break-

rs.
“We all held on to the object nearest and waited for
her to strike. The crash soon came, and with it the
ship’s masts went over the side like so many pipe-
stems. The sea broke over and around us. The
boats were lowered, and all hands began hastily to
leave the vessel. I say all hands, but [except myself,
“for I stubbornly refused to move. It wasin vain
that the officers and crew implored me. I was im-
movable. [told them that I had commanded the
Reliance since the day she was launched, and when
she sank beneath the waters I would sink with her.
“Delay was dangerous and my men left me, for
self-preservation, you know, is the first law ef nature,
and when they were gone I seized a rope and lashed
myself tothe stump of the mainmast, calmly await-
ing the moment when my old ship would break to
pieces and both of us should be as of the past. The
sea broke over the ship whith thumped heaviiy, the
wind blew in fearful gusts, and the snow seemed to
fall in huge clouds, which difted over the vessel. I
felt lonely after my crew had gone and in the dark-
ness and the solitude I prayed to Heaven for mercy.
“The good ship held together, and toward morning
the gale blew itself out, the wind abated, the dawn
broke in the east, and on the shelving beach I saw
the forms of eager men; I heard the report of a gun
and a rope fell upon my arm. I seized it, secured it
to the stump of the mainniast and thus got ashore.”
“But your crew, cap’n, what became of them?”
“They were lost. The boat was swamped, and
every soul perished. They who tried to save them-
selves were lost, and I alone, who desired to die,
was saved. The ship was a total loss, and her ribs
can yet be seen at low water looming above the
waves ‘that wash the beach at Rockaway.’”

eh ea
An Ingenious Theft.

A well-dressed gentleman, accompanied by his
daughter, an attractive young lady of about nine-
teen, put up at the principal hotel of an Italian town.
They gave themselves out to be English, and among
their luggage had four large boxes containing two
complete sets of drawers like those used by officers
incamp. A salon and two bedrooms, one of which
opened into the salon, were chosen by them. When
these drawers were unpacked, one set was placed

ainst the door in the salon, and the other on the
other side of the doorin the gentleman’s bed-cham-
ber, the door in question being a very thinone. The
gentleman was liberal, and most particular in pay-
ing his hotel expenses weekly. ore he had been
long in the town, he paid a visit to the principal jew-
eler, made some small purchases, paid for them in
soem and let it be seen that he was not short of bank-
notes.

Anxious to please his new customer, the jeweler
brought out many beautiful articles to tempt him;
but at first his purchases were moderate, though
liberally paid for. In a few weeks the gentleman
came alone, and while nlaking another purchase ob-
served that his daughter was about to be married,
and that he thought of sending to Paris for a set of
diamonds. On this the jeweler declared that he had
the most beautiful set in Europe, the property of a
princess, which he was sure only a “my lord Inglese”
could buy, and begged his customer just to inspect
them. The inspection was made, but no decision ar-
rived at that day. Anotherinspection followed on
the next day, and my lord totake them, the

rice being four hundred thousand francs—about

0,000. The delighted jeweler thought it would be
best if he should send them round that evening, but
the straightforward answer Was:

“Ido not keep so much money about me; I must
draw upon my bankers in London.”

About a week after, the jeweler was nested to
call one morning at eleven, and bring the diamonds,
for which he would be paid. The jeweler was punc-
tual, and found his customer in his dressing-cown
sitting alone at the set of drawers referred to, a front
flap of which turned down 80 a8 te form a writing-
table. Advancing respectfully, the jeweler laid the
casket open on the flap in qué@stion. Merely examin-
ing the gems, my lord remarked that of course he
did not wish his daughter to know anything of the
transaction at present, and theu gine dou to take

 

out a bundle of beautiful crisp me ‘The door at that
moment opened, and in bow! B young lady in
question, graceful as a young fa ae,

Nothing was more natural than that my lord should
close up the flap of the desk and the young lady
to go away, as he wished tobe al - But she.wasa

   
  

willful young lady, and wel
She had come to telb *pana™
ing for him if the néxt-rtony, ust go, and she
was-quite Surevirat the jewelerwould like her com-
pany better than his; besides, she had a locket she
could notopen, and the jeweler must help her. The
jeweler was not p: ful charms of
the young lady ; his © ©, a8 he thought,
80 he begged her father to e he would wait.
My lord left the room, an r dupe enjoyed

 
   
 

  
  
   
  
  
   
 

nd Uié poo
W flirtation with the young
lady. ; :
She was very winning »the time passed like a
hurried to join her father. te jeweler sat in medi-
tation, his thoughts engrossé@with the “young bride

half an bour of delightful

dream, till at last the lady heweelf passed away, and

who had just left. Then eo pene wonder how
an €

 

since that bright spring morning; I have buffeted the
billows, and been buffeted by my superiors in turn;
but the road to promotion was open to all, and if I
encountered difficulties in my journey, I always re-
called that good old cheer, and, reanimated with new
hope and energy, I traveled on until at last I reached
the goal of my ambition, and became the master of
my own ship.

**My good ship was called the Reliance, and I have
often thought of the appropriateness of the name. I
had faithful sailors and efficient officers, upon whom
I could rely, and they, in turn, relied upon me. She
was ago ship in a storm, and with her I have
plowed the wild Atlantic, conquered the wild storms
of Cape Horn, and tamed the tempests of the China
Sea

“T began to tire of the vicissitudes of a sailor life,
and I determined to withdraw entirely from the sea,
and pass the little remnant of my days among my
friends in ease and comfort, as I felt that after all
these yéars of untiring and ceaseless labor I was
entitled to a little rest. I was further induced to
take this step because of the faithfulness of my first
officer, to whom 1 determined to give the command of
my ship.

‘I started from Liverpool in the month of January
for New York with a load of railroad iron, and as
we hadafull cargo we were drawing considerable
water, and in the many gales we met during our voy-
age, the good old ship Reliance, owing to her heavy
draught, did not behave as well as usual, The winter
had been exceedingly severe, the cold intense and
continuous, and snow-storms followed each other in
rapid succession.

“Notwithstanding the rigors of the season, my
brave fellows never attempted to shirk their duty,
although many of them were badly frost-bitten, and
the bows of the vessel and the lower rigging were
encased in ice. As we approached the American
coast the weather seemed to grow more and more
severe, but yet we all felt encouraged by the fact
that we were continually advancing, and that in a
few days we would be in a safe harbor, where we
would obtain that rest that we all so sadly needed.

“Tt was in the month of February, and we had been
thirty days out, that I discovered from our reckon-
ing that we were within fifty miles of Fire Island
light, and as we had a head aad I hoped to sight the
light that night, and if we could meet a pilot, and no
obstacles intervened, we would be anchored in New
York bay within a few days at the furthest. The
crew seemed to be elated with the prospect, and re-
sumed work cheerfully.

“Feeling comparatively safe, and being tired and
exhaus from loss of sleep, I went to my bunk and
laid down to seek a few hours of sadly needed rest.
My wind was at ease as the prospect of an early and
successful terniination of the voyage was bright, and
I slept soundly. How long I had thus slept I do not
positively Know, but I was suddenly aroused by my
mate, who informed me that the wind had changed
to the south-east and was blowing briskly, and that
the barometer was rapidly falling.

“T jumped to my feet, pulled on my boots, and
rushed out on deck. The wind had begun to whistle
through the rigging, and the Reliance, with the speed
of a deer, was rushing before it, speeding onward to-
ward a lee shore. I ordered all hands aloft and took
in sail, keeping just sufficient unfurled to give her
steerage yy,

“To an old sailor a south-east gale, and the proxim-
ity of Long Island’s sea-girt shore, are two things to
awake his liveliest apprehensions, so that the next
thing I did after securing the sails was to ‘bout ship’
and head her out to sea, where, with plenty of sea
room, I had no fear that we would be enabled to ride
the storm out in safety.

“The wind soon increased to a gale, and to add to
our difficulties the snow began to fall heavily, and so
thick was the atmosphere that it was with difficulty
we could see the length of the ship. To add to the
horror of our situation darkness seemed to come on
almost abruptly, so suddenly indeed that it resem-
bled a room that had been left in darkness by the un-
expected extinguishing of a candle.

‘We now had recourse to the lead, and before we
had cast it many times we discovered that we were
being driven before the wind, and were being hurled
surely and swiftiy upon one of the worst lee shores
in the world, by one of the worst gales that even in
my long experience I had ever witnessed. Again we
cast the lead, and as the sailor announced with

 

blanched cheeks that we were getting into shallow

 

 

long his customer would beyapdep tiy tried the
flap of the drawer. Itwas a ¢ “it was tocked,
So be sat down and mused! again. ©) an hour or
so had elapsed, he began to taink she must-have

  

been forgotten,so he rang for the waiter, and was
teld that my lord and the signorina had gone out a
considerable time ago. After another long interval
he consulted the landlord, but was assured that his
guest was a perfect gentleman, whose only fault was
forgetfulness.

Hours passed; and at early morning the landlord
again returned, beginning now to grow suspicious
himself, The jeweler became furious, made a dash at
the drawers, and with the aid of a poker broke open
the flap and made an attempt to take the casket. He
thrust his head into the compartment, and sank back
into his arm-chair. He saw nothing before him but
& square open void, that had been cut out of the door,
and which led inte the set of drawers in the next
room, The landlord had a leok, and so had the
waiters. They then sat and looked at each other, and
at last ordered restoratives for the jeweler, who had
fainted.

oe

A PICNIC EXPERIENCE.

BY MAX ADELER.

 

 

“What this country really wants,” said Mr. Phipps
to me, thoughtfully, as he locked his fingers over his
knee, “is a law making it a penitentiary offense to go
toa picnic. Whatis a picnic?” inguired Mr. Phipps,
pursuing the subject further. ‘I will describe it over
to you. In the first place, you want to get the ther-
mometer up to 109 in the shade, and to keep it there
steadily, with not enough wind blowing to make a
leaf tremble. Then you get in the cars, and go out to
some place afew miles nearer tothe equator than
where you live; and when you alight from the train
you discover that the pienie ground is right on top
of an adjacent hill. There is no vehicle within reach,
and so you start up the side of the precipice witha
basketful of provisions upon each arm, and a bottle
of mixed pickles in your coat-tail pocket. Thene is
no shade upon the precipiee, of course, and as you
push upward you become hotterand hotter, until
you feel convinced that the mercury must have
crawled up to at least 520 degrees; and meanwhile
the belo of mixed pickles gradually gets to weigh-
ing a ton.

‘But you do reach the top finally, and as soon as
ou are in the shade of the woods you sink down ex-
austed, and gasp for a drink of water. Somebody

opens your lunch-basket to get a cup, and then the
discovery is made that the jar of raspberry jam has
broken, and that the contents have crept al around
the basket, until there is raspberry jam on every-
thing, including your hairbrush and the clean shirt-
collar that you brought along te wear home in the
afternoon.

“At this moment some one ascertains that there is
no water on top of the hill. The nearest spring isa
full half a mile downward, at the bottom of the preci-
pice, and the water has to be brought up in buckets.
Lots are drawn to see who shall go for it, and you
are one of the victims, When you get your first two
buckets up you are drenched with perspiration, and
you aos pretty nearly ready to go into a hospital for
repairs.

“At this critical juncture one of the young ladies
declares that it would be so niceif there could bea
swing, and the leading male idiot of the party pro-
duces a rope from a bundle. You suppose, of course,
that he intends to put it up; but upon inquiry you
are alarmed to find that neither he nor any other of
the men knows anything about climbing trees. As
you, on the trip up, have impudently boasted of your
youthful feats in gathering chestnuts, there is no
escape for you, and so, taking one end of the rope in
your mouth, you embrace the trunk of the tree and
begin. When you slip back two or three times the
ladies laugh, and the men who don’t know how to
clinb make amusing remarks about the disordered
condition of your clothing.

“You reach the lower branches, feeling that the
next time you want to have some real fun you will
attend a heart-rending funeral service of some kind;
and then the men who were totally ignorant of tree-
climbing show, by the advice they give you, that they
know more about fixing swing-ropes than a man
ought to be allowed to know in a free country. When
the rope at last is adjusted, you grasp it and glide
down with such rapidity as to remove the skin from

who turns the scale at 211 pounds, aske if you will
ush her in the swing; but, of course, you are far too
ntclligent for that, so you wander off a piece until
ou ineet another ee who says you must dance with
er, because they have to have one more gentleman
to make up the set. If you had your choice between
losing a leg by amputation and dancing a plain cotil-
lion, you would prefer amputation; but there is no
help for it, and so join the party.

“At half-past twelve, lunch is ready, and you an-
swer the call with the feeling that it isthe only
agreeable ocourrence of the day. The cloth has been
spread upon the grass; and you observe that the ants
have gotten into the sugar, that some energetic spi-
der has spun a web from the pickle-bottle to the lem-
onade pitcher, and that a colony of stradddle-bugs is
frisking about over the cold ham. I say nothing
about the hop-toad that lights in among the sand-
wiches, or of the bumble-bees that haunt the pre-
serve-jar so that vs daren't put a spoon within four
feet of it. This kind of thing has to be, on a picnio,
and we must submit to it as a matter of duty.

“After lunch, you think it would be nice to go down
the hill and take a swim in the creek. You undress,
and really do have a nice bath. Just as you are
sbout to come out, the fat girl and the girl who want-
ed you to dance come meandering along, and they sit
down within twenty feet of your clothes, without
perceiving them. They have come fora little chat;
and they talk, aud talk, and talk, as if they had made
up their minds to have one final and conclusive con-
versation, 80 as to leave nothing to be talked about
any more forever and forever. Meanwhile the sunis
coloring you 80 that you resemble a boiled lobster.
and although you clear your throat, and splash, in
the noisiest manner possible, they positively refuse to
hear you. At last, however, they get up to go, just
as the picnic party is coming down the hill to catch
the train.

aaa out, and dress in furious haste, for fear

ou will be left; and before you can get your shoes
uttoned you hear the whistle. You run for it, and
get into the car, hot, wet, and miserable, only to find
that your lunch-basket has been left up on the hill,
= that your share of the expenses is exactly fifteen
ars.

“Nice picture, isn’t it? Well, that’s our American

icnic! That’s exactly the experienco I went

brough last Thursday week. I[f I ever do it again, I
want my friends to run me right into an insane aay-
lum, on the double-quick.”

 

—~}

DUEL WITH A SHARK.

Barbadoes, one of the Caribbean Islands, was the
scene of the following vivid and well-authenticated
story of a terrible duel with a shark, one of the real
man-eating tribes:

It seems that a ship named the Southern Trader,
from Liverpool, with a cargo of coal, had just dis-
charged her freight at the port referred to, when the
crew who had been engaged in the dirty work re-
solved upon a good salt water bath, and accordingly
ventured into the sea.

The coral shores of Barbadoss abound in sharks,
and the first mate of the ship, who remained on
board, espied one of these monsters making toward
the men before they had been ten minutes in the
water, and instantly gave the alarm. The sailors
hastened toward the boat which the mate sent to
them, and all succeeded in getting safely on board
excepting one foremast hand—he was the last of his
companions to reach the boat. Just as he was about
to lay his hands upon the gunwales the shark seized
himin his capacious jaws and literally bit him in
two, instantly swallowing a portion of the body and
the lower limbs.

The upper part of the body was taken on board,
but of course life became extinct immediately.

The crew in the boat were almost crazy with ex-
citement and horror. There was one among them,
however, who said nothing, but gazed first at the
dismembered body and then at the spot where the
shark’s black dorsal fin showed above the surface of
the water. It was the chum of the poor victim.
They had been warm and consistent friends for many
rears, and the bitterness of his feelings made him
or the moment quite dumb.

In the meantime the insatiable shark was swim-
ming hither and thither through the blood-stained
water in search of the remainder of his prey. The
rest of the crew were only too thankful to be safe in
the boat, but not so with John Hodge, the dead
man’s chum, who was seen to hasten on board the
ship, whero he entered the cook’s gallery, and havy-
ing secured a long sharp butcher’s knife, made his
way back to the boat, now along side.

“Look ye, messmates,” said he, coolly, “Ill kill
that devil, or he shall eat me, too!’

Saying which he took the long knife between his
teeth and leaped fearlessly into the sea. It was all
done so quickly that no one could have interfered
had they been so disposed, but all looked at each
other in silent amazement at such temerity.

The moment that the intrepid seaman struck the
water the shark saw him,and- made for the spot.
Both were equally eager, the one for his prey, the
otber for vengeance. The»m twas soon beside

 

consists in their learning. They are noted for
the wisdem Shey have gained, the knowledge
ar have sought and found. They are learned
in this and that science, they speak dead lan-
guages with more Puente than they do their
mother tongue, they can talk about things that
to the greater part of mankind are unexplored
mysteries. They can bewilder you with hard
names and dark and mysterious terms. They
have studied hard and attained that perfection
of education which enables them to assert the
superiority of learning over ignorance, Yet it
must be asser that to sensible people the
most tiresome of all superior people is the one
whose superiority is that of knowing a great
deal that other people don’t know, and never
wish to know. Vint.

wa Oa
Old Personals.

Captain Morris, in one of his unpublished poems,
has set @® proper value upon expensive table lux-
uries =

 

“Old Lucullus, they say,
Forty cooks had each day,

And Vitellius’ meals cost a million;

But J like what’s good,

When or where be my food,
In @ chop-house or royal pavilion.

At feasts, if enough,

I plost heartily stuff,

And a song at my heart quickly rushes,
Though I’ve not fed ny lungs
Upon nightingale’s tongues,

Or the brains of goldfinches and thrushes,”.”

Vatel was the great Conde’s chief of the kitchen,
He made preparations for a dinner in honor of Louis
XIV., who was to be a guest of his master. He had
sent to all the seaports of France for fish, but a few
hours before the dinner hour he found the supply
short. “‘I shall never survive this disgrace,” said he.
Then he went to his room and drove his sword
through his heart. Shortly afterward the missing
fish arrived, but the chef de cuisine had gone where
there was no call for his professional services.

Dean Ramsey, in his ‘‘Raminiscences,” relates that
Mr. Miller, of Ballumbie, had occasion to find fault
with one of his laborers, who had seen better days,
but had been improvident. He was digging a drain.
“If you do not do better work,” said Mr. Miller, “I
will turn you off.’ The man was very angry, and
throwing down his spade, called out in a tone of re-
sentment: “Ye are ower pridefu,” Davie Miller. I
mind ye i’ the warld when ye had neither cow nor
ewe.” “Very well,” replied Mr. Miller, mildly, “I re-
member you when you had both.”

Mr. Buokle, the celebrated author of the “History
of Civilization,” whose comparatively recent death
caused great regret throughout the literary world,
used to relate an amusing story of Charles Lamb and
Wordsworth. Wordsworth on oneoccasion told Lamb
that Shakespeare was much overrated, and expressed
the opinion that he could, ‘if he had a mind,” write
as wellas Shakespeare. ‘But, then, you see,” said
Lamb, “he hadn't the mind.”

Abernethy was the only physician who could give
a sensible prescription for the gout. “Live upon six-
pence a day,” he said to a querulous sufferer—“‘and
earn it.”

The earliest medical work written in English is
the “Breviarie of Health,” by Bartholomew Glan-
ville, the manuscript of which is in the Harleian
Library. It contains a prologue addressed to phys-
icians, which beginsin this quaint style:

“Egregious doctors, and masters of the eximious
and arcane science of physick, of your urbanity ex-
asperate not yourselves against me for making this
little volume.”

The papal dignity has sometimes condescended to
interfere in affairs of very trifling importance. On
the 20th of December, 1724, Pope Benedict XIII.
published a bull against the wigs of the clergy. The
head of the infallible church decreed that any priest
wearing » wig should suffer ten days’ imprisonment.
Some funny man has written that butchers are
good men to carve out their own fortunes; and his-
tory shows that this is true. One of the most notable
characters in days of yore was Thomas Wolsey, who
began life as a butcher, became chaplain to King

 

his enemy, and quickly turned half upon his back,
after the manner of his tribe, to seize him in his ter-
rible jaws. But John Hodge was self-possessed, and

tat that instant dove beneath the shark, at the same

time thrusting his long knife into his belly,

‘causing the water to be dyed all about them with hb

-He managed tw give the monster two teiting
wounds before le came again ‘to the surface. The
enraged fish became confused, and his adversary,
avoiding his head, gave him repeated stabs with the
butcher’s knife. The shark retired for a moment out
of the bloody circle that now surrounded them, fol-
lowed in gallant style by the sailor.

Soon tbe fish turned and came at him again. The
men in the boat and on the ship, held their very
breaths in the intensity of their excitement at the
strange duel between man and fish. The whole scene
thus tar had searcely occupied three minutes of time,
and the men were too much confused to attempt to
assist their daring comrade.

As we have said, the sea-monster had turned, and
was again making toward the sailor, but the latter, so
far frum realizing any fear, seemed to have gained
confidence during the brief encounter, and as the
shark approach him. once more he dove beneath
him, and inflicted two vital stabs in the bowels. The
water became red with blood in all directions, and
those in the boat began to think that their comrade
had been wounded. They got out oars, and were now
pulling toward him.

As they approached they saw that the fight was
over, and the sharp was turning upon its back, and
lashing the water slowly with its tail. It was the
death throe! John Hodge was taken on board, ex-
cited, and much fatigued, but uninjured. A boat-hook
was attached to the shark, and he was towed to the
beach, where he was drawn up upon the sand. He
was opened, and the lower portion of the dead man’s
body was taken out, and being placed with the rest of
the corpse it was decently buried. "Neither John
Hodge, nor the crew of the Southern Trader, will
ever forget this duel with a shark, at Barbadoes.

 

 

Superior People.

The most disagreeable of all di ble
ple are your superior ple—individuals who
consider themselves a little better than the or-
dinary runof mortals, and who expect to be
treated with greater deference and honor than
is shown the majority of other persons.
The most powerful and most common agent in
the manufacture of superior people is money.
He who is the owner of much property, whose
name is good for large sums, who lives ina grand
mansion, who wears rich garments, drives fine
horses, and has many servants todo his bid-
ding. 18 a very superior person indeed. He may
not be wise, he may be amere fool in all else
except the making of dollars and cents, he may
not be a good man, he may be known as a ras-
cal and cheat, still he has that which makes
him a superior man, and men of talent, men of
brains and learning, the honest men, all envy
him; he is noticed everywhere; what he says or
does is generally commented upon; he is pointed
out to strangers as one of the “‘lions” of the
oo and people treat him with the deference
ue one of the superior beings of the earth, with
the honor bestowed upon the representative of
wealth wherever found.

Next we have those people who base their
their claims for superiority upon their birth.
They are the descendants of those who made
names in history for bravery, learning, or gen-
ius, and they seem to assume that because their
great-graudifathers won the praise and respect of
the world, they should, also, and that all they
have to do to accomplish this object is to assert
their superiority over humble mortals who have
no illustrious ancestors of whose deeds they can,
boast.

That is the weakest claim for the respect of
men which bases itself upon what others
achieved, not what we have ourselves accom-
plished.

Again we have people who assume a superior-
ity 1or goodness. They are noted everywhere
for being such very exemplary characters, that
we cannot avoid feeling, when in their presence,
as if we were very sinful indeed, and deserving
the worst punishment that can be meted out to
the unregenerate. They aresosaintly sanctified,
so piously devout, so entirely free from all the
small weaknesses peculiar to common human
beings, so devoid of all faults of temper, so
sweetly soft and mild in disposition, so forgiv-
ing and charitable, so overbearingly superior in
goodness, that we regard them as only wanting

 

 

 

the palms of your hands.
“Next, the fattest young lady in the party, the girl

@ seat in paradise to make them perfect.

 

We also have those people whose superiority

Henry VII., Archbishop of York, Lord Chancellor of
England under Henry VIII., and finally cardinal. He
was at one time the most powerful man in Europe,
feared by popes and monarchs, but hated by thse

*“Begot by butchers, but by bisheps bred,
How high his honor held his haughty head {”

But, like many abetter man, he came to grief. In
the height of his power he hada household of 800

persons, ae cae whom were knights and barons. No-
vember 4, 1529, he was arrested for high treason,
and in a few days afterward died of dropsy in the
monastery of Leicester.

One of. the Japanese princes of the blood uses Ad-

zuma ashis surname. “It means “my wife.” The
ex-Confedérate iron-clad steam-ram “Stonewall,” now
of the Japanese navy, is christened Adzuma-Kuan.

>e~<
AMONG THE ZULUS.

From a traveler’s letter we select the appended in-
teresting account of a visit to the Zulu king:

“The king had especially invited me to witness a
review of his troops, two regiments of which, one of
‘white shields’ and the other of ‘black shields,’ were
stationed at Nonduengu. These troops formed a
large circle in the open central space of the kraal, or
village of huts, while the king walked, or rather trot-
ted, about as well as he was able, within the circle,
closely followed by his shield-bearer and other at-
tendants carrying his snuff and his beer. The shouts
that arose from the assembled warriors became deaf-
ening as the king, calling upon one or other of his
more distinguished soidiers by name, and pointin
toward him. summoned him to perform his feats o
agility. Every arm was extended, and every finger
pointed toward the man thus honored, who leaped
from his place in the ranks, and commenced running,
jumping, springing high into the air, kicking his
shield, flourishing his weapons, and performing the
most extraordinary maneuvers imaginable. All this
time the ‘imbongas,’ or praisers, recounted the deeds
of the king amid the shouts of the multitude. After
his majesty was tired of moving about—for his ex-
treme obesity rendered it no easy matter—his chair
of state was brought to him, in which he sat and re-
galed himself with a copious draught of ‘outehulla,’
or beer made of fermented millet, often taking pinch-
es of snuff. Then every soldier passed in single file
before the king, each one bowing to the dust. and
lowering his shield as he passed the august presence.
This ended the review, and the fat king was borne
back to his harem amid the shouts and din of the
multitade,

“Nothing can be imagined more truly savage, yet
picturesque withal, than the appearance of these
Zulu soldiers when arrayed for battle. With kilts
formed of the tails of leopards and other wild ani-
mals, their heads adorned with the plumes of the
crane and the ostrich, with long streamers of goats’
hair attached to their arms and legs, and holding in
front their huge bucklers of hide, which almost cover
their bodies, and above which protrude the bristling
points of their well-sharpened assegais, they present
a most striking aspect, and one not easily forgotten.
The costume of the king consisted of a copious kilt
formed of leopards’ tails and skins of the green mon-
key. On his forehead he wore a large ball of clesely-
cut feathers of the blue roller, and round his pn
hung 8 quantity of véry large white beads. His arms
were nearly coverrd with bracelets of brass and gold,
while fillets of beads encircled his body and his legs.
In aspect he was dignified, and his skin was of a
lighter color than that of most Zulus.

 

 

 

 

Fast Ocean Voyages.

 

The fastest transatlantic trip on record has been
ee by the steamer Arizona, of the Guion
line. n June 17,1879, at 5:35 P.M.,she passed
Sandy Hook, and arrived inside Roche’s Point, at

neenstown, on June 25,at 7:20 A.M. Allowing the
difference of time, whichis four hours and twenty-
two minutes between the points named, the Arizona
crossed the Atlantic in 7 days, nine hours, and 23
minutes. This beats the record of the White Star
ateamer Britannie, which on Dec. 27, 1876, com-
pleted the same eastern trip in 7 days, 12 hours, and
41 minutes. The Britannie has also crossed from
Roche’s Point to Sandy Hook in 7 days, 10 hours,
and 53 minutes, passing the latter point August 17,
18

+ e~

It is estimated that 120,000,000 quarts of milk are
sent annually to New York, and that it is here diluted
by the addition of 40,000,000 quarts of water. Ac-
cording to this estimate we pay each year about $3,-
200,000 for water which we drink under the delight-
ful delusion that it is milk.

 

 

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ained the k noted for & ne SOME SHAMS. F As I had some. diffic ulty in making you go | one on board who looked upon her changed ‘your friends as soon as we arrive in England ; He extended his hand as he spoke to assist her
id. They a nowledge Mi eg below during the last engagement, I must pre- | manner inafar different light. Syra, blinded }or, at least, as soon as iy men can be out of the |torise. She shook it off; and springing to her
ley speal tT learned ; BY GATH BRITTLE. vent your presence on deck this time; for, as | with jealousy, set it all down to love. Every ‘reach of the law, for wild and reckless as they | feet, exclaimed, passionately :
fi than the ead lan- & goodly outside Falsehood hath {” you see, we are about to give chase to yon- | word—every action of Kate or of Captain} are, they are attached to me, and have served| “I cannot, lcannot, I cANNOT. I will not leave
k about thi do their f rwhat & te the philo noplite ai der ship, and an engagement will probably Raymond, was distorted by her half-crazed “imp | me faithfully. There is not one of them, savage | you! I shall die here at your feet sooner than
kind are be. that Once Wrov® de Ss i tc oe take place. . Therefore, Miss Sidney, you wl 1| agination, with still another indication of mu-| as they look, but would lay down his life for aa rou! Youmust—you shall love me! Am e
er you wuexPlored But what an msive ae Seer ; excuse me if I insist on, seeing you to your j tual love. Jealousy is Argus-@ ed; not aj}me. ‘herefore I mnst not consign them to the | I not fairer than her? Do I not love you a thou-
rious ter ith hard when you unwrap the fr aud and show it! cabin, and locking you I. Sailors are pro- | word, nota look of either escaped her-—all were fender care of the hangman. sand times more? What is she, that I should be
ned that pec The A oft wp find the tailor’s skill ; verbially superstitious, and my men consider | cherished in her burning memory, adding fuel |» The amazement with which Kate listened to despised for her?” +
s them hye ection How - sg art, the barber’s ee mae your presence on deck during battle asj|to the fire of her sleepless jealousy. Often this speech may be imagined. She could scarce- “Of whom are you speaking, unhappy girl?”
r ignoran assert the The hatter villai a ee jan omen of ill-luck. Besides, scenes of blood- | sitting talking to Captain Raymond, Kate, on ly believe her senses! In a few days she would | said the young captain. ‘I love no one now, °
ensible ce. Yet it change the villain tha he dares shed and death are hardly fitted for a lady’s | looking up suddenly, would see the dusky form | again be free—would tread her native land a} Once I did; long, long ago. but she is lost to me
or boonies ane the Po keenest optics bid defance. gentle eyes.” eae: ; of the quadroon crouching in a corner, Wwatch-| captive no longer. What a strange being this| forever. I can never loye again. Go, you urge
of knowi 1s the one ypoerisy is rife to-day Nor for the eyes of any civilized being are |ing them with eyes_of fire. There was some- beg chieftain was! She looked up to thank | me in vain!” r
t know — crows a ee days of Cain and Abel; such scenes of murder fit—for it does not de- | thing so fiendish in her beautiful countenance | him; he stood gazing steadily with a look of| “I will not go,” she cried, passionately. ee ose
, hever ——~: a aii a serve the name of battle,” said Kate, with spirit | at such times, that a sensation Boros fixed, settled sorrow and remorse that went to | know it is for no one dead; but for the living
Vipr. why should we not - c host expose, —a gang of outlawed pirates to plunder the | fear would cross Kate’s fearless heart; but Kate’s heart. Involuntarily, she laid her hand | you despise me! But she shall feel the weight is
—— And brand his forehead with a label? vessels of their own country, and murder thej only to be shaken off, as a childish fancy. | on his, and looking up in his face, said, earn- | of my vengeance—she shall never live to look on,
2) | why of shams the earth is fall; brave crews for defending them. No! such | Sometimes she would be on the point of striv- estly : you again.”
§, Shams: rr anout?euni? ; scenes are hardly fitted for civilized eyes!” ling to reasen away those jealous fears, and “And you—what will become of you” She turned away as she spoke, and darted to-
No town ei : gether eee " His eyes flashed and his face flushed hotly, as | show her how absurd they were; but Kate He smiled slightly at her earnestness, and an- | ward the cabin. The whole truth flashéd across
unpublished Welcome the & . ae 1 ” he bit his lip to keep down his rising passion. , | Sidney, after all, had her faults, and predomi-|swered: his mind, as he sprang forward, and seized ‘her
xpensive t a ie ghall learn and teach us all about ’em- You are my guest, Miss Sidney,” he said, | nant among them was an overweening pride. |, “Oh, it matters little. The sooner the world | by the wrist.
es But some we know already, well after a pause, “and as such are privileged to say This pride it was which made her shrink from |18 rid of such a blood-thirsty monster as I am “Wretched girl! what would you do?” he ex-
Bay, Sis villain, cold and anew what you please. But were 1t a man who had|/it; she could not endure to place herself on the better. But should I escape the gallows, I claimed. ‘Would you murder an innocent girl
h day Wemnow Sr ‘ spoken thus, rest assured he should never speak | an equality with one who, notwithstaneing her | will seek America. In the New World, amid who never injured you?”
willis who points the road - us to wees, again.” peerless beauty, was still a servant. She felt | its boundless prairies and towering forests, 1| ‘You love ker!” she said, hoarsely.
oe 3 And yet will neither lead nor follow. Kate saw the struggle he made to suppress it would thus become a humiliation, and one will try and forget-the past. In that refugium; “You are mad, girl!—mad with jealousy !
y we know the sanctimonious wretch his anger and speak calmly; anc, somewhat | which she had no idea of enduring. Besides, sige Imay yet become a harmless mem- | Neither Miss Sidney nor I ever dreamed of such
Y food, ‘eiweers the hy Seine ‘iaibaieats alarmed at her imprudence, she said, more |she shrank from speaking on this. sacred sub- | ber of society. There the crimes of the pirate athing. I must confine you as a prisoner until
aVilion. wont si re — calmly: : ject to the passionate quadroon—dxreading some chief may be unknown. There, under an as- | we land, should you continue to act in this man-
zh, ‘Tolure the peeenpons ue oe: gs will go to the cabin myself; your escort | fiery outburst of passion, all the fiercer from | sumed name, Twill spend the remainder of my | ner.”
And gain their savings for his prizes thither is quite unnecessary. You may lock the | being so long restrained; and, being no way days. You see I do not fear to confide in you;| ‘And you do not love her?” exclaimed Syra,
ioki know the pious shepherd, too, door, if you please; but as, I have no intention romantic, she had a nervous horror of a-scene. | you are the only one left in the world to whom | with a sudden flush of joy.
¥ rushes, ; celta te : of leaving it, the trouble will be useless.” Thus the days passed on, dreary enough to all|1 can speak freely. All has gone—friends, and| ‘Most certainly I do not.”
ay lungs ve ont oe - ees ae shall not lock it; Miss Sidney’s word is sa- | parties. ... home, and honor, and love!—all gone, all gone, ‘And she does not love you?”
ugues, 4 eo as cred.” he said, lifting his hat politely, and step- | One night, feeling restless, Kate arose, and and what remains ?” $NOw"
Sand thrushes.” ¥ But will not practice what he preaches. ping aside to allow her to pass. ; | throwing on a dressing-gown of white cashmere, There was a bitterness and sorrow unspeaka- “Swear it,” cried the quadroon, wildly.
t sm We know of maidens youth-bereft Kate bowed coldly and haughtily, and de-| went on deck. It was a delightful moonlight | ble in his tone. Kate’s eyes grew dim with| “By allthe gaints in the calendar, if you likel”
efof the kitchen, ‘Who dye their locks and chalk ante tenia scended tothe cabin. Syra day on ihe sofa, in | night, and, advancing toward her favorite seat, | tears, as she turned away her yead in silence. | replied Captain Raymond, quietly.
‘in honor of hong 4 a ye 4 “t coor az p ’ a deep sleep—that sleep resemb ing death in its | she seated herself, and prepared to Sajoy the de-| Yes, guilty as he was, her heart yearned toward “Then why can you not? Oh! wiy oF you
| master. F j ee profoundness, for which all of her race are se | licious scene. The young captain was below, in | him, and she longed to be able to remove that | not love me, since you do not love her?” sh
for fish, but . ee The loss. of nature's vanished graces remarkable. Kate sighed as she noticed the | his own state-room, and the night-watch alone settled look of despair from those deep, mourn- said, clasping her hands earnestly. :
found ¢ afew | § .¥ ce fools!. Can chemist’s dye recall smooth brow contracted, as though in pain, and | kept the deck. Suddenly she started, to see ly- | ful blue eyes. “Because, as 1 told you, | am a man of marble.
li the supply _ ¢ > “Whe golden hue that chasine tii latekt the care-worn look on her beautiful features. | ing prone on her face on the deck, her thin gar-| “I don’t know why my thoughts go back to I pity you most sincerely, my, poor Syra, and I .
area ks Saidhe, | - Qgn whitewash chaak tins acictaenasall Poor Syra! she loved, indeed, “not wisely, but | ments fluttering in the night-breeze, the slender | the past so strangely to-night,” he said, dream- shall always think of you with affection ; but
nan ae Sword % on oe a nr aaa too well. . _ |fonm of Syra. Her attitude was one of such | ily, after a pause. “The present fades from | more than that I cannot give. I have no heart
had m That soon must headlong topple over Sinking on her knees, Kate buried her face in | utter, abject woe, that, forgetting everything, view likea dream, and my boyhood rises before | to offer you. Can you not take the affection of
ul aeevenee where hen there’s the— Stop! The list is long, her hands, to shut out, as 1b were, even from | save that she saw before her 4 sufiering fellow- | me—a vivid reality. Strange, strange! Things|@ friend in its place?” | § ;,
coin yelaeis Ingpring, in autumn, and in sammer ; poreelt,. the ere se of bya approachiig i See ee laid her hand on her shoulder and I oe eo a years oo pnes to me noe ; ie Beg wd es fy Sreeny nt she
” : : ‘ Be , Cc e knew by the orders given, an | sai , softly : with such singular force; faces and forms i wl aug , mockingly. e, lam kKneeun 0 you
ion to find + abe ie thle a Sie as ne the sounds on deck, that they were rapidly; ‘“Syra ve never see again stand beside me as in the days —I, who never knelt to mortal before. Oh! shall
een better : To pass uthoticed by—the plumber. approaching the ship; and, in trembling ex- Shrinking from her touch as though she had | of long ago; voices that the grave stilled many I, must I plead in vain wer
digging a drai - o, mark him well, the man of lead ; pectation, she awaited the opening of the con- | been stung by a viper, Syra sprang to her feet, | a year ago are singing again the dear old songs **Rise, po 1? said Captain Raymond, almost
id Mr. Mi - ‘No man of iron could be bolder, fact. almost shrieking : I loved in my boyhood; words that I thought I sternly. hy will you persist i this madness ?
very an iller, “I who brazens out his waste of time. _ Thus an hour passed away, every moment “Don't touch me! I hate you!—l HATE you ” |had forgotten I hear again, and the touching | Is not once sufficient to tell you? You ask an
Ihe tone’: and F pad elle with bia halt eiiain dragging on like an age; and then the uproar of; Kate forgot her fierce words, in the look of | promise, ‘Though your sins should be red as| impossibility. Besides, he added, in a softer
Javie Mille: = : the battle commenced. Kate sprang to her feet, unutterable misery on her face, aud answered, | scarlet, they shall become white as snow,’ keep | tone, “you only give yourself and me pain. lf
either cow p I A sham is he, a shamefal sham, with the strong, almost uncontrollable impulse | with grave kindness: constantly sounding in my ears. My mother | 1 ever gave you any encouragement in this mad
T, mildly, “Tre. Worse than of other shame a dozen, to fly on deck; but the remembrance of her| ‘Poor girl! why will you thus render your- | often used to read to me out of the book from | passion, believe me, it was unintentional. I
Who owns no kinship to his kind, romise given to the young captam restrained | self miserable? What ‘have I done that you | whence it is taken. Ah, if she had lived, I | never dreamed of such a thing as your loving
of the « Seve when he has sn elktaan te ner. Naturally fearless, and come of a brave. | should hate me?” might have been a far different man from what | me. And now this interview must decidedly
History ae . ee high-blooded race, it was with wild excitement| ‘Done!’ screamed the quadroon, her eyes Iam. Thesun of my life, which I thought had | end; { cannot listen to another word. Neither
y recent death His watch is fast, his work is slow, that she paced to and fro the narrow limits.| blazing with rage; “viper! serpent! to ask sunk forever, seems to have risen to-night | prayers Dor entreaties can move me. In a few
literary worid His faults—I do not overdraw them— The noise awoke Syra, who sprang to her feet, | what you have done. Have you not won kis|again. Strange that it should be so! Perhaps | days we part forever; and you, I feel assured,
les Lamb and Let’s pray that when his pipes freeze ap, with a wild shriek ; but Kate, in herexcitement, | love, for which | would give iny life and soul ? | it is only to set in a darker night.” will soon forgetme.”
Sion toldLambh It may not take so long to thaw them. scarcely heard her. have you not come between me and the only | _ He leaned his head on his hand, while a sad,|_ She rose to her feet, folded her arms across her
and expressed ‘: Gradealty there came a lull, and the thought, being on earth I ever can or will love? An-j| dreamy expression overclouded his handsome bosom, and stood calmly before him. Every
A ind,” write ; ame Pg “They are boarding her!” flashed across Kate’s | swer me, vile-tongued traitor, haye you not done face. Kate was still silent; she knew not what | trace of paesion bor faded _ _ a mene
you see,” said THE mind. She was right. The pir ates, like a sw arm this 3” ; : : to say. And after a few moments Captain Ray- | ing her coid and pale as marb C.. 32 t dime an
of bees, crowded on the deck of the merchant- Kate’s whole frame quivered with suppressed mond turned away to give some orders to the | passion of her wild heart seemed ta concentrate
ho could man, headed by their fiery young commander. | passion at the insolent words of @he quadroon, | men. in her eyes, that glittered with a strange lurid
Live u _ SECRET SORROW e | Suddenly his eyefell upon. the form of an elder-| who stood drawn u to her full height, her| For nearly an hour lon Kate sat silent and light. Bye Ca ¥
aie x 9 {ly gentleman, who stood fighting bravely with | small hands clenched, her features®convulsed thoughtful, gazing into the bright waters. She “And this is your final determination?” she
=: aka a burly pirate. It was the Earl of Danemore—|her great, black eyes blazing with rage and | would soon Eee free—restored to her home once said, calmly. ; y
OR, who, as the reader well knows, was bound for| scorn. The sight calmed Kate, and she answer- | more, but in spite of all, a deep depression had “It is,” he answered, looking up In amazement
n English ig ; Cuba. The eagle eye of the young captain saw | ed, after a pause, with caln dignity : settled on her heart. A presentiment of some | at the sudden change. ;
lomew Glan- THE ROVER S BRIDE. that he was fast sinking, thou gh still fighting} “No! most decidedly and emphatically no! I impending calamity weighed down her spirit—a |_ “And can nothing change it? Iask you for the
the Harleis > bravely, before the fast-falling blows of his| have done none of these things? Neither would | feeling of dread hung oyer her. She strove to | last time,” she continued, in the same steady
sed to sw By Cousin May Carlet younger and stronger opponent. Already the|I answer the charge to any one but you; it is | shake it off with the conviction that the despond- | VO1ce, and in a manner terribly calm. :
phys- ay Sin wy rteion. sword of the pirate was raised to deal the earl’s | absurd; but you cannot see these things as they ing words of the young captain was the cause, “Nothing can change it. Why will you persist
h : i i : death-blow ; when, w ith a sudden _spring, the | are—you are blinded and crazed by jealousy ! but the effort was vain. And he,what an incom- thus 2” he answered, sane y-
tebe atous afites t Sorrow” whe commended in M0 Pe Unk young captain darted forward, and struck up| Therefore, 1 once again answer NO! I have | prehensible mystery he was t_noble and high-| _ “Die, then!” she shrieked, her whole manner
eae, ex- ted States.) . the weapon of the pirate. Then, springing on 4 | done none of these things with which you charge | born, what could have changed him into what changing, as if by magic, as she sprang forward;
ng this 7 gun-carriage, he raised a small bugle, which al-|me. I could not stoop ao low” And Kate’s lip |he now was? Kate sighed at her inability to and, drawing a long, glittering knife from her
4 CHAPTER XVIII ways hung at his belt, and blew a clear, loud | curled as she drew herself haughtily up to her | solve the problem, and rising, she preparec to | bosom, she plunged 1t up to the hilt in his side.
6scended to 4 , blast. There was a momentary pause lm the | full height. go below. AS she did so, Syra stepped from her The hot blood spurted up in her face; he
ttance. On § 4AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. conflict at the sound, and then the voice of the| ‘Tis false Y screamed the quadroon, purple concealment and stood before her. Kate almost reeled, swayed to and fro for amoment, and then
edict XIII i Ein voice is low Tie sania pirate chief shouted : : with passion, and raising her clenched hand, as | shrieked as she 8aw her. Often before had she fell, without a cry, at her feet. 7
ler : ‘ s voice is low—his smile is eweet “Back, my men! Let the conflict cease ¥ though to strike her; “you know you speak false, | seen her almost frantic with passion, but now— She bent over him, and pushed back the fair,
sersy. The 7 ‘ Be had a girl's blue eyes ; ; : 7 gn > > ' a . suateri Tpke fh jnite brow. All was
| @nY priest : And yet, 1 would far rather meet Surprised at an order whicn® they had never | you white-faced daughter of a cold-blooded | oh, now; a galvanized corpse might have looked | clustering locks of his white brow.
risonment, > The storm in yonder skies. received before, but accustomed to implicit obe-| race! But I swear by the God you worship that | as she did, with just such livid features, blood- | still. She laid her hand on his heart; no pulse
itohers ’ Great God! the sights that I have seen, dience, the savage pirates, in the very act of | you will never be his bride—never !” less lips, and glassy, glaring eyes. Shuddering | beat there. She knelt down, and pressed. one
ore , When far upon the main! victory, drew back, and sullenly lowered their|" She hissed the last words through her clenched | with horror, Kate covered her face with her long kiss on the cold lips; the next moment she
RRA, die 4 : het aoe hase coca reeking swords. Still more amazed, the crew of | teeth with such concentrated rage that Kate hands and retreated to the cabin, with the firm | arose to her feet, and almost immediately a sud-
st notable ‘ q rae ; the merchantman awaited the result of this un- | was absolutely appalled. Recovering herself by | conviction that she was insane. den splash was heard, a8 the waves closed over
olsey, who® 4 was a pleasant afternoon, about a week af-| expected deliverance from death. , an effort, she answered, in the same calm, dig-| The quadroon stood gazing after her, until she her. ; 2
n to King 4 ter the event recorded in the last chapter.| Approaching the earl, Captain Raymond | nified tone in which she had spoken through- | disappeared. Then turning away, she muttered: The noise smote like a knell of death on the
ancellor of | Since that fatal night Kate had carefully | touched him on the shoulder, aud said, sternly: | out: i “He will fly to America, and she will accor- | af of Kate, as she sat in the cabin. She sprang
rdinal. He shunned the pirate Sekar with a feeling al-|° “4 word with you, if you please, my lord e ““{ have no wish ta be, neither has he to make | pany him. No,never! To-night seals their des- to her feet, and ran on deck; and here at her
‘a hes most of loathing. She knew now that those} Thunderstruck, that he should be known to the | me his wife. I think that 0ueSyra, are much | tiny and mine. I shall make one last effort, and | feet, bathed in blood, lay the apparent] lifeless
by mournful blue eyes that, had-so interested her | jeader of a gang of pirates, the earl followed him | better fitted to be a pirate’s wife than I am if 1 fail—then his sun shall indeed set, if 1 can- form of the young pirate chief; while down,
; could light up with the fire of death—that low, rétired f th 1. where.they were) There was aslightly sarcasti : “ i . ‘ at ; down under the bright’ waves the wild heart of
1 , : , to a rétired part o e vessel, where.they. : Bre Was thy. K be his I shall at least go with him to g
wea, MUS: nica chuld shout the death-cry of Mis} screened from the view of t 3 others. | 21 voice. which she could | ' 1e worldo St MP hosecves I love so well | the quadroon had found rest at last.
head!” | |. victiros. There Was bl00d~ on his hane—ane | oment the two Stor gazing. 5a aa thief ’ ie the ; ain: those li [TO BE CONTINUED.)
} | death in his heart, and Kate conld never feel | faces; then'the earl said : : Pe Shs ast See ean tl 2 enti sea oe : ‘
grief. In | toward him again as she had once felt. “Well, Sir Pirate what have PUP 0 Fe Oa ta re 7 alee cw, a ior tT on lad —__—__—_>-9<—___—— 9
a of 800 ¥ It was aoe that he noticed it, but it was | or how come you to know me? 1 od he ie LO lad ; an LET oe |e ealtad © iN tet” ; a nae anf a 4 J
ons. No- | ually evident that it troubled him little.| For reply, the young captain | an Wetter ine wait sera position. | grea ter. wh >. Sa ‘or fail.” ~ | - ee bi
treaso: ere Was san easy indifference—proud, yet | and shook back the bright locks & and moved with quic n ed ; ne turned away as she spoke, and a roached 0 nie $ ansd
n, + tow! J - ] ne d withgu lity to | She turned away as she ' , pp a
less in his manner toward her that seemed SDA Hae ee 2 : : se, eT ; ae '
sy in the , | to ly that though he felt b na tovtrbat her forehead. Then, looking the ea he , Saying > ” the spot where Captain Raymond sat. He looked evade -
r tad oat hat rfeckly : <naaek he said, gery i “Good-night, Sy ; I trnst you will think over | u with a start at seeing the quadroon before B Anuse Ash .
uses Ad- ; oo Pas ng vee f YY an aie aon ~ “Do you not vow me?” : my words, and by quiet reflection come to a him, with her deep, burning eyes, and her face By Annu Ashmore,
a. 7 E ; oo ee ern of hiny or his actions.| For a moment the earl gazed into the proud, | more reasonable frame of mind. Until you do looking ghastly pale in the moonlight. For the eo.
» 2 he His days were mostly spent in gazing idly over] hand f f th -over-chief lik way at : re Ores ne at had’ [“Corinne’s Ransom” was commenced in No. 29. Baok
1,” now the side of the vessel hatti vith hi i ee ace of the young rover-chief like one | J will dispense with your serv 10es. first time, he noticed the change that had’come Corinne’s Ravtained from all News Agents
uan. Et canran ee ce ae ae wae. etanaee in a dream; then, slowly, an_ expression of hor-| Before Syra Soais overcome her passion, | over her of late. The rosy hue had faded from renr ts ws a ews Agouts.]
‘look had yt A fi ., oo Kate dislike him ror unspeakable came over his face; his eyes | Kate had entered the cabin, locking the door | her cheek, the brown hue of her skin had given CHAPTER XXIII. ‘
5 Asf thef, she” aT 7 t her days in tl -|seemed starting from their sockets; his face | after her; for she felt that, in her present exci- | place to a sickly pallor, the vivid light had died eit hak al
Rete -deprotins st ontiue Tae a iniiines in the | grew ghastly, his lips bloodless, and with, the | ted state, the quadroon might seek Smmmediate |out of her eyes, and in its stead there was 4) oy ae
iy af the des cee ai ae ai, aha & a ing | DicreiIns CTY» “Oh, Heaven! oh, Heaven!” he | revenge. And she was not mistaken. Had she| fierce, lurid light—the baleful brightness of on __ in St tee ei ote duiadbeatia ibe te
‘ a. to ie crrlher reflections oe th S qoneromts rocled, and roe na _ had ne the young | not taken the precaution to secure her door, jealousy ; her a” ene its pears lightness, anvee eee ee consemrme gars Bi
, . captain caught him in is arms. uaying nim ‘e Si ev i , an she move ore im the shadow o er : z od : ‘ : a
j Ae es ‘en ‘gee Wage tage 4 be gently on the deck, he turn ed to his. men 80 a: —_ en wad never have lived to see the Be oe acl? ie oe posting from his hacienda wild with ex
a ad Perc’ e ; waving his sword in the air, he cried: “Come | “Foiled!” te n,. el «w ie’ ” : : “You wish me back to me?” he demanded,
she cqusidered re was out of sight. on!” andin another moment he was on the deck suseen wks attcred tee ed nid ol in wie 7a) vi Oe ee rn et i me netecel net; in the hotel saloon to whiah ae
tee ee wing awake, on her restless | of his own vessel. her bosom a long, glittering knife. ‘‘Yes, foiled | your sae 9 had summoned him.
“¥ couch, she would fear. a light, firm footstep, pac- ‘here was an expression on his face that made | now, but not forever. The world is not wide yor ae : setuid ¥ : She was amazed by the change which had passed
ing uy and down the opposite state-room, occu- Son Saath : aif 7 ; , poe , No, my mistress is well, said Syra, with | over him since she last had seen him.
Sick : Pp : , U-| their hearts stand still. They dared not disobey ;| enough to hold her and me; one or the other of | short, bitter laugh. ‘You need feel no andieey (a since she vad seen ym :
¥ ied by Captain Raymond. genre too, in| one by one they followed their leader, and half | ys will never live to see the land. He is lost to Pious tine c ga. Y} His <eyee were bere ae oe —, > —
' e “clear, moonlight nights, when unable to] an hour later they had left the morchantman far | me forever; I can no longér doubt it; but the ner. 3 1 was frig tiuy, attenuated, his hands thin and blood-
sleep, she world steal on deck, and seating her- : e . oy : ; ) £ ) ee Captain Raymond looked at Syra, completely | less, and his attire neglected. ;
. mr te behind. Bewildering as it all was, they dared | one he loves shall feel the weight of my ven-| ast hed at the to Anioh: at k His manner was that Of a monomaniac
4@ self under the shadow of some projection, watch not ask the reason, for there was a look in the os astonished a etonein which she spoke. AD} ee sai : me. D os
ia ek y . ; , geance. sorbed in his own thoughts, he had not noticed No,” said Corinne; withstanding his glare with
the tall, slight figure of the young chieftain, as | y ’ a aed = sas . : ;
» SUE g : 5 ? young captain's face that they had never seen And glid he res i her lonely : +1: ‘ : uiet power; ‘I will never go pack to you except on
he paged restlessly up and down the quarter- " : A nd gliding away, she resumed Dot ly | her growing dislike of Kate, and was therefore | 4 ph aie 8
a P ons of the eyes rdi ; there before. With a strange, frigid calmness. | watch on deck ; but there was a wild, lurid | quite at a loss to account for it. one condition,
q eck, unconscious of the eyes regarding | him. | he gave a few directions, to his second in com- | }i¢ht, like that of a serpent, in her black eyes eR Cy ds ror ; » eas “Praitress!” muttered Di Sagra, pale as death,
x Often, at such times, she would catch a glimpse mand and then descending to his private room th: t betok ith d ? fi . ; is Perhaps you are ill yourself. he said, kindly. “rou come to me from your lover, and propose con-
of the shadowy form and wild, black eyes of the | he locked the door ‘tl tb ene . iS fle pes re-passion You look very pale. What is the matter? What | aitions!”
uadroon, as she crouched in some corner, watch-| And all through that long night Kate heard at last burst into a herce Rame,. can I do for you?” , E “That is false, senor,” said she, with incomparable
° ing and waiting with him she loved so “vainly i : oo & : The tone in which he spoke thrilled to her | majesty, “J have scrupulously remembered my
‘ & * f wf ainly | that quick, restless tread she knew 80 w ell—up CHAPTER XX. ca es ‘
‘| afdso well.” Both were.waiting and watching | and down, up and down, without ceasing the ¢ , heart. He had never spoken so gently to her eran, Y he laughed, in sick eat “
for what never came—waiting for the sun to rise | jive-long night. . , THE QUADROON’S REVENGE. before in his life, and her heart throbbed high fled aaa eat to soins hit ma are jealousy, “you
‘ Y on the dark night of their inner lives. For, spite with hope. “No, sir. Paid not J But I did not summon you to
of herself at such times, her heart would go out “Qne areata “You can save me from death. You can ren- udge’ me, and, since I haveno cause to han my .
to those two—one wrapped in his hidden grief CHAPTER XIX. Gone 0 herdeath.” der me happy forever. Qn you alone it depends |}ead, I defy your judgment. I demand the liberation
‘ ., and remorse as in @ mantle; the other waiting, JEALOUSY. , , 4 whether I's rall live or die. ; of my father from the diamond mines* of Minas
so sadly and so patiently, in her deep, earnest It was a glorious moonlight night. One by What!” said Captain Raymond, looking thor- | Geraes.”
love; but both waiting in vain. The bright hue “Ab! geor, soonest rival maid, a one the stars came out, studding like diamonds | oughly bewildered. Ido not understand you.| DiSagra clenched his hands, and regarded her with
of health was gradually fading from Syra’s dark Neat ree = tice og Bic: eae TUPPER. the deep blue sky. Serenely calm, the lady | Jsave you from death! You are crazed, poor | terror. i :
. h Jealousy’s dark upas shale moon sailed on her way, smilimg as brightly on | girl!” “Ah, you have found him out!” faltered he,

1 eves were fast losing
on her darkly beauti-
r in her manner that

endid Syriai

cheek; thespl
lay

their luster ; a shadow
ful face; there was a languo

in the sunlight, as the brig cut her way rapidly
through the bright waves.

“Bail ho!” cal
startling tones.

Captain Raymond, who was leaning idly over
the side of the brig, smoking @ cigar, now sprang
into the rigging, and scanned the horizon in
every direction.

“T cannot make it out,” he said, hastily. ‘In
what direction is it?”
“Standing to the eas
chantman, I think.”

A feeling of sickness came over Kate, as she
thought that the terrible scene before witnessed
was about to be repeated

“Yes, yes; 1 can see her pisinty now,” said
Captain Raymond, sweeping the horizon with

a hantman, most de-
cidedly. ined to meet no other

his glass. es, she is a mere
/ We seem destine C
kind of vessels this cruise, Mr. Mondalvi,” he

ed the man at the cross-trees, in | good humor

strange as it

bad formerly
garment.
—seldom spea

 

tward, sir; another mer- | gloom

The

that rapid
began, at las
‘Remorse !’

tion on her m
patl

 

mond. So Kate no

Then turning, he walked over to Kate; he] sought it on
lifted his hat, and said, courteously, but with | impulse save
brief sternness : mind from i

 

 

 

-The good brig W
bound. Day after da

settled depression,
arouse him, had
which seem

hidden grief—or, }
on his spirit, comin

He no longer

necessary order, and t
Y silence.
ong, We
more and more freq
, nervous
t, to wonder if he eve

never dies, yet God’s best gift
his heart;” and, w

iy, his dark crimes. L

ts settled gloom.

the deck of the pirate brig as on the most ar-
istocratic mansion in Old England.
Kate Sidney satin her-favorite seat

ater-Witch was homeward
passed on, each bringing

and, and with every day on deck,

ble. And Kate shrank from her,
but with a sort of involuntary

8 often passed without

much as possi
not with fear,
dislike; so whole day
their meeting.

But no word, no look or action of Kate os-
caped the jealous eyes of the quadroon. Argus
himself seemed not to have more eyes; every
action was misconstrued, and however innocent,
served to add fresh fuel to the already burning
flames of her jealousy. There was @ look @
demon might have envied on her beautiful face,
as she sat watching them now.

“When will we arrive in England, captain ?”
said Kate, looking up, after a long pause.

“To-morrow night if the wind holds as it is
now,” he replied, quietly.

Kate sighed.

“And then I
that desolate o
sigh.

There was a mom

36p

from which nothin cand
aken the place of the easy
seemed natural to him—
seomed in a pirate chief. Some
it might be remorse—weighed
not in fits and starts, as it
ut ee to him like a
mingled with the crow
king to them, save to give some
hen again relapsing into

ad t
For a mo

speechless with
aw
mind of which
done, but which ten¢
the fier,
vinced
had
for.
he replie
‘-I[mpossible,
love any one.
turned my hea

Very gent

ary vigils and night-watches grew
uent; and, night after ni ht,
tread continued, until Kate
; r slept?
thought Kate—‘‘the worm that
to man, preys on
oman-like. with this convic-
got, in her deep sym-
et his guilt be what it

long, dreary months in

must pass I }
anor,” she said, with a

ld Moor M at his feet.

ind, she for

 

ent’s silence, during which command, only

it is even so. Lam sick of scenes of b
carnage. I have too long been a scourge to my
fellow-men, and my career of crime has ended ;
my last cruise is over. You shall be restored to

d his society, but
n—from no other
f diverting his
But there was

longer shunne
every, occasio
the kind one 0

der moon. with
your passion,
strive to forget

 

 

 

 

 

truth. And startling

nature of t
her words were true.
of 1

come over her

I will be your slav

one; you might as

&S me.

“J am not crazed. Is
from you must decide w
+ ”

terrupted, vehemently.
I cannot live if you

ama

hole fiood of circumstan
ad never

he h
he

ly an
Syra!
Scenes

rt to marble long ago.
never love any one again.’

ried, throwing herself
arated from you.
obey your every
I will be no

“Oh, say not so!” she ¢
“JT cannot live se

©;
let me

the h

R

be near you.

ak truth.

showed how her strength was wasting, with the them nearer Old En ery < : . —bring my ts ;
fierce fire within her Vassionate houtts Watch-| Kate’s heart rose higher. She was heartily tired | gazing thoughtfully over the brig’s side, and _ Well, I confess this passes my comprehen- wYou aii wesute to met—you?” He gazed at her
ing‘ her, Kate would think of the words of the of the sea, and — once more to stand in her watching the waves flashing like si ver sheen In | sion, said the young captain, growing still | with insane eagerness; then a malignant scowl dark-
poet : native land, even though it should be only with- | the moonlight. Standing beside her, silent and | more mystified, *‘Pray explain, Syra; IJ cer-| ened his face. “No,” said he, harshly; “I want re-
a y “Love's light has fied from her eye and cheek in the walls of the old Moor Manor. thoughtful, was Captain Raymond, seldom | tainly have no intention of condemning you to] venge upon you all. Ihate you—every one of you—

To burn and die in the heart they seek. . To the pirate crew it evidently eh little sat- | speaking save when~-addressed by Kate. And | death.” ot ah ‘
Alas! that so often the grave should be isfaction, as Kate judged _by the low murmurs amid the shadows crouched the quadroon,| ‘You are going away; I shall die if you leave} _ His teeth chattered together as if he saw a specter,
The seal of woman’s fidelity (” and angry oaths they indulged in when their | watching them both with her burning, fiery | me!” she exclaimed, passionately. ‘‘I cannot live ere ensign of death appeared on his fleshless

And the grave was destined to be the seal of | leader was away, for they dared not murmur | eyes. separated from you.” Corinne made a wild gesture of despair

Syra’s, too. befere him. Since the night on which the interview on| ‘‘What!” exclaimed her companion, thunder-| “Give him up, and take me!” she cried, with

But this pleasant afternoon, Kate had deserted | And he—a strange change had passed over him | deck occurred, Kate and Syra had seldom met. | struck with amazement. “Is it possible, Syra, | whitening lips. f ;
the cabin for the deck; and, leaning back in her} since the day he had encountered the Earl of | Feeling that Miss Sidaexy knew her determina- that pore “Senora, do you see this brand upon my cheek ¢
seat, she watched, dreamily, the foam dancing | Danemore on board the merchantman, A de tion to have revenge, Syra had shunned her as “That Llove you! Oh, yes, yes, yes ! she in-| Your father printed it there. A Di Sagra always

“Oh, take me w

leave me!”
ment the young ¢
zement at her words.

ces rushed on h

quadr

ate wW

You know I can never
f bloodshed and death.
I can

0

I wil

added, turning with a laugh to his second in| might, he had, evidently, suffered for it, long C ; L

command, and deeply; and sorrow goes far to atone for| Captain Raymond seem _ to be attentively burden to you; I can bear guifering. and hard-| «Let me see his face before I go—to—you.”

“All the more the merrier, Senor Captain,” | guilt. Then, too, the words of a certain good watching the foam dancing in the wake of the shige: and hunger, and fatigue, and danger joy-| Fainter and fainter grew her tones as she lifte

said Mondalvi, in his peculiar, sneering voice | old book recurred to her mind: “Let him who | brig, a8 she eut her way onward. Then, look- | fully, if only with you.” | her sad eyes to the ferocious monster before her.

and strong foreign accent; “our swords are | is without sin cast the first stone;” and Kate, ing up, he said, suddenly : “J cannot, Syra,” he said, sadly, moved by her} Garcia Di Sagra promised her the boon.
growing rusty in their scabbards for want of forgetting all, would have given worlds to re-| ‘Miss Sidney, during the last few days, I have | wild entreaties. “You urge in vain. When I iia oul ion el pada gn to. bv herself froy
work.” move the deep-settled sorrow from those dark, | come to the resolution of changing my mode of | am far away you will soon forget this unhappy dau one vanagshael in sen” e wicked wrong he

5 “Call all hands on deck,” said Captain Ray- | mournful, blue eyes. life. You look surprised ; well you Ten sabe attachment. As Se Te oe a te ee yin Philip received a letter from his adored mistress:

e of winning 1
ise, Syra;

what has passed to-night.”

One word
ether I shall live or

ith you!

hief remained
Then

thought before,
led now to confirm this startling
it was to him; for he knew
oon, and felt con-
The change that
as now accounted
d sadly he looked on her as

t to return
leave me, an

  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  

amazed.

“Yes, I have found him out.
chains, and you can set him free.
ther back, and I will re

He wears Lenhores’
Confess the fraud
turn to you.”

sheds blood to wash out the stain of a blow.”

“Wreak your vengeance upon me.”

“Do yon see how my flesh is consumed? It is from
the heart’s burning hatred of him and his!”

“Quench that hatred with my blood.”

“— have sworn to return all the insults, all the
seorn I have received—all the crimes I have commnit-
ted in self-defense”—-bis hands closed convulsively—
“all the—the terror which wastes ny spirit—upon his
head who roused in me the demon of my house !——”

Like a madman his eyes glittered, and tne foam

gathered on his lips.
Sbe threw herself upon her knees before him, and
and let him

in piercing accents cried:
“Oh, Garcia, take me instead of him,
oO.”
He suddenly calmed down. He looked at the beau
tiful kneeling woman.
Poe “The
U exchange I’

“Very well,” he said, after a breathless
daughter instead of the father! Yes, 2 wi

Death-pale waxed the lady ; but she lifted her fac¢
to Heaven.

“J ask one boon,
“What is it?”

is

” she faltered, lowly.

“It is over,” she wrote. ‘He has promised to
lease my father. There is something yet which’ 1
dear knight may do for me.

“Stay where you are, if you love me at all, for

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

Some See

ry

 

1

 

db YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

 

 

 

any moment [may write you aletter which you ee
not mis The letter will be to apprise you of my
father’s arrival, for it will be your sweet duty to lead
him to bis dear ones who believe him dead. My story
you must keep a secret, Philip—it would break his
heart. Above all, do not attempt to seo mie again, tor
that I have pro: ised you never will do again.

“Parewell, Philip, my truo,true friend. Why should
we mourn? Our home is not here. No, no; thank
the blessed Christ, there’s a Heaven waiting all who
believe in Him. CORINNE,”’

And though Philip disobeyed her wholly, searching
for her with wild terror, she had hidden herself so
well that he searched in Vain.

He received a letter about this time from Kings-
ley, announcing his approaching marriage to Sylvie
Arden, and their iataiton of coming out to Cuba to
see Corinne.

Philip eat his heart out in miserable suspense.
he loved her—oh ! he loved the saintly martyr.

At one of the busy trading-places of Havana a Por-
tuguese trader was moored. Close beside it floated a
small, richby-covered barge, from the gay cloth awn-
ing of which gleamed several windows, unglazed, but
protected by fine sereens of glittering silver gauze,

A group of men stood on the deck of the Portuguese
trader, engaged ir ager conversation. They were
Philip Dnyar, t’ . American consul, the Captain of
the trader, and the ransoued slave, Colonel Arden.

A strange spectacle was he, with his uncovered
head, his bare feet, his coarse blouse, and bis strange
glances around him.

His face was brown and gaunt, his hair hung nearly
to his shoulders, and was bleached white by the sun,
his benrd was long and matted.

An expression of shrinking pain saddened his far
from ignoble features, and his tall, seldierly figure
stoope dL as if hy the weight of a burden long borne.

3are-headed, bare-foote x, unkempt, almost unclothed,
this unfortanate being looked neither savage nor
sinister.

A chill would have gone to the forlorn man, looked
up in his desperate face with confidence, and clung to
his thin, hard, sinewy hand as to a friend’s

He was listening to the conversation which was
proceeding between the American consul and the
éaptain, with burning eagerness, and his hollow cyes
shone with joy.

“All a mistake, it appears, the wrong man all the
time,” said the captain; “but Senor Di BSagra bus
madeit all right. This man is frée

The captain gently pusbed him toward Duvar and
the consul, who wrung his band in eager congratula
tion

“Tt was—it was you who—who came to Minas Go-
raes ?”’ said the colonel, brokenly, as if resuembering
a half-torgotten tongue,

Duvar, flushed and pitying, answered :

For

 

 

 

“Yes, Twas sent to look for you,” :
“Come, gentlemen, my carriage waits,” said tho
consul

“Senora, are you satisfied ?”

“Jtis he! Oh, my God, what a wreck!”

“Come from the lattice.”

“No, no! be merciful, senor!
long enough.”

“Come away ?’

“Or 26 1D oment—it is the last—tho last.

cra

No

A band reached up, pulled down oa silken curtain
over the silver gauze, and the beautiful barge shot
out from the jetty.

Philip had heard the whispered words; had caught
one glimpse of the sweet countenance of his mistress
—tragic, pale, yearning, despairing; had seen the
dark face of her destroyer come between.

“Corinne!” he cried, with a frantic bound to the
side of the schooner.

But the barge was floating swiftly away, aad a giant
steamship was gliding between,

The glittering rows of state-room windows, the
thronging multitudes, the stately hull of an Ameri-
ean steamer, glided into the place of the covered
wage and blotted it out of sight forever

Sale ” shouted a clear voice, heard above the
mighty din

He looked up; a2 young. man, his own image, was
leaning over the bulwarks, waving his hat to him,

A young lady, dark-eyed, beaming, beautiful, bent
forward, too, and kissed her hand to him. A middle-
aged gentleman, standing behind this pair, lifted hia
hat and cried, “Hurrah {”

Philip only took time to wave them a reply, and
dashed back to the consul and Colonel Arden,

“Take him away for God’s sake, and prepare him
to meet his daughter; she hus arrived,” aaid he to his
friend. “Tt would kill her to see him first thus.” So
the rescued man was hurried away,

Plilip was among the first on beard the steamer,

Kingsley rer whed forward and met hina mid-w any.

“Al right, old fellow. By George! [feel like a fool
to see you again?’ muttered he. wringing his bro-
ther’s hand, and holding 1t strongly.

“And I to see you,” said Philip, his eyes flashing,
“Many atime . thous ght we'd never clasp hands again,
Where is she—8ylvie? My God! how am [ to teH her
about her sister ?

“What! not deal?”

“She’s given he reelf up to Dis

“Oh, heartless

‘No, King—an angel!
freedom with her own.”

“Phil, is Corimme 80 noble?”

“She has twice immolated herself for him.*

“She shali be saved; yes, if human hand can do ft
~—hush! here comes my @arling.”

A charming girl surely {

She came finttering tothem with her elderly friend
close behind her, and stretched ont ber pretty hands
to Philip with a blus) anil a sparkle of the loving
eye, and a smile ef affection.

“Pye no need ot arintroduction to my brother
Philip,” said shé; “for you are so like*my ow n King
that Paras searcely tell you apart. Only he 18 happy,
and you Fook ill and sad.”

Ah, yes! between these two, born in an hour, an
ocean rolled—one standing on the pinnacle of happy
love, in a quiet, sunny land; the other"bowed before
& rnshing tempest of ruin; with icy despair allaround,

In a few minutes the party were on their way to
the house of the consul, and during the drive Philip
broke as gently as possible the news of her father’s
safety, and Corinne’s last act of self-abnegation to
Bylvie.

The brave creature bore up well, only casting
flashing glunce of inquiry at Mr. Blennerhasseét.

He nodded, and the terrified pallor of her cheek
was replaced again by the sumptuous rose of joy.

. Then ensue@ha meeting which pen may not por-
rahe

The father—mourned as dead, alive, and yet scarce-
ly living, a wreck of himself, and as yet in terrible
ignorance of the death of his wife and father; the
daughter changed, too—beautiful beyond a dream,
strong in heart, tender, self-restraining, & very
heroine !

Drop the curtain!
sacred hour ?

Meantime those friends whom misfortunes had
raised up for the Arden family, were consulting to-
re how to save the savior of Colonel Arden.

The lawyer told a strange story,

fF know at last who did. it,” suid he. “The wretch
that has hated this family since the hour when: the
eolonel gave hima blow. Yes, Garcia Di Sagra is the
old man’s murderer. The letter you wrote to your
brother put me on the right track. I had already
rensoned pena knife with your initials on it which
you had carr out to Cuba, must have buen carried
back before it could be found m the woods of 8t.
Girons. You showed me who carried it back.

“Di Sagra had quelled the insurrection at his plan-
tation after you and Madame Di Sagra had escaped,
therefore, I saw that Di Sagra might have picked up
your knife, knowing it to be yours, and fromajealous
motive determined to find and murder you with it.

‘You wrote that Di Sagra had gone to the United

States to search for his wife. IT saw that the knile
was on its way.

“T started off with this clew, and unraveled the
whole thing. I read Di Bagra’s name. in the New
York shipping list as an arrival from the West Indies
I found out his hotel—when he entered and when he
left it, (he took two days to learn that the Ardens had
left New York)—-traced him bit by bit to 8t. Girons,
lost him there; hunted awhile, and found him at the
hut of an old wood-utter named Pierre, where he
hung about asking questions of the old man, and
pay ‘ing him well to conceal bis visit; lest him on the

the tiirty-first of Angust, and found the
had carried from Cuba, covered with the old
man’s blog

“Ttis woaheitiie that he really thought bis wife had
fed home to h-r people, and determined to seize her
again, and to murder Mr. Philip’s for interfering. In-
stead of finding his wife, he came across old Captain
Arden watching his'‘logs. The c¢ aptain likely attacked
him abont his granddaughter, and Di Sagra sw or
that he was deceiving him, and had her concealed.
Remember what an insult that woul ld be to thé cap-
tain; remember what a devilish temper Di Sagra has.
Iinagine the fearless wrath of the old man—his re-

roaches and threats—and out flashes the knife and
n plunged by the hand of a mad demon inte his

art
Chere’s my evidence.

IT bave not seen him

Oh, father!”

Sagra,”

 

Sho has bought ber father’s

one

Who would intrude on sucha

 

 

0
he
b

 

 

 

 

 

‘

Bit by bit I rolled it into a
mighty ball, and now that I’ve rolled it to the brow
of the hillit will crash down on bim, and destroy
him, and set your mistress free!”

“Amen !” said Philip Duvar.

Ly

- CHAPTER XXIV.

THE RESCUE.
perfumes floating; silver draperies gathered close;

a =

Her clear eyes may look into his soul and see its black
ne ss, and he has learned to tremble betore that, godlike
ga

Ont~abk too lofty soul that
Sagra!

Stay! Rash hand, would you put out the li
never can be relumed?

Let him retiect.

dares to condemn Di

ght whith |

never to crime. Her courage? it is boundless,
she has none.

She will never feign the love she does not feel.

She is a weak, defenseless woman, but there
within her which Di Sagra cannot crush.

Well, then, if this is so, vengeance be it!

He thinks of that blow which burns upon his cheek for
evermore, and lashes himself into tury. What! liberate
his enemy, and then relent of his vengeance upon the wo
man who has rashly substituted herself?

No! rather would he thrust his knife into that silver
bosom, as he stabbed the old man who denounced hin in
the wood.

He gnaws his livid lip as the pale memory rises up be-
fore him phantom like and threatening.

Stab her, too? Ah—h! has he not had enough of hot
heart's blood sn muting over his assassin-hands? Can he
dare to see th. soul shuddering upward with a death-rush
—to feelthe awful © urs which it may tling back upon
him as did that old man’s?

She is helpless, but so mighty in her helplessness that
he quakes before her. Let her die, but not 80 that the
marble shape can mock him.

He goes with a reeling gait te the walls, and tears down
the Indian siraperies, throwing them upon the couch; he
heaps up high x the human sacrifice the pyre, and cov
ers the angelic face of it, lest it look out and blast him by
a look.

He snatches a lamp from its silver bracket, dashes it
upon the bed, and flies from the chamber. The frenzied
remorse Which already is tearing him, forces him to pause
in his flight—to look round upon his work.

He sees long yellow tlames licking up the silver gauze
and joining at ‘the summit in an imperial diadem ; the pass-
ing soud will wing its way upward, crowned by that-erown
of “Are.

Panic seizes him-
that there is a God, and that he
God beyond forgiveness. He falls
tloor, and covers his ears that the crac
reach him.

A hand bears heavily upon his shoulder—he lifts up his
tortured countenance and beholds a dark and fatal face.

Indiana stands erect, and points through the open door
at the murderous conflagration, a terrible fire in hor dusky
eyes.

is that

 

 

 

-agzan who first finds
has sinned against that
aralyzed upon the
cling tlames may not

the panic of a

‘Two victims?” utte Ts sho. “It is well, DiSagra. Wo
shall have one avenger 4
She stabs him fierce ly ; once, twice, with the ae sperate

strength which hate can arm a woman with, the
low, she looks into his glazing eyes and apnea: the shud:
dering spirit with acurse. And after that she vanishes as
she has appeared.

Scarcely have her bounding footsteps dled away,
there is a shout from the garden of the hacienda
of horror, for the glare of the flames illumine a broad
across the dewy flowers.

Inu the next instanta young man dashes open the green
blinds of the outer chamber and enters at a bound.

Motionless before the motionless figure on the floor he
stands, but not at him does he glance a second time. He
is gazing into that inner chamber at the holocaust, and
asking of all his senses if his beloved mistress lies beneath |
those quivering flames.

With a wild cry, he springs into the murky room.

He scatters the blazing heap with hands which are in-
sensible, and tears off the smoldering draperies, uncon
scious of the choking smoke; he dimly sees at last a white
form lying motionless beneath the muffling Indian cloth,
and he pounces upon it with a cry of heart-wrung despair,
and clasps what he thinks a pulseless corpse to his breast.
Through fire aad choking smoke, scathed, blackened as he
is, he rushes with her to the outer chamber.

A moment later, Colonel Arden, Blennerhasset, and some
Spanish officers, armed witha w arrant for Di Sagra’s ar-
rest, Sylvie and her husband, arrive hastily, having taken
the regular entrance.

Some trembling slaves have followed them, and crowd
within the door- way.

The officers look at the figure upon the floor, which was
their tyrant master a few minutes ago, and say:

“We are too late, it appears.”

But Blennerhasset does not heed them—he is absorbed
in something else.

He sees the young man Philip upon his knees before a
pale, pale tigure clad in stainless white, kissing the snowy
teet, and moaning out his love.

Is she dead? Have they come, also, for her too late?

No. By the mercy of God—by the blind frenzy of t
murderous hand which flang so much upon her that it
shielded her from even a.stain of smoke —by the agency of
the narcotic treacherously given her, she is unharmed.

Calmly she has slumbered through the midst of ruin,
Ronee and passions dire as those which ragein Hastea,

Calmly she slumbers still, nnconscious of the bending
fac es, the awe-stricken looks of her friends,

They gaze upon her, stupeiied; none dare waken
pale, sublime being whom God has put His special grace
upon. So might they have looked upon Lazarus, walking
white-banded from the tomb, at the call of his Lord.

Some one sobs; it is the man whom she has rescued by
this wondrous sacrifice. By her angel hands he has bee
saved, and so by angel hands God has saved her.

And straightway they all fett upon their knees and give
thanks to iim who-has spared by this great miracle the
desire of their cyes.

And while the low prayers of the rescned father are ris
ing up to Heaten, she breaks from her lotos-dreams, and

canes half-dropped eyelids still
eat. & bpaven dark and holy,”
Sees cotantl around her that shining cirele, into which
she has placed its dearest gem, blessed Corinne.

THE END.

path

—_—_-—__> © <

(Guy, the Bn

   

store. Neither of them referred to the matters that had
been discussed the night before. They were 80 disagree-
able that Guy did not want to talk about them if he could
help if, and Mr. Jones was much too cunning to speak of
them himself. He knew that the heaven was working,
and he wanted to give it plenty of time.

When they reached the block in which the store was lo-
cated, Mr. Jones began casting anxious glances about, as
if he were Jooking for some one. Presently he discove red
aman, dressed in a shabby-genteel suit of black, standing
in a door -way on the o posite side of the street. This in-
dividual, seeing that Mr. Jones’ eyes were tastened upon
him, nodded his head, slapped the breast-pocket of his
coat, and made other signs which must have been perfec “
ly intelligible to Mr. Jones, for he replied to them by y
rious gestures of approval and delight.

Guy remained at the store but a few minutes—just long
enough to receive some instructions from Mr. Walker—
ani then went out and hurried toward the levee.

As soon as he had disappeared, Mr. Jones walked to the
door and flourished his handkerchief once or twice in the
air; whereupon the shabby individual in the opposite
door-w ay hurried down the Sidew alk to the nearest Cross-
ing, came over to Mr. Jones’ side of the street, and withan
air of bustle and business entered the store and inquired
for Mr. Walker.

On being shown into the private office, he placed his hat
on the floor, and, pulling out @ memorandtmm-book, which

 

 

 

was tiled with papers folded and indorsed like bills, said ;
“You may have heard of me, Mr. Walker. My name is
Hyslom, and my business is collecting bad debts. Iam a

>

 

“Itis
made ac squainted
ms,

 

 

     

 

professional dun, at your service. Tf it will not conflict
with the rules of your establishment, LT should like
Ininutes' interview with Mr, Harris.”

At this the merchant began to prick up his ears.

“The ship re ng clerk is absent just now,” said he. ay |
I be allowed to inquire into the nature of your business
with him?’ -

“Certainly, sir,’ replied the pretended 1 collector.
no more than right that you should be
with the habits of your employees. Mr. Harris, if see
has been 1 athe r fast during the last few m ont ls, Spen
money With a lavish hand, and running in- debt te livery
stables, bidliard saloons, tailoring establisiments, ane
ar earde ns. [f have bills against him to the amount of
two hundred dollars and over. Tam well aware of the
fact that he is perfectly good, for as he is a ve » VOry wealthy
young man and a nephew of yours, E really-

* said the merchant, “Mr. Harris is no relative to |

    

“Sir,
ne.”’
“Indeed!” exclaimed the collecter, starting up in his
chair. “Then he is sailing under false colors. He says you
are his uncle, and has repeatedly told his creditors to send
tt ae ir bills to you, and they would be promptly settled.”’

“I know nothing about his debts, said Mr. Walker,
greatly astonished. ‘You must see Mr. Harris himself»
Good. day, sir.”

The bogus collector returned his memorandum book to
his pocket, picked up his hat, and bowing himself out of

the private office, hurried through the store, and down the
street, like riven to death with business.
Mr. Walk atchéedhim as long as he was in sight, and

the icons slowly to his feet.

“T expected better things of Guy than this,” said he te
himself. “If 1 have been deceived in him I shall be
tempted to distrust every body. Where did he get the
money he has been spending so foolishly * He must have
used some belonging to the ‘firm.’

So saying, Mr. Walker left the private office to begin a
thorough investigation of Guy’s accounts.

Business went on as smoothly as usual in the store that
day with everybody except Gay. He was kept so busy,
both in doors and out, that he had but little time to devote
to his troubles; but his work dragged heavily, and every
thing he undertook seemed to go wrong end foremost. Six
o'clock came at last, and while way, wearied in body and
mind, was standing at the book-keeper’s desk, rendering
an account of his day’s work, a clerk hurried up with the
information that a lady had called to see him on private
busine Ss.

“A lady—on private business?’ repeated Guy.
not acquainted with any ladies in St. Louis.”

I

  

“T am

There was one lady, however, with whom he was pretty
well acquainted, and that was Mrs. Willis; and she it was
who had called to see him.

“Mr. Harris,” said she, as if she hardly knew how to

make known her errand, “I have come to ask if you conld
make it convenient to settle your board bill this evening?’
“No, ma’am, I cannot,” said Guy, reddening. “I have

 

 

Soft

ror lights gleaming down upon a figure pale and perfect.
till she ies among the silken cushions in her stainless

robes, her bosom scarcely heaving, her amber lashes shad@-

owing her waxen cheeks, her hands folded lightly, as if

she had been praying, when God, yearning for her, had |

gathered the precious soul to Him, and left the caskét |

  

nne sleeps well after her long journey—s#leeps in the

midst of danger, forgetful of the doom which she has
accepted.
How beautiful she is! How the sweet, aweet face

smiles up at himin the midst of heavenly dreams! How
utterly the cold scorn of him has melted from the tender |
features! She almost seers to whisper:
I love thee, Garcia!
zt away with these relenting thoughts!
faise soul; that can make the hand of yengeance quiil !

Out—onut,

no money.”

“But you draw your quarter’s salary
not?"

“No, ma’am.
know this ought to have been paid long azo,
and Tam sorry indeed that [ have
will hand you the very first dollar I get.

It was plain that the landlady's heart was not in the
business. She had undertaken it merely from a serise of
duty, and having, as she believed, fulfilled that dnty, she
was ready to drop the board bill, and talk about something

to-day, do you

I haven’t acent due me from the firm. I
Mra. Willis,
kept you waiting. I

 

 

 

else.
After afew commonplace remarks ebout the weather,
; and the lively appearance of the strec ts, she bowed pleas. |

antly to Guy, and went out.
The clerk, feeling like a criminal, wabked slowly back to
the book-keeper’s desk, but scarcely had he reached it

 

 

 

 

She is his slave a8 wholly as any for whom he has paid
in gold; can he not demand her love asa master may ! }
She seems s0 gentile and so meek, surely she will bend to |
him in time!

No; gentle she is, but nof to him—meek she is. but

Her tears? |

bending |

when |
a shout |

that |

 

  

afew |

 

 

when hé was informed that there was another vibitor wait-
| ing to see him in the front part of the store.

} his.time it proved to be a ge ntleman- -one of the clerks
in the employ of the tailor he patronized 80 extensively.
He shook Guy cordially by the hand, asked him how busi-
ness Was prospering, and produced a bill from his pocket-

| book.
| “That’s the way you stand on our books,” said he, “and
I thought I would drop in and see how you were tixed—a
slang expression for “see if you had any money.

The clerk beat a tattoo with his fingers on the counter,
| whistled “Dixie,” and ran his eye about the store as if he
| were taking a mental inventory of the stock. He had been
told by hisemployer that he might find it necessary to
give Guy a good talking to, and he was screwing up his
courage.

“Eighty-seven dollars!” exclaimed Guy. as he ran his
| eye over the bill. “Impossible! The last time I spoke to
| Mr. Warren about my account, he told me it was only fifty
dollars.”

“But that suit of clothes you have on
came from our house since then,” said the ¢

That's so,” returned Guy ; om forgot tha
me how these bills do run up.’

“Yes; one can’t get dry goods for nothing in war times,
Are you going to ante?’

“Not now; TI can’t.’’

“Oh, that’s played out, Come down !”' said the clerk, ex-
tending his hé vn toward Guy and rapping his knuckles on
the counter. “Short settlements make long friends. Pay
me now.’’

“But I tell you I can’t. I haven't a cent of money.”

“Now, Harris,”’ said the clerk, raising his voice, “permit
me to say that this thing is getting monotonous. If you
don't come to Limerick, and ‘that, too, in short order, we'll
snatch you bald-headed.”

“Don’t talk so loud,’ whispered Guy, in great excite-
ment, “I'll pay youn as soon as Ican, Tell Mr. Warren
that I’L) cali and see him about this bill.”

“Allright. If you know which side of your bread ia
buttered, you won't waste time in doing it. The old man
talks of sending your bill to Mr. Walker.”

The clerk depaited, and his place was almost immediately
filled by Dutch Jake, who e me sred with an air which said
very plainly that he wasn’t going to stand any nonsense.
@uy’s beart sank within him.

sal back now

aE. But tb beats

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE PARTNERSHIP.

“We gates, Meester Harris?’ said Dutch Jake, ina voice
a0 loud that Guy trembled with appreheusion. ‘How ish
dis pisness ?. You got mine monish—miue cight tollars und
vor ty zents %"

“No,” said Guy; “I haven't got it.’

Jake's whole ap ypearance chang¢ “i in a second;
face grew redder than ever; he squared himse ar in front
of the counter, planted his feet firmly on the floor,
doubling up one huge fist, began flourishing it in the air
above his he mi, in re adiness to emphasize the words he
was abort utter,

‘uy saw that there was a crisis at hand. Jake waa fairly
boiling over with fury, and unless he was appeased on thé
instant, something dreadful would happen. Guy thought

hia red

 

 

 

  

 

rapidly, and spoke just in time.
“Hold on!” said he. “and hear me out. I haven’t got the
money now, but 'H getitas soon as the book-keeper is

;

'

| through with the Cash ac count, and on my way home Il
| drop in and hand it to you.

| These words prodneed another magical change in the
|} angry German. The fierce frown vanished, and a genial |
} smilé overspread his face. The sledge-hammer tist was
extended in a friendly manner across the
uy.

Meester Harris.” said he. “Dot's all |
| right. Ven you gomes around we has a glass of peer at
mine exbenses, ain’tit? Oh, yah!’

Jake departed, and then came the hatter, the livery-
stable keeper, the jeweler, the man who had furnished the
young spendthrift with the fine sh uirts and neck-ties he
wore, and lastly, the proprietor of the billiard saloon—all
of whom presented bills which greatly excceded Guy's
calculations. They appeared to be satisfied with their
debtor's promise to pay upat once; but some of them left
him with the assurante that if money were not speedily
forthcoming, they would place their accounts befere Mr.
Walker.

Guy was utterly confounded. He could not imagine
what had caused all his creditors to become so pressing in
their demands. Like one ina dream, he went through his
business with the book-ke« “per, and when it was completed
hurried away to tind his friend and counselor, Mr. Jones.

In the back part of the store was a small apartment
which was used as & wash-room, and to which hght was
admitted through 2 single pane of glass set in the door. In
this room Gu yfoun ad Mr. Jones, busy performing his ablu-
tions. He had retreated there imme diately on the en-
trance of Mrs. W iNlis , and through the pane of glass before
mentioned had watched all that went on in the store. He
could not hear what was said, buthe knew by the impa
tient gestures of some of the creditors, and the despairing
expression that frequently oyerspread Guy’s face, that
some,ditter things had been said, and some alarming
threatBanade.

Great Scott whispered Guy, as he entered and closed
j the doorbehindhim. “What does this mean, Jones? The
} Whole city of §t. Lonis has been here with bills against

mé."’

| opened and
counter toward G
“Dot's all right,

 

 

“Tt means, my @ear fellow, that these people want their
} Viehtsa.” returned the commercial traveler, in a tone of
voice which led Guy to believe that his friend deeply sym-
pathize ado with him in iis troubles.
‘But do they imagine that I am made of money—that I
can raise almost nine months’ wages at a moment's warn-
in x?” cried Guy, Whose distre aS Was painful to behold.
‘Low veg two hundred and geve nty-five dollars. Jones, I am
ru ui red |
“It certainly looks that way,” were the
passed through t nind of the commercial travele r;
ne looked down afthe floor and said nothing.

 

 

thoughts that
but

  
  
 
  

    

es 8 yon have tie least friendship for me suggest some-
hing, _ Pon tea Guydin a trembling voice—some *thing—
inything—no maker what itis if it will only put two han-
| dreal andseventyere in my pocket. must have

e:
t it. tor theese me se ave
Mr. Walker it Ison't settle
hew Phave i bae% gzvil: x Op,

op atonce.— If he showld hear

sO a
sb Sai

 

   

   
       

numbers can bd obtained of Sa seer’ he 4 nt
s net Cy lded Sir. Jones, spez Sen he were commun ng
CHAPTE ; ~"T with himself, ‘you handle ca he of the ftirm’s
Mr. Jones and the shipping clerk ate breakfast ether | money, and might berrow two or three hundred of it just
the next morning as usual, and set ontin company for the | to shit up tho mouths of these impatient creditors.”

“Oh, no,’ exclaimed Guy, quic kly ; “Il can’t do that.”

“T didn’t suppose you woulid.”’ continued the con rercial
traveler, in his oily tones, “but it is an expedient often re-
sorted to by business men to help them out ot desperate
straits like yours, and I can’tsee that there would be any
danger in itin your case. A good many of our castomers
are settling thefr business preparatory to goin
Suppose thatone of them Pays you four or a hun-
dred dollars, goes into the army and gets killed, and you
use the money! Who would be the wiser for it? Of course
you would not be dishonest enough to steal the money—
you would only borrow it until such time as you could re
place itout of your salary: andif you felt auy conscien-
tious scruples about it, you might pay interest for the use
of it.

“But how could IT acconnt for the money being in my
possession when T got re ady to pay it over?’ asked Guy.

“Easily enough. You could say to Mr. Walker, some

morning: ‘I received a letter from Mr. So-and-So last
night. He went into the service six months ago, you

with us. Here’ 8 the amount of
That's all fair and square,

rem withont settling
his bill with interest to date.’
isD “titt’
3ut Mr. Walker or the book-keeper would want to
acknowledge the reeeipt of the money,” said Guy.

“Of course they would. You could give them some tic-
titious address, and as yon have all the letters to mail,
you could easily see that that particular letter did net go
into the office.’

“But you said something about the man being killed.
Suppose that happens before I have had time to save
| enough ont of my salary to re pl: ace the money I have bor
rowed. Then what? He can’t pay his debts after he is

 

|
|
,
i
;
j
i

“Of conrse not; and in that ca
to say nothing to nobody
amount of his bill will ;
and loss account, buty«
As Mr. Jones saidthis he jooked sharply
old himself that his 8}
. The shippingecierk was gazing stead
and there was an expression on his face

se you'll be smart enough
about it. Just Keep mum. The
go on the debtor side ef the protit
iil be just that much ah. ad.”

at Guy,

|

  

  

and

 

 

tloor,

y at the 7
hat had never been see "it theré before.

+ afraid L conlimw't carry out that plan suce @ss-
fully,” said Guy, after a few moments’ refiection. “It
somewhat Complicated, and my knowledge of business is
so limited that Pmight make a mistake somewhere. I
} woukt much rathet £0 into partnership with you, as you
| suggested last nighé.”
| Mr. Jones hastily seized the
it to conceal his exultat ists
at last.

“7 think, myself, that it would be the safer plan,” said
he, as soon as he had contrelled himself so that he could

is

  

 

towel and buried his face in
He had Guy under his thumb

 

speak with his usual steadiness of voice, “and it is the
sur rest Way, too.” es
“Ttisa way I don’t hke,” Said Guy. “Itis swindling.”

“Butit brines in the nroney by the handful, and money
is what makes the mare goin these times,” returned Mr.
Jones “We’il go home and talk itover.”

“You must be very particular in your explanations,”
said Guy. “it is a new business to me, you Know, and I
might spoil the whole thing. .

“Never fear. It is @apilyJearned, and I will go over it
so often that you can remember everything L say and do,
This is your Yast chance, you know, for [ leave the e ity on
the & leven o'clock train to-night, to be gone at least three
weeks.”

The commercial traveler had already been more than a
quarter of an hour in making his toilet, and had got no
farther than the washings of his hands and face; but now
he began to bestir hintiself... The most complicated part of
it al—the brushing of his perfumed locks, and the adjust-
ing of his hat and neck-tie befere the glass—occupied just
one minute, about one-tenth of the time Mr. Jones usually
devoted to it. Then he was ready to give Guy his first les-
son in playing the part of confidence man.

In order that they might be free from all interruption,
they went directly home and loch ked themselves in their
room, Where they remained in close consultation, coming
out when the supper-bell rang, and returning immediately
after disposing of a so! light teal. By that time Guy
had theroughly mastered the part he was to perferm, and
allthat remained to be done, was to hunt up some body
with plenty of money, and try the effect of their scheme
upon him." As soon as it began to grow dark they left the
house, and sauntered away, arm in arm, as if they had de-

 

 

 

termined upon nothing in particular. Arriving at Fourth

| Arty they statioued themselves in a dark door-way, and

| ieee very nan who passe d, finally singling out one as an
| object worthy of their attention.

There was nothing particular ly noticeable about this
dressed as the majority of the pedestrians who were con-
st: imtly passing along the street, and there was none of

| that ‘country air’ about him which seems to be insepar-
what Guy had léarned of the nature of the business in
hand, he inferred that their arts could be practiced with
safety and success only oh green countrymen, 2nd this in-
operate npon. But Mr. Jones thourht diferently.

‘i1e’s the fellow we're looking for,” said’ he, in a whis-
yer. “The only question is, Whether or not he is well

}
|
|
|

s almost all thre ‘
atened to call upon i Bae new to him, and he was afraid to trust him.
sd #3 ‘ :

recious arguments were beqinuning |

} you home with me.

}

|

|

him up and snaked to him at the first opportunity. If he
none. t give you a chance make one for yourself. Be care-
ul now.

With a beating heart Guy stepped down from the door-
wer. and set out in pursuit of the gentleman; and before
he had gone a block an opportunity to accost him present-
editself. When the gentleman reached a crossing he
stopped and looked up at the buildings, searching, no
doubt, for the names of the streeta. Guy came up behind
him, 2nd also stopped and looked about with a bewildered
air, as if he did not know w hic h way to turn.

“[T beg your pardon, sir,”’ said he; “will you be kind
enough to te ll me which way to go to find Robinson's hard.
ware store?”

“I should be glad to tell you, if I knew, but I am a atran-
ger here,”’ was the reply.

“Are you, indeed?” said Guy.
of it is, L fear I am Jost.”

“T am iu the same situation,” aaid the stranger. “T am
trying to find my hotel, and if I don’t succeed very soon, I
shall Call @ Carriage.”

ery hy, 80 youcan. I never thought of that.”

“Where are you from?’ asked the stranger.

“Brattleboro, Vermont,” replied Guy. “* and I never be-
fore was 80 faraway from home. I have one friend here,
a brother-in-law if T could only find him, who owns an ex-
tensive hardware store. Where do you live, sir?’

“A few miles from Ann Arbor, Michigan, ‘and thia is my
first visit to St. Louis. I am stopping at the Olive Street

“So am I; and the worst

Hotel.”’
“Soam 1; but, to tell the truth, I haven't funds enough
to pay for such expensive lodgings, and that’s another

reason why I am 80 anxious to find Robinson. My father
woukin't give me much money for fear I should fall into
the hands of—sharpers, I believe he called them.”

“Yes, that’s what they are.” said the stranger, with an
air of superior wisdom. “Your fatheris a sensible man.
It isn’t just the thing to trust an innocent young fellow
like you alone in a great city with ple uty of money in his
pocket, He is almostsure to lose it.’

“Are you not afraid?’ aske da Guy.
“Me? No. I've traveled.”

“Then you will let me sti ay Ww ith you, won’t you} I shall

feel safe in your company.
“Certainly. I will.’

“Well, suppose we go and see if we can find onr hotel.
I’d rather walk than call a carriage.

“Whitney.” replied the stranger.

* Benjamin—Rufus Benjamin,
Guy.

The embryo confidence man had the satiafaction of ace-
ing that he was making rapid headway, and when Whitney
moved away with him he took his arm,
along conversing as familiarly as though
acquainted for years.

Guy seemed so innocent and confiding and made himself |

Your name is——
“And yours?’
at your

service," aaid

and the two walked
they

}

 

and |

 

 

| has seen you.

  
   
 
    

the right of this invention for your State. I will give it
to youon easy termins, and will warrant—by the way, |
| there's my partner. Mr. Benton. I want te see him on i

i the clerk,
‘omising object to |

 

 

Jones, settling into an easy position, closely scrutin-
man, eitherin his clothing or manners, for he was as well
| able from so many who live in the rural districts. From
dividual seemed to him to be a most unypy
}
fixed; but that is something we’ve got to tind.cut. Follow’

 

appear so ignorant of city life, that W hitney wondered
how his father camo to trust him so far away from
and repeatedly assured him thatit'was a fortunate thing
for him that they met just as they did, for had Guy been
left to tind his way back to his hotel alone, he would have
been almost certain to get himself into trouble of some |
kind.

Finally, as they were passing a beer-garden, their atten-
tion was attracted by the strains of music; and
proposed that, a8 it was yet early in the evening they
should step in and see what was going on. Guy agree a
and when they had seated seated themselves at a table i

home,

t

Whitney

a remote corner of the garden, he called for cider. He
never dgank anything stronger, he “said, for his father
didn't allow it. But the German had no cider, and Guy,

aiter a great deal of persuasion was at last prevailed upon
to indulge in a glass of soda wat rs white Whitney solaced
himself with a mug of beer. F early half an hour they
sat at the table conversing upo litte rent topics, smoking
their cigars and sipping at thei asses, and then the door
opened, and Mr. Jones Came in.

   

}

n
Y
t

» -

“There's the very man I have been looking for,” said
Guy, joyfully. “How very fortunate! Robinson, come
here.”

Mr. Jones approac bed the table at which his partner was
sitting, and aiter looking at him for a mement as if trying
to recollect where he had seen him before, suddenly acize a
him by both hands, and began pulling him about over the
tloor as if he were overjoyed to meet ‘him.

“Why, Rufus Benjamin, ix this you?’ he exclaimed.
“You don't know how giad I am to see you.”

“And neither do you ‘know how glad I am to see you,’
returned Guy. “T have been looking for you all the LL ol
noon. M tobinson, permit me to introduce my friend
Mr. Whitney, trom Ann Arbor, Michigan.’

“Happy to meet yon, Mr. W hitney,”” said Jones, oxtend-
ing his hand. “Il am always giad to make the acquaint
ance of any of Benjamin’s friends.”

“I never met him before this evening,” said Whitney
“but I think I have acted the part of a friend in taking |
him under my charge. Whe mat first saw him he was as |
pale as a sheet, and ‘trembling as if he had the ague.” |

“Well, I was lost,” said Guy, who wondered what |
Whitney would think if he knew the real canse of his |
nervousness and excitement. “I have never been alone |
in a big city like this before, yon know.”

i don't suppose the boy has been outside the State of |

 

 

 

 

Vermont half a dozen times in his life,’ said Jones. “How
are things prospering in that out-of-the-way part of the
world any how, Rufus?’

“We've had a ve ry. good season in onr parts, and the
crops have done well,” replied Guy. “But, hobinson, why
didn’t you meet me at the depot?’

“Why did you not write an d t< li me when to expect you?”
asked Jones.

‘T did.’

“Well, Ihave not received the letter. I have justre- |
turned from Washington, and no doubt I shall find it waat-
ing forme at home. Where are you stopping. gentlemen ?
At the Olive street house. eh? ou must permit me take
char ge of you new, and to say that you shall not stop at a
hotel any longer. I will call a carriage presently, Gd ta ake

Lt know that Mollie will be giad you
1ave come, Rufus—she’s my wife. you know, Mr. We hitney,
and Bex amin’ 's sieter- -for it is fully two years since she

The conversation this commenced continued for a quar-
| teref anhour. Mr. Jones was in no hurry te begin his
| business operations, for Guy was playing a part that was
Ina
ned a good deal of Whit-
mg satisfied himself that |

upen, he gave Guy the |
action.

 

 

 

'

¢
1

' apreliminary cough and a
desperate his increasing excitement,
os mnderstood youa ppt ago to say that you have just
returned from Washington. You went there on some
business connected with politica, I suppose ?”’ }

“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Jones. “I don’t trouble my head
about politics. I have always made my living honestly,
and I always intend to do 80. I went there to take out a
patent on a recent invention of mine.”

“What is itt’ inquired Mr. Whitney, with some eager-
ness. “I am interested in every new invention, for I doa
little business ip that line myself sometimes. I own the

to war. | rights for several wash ing- machines, pumps, and scisser-

sharpeners in our county.”

“And this is Just what yon need to complete your list,”
said Mr. Jones. “Itisa tine thing, andis bound to make
somebody independently rich one of these days. You
know, Rufus, that about a year ago f wrote you that my
store had been entered by burglars, who broke open my
safe and robbed it of six thousand dollars,”

“LT recollect the cdi cumstance,” said Guy.

“Well,” continued Mr, Jones, “that convinced me that |
business men ought to take more precautions to guard
their property from the assaults of outlaws, so 1 set my
wits at work, and finally succeeded in perfecting a burglar-
preof lock—an arrangement which is at once simple and
convenient, but which can neither be cut with a ceal-
chisel, blown open with gunpowder, or even unlocked by
any one who does not understand its consfruction. I gave
away a good many models while I was in Washington,

but 1 think I have one or two left.” |
So saying. Mr. Jones began to overhan 1 his pockets, and |

finally produced a small brass padlock, similar in sive and
shape t o those sometimes nsed on dog-collars

“Ah! yes, here is one,” said he, “and I defy any man in
the world to open it without breaking it. This model. you
Will, of Course, understand, Mr. Whitn ey, is intended
merely to illustrate the principles of u 1e invention. The
locks, when rendy for use, will be made of the best of steel
and be Jarge and heavy. I have one attached to the safe
at iny store, and te-merrow vou will have an opportunity
to see how it. looks and operates 1 should like to seil yot

 

 

Y

particalar business, so I beg that you w ill excuse me. I i
will return in one moment.’
As Mr. Jones said this he jumped to his feet, and disap j

 

peared through the door,
man who had just gone ont.
table, and Whitney picked
was tied to it by a piece of
serted into the lock, when,
other common padlock.

evidently in pursuit of a gentle

He left his invention ov the
it up and examined it. The key
ribbon. and this Whitney in-
behold! it opened like any
lie was astohished at bis success.
He closed the lock again, and opened it, with all ease.
Then he handed it to Guy, and he did the same, and ap
peared to be as much surprised thereat as was Mr. Whit-
ney.

At this moment, Mr.

“Well, gentlemen,” said he, hurryin to the table and
picking up the lock, “I have just made an appointment
with my partner, and itis necessary that I shouid run
down to the store for afew minutes. Will you accompany
ine?

“No,” replied Guy; “we'll stay here.
run around any more ‘to-night.’

“Very well,” said Mr. Jones, without giving Whitney
time to say whether he oe go ornot. “ill return ina
quarter of an hour with a carriage, and then we'll go
round to the hotel after Me luggage. In the meantime,
enjoy yotrsclivss to the best of your ability. I will leave
my i invention with you, and you can examine it at your
leisure.’

“We have already i
plied Whitney, with a smile.
by selling an arrangement like
easily.”

“You did?’ exclaimed Mr. Jones.

“Certainly,” said Guy. “if 1 were & burglar, and want-
ed to get into your safe, that lock would not keep me
out.’

Mr. Jones looked from one to the other of his compan

it

tiaceenernntpiatvidaety

Jones came back.

 

I am too tired to

nspected it to our satisfaction,” re-
“i couldn’t make a fortune
that. We opened it very

ions, and then dropped inte a chair, apparently over-
whelmed with amazement. i
“Is it possible that I have made a failure after all?’ said |
|

“If the secret mechanism of the invention can be so
easily discovered, how does it come that the officials in
Washington did not see through itat once? Gentlemen,
you ave either dreaming or joking.”

“No. We are awake andin sober earnest,” said Guy.
“We certainly did open that lock, and to convinee you of
the fact, we'll do itagain. Hand it out here.”

Again Mr, Jones was silent.

“i may have made a mistake,
thouchtfully at the floor
hardly believe it.”

“Give me the lock,”

he.

 

said he. after gazing
tor afew moments, “but I can

repeated Guy, “and I will bet you
any Mae you please that [ will open it at the first trial.’

I never bet,” sais t Jones, quickly, rising to his feet
eit hed ttoning up his coat. “Il regard the taking of mone y
fea in that way as but little better than highway rob-
very.”

“Yon can't have
Whitney.

“Yes, L have unbounded faith in it.”

“Tlett the most of my money at the hotel in charge of
but here’s a smallamoant which says that T aid
open that jock, and that I can de itagain,” said Guy, draw-
lag froin his pocket a twenty-dollar bill which hia iriend |
and partner had furnished him for this very purpose.

Jones drammed with his toot on the floor, pufted out his |
cheeks, and scratched his head like a man in deep per-

mach faithin your invention,” said

\

    

plexity. He looked first at Whitney

down at the money that had been plagg

ratic oD. for mae

ne
xy day at he xgON

book ange
4 adress -

ney, Who prodneed his pocket
sum he had namex,.
“Gentlemen,” said the commercial tre
persons willlng to wager such large sum
you have lald upon the table, I always
ing on a sure thing.” q
This remark had ‘just the effect that ME
it should have. It led Whitney to bell
all he had said, the patentee had suddenly
wah ae ip

z and « r

r age sts.
° 4

 

 

 

    
  
  
 

 

tinued Guy.

BU RNINE,

ZAR for - Tagnegaty

xn & CO.,

nen gee a8 to 8

s gente
CK ERY, Augus

sine

 
    
   
 
 
 
    
   
   
   
  

Baty a fashionable

finally dropped into his chair again. 2. DO per York.
; “T be lieve | "UH. take a hand in this,” j rie Pw , b+ West ‘14th St., 2 ore ~
don’t often do things of this kind, in faeg = atte Cae
a chance to make something, bat Dif sparent “Cards, securely Ct
dollars on it Just for luck.’ eh TO ling & Co., H

Mr. Jones again arose to his feet, ange pS pina cane
his chin as if he were completely bewil rT Ts rth $5 freé
of events, all the while watching the samples

Ok me

~outiit Fr re
ta, Maine

elligent pusin
gs; light
CHAPM PAN, Mi adison,

wo
int

 

 

 

After a moment's hesitation he broughiyress B.
book again, and counted down twenty-ff perma ana 95 outfit fi
which he also placed upon the table. your OW 1 TOW Portland Maire. :
“Now, Robinson, what are you going ?. HALL E1 x G0. -_
asked Guy. tt abe. Cards, in C
‘Why, when I'am among gentlemen, I ace, ei 0, oa Northfo
do, of course,” replied Mr. Jones. “But, eT XC - AVIDS & CO..
the confident manner in which you act Powe sponte tce EO
vinces me that I have made a grand m ista mn h name
Having said this Mr. Jones: paused iy A: ake, - and Lace c Card i ON
Whitney would take courage and go down }O* 10c. r Printing
book after more money; and in fact thigPo®
strategy came very near being successful to take eneral
put his hand into his pocket, but after a -Salesmen Salary and exp
pulled it out empty. yy Agencies. t., Chicag
116 Monroe 8 7
“T know I have made a mistake,” said Me H MFG *So.,
ae nt another long pause was mae, bi we
showed no disposition to increase his w ornare Tt that
coutinued : , not aa rs ; pasily Cured. at one
“Butit is too late to remedy the matte? pater 13 year* Au Elizabeth, }
invention must stand or fall ac ‘cording to itaet - JO Os. Dp INS, oe ———
Mr. gener. counted ont seventy dollars, ¥ “Gan vasse ra. 99
covered Guy’s bet and Whitney's, after wh ‘aie. by I
was raked into a pile and placed under a aie 5. Agents Wanted irolt, 2
from the view of the other people in th ELTI AY 7h 20NBON,
Jones 7 put his hand into his pocket andue- OS pacer
patent lock—not the one he had exhibited & —
other that was not to be opened. In shape a— 2 aay. at home easly ee
80 exactly like the first that had they been. “$2 a day TRUE & CO- Aug
no difference could have been detected betwipe. Adare
A poe * said a ‘if T have made a fz lure, Cae cure |
© give seventy dollars to be convinced of th or the speek
ashe pushed the lock across the table tows iON 5 FREE, for thes nd all
had been j| his hand trembled 80 naturally that the duly, prema 4 excess. Than ny draget
lieved that this accomplished per had wo discret ey 1 DBON & Co., 7 er
bet of his life, and that it had excited him. iress ———
Vhitney took the lock witha confident § em ntoed t
serted the key into it, expecting of course to Sie expenses f aren
had opened the other; but his smile sudden TH SHA
to.a look of astonishment and alarm, and his
; ened out wonderfully w om ut he found that the — a Pri sta
not turn. He tried it over and over again, 8h jana nti
andeven pounded it on ‘the table; but it wag our aabper & BRO., C evelé
Then he handed it to Guy, and he met with n@. A. H
Cess. eee
“What do you suppose can be the matter with. MPLE
the latter, alter he had made several atten pts \FUL CO
loc} K. : - > ENIE’S SE
Le Sate I don't know,” replied Whitney. ult of using , oe hareen
ee al
“We opened it without the leatest trouble - 54 West 14th St., N

“Oh, you are certainly mistaken, Rufus,” said pape” ‘ TI
blandly. A

“No, he isn’t!” exclaimed the dupe. “I am — 100 per mo!
and L know that we both opened this same Id ants a Sounmmiss on, sell ot
minutes since. But we can’t do it now,” he ad@ 4 large = i we &
ing the invention back to its owner, w ho put if}mtions Mars!

his pocket and took charge of the money
“This is the first Iever made by betting,”
“Now I must be off to fulfill my engagement
artner. I'll return very shortly, and “then Ww
home.””
So saying Mr. Jones disappeared, leaving Guy a
ney to talk the matter ever at their leisure.
“What an idiot I was to risk my money on tha retr
said the latter, regretfull I ought to have ku 8 lai
aman who has spent a w Ras year in perfecting his (3
tion is better acquainted with it than a strange again
nearly strapped. I haven’t money enough to payye laic
to Chicago, and I don't know a soul this side of th
“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Guy, soothingly.
son will return that money in the morning, ands
w ill read us a long lecture on betting.”

ress 8

Bd
wife wa

 

i

tie

ce

“Do you really think he will give it back?” ask rt-reuding =

 

  
   
 

it may
snatched
pext

SIAN DEP
er shudders

hing,
S r form

abor—2
before

eating
ly le

8 aN & 00

-REDATIO

0

a

a
awav hi

when she
from the ¢

going 0
e nightf:
among
child, a
an uns
war-daice

etails of
st to blame

ney ili a more hopetul tone. are ap

“Tf am sure of ‘in Lie does not intend to keep ’ we Ei more strict B
was brought up in New En nd, and accordi ta ; rotection.
leas, betting is no better than gambling. “Son ettier’s . P of that ar
cigars, waiter. I’ve gota quarter leit.’ epre edatious hought o

Lhe cigars were wrought, and Guy receiving thell ith sc -arce ely a the n ii
| from the hand of the waiter, deposited them in king in humat
ol of beer upon the fal le, 80 that when he wal ganald are annua ly
ight their cigars the matches wouldmot burt homes Indian outra
grumbled at this, and said he would to the to one by in sxst com
light. He went; and Whitney, who w: ~eply @ umption © oftenes i unt
with hisown thoughts, bemoaning his folly tor #™.. is appre shende
his money on that patent invention, ahd wondeg®! lf hope lessly
Robinson would be generous enough to return itjis himse 3 the scene.
morning, did not see him when, aiter lighting his cig arrow ' nd - a powe
slipped through the door into the as t. Beal Dise ov ory »at sr

Guy's tirst attempt at swindling had met with Aer, and tonic, has

but it did not briug with it those Te lings of happine
independence which he had 60 contdently look
‘I here was re a Ciiniya)] in St. Louis whe felt.so@
disgraced as he did at that moment. The reactid
come atter his hour of excitemert, and his spirits] i.
sadly depressed. He looked upon it now asa mie
tempti ble proceeding to wheedle one’s way i
ees rs good graces, and then seize the tiret oppor ty
to do him an injury. Ac companys ing thia reflection
the thought—and Is mind would dwell upon it, in
ali he could do to prevent it—that he had renrlei
self liable to legal punishment, and that he was ey
ment ip danger oi being arrested and thrust into jail
W hitney’s money been in his pocket just then, he

red

bumptives
hy mendet
id are w

Terrible

who had tri
4 to them, wit
idling to testi

y NED BU! | BUNTLE

have lost not & moment in returning it to its rig

owner; but if was safely stowed away about the J me
clothes of his friend and partner, Mr. Jones, w ho! Ja Dread a8, com 2
seated in a certain mag ba pus ae ® hich had ea ee tained rem

nated beforehand as the nt “ as acing |
sero witha cigar, abd anxiously awaiting Guy's app
ance.

When the latter came in. Mr. Jones beckoned with

a may be 0

CHAPTER xxxil

sAPTAIN BA

finger, and Guy followed him to the tat ‘thest corner of f npaTH oF ©

galoon. making ogy =
“Well,” said the commercial traveler, “how do you Hprbot ! where bis gu

it as far as you have goue? Twenty-five dollars he pon r to .o take he §

an hour’s work 1 call pretty fair wages. Ifyou make ft eng river jdiers were i
amount every night, it will not take you long to pay yains. His 80% ee t

devts.” ae the provis fisl
“I don't like the business at all,” said Guy, “and I very plenty) * Lo Jenien'

never attempt it again.”
“Mr. Jones settled baek in his chair, looked up at.

  

sir captain W

ore jike a}

ceiling through the clouds of smoke that arose trom m
ciger, and said to himself: Bt seem ~ reclined ov
“7 ‘don't know that it makes any difference to my day, > herself, a ped
whether you do or not. If you don't pay your debts in @ a by “ a over .
Way, you inust use some of the prim’s money. When yo read, mel nad §
do that your days as shipping clerk are numbered, and mg, The color ant the
brother will step into the position.” her juxuries, ,
Then aloud he asked: er wall ¢ the ¢
“How did you get away from him?” 1 had & yap 0 addit
“j did just as you told me,’”’ replied Guy, rather in 2 jistanees, int oy
patiently, tor it was a matter that he did not like to tals ‘ Indian guide
about. “I dampeped the matches, w ent to the bar for 3 ie ant how ; near the
light, and sceppen out when he wasn't looking: 2 “~ they left it-
“tie didn't bleed ae freely asl hoped he would,” cons - pefore -miss;
tinued Mr. Jones; “but, after all, we ‘aid v ery wellfr half was and ca
ea 8 youl ae of the spoils—twenty-tive dollars.” » for boats a :
t was on the point of Guy's tongue to refuse to acce New
it; but he thought of Dutch Jake, who was probably tt or Ail land vomit?
that very moment. stamping about his little groggery like jady, and camp F.
a@ madman, because his eight dollars and forty cents. hadi “phat Iw iM make
not been paid according to. promise, and knowing that thej

man must, at all hazards, be
another visit to the store, he
into his pocket,

“Now 1 must run down and say good-by to my brother,”
said Mr. Jones, “and by that time the bus will ve al long to 7

take me across the river. When return I hope-te find
you on your feet, aud with money in your pocket. Vake
care of yourselt.’

Mr. Jones hurried out, and in a few moments more
standing in the presence of his
glowing language the success of his plans.

Will was in ecstasies.

“I will put the tnishing touch to them,” said he. ‘I will
find Whitney, tell him that he has been swindled, and pa
him up te have Guy arrested.”

‘That would be a canning
Jor 1€S.
‘Why, it will bring the me

prevented from makings
took the oa and put it}

 

I

Ww as

trick, wouldn't it?

 

tter to the notice of Mr. W ag

ker,” said Will, “and that’s just what I want.’

‘Well, it is just what ] dont want,” said Mr. Jones. “st
Guy is arrested, I lose my situation, for of course he will
blow on me. Yor let him aiove. I've given him ple emty of

rope, and if he doesiu‘t succes din anata hiniseif by the
time [ get back, I can easily ry

The commercial traveler h t to catch the omni-
bus, and Will tuimbled inte coe ‘te iene of Guy’s dis
grace, and his immediate accession to the office of shipping
cler

   

TO BE CONTINUED }

> &~<
Old Personals.

When Thomas Jefferson, in 1782, built bis beautt
ful mansion at Monticello, which has since become
one of the historical residences of the country, he
little thought that, ere a hundred years should have
passed, his home and burial place would be seld af
public auction for $10,000. Ho celebrated New
Year’s Day, 1772, by marrying Martha Skelton, a
beautiful, educated, and graceful girl of 23, who
brought him a fortune of 135 slaves, and 40,000
acres of land, which was about the same as Jeffer-
son's patrimony. His profuse hospitality led to much
pecuniary embarrassment, and in 1826 hewas em-

powered by the Legislature of Virginia to dispose of
Lis estate by lottery, with a view to the dischar ze of
his liabilities; but “the project was abandoned, and
on the 4th of ‘July in that year he died—he and John
Adams passing away ou tie sainé day. The present
proprietor of Monticello is Mr. Jefferson M. Levy, of
New York eity; but if report is trne, the estate will
again change hands at an ‘arly date.

Napoleon Bonaparte had very vague ideas in re-
gard to religion. He was wont to say, ‘My reason
keeps me in unbelief touching many things; but the
impressions of childbood and the feelings of early
youth, throw me back sae an uncertainty.” He
liked very mue b to converse about religion. Very

frequently, at Passeriano, in ‘Eey pt, on phipbos urd, he
would take a most active ¥ tin animated conversa-

tion on this subject. He readily conceded whatever
was proved, but woul neyer hear of materialism.
Being on deck one beutiful night, surrounded by

several officers who were speaking in favor of athe-
ism, Bonaparte r vised his hand toward the heavens,
and pointing to bie stairs, said: “Gentlemen, your
argulents are vain. Who nmiade.all these?”

 

brother, and recounting in® 4

’ said Mr

h eomfor rt.’
sd not si
les asantly-
used to
e many

”

see.

AC

Af in

: Ba twenty
i must not

zs vyery

cannot
4 XK ds, w hie
4 are}
* ae

i

‘.
was thet
Z The poy
@ esist.

at he

y he flotilla

th
Then:
said

Bot

prook

ges

 

 

 

MI

 

fair lady-

land
oO and leave
onide.

a°TC me

Bocas an
Minity bul

yass the
fe couid attac

0
orte n it ¢
. ‘eur
long Ww all
a one of y
I
my day: 3
vears °
thin!

¢
prime
alw ay s sh
h leave!

in’, cap
po

mber t
e where
nad no
You ¢ ,
hacked
assures me

tain
( a a B

select

too)
w a

pelow,
esc

Poi ‘Meara ¥

very nig)
hile they
pknew tha
ve spnment
Fis head,
ere he we

1 WwW ish si
4 1a issic
ara W as *
he creat
ri whom
Kked and

\ perv yous
tr as shor
slept | il

ed to m

b Barbot
pats, ADM
Pond ma

had ass)
kke the |
hn less th
thing th
‘thing ¥
and re

ieveille i
jittle |

captain
ur men
 

 

 

 

 

     

—— ————

 

«ona THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. ¢3e=

 

 

frat at Whitnes a6) RNINE.”
ai had cz. 4 ABUL making Bei a fashionable

   

   

 

& hand in th; » $2.50 per bottle.
F this mite. said’ p SHAW, 64 West 14th St., New York.
ething, but I a, RN a oops dtm ee
ck. °* i 8te :

ay ench Transparent Oars, securely sealed,
38 to his feet. ang ,e. 2pk850C. Alling & Co., Hamden, Ct.
Seapletely Gewtiah

itching then;

Pocket. book. soe Ve per day at home. Samples worth $5 free.

> Comme ‘Address STINSON & Co., Portland, setae.

TCial tra) 2
: Tze sur § =
» Lalways KnowEAR and
; fress P.O
nat Mr. 7
to beliey,. ’ :
Suddeni; log YEAR for
tation he saat eA
down ha

et

  

mencnees to Agents. Outfit Free.
he effect ¢ ICKERY, Augusta, Maine.
y hitney
cae’ pe 2 as

had honest, intelligent business
New business; light work.
prought .B. CHAPMAN, Madison, Ind.

are oo m8 ye < in your own town. Terms and $5 outfit free.
"~~ S°MS to gs H. HALLET & @O., Portland Maire. 32-13

 

 

5 fentleme | - separ

Ones. “Bap wo promo, Lace, Motto, etc., Cards, in Case,

Which yon aot nin Gold, 10c. DAVIDS & CO.. Northford, Ct.
ne

 
    
 

 

Ones paused in so ae

~ ao sane i > : Sno e, and Lace Cards, with name, 10c.
and oa wa i te os, 10c. Star Printing Co., Northford, Ct.
. Die SuCCessfy], f

aft a - :
SOAR er thinkiy Pfeleemen Se. take general State
Stake,” gj : ne Salary and expenses
5 Was made. 4 . JOM PH MPO, 116 Monroe st., Chicago, TL
nerease his Wares

 

ledy i 1
accondinn atte? if ovf pee ely rene By one that used
Fenty dollars 7a Jos. A DUNN, Elizabeth, N. J.

ars, wij
Ney's, after Whi (fa Rae Sore ee
‘ced under a 1: MONTH made by Canvassers. 99 NEW
People in the “ad OVELTIES. ey anted. Sample free.
had exact and p JAY BRONSON, Detroit, Mich.
~ ‘Xhibited l 7
ed. Nn shan de toy
had they pee and Z
detect Depa ola mae contr mate. Cost
. “. < a
“On wie tilure, I; 32-13
“OnVIncEd of t),,. 24

sre tabi | ON FREE, for the speedy cure of Nerv-

 

 

 

a

the
€ towa) d

 

   

vv re .

endl ‘© dupe pility, Premature cay, and all disorders

Xeited * had niadey indiseretion or excess. Any druggist has the

rb eo ‘Address DAVIDSON & Co., 78 Nassau St., N.Y.
, Confident sr,33 32-26

& ¢ f COUrK«. a : i © pee oe 6h
jaaile ‘“WONTH and expenses guaranteed to Agents.

. Sit free. SHAW & CO.. Augusta, Maine.

 

ound the } i
Byes again fa 1
le Fa itwas. "sell our Rubber Hand Printing Stamps. Cir-
he met with no ieee. G. A. HARPER & BRO., Che veland, O,

1s W.
~ Patter with itp
ral a énipts om

Cn QUTEUL COMPLEXION

‘Un result of using EUGENIE’S SECRET OF
€st trouble ber, mg $1 per box. Warranted harmless. At
snict ag, SHAW'S, 54 West Lath St, New York.
elle ir.

“f

vo NTS! READ THIS.

oe Agents a Salary of $100 per month and ex-
~ 20 ced How a large commission, to sell our new and
PUL it Ladinyentions. We mean what we say. Sample
Address SHERMAN & CO., Marshall, Mich.

  

Rufus,”

 

lu re” FT am
| : n
this same j,
t now,” he
€r, who
money,
by betting,»
engageme
S“Sscmen
, abd mut

B:
wi
then we 7

INDIAN DEPREDATIONS.

Guy and greader shudders when she thinks of
MOREY On tha; +8, Wile watching, from the deor of her
ht tohave kn sd) the retreating form of her husband
1 bertecting 2,, 44 t his daily labor—going out perhaps

——

 

lea Ving
leisure,

 
   
 
 

la Z :

monet oe ger. jnot again for before nightfall a savage

Lis side of ph. ™ Jy have laid him low among the prairie
cre

; Ԥ, Or it may be a child, a bright-eyed
norning, and thal is snatched awav inan unguarded mo-
thee. 4 ecace the next war-dance. When we

asked Wiheart-rending details of these savage
jons, Weare apt to blame the govern-
not taking more strict precautions to
we settier’s protection. But we daily
he depredations of that areh-fie:d, con-
, with searcely a thought of the terrible
t is making in human life. Tens of
sof homes are annually desolated by

  
   
   
   
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  

ind ACCOTE
nD i
ubling. Some

Ceiving the mate

them in a lig
pe he Wanted
1 %t burn

  

"t As oar fortion to one by Indian outrage. Like the
s folly for y\2Bonsumption oftenest comes stealthily,
ahd ‘Wonder {jy ,anger is apprehended until the victim
return it in q

finds himself hopelessly ensnared, and
*Yhtal arrow ends the seene. Dr. Pierece’s
Jedieal Discovery, a powerful alte ative

ey nab pin 8s & ifier, and tonic, has restored thous-
yhe . prvoke t umptives who had tried every other
he r a ut Cente mmended to them, without obtaining

U8 spirits

88 most «
4 way into
Tirst Opport; itt
a Ve i ction re |
bon it, in Spite of
1 relidered hi
te Was every me
st into jaij.” He

7 ud

rs.

Terrible Dread.

By NED BUNTLINE,

 

hen, he w,,

to its rig)

ighitul
About the oa
Ques, Who Ww
ad Deo. acs

 

: Sen oI DP: " was commenced in No. 31,

Gap ee Lim. [bers may be obtained from all news agents} ~~
*Uuy's appear. - 7

oned With
Corner of {

his) CHAPTER XXXIIU.
h@ DEATH OF CAPTAIN BARBOT.

¥ do you like 2 Barbot, making easy stages, was four days
: - dollars tow ng the point whete his guide told-him it was
fig uke that save the river to take the shortest cut across
> “© Pay your htains. Hissoldiers were in excellent spirits,
from the provisions they carried, they
1e very plenty, and fish swarmed in the

“and I will at
“Pu t
Tht captain was lenient, and did not drive

S np at the

irom his Td. 4 ;
sie it seemed more like a pleasure trip than a

ice. to me | By day, she reclined on soft cushions. At
ebie in thig 1a tent by herself,a bed of fragrant spruce

‘was spread, and over it her blankets and
fur. The colonel had sent along tea, coffee,
id other luxuries, and the captain was all at-
‘to her wants.

inet im-
ixe to t
bar ae

jating distances, in addition to the knowledge
nciturn Indian guide. This he was consulting
sssie asked how near they went to the source

    
  
   
  
  
   
 
     

uld,” Gon. fiver before they left it. :
lain» ~elL —Jnear half way, miss,” said the captain. “It

ble for boats and canoes like this far up into

to acece 7 .
eePt = Bny of New York.”

Obably

‘gery ike | We will land to-night?”

ents, had my lady, and eamp preparatory to a march |
that the ow. That I will make no longer than you cau

- Inakin «p with comfort.” ‘ :

nd put it i need not shorten it on my account, captain,

‘fd, pleasantly. “Remember that I am ;
J, and used to long walks in the wilderness. I'll
Pt me many a one of your soldicrs will tire out
Ido.”
vill see, fair lady. ;
nyself inmy day. But I cannot stand now
could twenty years ago.”
}, you must not think so.
pod's very prime.”

forest-

rother,” l
along to
ete find
ako

re Waa
ating in’

    
 
    
   
   
 
  

‘* :
is oa ks cannot always show the truth, fair lacy. !
ree ee ounds which leave many an ache in my bones
tp) | gi mareh.”
< 7 $ | }se to de landin’, cap’n—close to de Island—dere
i | ‘} we go and leave boats till we come back !” said |
b | }dian gnide. :
ie | |, yes—I remember that Island well,” said Jem.
Sway | It was there where Girty surprised Lois and
ay of | . The boy had no arms, neither did T, and we
¥the ‘| Trot resist. You ean see the canoe there, I have
} ubt, that he hacked to pieces.” _ i
rie i then assures me that my guide knows the |
ping | \" said Captain Barbot. “We will land, and
. Then we will have the rest of the day it
{ ito pack what stores we need to carry with us
| emarch. The rest, with the boats, we will con-
j | the flotilla reached the landing-place, and Cap-
fy Barbot selected a camping place on the banks o
| ery brook down which Jessie and Lois had
thy when they eseaped from Girty.
mo | , how well Jessie remembered the little st ream.
he tre was another, near by, who remembered that
{ vicinity but too well. It was Girty, W ho only a
ve miles below, waited only for nightfall, to ad-
at e, pass the escort, and form an aunlescaee
Ww % he couid attack it on its first start the next

. ) O'Meara was crazy to make the attack
it very night to surprise and butcher
while they slept. ,
‘e knew that if a single soldier escaped, th
fovernment would hear of his conduct, set

his head, and have him hunted down, n
vhere he went. ‘
punish such treachery to an escort goin
‘on a mission of peace,

  
   
   
   
   

ithe greater part of another night close t
girl whom he yearned te possess.

   
   
 

‘so nervous and full of malice, but Girty, wh
‘for ashort, hard fight in the morning, la

 
   
 

inded to move, and take his position.

  
  

3 boats, and the rest of his provisions,

 
 
   
 

lay. :
Ne hind assured him if the men went light, the

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 

hothing that was not absolutely necessary.

   
 

of alarm

ad and relieved, but no cause

   
  
   
  

/a little after sunrise the
fen.
captain, with

      
 

1
\
\

Ci
hay and are willing to testify to its reme- |

aptain had a map of the country, to assist him |

I have taken many a long

You look to be in i

at
the
But Girty had a cooler

Even the English would de-
fleara was obliged to curb his hot haste, and
noked and drank the greater part of the night,

wind slept like a log till moonrise, at which hour

lain Barbot, having packed the needful st ake
in the

rs,and made all ready for an early start the
make the distance to the cabin of the Seven
is in less than three days, so it was decided to

i 8 7 sy were
ary rent usual in camp—sentinels were They 1
rything went as ere

46 TeV ounded earlier than usual, however,
ag escort was on the

fe military form, sent a sergeant
four men a half gun-shot in advance, put a flank-

 

er on each side of his little column, and left a rear
oi & musket-shot away, of a corporal and two

On. 4

At the head of the main body he marched himself,
while Jessie tripped along by his side as blithe and
happy as a bird.

The command had gone perhaps two miles, and
the advance guard had passed a ledge of rocks frout-
ed with a thick growth of dwarf oaks and chestnuts,
when a volley of ritle-shots was pored in upon the
main body from this thicket at scarce a pistol shot’s
distance, and at the same moment the air was filled
with the yells of savage foes.

_Captain Barbot fell wounded at the first fire, but
rising to his knees he told Jessie to fly back to the
boats, and bade a brave sergeant help her, while he
tried to rally his surprised and terror-stricken men.

_Butthe yet unseen enemy poured in another ter-
rible fire, by which poor Barbot fell to rise no more,
and the terrible Girty, with his hundred savage allies,
burst out to finish the work.

The soldiers had no chance at all, the foe were now
| more than ten te one, and soon, as yet all unharmed,
pes Jessie saw Girty himself rush forward to seize
{ her.
} She had her pistol and poniard concealed within
| her dress, but she knew that it would be madness to
i as use them now, and they might help her after-

ward.

“So, my pretty rose of the wilderness, a change has
come over your fortunes!” cried Girty, aa he stepped
in front of Jessie.

“Yes!” said Richard O’Meara, who had taken good
care to keep out of the tight. “I think you’re in my
power now, my sweet cousin! Your French lover is
not here to help you now.”

Jessie turned from the wretch heart-sick and
almost fainting, for the Indians were scalping the
dead soldiers now, and she saw a pain Villain
tear the hair all bleeding from poor Barbot’s head.

“We'll go back and get the plunder they left at the
water-side,” said Girty to O’Meara, and then it will
be time to dismiss our Indians and take your beauty
where you spoke of!”

“Allright. We'll have a merry time now, my pret-
ty cousin. I'll pay you for turning the cold shoulder
tome. Ah—what’s that ?”’

A yell, @ war-whoop so loud and shrill that the
| trees fairly trembled, caine sweeping up from toward
| the river, and Girty to his terror saw a savage chief,
taller than himself, at the head of a large band of
weH-armed Indians, come rushing on his disordered
and seattered force in one wild phalanx, firing as
they came, then closing with knife and tomahawk.

“The MOHAWKS! The MOHAWKS!” shouted Girty.

His gun was empty, he saw his Indians dropping
on every side or fleeing in terror, and he shouted to
O’Meara to grab the girl and run.

O’Meara, terror stricken too, forgot to grab the

 

 

 

 

Girty, who dashed through the thicket and off teward
the canoes they had leit in the night.

Jessie stood pale and motionless, knowing that she
had been relieved from one fearful peril, the power
of the hated wretch O’Meara, but scarce doubting she
would be slain by the new Indians who came r. shing
on, killing every savage they saw.

Indeed her fate seemed inevitable, for a savage,
whose tomahawk was red withthe blood of many
victims, rughed upon her.
as he came;rtind poor Jessie breathed a prayer in
three words: I

“God help me!"

But the tall leader before alluded to bounded for- | :
ward and spoke to the Indian angrily, as he knocked | 1
his weapon from his hand.

“Theyandanega does not make war on women and
children !” he said, drawing his tall form up proudly,
and addressing Jessie in good English.

“Noble chief, you and your braves have saved me
from the worst of enemies. My friends were all slain,
and I was a prisoner when you came.”

“A prisoner? These are French soldiers. I know
their uniform. The Indians are Shawnees—their}
friends. Have deg begun to ext dog?” }

“These Indians were hired to murder my escort. I
was a prisoner at the French fort, and the com-
mandant was sending mete my friends under a flag
of truce. There is the flag now by the body of the
dead captain.’’

“The pale-face girl speaks straight words, and They-
andanega believes her. How faris the French fort
from here ?”’

“Four days’ journey down the big river!”

“How many people are there in it?’

“[Tdo not know. There are a great many soldiers,
many great guns, and a large party of Tndians.”

“Good! I will not go there to lose my braves. I
have taken many sealps here and there is a good
deal of plunder down at the river where I landed in
my canoes. I will go back to my great chief, Sir
William Johnson, and tell him what I have done!”

“What is to become of me %”
| “That he willsay. I shalltake youto him. He is
a great man, the
| Mohawk, and my tribe look up to himas little children
| look at the sun! Heis very great!”

“May I not go home te my people beyond the

mountains ?”’

“No—I cannot go that way.: My canoes are on the
river, and I must go up to the crossing-place. If it 1s
right, Sir William Jobnson will send you to your
people. You must go with me, but no one shall hurt | ¢
you. Me go a long ways in canoes, then you shallride
on a horse till you get to the Mohawk River !”

Jessie sighed, but what better could she do. She

 

 

 

 

So without a mura the turned and W ad back |
with the chief to the river, an Tudian by Dis |
egrrying the pack which she pointed out, that con-
thined her clothes, cloak, and blankets.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
GIRTY DEMANDS HIS PRICE.
f, , whe , Yi ‘ n la

Closely followed by Richard O'Meara, who cou t
run far better than he could fight, Girty fled for the
second time from ground that had been 80 fatal to
him, for this battle-field was close to that where he
and his party had been surprised by the Seven Scouts
and Captain Jack. 3

The renegade villain never stopped till he had got
to his canoe, and springing into it, he cut it loose,
and was just pushing out when O’Meara got to the
river-bank. pa

“Oh, hold on for me—for penees pect
me !”? gasped O'Meara, nearly run a0 a

ceAsh bein quick—we must get out of this. If the
Mohawks have got our trail our scalps are as good as
| in their belts !’” ;
| “Oh, dear—oh, dear—I dropped my gun, and have
| left everything !” groaned O’Meara as he tell forward
| in the canoe. ‘

“The girl, too?’ cried Girty, ‘or did you atick your
| knite in her when you turned.”

; “No—I had no time. But Pll bet they

| scalped her!”

: “Never 1 said Girty. ‘“Theyandanega, the Mohawk

 

 

killed and

Chief, is the only Indian I ever knew who spares
women and ehildren !” ; ‘i
| “Oh, curse it—she’ll be my ruin yet! :
| “I shouldn’t wonder. Twice she has been in your
| power, and both times you’ve let your chances slip. F
| “T eouldn’t help it this time. The yelling savages
| were almost on top of me when I turned to follow
yout”
The canoe was now fast dropping down the river,
and Girty felt more safe, though he crossed to the
other shore under cover of an island as quick as he
sould.
we What will you do? Where ghall we go?”
O'Meara.

“TJ shail run down to the narrows where we camped
last night, and wait to see if any of my Shawnees
have got away. If they have, they u be along soon. |
If not, I get shall off east with you.

“Why not go back to the fort, get more Indians and
follow the Mohawks. If they have spared the girl,

ve might get her yet.”

* “Go back to the fort to get my neck stretched by
De Marsanne ? a not tr re as that!
‘ -o the Indian towns below.
; That will not do. I’ve lost too many of their war-
Pi st their confidence again.’ i
i Pa, Gace the luck! What can we do?’ ; by
“Grin and bearit. Ihave kept my gun, you Bee.
f| We’ll not starve in the wilderness. Besides I have
two bettle of rum left. Take a drink, and hand me
4 199
®"O’Meara did as Girty mr him. But the face of the |

‘ vas the picture of despair.

A tlow eat aoa get out of the wilderness now?”

s moaned. bh a il
e ne That is the easiest thing we can do! said Girt : |
“Keep cool, and I'll have you 1n Philadelphia inside
of two weeks. There you can hand me over that ex- |
tra thousand guineas, and I'll go over to Ireland with
you, as well dressed and as proud as the best.” od

“Pll not pay you another penny. You ws re to get
e | the girl back for me for the thousand coe re,
av “T did get her back for you. made no ar gain o |
o | keep her!” said Girty, coolly. ‘ And now, ee you
| choose to show your colors, you il either give me a |
written acknowledgment for that money, or I 1] put |
you ashore, without a gun or & bit to eat, to work
your own way out of the wilderness. :

i what can I do? I have no paper, or

 

asked

 

 

 

g

oO “Oh, a .,
an and ink!
PeTYe got both. Inever intended to let you get to
o| Philadelphia without a writing to hold y ie ‘ m
y “Help me out, and rl write and sign it, arene
ir | O'Meara, as Girty took a small ink-horn, a pen, and a
roll of paper from his hunting-pouch, ayn

“PiL do that, if you act right. It you don’t, bi i
never see Castle Kilgore again. Tm not to be foolec
with. I’m more than half Indian in my eres 7

Girty now emg and 3 Hp aR wrote the ac-
c Jedgment just as he wanted It. i
Py texte another dvink of rum, and never try to
fool with me again!” said Girty, as he folded are
per and put it ina pocket inside his buckskin shi1 a
pow down to tlieir last camping-place,
here Girty pushed the canoe m under some
for any other fugitives should any be

y

and i
bushes to wait
left alive. '
{e waited till dark, and none came. | :
sefibey*ve all gone under,” he said, “I daren’t rae
my face in the Shawnee nation again; they wou i
purn me alive if I did. The best we can do is to wai

 

 

Then we can cross the mountains and get to Phila-
delphia.” ;

and you know it.
5

leave *em_ lnying around loose; and I wouldn’t go
there again for titty guns. 'That’s unlucky ground for
me.
never take that trail again !”

noe, wrapped in their blankets, and slept till morn-
ing.

Girty would not make a fire.

asked
meat.

shaking, but you wouldn’t move.
loud,”

came down in canoes, but they’ll not go nearer the
fort than this, with their force, They have
down in a body, if they went at all, any way.”

see if they are there yet, or gone.”
in a tremulous voice.

go through the woods like a snake, and not be seen.
You'd fail, if you tried it. Just lay here as quiet as
you can till I get back.”

when I’m looking out for them.”

ing down in the canoe out of sight again, 18 800n as
he was gone.

canoe or boat in the night. The sergeant in ¢o0mmand
of the advance guard of Captain Barbot’s party,
though wounded at the first fire from Girty’s party,
fell behind an old log and crept away into the rocks
eur the Indians rushed up to finish their savage
work,

scalping of his captain and comrades, and he recog-
nized Girty and O’Meara at the head of tg fiendish
work.

of Jessie, and that she was led off by the chief of the
last attacking party.

‘ f canoe, shoved off unseen, and started in haste for the
girl, but he ranas he never ran_ betore, following | fort to tell the melancholy story. :

concealed.
bank, where the undergrowth was thick.
him two hours to reach a
landing-place.
Mohawks, about one hundrec
their canoes, laden down with the plunder taken
from soldiers and Shawnees.
ful, and well treated, in the canoe of the chief, and
His weapon was raised | had it not been for his own
wretch would have sent a ball through her pure

and he heard Girty, still as he came, before ke reached
the canoe.

Giity, by way of consolation, the first thing.

ing hers.
five seconds after smoke left iny gun.
the big Mohawk chief, as smiling as a summer sun-
Hight, and he was as kind as a white man could be.”

the settlements on their side of the country,and from
there she can easily get back to the
Seven Scouts.”

yet, and then 'm rnined.

you got me to help you? Treat me right, and she
shall never get out of this country.” ;

father of all the Euglish on. the = lonesome atthe fort before, as he did after Jessie

bot.
Old Chloe, who had never seen him so kind and gentle |
before, tried her best in cooking; but the eolonel ate
next to nothing.

“T’ve hearn tell dut people cou
beleaves it.” pusigtthimadit; to
i % ised safe © i 739 2 oy tt > m : tr ‘ l
Jeet FoR cg that was better than aE ps wads CORRE PSF his fone Eavitiyhe the sol-¥,
dierg, and organizing ali the idlers about

order | service.

was heavy with an ominous foreboding of evil.

his adjutant, on the fourth day.
dream last night,”

said the adjutant.
yet ever prudent.”
and overwhelmed by a band of treacherous savages.”
“There are no Indians that are likely to infest his
Gube. The Six Nations, who side with the English,
? roam far to the east, and trouble only our anada
sake hold on for | jorder,”

nees, and Girty was at their head.”

eountry.”

eee ary men with him,” said the adjutant.
i

their own against all the Indians Girty had;
prised, they would be massacred before they could

or five days,

love was too sacred for even a hint of it to reach
other minds than his own.

dream come to the colonel’s ears.

the wounded sergeant,

| ticiencies in the colonel’s appetite, and Chloe

up ourselves, tillwe get beyond Captain Jack’s range.

“Well, do what you think best. I am helpless here,
Don’t you suppose there’s some
guns lett on the battle-ground ?”’

“Not likely. Indians think too much of guns to

Twice Pve been nigh going under there. Ill

After dark, Girty and O’Meara lay down in the ca-
They dared not build a fire on shore.
The next morning they took a cold breakfast, for

“Did you hear anything on the water last night?”
*Meara, as he munched a bit of cold deer- |

“No; I was tired, and slept like a log.”

“I’m sure I heard a boat; I tried to wake you, by
I dared not spea
said O’Meara.

“T reckon ’twas fancy. Them Mohawks most likely

gone

‘What do you propose to do to-day ?
“I'm geing to creep up opposite the old landing to

“You'll not leave me here alone?” cried O'Meara,

“Yes, if you don’t want to lose your sealp:. J can

“Suppose you don’t come %”
“T will, never fear! The reds can never get me

Girty teok his gun now and started—O’Meara sink-

It was true that O’Meara had heard the sound of a

+

From his hiding-place he saw all ts -. tollewed, the

He saw the onslaught of the Mohawks, the rescue
After nightfall he crept down to the river, found a

Girty crept away as swiftly as he could and keep
He took his route close along tke river-
It took
a point opposite te the old
He got there justin time to see the
strong, embarking in

He saw Jessie, cheer-
rsonal danger, the

1eart. But he dared not risk his own discovery.

He saw them all embark and move off up the river,
und then he returned to tell O’Meara the cheerful (?)
1ews.

The latter was on the alert, as cowards ever are,

“T’ve seen that precious cousin of yours,” said

‘Was she in range of your rifle ?”
“oe ”

Yes.
“And she yet lives?”
“She does. Twas not going te risk my life by tak-
I'd have iiad the Molawna on my trail in |
She sat next |

 

“She is their prisoner ?’

“Their guest, more likely. She’ll be carried over to

cabin of the
‘A thousand curses on her! She’ll get to [Ireland
“Bah! don’t cry ruin till you go under.- Haven't

CHAPTER XXXV.
JULE DE BON C@&UR.
Colonel De Marsanne never had felt so miserable

 

 

ad gone up the river under escort of Captain Bar-
He hardly knew what to do to pass his time.

 

rom his table. : vel® raid she.
“Massa Kurnel 1s dead gone en leye—0w I

16 post for
‘Thus, thus only, could he rest his mind. His heart

Barbot again,’ he said to

shall never see “J had a terrible

“T fear

The adjutant smiled—he would have laughed had
he remark come from an equal or inferior. is
“T think no harm will come to Captain Barbot,
“He is an old soldier, brave, and

“T know it; yet in my dream I saw him surprised

“Dreams are not often verified,” said the adjutant.

“The Indians I saw in my dream seemed like Shaw-

The adjutant scemed startled. “
“The fellow did go up the river in canoes, he said;
“put that is the shortest route to the Mohawk

 

“He never would dare to invade the Mohawk re-
gion with one hundred eres only. Dasere is treach
ery, I fear,” said the colonel. i

“T hope not. Barbot is a good officer, and he took

might hold
but, sur-

oT

rty of the best men, in fair fight,

stand on the defensive.”
“Prune, colonel. If you wish, I will send a scout up |
the river.”
“No; it would be too late.
if he is safe.”
had said nothing about Jessie.

We will see him in four

The colonel) His

But too soon did the verification

departure of Captain Barbot,
bait famished, reached the
fort to report the terrible disaster and the infamous |
treachery of Girty. It was a fearful tale.
He was the only survivor exce ye young |
a 7 < ¢ r . n j
lady, whom he had seen living and apparently unhurt in |
ouStody of the Mohawks, after Girty and his band had
been surprised and swept away. . oS
Colonel De Marsanne sat pale and siléentyAAle
s harrowing story. :
ieyou think that the young lady was unhurt, and that
the Mohawks did not act as if they would ill-treat her!
he asked after the sergeant stopped. ; ad
“T do, colonel, The chief seemed te fake her in charge. |
The last I saw of her she walked tow are thie river wile
him, while an Indian carried her bundle of blankets anc
ee ct by icine
“Was Girty killec ae P
“T do not know, sir, but he and the man 0’ Meara, who
escaped from us the first day out, ran into the bushes at
the first tire from the Mohawks. Falig . them Again.
I lay still where I was hidden till “Gatk ; TE 1 a cre ;
down to the river, and found a canoe. I embarked ae
and without food have paddled ever since. I slept, 2. yee :
in spells while the canoe drifted on, Dut I came as fast as
Oper fellow! you shall have food and wine at once. I
ve sent for the surgeon.”
a ‘Chloe soon had a good oa at fheae ne
itchen. The half- j <i sergeant-anade up tor e-
kitchen. The half-famished serge up f ah ee
her cookery was not appre-

of his strange |
~ |

Six days after the

he heard |

once noreason to say that
ciated. es

Colonel De Marsanne now sent a messenger for a oe
who was second to Girty only in his knowledge S =
woods and Tudian ways, but who had been kept almost

 

entirely in the background by the jealousy at ihe souer
Jule De Bon Cour—that was his name—Wwas a young
Canadian, but he had been reared in the wildernes . ie
father was a Frenchman, but his mother had been a lovely
squaw in the tribe of Saint Regis.
tact and courage of the Frenchman
white the long endurance, very, ?
cunning of the Indian came trom the mother’s side i
“You sent for me, colonel?’ said the young 8¢ out, “ ; :
ing with grace, though clad in buckskin, as he entered the
vwolonel’s quarters. 4 oe
r “Yes, Tule,” said the colonel. ‘I have never given you
much opportunity to show what you can do ~the ane
shame to me for listening to that treacherous cur, eae
Now I have a mission, long and dangerous, i 4 i joa
courage. truth, and honor to carry out. I believe J

v i Had ; cial
Pre pokie scout plushed, yet he trembled with ae light.
Such words from the lips of a colonel in the French army

yer sele -easures to him. :
woo one, T thant you, and wherever you send me I will

Y - ih, ei .
merit your good favor OT die,” he said You have

*§ and for this I choose you.
hanes ot G any treachery and that Captain Barbot is
dead ¥'

ra, colonel.
7 sf 1 my ears a8 I was coming here, coione
I Cathe arity believe it, though I knew Girty was 4 very
bad man. I would never have anything to do with een 9
“Tt is true, Jule, and the young lady whom I seat under

 

till these Mohawks ge up the river, and then to go | his escort is now a captive among the Mohawks. I want

 

you to follow their trail—if she is held captive, to try and

effect her escape—if not and sent to her friends,
out and bring me word of her safety.”

coin, for you will need money.
and useitas your
her.”

to tind it

“It shall be cone, if man can do it, colonel.”

“When will you be ready to start, good Jule?’

“In ten minutes, oan

“I give youan hour for preparation. There is a bag of
Not a word—take it along,
own, and for her needs, if you tind

“For that purpose, then, I take it, colonel.”
“IThave a letter to write for her—also a letter to the

British commander in that section, which will save you

from the danger of being considered a spy
into their hands.”

myself there.
in full Indian disguise.
tongue among the tribes of the North.”

in my private armory; take my new double ritie

should you fall

“No danger of that, colonel, without I voluntarily place

Tam half Indian, you know, and shall go
I speak nearly every Indian
“Chat will be a great advantage. Choose the best arms
—no one

has used it, and it is the best money could buy.”

“Colonel, you are too kind.”
“No, Jule; you goon a mission that I would fulfill my-

self, could I leave my post without a sacrifice of duty and
honor. Tono one else here will I even impart the secret

/ where you go. ‘To no one else would I intrust the duty.”

“Colonel, you shall not regret your choice and trust.”
Jule bowed and left, and the colonel turned to his desk

to write to Jessie.

all told how he felt what he wrote.

His flushed face, his frequent sighs, his trembling hand
Inside the letter, be-

fore he closed and sealed it, he placed a bank of England
note for five hundred pounds, for he felt that money
might aid her, and to make her feel less delicacy in re-
ceiving it, he wrote:

in a strait where it wi

“I cannot use money in this wilderness, and you may be
serve you. Use it without re-

serve, for we will surely meet sometime, and that in a con-
dition where it will be easier for you to repay it than it
wouid for me to spend it here.”

not fer the
loved—one

De Marsanne was a man of fortune, serving in the army

pay, but because it wasa profession that he
onorable, and likely to lead to fame.

When Jule De Bon Coeur returned, the letter was ready,

sealed with the colonel’s coat-of-arms.

The double rifle, too, with a large horn of choice powder,

an embroidered pouch, full of balls, with spare flints, also
a brace of fine pistols lay on the table, and the colonel in-
sisted on the scout taking these.

“T can order a party up to the battle-field te bury the

dead,” said the colonel. “You can go with them, if you
c . +e -

hoose

“I would rather go alone. I have a light, bireh-bark

canoe like yours, that I brought from Canada. In it I
can go two miles to their one, if you send them—it weighs
but twenty pounds, and I can carry it from one stream to

another, as 1 would carry a knapsack,” said J

ule.
He placed the letter in an oil-cloth covering inside his

hunting-shirt, and then bade the colonel adieu.

He had to put on his Indian dress and paint. But in

twenty minutes after he left headquarters he was pad-

sponse to the words of G
he wastreated right he would yet get Jessie before she
got out of the country.

didn’t I give you my note for a thousand more ?

dling swiftly up the river.

CHAPTER XXXVL
O'MEARA INDIGNANT,

“I willtreat you right said Richard O’meara,
rty,

in re-
when the latter told him if

“What do you call treating me right?"
“Haven't I paid you one hundred guineas

down, and

“Yes. Butthat was for what I have done—not for what

{ am to do.”

and

sure.
you another thousand then, on this condition, that you
re me till the girl is under lock and key in Phiia-
delphia.”’

we must Keep close on their heels.
a hunt, or to go off on some expedition, and she be left
under light guard.
oe never get over half a day ahead of me if I can help
it.

{the old landing.
| O’Meara to go ashore and look for arms—he would not
land himself on the unlucky g

came running back,
ror.

fell panting

And-wbet oataniched C Di PN ABS ridss, as B11e | aie
orrow—for now she Coma Rot gov yne wna brandy Girty.
had often done before—be Kanished wme ap They

on and look for a gun?’

you're

’ or he ’ % ib,
brutes, and I’l1 show you tl I mf CO ard or not
can snuff a candle with ric Hes hacen

ing several large branches, and swifter too. So Girt
structed
at work.

on power, dependent on
and h

or Theyendanega
What he don’t know
ing.
tions.”

“J’m cold and hungry too.

ters to be in,”
ant white man, and he’ll smell smoke for miles.
~ | they’re about their own fires, they’ll not think of light or

smoke anywhere else.”

thicket of scrub-pine, where the

9
é

slept till morning.

O'Meara bent shivering. while Girty cookec

“Oh, dear! What do you expect?”
“Another thousand, if I recover the girl for you and de-

liver her safe to you beyond the reach of the Indians.”

“Tt is an awful price—I can’t stand it!”

“Allright. Get out of my canoe and shift for yourself.”
“You know I can’t dothat. I’d starve, or the wolves
anthers would eat me.”

“Mastlikely.”

“¥Y du take the idea infernally cool.”

“Why shouldn't I? It’s not me that will suffer.”

“No. “I’ve got to suffer one way or another, that’s
I see it—I see it!’ groaned O’Meara. “TH give

$ il right, we'll put that agreement down like the

othey, in black « wiuite.

‘
And Girty again produced paper and ink.
After the agreement was written and signed by O’Mea-

ra, Girty’s face assumed a more pleasant aspect.

“We'll take another drink and then paddle up stream,”

said he.

“What, while the Mohawks are so near?’ asked

O'Meara, who with all his villainy was constitutionally a
coward.

“Yes, if you want the girl as badas I want the money,

They may scatter for

Then we'll have a chance. They
You know how close I followed the escort?”

“Yes, and what good did it do after all?’

“It made one thousand guineas for me,” said Girty, with

a sardonic laugh.

O'Meara groaned, He had no other reply.
Girty now pushed off with his canoe and

a up to
It was entirely deser

ed. He told

und, as he called it.
O’Meara wanted a gun badky, so he went. But he soon
is face as white as snow from ter-

“What's by Indians around?” cried Girty, as O’Meara
n the canoe.

the employer is charged when supplied with
about $2, and a sma See 5 cc

=x

shess County, N. Y., and became
a teacher there when o 15 yearsokl. At the early age
of 18she married James Mott, of New York, and moved
Philadelphia, where she has since resided, in a lovely
suburban retreat. She early engaged the temperance
work, but she has been especially known in connection
with the anti-slavery effort, and the movement advocating
universal suffrage. The striking traits of her character
are remakable energy, unswerv ps scientiousness,
and all those characteristics that are surname up in the
few words ‘‘Love to God and love to v pis now 84
years old. 2 at ¥

tele oe

Ignorance, Boston.—1st. A check drawn to your order
must be indorsed by you when p ted for payment.
2a. The indorsement should be written on the back of the.
check, 3d. Central Park, of this city, contains a trifle
over 843 acres. 4th. Thearticles of food in daily consu up-
tion which contain the greatest proportion Of dee 2
starch are bread, butter, beans, potatoes, Indian corn.
barley, oatmeal, wheat, pork, salmon, eels, herring, and
milk. The whisker-like hairs around a cat's eyes and nose
are simply protectors, the skin from which y protrude
being s0 excee ly sensitive as to feel the slightest
touch or bending of any of their hairs, and they are thus
enabled to avoid obstacles which may cross their path.

Two Readers.—Your friend’s assertion that novel wri
ters are the most talented people in the world, is as absurd
as itis wild. Novel writing is simply the development of
talent in that particular direction. The historian, the poet,
and the dramatist exhibit as much ability in their writ-

Boarding Sehool, in

 

ings. There is also a great difference in novelists. . While
some possess genius of a high order, others possess little

or no imaginative faculty, and are mere mechanics, put-
ting a story together as they would build a machine.
Again, @ man must not necesssarily be a writer to be con-
sidered a “talented” man. In whatever sphere of life he is
placed, if he rises to eminence in his art, profession, or
trade, he is as “‘talented” as the novelist is in his.

Frank J., New York.—Your letter is but one of many of
a similar character we have received, and while we would
gladly suggest some remunerative employment, in these
times, when 80 many are unemployed, and all sorts of ex-

pedients are resorted to to gain a living, we can hardly
propose anything that has not been tried. The busiest
people now are farmers and gardeners, more especially
those who raise vegetables, berries, ete., for adjoining
market towns. By watching the adyertisements of “Help
Wanted,” in the Herald and Sun, it is possible you may
obtain work at some one of the trades at whieh you have
been employed.

Annte.—l1st. We think you display too much anxiety to
get married—rather more, it seems, than the young man,

who, while he is waitiug for you to shape your creed to his
andthus remove the barrier te your union, is keepin
company with another lady. A lover so indifferent as tha’
is not very likely to make a. very devoted husband, nor
much of an aid in carrying the burdens and responsibili-
ties assumed on entering the married state. 2d. It would
not be LToper or wise to write to the father that you will
conform to the religious creed of his son.

A. B. C., Ithaca, N. Y.—In the report of the Board of
Education of this city for the year 1872 we find in the

apportionment of the school moneys, $10,054.56 appor-
tioned to the corporate school connected with e Roman
Catholic Orphan Asylum, but none to the parochial
schools. As this is one of the public charities of the city,
it can scarcely be classed among the sectarian schools.
The other public charitable institutions for the relieg of
children also have apportionments of school moneys,
amounting in all for that year to $77,271.89.

NV. H. H., Pan Handle.—lst. To blue gun-barrels, ete.,
apply nitric acid and let it eat into the iron a little; then
the latter will be covered with a thin film of oxide. Clean
the barrel, oil, and burnish. 2d. To clean and polish steel
and iron, make a paste of one ounce of soft soap and two
ounces of emery. Apply with a rag, and then rub hard
with wash-leather. The polish will be brilliant. 8d and
4th. We cannot inform you.

Helvetia, Camden, N. J.—To dye horn black, wash it
well, first, in an alkaline lye, and then steep it ina weak
solution of nitrate of silver, Next expose it to the light,
or dry and dipit into a weak solution of hydrosulphuret
of ammonia. A still finer and deeper black may be ob-
tained by boiling the horn for some time ina strained de-

coction of logwood, and then steeping it in a solution of
red sulphate, or red acetate of iron.

&. S. P.—The present tiara worn by Pope Leo XIII. was

originally presented by Napoleon I. to Pius VII. about
the year 1801, and was then valued at 220,000 frances. Its
cupola consists of eight rubies, twenty-four pearls, and
one emerald.
The tails are studded with rubies and pearls.
cords serve to fix the tiara on the head of the Pope, who,
by the way, very rarely wears it.

The cross is composed ot twelve brilliants.
Two gold

Owneles Mahlip.—A little care is all thatis needed to
make your penmanship compare favorably with the
average. Aside from book-keepers, copyists, school-
teachers, etc., good penmen are few. With the exception

of two or three words misspelled, your letter would do
credit to any man possessed of an ordinary education, as
your words are properly put together, and your ideas
clearly expressed.

Reader, Bradford, Penn.—At some intelligence offices
shel ues

foperwve Ie

eid, Wo oP Ory Re -umess they're starving,” said J. F., Port Chester.—Mullein leaves impart their virtues

the bones of the dead,” said O’ Meara.

said Girty. ‘‘Why didn’t you go

“Let the gun go—I’ll trust

“That’s wolf natur’,”’

“I dare not,” said O’ Meara.

you.”

“Well, just a6 you; like.
ch a coward.

“Sir / Wait till we get where men live, and not howlin

“And I could snuff you out at a hundred,” said Girty, ;

with a laugh, as he pushed off again and paddled on up the
stream.

Ww more narrow as they went on up, ae
ne-
ard

The river

O’Meara in the use of a paddle, and kept him
’ 5 not grumble—he knew that he was in

OR oe : him for food and protection,

his orders as if he had been his servant.

bey
ed a pleasure, too, in acting the bully, for it was

Girty too:

a part of his “wolf nature,” and O’Meary hada hard time
of it.

“T don't see no smoke ahead as we used to when we fol-

lowed the soldiers,” said O’ Meara, when Girty camped just
at sunset.

“No, we're following Indians, not soldiers. — And Brant
"Theye is Penn most cunning of his race.
about woodcraft isn’t worth know-
He is young, but there is not his equal in the six na-
“Aren't you going to build no fire?” muttered O’ Meara.

6s j ires on this trail till it’s time for all their
ee i aia Girty, ‘‘An Indian sees rer
Vhen

So O’Meara had to sit and shiver until after dark, while

Girty caught some tine trout from a brook close to where
be landed.

fire of twigs in a dense
blaze would be hidden,
two lay down and

After dark Girty built a small

and cooked supper. This finished, the

Girty again started a blaze with small ee over which

another meal

of fish.

At alate hour they started, and about noon came to the

place where the Mohawks had spent the night.

Girty went onshore with O’Meara, and examined the

camping-ground carefully.

“Thaeyendanega is treating the girllike a queen,” he said,

eae toalittle wigwam made of hemlock boughs, to

} pains.”

| falls in love

what we want now,
out fire to-night, and get close enough to see what they’re

| about, after nigbt sets in.”

He theretore had the | other.
in his disposition, | with flowers,
the patient bravery, and the | jaced with rows of 1

lis “the most graceful

eep off dew and wind, with a bed of spruce boughs re
of it: “Not one Indian in ten thousand would take such
“She's so infernally handsome every Curse she meets
with her,” growled O’Meara. Ah, there :
something worth having,” he added, as he saw — ly * i
of adressed deer hanging toa branch near where the

| camp-fire had been puilt.

meat, and will save us powder and lead,”
said Girty, as he cut off a dozen slices for himself and reir
panion. “We'll cook it all here,” he added, “and eating
; carry the rest along. “We'll go with-

“Yes, it is good

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

— > @—<—___——-

Correspondence.
GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

J. 8. M-~The Taj Mehal is beyond all comparison the
sxquisite building on the face of the globe, and is the
autiful monument ever erected to the memory of a
woman. It was erected by Shab Jchan, the Great Moguy
of India, on the death of his wite, Moomtaza Mehal, who
died in 1631. Immediately after her decease Shab Jchan
set his architects to work, with 20,000 laborers, to vane a
memorial worthy of her loveliness and of his grief. For
when, at a cost equivalent to $20,-
al rose on the banks of the Clear,
bine Jumna, at Agra, where it still stands to enchant thie
soul of every traveler who visits it. We can only give a
very faint idea of its grandeur and beauty, as it must be

most ¢€
most be

22 vears they toile a,
006,000 now, the Taj Meh

His | seen to be appreciated as it deserves. rhe quadrangle in

the structure stands is 964 feet one way, 329 =
The area around is laid out in parterres, planted
blossoming shrubs, and cypresses, inter-
pubbling fountains and avenues Pav ed
with freestone slabs. The mausoleum itself, tne ee
and the minarets are all formed of the poet fe & ene
ble, and thickly inlaid with precious stones. ; 1e a a
vault is a miracle of eid reehere splendor, and sol-
ampityv. Fe ; e historian of ,
fe eeu ‘and the most impressive of all the

which

sepulchers of the world” ae
scription of the Taj as it stands, e
form ot marble of dazzling W hiteness,
portals, all shining like @ snow-wreath.
are inlaid, as we have said, W ith preci
ers and wreaths of agate, jasper, corue
thysts.

lian, and ame-

preacher.” Lucretia Mott isa native of the island of Nan.
tucket, where she was born in 1793,

moved to Boston, where she studied in the public

 

rou’ taining what city in the
Bere pot be mae AS fight, ing fora ee.
leading ¢ ‘
number of Europeans, you will find a photographic gal-
17}

roads intersect each other.

architecture, says it

It is impossible to write a de-
rising from a lofty plat-
minarets, dome,

The solid walls
ous stones, in flow-

An Admirer.—"Please give me A brief account of Lucre-
tia Mott, the celebrated philanthropist and Quaker

and in 1804 she
and

private schools. She afterward atudied in the Friends’

to water by infusion. They are thought to possess ano-
were there—a hundred, if one—crunching over gyne properties, which render them useful in pectoral
ere The infusion or decoction may be prepared
in t 4
water, and given in the quantity of four fluid ounces.

1e proportion of an ounce of the leaves to a pint

30ston.—We have no means of ascer-
East Indies presents a good open-
The probability is- that in all the
ties and towns where there are any considerable

F. A. 0. & EB. &,

ery.
Puiiroader.—There is no uniform system in the laws of
reral States as the stopping of trains where rail-
Rie ae ak cote onl Thore isa work called *Rail-
road Service,” which describes the duties ot train and
station officials, which we will send you for $2.
Nova Eboraco.—You cannot procure a divorce in New

fork on the grounds mentioned, but in Connecticut,
Maine, Lilineis: Indiana, and some other States which af-

ford facilities for untying the connubial knot, you might

succeed in doing so.

—The term alma mater, which means “dear
wnthee a fa of endearment applied to colleges, be-
cause of the guardianship exercis by them over the
eventful years of youth. ee a

t._-There is no association in this city which
Seen promunlext aid to families wishing to emigrate to
the West. elie i ee

7 i rd.—The firm named has been in busine

hee conte, aoe for all we know to the contrary, are re-
liable.

Constant Reader,
advertise journals
advertisements. ,

A. P. A., Cairo, 111.—The novel “Foul Play” upon which
the play of the same name is founded, was written jointly
py Charles Reade and Dion Boucicault.

G. L. P.—Portland, Me.—See reply to “A.
No. 25. ©

Onus, St. John, N. B.—Your ideas are good, but the com-
position is crude.

Reader, Chicago.—“"Texas Jack” (J. B. Omohondro) is an
American.

S. L. U., New Orleans, La.—All Saints’ Day (November
lst) in 1865 came on Wednesday.

James W. W., Mobile, Ala.—We cannot aid you.

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.
“Henrietta.’—The birthdays of children are being cele-
prated in New York more and more after the customs of
Europeans. A little feast is made for the child, to which

s playmates are invited, but the invitations seldom ex-
tent beyond a pumber that may be seated at table, where
they are not overshadowed by larger eaters. The feast is
dainty and plentiful, but not hurtfully rich, and its espe-
cial characteristic is a cake in which are imbedded as
many fancy wax candles as are the years of the young
person in whose honor the party is given. The candles are
placed in little tin tubes and sunken near the outer edge
of the cake, or they may be placed in a rim which is ar-
ranged about it. They are slready lighted when the young

ople are invited into the banqueting apartment. After
he food is eaten, the one who is celebi: ting a birthday
cuts the cake, if he orshe isoldand strong »nough tor such

leasant duty, and a piece of it is given to each gucst.
Plays or dances follow the supper. Guests are not expect-
ed to make presents. Indeed, with the exception of a
book, or a bunch of flowers, contributions would give pain
rather than pleasure to the mother of the kittle host or
hostess. These little celebrations continue annually until
the child is old enough to enter society. Even if the fam
ily be in mourning, a birthday is not forgotten, although
the festival may be less gay than usual.

Edeth Erle, Ohio.—We do not know how you are to tell
if the gentleman loves you, except by his actions; and we
should not like to believe a man with any sense of honor
would take so solemn an oath as you say your lover did,
unless he was in earnest. His asking you to become his
wife we should think that in itself proof enough he means
what he says. Accepting and wearing the ring as an
engagement-ring, is quite enough to conv ince the gentle-
man that you accepted him as your betrothed lov er, and
that you consider yourself engaged to him. It is as plain
as saying “yes.”

Mamie Darling.—1st. Write a regret, and as it is written
on mourning-paper, it will tell its own story. ; Your pa
may be worded m this wise: “Mrs. D—— regrets that cir-
cumstances over which she has no control render it impos-
sible for her to accept Mrs. H——’s kind invitation to her
wedding reception.” 2d. You can send, or call and leave
your yisiting-card. While you are in mourning you are
not expected to go much into society, or to receive any ©x-
cept your most intimate friends.

Litlle Mixie, Chicago, Ill.—1st. There is harm intended,

and we can hardly imagine 2 gentleman being guilty of
the offense, while from a rowdy we cpect a
thing better. 2d. Sometimes © smaljl amount of charcoal
put into a glass of cold water and drank; vill help to
sweeten afoul breath. 3d. We do not know of any cure
except by going as much as possible into Society. 4th.
Sozodont is said to be good for the teeth. 5th. Very good.

RE. M. F.—1st. It would be generally considered wanting

B y yife for a wid aT to show

espect to the memory of a wife for a widower

aarked attention to a lady within a few months after her
death, and good taste would prevent the exhibition of the
feeling until a certain time had elapsed, even if they did,
as you say, love each other. 2a Twelve months is the
shortest period that can elapse before decency permite a
man to take unto himself a second wife.

Charleston, Miss.—We do not care to
which make a feature of matrimonial

aye:,”* in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

might net expect any- —

netstat lh nena

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

= TT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
  
   
   
 
   
  
    
   
      
   
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
     
 
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
  
 
    
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
    
   
 
  
   
  
    
    
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

    

“srTTiNnG OW TEE RAILINGS

Wire TEE CHILDREN On THEIR BWESs,

GCOossrIiPrin Gc

ADRIFT.

BY 8. R. KINER.

 

 

No flowers wave

Over my babe’s neglected grave,

And the dew is falling, falling,

And the birds are calling, calling,
In a strange and dreamy way,

To their mates about the woodland
At the fading of the day.

And tears will flow,

Though they are all in vain, I know,

For the sleeper lonely, lonely,

Lying here where only, only
Blossoms drop a tender tear,

Through the long and dreary night-time,
For my birdie mold’ring here.

This little tomb;

Ah! it fils my heart with gloom,

For it will keep beating, beating,

And repeating, and repeating,
All the prattle now so still

Oh, I miss thee, my own darling,
Let me turn where’er I will!

They hated me
For the being I gave to thee.
Now my brain is burning, burning,
As it falters turning, turning
To the seeming distant time
When the world was full of gladneas,
For he swore he would be mine.

False! false. I know,
And I have so longed to go
Where the stars are shining, shining,
And the wondrous rhyming, rhyming
Of the spirits of the air
Filleth me with old-time visions,
And a hush divinely fair.

The moon has gone.

Yes, yes, the morn is coming on,

And I feel I’m dying, dying,

Where my babe is lying, lying,
Precious feet upon the shore.

Mother comes, my long lost birdie,
Thou’lt be lonely nevermore.

——---—r @

MADEMOISELLE MISCHIEF.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

 

 

 

A few years ago, in a cotlage near Paris, there lived
a widower with four children. The locality was in a
beautifully wooded district, since swallowed up in
the grand improvements of the Bois de Boulogne.
The occupant of the cotts ize was an artist, anda very
humble one in point of ability, who struggled indus-
triously to obtain food for those four young mouths,
0 a parent bird presiding overa nestef fledg-

ings.

The oldest of these children was sent to school at
the time we refer to, proving an exceedingly intelli
gent pupil, but with such an irrepressible propensity
for mischief of ail sorts that she absolutely came to
be called Mademoiselle Mischief.

She was a good-hearted child, but yet a perfect lit-
=i whose roguery got her constantly into diffi-
culty

One very reprehensible trick of the young girl was
the propensity, which seemed perfectly natural to
her, for drawing caricatures of the schoolmistress
and others, especially of all her young companions,
which being done with admirable likenesses, pos-
sessed just enough merit to make the satire very
keen, and sometimes bitterly feit.

Miss Mischief was also wonderfully expert with the }
scissors, cutting ont pictures from black paper, and |
was also very skillful in carving wood witb her pen-

AND TADEING

knife. Another trick to which she was addicted was
that of producing from bread-crumbs absurd like-
nesses of her tes cher and such professors as visited
the school where she belonged.

The roguish little creature gave her schoolmistress |
an infinife amount of trouble, and there is no use in
disguising the fact that she was almost daily laid
across the mistress’ lap and soundly punished. Still
it was impossible to break her exuberant spirit, and
she went on with her caricatures, mingled with pic-
tures of animals and trees.

At last it seemed at though the good schoolmis-
tress wasin despair. She knew not how to punish
her so as to have the proper effect. She was tired of
“correcting,” and finally appealed to the child her-
self:

“What shall I do with you ?”

“T don’t know.”

“T do not wish to whip you.”

“Please don’t,” she said.

“What can I do to make you behave better?”

“Lock me up,” said Miss Mischief, brighte sning up
as though a capital idea had struck her.

**T will try it,’’ said the mistress.

So the little ‘girl was conducted to the coal-cellar,
where she was duly imprisoned. But alas! when her

mistress went to release her, she found that the incor-

rigible child had covered the walls of the cellar with
really excellent portraits of a cat, in all conceivable
postures, which had happened to be her fellow- -pris-
oner. The mistress could not finditin heart to be
harsh on the occasion, for it was impossible not to

ings.

It seemed to be
spirits, or

impossible to curb her young
to keep her within the bounds positiv ely

required by school discipline, and she was finally sent
home and told that she must not return again. Her
pfather, at his child’s earnest request, never sent her

*to school again, but seeing upon what her heart was
bent, he set himself to teaching her drawing. Shein
the meantime taught herself modeling, and executed
a number of clever designs of animals and human
figures, which she sold for whatever she could get
upon the boulevards.

The child was encouraged by even this trifling suc-
cess, and set herself industriously to work painting
her father’s domestic animals, consisting of a large
dog, a cat,and an owl. These pictures were so wel!
done that she found a purchaser for
gave her

a hundred franes for them, a small fortune
to her youthful

imagination. These pet animals

Then she in
showing a
credit to a much older artist, and these pictures sold
as fast as she finished them. Miss Mischief was im-
proving daily,and no one realized the fact more
clearly than her father, who offered hei the in-
struction he was able to give her, and aided her in
seeking further opportunity for developing the ge-
nius which was in her.

combined the three pets one picture,

 

 

see the grandest works of the old masters, and bis-

fascinated her eye. But her taste and genius had
did halls of the Louvre that she sought to study her
art, but out of doors. She was always at home with
Natur e,and loved to sketch among the fields, the
flowers, and the domestic animals. She watched the
farmers in the fields, and the oxen at work, the horses
on the boulevards, and purchased a lamb which ran
about with her from morning until night, and which
she painted and sold, on canvas, fifty times.

All this while the young schoolgin was de veloping
into the young woman, and in every picture she
painted, always from life, some decided improvement
was manifest over her previous efforts. She loved

 

her self-imposed task, and followed it so closely, first
in the minutest obser vation of her subjects, and then
in the patient detail of reproducing it, that she could
not fail of success. ‘

And thus the mischievous little girl who had been
locked up in the school cellar to punish her for her
roguery and disregard of all rules of propriety, had
| 80 improved in her chosen profession that in 1848,
Horace Vernet, then president of the Society of Fine
; Arts in Paris, pronounced her to be the first female

artist in France—he might have truthfully added, in

the world.
This was Rosa Bonheur!

|
i
i
|
'
i
|

Her pictures to-day grace the first galleries of the |
world, and command the highest prices. They are
rather simple and grand than elaborate, while her |}
touch is masterly, there being no trace of a woman’s
hand in anything she paints. She aspires to photo-
| graph nature in colors, and her success is perfect.

Rosa has not grown up to be a handsome woman,
oven she has a fine brow and very expressive and |

beautiful eyes; buf the face as a whole is rather
harsh. The hands and feet are of the most petite
character. She always wears her hair short, and in!
many respects follows the dress of the sterner sex;
but in her manners she is refined and lady-like.

In her frequent visits to the cattle fairs and stock
yards, where she selects her animal models, she al-
ways puts on male attire, and is invariably attended
by two buge maatifis, who can make her respected, if
necessary, by a sien from their mistress.

One day, whén &hé was on her w
tle market to make some studies, and dressed as a
man, when her maid ¢ame suddenly to her and an-
nounced the illness of a dear lady friend who lived
hard by, Rosa hastened up to see her, and throwing
herself on the bed, caressed the invalid. Just at this

 

moment the doctor entered, and horrified at what he
saw, made a hasty retreat.

“For pity’s sake, Rosa,” cried her friend, “hasten
after him and explain.’

“Oh, it’s no matter,” she replied.

“Ah, but he’s the greatest gossip living, and will
spread the report that I receive visits from lovers,
| and all sorts of horrors ”

So Rosa hastene a after the doctor, but found it not

recognize theexcellence of the hastily executed draw- |

the three, who |

were reproduced, each time heient better and better :
represented, until she got a hundred frances a piece. |

taste for grouping that would have done }

He took her often to the Louvre, where she ink”

been errs astic from the outset. It was not in the splen- |

80 easy to convincehim who she was.

The artist lives. the Rue d’Assas, having her
studio attached to her hense. She has also quite a
large garden, with » whole menagerie of animals, a
cow-house, and daity. On Fridays she opens her
studio to the celebrities yf a2

.ris, artists, statesme Dy
and nebies, who consider fayor to becomes he
guests weekly.

_ Sach is a glance at the romantic history of the first
female artist of the world.

a

>o-< ——

Our friends will aid the New YorRK WEEKLY by ad-
vising their acquaimfances to read Mrs. HarrRgET
LEwWis' great 7s “AMBER, THE ADOPTED,”

>-o~+

The Great Wonders hiwand Us.
UMBSiR rw ENTY-FOUR.
BY PROEEBSOR

WONDERS oF VEGETATION

RUDOLPH,

There are fe objects in the natural world
more deserving of Gur-careful study than the

TREES OF THE FOREST.
We shall not now go inte an elaborate descrip-

torical paintings which fired her imagination and | tion of them, but simply call attention to some

| most interesting featnres too often escaping no-
tice. Letus notice the circulation of the sap.
This may seem tftvial, but let us see whether
there isnot here a great marvel. And in the
first place the existence of the sap itself is a great
mystery °

That there should be flowing thronghout every
part of the tres—root, trunk, branch, twig, leaf,
and fiber, a thin fluid, sustaining very much the

bodies, and that this fluid should regularly rise
to the loftiest branches, and then as regularly
descend to the lowest roots, carrying life, and
health, and nntriment to all the parts; surely
ee isamarvel. But when we remember the

sat height and thickness of many trees, our
sreeaar is greatly increased. Thus, take the
great trees of California, rising, in some in-
stances, to the height of four hundred feet, and
having a diameter—including the bark—of forty
feet; what an illustration is here of the wonder-
ful forces ever in action ina tree! But—more
particularly, and to make this more impressive
—the water in a pump never rises of itself more

 

same relation to a tree that the blood’ does to our.

Wire NEToCOTEeoRs LEY Pace Fi OcCcr.,
SINGING Eas: SADLY WVWATERS
FOR TESTE BSA BIEsS OW OO_§,R HBwOoctz..’

way to visit the cat- |

  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
      
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
     
    
       
     

than thirty-one or two feet, and unless artificial
force be applied, it cannot be gotten any higher.
But here we see a fluid, called sap, rising to the
j amazing he ight of 400 feet, and doing this too
through all that thickness of forty feet! Nota
place as large as a common
all that diameter, which this fluid does not p
through! But thisis not all. Botanists tel

ass
us

of a certain palm tree that towers fully 500 feet |
and through all these 500 |
| feet, from the lowest root to the topmost leaf. |

‘toward the clouds,
this mysterious sap is ever in motion, either
ascending or descending,
part of that grand structure! J
Whence the source of this sap? Not

from the earth, through the agency of the roois

alone, but also from the air through the leaves
which absorb or drink in the moisture ever in
the atmosphere, even when dryest, and from
these it is distinguished through the entire tree

| cess carried on in the

} evidence,

 

But the leaves have another fune py or office ;
they absorb from the atmos phere the carbonic
acid always found in it, and by a wonderful pro-
tree, this carbonic acid is
woody fiber. or wood which

maes of these great won-

changed into the
constitutes the grea
ders of vegetation.
Hence it is seen that the wood of the tree
derived from the soil, as commonly supposed,
but almost entirely from the air. If obtained
from the earth. then we,hould expect to find di-
rectly under the tree a considerable depre
especially in the case of those huge vegetable
structure S in California of ferty feet di: vmeter
and fou r hundred feet in height in which there
issuch a vast quantity of matte But instead
of a depression, we always find an elevation of
surface under these great giants of the forests.
This proves conclusively, eve D had we no other
that the matter of all trees and plants

18 not

88107,

comes chic sfly f rom the cienbuteere. ut
HOW IS AIR CHANGED INTO WoOoD?
We have just said that carbonic acid in the air
is the chief source of the woody fiber of a tree

But what is carbonic acid? is asked. Briefly, it
is composed of carbon and oxygen. Carbon i: the
chief substance of all coal, but is also four 1d in
many other substances. Indeed, there ¢
paratively few in w hich it is not for nd.
atmosphere, it exists in small quantity
gaseous form. The leaves of the tree have the
peenliar power of absorbing, or drinki ng in th
carbonic acid of the air, and they also take in
the oxygen and nitrogen of which the atmos-
phere is composed. In the body of the tree,
these and other substances, obtained in smali
quantities from the soil, all unite and form the
wood and matter of the towering palm, the
graceful willow, and the wide- branching oad.
If you further ask, ‘““How they thus unite?” We
can only answer, it is by the operation of laws
or principles so subtle, that weak man can never
comprehend them in this mortal life. And is
there not arebuke here to that
that assumes to “‘understand all mysteries,” and
obstinately refuses to accept as truth whatever
its puny reason cannot comprehend? See.
Here are forests that have been growing all
around us for at least six thousand years, and
the man has not yet arisen to tell us how this
transformation of the gaseous into the solid is
brought about. We all know it is done, but
how it is done the profoundest ph ilosopher of
to-day can no more tell than the wailing infant
in its mother’s arms.

It seems to me that a sensible man would con-
clude from this, that as he cannot explain a physi-
cal fact that is hourly taking plac 6 under his
very eyes, so there may be spiritual! truths as true,
as real, asthe growth of a tree, which are
bey ond his present comprehension. If he ac-
cepts the one, though beyond the power of his

re com-
In the

and in a

 

yin-head, through |

and Vivifying every |

wholly |

 

self-su ffic iency }

}
aiso |

Amber, the Adoptec
numbers can be ob

OH:
TRICKSTERS
next morning |
Hall, Blanche L«
of her design
came down t
robe of white, pr
lace, and its
of blue ribbons
hair rippled :
and fell in ¢

looked so f
her with a
admiringly up
‘and inguimd
could not fail
“JT had su
ty, of being amo
lly well.”
child!” th
ry lonely and 8a
‘is indeed amons
breeiving the go
nche was not slo
5 to appear una
\would have fc
y coquettish tt
ied before, that
reason to explain, surely, he cannot a. from her scar

  

reject the other. ? ; co and over agai
Low The great lesson of this article ee
| there is, confessedly, so much in f& ing melody.

world that we cannot at all understanté the breakfast-
must be, necessari ily, much in the spirit. otching her gt

|
| that is also whasly be yond our power t
a er
hend. If we cannot read aright the 3% her ote y
nature, are we to expect to fully unde he had never

in the volume of Revelation? janche had a Vv

>oe~ — h to an English

hich peculiar

Josh Billings’ Philosopl scaity uuein
FOOTLIGHTS.

led hands, W:
I often cum in kontackt with the , kolgonversation.

 

ing sons Ov bizznes J admire themmber was deli
salt kodfish—they will k Ps rwhelined het
4 4 hipoknt za phool, a kow urd, a od trter breakfas'

a kombinashun that stinks in the nog -
Heaven nche’s reques

}

6s 7
ARO thrusel

’ iz the philosopher's st tong flow er-garde
sekret,

 

    

    

 

been a and probably)lake, in allo
est.
Luv haz been known to kure a codqi, fact, Blanc
who ever knu it to knre a prude? L ve
ho ove Saae : ae prade ir prospectiv
tb peopnie we! are th OZE
: peo} s more she
good ana evil are about equ ully I x s qbe ” 1
more dangerous than thoze who io iv ire she was «ie
at all ile of its owr
It just az mutch aninsult to prazéhhe noted, wi
o > 7 > . . 1
for what he don’t possess, az it iz an ih... ~. .
2, eae Beir is oe - oe a egg ie, ae Der was trea
charge him with what he ain’t guilty oy F
ce ie n; how the
I suppoze it iz possible for a woman t shoal
mistake, but it duz seem impossible for #le his face
admit it. mn working b
Most people overshoot the mark; butightened up
poze this iz the best miss that kan be maf, jjies, and k
| By refusing to forgiv our enemy we mak}, lances 0
sgpteans Aire j Sanche hac
Ded Beats hav allwuss existed, and hly artifici
will; they are az old az snaix, and, likep?+Y < f
tho kustt bi Heaven and hunted bi me she there

krop iz just az bountiful az ever. med to the

i don’t kno mutch about the naturovalbrty to pr
chivalry. but i do kno, if you should aboll_ vot
ee ae yu would knok 2 thirds ¢ ‘

‘he days P
to define, and the

} music of
beleaf ov nennylintt husiast

modern chivalry off from its pins.

I wonder if it would be propper
the genius ov good sense.

Faith, eeear a pc
iz to trust in what they kan prove, and yeul.;
phools kant prove, re save theit r lives, whi
haz a long tale, and a rabbit » short one,
bear none at all.

Isic le ssons
put Miss Li
ect—the f:

In the whole civilized world i kall kerlatetself in t
iz but one infidel out ov evry 50 thous sane tered his
) sons, and yet,that one looks upon all the

: : ra; »parel
1 a lot ov bigoted phools. res bl
snob
The very worst hipokrits we hav are thozé! the ;
are allwuss kriticising themselfs in publikjred one ¢
in private hatching out sum nu kind of de beau-ide
ty. ait lently as
For every original man or thing that hat nex 1 over
peared in the world, we hav h: 1d at least ;
hundred thonsand immitators, and only Ut the g
hav suckceeded who hav shown whare theé drift of
inal waz faulty. ‘> him Bl
After athoro analysiss oy miself and mYpyesting
bors, I hav cum to the konklushun that Wr not in
a failure, and the quic ker the whole ov us} *
thrown into a job lot and closed out, the befits, but b
I hav no doubt that we kan preserve oum} 20.
bia strikt regime, but to prolong it iz anh ie ides
thing. Ihay k nown men to die at on 8@® Amber
'atable diet, and then agin liv to be 90 on@ 2
| pork, onions, and cider brandy. He

a €

Saw
3 and

die