New Story ina few weeks from Mrs. May

 

£5)

_ Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1875, by

Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. 0._

Macca gaaaaa Tag aaaagsaassag Alblasgaaa

Agnes

Fleming

SSSACAIARRSTAAMSASQRATATACASA QUALI SALES EA LALES USAR UASEADAEATECT OCIA LEE

 

STREET & SMITH
Proprietors.

nnd

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C

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P.

VoL: XXX.

Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose 'St.,
P.O. Box 4896, New York.

a em ee

 

NEW YORK, APRIL 5, 1875.

 

 

 

 

 

BY)
nAMILTON MYERS,

Author of Roxy Hastings, Iron Fist, Sky Travelers, etc.

 

CHAPTER L.

Orlando and Reuben Temple, though bearing
a renee hame, were by no means of gentle
origin.

They wets Englishmen of an humble class, who
had congsaked from Yorkshire when quite young,
being then huge-fisted, brown-faced, laboring
men, blunt and*honest, and without education.

They had crossed the ocean with no loftier aim
than that ‘of finding farm-work plentiful and

es high, and of: possibly EP on
land-owners after a long course of r and
privation.

But this was, in their estimation, a great end

yond their hopes at home.

of his angling, usually by barter, receiving flour,
1 and meal, and potatoes in exchange.

“Tt’s nout but work, work, work, one way or
*nother,” he would say angrily, ashe started on
these distasteful errands, “and there’s: got to be
anend out somehow. She never leaves the house

|

 

to attain, and one which would have been far be- |

Even here they entertained such hope doubt- |
imgly, for our Government did ndt in those days !
give away large slices of its huge domain to all
askers as it now does, and the few hundred dol-
jars necessary to purchase aad stock a Western
farm was a vast sum to men whose juint hoard,
after paying for their steerage passage to New
York, was only about two pounds sterling.

Their fortunes were very diverse, and that of
Orlando had been not a little singular. The
brothers had quarreled on the voyage about the
custody of their two sovereigns and had separ-
ated the moment they set foot on shore, and for
nearly forty ensuing years neither knew the fate
ov fortunes of the other.

Orlando had been chiefly at fault in bringing
about and perpetuating this breach, for he was
very high-témpered and implacable, while Reu-
ben, who was the younger, was a model of
meekness and forbearance.

He had, however, some self-respect, and after |
repeated efforts to conciliate’ his brother, he had
gone his own way, as the other had bidden him.

 

But he had never prospered as the world de-

fines prosperity. He hed never risen above the |
necessity of daily toil, nor seen the time when he |
was the owner of a single hundred dollars in |
money over and above the requirements of the |
hour.

While a'young. man he had lived in the far |
West, but the fevers of the new countries had |
prostrated him, and after battling many years
with disease, and impairing his own rugged con-
stitution, he had returned to the western part of
the State of New York, where he had ever. since
remained.

On the shore of Lake Ontario he built for him-
self a rude cabin, and what time he could not find
employment for on the farms of his neighbors,
he devoted to fishing and hunting.

In time he improved and enlarged his house,
and, although so hopelessly poor, he found a
helpmate ina buxom and comely German girl,
whose hard-working parents owned a small farm
and kad ten children to support.

For Reuben was a “‘well-fayored” man, having
that peculiar ‘charm of face, which
amiability always imparts even to the most low-
ly, and Becky Oustwanger never regretted that
she had shared his fortunes and ameliorated his
hard lot.

A son and daughter were the result of this
union, the former of whom grew up without
education except a little insight into the mys-

habitual |:

 

would not take.the first relenting step, nor de-
scend from the high ground ie had assumed:

On the next day, when his wrath had cooled
he made diligent but vain seareh for Reuben, and
during several ensuing years he did not abandon
the hope of meeting him again; but as time pro-
gieere the memory of his tost brother faded
Fo his mind, and hecame to believe that he was

His conscience was not at éase, but he labored
hard to convince that inward monitor that he had
meant all for the best, and that he was not really
guilty of any wrong.

When a tide of prosperity began to set in upon
him, he received -this, fact as many other self-
deceivers do, as an evidence that Heaven was not
displeased with him, but that his conduct had
met with the Divine approval, forgetting who had
said “Whom He loveth, He chasteneth,” and
“The wicked man layeth up for the just.”

Still Orlando was not a very bad man, and his
conduct improved after this one error.

He worked for a few months at whatever he
could find to'do, now on the wharves, and now on
the streets, in the city’s ampien resolving to lay
up money which should enable him to go West
and buy land.

His wages, though moderate, seemed large to
him, and he counted over his earnings nightly
and stored them away with an ever-increasing

hope.
He was diligent and ambitious; never spent a
shilling unnecessarily, and devoted his evenings

 

Serene sehen eran Sata te

to learning to read, write and cipher, being as-
sired that when he had mastered these won-

=z = a

 

she had been good enough. But she was not. She
was a woman of fashion, very worldly and am-
bitious, who did not care a pinfor Mr. Temple;
except as the means of her advancement and that
of her two children in society.

There is no fool like an old fool, it is said, and
Orlando, deceived by her arts and blandishments,
fully believed that she loved him “for himself.”

It did not take long to undeceive him after mar-
riage, and then his miseries began.

Mrs. Augusta: Grenoble’s children were a son
and daughter, whose ages were about fifteen and
thirteen at the time of her second marriage, the
son being the elder.

Temple had seen but little of them, as they
were both at boarding school during his year of
courtship, but they. were represented to him as
paragons of excellence, and the widowed mother
seemed to have that remarkable fondness for
them which only dutiful children can inspire.

Of course they must be good, Orlando thought,
for the widow was very sure that he would be
proud of them.

He knew that Guy was handsome and that
Elyira was.very plain. Wer natural homeliness—
SL Eape we should say ugliness—though not ex-

reme, was decided, despite all the arts of the
toilet, of which her mother took care that she
should haye the fullest advantage.

A coarse skin, a lara straight mouth, shaped
not like a bow of cupid, but like the bow-string,
and a sharp and ruby-tinted nose flaming be=
tween pallid cheeks, were features which could

 

not be redeemed even by fine eyes and hair which’
Miss Grenoble certainly had.

 

 

 

‘Show this girl out! Haven’t I given orders enough not to let beggars in here ?”

 

 

*capt to milk the cow, or drive her to paster an’
back, an’ pick berries. She mout sell fish as well
as me, and cotch ’em, too, for thot, matter. But

 

teries of the ‘spelling-book and some crude
knowledge of ehirography such as his mother
was able to impart to him.

The daughter had received, in addition to this
home teaching, two winters’ tuition at a district
school, which she walked daily two miles to at-
tend, and, being ambitious, she had improved
those slight opportunities to the utmost.

Rolfe, the boy, was in every way rude and
coarse, and seemed to be without aspirations
beyond those of his material nature.

In person, he was uncouth and ungainly, and
in manners both shy and bearish.

His sister, Lizzie, on the other hand, had in-
herited her mother’s good looks and her father’s
good nature, and manifested a susceptibility to
all the refining influences around her.

These, of course, were very few, and. Lizzie at
the age of fifteen was a bashful, beautiful, ignor-
ant, hard-working girl, whose tiny red hands
were scarified by the scrubbing-brush, and out
of whose pretty mouth issued many a shocking
utterance, shocking we mean in a grammati-
cal sense, for she was incapable ofa coarse or
impious -sentiment.

That .ske was tyrannized over by her brother
was, perhaps, a matter of course, and when, in
her sixteenth year, her mother died, her lot be-
came one of increased hardship.

ae prospered with Reuben after that, he
said.

His poverty deepened. He was frequently dis-

she’s too good for thot, she is.”

Old Reuben, tossing on his bed of pain, tried to
mollify his ill-natured son, and: to preserve ages
in his wretched household, for visions of the
county alms-house began to haunt him; and he
believed that if his strong son deserted him he
wou soon. become a tenant of that dreaded
abode.

“Thou doo’ent work harder. than seester, lad,”
he would say, “for Lizzie takes a’ the care of me,
and she milks, and churns, and, cooks, and cleans;
and is naver idle from morn till night. Poor
folks must work.”

Some remains of Reuben’s Yorkshire dialect
had clung to him through his long life in America
despite his Yankee associations and the attempts
of his German wife to improve it by her imper-
fect English.

He cared for none of these things: His father’s
language was good enough for him ‘he said, or for
athpbody else, and Rolfe Cy gesey 4 imitated him,
while Lizzie, though escaping her father’s grosser
errors, retained some of the idioms and accents
of both her parents.

CHAPTER II.

Orlando Temple’s different fortunes may be
briefly told, though it was nota brief work, but
the result of many years’ struggle.

He had retained the two sovereigns which had
been the cause of the fraternal quarrel, having

 

 

abled for a week at a time with rheumatism,
and he lacked medical attendance and sometimes
lacked food.

His wife’s relations occasionally assisted him,
but they were poor themselves, and they did
not know his extremity, for Reuben was too
proud to ask aid, or even to let his wants be
made known.

Rolfe grumbled at this hard fare and work,
and threatened to run away, which, half-savage
though he was, would have been an added ca-
lamity, for his wages—as a field hand for neigh-
boring farmers—was paid to his father, and went
toward the support of the family.

_ When other work failed he was required to go
fishing, and sometimes he was sent around to the

insisted that they should not be changed, but
should be kept as a fund for “time of need,” and
that nothing should be spent aiter landing ex-
cepting what they might earn and a few stray
eae which they had in pocket over and above
their gold. ;

He claimed to be the guardian of this fund for
the joint interest, and this claim Reuben had re-
sented, refusing to be treated as a child by having
his own withheld from him.

So the quarre] had waxed warm, and had well-
nigh come to blows at one time, and when the
brothers had separated, the elder had_ believed
that the other would still return and follow him.

He had wished it too, for he was not without
natural affection, but pride and anger prevailed

 

neighboring farmers to dispose of the proceeds

over the promptings of his better nature, and he

 

derful sciences, the road to wealth would be open
to him.

In three years he had learned to read, and by
watching and answering advertisements in the
newspaper columns of “wants” had obtained.a
situation as “heavy porter’ in a wholesale dry
goods store.

Here he made his services very valuable ana
was soon considered an indisputable adjunct to
the establishment.

He was always faithful and honest, if‘not from
the highest principle, yet from a conviction that
these qualities were the stepping stones to suc-
cess in life.

He was very good-natured, and he became

opular with principals, clerks, and dealers, and
in process of years he accumulated several thou-
sand dollars and resolved to put in execution his
long-cherished project of going West.

This was the turning. point in his fortunes.
His employers were unwilling to part with him,
and he refused to stay longer in his menial ca-
pacity, even for largely increased pay.

The firm employed traveling agents to sell by
sample, and if they would give him such an
agency he would stay. . Otherwise not.

They resolved to try him and did not regret
it. His success was immediate, and decided, and
continuous. His salary was raised again and
again, until he became something of a capital-
ist, and in a few years more he was in a posi-
tion to claim a partnership as the price of re-
mamas with the firm for whom he was coining

old.

e Once in the house he continued to rise. His
native shrewdness and financial talent, and a
single eye to the main chance, made him the
most influential member of the firm long be-
fore—at the age of forty-six—he became its actual
head by the retirement of those above him, one
of whom had retired into the grave.

Orlando Temple was nowa rich man, and in
another decade his private balance sheet footed
up at something over three-quarters of a million.
He was. president of a bank, and a director in
severai leading insurance companies, and was
regarded as one of the “solid men” of the city.

f course he had risen in social life, and at
the age of fifty-two he had married a beautiful
widow of thirty-five years according to her count
and her looks, but in reality only a little under

 

fifty. ass
No matter, She was young enough for hini, if

 

At least, her eyes were fine when no fire of
wrath or hatred kindled them, and then she was
the picture of—well, we will not say what, for she
was a woman and gallantry forbids extremeJan-
guage.

What she became a few years later under her
worldly mother’s tutelage and with a liberal use
of the banker’s money may easily be imagined.

She took little pains to propitiate or please her
step-father, for her mother, she thought, could
do all that, and Elvira had no tact at fawning or
fondling.

Aslong as the money came freely, and there
was nocheck upon her greed for dress and gayetiy,
she was contented and happy im her way, but she

neither felt, nor expressed any sense of obliga- |

tion to Orlando Temple.

It was honor enough for him, she thought, to |
‘be allied to her mother, and to be brought by her

or the charmed circle of the fashionable
world.

Having been taught to value the entree into
this exclusive region as the one object worthy of
human ambition, it never oceurrec to her that
her wealthy~ step-father might have different
views-on that ‘subject or that he could have mar-

‘ried Mrs. Grenoble out of an honest, manty love.

Guy was a fast young man in all respects, but
it was not. until four years after Temple’s mar-
riage, when he had gone through his collegiate
studies, that the latter really made his acquain-
tance. . And then he would gladly have sent him
through another course to get rid.of*his society
at home, for the young man was the shallowest
of fops and pedants, and was proud of displaying
his superiority in dress and learning over the
patron who had furnished him the means of ae-
quiring both.

Old Orlando soon found himself quite the most
inconsiderable person in his own household.

His wife’s fashionable visitors slighted him,
and the son and daughter, taking their cue from
what they saw, and foreseeing no danger, treated
him either with indifference or ill-concealed con-
tempt.

His want of education, his habitual violation of
the rules of grammar in speaking, and the re-
turn, when he beeame excited, of the Yorkshire
dialect, mortified his highly-learned and polished
step-vhildren.

In the counting-house and the bank such de-
ficiences. were of little moment to a successful
man, but in Madame Temple’s refined cirele they

Three Dollars Per Year.
Two Copies Five Dol

Santas S. STRENT.
FRANCIS 8S. SMITH.

lars.

were “shocking,” and his family had not the good
sense to overlook them.

They corrected him at improper times, and
nothing offended him more, though ne did not
always show his anger openly.

Orlando had been cajoled in a season of fond-
ness into making a will leaving everything to his
wife, and as this document had been executed
with all legal formalites and had been committed
to her keeping, she was ignorant enough of busi-
ness to believe it irrevocable as long as she re-
tained it.

That it could be nullified by a later testament,
made without her knowledge, she never dreamed,
and if the goaded man should ever, in an hour of
wrath, demand that the will should be given up
to him to be destroyed—for thus only she a.

osed it could be canceled—she had Httle doubt
hat she could mollify him and prevent such a
catastrophe, especially as he had no known
bint velatiema in the wide world.

But did Orlando Temple ever become aware of
his brother’s existence—of his residence—and of
his destitution?

Another chapter must answer this question.

CHAPTER IT.

Farmer Oustwanger, who was Reuben Temple’s
father-in-kaw—though not much his senior—took
a weekly city newspaper, and in this he one day
read some advertisement. of the bank: of which
Orlando was president.

“Orlando mple,” said the old Dutchman,
“dat ish ter same name as Rube’s prother. Ife
often heerd him. talk about ‘Landy,’ and’ wonder
vot wash peeomed of him. But it can’t pe him!
No! Of coursh not. He eouldn’t be presitent of
a bank, unless it was a sand-bank! a!ha! No,
no. ButI shall go and showit to Rube all de
same. Oh, eee Yr

He did. He showed the advertisement to the
crippid 1 pauper on his cot, and spelled it over for
him by the light of a tallow eandle.

“Tt’s somefoine gentleman by thesame name,”
said the pauper, “it can’t be Landy, you see,
he could nayther read nor write more nor me,
and a bank president must be eddicated, loiks.”

“Perhaps he hash lairnt.”

“No,no. He -warn't of that kind. if Landis
livin’ he is just diggin’ gee holes yet, or diggin’
canals, or, rhnayhap, he be somebody’s coathman,
for he was always ambitious loike, and moighty
fond of horses.” f

Oustwanger was not satisfied. He knew that
forty years make great changes in the world.

“Ter ish many ups and downs,” he said. “and
your prother may be great mans. Ef he ish a
bank president he ish mabe wort four or five tou-
sand tollars, and ish gettin’as muchas fife or six
huntret tollars salary.”

Reuben laughed derisively at the idea of any
such great fortune coming to his brother delver.

“Ten he sali gif you feefty totlar, perhaps, ef
you writes to him or goes and sees him,” con-
tinued the Dutchman.

“But Il can’t write, and Landy can’t read. Nor
I can’t walk, too. So let that be an eend on’t.”

“T will write for you, t’en, Rube. Ican write so
better as nopody.”

Reuben consented to this, as his father-in-law
was importunate, and said he felt it “m his
bones” that something would comeofit. Besides
there was the dread of the poor-house constantiy
in his mind, and there was poor Lizzie’s pale and
anxious face always before him.

Oustwanger wrote, and if his letter was not a
model of epistolary elegance, it was direct and to
| the point. It ran thus:

 

 

mishter orlandy Demple,
| presitent of Bank, Nu Yawk sitty.. Deere
| Cur. Ef you hash a prother by ter name of Rupen,
|as you hash not heard of dish great many years,
\he ish liffin, very poor, and sick, in the town of
; Blucher, county of , and stait. of Nu Yawk. Ef
| youishn’t ter man, youish somepotty else, and
he ish prother to the other mans.

“Ef you writes to me apout it, you shall be
much obleeged and hoppin’ no fence, Iam your
sarvant to command, HANS OUSTWANGER.”’

' Now itso happened when this letter reached
| the bank—for it did reach it—Mr. Orlando Temple
was out of town, and the strange-looking missive
;not being considered a business document, was
| sent to his house; where it fell under the observa-
tion of Mrs. Augusta Grenoble Temple, as the
feminine head of the house was accustemed to
style herself.

Her late husband ‘had belonged to the “upper
| tendom,” and had been a dressy, stylish man who
| did not pay his tailor’s bills, and who left his.
|family without other property than some rich
furniture, costly dresses and jewelry which had
nee skillfully kept out of the hands of his cred-
itors.

Though he had been poor, proud and selfish,
the fashionable. Augusta eherished his memory
with far more regard than she had ever felt for
the plebeian. Midas who now claimed her allegi-
ance, and she had retained the name of her re-

| gretted. “first” upon her beautifully engraved
cards without consulting Mr, Temple about it.

He had not objected at first, suppesing it might

ibe a requirement. of fashion, and eathouas he
afterward learned better, it was then too late for
a change, and he remained silent. on the subject,
though it became @ sore spot.in his memory.

| We have said that Mr. Oustwanger’s. letter
fell under the observation of Mrs. Temple. It
awoke some faint fears and suspicions, too, for
she had heard her husband speak of his lost
prpiaet. and express a desizre tosee him if he were

iving. 2

The. missive was very chiumsily enveloped, and
with a little careful manipulation Augusta opened
it. so that she could close it again, she thought,
without exciting suspicion, if she should desire

ito do so. But she did not desire it, for after
|she had read and re-read it, with great disgust,
| She put it in the fire, and coolly watched its de-
| struction.

So Hans Oustwanger received no answer to his
laboriously written epistle and he became a eon-

| vert to Reuben’s views, that the bank president
was no relation of his, and was too great and too
proud a man to even take notice of the letter
| written in his behalf.
| Yet he doubted at times—for Dutchmen do not
ireadily surrender an opinion—and when one ot
|his acquaintances, a merchant in the nearest
| village, was about to visit the metropolis, he se-
| eretly engaged him to “look in” at the bank, see
the president and report what kind of a man he
| was, especially whether he was an old man, and
| was in any respect like Reuben.
| Mr. Colburn did this con amore, for he was a
Yankee, and his own curiosity was aroused, and
jhe brought home a report which quite startled
old Oustwanger, and renewed his former convic-

 

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ee

Mr. Temple was an old man, he said, tall and
large, with iron-gray hair and a full, red face,
and with mutton-chop whiskers of a sandy color.
His nose was large and arched, his eyebrows
very heavy, and his feet and hands were huge.

“So you see that he looks like Rube,” said Col-
burn, “and if Rube was dressed up as nicely as he,
and stood as straight, they would be very much
alike, indeed. Iam quite sure of it, and 1 would
have spoken to him about it only you did not ask
me to do that, andI thought you might not like
att

“No, no; you did right,” replied Oustwanger,
who did not hope much for his pauper relation
from the discovery, and had pursued the inyesti-

vation partly out of curiosity and from a desire
o make good his opinion,

But he hastened in groat excitement to tell all
to his son-in-law, and to urge | to make,
another effort’ to. obtain assistanee from his:
wealthy brother, if sueh he should prove to be!

Reuben was half-convinced and wholly aston-
ished, but what could/he do? \Orlando had taken
no notice of the appeal which |had adroady been
anade to him by letter, and there was little reason
to suppose he would respond to any other. a
pauper, in fact, pictured him as retaining i
nearly forty long years the resentment wi
which he had separated from him, and he heard
hing in imagination still saying:

“You go your way, and I will go mine.”

His poverty was too deep for much pride, but
he would not consent to have another letter writ-
ten, nor was Oustwanger anxious to repeat the
herculean Jabor which had been so ill-requited.

“J would go afoot an’ see him,” said Reuben,
“ef Icould walk. Mayhap he would, at least,

y me the sovereign heowes me, an’ forty years
fick on it. Mayhap he’d do sommat for them
when I am gone.”

He looked at Lizzie as he spoke, but her brother
was not present.

“You might send Rolfe,’ suggested Oust-
wanger.

“Yes; { mout send the old gander out there in
the yard,” was the reply. “Jest as mooch good
he would do.”

“Tizzie, then.”

“Ay; that wur better.
She canna walk four hunder’
among strangers.”

“She can go in ter canawl,

shoo:

“How choap?” '

“Oh, same as ter freight, almost, ef she takes
her victuals mit her. Four or five tollars.”

“Tt mout as well be four or five hundred. Where
are we to get it?” ’

But the difficulty was obviated, for Mr, Col-
burn, who had begun to take an interest in the
matter, volunteered to pay the light expenses of
Lizzie in her journey to the city and back, he to
be repaid if the banker proved generous.

The maiden had few fears, and if she could
benefit her destitute fatner, for whom her affec-
tion, was very great, she was willing to take any
risk.

She hoped nothing for herself. She didnotcon-
sider that she had any claims upon anybody, or
that one so humble and Jowly as herself eould be
an gpiect of the least regard to any one, except to
the feeble old man for whom she risked so much.
» Lizzie was very pretty, but she had none of the
adyantages of fine dress, nor did she entertain
the least expectation of making any impression
upon her uncle by her own charms, Yét she was
solicitous to appear before him in respectable
attire, and she took her one nice calico dress and
her .best_ shoes and stockings in a bundle, to be
put on after she reached the great Oye

Cowhide brogans and a’linsey-woolsey frock—
though it was midsummer—were the best she
count ‘afford to travel in, but even'these coarse
sara were not able to conceal her beauty of

ace or the eran elegance of her figure.

Perhaps her natural charms. were even mor
striking for the coarseness of the setting, ’

But Lizzie knew as little of her personal attrac-
tions as she did of the purity and truthfulness
and simplicity of her earnest nature. She had

n ht by her mother to be neat and clean-

y, and shé was_ scrupulously mindful of all in-
junctions from that loved source.

Armed with this panoply of innocence and vir-
tue, and watched over, let us hope, by good
amgels, the lone girl set out upon her rney,
Mr. Colburn having volunteered to conduct her
to the nearest village on the Erie canal and to ne-

otiate for her epee and protection on some

reight boat which was bound through to the
great city. ;

That it was to be a long, slow pater all knew,
but everything was novel and pleasant to Lizzie,
and inasmuch as one of her maiden aunts was to
come once a day during her absence and look
after Reuben’s comfort, her sense of relief and
rest was very great. q

Then, if she could but succeed in obtaining some
substantial benefit for her father, how intense
would be her joy!

dt required nearly a week to reach Albany, but

she did not weary of her long rest from hard la-
bor, and she never tired of gazing upon the ever-
shifting panorama of beautiful scenery which
slowly unrolled before her.
. She was civilly treated by the few hands on the
boat, and she sometimes accepted an urgent in-
vitation to partake with them of their meals, on
which occasions she enjoyed the great luxuries
of tea or coffee.

Her own food was mivin enough, consisting
usually of crackers and red herrings, a store of
which she had brought with her, and she could
always renew her supply at the canal stores by
the way, when the boat was delayed in “locking
through.” %

From Albany to New York the canal boat
formed one of a long fleet of similar vessels which
were slowly towed down the river by a steam-
boat, and here again Lizzie Temple found abun-
dant opportunity to admire the wondrous beauty
of Nature. :

It seemed a strange, wild enterprise on which
she was bound, and as she drew near the great
city her trepidation increased and she began to
feel as if she were quite incompetent to the task
which she had undertaken.

What could a weak, ignorant girllike her door
say when confronted by the rich and grand man
into whose presence she was about to obtrude,
and who, after all, might prove to be no relation
of her father?

She feared at times that she should not be able
to speak to him at all, so great was her timidity
and her neryous dread, but having come so far,
and at such an enormous expense—as she re-
garded it—she knew that she ought not to falter
aay whatever might be the consequences to her-
self.

So she lost no time after arriving at the city in
going to look up her uncle, whom, however, she
never thought of as standing in that relation to
her. He was her father’s rich and grand brother
who seemed removed to an inexpressibly great
distance from her and all that belonged to her
lowly home. :

But here a new misfortune awaited her, for on
preparing to array herself in her best garments,
which she believed to be very fine, she found to
her speechless grief that they were lost. The
bundle which she had seen and handled only the
day before was nowhere to be found, and inas-
much as there had been_ considerable visiting to
and fro ‘among the idle inmates of the towed
boats—of which there were nearly a score hud-
dled closely together—it was pretty certain that
it had been stolen.

Some futile search was made, but no one would
take oe pains to recover so trifling a treasure
and the weeping girl was informed that she owed
her calamity to her own carelessness. 4

There was no remedy, and in her linsey-woolsey
frock, and cowhide shoes without stockings, she
must appear ‘before the great man whose rela-
tionship she was indirectly to claim.

It was a great trial, for Lizzie was of an age at
which she could no longer consider herselt a
child, and her modesty was especially wounded
at the thought of going stockingless through the
streets and into the presence of her uncle.

But there was no remedy. In vain she tried to
stretch her short dress to make it cover her
white ankles, and having abandoned this effort,
she made her face and hands as clean, and her
bright, wavy hair as tidy as poe being all
unconscious that the broken glass, before which
she made her toilet, reflected a face of seraphic

sweetness. -—-
CHAPTER, IV.

Lizzie inquired her way to the bank, the name
of which was deeply imprinted:on her memory.
and trembling exceedingly she entered its awfu
porch, at about ten o’clock in the morning, and
inquired of the er for Mr. Temple. ,

ie was not in at that early hour, but she
waited patiently until he came, and until he had

But how to send her.
miles an’ bock,

in a boat, ferry

 

littlé bell whic

 

 

spent along time in opening his letters and in

conversing with some business men who had also
been waiting for him.

‘Then a compassionate clerk who had heard her
inquiries and had seen her waiting so long, went
to her and showed her the way into the office of
the president, who was at last quite alone.

Lizzie entered Bae and trembling, nor was her
alarm diminished by the conviction which forced
itself upon her mind the moment she obtained a

ood view of the great man, that he was indeed
ier father’s brother; for his resemblance at that
moment to old Reuben was very strong, though
it was to Reuben in his severest moods.

Tnat he would disown them or refuse them all
assistance she now believed almost certain, but
she did not falter now for the cour. of despera-
tion was upon her, as she ‘thought upon her
wrétehed parent in‘his cabin, and contrasted his
lot with tnat of the man before her. ~
»AS she essayed to speak Mr, Temple rape 2

stood on his table, and looking
past her at the door, addressed the coming porter
in angry tones: { ;

“Show this girl out,” he said.. “Haven’t I given
orders oiten enough not to let beggars in here?”

“Tam not a beggar, sir,” replied: Lizzie, boldly
advancing a step nearer and looking the angry
manin the eye; “Iam the daughter of your
brother Reuben.”

The last sentence was spoken softly, for Lizzie
thought it might be less offensive if no third per-
son heard it. ‘

Certainly it produced a strange effect upon the
president, who started as if he had been strneck,
and whose red face grew suddenly redder, but
whether those signs betokened wrath or joy, or
simply astonishment it would have puzzled a
physiognomjst to tell.

“Wh—what do you say, girl?’ he asked, but
then suddenly interruptin imself he turned to
the porter and said, “go back, Gray, and shut
the door.” ,

When the amazed: official had withdrawn he
again asked Lizzie what she had said, and she
repeated her answer ina more assured tone, still
looking steadily but mildly into the eyes of the
excited man. — "

Was there a fascination in that gaze? Did Or-

lando see the long-forgotten expression of his

brother’s infantile face, or why does he drop back

pte his chair and lay a trembling hand upon his
esk?

“My brother Reuben!” he exclaimed, slowly.
“Ts he alive?”

“Yes, ir.’ :

. “Alive! Alive! After all these years?
you are his daughter?”

“T certainly am.”

It did not for a moment occur to Mr. Temple to
‘doubt or question the truth of his visitor’s story,
jor her look and manner carried a conviction of
ts truth to his mind. ;

“You must be very poor,’ he said, glancing

ityingly at the girl’s apparel, yet not without a
ook of shame, she thought, that one so nearly
allied to.him should be so meanly clad, He even
looked quickly several times at the, door, and
through the glass window into the outer office,
as if afraid that somebody was watching them or
might overhear what was said.

In answer to his last inquiry Lizzie told the
story of her father’s extreme destitution and
sickness, and related. how far. and in what man-
ner she had traveled to find him, in the hope of
obtaining assistance in their great distress,
See in the hope of keeping out of the alms-

ouse.

“The alms-house!” exclaimed Orlando, rising
and walking to and fro in his office for some
minutes without once looking at his visitor, or
scarcely allowing her to catcha sufficient glimpse
of his features to judge of the emotions which
were passing in his mind.

Stopping at length he asked abruptly:

“What is your name, child?”

“Lizzie, sir.” }

‘Elizabeth Temple!” he said, and resumed his
walk, like a restless spirit, now and then glancing
at his niece, who was still standing, and who, he
saw, was trying to hide her stockingless feet in
the shade of his desk. d

Perhaps some thoughts of his childless condi-

And

tion through his mind; perhaps he re-
flected how easily fai ‘before him might
be transformed into an el t lady to grace his

own household, and yield him such returns of
gratitude and deep affection as his fashionable
step-daughter never dreamed of making.

“Where are you stopping?” he next asked.

Ay, where?
Clarendon? Where is the niece of the great bank-
er stopping? e ;

She did not seem to understand his question
until it was repeated, and then she replied:

“On the canal boat, sir.” ‘

“Oh, yes, [forgot! Isee! And you expect to
return home by the same conveyance?”

“Oh, yes, sir,’’ replied Lizzie, eagerly.
know it is too far to walk;’”” :

“Too far to walk!’ repeated Mr. Temple ina
tone of* surprise, which ie did not compre-
hend, for she immediately added, apologetically :

“It is more than four hundred miles, sir.”

“That would be rather a long walk, truly,” re-
turned Orlando, whose countenance was now quite
a puzzle to the girl, for while there was a look of
real or affected sternness in his features, there
was an expression in his eye which did not seem
so forbidding. He had seated himself once more
and was looking intently at her.

“It would be a long walk,” he repeated, “but I
Pe think it might be done by a good, smart

Tete, .

Lizzie sighed as she replied;

“Yes, sir; if I knew the way, and there was no
danger.”

She thought the signs were not auspicious. Her
uncle considered her extravagant in paying the
small fare.of the-freight boat and was about to
advise her,to go home on foot. Surely, then he
would give ‘her nothing, or very little.

The door opened and the cashier came in, but
ee Temple shook his head at him and he with-

rew. f

He stopped, however, at the door, and said:

“Mr. binson is outside and wants to see

“You

“Mr. Robinson must wait.”

Robinson was _a broker, and kept a twenty
thousand-dollar balance constantly in the bank.
But he must wait while the president talked with
a beggar.

These were strange doings.

Temple took up a pencil and said:
wae me the name of your boat, and of its cap-
in”

“The boat is the Black Hawk, sir, and the cap-
tain’s name is Jones.”

“Where does it lie?’’

“Close by the ferry.”

“The ferry. But there are a dozen ferries.”

: “Well, sir, it is near what they call the Bat-
ery.”

“Can you find your way back to it?”

“Oh, yes, sir; I*took careful notice of the way.”

“You may lose it, notwithstanding. Iwill send
some one with you, and then I shall know exactly
where itis. You will probably see or hear from
me this afternoon. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes, sir. You are very kind,” replied Liz-
zie, the tears now starting in her eyes,

“Do not come here again.”

“T will not.”

‘Nor to my house.’

“No, sir.”

“Do not speak about yourself, nor about me to
the man that I shall send with you. Do not tell
him that you are a relation of mine.”

Lizzie colored with shame, perhaps with anger,
but she promised obedience.

Temple next took out his pocket-book and
quickly counting over some bills, folded them up
compactly, and placed them in her hand.

“Take these,” he said. “Buy yourself some
shoes and stockings, and anything else in the
way of nice garments that you canfind. Perhaps
there is some honest femalein the boat who will

hep you.”
_ He then rang his bell, and without Seaniing. to
listen to her earnest thanks, looked at the door
until his summons was answered.

“Send Halloway here,’ he said to the porter,
who came for his commands.

Halloway was a sort of “supply clerk,” who,
without any special desk of his own, helped all
around—took the place of absentees, and some-
times acted as runner.

He was a director’s poor relation who had been
crowded into the bank when the corps of clerks
was complete, and, receiving a small salary at
present, was on hand for a vacancy. :

Yet he was. not a lad, nor even a young man,
but fully middle-aged, and the head of a family--
one of those unfortunates whose name is legion

 

who have failed in everything as principals, an

 

At the Astor, or the Irving, or the | got

 

 

to lead.

Halloway came, a tall straight man, his face
beaming with good nature, and at that moment
he was the envy of not a few of his fellow-clerks,
who were full of curiosity about the strange beg-
gar-girl who had so long occupied the time of the
president.

Mr. Temple was, in fact, usually so impatient
of interruptions in business hours, that his ex-
ceptional course to-day had excited general won-
der, for both himself and his humble visitor were
plainly visible through the large, pink artition,
and nearly all the busy throng in the bank had
caught glimpses of them.

“Can you be spared out there, Halloway?”’
asked the president, with an arched look, which
ed to imply that he might be spared’ alto-
gener, R

“Oh, yes, sir.”
“An hour?” Ee
“Yes, Sir} two or three on your business.”
rien well. I should like to employ youawhile

confidentially, if it i eeable to you.”
“Certainly, sir,” #éplied the elated man.
“Twant you to mpany this young girl to a
—a vessel, which-she-will show you, lying near
the Battery, and to take notice of its location, so
that you can find it again if necessary.”

“Steamship or sailing vessel?” aSked Halloway.

“Well, neither exagtly; she will show you.
But, although this was all 1 intended to ask you
to do, I think, on reflection, you can do something
mou ae: , :

“Very happy.’ :

“You know the city?”

“T don’t know anbebing else.”

“She is an entire stranger init. She has some
money and would like to procure some clothing
for immediate use.”

“T see.”

“Go with her where she can buy shoes and
stockings. Then, if there are any places where
she par get a ready-made dress and other gar-
ments——”

“Chatham street—pawnbrokers—everything in
tnat line, nice and cheap, too.” 3

“Very well. You know, I presume. Never mind
about the cheapness. Get nice, comfortable things
for her. Itis an emergency, you see; her clothes
having been stolen.”

  
 
   

en.

“Dear me! Yes,Isee. I will do my best, sir.”

“When you haye done this, and haye con-
ducted her safely to the boat, please to come
and report to me.”

“All right.”

“And—to no one else.”

“Of course.” ? :

“And please not to question her about herself
or me.”

“T will not, sir,.”- y

“Be discreet, Halloway, and I shall remember

“Thank you, sir.” i
Lizzie followed the clerk out of the office ‘with-
out again speaking to her uncle, but she gave him
a parting look of gratitude as she courtesied her
good-by, which he could not misunderstand.
“Where would you like to go first?” asked Hal-
loway,.as soon as they were outside. |
“TO get some stockings,” was the quick reply,
“Oh, yes; J see,” returned the clerk; but he did
not see, for he was looking, quite admiringly,
into the face of the blushing girl.
He took her to a female hosier in Nassau
street, where she could not only buy the stock-
ings, but could put them on, and, when she en-
tered this shop, her first step was to count her
money, which she did in great astonishment,
and several times oyer, before she could believe
that she had the prodigious sum of fifty dollags.
It must have been intended chiefly for hér
father, she thought, and she resolved to use it
sparingly, so she bought only two pairs of hose,
one of which she put on in the back part of the
shop, after which she came forward with a look
of great relief and held up her head quite boldly.
Shoes were the next thing to procure, and
Halloway found great difficulty in persuading
her to_buy a pair of handsome gaiters, which
she only consented to do on his reminding her
that Mr. Temple had poreeges!y requested that

she should get nice t
“Perhaps he is .go’ to take by Fad ie
ouse, where all ve rand,” he said’

Agne they were'a ath ia ier
Lizzie looked frightened at this suggestion.
“Has he a family?” she asked.

“Oh, I thought you knew all about him. Iwas
not to talk about him or you, I believe; I for-
“So did I. I also made a promise. Iam yery
sorry I have broken it.”

“You have not broken your promise; at]
you have not more than cracked it,” repli
Halloway, luughing, “because 1 have not an-
swered your question, and you have taken it
back.”

They went on nearly in silence after this; in
fact, the clerk, though one of the best-natured
of men, felt a little ashamed of his companion
yet, and hurried on, keeping a step or two ahead
of her. ¢

An hour or two among the pawnbrokers’ shops
and at a milliner’s changed all this, and Lizzie,
who found opportunity to put on her garments
as fast as she bought them, had soon undergone
a most pleasing transformation.

She had chosen everything with admirable
taste, rejecting eve gaudy or tawdry, and
in a light, airy, summer dress, with a pink sash,
and little, fresh straw hat tastily trimmed, she
looked so very pretty that she really felt ashamed
of her presumption in aspiring to.such gay

She felt as if she had no. right to wear them,
and as if she were sailing under false colors.
No persuasion could induce her to buy gloves

‘or a parasol, for these she considered superflui-

ties, and far beyond her station.

It was a gratification to her, also, to think,
that notwithstanding the wealth of attire which
she had gained, and which would render her a
marvel at home, she had not spent nearly half
her money, and that she would at least take
the remainder to her father, if her yncle should
not give her more for him of which she enter-
tained a faint hope.

Yet she was sure he must be very rich to be
able to give away so much.

She doned part of her old apparel, but
some she preserved, including her linsey dress,
making a compact bundle of them, which Hal-
loway gallantly volunteered to carry.

“IT am sure Mr. Temple would be pleased to
see you now,” he said, “since he takes such an
interest in you.”

“Do you think he will come to see me?” she
asked quickly.

“Dot think? Howshould Iknow? Youought
to know best.”

“He said I should probably see him or_hear
from him. He did not speak ee re But I
ought not to have told you this. I keep for-
getting because I am so excited.”

“No matter. I shall not tell.”

“So grand a man will probably not. come down
there among the crowd cf canal boats.”

“Canal boats! Oh! that’s it is it?”

“Yes, sir; I came in a canal boat.”

We a. not ask from where, I suppose?”

‘No, sir.”

“Ts it pleasant over there?” asked Halloway,
desirous to keep up the conversation.

“Yes, sir. The country is pleasant,” replied the
maiden guardedly, for she would not tell an un-
truth, and she could not say that her home or
her lot were Pa Dismal recollections of
what she had passed through recurred to her
mind and compelled an involuntary sigh.

The boat was easily found, but Lizzie did not
easily find recognition there, and when she
made herself known, though she was so much
admired at first, she soon found herself the
subject of some very humiliating suspicions.

These were not hinted at until her escort had
taken his leave, with very friendly adieux, and
then only by one of her own sex, stout Mrs.

eCalligan, who was cook of the vessel.

She had been friendly enough to Lizzie in her
red woolen frock, but Lizzie in muslin and gaiter
boots was. quite another matter.

Some folks git their fine clothes mighty aisy,
she said. Sho did not know how it was done,
and did not want to. She hoped it was all right,
and that they would not prove a dear bargain
in the end. sb

Lizzie scorned to reply to, and, indeed, tried not
to hear these galling words.

She retreated to the little cabin, where she
remained Laroemout the day, except that she
came now and then on deck, late in the after-
noon, to look earnestly for the approach of Mr.
Temple or some messenger from him.

No one came. Twilight and evening passed,

 

and there was no inquiry made for her.

whom Nature seems to haye fitted to follow, not

2 «ott THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3>>

 

 

Was she to be disappointed after all? Her

hope had not been strong and it was rapidly
diminishing. Doubtless her uncle, on refiection,
had concluded that he had done enough for her,
and would trouble himself no more about her
or her father.

_Perhaps, indeed, it had been his design to get
rid of her when he required her to promise that
she would not come again to the benk, nor go
to his house, for that promise she felt religiously
bound to observe.

This view of the case increased in probability
as she reflected upon it, and she passed most of
the night in sleepless sorrow... :

With the morning hope ‘partially revived, but
when all the slow-moving hours of the forenoon
had gone by, and she had watched and waited on
the hot deck till her eyes ached, she grew angry
with fora for her foolish and unfounded ex-

‘ions. — Ve ’ Va i
till showas sure that she ought tobe yer
ees ful to her una, ie what he had don oe

she deeply regretted'that she had spentso0 mu

of his money, the remainder of which she counte
many times, over, resolving to take it all to her
ather. re ‘ |e

About Sunset Captain Jones informed her that
his boat was already unladen, and that he should
return ape riyer'in tow of a steamer which
was to start at daylight the next morning.

Was she ready to go, he asked.

Yes, of course. There was nothing tw detain
her, and she would be glad to’ know that she was
going homeward, sad though that home Was, and
slight the comfort which she could bring to it,
beyond the sunlight of her own presence.

er father w , at least, rejoice to see her,
even though she came empty-han
‘ To again of her uncle, she exclaimed to
erselt :

“He did not mean to come. How could I expect

it. It was only a plan to get rid of me.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)

 

The Rigit to Dramatize this Story is Reserved by the Author.

Silver Wing, _
THE ANGEL OF THE TRIBES.

By Ned Buntline.

("Sliver Wing” was commenced in No. 17. Back Nos. can be
obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER XXIV.

“What does the Grizzly Bear see in my face that he
seems to Study it Over so often ?? ¥

This question was asked by Edgar Temple, as his cap-
tive, as the Blackfoot chief. was considered, sat on the
ground at the encampment in the hills, looking earnestly
in his face as he had done more than once before since
the light enabled form and features to be studied.

“Grizzly Bear has seen such a face before,” replied the
Indian. ‘But it was soft and smvoth as the leaf of the
wild rose. And there was no beard npon it. The eyes
were larger and brighter, but they were of the same
color. The form he saw was not so tall and strong, but
it was more beautiful than anylling else on earth. ht
was such as the red man dreams of whem his sleeping
spirit goes up into the happy hunting grounds! 1 look on
the face of tite white chief, and she is before ine!’

“Who? The words of Grizzly Bear are like riddles to
mel’? said Temple.

“Grizzly Bear speaks of the Silver-Winged Angel of the
Tribes, the daughter of the great captain. She who goes
up pom ane clouds, and talks face to face with the Master
of Life!’ ;

“Do you believe there issuch a being ?’ asked the young
man, earnestly,

“Grizzly Bear knows it.

 

 

 

He has seen her with his cyes.
Iie hag heard her voice, It was soft and mournfal like
the coo of the ring-dove. But her eyes were like the
eyes of the white chief. And when he smiles and speaks,
1 see her face in his!”

“] surely am on the track!’ muttered the young man to
himself, hen turning to the Indian, he said:

“Would the Grizzig Bear do me a great favor?”

“The Grizzly Bear owes his life to the white chief. Itis
hig to command. What the white chief orders, the
Grizzly Bear would dol? ;

“Can 1 bot be made to look like a red man? With some
stain cannot my skin be darkened—my beard being shav-
ed off smoothly and my hair either straightened or coy-
ered with a wig of coarser hair ?"’

“The form of the whif® chief is tall and straight. Tis
eye is dark as night and sharp as the eagie’s. He can be

made to Jook like a red man if heis paited and dressed!”’
replied the Indian. :
‘Phen I wiil hasten to be so disguised! When it is done

will my brother the Grizzly Bear tuke me back with him
to his people? I must see this Silver Wing face to face.”

The eyes of Grizzly Bear flashed atthe thonghtof going
back to his people,

“Jn six suns, with good horses, I could tell my people
that their chief yet lived. But I would have to tell them
that the Grizzly Bear was a captive, and had accepted life
at the hands of a pale-face. They would scorn me as a
coward!”

“No—from the hour we set ouf, you are free—your own
master. Iwill goas a friend, trusting my life in your
hands)?

“Has the white chief no fear that Grizzly Bear would
give him up to the torture ?””

“None. I give my life into his hands as free as I give
my smoke to the will of the spirits of the air!’’

And the young man threw a whiff of smoke from his
pipe upward.

‘Will not my brother betray the tribes to the pale-faces
if he is taken to their great encampment ?””

“No—Il do not goasa spy. I only go to see Silver
Wing. I have seen her in my dreams—I wish to see her
when Iam awake.”

“Will my brother go alone—taking none of his people
with him?”

“I will have nocompany but that of Grizzly Bear. He
is a great chief, and I will place my_life in his hands. He
Shall be my guide and my friend.*? >

“Will the rest of the pale fates agree to this ?’?

“Tuey must! They shalt! 1am my own master!’

“Then Grizzly Bear has no moretosay. He will help
his brother the White Chief?’

“First,.then, help to disguise me. Make meso like an
Indian that my own people will not Know me.’!

“Grizzly Bear must get help to do that. He will talk to
the squaw and see wiiat she has, If she Was paint and
skins, and blankets, then the work wil: be easy. Let my
brother talk to Yellow Hairand get him aay from her
ten!.

“J will,’ aid Temple, anc_rising he called Simon Peter
Skillet over lo Where he was standing.

“Now that we have time, my friend,” he said, “I wish
you would overhaul my arms to see that they are in per-
fect orcer. This Jast rain may have dampened the locks.’

“Very likely, mister, very likely, and they may want
ikeing. S'pose you hey ile, heven’t yoeu?"?

“Plenty of it. You will find a bottle in my gun-case.’’

“Yes—but look youder!”’

“Where ???

“Why, tew my tent! There's that he Injun, yeour pris-
oner, a talkin’ tew my wife. Shouldn’t wonder if he was
makin’ love tew her right afore my face, seein’ he and she
can talk @ lingo I can’t understand.”’

“That idea is foolish. The tribes do not mix, I am told,
and he has squaws of his own among his people.”

“J don’t keer. Injuns is mighty cute in larnin’, and
who knows but what among white folks he’ll Jarn white
folk's ways. I must go and stop that palaver! I can’taf-
ford tolosemy woman now. Sheis a world and alltew
me. Cooks my viltels, saddles my hoss, makes my bed,
does everythin’ heart can ask, no matter how lazy J be!”’

Tempie smiled, and did not try to prevent his return,
for the Indian had ended his interview with Red Thorn
and was sauntering away with a bundle which he had
procured of the squaw.

“J say, Mister Grizzly Bear, what heve yeou been gittin’
from my squaw?’? asked Simon Peter, as he hurried to
confront the Indian.

“Blankets to keep me warm at night.
she ask for it,’ said the Iudian, quietly. .

“Oh, yeou've been @ tradin’? Wall, that’s all right.
Her traps are her own. lreckon. A woman has some
rights, even if she is an Injan\?

Grizzly Bear made no reply but passed on to where Ed-
gar Temple was standing, and the two quickly disappeared
in a thicket near at hand.

“Them two is uncommon thick!) muttered Simon Pe-
ter. “Jf I was rich and well larnt like that chap, l’d be
above consortin’ with @ heathen Injunas he does. But
he is old enough to know his own business.”

CHAPTER XXvV.

“Where is Mr. Temple and the Blackfoot chief?” asked
Buffaio Bill, when the party were called to partake of the
noon-time meal in their camp in the Hills. :

“I seen ’em abeout tew hours ago,’’ said Simon Peter.
“They're off somewhere a talkin’, 1 reckon, for they're as
thick. as tew hens of the same breed.”

“Here comes the Blackfoot. and a cussed red with him,
There’s some treachery afoot, or an Indian never could
have got in here unseen by cur Jookouts!’’ cried Wild
Bil.

“A Pawnee brave, by his rig,’ said Buffalo Bill. “I
wonder what the Blackfoot is doing with an enemy of his
nation ??

While these remarks were made Grizzly Bear and his
companion, a tall, finely shaped young Indian approached
thd group. : :

“Who have you there, Chief of the Blackfeet? I see
the mark of the Pawnee on the stained Buffalo robe
over his shoulders!’ said Buffalo Bill, as the two came
near, Grizzly Bear in front, the two coming in single file
ag Indians ever do, :

“Sunrise, a Pawnee brave!’
quietly.
ae came he within our jines, our lookouts not seeing

him 7°

“That he may say |’? replied the Blackfoot,

Buffalo Bill asked the question of the new comer in the
Pawnee tongue, which he spoKe as well as he did his na-

Give her what

said Grizzly Bear,

 

live dialect.

 

 

To his surprise, the stranger answered in Bnglish:
“The sentinels of the pale faces are’not to blame. ‘The
Pawnee was within their lines before they were posted?

“It jg not sol There was no sign of a trait when we
passed into the valley. ‘The Pawnee cannot ride on the
clouds, nor has he wings like 4he eagiel’ said Buffalo
Bill. ‘My a are sharp, aud | can see a trail if only
a serpent makes it!”

“The eyes of the great killer of buffalo are sharp, but he
cannot tell a pale face from a Pawnee even in bor-
rowed plumes!’ said Temple, in his natural tone.

‘Thunder and lightning! You are the best made up
red lever saw!’ cried Bill, in surprise, “lf you conla
talk Pawnee as well asI can, you would pass for one
among their own peoplet!

“Blamed if ke wouldnt!” said Wild: “T was look-
in’ sharp to my traps, for them Pawneés are death on the
steal, But what have you put on that wig for?”

“That if] succeeded in looking In@ian-hke enough to
deceive your eyes, Icould go on abead and see for myself .
this wonderful Silver-Wing, the Anget of the Tribes!” ;
uld go" your death! You Fook Indinn, butic ,

 

“You

| you caimot talk Indian, you would at once be discevered..

Then your life woultin’t be worth praying fort’?

“The Blackfoot chief will be my guide and my pro-
tector % ve >

Butlald Bill shook his head, re

“YouTisk not only a life which you will surely Jose, but
also our safety!) said he. ‘For the Jpd@ians, when they
find you Will know that you have left sume party not
far distantlhre’ == : ait

“They wit not discover me. J go for & special purpose,
and I will not swerve from that!” ;

“May 1 know what it is?’ asked Buffalo Bill. ‘

“To you and you alone I will impartit. Then I know if
you assure your companions that I ain right, they will not
object to my plaus}" : ;

Buffalo Bill now retired with young Temple, and they
conversed Jong and earnestly for over half an hour.

When they came back, Bulfalo Bill said to the rest:

“Ido not blame Mr. Temple for desiring to see this
strange being known by the name of Silver-Wing. Nor
do I believe, that if his plans are carried out, aided by
Grizzly Bear, they will fail, or do any injary to our party,
but in the end I believe we will gain information which
will enable us to fully succeed in the aims which we con-
templated when we fo the expedition! But I have
insisted on, aud he accepts a proposition. of us Who
speaks Indian wellimustgo with him, never jeaving him,
80 that if an accident happens to Grizzly Bear, he will
have a companionto depend on!’

“And you've fixed on me for the one to go?’ said Wald
Bill, whose eye had caught a glance from that of his
mate.

“Just 0, mate, I’veseen youintherig of a red, and ©
you can talk every dialect between heres .@ sunset.’* i

“I’m in for the job!’ said Wild Bill. -Bat where will
the rest of you be if you’re wanted ?”’ '

“We will move from here to a nook on the Sweet Water
Rangeywhere youand I once hida’ six weeksirom the
Shoshones. Doyou remember?® 9)

‘T reckon I do, mate, and will &siong ag lifeis in me.
Them was warm times. Two of us lone there, a long
ways from help, and a thousand sarpemts hui for our
trail! Mie Tempie ‘had better Jet me make an Ogal-
latia Sioux rig for him, as I shall for myself.° 1 knew one
who was deaf and dumb once. They ed him ‘No
Tongue,’ and if he’ll play that part, we three conld go
right into an Indian camp and come out with our hair
on.

“The plan is good, and yon can all three be ready by
to-morrow’s suurise,’’ said Buffalo Bill.

With this understanding, the work of arranging the dis-
guises was undertaken by Wild Bill, who understood it

well. —_——-
CHAPTER XXVI.

Silver Wing was astonished, but pleased, one bright
day, afier the old captain had added a bridle studded with
gold and jewels to the magnificent housings which he had
given her to ornament her horse with, to receive from
the captain permission to ride down on the plaius, where
he wus about to review the tribes under arms,

A new vision came before her eyes. Hitherto confined
to certain bounds, kept literally under guard; now, on the
fleetest animal in the world, she was to be free to skim
over the boundless plains.

Could she not speed away to the far lands where civil-
ized people dwelt? At least, ifattentions which he began
to pay her, and which were most repugnant to her feel-
ings, were continued, she could fly from Aint.

But a thought came toher. She must not appear too
willing to accept the freedom he offered—not tou anxious
to escape the restraint which had held her so long.

“Will not the Indians do me harm ?? she asked, with &
show of timidity which she did not feel.

“No,” he replied; “they look upon you 88 an angel—
as something more than mortal. When they see you
managing this steed which noone else coukt master, it
will make thein yet stronger in their belief—iook upon you
as a power gifted from the spirit-land. Fear nothing, but
rice down boldly at the head of my eav an

Silver Wing, directed by his wishes, now dressed her-
self as she did when she had been lifted out of sight up
the face of the clii—her old nurse fastening the spangled
wings of silver belfind her shoulders.

A robe of azure silk, brightened with silver stars, en-
veloped her beautiful form; a crown of jewels rested
above her spotiess brow; her loug hair fileated away in a
glossy mass over her shoulders. She looked indeed an-
gelic as she sprung into her seat on the back of the peer-
less horse.

A cheer of admiration rose from every lip as she dashed
over the plateau and took her post at the head of the
cojumn.

*‘Let the bugles sonnd, and move onl’ cried the old
captain, and he spurred his horse to take post by her
side.

But Night would allow no other horse to move by his
side, as the captain learned in time to avoid a flerce.on-
slaught, and lie bade her lead the way down the moun-
tain side.

The Indians, previously instructed, had massed in
tribes, forming Joug lines ready for review, each tribe
designated by a banner bearing its own peculiar insignia.
Their weapous and gay dresses giittered inthe sunlight
asthe parly desceuded loward them, forming a sight
beautiful to behold. .

There was considerabie excitement visible among the
tribes as the cavaicude neared their lines, for the visit of
Silver Wing had not been aunounced, and they were un-
prepared for it, though all recognized her.

“Dash at your fullest speed along thelines, and then
return to your place herel’? exclaimed the old captain, as
this murniur of surprise reached his ear.

Silver Wing, willing to gratify him, because it pleased
herown desire, gave the word to her horse, and away
like a cloud before a fierce-driving gale he sped.

And as she dashed along the iines there rose such a
shout that it fairly made tue air tremble, it Was so sirong
and so universal.

On, On over the plain, swifter far than those red men
had ever seen rider pass before, she sped, until at last she
was at the extreme left of the line, where the warriors of
the Blackfeet were drawn up.

Here she was about to make a circle to return, when
from amid a group of noble-looking warriors she
heard a cryin English, spoken so plainly and s0 well,
that she reined in her horse to see whence the words
came.

And as her eyes feil on the group, she heard the words
distinctly spoken:

“She is more than woman.
and of light!

“God help me—she isthe long lost jewel of my racei”’
cried another voice.

Silver Wing checked her horse to a walk and rode
slowly by the group whence these words had evidently
come, Her eyes Scanned every mam, and at last settled
on one person, whose long, yearning look seemed to enter
her very soul.

‘What tribe is this?! she asked, in tones which floated
like flute music on the air.

“The Blackfeet of the North; the tribe of Grizzly Bear!”
replied the chief.

**He that was slain?” she asked,
Raonl Corbet, and came not back ?’?

“He has come back, and not alone,’ said a musical
voice.

It was the one she had heard before.

‘Let the lady of Silver Wings be on the watch for a
message. Friends of her own race are near. But it will
not be safe to communicate now. When Grizzly Bear is
sent for to {alk with the great captain, he will have a let-
ter for the lady.”’ ,

Silver Wing’s heart beat wildly as these words reached
her ears, A new hope had sprung into life in her bosom.
One glance into those eyes—ay, into another pair—also
which. burned with a light different from that seen In the
other faces there, and slie rode back along the line, while
the same wild shout of welcome rang through the tremu-

Jous air. Preece
CHAPTER XXVII. ‘

A Wild, strange thrillof gladness ran Jike electric fre
through the veins of Silver Wing as she urged her horse
back, with a glad cry, along that a be.

Had she made friends. intelligent friends, who could
speak well her own language among those red men, or
were those whose words had reached her ears white men
in disguise, ready and willing toaid her.

She had seen two pairs of intelligent eyes beaming
kindly on her, she had heard two voices, to her full of
melody, speaking such words aS NO savage Would utter.
It must mean good for her.

When she drew up where the old captain had halted
With his cavalcade, lis face was all aglow with pleasure
and delight.

“I knew you’d create a sensation!” he cried.
have reached their very souls by this display!’

Then turning to Raoul Corbet he bade him with six
companies ascend the elevation known as the ‘Spirit
Rock,’”? make the smoke-signals, which were laid down in
the list that he handed to him, in such time as he saw the
evolutions*could be conveniently performed.

With Silver Wing and the rest of the guard the old cap- |
(tain took position where the Indians could march past
him in review, and be thoroughly inspected as to arms,
numbers, and condition.

The chiefs in council had been fully instructed in the
signals and corresponding movements, and had also been
drilled in tribes to some extent at different times.

The novelty of the movements pleased them, and the
attempt at orderly maneuvers was thus aided by their own
liking for it.

As soon as Raoul reached his position, and 4 single
smoke announced his readiness to commence, the flag-
bearers of each tribe took their positions and raised their
pennons to signify that all were ready to move.

The old captain now gave his signal-order and the in
dian column commenced a slow-timed march past his po-
sition. As the banner of each tribe was drooped in salu

 

She isan angelof beauty

“He who went with

“You

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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ert o

 

ee

nee

{
t

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a

 

 

 

 

 

 

tation, a prolonged shout rose from the warriors compos-
ing that tribe, to which the old chief returned his saiuta-
tion. :

Silver Wing did not seem to regard this pageant with
the enthusiasm which the old captain supposed would flil
her mind, She seemed lost in a dreamy revery, aud
scarcely raised ber head until the end ot the counter-
Mmarchiag culumu approached and the tribe of the Grizzly
Bear caue near. ;

Then her eyes were raised and she scanned each ap-
proaching warrior with un earnest, searching gaze.

The oltcaptain could not understand the cause of this
change of altention—perhaps he thought she was glad
the review was su nearly over. He had uot much time te
consider, for ute eyes felt upon the tall form of Grizaly
Bear, whe had veeu reported to him as slain.
~ He beckoned to that chief to ride forward to him from
the line, aud asked, when he came near:

“How is this? My lieutenant, Raoul Corbet, reported
that the greut war-chief uf the Blackfeet was slaia on the

’ Jast. scout!’

“For ali that he cared, the Grizzly Bear might have
perished!” said the chief, haughtily. “With many wounds
upon him tne war-chief of the Blackfeet was found by
two braves of the Ogallulia Sioux, who gave him medi-
cine, bouud op his wounds, and helped him back to his
peoplet’?

“Tue Ogallalia Sionx? Thiatisa tribe not yet courted
in our confederation!” gaid the old cuptain. ‘‘Are these
braves with you?’

“Trey are in the ranks of my tribe. They eat and sieep
in the lodge of Grizgjly Bear until he sends them back
With presentsto their people He owes lis life to theml!'*

“fam giad to hear it, When the review is all over
come witi them tomy Lent in the mountain, andl will
talk to them’? ;

“Que of them only ean talk to the great chief—the other
is known as Silent Tongue. He is dumb!"

“Oue will be enough if he will bear my message and
proposals to fis tribet. Bring them to mein my tent and
we will smoke the peace-pipe aud driuk the water which.
In2kes the heart glad!{’?

“The will of the Great Captain shall be law to Grizzly
Bear. He will come!’

The Indian turned his horse, touched ifs flank with his
armed heel amd gavoped to the head of his line again.

All this time the eyes of Silver-Wing had been fixed on
one furai—she seemed to feet some sirauge, electric in-
fueuce drawing her gaze thither—and on it sne looked as
long us it Could be distinguished in the receding mass,

The review was over and the tribes were left to their
own Choice of evolutions, or to relurn to Camp, while the
old captain and his men returued to their eyrie in the
mountain.

Wheu the war chief of the Blackfeet marched his war-
rilors back to their,camp, he addressed them .in a brief
harangue, in which he tuld them that owed his life to
the two braves who had returned with him, and that they
were to be luoked upeu.as his brothers, and in no way to
be auuoyed or even. questioned in their outguings or in-
comings! Oue he said was touched by the hand of the
Great Spirit, and Was not able to speak. The other was
a great warrior, Who bore many scars,

ne usual sounds of assent passed from lip to lip among

his warriors, and the Chief disappeared inside of lis lodge
with his two guesis,

Ouce inside, the demeanor of the chief, so proud and
haughty, changed, and ju a tone of geutleness which
would have become a Civilized man, he tuld Eagle Eye
and Silent Tuugue as he addressed them, that he und ail
his band were at their command, and shouid be devoted
to their service,

“Grizzly Bear owes his life to Silent Tongue, and cannot
forget iil’? he said...

“We honor the great chief of the Blackfeet for his
faith, and be shall yet see what we can do to reward him
fer iil’ said Kdgar Temple, now so well disguised. that
even the ludiaus could not detect that he was other than
he seemed. . “So far our adventure thrives well. [ have
seen tie wonderful beauty Kuown to you as Silver-Wing;
and my heart bounds toward her with astrange thrill,
which lcan account for iu butone way. . She must be—
she 1s the sister for whom the life of ny father went out
in vain search, aud whom I swore to hiu to find if she
Was Lo be found ou. the face of the earth!) 5

“She is a living angel! Never did a woman ride as she
rides!’ suid Eagie Eye, whom the reader, in spite of his
perfect disguise, must Kuow aS Wild Bill. “Such a seat,
so light a hand, yet the mighty horse moved as acioud
before the wind obedient to her guidance!”

“Tmust see aud. converse with her, or at least get a
letter into her hand?’ said Temple.

*fAll Luis may be, if my brothers are cunning. The white
chief has asked. Grizaiy Bear tu come with his new
brothers of the Ogallally tribe to his Jodge up on the
mountain, .We will go, If my brothers keep open eyes,
they may fud & chance to spex& tothe Angel of the
‘Trives, orto give her a speaking-piper, if that is their
wish.? ;

“Good! Fortune favors us at every step,’’ said Tempie,
‘Grizzly Bear has more than kept his word. We will
never furget uim,?

*“‘How many warriors acknowledge this captain asa
leader? asked Wild Bill. ;

*“Many—ahmost all the tribes‘on the sunrise side of the
great mountains. You, have seen many, and half as
iuany more are out on the haunt to fing meat for these.”

‘There are-fall twweuty thousand,’* said Tempie.

‘Full flity thousand, sir,’? said. Wild Biil, more ased to
estimating numbers massed as tliese were.

“How did he mass them together? It is miraculous!’
said Temple.

“It was the cali of tne Great Spirit,’’ said Grizzly Bear,
reverenuy. “No oman, and hea -pale-face, could make
enemies vecome friends and fight: in the same lines, side
by side. It is the work of the Great Spirit, whe speaks
tirougt the ttps of Sittver Winx, We lave seen hergo up
to Him iu the clouds, and we have listened to the mes-
sages she bruught when she came back.”?

**Through her own lips, or from the mouth of her father,
as you betteve-him to be, did these words come to the red
men ?? asked Temple

*Through her te the white chief, from him to us,’ re-
plied the cuief,

*Tue tribes, now that she appears among them, will re-
quire no second mouth tor her words. They wilt obey
what they hear ber speak, will they not??? continued
Temple.

' So Grizzly Bear thinks. He would listen to her words
as he would bearken to the vojce of the Great Spirit.”

“Theu if She ts what I believe her to be, soon her own
lips alvnue will breathe’ the word of cummiund,”. suid
Temple, °

“We will eat now, and then go fo the lodge of the white
chief. My vrothers are ready,” said Grizzly Bear.

“1 must first-prepare my speakiug-paper forthe eye of
Silver Wing,” said Temple. ‘That done and | am
ready.”

“} will fook well to our arms,’’ said Bill; “for if the old
fox should pierce our disguise, I will not diealone. Dim
bound to take company aloug if I travel a bloody road to
Lhe uext worid,’?

“‘My brothers are safe when Grizzly Bear has given
them his word,’ said the chief. *‘He would lose his own
life and the lives of every warrior in his tribe before hari:
should come to them,”?

“Epeleve you, my true and good friend,’ said Temple.
“We will prepare for the visit.”

' [TO BE CONTINUED.] "
———_+-0+—_______

LAKE SUPERIOR.—There are few persons in this coun-
try, and still fewer in the Old World, who have anything
like an, adequate conception of the immense extent of

his “big drink,’ as they say out West. The lakes of
Eagland, Sco laud and Switzerland are mere puddles ln
comparison with this leviathan. It is about 600 imifles

long ana 200 miles wide, and 1,700 miles in circumference,
or about waif the distance from New York to Liverpool.
The lake is 900 feet deep, and is situated about 700 feet
above the level of the Atlantic Ocean. Itcontams a sil-
gle island almostaslarze us Scotland, and several as
large ag the State of Deleware. ‘Big drink,” indeed!

 

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

gaz A hotel-Keeper in Prestonville, Ky., named
Webster, accidentally potsoned hunseif the other day by taking
n chew of tobacco that had strychnine in it. He was a distiller
by trade, and bad commonly carried 4 package of stryctinine in
his vest pocket, where he also carried his chewing tobacco. It 1s
pappossa that the two articles got mixed in his pocket, and in
taking, as he thought, a’chew of tobacco, he took both. He died
in a few minutes,

xa Mrs. Morgan, who lives on Wolf Creek, in
Giles county, Va:, gave birth two years ago to five male children.
They are still living, are of good constitution, and as sprig tly
23 weli-fed kittens, Mr. Morgan isaluborer and quite poor. The
neighbors trequently visit this family, and never without taking
supplies of some kind, These five two-year-olds are objects of
great curiosity.

xa Two acorns were found embedded in the trunk
of a large burr owk, recently cut down on a farm in Shelby coun-
ty, Ky. It was estimated by.counting the rings that they
hud been there over a bundred years. Both were sound, and
looked as though they had been but lately deposited. One of
them had put Lorth a green, healthy-looking shoot, an eighth of
aninehlong. How and when they cume there is, of curse, a
mystery,

sz A curious effect of the cold was lately noticed
in Meadville, Poun, A strong bottle had been filled with water,
and a cork placed inthe nozzle. During the night the water
froze solid, and eXpansion pusfied the cork from its place aud
formed a column of ice above the top of the bottle three inches
in length and half an inch in diameter.» The cork stuck to its
position as well as it could, keeping on the upper side, where it
remained perched on top the transparent shait of ice,

aa A silver medal presented by President Madi-
son to the chief of 4 Westeru Indian trive, has recently come
into the ession of a jewelry firm in Lancaster, Pa. On one
side is a likeness of Mr. Madison, and onthe other of a United
States officer claspi
“Peace and friendslip.’’ °

aay Divorces in Maine are on the increase. Four
hundred and eighty-seven were granted Jast year, some on very
frivolous grounds, One was granted because the parties to the
atriaee ‘ee differed in their tastes respecting “roast aud
od vis

 

. ka Of the _ thousand babies annually born in
Paris, it is culculated that more than one-half are sent out of the
city to nurse.

nex A Boston authority estimates that 80 per cent,
of the female sepool teachers in that city are provided for by
Inatriage alter a few years’ professional work.

aa Mra. Peter Weber, ot Chicago, recently gav
birth to tour living girls. ' Bere

aa Mr. John Hoare, glass manufacturer of Corn-
ing, N. ¥ baa beem elected Mayor of that place.

 

the hand of an Indian, with the motto, |

 

4

 

REMEMBRANCE.

BY HOPE DE VERE. "

 

I'm walking now beside the stream
Where oft our footsteps strayed,
And gazing on the budding oaks
*Neath whose branches we have played.
In the innocence of childhood then,
The words we breathed of love
Came from pure and guileless hearts,
Like angels’ hearts above.

I'm sitting on the rustic seat
Where together oft we were.
And breathing o’er sweet words of love
Into your willing ear.
But my form is bowed in sadness,
And my heart is filled with pain,
When I think of you, my darling,
_ Who will never come agaia.

I’m walking through the graveyard,
© I halt beside'a mound,
And in the far-off distance
Y hear a joyful sound.
*Tis angels sweetly singing,
Far up in Heaven above;
For they have taken from me
My first and only love. © -«

BETTINA,
The Italian Nurse.

By Annie Lisle.

(“Bettina was commenced in No. 12. Back numbers can te
obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER XXII.
THE FLIGHT.

When Bettina came to America, she was accompanied
by a faithful Irish woman, who had been her nurse in
childhood,

Reniaining but a short time in the city of New ¥ork,
they came West to Cincinnati; here the babe was taken
sick, and, alarmed for his life, Bettina determined to take
him tuto the country; so it happened they took possession
of a dilapidated litte cottage a mile or two from Mrs, Ul-
lin’s, on the opposite side of the river, in Kentucky.

It was hidden away among the trees and in a retired
situation that would rarely be noticed by those who pass-
ed along the road, and would have well suited her, both,
as a healthy location and a place of refuge, but, from some
misunderstanding or carelessness, funds failed to reach
her, and Norah’s labors proviug insufficient to provide
them with the necessaries of life, they were, after a sea-
son of privation and suffering, driven to adgpt some other
method.

None presented itself which appeared so certain to se-
cure the safety of the child as that which she had takeu—
to trust to Mrs, Ultin’s bounty and kindness of heart.
Bridget, Mrs. Uilin'’s trusty servant, had accidentally
met Norah, and recognized lier as an acquaintance from
the *‘uuld country,” and, with the warm-heartednuess
which characterizes her nation, rendered her valuable as-
sistance iu time of sickuess and need. rt

Through her Bettina had ofien been able to hear from
and communicate with her oid nurse, and now, in her
trouble, this well-tried friend was remembered, aud men-
tally her plans were matured to go to her again.

ln the previous chapter, we left our heroiue seated be-
fore the fire engaged iu deep‘and painful thoughi. After
awhile, she was startied by a low Knock at the door.

Her heart quailed with fear, aud uo response issued
from her pale lips until—

“Bettina, it is 11’? came in the low tones of a familtar
voice to her ear; a voice in whose sound aloue seemed se-
curity and protection.

A bright smile hgtted up the sad face as she sprang up
quickly and opened the door.

“Are you glad to see me, Bettina?’ said Doctor Ullin,
as he camein and clasped her hand gently within his own,
while he looked smilingly iuto her fuce.

“Giad?. Oh, yes!’ she answered earnestly.

“Puor child! how worn and weary you look; you have
been sufferiug,’’ he said, softly stroking her waving hair.

At the sound of these kind, sympathetic words, the
hard lines in her face relaxed, her breath came quick, and
unbidden tears rolied down her cheeks.

The sight of her distress overcame all prudence—pride
Was swept away, honor set aside, everything for the time
forgotten but his intense love and ler helplessness, and,
pwith tis strong arms, he inclosed her in a passionate em-
brace, whispering:

“Ont come to me, my darling!’

Aud heart rested against heart for one of those blissful
moments that come but seldom in a life-time.

When she withdrew herself from his arms, he breathed

 

 

 

a weary sigh, for a vision fluated before him of au airy
little being, all radiant with hollow smiles; and at the
game instaut, his eye fell upon the sleeping child, and the
old, insurmountable barrier loomed up more terrible in
its meaning than eyer before, though no longer exciting
anger, only deep pity.

“You do not ask me why I have returned so soon?’ Dr,
Diltn suid, in an unsteady voice after a pause.

“I think you must have been sent to comfort me upon
this evening.”

“and why this evening in particular?’’ he asked.

“Because ] need it to-night more perhaps than [ shall
ever again,” she answered, evasively.

“Are you @ believer in dreams, Bettina?” he asked,
abruptly, a moment later,

“Yes, lam toa certain extent.’?

“You will doubtless smile when T telt you that skeptic
as l am in everything of the kind, Lobeyed a dreanm-call
tocome to you to-night. Lust nightin my sleep I saw
you walking with torn and bieeding feet through a tan-
gled forest bearing E:idie in your arms, when fronta
thicket emerged a terrible wild beast ready to spring upon
you; youshrieked and called to me wo save you. Thut
despairing cry rang iu my ears til! morning, when with
the first homeward train I came to you—do you need me?
—am i——"

“And did you dream that you saved us? interrupted
Bettina, in a voice trembling with earnestness,

“I supposed that the denouement awaited me here.”

“T fear that it does,” she replied, with an affrighted
look.

“Have you had any new cause of alarm since I went
away?’

*Yeu.??

But though he urged her todo sosheat frst refused to
make any further explanation, finally, however, yielding
to his persuasion aud related the ttle tucident of the day
before, Monsieur Bartole’s request to see Eddie, and her
refusal to allow Estelle to take him down Co the parlor,

As he listened a new revelation seemed to dawn upon
Doctor Vilin'’s mind, and with a dark frown and sneering
lips he said, in a culd voice:

“What Clulin has that mau upon you or the child that
yon thus fear him???

Bettina's eyes fairly scintiiated with anger, and with a
deeply flushed face she arose and opened the door, say-
ing, With a haughty gesture:

“You insult me, sir—I desire to be alone!’’

He glauced at the indignant, troubled face, and could
not but feel heartily ashamed of his uujust suspicions,
and deeply regretful at having thus wounded her.

-Forgive me, Bettina, Ldid not mean to hurt you go,”
saict he, in a softened voice.

“No, I will not forgive you, for I do believe that in your
inmost heart you still think that my tife has beeu iu some
matner linked with that base villain, Who, during your
absence, and at this moment is the recipient of many
more smites from your affianced bride than Lever de-
signed to bestow upon hliu—and she, too, is conniving
with him to rob me of all I have to love on earth—that
darling boy!’ ‘

Bettina trembled with excess of emotion ag she was
thus fed, by her indiguution, to expresa herself about him
as she would not have doue in a cuoler moment.

An expression of pain atid humility crossed Doctor
Uilin'’s face as he listeuéd to ler, then iu silence he buried
huis face in his hands.

Her heart relented at having thus humbled him and
wouuded his pride... When he looked up he noticed her
softened glance, and said: é

“I trust you will forgive me, Bettina, I feel that [ have
wronged you by even counecting your name with that
man’s, Whose very face proctaitns tim a villain. Lregret
more than I can tell you that he ever crossed our thres-
hold, and all the more siuceI fiud he has given you

4 trouble”?

Then with a heavy sigh and kind ‘“Good-night,”’ he left
the room,

But before the door was fairly closed he returned, and
ag if obeyiug an irresistible impulse he led her beneath
the light, then raising ber fuce between his hunds looked
tenderly upon it, saying:

“Why is it that [fear toleave you to-night, as though,
if Tturned my back, you would vanish ‘like ® dreain
when one awaketh?? Surely to-morrow morning | shall
see this same face in the same familiar places)?

“Each night that wears to morning brings some change.
Shout the morrow find my place vacant, what mutter?
there are none to grieve for mie.”?

“Bettina! Bettinal’? whispered Dr. Uitin, reproachtfully,
as he bent over her 0 cluse that his wari breath fauned
her brow. ‘fliep touching her cheek with his lips he was
gone, leaving ler alone.

Alone!

She'liad never before realized the full meaning of the
Word, even when berett of home and friends, as now
when tearing lierself from this noble heart that in spite
of all suspicion irusted her, and in the face of duty und
honor belunged wholly to herself she knew. :

With the irresistible force which ever beiongs toa first
deep love all weaker affections were swept away, asa
uighty river will carry wih it only aga part of itself the
lesser currents,

For a tite the separation from the one who had treated
her with almost a mother’s kindness, the sweet girl who

who loved her so dearly were ull torgotien iu this greater
sorrow.
_ But no time could now be spared for selfish grief.

Her preparations must commence immediately; first,
by seeing Bridget before ate retire for the night, then

 

writing a few hasty Hines to Mra. Ulin full of gratitude

had given her 9 Sister’s affection, amd the gentle invalid:

and sorrow, and asking forgiveness for what must appear
an unWwarrantabie liberty iu taking away Lhe child of her
adoption, collecting the articles of cloihing necessary to
take with her, and then all her arrangements were com-
pleted—ail was in readiness for their departure, and she
could only sit with folded hands, while Time, now
“leaden-winged,” lengthened the moments into hours. *

Atiast the guest departed. Tne lights were extinguished
and stillness reigned turoughout the house as Bettina,
with the sleeping child in her arms, passed quietly down
Stairs and through the hall.

She drew a. long breath of relief as the door closed
noiselessly beliind leraud she emerged into the cold, pure
air. r . ,

Soon gainiug the shelter of a large tree on the lawn, she
awaited impatiently for Bridget, who was to accompany
her to the river. Stie soon joined her, and into her stronger
arms she gave Eddie.

As they passed out of the gate the dog Beppo bounded
foward her, barking with delight aud wilh the evident de-
termination of going with her; but yielding to her gentle
couxing, he licked her hand as if in fareweli, and re-
turned to the house.’

Oue backward glance she gave at the last point where
a View Could be had of the beautiful home she was leav-
iug. Only a dim outline of the house could be seen as it
lay Wrapped in darkness, but iti one room—the library—a
bright lignt was still burning, and. through the broad
window she could discern the form of Dr. Ullin as he
walked resuessly to and fro.

For one moment she stretched out her arms to him and
whispered his uame, then turned aud flew rapidly away
over the frozen ground.

‘The river was soon gained and crossed, and Norah’s
cottage reached. Not until the door closed upon her did
Betlina’s strength give way, then nature took revenge for
the strain upou uerves and pliysique, and she sank fuint-
ing and iusensible upon the fluor.

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE INVALID AT REST,
“JT sleep and rest, my heart makes moan
Before Lam well awake,
Let me bleed! O jet mealone,
Since I must not break!”

Great consternation prevailed through Mrs. Ullin’s
household the moruing after Beltina’s departure, when
she and Eddie were reported to be missing,

Whiten the note whici was foand upon Bettina's bureau

was handed to Mrs. Ulin, she received it with a changing
countenance, and tears filled her eyes as with a trembling
voice sie read it aloud to the listening group who were
asseinbled in the breakfast-room.
Esielle’s tears fell fast, and Lissa grew pale with anger
at being thus outwitted in guining possession of tie
child. She wight possibly have felt consoled by having
driven her from the house, had not Doctor Ullin so palpa-
bly betrayed lis distress by the lreavy frown that gathered
on his brow, aud the gloom which settled over his face.

Poor Cornelia grieved deeply over the loss of the friend
who had been such a kind comforter, and fearing they
would suffer in being exposed to the bitter winter
Weather, begged that efforts shouldbe made immediately
to overtake them before they had gone too far, but Doctor
Ullin knowing (hat Bettina must have had some strong
wotive for concealinent in taking this step, forbade any
-measures being taken to discover their whereabouts.

As the time wore on all Were. busy and interested in
preparations for the approaching doubie wedding, and
Eudie’s merry prattie and Bettiua’s sweet face were not
so greatly missed, though often the subject of troubled
thought, and when mother and daughters were together,
of vain speculations as to their probable fate.

Doctor Ullin alone never mentioned their names. He
had gradually relapsed into the old morose, cynical man-
ner, and a setiled gioom, from: which Lissa finally wearied
of trying to arouse him, her gayety and raillery and even
her keenest sarcasny failing to disturb his abstraction,

So finding the inask of siniles and amiability no longer
of use, sie daily made some display of temper, or evinced
some evil trait, that caused Mrs. Uliin to tremble for her
son's fuiure happiuess,

Another source of uneasiness to the mother, though
strange to say, unnoticed or uncared for by Dr, Dilin, was
Monsieur Bartole’s constant visits to Lissa.

linmediately after tne disappearance of the child and
his nurse, he made the strictest inquiries in the neighbor-
hood, and then went lo Cincinnatts Lo continue the search,

have sought concealment in the throng of the city.

But after a few days’ absence returned, and appearing
to lose all further tmterestin the affair for which he had
assured (heim that he visited this country, devoted all his
time to Lissa’s society, WhO was apparently well pleased
in accepting his attentions, probably enjoying them as
compensation for the loss of her afflunced husband's
affection.

But a few days previous to the time appointed for the
wedding, Monsieur Bartole disappeared from among them
as suddenly ag he had appeared.

* * * °* And now to return to Bettina:

For days after she returned to the cottage nothing
had the power to arouse her from the languor and apathy
that seemed to bind her; even Noral’s Kind attention aud
affection aud Eddie’s sweet caresses could only win a
faint smile in return. Gradually, however, the cares
of life, the necessity of exerting lerseif for others awak-
ened her from the stupor into which she had fallen,
though she yet performed each duty mechanically, or as
ina dream. Her songs had ceased, aud all her natural
Vivacily deserted her.

The morn before Christmas dawned, the date, as Bet-
tina too well remembered that was to witness the double
nuptials. »

This day her usual listlessness was replaeed.by the very
spirit of unrest, which tncreased as the sun rose higher
and higher in the Heaveus, bringing nearer and nearer
the uppoiuted hour; finatly, as night approacied, she
obeyed the irresistible impulse that had seized her, aud
persuaded her faituful nurse to accompany her to Mrs,
Ullin's house. f

In the dim starlight they stealthily passed through the
grounds aud traversed the walks, pussing many a spot
tumiliar and endeared by memory to Betiina, but now to-
tally unnoticed, for her whote mind was absorbed, her
whole heart filled with thoughts of the scene she knew
awaited her, : ;

Just us they reached the window: of the drawing-room,
a beautiful tableau was presented to them,

The bridal purty had entered aud taken their position
upon the floor. .

The two brides, arrayed in costly satin and fleecy lace,
and crowned with orange biossoms, thew faces illumined
with happy smiles, were the very embodiment of youth,
freshuess and beauty. 4

Mr. Southgate stood with Estelle a little in advance,
Doctor Uilin aud Lissa, partially hidden {rom view, be-
hind them.

The minister drew near, and soon the riag was placed
on Estelle’s fair finger, aud the ceremony econcluded,

A sligit movement followed, aud as Doctor Uilin and
his fair bride took a more prominent position iu the pic-
Lure; Bettina could stay to see Ho more,

Alouein her own room that night, Bettina yielded, for
the first time, to tbe intensity of her feelings. Thestrong
tension of nerves she had endured so loug at last gave
Way, aud hours were passed in bitter tears, sobs convuls-
ed her, and her whole body shook with ihe violence of
her emotion,

But, as the flercest storm will expend its fury, she grew
still at last, Lhougwit was rather the siilluess of despair
than any heaithfal, quieting influence stealing over her.

For the first—tie only time in her lile—atred filled her
heart, ;

She hated Estelle, who had once appeared to love her
ag a sister, for being so happy now Without her, _

She hated Mrs, Uilin for standing by aud allowing her
gon to doom himself to misery...

She tated Doctor Uilin for allowing anojher to fill the
place which should have been her own,

Intensely sie hated Lissa for usurping that place,

Aud, fur more than all, she hated hersel| for the selfish-
ness of her grief, her want of faith, aud rebellion aguinst
the will of “Him who doeth all things wet.”

Frightened at last at her own wickediess, she -arose
from the bed and threw herself upon her kuees, praying
that the Father who “tempers the wind to the siorn
lamb,’? and ‘suffers not the bent reed to be broken,”
would have mercy!

At first her feelings were expressed but in broken sen-
tences, but gradually, as that light which is never deniet
wheu sought for, shoue into her heart, in fervent, earnest
supplication.

Morning dawned as she arose from her knees, and the
first rays of the sun shone through the windows and fell
upon the sleeping child, lighting up the sweet, innocent
face, angel-like in its beauty aud purity, asa gleam from
Heaveu.

She imprinted a kiss upon the fair brow with strength-
ened resolution to bear more meekly and humbly what-
ever cross might be laid upon her in the future.

Before this hour she had groped in darkness, yet en-
deavoring so earnestly to peer into the futare, the great
unknown, now the biow had falien,and still sie was Will
ing to go ou walking by faith only.

The lung, dreary wiuter at Jast passed away,

The wild’ March winds still held sway, but the warm
sunshine had melted the snow from the hill-side, and here
and there iu patches the fresh green grass ¢conid be seen,
and jin shettered nooks in the little garden the bright-
faced crocusses, spting’s first offering, peeped up their
heads,

For some time past Bettina had felt a constant uneasi-
ness about Cornelia,

Anxiety to hear from her:at length induced her to per-
suade Norah one day to make a visit to Bridget, who had
been a close prisoner to the house all wiuter with rheu-
matism. ;

The hours that intervened during her absence were
passed by Betlinainu a stateof nervous, anxious suspense,
her’ mind torturedin imagining the sad things whicl
might have happened since’she had left the louse, for by
Bridget’s sickness they had been utterly unable to gain
any tidings, a8 Bettina never left the cottage except for a
short walk with Eddie, and Norah only to go Lo the post-
office or obtain supplies forthe household from the near-
est Village, which was in an spposite direction and differ-
ent neighborhood from Mrs. Dilin’s,

Norah returned at last the bearer of sad tidings—Cor-
nelian had “gone home.’

She had fatied so gradually that they scarcely perceived
a change until she stood just upon the brink of the river,
and the night before she uad given her williug hands to
Lhe waiting angels,

Norah had not been able to see Bridget but a few min-
ules, but in that time the thoughtiul, kind-hearted wo-
mun arranged that Bettina should, by coming at an early
hour in the morning, look upon the remains of her dear
friend once more, unnoticed by any of the household.

Gray duwu was just breukiug, a few rosy streaks bright.

 

 

 

expressing himself as feeling quite certain that she must

dq

 

KLY.

 

 

 

ening up the eastern sky, as with solemn step Bridget led
the way to the dimly-lghted room, where Bettina beheld
all that was mortal of the suffering woman, whose life had
been so Strangely, blended with her own.

Feeling, so keenly as she did that there was now one
less to love her upon earth, it would have been a consola-
tion to Bettina to lave then Known that her own name
Was one of the last that lingered upon those pale lips.

Just as she had entered the door, a tall, durk form arose
from a kueeling posture beside the corpse, and brushed
past so close as to touch her. She recognized Doctor
Ullin, but if he noticed her at all it was to suppose her
some friend of the servants. 5

She felt then that nothing belonging to this world had
power to cause an emotion while jiouking in that calm,
peaceful face, from which all Lhe lines of Lue deep sorrow
and bitter pain she had suffered were now effaced.

While gazing there she reaiized that the weary body
was indeed ut rest, The troubled spirit gone.- Gone!
Yes, the spirit had gone from its homeof cluy. There
would be for her no more grief, no more suffering; past
the unavailing regret, the bitter remorse. The little dream
is over, the brief struggle ‘finished; a few hopes—a few
joys—disappoiutment and despair, aud now—xan eternity!
Had she done the work the Master had given her to do, or
had her talents lain rusting mn the ground? Who can tell?
We only know that she was one of ‘those who had passed
through great tribulation,” and the angels, who.were
waiting close around her couch took her in their arms and
bore her away to a tender and merciful Father.

(TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.)

 

THE
Midnight Marriagre.

By Amanda M, Douglas.

(“The Midnight Marriage” was commenced in No. 8 Back Nos,
can be obtained ofany News Agent in the United States *

CHAPTER XY.
GOLD AND GRAY.

If Louis Bartholdy died! Could I go to happiness only
over iis grave? Heaven forbid! I said with a racking
pang.

Like a vision the whole thing ._passed over my mind
through the moments of that long, terrible watch, for
thougl it was ouly a few hours it seemed to me like a life
time.

“Every second was told witha throb of torture. Shall I
Say that 1 too was taken up iuto a high mountain to be
tempted? A little neglect, some fata! omission, and the
balance might be turned, the case decided by other hands
than mine,

I saw the fiery trial before me. If Muriel became my
wife would I not always wonder if I held her whole heart?
If some stray tidings from this dear friend ever brought a
flush to her cheek, would I not ask myself a hundred
agonizing questions? Buttogive her up! Oh, merciful
Heaven! how could 1?

Heaven bestowed upon me strength not only to do my
duty, for I think I could not have been so cruel and cow-
ardly in any event asto turn traiter is this desperate
hour. And through those watches I thought of them
both, wondering that I had never observed their peculiar
fitness before, and the charm that was sure sooner or later
to draw two such natures together. I could not shut out
the awful misgiving that Muriel did love him, aud had
been trying to stitle the voice of her own soul.

Doctor Markham came in at daybreak.

“Heavens! You look like a corpse yourself, Macdonald!”’
he exclaimed. ‘I did not think the end would come so
soon—and you alone! Why did not Woods remain?”

“Heis not dead,’? I said, with strangling hoarseness.

“What have you done? His pulse is stronger—and the
fever fought to a shudow!”?

‘Ile was dear to me,’ I replied.
die ?”?

‘Does your faith or will keep people alive?’ and he
eyed me eG .

‘Sometimes,’ { made answer, gloomily.

‘You have exhausted yourself soul, body and nerves.
Now you are to lie down here and take this draught. Sleep
if youcan. I will watch Bartholdy.”?

There was an odd fiery imperiousness about the man
that you could hardly gainsay, so I submitted.

“And you thiuk——” I said slowly, turning my eyes to-
ward Louis.

“That you have worked a miracle.
praise that that?’?

“Then he will live!”

“There is a hope, certainly.”

T laid down and turued my face to the wall.

 

“How could I see him

Do you want more

It was all

dreary, but for all that I prayed,

I could not sleep, but the rest did me some good, Mark-
ham was watching every breath. The handsome face
was fearfully pale now, the temples sunken, the whole
expression sharp and drawn. :

 

The sun had risen and 1 went out to breathe its warmth
and briglitness. ‘How strange the moving figures Jookeéd
to me—as if I had just come from another world, I wan-
dered around awhile and then went to the Quinells.

Muriel came down to the library. She too was deathly
pale, and looked as if she had not slept. The almost color-
less lips quiyered as they tried to shape themselves into
words.

I did not utter the words that Lhad cometo say. I felt
that | must Know my fate without the weeks of agonizing
waiting ere circumstances brought it about.

“To-day will eud the suspeuse,’? I began, trying to
steady my voice... -

I saw the coustriction of her throat as she choked down
the rising sob. a

‘Muriel,”? I said, “woud you not like to see him ?””

“Oh! with a little pathetic cry, “if I might?’

“If you and your mother will conre at ten."?

“Thavk yon.”

Her voice seemed to falter through waves of tears. She
thought it would be forthe last time. Well, Heaven only
knew. And il Heaven gave her back to me—for it must
be that aloue, uow,.

Then Mrs. Quinell came in, and we talked a little while.
I was restiess, und hurried back to my post.

A peculiar change bad come over Louis Bartholdy.
Still pale as marble, but the look of pain had passed away
and left the pecultar loveliness that comes after death. It
brought a remeinbrance of the old days, when I had no
one to love save him, and had given him all the tender-
ness of my soul. Audin that hour, I was willing to sac-
rifice the best hope of my life to him. ~-

Ten o'clock, the hour 1 had appointed for the interview
came, I had managed to send away the others, and was
alone with him when the names were sent up.

l called softly over the railing to Muriel.

“Will you cume alone, first,” I said.

The light step and delicate figure answered me. There
was a questioning look in the solt eyes, and a tremulous
flutter about the lips. I cannot explain the kind of word-
less entreaty, but, for au iustunt, my heart almost failed
me.

‘Louis moved a little and breathed heavily.

Muriel gave a quick sigh, and glanced back at me.

Au expresziou of intense pain overspread her face, and
she threw her lauds out, bliudly, as if in search of some
sure support,

“Oh! she said, “he is dying.’?

“No, not dying;’? but my own voice was unsteady.

At tlrat instant, he opened his eyes.

What was the meaning of that strange, radiant smile?
A look so blissful that Heaven itself might have beeu wor
in il, a satisfaction pure and peaceful, that stirred the pro-
fouudest Gepths of wy beiug. Then he stretched out Iris
hand,

She knelt at the bedside and pressed her lips to the
wasted fingers, while brow aud neck flushed with a faiut,
wavering pink. . 5

1 turned to the window. A man’s passionate, jealous
despairiug love was stroug apon me, dying hard amid
throes of anguish.

How Jong | stood there I know not. f felt the soft hands
in mine at length, and the fair face, bathed in tears, was
turned pleadingly toward me.

“You will forgive,” she murmured. ‘You will not
grudge him that small caress? Lowed him so much, “for
he was tender and watchful, too, And it is the Jast tiie,
the lust dear time!’ .

Her voice sank away, and the concluding words seemed
a faint sound just under her breath, but 1 was in a state
to translate the most secret and fur-hidden thought. Yes,
she loved him; but it was with the pure, passioniess love
of an angel, dredmfng of no return here upon earth, uor
desiring it, 80. well had she schooled herself.

“My darling!”

I clasped her to my heart and felt the sobs, that had no sound
ee shouk her slight frame. And at that moment I mademy
resoive, }

“Not the last time,” I said, slowly, as if I was pouring out my
life blood, drop by drop. “There is a hope for him.”

T did not dare look at her face again. Presently Iwent down
stairs and suinmoned Mrs. Quinell.

I think she saw What Muriel’s despairing eyes had failed to un-
derstand. She gave mea quick, questioning glance.

Louls had fallen asleep again.

“How beautifull’? Mrs. Quinell exclaimed,
breath. “It is more like a picture than anything human. It is
not death, but rather a glorified hope.”

Muriel started with a sudden convulsive thrill. One moment
ashet: pale, like some fair bowed lily, then the waves of secret
ley rose in crowning scarlet, and drowned out the ehiil despair,

fes, they rightly belonged to one another, I held her prom-
ise, sacred as her own life, and his honor and generosity were
above all doubt. I could seal the clasp of my own happiness if T
so elected, and these two heroic souls would never utter a breath
of protest. But did { desire it now?

After that day Muriel and her mother came freqnently. The
crisis once sately paksed, Louis’ convalescence was yery ru pid,
had taken up my abode at his rooms, making daily calls upon
Mrs, Warren, howeyer, who had a mother’s sympathy for us

hardly above her

“I owe youso much,” Louis began one morning. ‘Doctor
Markham insiste that you saved my hfe.’

“You would have done the same for me,’’I returned. -

"Yea, gladly. For your own sake and that of anothers eee

A pecahar. shade flitted over his fine countenance, ahd deep-
ened into perplexing thought. eo

“Every one joinsto dome honor,” he went on, slowly, the
eyes settling inte a dreamy smile. ““I am teasted tike.a prince,

“You come into the privileges before the title,” [ said, gayly.
j “Aare you not taxing the Quinells too much?” he asked, alter a
ong pause,

"It is Mrs. Quinell’s delight. She never Perna Naren
you before.” : :

“She owed you so munch more——” ;

“[dot’t know,” I interrupted, warmly. ‘We seem to haye
shared alike in the work. 1 could hardly have restored Muriel to
her mother if you had not found her in that most critical mo-

te sh t his lips tightly ove dden sharp pang.

¢ shut his lips tightly over a su *

Isat dewn on the ottoman his feet rested, but the
‘ I telt aghiver speeding

 

> on which
face was turned oe away trom me,

through the haud I clasped.

f

 

in Heaven’s hands.” If Louis lived my path would be:

 

Louis,” I began, although my voice was husky with the stress
of pain, “if Ihave been blind Serriptore-—"*

He gave me a harried, question

“You have been blind a
been more tender or thoughtful.”

“Then let me prove my ¢laim to brothership. I know the
secret buried between you and Muriel” :

“Hush! You have no right, And then she loves yout” ;

He was feartully pale and his figure swayed alnost as if he
would have fallen. : d :

ig speak, and you shall listen. I know now that you love
Muriel Quinell, and she might have loved you.”

“But does not.” >

The high heroic smile was like a martyr’s. I knew well that
when it came to this he would make an earnest e

“Yes, she loves me; I will not deny that. It is tne truest and
tenderest gratitude, and sympathy hardly lessthan an angel
might give. And that I love ner lam notashamed to fess. It
his been partly her mother’s influence over a loving and grate-
ful soul, and my own husty impulse. She would give her very
life tor my happiness." -

“Let that salisty you.”
: pseu it does not, I have read her better than she understa
lerself, :

“Qh, Wilfred! my friend, listen. I did love her, as Heaven
above knows! The day I found her in that old ruin I-was wild

wisely, made it impossible for me to speak. I kissed my secret
into her pale lips, but her soul was pure and free. A litile later
the knowledge was revealed to me that you too loved—"

“And you were too nodle.to become my rival} I interrupted.
“You stood aside, were grave end’ cold'to her, ail let her drift
aba! stor-youryitiness.*

into a misiake that. might haye
“Then 1 confessed) Good I

“why Was, 2100)

“And she came when we fedred the worst. ) Abt learned her.
secret then. Shalbd beless-neble thatmy oul") ww ‘
“Oil why did yow not let me die?” he askedjin. accents of pros
foundest grief, , ‘ ' ef
“Because Heaven meant that you should Hve and be happy.
wu you mp huge His git because it passes through my hands?”
“Oh, my frien aa
I telt the warm tears on my hand. I knew then that I had
gained my cause without further pleading, aud, though he might
be delicute and proud about. it for some time to come, one
glimpse of Muriel would banish the last popula, “
> By-and-by I rose ‘and went away sotlly. My duty was but half
one,

words. Ifound her as resolutely bent upon sacriticing herself
as even Burthoidy could have desired. But since I had not what
was finest and best in her soul, why should I go over thorns to
reach it, and tail at the last?

“You must despise me,)>she said through vehement sobs.
“Can Ihave any heart to be thus miserable and undecided, to
change ataword,orlook? Yet. Hegven will bear me witness
that I meant to make you happy—that I would have done it. I
never fancied that he cared more than:a (fiend might, and I—
we owed yousomuch! Oh, have faith in me again! Let me
make amends witli my whole life)” ‘

“Muriel, we have all made a mistake,” I said. ‘And it would
be most bitter, through the years to come, to be continually
tashioning gratitude in the semblance of love, and fail, as men
“a He par have done before us. Rather let us have the simple
truth.

“IT am not capable of love!? she. returned, with crue! self-
scorn. “Yes, you are right to despise me.”

‘My poor darling!” and I took herin my arms for the last
time, “when ro come to realize the truth of your own pure soul
that has had false chains bound around it, you will thank me for
saving you from a terrible fate—the continual struggle between
duty for its own sake and duty forlove’s sake. I give ‘you to
Louis.because I can understand the deep current of his affection
that alone can fill and satisfy your inmost heart. With the
truest and tenderest iove I should, tail, and together we should
muss the highest happiness that human beings can know. You
shall not call yourself weak or untrue, forin hiseyes and miuc
you will ever be peerless.”

Mrs. Quinell could hardly understand this, and yet she present-
ly admitted that Muriel had not been as happy the past winter as |
she had hoped to see her. I found her the most reasonable after

all.

Yet if ithad depended upon the two most nearly cencerned
they migut have made shipwreck of all our hopes. Since I had
resolved, however, I was determined that love should not go uu-
crowned. i - :

Ot my own fate I did not mean to think, .When they were
gone, it would be time enough. I crushed out the pangs, ard
thrust their pale ghostsin the deepest of graves, ‘

That Louis and Muriel were happy I need not say. They tried
to wre their joy, but it was too exquisite, If, sometimes, I
had selfishly doubted, exch day brought conviciion.

It was necessury to alter the first arrangements. The sam-
mons for Louis was still iinperative, as. there were many smaller
bequests, and no settlement ot the business could be made until
he arrived.. And presently they hit upon,the only true solution
—that Louis and Muriel should be married, and that Mrs. Qui-
nell should accompany them abroad.

Mrs. Warren had felt keenly disappointed at first.

“Though I can’t tell why,’ she said, “yet I used to have a fancy
that he loved her, and I py glad to have Aer happy.”’

did not see them imarried, but I went on shipboard to give
them a last farewell. Never had Muriel looked: more beautitul,
yet the tender face had kept something for me which it would

jealous. *

: “But you will always be like ason tome!” Mrs. Quinell ex-
claimed, through herteurs. “It gives me a mother’s pang io
leave you here alone.”’ :

Presently the stately vessel slipped from her moorings, and
floated over the beautiful bay; then I felt all the pain and lone-
liness of being left behind. ; ’

“Louis made an odd request,’’ I said to Mrs. Warren. “‘It-was
aes I should go to some place, and take you; 1 have the aacress

here.”? e

“Yes,” she returned, with a compliance that might have sur-
prised me if my thoughts had not been elsewhere,

So 1 gave orders to the driver of the hack, and then we lapsed
into silenee. It was the last day of June, asummerday, radiant
and tender, not filled with glariug heats or burning airs. | /

“Whit we are to do here I cannot lmagine,” Is<id, waking out
of my reverie asthe vehicle stopped. “Ido noteveu kuow any
name. i "

“We are to go in,”’ she answered, gravely, and without we ihice
for my questioning look, she began to ascenu the steps. J fgl-

lowed, in dim amaze. ;
A neat, yet rather stylish place, in a most unexceptionable
aap
and

block. Mrs. Warren opened the door. A plevsant hall, per,

with a breath of heliotrope, two rooms, prettily furnisned,

some familiar pictures on the walls; a third apartment dat the
back, fitted up as a doctor’s office, with all necessury SpPPancetrg
a handsome library, table, and some luxurious chairs—tw6 of
them I knew well, Wasit a dream ? *

There was a large business envelope lying on the le, ad-
dressed to me. I opened it, and three fo.ded ictters fell Gut, then
a deed of the place. Inadim, vague way, EL. began te eompre-
hen, for the deed was made out in my name.

“You knew of this ?” I said to Mra. Warren. . #8

“Yes,” and she guve me a queslioning glance. ‘ 4

On! did they think to pay me for the best thing out of my own
life? Ifelt pained, humifiated. 3 Sia -¢

“Let us go on,” I said, thrusting the letters in me pocket.

Up-stairs there wasa sleeping and sitting-room that micht have
been Louis‘ own. Only yesterday I was in 1t on Thirteenth street ;
to-day it was here, All the duty little appointinents that I bad
conned hundreds of times; and he was right it he fancted they
could be so dear to no other living soul.

 

wen | was in perfect order, as if one might come iu aud take pous-
session,

“You are not displeased ?” Mrs. Warren ventured* at length.

“TI cannot tell,” I answered, wearily. j

“T will leave you to read your letters, while I go down tot
kitchen,” she said. , :

That recalled them, Left alone, I threw myself upon the
sian lounge, always my tavorite, and began to peruse the -
Fsives. By chance I stumbied upon Mrs. Quineil's fist.

The house, as you wil have guessed, was.a joint pit. I began
in careless, unbelieving coldness, I ended ia tears. T understood
then Low truly dear I was to them all, und that instead otitancy-
ing the past could be made up to me, this remembrance was ony
to satisiy a tender, lingering love that had no words wherewith
to clothe itself. They wanted to think of me in this plugs that
they had all beautified and arranged.

Before I finished MuriePs letter I took a flying leap down the
stairs. Tnere in the darkest Corner of the pirlor hung g picture
60 cunningly draped that you could hardly distinguismit from
the wall. Itore eff the covering With impatient hands Muriel!
my Muriel, in something higher and finer than 7, earthly
beauty! ; ‘

* * * * * * *, *

All that was years ago: I took possession of my house, and
Mrs. Warren came te do its honors. That I prospered I need
hardly say. It sowe Cim, lost dreum has shut out all other faces,
whoshall blame. My profession is my ond love now. * :

But Louis and Muriel are blest beyond compare, They live on
the banks of the Rhine in ag old baronial castle. Louis writes
and entertains savans. Mufiel has matie the house gay with
prattling @bildren, and Mrs. Quiuell is at the summit of boman ‘
felicity.

Afier the old passion had found rest ih a quiet grave I visited
them. A summer that shall always remember, a tune that is
still sweet to think upon. ’ F : ;

One picture standstout vividlyawith a weird, terrible power.
In September we made a journey to one of Lhe Cities rich in art
and treasures, but now its other atcractions were thrown into the
shade by the appearance of an actress, whosg beauty and fame
thrilled all Europe. Kings and princes were at her teet, diamonds
enough for a country’s ransom h&d been showered upon her,
She had risen with a sudden bound, and what her past had been
noone knew. At Pariscrowds had gone wild over her, at St.
Petersburg she had been a very queen. ;

The theater was full of eager faces.” From palace, hotel and
quaint old residences the stream had poured, The air was almost
stifling with the odor of flowers, and like a changeful sea with
the wave of costly laces, feathers, satings and all things lovely
that make up the surroundings of royal and beauuful women.

And then she came, Tne chatter was hushed, All eyes were
turned at once.

Draped in antique folds, like a piece of sculpture by a master
hand, the raven blackness aud wonderful length of her hair en-
veloping her likea shadowy garment, a figure of perfect propor-
tions and wonderful grace, ald a face with! the starting beauty
of a fiend, for it was something more than human.

How the crowd hung’ upon lier words, her gesturés, the fery

assion and blazing scorns, This is the strength, the. power that
fas made her a conqueror! Does she trembfe at the poisoned
cup, or shrink from the dead white face of/her'rival? Ab, here
is pitiless triumph, love as dangerous as hate, a will that can
never be couquered, but throws it guage of defiance to the last.
And as she went on. battling with doom and death her very
beauty grew terrible!

We aif started and glanced at each other. Muriel was‘pale as
some startied ghost, for those wild eyes were bent upon her
with a look that might have killed. A shudder ran through each

soul.
“Altheal?
The mystery that enthralled the world was disclosed to us In
that vivid flash. Amid these ringing, deafening plaudits, did
that queen of tragedy remember one March nigut when the
lay had been real?
: col marvel that sne thumphed with such vengeful delight, for
farther back she nad Jost, been vanquished, Well, let her have
her dazzling victory! Let her reign on her gilded throne, with
the cluster of purple helietrope on her white bosom.
Tt is sweet for her who ‘has missed the best of human hopes, it
ace, and truth,

is sweet for us Who have gained in love and
i ; owered with ap-

My life with its lost prize is better than hers
plause, And Muriel’s most perfect of a
{THE END.}

In a few weeks we shall commence a beautiful story of English
society, by Lucy Randall Comfort, entitled “The Widowed Bride;
or, The Mystery of Glenhampton-Castle.”

—_—_—__—_ > 4 __—_———-

_ HISTORICAL ITEMS.

. Tax centaurs were a mythological race of beings,

 

1 halt man and hal€ horse, and were supposed to inhubit the for-

est of ancient Thessalay. It is explained that the story of the
centatrs lad ita origin li the fact thatthe young men of a town
in Thessaly were the first who, used horses for riding, and that
the ignorant people of the country imagined that the horse and
MAN Were one being,

By the disobedience of a lad in 1809 a garden gate
in Roode Island was lett open, and a pig gotin anu destroyed &
few plants. A quarrel between the owners of the and the
garden grew out of it, which spread among their friends, defeat-
ed the Federal candidate for the Legislature, and gave the Stato
a Democratic Senator, by whose vote the war of 1813 with Great
Britain was deClared.

Rice was first planted in South Carolina in 1693,

Carolina rice 1s famous the world over.

 

styled Presidents antil the adoption of the Constitution of 1792,

ve Sarggl :
bout nothing. No brother could have |

with an absorbing passion, but fate, which rules these things ,

: |, ot’ my tongue «
dumb or Irozen withthe pow enthatheld inyesenses in abeyance?”

What it cost me to give Maric) her freedom I cannot put into A

never outgrow, and of which the must ardent suut neod not be |

On the third floor there were three pleasant chambers. Bvery- ;

Tue Chief Magistrates of New Hampshire were -

>

 

 

 

 
 

tn wav berets

 

I

 

 

 

 

 

   
  

   

OPN LLNS

 

OOOO OY

j NEW YORK, APRIL 5, 18765.
PO
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School Teachers.

The recent discussion about the salaries of the
‘teachers in the public schools, developed a strong
feeling in favor of the teachers, and it was evident
‘by the popular feeling that they ought to be the last
instead of the first to suffer from any necessary cut-
‘ting dewn of expenses. Almost all cities have more
employees than they need, and a good many oi them
‘are paid a good deal more money than they earn.
‘This is especially true of New York city. But there
is no extravagance toward the teachers. They hold
very responsible positions. If they are fit for the
positions and faithful to them, they work hard. They
ought to be paid more liberally than almost any other
public servants, but in fact they are paid less, We
ougkt not to put the teachers in a beggarly position,
and we ought not to select them froma class who
are not competent to earn money in any other way.
Entrusted as they are with ‘the education of the

. yourg—education not merely by books, but educa-

tion by example and personal influence—teachers
ought to be persons of high character as well as-of
good and well-stored minds. Having got such per-
sons, we should-not make them toil for a bare. pit-
tance, but-should enable them to live comfortably.
The ‘NEw YorK WEEKLY conceives it to be botha
duty and a pleasure to bear witness to the worth of
the teachers in the public schools and to say a word
‘in their behalf.

 

ABOUT LOVE AND LOVERS.

Wish chastely, and love dearly.—Shakespeare.

The sw eetest meanings of love are never spoken; the
Jormal rhetoric of language cannot convey its significance
by more than it can translate the fragrance of flowers.

‘One mig&t as.well try to dissect music.as to analyze it,
for though it is easy to say that we love, who can say why
ie lowes? ‘Hiow dearly should it -be prized in all of its do-
mestip and s@cial relations! Wesee the miser hoard his
gold. iLet-us djay-gp stores of love; the t is only ours
for to-day, to-morrow we die; but. love we take with us,
even beyond the gravel

‘It is the namral nutriment of the heart; and as the dia-
mond in#pives the rays of light which it gives out, so the
heart abs. eras avfectien to suit the rays of love. :

‘And yet, lake all else in life, love has its ludicrous side.
Shakeapeawe, who has described the passion in its every
mood, say.¥:

“[ do muh wonder that one man, seeing how much
another mae is a fool when he dedicates his behavior to
love, well, adver he hath laughed at such shallow follies in
Others, @eccaie the argument of his own scorn, by falling
in love.¥

Lill, laugh at it as mach as we will, it is the inevitabie
ode of all; Meimg, as a certain writer once said, much like
war.

A soldier \who has escaped in a dozen batties, and fought
every day in the week, without being wounded, is liable
to be shot thr eagh the heart on Sunday.

AS welook a € this passion on the ludicrous side, we are
forced to adm¥®t that, like the whooping-cough and
measles, it is ineWttable; besides which, there is amother
peculiar aspect th'at at-once presents itself, that as the pa-
tient enjoys his dis¥ase, he is not willing to permit any

 

- remedy to be applied..

“The only victory over love is Higi#,’’ said Napoleon;
but that is by no means sue. Cupid is very erratic; there
is no anticipating his tact&#s. A youmg college student
graduates first in his cass, his head full of ancient love,
not a threb of affection has ke known -begond a brother's
love or a son’s tenderness. Suddenly a blue-eyed gixl
crosses his path, and fakes his heart along with her, and,
ten to one, leaves herown behmd. Who.cen explain this
plienomenon?

It was not tle work of time, but. an instantaneous event.
Talk about Cupid being blind! He never misses his mark.
Here a philosapher, full of books, study, and transcen-
dentalism, deeply read in the wisdom Of Sages, walks out
from among his beoks and trips over 4 tiny satin shoe,
and preste! before one can count ten, the -bright-eyed
owner of the welk-formed slipper, whom he never saw,
has enslaved his heart. Is this not dowa-right witchery ?
How, now; ig this maa’s erudition any safeguard against
love? He may have been prosaic enough efore, but he
will revel in poetry for the future.

A miser, sixty years old, sees a blue ribbor round g little
waist, ornamenting the person of a girl not worth a six-
pence, while his own hoard is over a million. Behold
him tremble like a leaf! In three weeks this man, whe
has jived and starved alone, devoted only to the accunru-
,ation of gold, makes this blaek-eyed girl his wife and mis-
tress cf all his wealth. Where is the logical expianation
of this? There is your stern old warrior, who has de-
voted himself to discipline and the camp for fifty years,
and knows no love but that of country. He meetsina
oliance ball-room @ little sweet sixteen, who captivates
his old, stout heart with a single glance and &@ touching
smile. The hero of a hundred battles strikes his flag at
once and “greunds arms’ at her pretty feet. Is this not
more puzzling than an intricatesum in Buclid? “Loving
goes by haps; seme jOupid Kills with arrows, some with
traps.”

But in all soberness, we must realize that loge is a great
mystery as well as @ great necessity, forming the very
foundation of morality and domestic happiness. There
ismo fertilizer like love for tue human: heart; ne matter

how poor it may be, it will enrich it; no matter how bar-
ren, it vill fructify it, cause it to bud and blossem with
tropical richness, while its very atmosphere is that of
eternal summer.

; ; ——_———_>-2<+—___—__
Sa~ We shail soon commence

ROSE MICHEL,

an Emotional Story of Intense Interest, founded on the
last grand Parislan Dramatic Sensation,

BY ERNEST BLUME >

 

GRIM-VISAGED WAR.

Is not the rapid arming of the European nations, which
is now in progress, a strikingly significant fact? Does it
not mean the gradual approach of ‘‘grim-visaged war?”
The long rivalry existing between France and England
subsided some time since, but is followed now by one
even more bitter and threatening between the former
country and Germany. The latter government fully
realizes, that they must keep by force what they have
won by force. The military influence in Germany is all
powerful, and takes precedence of all other at the present
time, while her enormous army is upon a full war foot-
ing. No observer of the politics of Europe can fail to see
the inevitable struggié which looms up in the near future
between France and Germany. Both countries are pre-
paring for it, and are eager for the fray. McMahon’s
government has learned a valuable lesson from the
enemy, and the Germans will find the struggle for pre-
cedence with their southern neighbers avery different
matter from that which was virtually settled at Sedan.
This time it will not be the mere ambition for conquest,
bnt the historic rivalry, and the antagonism of races,
which will incite to the clash of arms and bloodshed.

Every war involves a greater or leas relapse into barbar-
ism, for while in certain cases it saves the State it yet
sacrifices the citizen, and is a mad game at best. As we
said, at-the commencement of our remarks, all Europe is
arming. Look at the north and behold Russia ‘to-day.
She was never before in such a fighting trim, having been
like an athlete, in ‘‘training’® ever since the war in the
Crimea, where she 80 effectively withstood the best com-
bined armies of the world. If she could make such a
stand in her then comparatively unprepared condition,
what could she not do at the present time in the zenith of
her organization and strength? The emancipation of her
serfs has created millions of thinking bayonets, while the
immense network of railways 80 promptly spread over
the country, from the Baltic to the Black Sea, within the
last few years, gives her stragetic facilities scarcely
dreamed of during the Crimean war. Russia feels that
she will ere long be called upen to take a2 most important
and doubtless bloody part in the great game of nations,
which must soon be played upon the cheesboard of Eu-
rope. Even her navy, though it is mot the best arm of
Russia, is pronounced to be the strongest and most efii-
ciently organized marine in the world, not even except-
ing that of England.

All the gun factories of the continent are busy at work
upon the most approved pattern of firearms, and the sol-
diers of all nationalities are being furnished with a class
of weapon far more effective for the destruction of human
life than ever before. Army corps are being rapidly aug-
mented to their fall numbers, immense camps are laid out
and organized for drill] purposes, and one, in imagination,
can hear the hoarse-voiced cannon already roar. Far-
seeing men point to a war between Germany and Russia,
When the contending forces will be numbered by millions!
If this should come, it will be the most terrible conflict
which the world has ever seen; then the significant ex-
pression, “rivers of blood,’’ will be tangibly exemplified.

Or, suppose even, for it is by no means impossible, that
Bismarck and the Emperor at St. Petersburg should join
hands! What daring enterprise coyld not these two
northern powers united accomplish, either in the east or
west of Europe? With their millions of trained men,
their unlimited wealth, and their combined navies, they
could change the map of the world! This is no fancy pic-
ture. There isa whole sermon in the famous remark of
Wellington: ‘‘The next dreadful thing to a battle lost is a
battle won.” %.

STABBED IN THE BACK.

AN EPISODE OF THE CARNIVAL.

 

 

‘BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.

 

A few years ago, during the period of the Roman carni-
val, when the people of the Eternal City feel bound to go
mad for a certain number of days, to indemnify them-
selves for the gloom of tne greater part of the year, a Mr.
Martin Rogers, a merchant of New York, arrived in
Rome, and took up his quarters at the Minerva Hotel.
One of the first things he did was to Call on his iriend, the
Hon. Mr. Richard Lesley, American ambassador to one of
the foreign Courts, on leave of absence from his duties for
a short time, a favor solicited to enable him to ‘see Rome
and do as the Romans do.”’ 1 must state here that the in-
cident I am about to relate is simply a fact, but that the
reader will vainly seek in the New York Directory for the
name of my merchant, or in the Blue Book for that of my
plenipotentiary, as the former, who told me the anecdote,
made me promise beforehand, if Lever pul the narrative
into print, not to mention the real names of the par-
ties.

Mr. Lesley received his friend very courteousiy, and in
answer to @ question of Rogers about the Carnival, an-
swered: ;

“I's slow—slow—my boy. Nothing like the Fourth of
July. Iam tired of ali these ‘tomfooleries; the noise and
row have given me the headache, and 1’m nearly blind,
for yesterday I.rode through the Corso without putting
my mask on and got my eyes full of lime dust from the
confounded confetti. So l’m invalid to-day. So if you'd
like Lo go among the maskers and mummers, I can lend
you my custome—I was foolish enougn Lo buy an entirely
new and costly. rig out.’?

The ambassador then showed. the merchant his proper-
ties.

“Here’s a shirt of chain. armor. Id put that on, be-
cause it glitters, for my stupid valet, not knowing it was
an antique, valued for its venerable look, must needs
scour off the rust. Here’s a scarlet mantle, laced with
gold, a. cap aud feather, and a mask.”

The merchant rigged himself out and sallied forth into
the streets. He felt rather foolish as he descended the
staircase, but once out of doors he was in a crowd of
maskers and lost his sense of individual ridicule.

He soon reached the Corso, which was densely crowded;
the narrow sidewalks being packed, the streets full of
carriages, all the baiconies filied, and the air iuil of white
dust from the showering sugar-plums,

Our friend ascended the steps of a church, which were
crowded, with spectators, men, women and Children, to
obtain. a better view of the motley spectacle, and was
closely wedged in by persons pressiug him on each side,

All at once.a hoarse voice whispered in his ear:

“Richard Lesley! I swore revenge, and the hour has
come}? ;

At the same instant a keen pain shliot through his frame,
the force of a blow, delivered from behind, sené him off
his feet, and he fell forward on the peopie-before jim, who
divided to the right and left, and lay at the foot of the
marbie steps motionless,

All was wild commotion and dismay. . The crowd made
way for an officer of the poiice wlio was near at hand, and
who demanded:

“Who is this man? Does any one know him?’

4J do,?’ said a man, advancing; ‘‘he is my master—the
Hon. Richard Lesley, an American ambassador. I recog-
nize the dress. Lbrushed it for him this morning, just
before he gave me a holiday.”

“Lift his mask and give him air,”’ said the police officer.

Beppo, that was the servant’s name, obeyed, bul when
he had removed the mask, exclaimed:

“This is not Signor Lesley.”?

“But you identify the dress ?’?

‘““Yes—I can swear to iti’? said Beppo.

By this time Rogers opened his eyes, gave other signs of
life, and even struggied to rise to his feet.

Beppo:-and the police officer assisted our frienc into the
shop of a.surgeon and apothecary, who proceeded at once
to examine the merchant’s hurts. On remoying his cloak
a few drops of blood were seen near the base of the spinal
column, and-from the folds of the mantel a knife, with
the point breken, fell to the floor. This the police officer
took charge of. The wound itself, though painful, proved
to be slight, for the chain. mail had saved the life of the
wearer and broken the assassin’s weapon.

The official took down the name and address of the
New York merehant, and then -permitted him to get into
a catriage with Beppoand driye to Mr. Lesley’s stupping-
place, the Hotei.de Russia.

The diplomatist was astounded when he heard the de-
tails of the advenéiure.

“You are sure the would-be murderer called you Lesley,
Mr. Rogers ?”*

“Perseetly sure. Have you any mortal enemy ini Rome?”’

“None that I kmow of. I am a stranger here.’

“Any inveterate enemy that might have followed you
from city te city for the purpose of revenge?”

“Hal? exclaimed the ambassador, springing to his feet,
“Thave it! it is a mystery no longer. ‘Last year 1] was
active in procuring the extradition.of a Belgian murderer
who had fled to the United States. On-the passage over
and in prison he swore revenge on: all parties concerned
in his. Capture and that of the plunder, for the sake of
Which he had Comuygtied assassination. As il luck would
have it he escaped ffem tire ian authorities some time
ago and has not since deem hecrd of. That was the man
who came so near killing you. I will see Oardinal Anto-
nelli at once, and give him the villain’s description.”

“And while you're about it,’? said the merchant, rub-
bing his back, . ‘qgou nay a8 well take my passport to his
eminence and get his visé on it. J’m going to Fiorence.’:

sewWhen??

Tonight,

“Pshaw! you have not seer anything of the Carnival.”

“ve. seen enough of-itl? replied Mr, Rogers; ‘‘and it’s
my opinion tat it’s a very poor show,??

Nothing could induce the ges@ieman to remain. He

 

was off in the eyening train, after Naving registered a-vow.

  

 

that he would never take a part in a Carnival agaip, and
above all, never parade in borrowed plumage.

As for the assassin, though the American minister at
Rome, Mr. Lesley and Cardinal Antonelli and all the sdirré
conibined in the effort to discover him, he eluded all puar-
suit, and has not been recapiured up to this very date,

_— OO
CONDEMNED TO DEATH.

Who has not wondered as to the feelings and the
thoughts of a criminal, who has been sentenced to death,
and who knows that there is no possible reprieve for him?
A curious document, of especial interest to the student of
psychology, has lately been made public in France, con-
sisting of anote-book kept in prison by Moreau, the herba-
list, who was not long singe executed for the poisoning of
his wife.

We subjoin some extracts to give our readers an idea of
the thoughts which actuated the condemned who, while
in perfect bodily health was yet standing upon the verge
of eternity. ! i
- “Sept. 6.—What a fass was made in proving my guilt.
Of course I poisoned her, and after being charged with it,
I never denied the fact,”

“Sept. 7.—Of course lam to die. I should like todo so
pluckily.. Shali I suffer after execution? Bah! It doesn’t
bear to be thought about at all.,”’

“Sept, 8.—Does the body or the head feel anything after
decapitation, I wonder? It is said that after the knife falls
one is already dead. Frightfull’’

“Sept. 18.—I have no grudge against the executioner—
he simply does his duty. I will shake hands with him to
show that I forgive him.”

“Sept. 17.—I have seen several executions, but I little
thought at that time I was learning @ lesson which I
should be expected to repeat.”

“Sept. 20.—I don’t know my executioner. What a ter-
rible thing it must be when he puis his hand on your
shoulder to place your body under the knife!’’

“Sept. 28.—This waiting for the hour to come is very
trying; itis like dying by inches slowly. I wish it were
to come now, and be all over with.”

“Oct. 1.—lIam actually growing fat, notwithstanding
my terrible situation. Who would have thonght it on this
coarse prison fare? We are queer creatures 1’?

“Oct. 3.—Less thana week. I wonder what will be-
come of my soul? I wonder what the soul is? Shall I
meet Aer after I have been executed? Ah!’

“Oct. 6.—I would choke myself to death with my -hand-
kerchief, but it must be very difficult and painful. The
guillotine is less to be dreaded.”

“Qct. 9.—I wonder what the papers will say about me..

They must have ferreted out my story; they always do,
and they will make it telling, I’ve no doubt.”

Three days later the head of Moreau, the herbalist,
severed from his body fell into the basket!

 

THE JosH BILLINGS SPICE-Box.
BITTERS.

One ov the hardest things I kno ov to put yure finger
on iz human happiness; @ man gits it and loozes it a good
deal az he duz the meaziles.

Thare iz so mutch learning in the world just now that
good, old-fashioned, common seuse looks like foolish-
ness.

Mere tallent, to a literary man, ain't worth more than
hatfaz mutch az lively impudense; no man ought to
chain himself to a pen and ink stand upless he haz got
renius.

Yu kan learn virtew out ov the katekism, but to under-
stand vice yu hav got to mix in with it just a jitule.

lf we were going to exist forever in this worid even
thare wouid be apoor excuse for the manner in which
most ov us live.

Now that I have got older and kan choose mi plezzures,
I kan safely say that I never hav been so happy siuce,
and never expekt to be again az I waz in mi boyhood,
when I had a hatf day’s vakashun from toil and a silver
sixpence to make merry with.

Az a streak oy fatand a streak ov lean make the most
palateable meats, 809 duz good and bad luk, mixt io right
proporshuns, giv tlie best zest to life.

i dont think thatenny one haz ever realized the amount
ov happiness or mizery he anticipated.

Very fu men hav ever made an ockashun, but ockashuns hav
made menny a man.

I think that i had about az soon be hated az to be pittyed.

Justiss iz sumtimes slo, but it never iz uncertaip. Sooner or
later, right prevails,

When a man reaches the top round in the ladder ov fame he
thinks he owns that round, and he can’t make enny room on it
tor enny boddy else. . ;

Moral swashun and catnip tea are both good in mild cases, but
when mn disease ix akute, the knife and the blister must be

wn :

No man who iz unacquainted with himself can be well ac
quainted with others.

The plauzible truths are wuss to contend with than the down-
right falsehoods.

Yu can’t bury alie so —_ but what it will hag
wine aan can expect to be happy whose thoughts all center on

imself.

Honesty iz allwuss quoted abuv par, even amung thieves.

Thare iz but very (u fust class things in this life ennyhow, and
we ought not to be surprized if we don’t git enny ov them.

What a man don’t need iz dear at enny price,

I kant tell now which iz the wust—to beleave in nothing, or to
beleave in what aint so. :

ae very fu persous add enny dignity to the office that they

 

Man haz the pashuns oy the tiger, and if he had hiz strength,
he would hav made this earth a dreary wilderness long ago.

I never hav known a person, or a people, to fail yet in a just
and true cauze. :

If yu want to find out the exackt amount ov kapasity and _ vir-
tew thare izin a man elevate him to sum important posishun,
giv him power and if this don’t make a phool or a tyrant ov him
he iz a good square job.

Yu kan’t git a correkt a onenny one untill they are ded
and buried, then you kan tell how mutch bank stok he left, and
oa mutch yirtew he took with him to start bizzness in the other
worla,

A well-bred man iz not a man with a pedigree az long and az
full ov partikerlars az the by-laws and constitushun ov a base-
pa Ne but one whom natur made honest, and art haz made
affable.

It iz not only a grate evidence ov happiness, but ov virtew to
be satisfied with what we hav got.

I hav seen plenty ov dogs that yu couldn’t flatter, but I don’t
think I ever see a man but what would take a little ov it kindly.
It iz impossible to flatter the man who never flatters himself.

Az old age creeps on, both our vices and our virtews gro weak,
and decrepid.

Courage iz often mere!y the result ev fear.

The Vanity ov man jz more than a match for all the other
things in hiz natur, good, bad and indifferent.

It iz very natral and very eazy to phrovecy, but to phrovecy
right ain’t so natral, nor eazy neither.

Piuk baz this advantage over all the virtews—it never knows
when it gits whipt.

If a man will do the best he kan on enny kind ov a job he un-
dertakes, he will not only suprize every boddy else, but he will
suprize himself too.

Independence ov Karakter iz what we ali brag the most about,
and iz what we hav got the least ov.

1 think that mankind generally take more real plezzure brag-
ging ov their bad luck than they doov their good fortune.

The most meek and unpretending kritteron the face ey the
earth iz the man who haz tried hiz best to git a thing and failed
to do it; if yu will beleave him, he never wanted it, and
wouldn't hay it at enny price. ‘

I often hear ov persons in the literary world spoken ov az
original writers, but thare iz no sutch thing az an original writer
now daze; ali the truths in the fields ov literature were harvested
long ago, and all thare izleft fora modern todo iz to alter
things a little to fit sum pertikular spot.

He who allwuss duz unto others az he would hav them do unto
him iz the oniy really honest man we hav, and how menny, my
friend, do yu suppoze thare iz oy this Kind?

Every truth in this world haz at least ten counterfits.

I hav never seen a man or a woman yet who had got abuy or
belo the influence of fashion in sum degree. °

Phisikal edukashun iz ov just az mutch importance to human
happiness az mental iz; it iz just az necessary that we kno how
to eat, as how to think.

It iz comparatively eazy to see a ghost, when yu don’t want to;
but nothing iz harder than to find one, by hunting for it.

I hay notissed one thing, that thoze folks who are never known
moe enny boddy else’s advice, are allwuss giving advice to
others,

If yu kant reach a man thru hiz heart, thare iz no use in try-
ing to reach him thra hiz head.

A coquet seems to be to me, ofe wno don’t mean more than
haff she sez; while a prude iz one who don’t say more than haff
she means.

A company of wits kant gialong at all together without a
fool or two, to praktiss on; they are az handy az a pin cushion.

The question aint now days, “hew mutch duz the man kno???
but “how mutch can he do?”

Avarice bears the same relashun to ekonemy, that total absti-
nence duz to temperance.

Thare iz a grate deal oy knriosily amung men and wimmin,
that iz nothing more than ain branes out ov a job.

Laziness iz a terrible burden, and one which a man kant drop
if he wants to.

Thare iz a grate difference between repenting oy a sin and re-
penting ov the punisiiment that iz due it.

Weak virtews, and weak vices, are allwuss found together.

Noman who haz got thru this life reazonably well, kan bea
big phool enuff to want to try it over again,

All the virtews and ail the vices leave a very old person.
Thare don’t seem to be enny thing le{t in them for either to feed

on.

A man’s failings are quite often more amiable than his virtews.

If we eouldn’t neither laff nor cry we would be infinitely wuss
off than the brutes. ‘

By our very constitushun it seams that we hay to be wicked
before we kan be good.

It takes sum force of karakter even to be wicked, and if a
nian kan’t do.enny hurt he kan’t do enny good.

Grate -buty isa dangerous: gift. It iz seldum coupled with
gooa sense, aud too often iz either s0 vain or insoleut thatit iz
disgusting.

One ov the most diffikult, and atthe same time, the most
essenshall things for us toJearn iz, that we are grate bores.

He who can say the most convincing things in the fewest
words iz the grate orator. :

Thare area thousand little inexplikable things that go to make
up the karakter ov agreeableness, even the way a man blows his
hoze haz something to do with it. k

Very grave and mistefious men, when they do open their
mouths and speak, generally betray their sekret and let us see at.
once what kagsid phools they are.

Men are not generally obstinate bekause they are right; but be-
Kause they are wrong. f ; i ;

Lazyness iz aZ inkurable az acancer, and will eat a man up
about az fast.

Seckond luv jz like seckond childhood, rather a sloppy affair.

We luv thoze whom we kan protekt or defend; and al} luv,

however pure it may appear, haz a large share ov self luv in it.

Fiddlers and dancing masters never get abuv their bizzness.

A profuse man iz most allwuss an avarishus one.

No one bekums suddenly viscious and dishonest, like a coal pit
they may brake out suddenly, but they have been smoldering
and charring for a long time.

It ain't good polisy to tell even our best friends all ov our se-
krets—no one goes to a well after water that iz pumpt dri.

Iwould mutch rather that a person would say “No” than
“Yo” toevery question that I put to them. ~ ‘

Every one praizes atrue friend but no one will allow him to
remind them ov their faults,

Thare is grate risk in being a comik philosopher, nine-tenths ov
the world will er their eyes fast on the monkey and lose sight
entirely ov the philosophy.

All literary men are full ov vanity and jealousy, but sum ov
them manage to hide it better than others.

Thare are only a few wio git !ow enuff down to be dispized by
every boddy, and thoze who do hav tutched bottom.

Thare iz no living thing that kan stand the bitterness ov ridi-
kule that iz just, it will make even a mule wince. ,

I never hav seen a woman yet (blessthe dear creatures), who
didn’t hav a fust rate excuse for every thing she had done, or
had made up her mind to do,

Thare are a class ov people who trade in sekrets, they are a
more suspishious set than the old junk dealers.

CONTRIBUTORS.

We have a vast amount of very fine manuscript, unopened
yet (probably a ton), to which our earnest attention will be given
one of these days, in the mean time we will just say that Rose

ush, Posy, Fruit Piece and Sympathy will appear in our col-
umn. We are forced to decline, upon examination, Baby, Beau,
Oyster John, Q. Q., Siedge Hammer, Boy Billy, Homespun, Oh,
Dear, Patsey Anthony, Killdeer, A. 3. K., Nottingham, Parsley,
Hoopskirt, Mouse, Dave, Black Sam, Paltry, Pinchback, Patriot,
8. 8. S., Dombey, Spaniel, Brandy Smash Cowcumber, Spitcurl,
Amos, Dandylion, Goat, Samuel R., D. D., Soap Locks, Short

Boy, Flanne
———_>_+______—-

BURIED ALIVE.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

 

 

The broad shores of Massachusetts Bay, lying between
the head lands of Cape Cod and Cape Ann, afforded many
vivid chapters in colonial history, about the period of 1660,
and the legends attached to various localities along the
moateers and northern shores are still familiariy dis-
cussed.

The rivers and bays along the New England coast were,
at the period named, the haunts of pirates and smugglers
innumerable. These adventurers were so bold as often
successfully to defy the king’s cruisers, either by open
fight or stratagem. Sometimes these rovers were attacked
and conquered, but the capture of one or more amounted
to nothing, where the offenders against the laws swarmed
like bees. This scourge became so great at last that the
home government applied itself earnestly to eradicate the
evil, and it was suppressed by the close of the century,
though isolated cases still occurred.

The vicinity of Lynn, Nahant, and Marblehead, afforded
many favorable inlets and bays which formed anchoring
ground for these contrabandists, and where the naviga-
tion was sufficiently dangerous and intricate to make the
pursuit by the large vessels quile impracticable. The
rovers, kuowing every inch of the bay, were of course
quit at home in its navigation.

Oue sum:mer’s evening, of the period of which we write,
just at twilight,a small and rakish-looking fore-and-aft
schooner, of that general appearance wiich showed she
did not belong to legitimate conmimerce, Came in shore
from the main channel, doubling the headland of Nahant,
and dropping her anchor just off the mouth of Saugus
river. There was no communication attempted with the
slrore until after it was fairly dark.

The peopie living along the coast were accustomed to
see these roving vessels come and goin a somewhat sus-
picious manner, until it ceased to be a novelty, and they
had also learned that it was decidedly for their interests
not to interfere in any way with them. Qn the present
occasion the stranger was watched by some of the most
curious, and at about ten o’clock, by the light of the stars,
a boat was lowered from the side of the schooner, and
four sturdy oarsmen pulled up the winding course of the
river, being 800n lost to view.

On the following morning, when those who had thus
kept an eye upon the suspicious craft, looked for her once
more at her late anchoring ground, she was not to be
found. She had spread her wings and fiown away with
the first gray of the morning. She might have been a
slaver, Wilh some peculiar errand here, or a smuggler, or
even a pirate; the honest fisherman conld oily conjecture
and gossip over the matter. They had not one item of
facts whereupon to bear any theory as it regarded the
character of the flyaway.

As weliave intimated those were stirring times, and
the visit of the jaunty-looking schooner was soon forgot-
ten.

One day the village blacksmith, aman named Ewing,
fell sick suddenly, and it became very evident that he
must die. He was reputed to be, and was, an honest
man, @ good father and Iriend, and held an houorable po-
sition among his townsmen; but when the physician told
him that he could not recover, and thatif he had any
busivess arrangement which required adjusting on his
own part, he had better attend lo it, he was evidently
worried in his mind.

He sent, finally, for his pastor, the old, gray-haired cler-
gyman of the town, who came to console his parishioner
in his last moments.

“J am troubled in my mind,’’ said the invalid.

“What is it, friend Ewing?’

‘It weighs heavy on me.”

“Then divulge it, and jet us consult together,’? said the
well-meaning clergyman.

Being thus encouraged to confide the matter of his
troubles, he disclosed that on the day after the visit of the
unknown schooner, on that May evening, he had found a
note at his shop Stating that if a certain number olf shac-
kles, handcuffs, hatchets, and other articles, which were
enumerated, of iron manufacture, were made and depo-
sited at a certain place, with secrecy, an amount of gold
richly repaying their value would be found in their place
ona given day. —

“Did you comply with the order?”

“1 did.”

“And you knew that these articles must have bee
wanted for some illegal and unholy use ??

“7 surmised that they were.’?

“Then you were guilty of complicity.”’

“] know it, and have suffered many hours of remorse
in consequence.”

“Did you receive the payment???

“Yes,

“But did not see the purchasers ?”?

“No, though I watelled carefully,’? said the sick man.
“T could not discover when the articles were taken, nor
did any strange sails approach the arbor.”

The humble blacksmith had confessed what he felt to
have been a sin, aud died with his mind more at ease.

It was some two years subsequent to the death of the
mau Ewing, when the mysterious schooner, at nearly the
same hour of theday, was again seen to approaclr the
shore and to cast her anchor once more at the mouth of
the Saugus River. That night a boat lett her side, and
well-laden with baggage and various materials, wound its
Way up the harrow water course, propelled by four men,
while the schoouer hoisted anchor, aud one sail after an-
other, aud glided silently away to sea.

Not long afterward the dwellers along the shore found
that they had some new neighbors in the thick forest that
lay adjacent to the town of Lynn, aud Known as Saugus.
It was soon discovered that the jour men who had landed
in this suspiciouS8 Manner had selected a most secluded
spot for their abode, amoung craggy and precipitous rocks,
and shrouded on all sides by thick pines and hemlocks,
Close at hand there was also a fine lookout which com-
manded a view of the coast aud harbor for a great dis-
tance.

The spot to which we refer is visited by the curious to-
day, and is known as the Pirate’s Gien. lt was supposed,
many years after these men had lived here, that they
had buried some of their ill-gotten wealth in the vicinity
of the spot, but the earnest efforts of those who sought
eel ag treasure, never divulged the locality, if it ex-
isted.

The four buccaneers here built a stone cottage, and dug
a weil, the remains of which are still extant.

The home government had its secret spies upon the
coast, and the pirates were finally ferreted out, though
they were unobirusive, and only came into the village,
from time to time, to renew necessary stores. For these
they never failed to pay scrupulously, aud then to retire
again to their secret wbode in the glen.

The King’s spies sent word to the officers of the crown
touching these men, aud a cruiser one day came into the
mouth of Lynn harbor, off Swampscott, dropped anchor,
and prepared to clear out the foul den.

A detatchment of marines was landed at midnight, and,
directed. by a local guide, they succeeded in surprising
tlie pirates in their beds. Though the house was surround-
ed, only three were secured, the fourth having made good
his escape into the hills and forest.

Three of the buccaneers were transported to England,
where they were tried for piracy on the high seus, and
were duly executed.

Their companion, who had escaped from justice, was
not pursued, aud seems to have been forgotien by the
king's officers.

His name, as was afterward known, was Thomas Veal.
He had escaped to a cavern used by the pirates to con-
ceal their booty, and here he made his future home,

This lonely life would have been insupportable without
occupation, so he taught himself to make shoes; and
once a month he would bring the product of his labor in-
to the village, and exchange his shoes for more unmanu-
factured stock, and also for groceries aud small artic!es of
comfort, especiaily tobacco, which he smoked incessant-
ly. Veal is represented to have lived thus for some years,
a hermit’s life, at all times anticipating the fute which
overtook his former comrades. 5

‘When he came to the village of Lynn, he would some-
times indulge in the purchase of what was deemed luxu-
ries, and when he did so, he always paid for the articles
in bright, golden coin, showing that he was inno want
of pecuniary means. ,

The inhabitant of the Pirates’ Dungeon, as he was.call-
ed, is referred to in the history of Lynn as being not unh-
frequently seen in the streets of the village, when he
came to purchase, as we have said, domestic necessities,
during (he year 1658. But his lonely life became gradual-
ly insupportable,  ~

Incited by his loneliness, he made a trip to Boston, only
ten miles distant from his hermit’s cave, and here he

{ made the acquaintance of a woman whose character was

as abandoned as his own jad been. After a while he
sneceeded in inducing” her to leave the temptations of
Boston and to come and make her home at his cave in
the Saugtis’s hills, “How the two lived together im that
isolated condition was unknown to the Villagers.

His female companion, it was said, had as good reason.

to fear the hand of the law as himself, and she was never
seen but once after joining him at his cave, when she

 

came into the yillageto obtain some needed domestic
articles, which she procured, and at once hastened away,

 

 

seeming to avoid all social contact. Indeed no
able person would have associated with her, for her char-
acter was well known before she had gone to live with:
the pirate.

About this time the officers of the law came to Lynn
with a warrant from the home government for one Mary
Hodgson. The document described the woman, and
charged her with the murder of a seaman at a sailor’s
boarding-house which she had kept in Liverpool. By the
description in the warrant it was very pain that the mur-
deress and the companion of Thomas Veal were one and
the same, and the local sheriff was called upon to arrest her
and bring her to Boston, whence she was to be sent home
to Bngiand for trial. Short shrift was made of such char-
acters in those days,
The sheriff, it is said, tried to serve this warrant and to
arrest the woman, but Veal appeared at the mouth of his
cave wellarmed and told the officer that it would cost
him his life if he attempted to take the woman, and the
officer saw that Veal meant what he said.
“I shall take care that you do not surprise me," gaid
the pirate; ‘‘and I can killascore of you belore you can
make me yield.”
The sheriff returned the warrant to the authorities at
Boston, saying that it would cost the lives of.a score of
men to enforce it, and that he had no posse suitable to
perform the service required. ‘The authorities considered
the matter, and were just about to send a proper force to
accomplish the arrest, when the’ great earthquake oc-
curred which caused such fear and consternation all
through the New England colonies. ,

From the day of that catastrophe, neither Thomas Veal

 

nor iis companion were ever seen in the village. Finally
a party of men got together and sought the place of the
pirate’s retreat, in order to ascertain what had become
of him. They easily found the spot, but what was their
surprise at the change which had occurred there.

The earthquake had rent the rock asunder, sending a
great mass down from the face of the cliff, and thus in
one minute inclosing the guiity inmates in a a perpetual
dungeon.

They had been Buried Alive.

THE LADIES’ WORK-BOx

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—Owing to many
changes and reductions in prices, we have been forced to defer
the publication of our New Purchasing Agency Cat ue until
the present time. All oraers now received will be filled at once.
It will be sent to any address, pre-paid, on receipt of ten cents.

“Fashion-Seeker,? Mrs. L. A. P.,’? “Annie B.,” and
others, who make inquiries about the styles for spring.—
We have some very elegant patterns for March and April,
which will be also appropriate in the summer, a8 mate-
rial suitable to be wornin the warm spring days can or
will be comfortable in the cooler summer days. The first
pattern we mention can be made in silk, alpaca, or any
of the now fashionable fabrics, It is a pointed postilion
basque of peculiar construction, and can be worn either
with or without an overskirt. The number is 3,734, price
25 cents. The wide fronts are cut away below the clos-
Ing, and extend in long pointed tabs, which contrast
stylishly with the short French back, which is quite fall
and is laid in plaits. A fall of lace, together with a silk-
corded band below @ side-plaiting decorates the margin
of the skirt. The-upper side of the coat-sleeve is orna-
mented with two cuffs, and decorated with plaiting,
cording and buttons, while the neck is tastefully encir-
cled with lace, and trimmed with a full-plaited fraise, ter-
minating in large lapels completed to harmonize with
the cuffs. The cording continues about:the edge of the
fraise, and the front closes to the waist-line with buttons
and button-holes. When the garment is worn for a spe-
cial occasion the portions within the lapels can be turned
in, and the Vandyke opening filled with lace, leaving
space for chain or velvet, with a locket orsome pretty
orniment. A garment suitabie to be worn for walkiug
or church costume is a polonaise, with diagonal front,
No. 3,783, price 25 cents. This can be made of: material
like the skirt, orif of black or gray, cau be worn with
almost any skirt, and therefore is avery useful design.
The front is very simple and pretty, being trimmed and
buttoned diagonally. The sides are smooth, while the
back is long, full and. slightly draped. The sleeve is pe-
culiarly dressy; the decoration consists of a pretty cuff,
Witli-a rever'’s at each side, below a plaiting, which being
wide and full at the back, and narrow at the ends, forms
ashell design. The neck is finished with a collar, and
ornamented with lace. Overskirts are still popular and
are useful to slip on wilh dresses partly wornin front. A
pattern particularly adapted to making a garment for
both service and beauty is No. 8.742, price 20 cents, It
has a graceful apron front, and full back, with two points.
It can be handsomely trimmed, or will admit of very sim-
ple garniture; either way itispretty. A novelty for a gir!
of from three to nine years of age is costume No. 3,735,
price 20 cents. A Gabrielle gore forms the center of the
front, and is joined tothe jacket and skirt, which with
overskirt constitutes the costume. The jacket has double
box-plaits at the avaist-line, and the skirt is plaited. The
overskirt is arranged in upward plaits, joins the front,
and is draped highin the back under gash loops, This
suit is very pretty madeof some gray fabric, combined
with biue or cherry.

“Anxious Mother.’—Oh, dear, no, we never for a moment im-

 

 

 

 

 

own; no baby is wilhout beauty to the mother’s eye. We under-
stood you to mean a good, substantial outfit for baby to wear
first, nothing very costly about it, but and useful. Yer, we
can get sufficient garments for $50, and they will be of handsome
materials and well made. The outfit will be the one for $75, only
in place of the one or two more costly garmeuts, we will give
plainer ones, which will answer every purpose. You will require
shirts, underblenkets, flannel skirts, white skirts night dress
sli robes, sacques, cap for outdoor wear, bands, saiety-pina,
good whit ecastile soap, rice powder, a little sweet oil, or
fresh lard, to keep baby’s head free from scurf, and a cloak.

“Durno.”—Get brown paper, place over the grease on your
carpet, and smooth with a hot iron. Repeat this every day until
the spot is taken out. You shoulisay “When you gnd 1 called
there ;” also ‘When Lcame home.”

“Agnes.’’—We can furnish you with pattérns of any and alk
garments to be worn by intants. Send name and addressin full
and six cents, and we willsend you a catalogue of patterns, from
which ree can select those you like best. No, braided
are still popular, and will be worn quite as long as next fall,
Spring hats will be slightly larger than those worn last year, but
really do not differ materially in shapes. Yes, the words are in
italic that they may be emphasized when read. It is a difference
of ate or of taste; our artist may consider handsome what
you call u

 

who ask about spring fabrics suitab‘e for garments to be worn b
young men and boys.—Spring overcoats are even now in due
for a few warm days are enough to make one anxious to drop
the heavy wintercovering. Thes¢ we findin plain worsted twills,
also the same goods in small squares; they come in shades of
gray, drab, and brown. Small mixtures in the same and various
other makes are used for the same purpose. Fancy coatings
seem to be in favor. They areshown in black and brown shades,
woven half inch uares, in basket, diamond, bird’s eye, and
diagonal patterns, also 1n various Marseilles designs. For suita
and business coats, small checks, plaids, and straight-lined pat-
terns in gray and drab in the various shades will be worn. Sax-
ony suitings in the same shades are shown for spring and sum-
mer. Cassimeres come in such colors as drab, brown, gray, and
lavender, in mixtures, broken checks and str

4 ht lines, and are
for pantaloons, specially. Tweeds, drills, and ducks also can be
found in handsome patterns. For vests straight-lined patter
and broken squares in Marseilles, sattines, and quiitings will be
worn in summer. Full suits of navy blue pressed flannel will be
useful after the warm weather really commences, The overcoat
for spring will be plain; silk and mohair serge may be used for
linings. Kilt suits, both in white and colored fabrics, are already
in demand for small boys.

“May Nichols.”—If you go as a spectator you can wear a cloak
and hat without any impropriety, but if you intend dancing or
even walking about the ball-room, your hat and cloak should be
left in the iadies’ dressing-room. Either a full evening dress
some light, gauzy material or a handsome silk or_poplin will be
appropriate for you to wear. ,

“May Reed.”—Any of the above descriptions will be suitahte
for making your silk and beaver brand apace, The basque No.
3,734, price 25 cts. is a very dressy affair. If you make your silk
with {ull, elaborately trimmed overgarments you can have the
underskirt perfectly plain, butif the upper portion is rather
scant in garniture, you had better put a side plaiting on the
skirt, and head it with a ruffle and shirrs. No. Skirt trimming
will not go out of style for some time yet, so you need not hesi-
tate about putting on some decoration, although if you have not
much material, you can, and be in style, too, make your skirt
Bae: Quil or plait lace in the neck of your handsome dresses,

ollars are fashionable, but lace is softer, and gives x more deti-
cate finish to a handsome toilet than any harsher color;
either standing or turnover coat sleeves still obtain. Some ere
plain at the top and finished at the bottom with double side
plaits, divided with folds or coils of the material joined in the
outside center with a neat bow; others have quaint cuffs, which
are either corded or finished with plaitings. They are ali stylish
and pretty. : i

“Mrs, F. A. W."—No:; send directly tothe NEw York WEEKLE
Purchasing Agency for any article you may desire. We can fur-
nisli you with patterns for all needful garments. The Metropoli-
tan Riding Habit pattern wiil cost you $1. We have other basque
patterns equally suitable for such habits, at 25. cents each; and,
as for the skirt, you can easily cut one without a pattern. Send
bust and waist measures.

“Myrtie Lyune.”’—Ibe “elastics” are said to be the best. They
are 75 cents,per pair. Yes; we will get them for you.

“J. Perkins.”—Tell Kittie of course we can get the patterns
for her doily’s clothes, but she must write us a little letter and
say how long dolly measures from the top of her head to the
toes on her feet, and what she wants to make up for her, and all
about it. Then we will let her know how much the patterns will
cost, and every thing she wants to know. Why not make a
an of the blue and white alpaca, it will be pretty for the lit-
tle girl.

“sdith Lyle, or Lover of the N. Y. WEEKLy.”’—Practice will
improve your writing. Yes; any beating or burning fluid will
injure the skin. If you have any musical ability, you are by no
means too old to apply yourself to the study of music; and, by
application, you may become a good performer in a short time,
Medium shades of any color will become you. From eighteen
to twenty yards of Japanese silk will be the needful quantity,
Any questions you may ask will be answered with pleasure,

NEXT WEEK!

ANOTHER NEW STORY

 

 

 

 

In No. 28 of the NEW YORK WEEKLY we will present
the opening chapters of

The Widowed Bride;

Mystery of Glenhampton Casile,

By Lucy Randall Comfort.
The popular author has hit upon a very strange plot,
and she has worked it up with remarkable ingenuity.

 

‘The story will be found welt worttry‘of attentive perusal.

agined you could mean “a plain infant” if the child was your.

ly.
“Young Buck,” “Peter Bruce,” “Lucy Lyman,” and others.

 

 

 

 

»

o_—

|
|

 

te

 
 

 
 
  
   

 

   

    

ee

   

 

 

 

 

“Yes,” she replied; ‘I was wrong to hesitate.
pene ys you must be the Lady Ianthe’s truest
friend.”

Clifford, lhust say, is handsome and accomplished.
‘Being sighbors, we have of course seen a great
deal of th Raymonds. Clifford and my daughter

the magnificence around her, she could hardly help
thinking all Lady Leeson had told her was a dream.
The interest of the evening culminated for her

I have a fashion of saying what I think.” ©

“But you do not like him better than Mr. Raymond,

=n The handsome face cleared; Lady Leeson looked | Lady lant:.were very great friends, little lovers, | when the rival lovers stood one on each side ot Lady } do you?” : ; :
Last night, I watched from a secret piace pleased. and all thékind of thing—I, of course, looking upon | lanthe’s chair. It must have been a trying position} ‘If Iam to speak honestly, yes, I,do.”
The surging crowds, thro’ a swirling storm—

“You speak sensibly, Mrs. Rymer.
to find a sensible friend and ally.”

‘Lady Ianthe asked me to destroy the flowers sent
to her by Lord Monford. The others she has most
carefully preserved iu her room.”

Lady Leeson looked terribly angry.

“ow am Ito bring sucha girl to reason?” she
said to herself. Then aloud she continued:

“T thank you, Mrs. Rymer. I begin to understand
that you are to be trusted. I shall soon tell you how
constant dropping is to wear away stone.”

y Leeson was very diplomatic; she did not
allude to the matter again; she was most cordial and
friendly with her beautiful daughter, yet Mrs. Rymer
noticed that her conversation chiefly consisted of
remarks about those fortunate girls who had married
well, and pity for those who had done badly. __

There was amysteryin this gorgeous mansion;
there was a tragedy in this sumptuous home, where
one would have thought racking care could not
come.

One day, Silvia, having rapped at the door of Lady
Ianthe’s room, and hearing no answer, naturally
concluded no one was there. She opened the door
and wentin, when suddenly Lady Ianthe sprang
from her seat at the writing-table and cried aloud.
Her face in that one moment turned ghastly white;
she took up the paper she had been writing and tore
itinto shreds. Then the mist of fear seemed to

I trust in -you|it as chil¢h folly that would be forgotten when
they grewp.

‘‘When Wcame to London, our hearts full ot dis-
tress and thble that was carefully hidden from the
world, my Isband told me to cheer up. ‘Ianthe is
so beautifulge said, ‘so greatly admired, she may
marry Well,ad then help may come for us.’ He
was always Lst sanguine over her beauty, and the
good fortune might bring us.

“That whate thought in our blindness the most
fortunate thit-upon earth happened. Lord Mon-
ford saw LadJanthe, aud ft once fell deeply in
love with her. When he came to lay his proposals
before Lord L:son, I saw tears of gratitude in my
husband’s eyes

‘“* *We are Saed,.’ he whispered to me; ‘Monford
loves Ianthe, 1d wants to marry her before the
season is over:

“I, too, Was nkful, Mrs. Rymer. You can ney-
er understand Yat a reprieve it was. That night,
for the first timjor many months, I slept soundly,
without the feanf disgrace and shame.

“On the day foywing, Lord Leeson sent for Lady
Ianthe, and told»y, You must understand that we
had said nothing her of our troubles, nor does she
know them yet. seems too hard to weigh down
a young life so hegly.

“What was our gef, our dismay, when Janthe, in

for Lord Monford, although he was too proud to
show it. He kept his post bravely, despite the evi-
dent disfavor of the lady; she gave all her smiles to
Mr. Raymond, all her darker Jooks to him. Her
voice, when she addressed Mr. Raymond, ‘took the} -She was silent tor a few minutes, then she con-
sound of a delicate silver bell; to rd Monford, it | tinued:
was cold and eae Silvia admired his bravery;} “A ae opinion is always worth having. Will :
he would not givein. He either did not or would} you tell me, Silvia, why you, a stranger, who could
not see her eu igens Died oie for his rival. Lady| have no possible interest in either, at first sight,
Leeson had watched the scene in something like| preferred Lord Monford to Mr. Raymond 2”
agony for many minutes, then she crossed the room| Silvia looked slightly distressed.
with an appearance of the most gracetul noncha-| ‘I would far rather not answer you,” she sald.
lance, 4nd joined them. “And I would far rather know,” replied Lady
Talk of tact, and of the tortures worldly women | Ianthe. :
will bear with a smile; had her feet been stanuing| “It struck me,” said Silvia, “that Lord Monford
on red-hot plowshares, Lady Leeson would have | had the face of a man who could bé relied upon in
made no sign. She spoke a few words to Lord Mon-| any emergency—who would be calm, steady, and
ford, to her daughter, then turned with most suave] true. Mr. Raymond looks rather as though he
and sparkling grace possible to Mr. Raymond. She | would be frightened at an emergency, andiget out of
talked to him of Leesdale, of his parents. at, if he could.” ei
‘It is quite refreshing,” she said, ‘to see a well- ‘But that would be very unmanly,” she said.
known face in this crowd. Have youseen the earl?} ‘‘Yes; I cannot help oe you what'struck me
He has been inquiring for you.” with both, but I Bae Ae he rents eS

Mr. Raymond regretted that he had not seen him,} ‘‘No,” said Lady Ianthe, warmly; ‘I do not think
and so fell into the snare so adroitly laid for him. you are, Ido not like this chocolate, it is not nice.
“Come with me,” said her ladyship. ‘‘Lord Lee-| I think I am tired, and will say good-night, Silvia.”
son positively wishes to see you, I know.” And Silvia knew by the sound of her voice that
They walked away together; Mr. Raymond could | she was not only unhappy, but greatly perplexed.

Lady Ianthe looked disappointed.
‘‘Ah! that is because you do not know him.’ If you 8
knew Mr. Raymond, you would see that there could

be no choice.” foes

Watched for an unforgotten face,
And a stalwart, stately form. °
“Sweet, will you know him?” my friend had said—
And I smiled in his face with a wistful sigh—
“Yea—had he lain for a century dead{—
I shall know him,” 1 made reply.
The roar and the rout of the busy street
Roee up in a hoarse, monotonous strain,
And the hollow echo of hurrying feet
Made ever a dull refrain.
Like the flitting shapes of a masquerade,
The gay phantasmagoria pass’d—
And want, in squallor and rags arrayed—
Till “He comes!’ I heard at last.
Straining the leash of a will too weak,
I felt my passionate pulses start—
The rose of rapture in either cheek,
Her tumult in my heart! ;
Be came: but where was the stalwart grace,
Blindly I sought thro’ a haze of tears?
Where was the glory of that dark face
I had worshiped for years and years?
Fall in the gaslight’s gairish glare
I stood transfixed by a ghastly fear—
P And he stabbed my sou! with a lustful stare,
* And a hideous, maudlin leert

Ww 2 a ; The positi ay i she most de-
} my daughter. Itis in her true interest and as her Beatie sae eee pane hig of interest; so we | | “Every one to her taste,” said Mrs. Rymer; “but | tinued, “but I'have always classed him with my fa-| girauid but, as he lad once serie t go Numer me,
yon Ga plea pone taney geeen., OF cote Wha dhe decison goat us Who shal over Enow | ome oneelse evidently onsidened in, pertec- peat ocaae* Which RG Biche ee Pe | guano nt alan Sw telrempayineu, ad
you can please yourself whether you answer me rT; nd ania ie ’ ay © : » oneelse evidently considered him _perfec- | tinently young. hich is it, Silvia ?” he therefore took the situation.
hot,” she concluded, haushtily. y r me or My lord said it was useless for the world to know y

Great God! on the brows my lips had kissed,
I saw the seal of the serpent sign,

@iewer thro’ the murk of a fever-mist—
The red plague-spot of wine!

And dimmed was the splendor of eyes amd lips
Lips whose kisses of fire and dew

Were swect as the nectar the dryad sips,
From cups of the harebell’s hue.

Be knew me not, tho’ his feet caressed
The hem of my robe—he stood so nigh—

And my trembling hand stole out and kissed
Has sleeve—as he passed by!

Perchance he dreams that the canker-care
Hath eaten the rose of you#h away—
That the sullen winter of grief’s deslair
Hath turned my brown locksgray;
That the grace and bloom are faded and gene,
The gray eyes robbed of their starry glow,
Anda the dimpled face is haggard and wan,
He loved in the long ago.

FO always the fang of the bidden worm,
That gnawing in silence and gloom apart,

Saps the life of each tender germ
Of hope in the woman’s heart—

: Drains the red of her dainty lips,
S And dims the light of her laughing eyes,

Tho’ the soul may dwell in a biack eclipse,

And her life in ruin lies.

I turned away with a shuddering sigh,

clear from before her eyes.

“how cruelly you frightened me.” :
“Did you not hear me at the door?” asked Silvia.

have destroyed my letter.
that.
though it would break.”

hardly stand.
terribly afraid of being seen.”
ble companion.

Lady lanthe sighed deeply.

into a web, one must get out of it.”

fond, to go and read with her.

workmanship. Silvia touched it.

is Venetian, is it not ?”

and the glorious eyes grow tender and dim.

“How you trightened me, Mrs. Rymer,” she said;

“No, Idid not; I thought it was mamma, and I
Ineed not have done
Do not startle me so again; my heart beats as

Silvia saw that she trembled so violently she could
‘One moral is, never te enter a room without suf-
ficient warning,” she said, laughingly; ‘another is,
Lady Ianthe, never write a letter that you are so
She suid the words gently, not knowing how the
earl’s daughter would brook reproof from the hum-
‘**You are right,” she said; ‘‘but when one is drawn
Another day—it was warm, sultry, and oppressive
—Lady lanthe had gone into the dressing-room, and
asked Mrs. Rymer, of whom she was growing very
The heat was very great, and she unfastened the
high white bodice, and Silvia saw, while bending
over her, round her neck a gold chain of peculiar
‘*How pretty this is, Lady Ianthe,” she said. “It

She was astonished to see the beautiful face flush,

the yeast positive nner, refused to hear anything
of it.

‘* ‘At least,’ said lp father, ‘you will tell us why.’
And then she told u:hat she considered herself en-
gaged to Clifford Rajond; that she loved him, and
would not consent toreak the engagement.

“IT thought my husind would have gone distract-
ed. He persuaded, nplored—all in vain. She
would not hear of it: 4], by my advice, he refrained
from telling her the ste of our affairs.”

_ ‘Was it wise, do yothink, Lady Leeson, to keep
it from her ?”

“I thought so then; think so now. She is 80
proud'that I believe kiwing how we are situated
would cause her at Of¢¢¢ refuse Lord Monford, and
would make her marry ,ymond. I shall try every
other influence. Then, * nothing avails, I will ap-
peal to her to save us; bi lwish to avoid that ex-
tremity if I can.”

“Does she like Lord Mafod » asked Mrs. Rymer,
with a rush of warm pity hrugh her heart.

“No,” was the calm repy; ‘f do not think she
does; but that would not natty, In affairs of this
kind we cannot afford to stadVikes and dislikes.”

“Yet it is for her whole life, Lady Leeson—her
whole life.”

‘She will not be the fitstwhohas made a similar
matriage, yet has been happy lit,” replied Lady
Leeson. ‘And now [ wil tellyou, Mrs. Rymer,
what 1 mean by constant droppye wearing away
stone. I want you to talk to hemontinually about
the advantages of marrying Lot Monford, when-
ever you get an opportunity,.and ¢ all times; then

 

not well refuse, but the look on his face was not a
pleasant one. Lady Leeson todk no notice of it;
she talked gayly and cheerfully, though, if wishes
could have slain him, he would not have lived long.
They went into the blue-room, where Lord Leeson
was talking to some eminent statesmen. Most prob-
ably the tact of his wife was no secret to him, for he
immediately turned his attention to Mr. Raymond,
leaving men of great note and standing, to devote
himself to his daughter’s lover.

“TI have not seen you for some days,” said the earl.
‘Is there any news from Leesdale ?”

And he entered into such a long conversation
with him that the young man saw there was no
prospect of release. Lady Leeson returned to the
drawing-room alone, and a smile of most cheerful
and serene content overspread her face when she
saw Lord Monford still by her daughtevr’s side.

But Mrs. Rymer had seen enough to make her
task seem a formidable one. There could be no
longer the least mistake about it; Lady Ianthe loved
Mr. Raymond, while to Lord Monford she was su-
premely and superlatively indifferent.

» ‘How she is to be changed I cannot tell,” said Sil-
via to herself. ‘Ishould not like to be the one to
thwart her or contradict her. It seems to me too
late for interference. In my opinion, she does not
now, and never will, care for any man living except
Clifford Raymond.”

Lady Leeson managed so well that, without seem-
ing in the least to interfere, or without even seeming
aware of what she was doing, she effectually pre-
vented all further discourse between her daughter

{To BE CONTINUED.] ~ ;

 

Rar The right to dramatize this Serial is reserved by the Author.

Engineer Phil;
—— OR, ——

LIFE AND DEATH

ON THE RAIL.

By G. Pickens Alcott, U.S.A.,

Author of “THE BOY GLADIATOR,” “BOIS-
” SEY, LOCKSMITH,” etc., etc.

{“Engineer Phil” was commenced in No. 48. Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. }

CHAPTER VII.
THE ‘WILD CAT’? BANK AND ITS PRESIDENT.

Some of the readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY are
scarcely old enough to remember the histry of what was
popularly known, nearly forty years ago, in the Western
country, as the ‘*Wild Cat” and “Red Dog” money insti-
tutions,

Al that time, say from 1834 or °35 to 1840, there were es-
tablished in Michigan and other Western States, certain
banks, which flourished upon a very small real capitak
through the shrewd management of speculators and
sharpers.

 

To thread the maze of the thronged street— “It is Venetian,” she replied; “but I did not know | by degrees I think she will -becomeaccustomed to | and her lover. Siqaaty Seen carkbeamemes ia wets qenkuatie ost or
| Forever done with tygdreams gone by— my chain could be seen. I must alter that.’ it. Do you understand ?” “I wonder,” thought Mrs. Rymer, as she looked | jeq py'a single aciual proprietor, Who, upon the nominal
The dreams so perffous sweet! “It is pretty enough to be seen and admired,” said around on that glowirg brilliant scene, ‘if all society

j
}
a

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could forgive that he flung away
My torrent love and my cling trust,
But not that he turned my idol to clay,
And trampied it in the dust!

 

The Right to Dramatize this Story is Reserved by the Publishers.

THROWN

 

ON THE WORLD;

pea Ste NR: Maca i

THE DISCARDED WIFE.
By C. M. B.,

 

Author of “LADY DAMER’S SECRET,” “A

WOMAN'S ERROR,” “DORA THORN,” etc.

 

(“Thrown onthe World’? was commenced in No. 15. Back Nos.

can be obtained irom auy News Agent in the United States.]

(Those who admire “Thrown on the World,” and
sympathize with Silvia Rymer, the Discarded Wife,
will favor us by advising their friends to read the de-

lightful story.)

 

Silvia.
white fingers and kissed it

nothing to it!”

‘| silver bag.
should be nothing to it ?

it, what a happy smile played round her lips!
earl?

with her?

not only to like, but to trust her.
on some little commission for Lady Leeson.

this letter for me?” ;
“T saw the aa ee only a minute ago on the hal

table,” replie

did not know it was there.

 

known to any one.”
Mrs. Rymer looked distressed.

Lady Ianthe laughed. She took it in her slender

“Tt must hide it,” she said. “Oh, if any one knew
what my pretty chain held, earthquakes would be

And Silvia, looking at it, saw at the end a small
What could it hold that earthquakes

After that day she noticed how often Lady Ianthe
in speaking, in thinking, in reading, would touch
the chain with her fingers, and when she did touch

What secret had this proud daughter of this proud
What mystery was enfolded in this life, out-
wardly so calm and tranquil? What had gone wrong

It was with no slight feeling of satisfaction that
she noticed how much Lady Ianthe was beginning
She came to her
one morning as Silvia was dressed, ready to go out

“Will You do me a favor?” she said; ‘will you post

Silvia, really believing Lady Ianthe
“But that will not do; I want this posting un-

“Do not ask me, Lady Ianthe,” she said; “I would

CHAPTER XXXI.

Mrs. Rymer listened in grave silece; she made
no reply.

“what do you think?”

“I will do my best; but Lady Ianthe 3 proud, she
will not brook much interference.”

‘I know that; therefore it occurred 9 me that
the constant. presence of some one wo, without
any seeming interference orseeming inteest, would
| continually advocate the cause’ of Lord Monford,
would be about the most sensible course ye could
adopt; that friend we have found in you.”

“I have not yet seen either of the genlemen,”
said Mrs. Rymer,

“You have an opportunity :o-morrow. Wereceive
a few friends in the evening, and they are sum, both
of them, to be present. You can say what you think
to Lady Ianthe about them, bat mind you sptak in
the right interest, always on the right side, ancthen
you will see the good effect of your influence.”

Mrs. Rymer still looked doubtful.

“I will do my best,” she repeated; ‘‘but I am not
1] very sanguine.”

“IT am,” repeated her ladyship. ‘I know whatfol-
lows when one constantly hess the same thing.
You will keep my counsel? Do 10t breathe one word
of what I have said to you; anl remember—please
remember that Lady Ianthe must know nothing of
the real circumstances, until we have tried every-

 

“Well,” asked Lady Leeson, almosi impatiently,

is as hollow as this? Here we have jewels, luxury,
magnificence—and underneath, bankruptcy, torture
and suspense.”

 

CHAPTER XXXII.

Lady Ianthe Hutton was proud and difficult to
please, but the grace and sweetness, the goodness
and truth of her companion had won upon her as
nothing had ever done before. She began to love
the gentle, self-sacrificing girl who was so anxious
to do her duty, and to do what was right in every
way. She talked to her familiarly as she would have
done to her own sister; the distinction of rank
seemed no longer to exist between them, So on this
evening, when the visitors had allgone, and Lady
Leeson, with a very dignified air, had retired to her
chamber, Lady Ianthe turned to her companion.

“T donot feel sleepy,” she said, ‘tand you look
quite wide awake—let us have a cup of chocolate in
my room.”

The maid was. summoned. Lady Ianthe threw off
the costly dress and brilliant jewels as though she
were tired of them. Mrs. Rymer thought how
beautiful she looked in her white wrapper, with
that mass of fair hair falling like a vail around her.

‘‘Now, Henor,” said Isady Ianthe, ‘two cups of
chocolate and then you can go; there will be no need
to wait.”

She looked so beautiful—with the spoon just touch-
ing the chocolate—a smile on her face, half-grave,
half-mischievous.

Board of Directors, placed his personal friends, whom he
could readily manipulate.

These banks carried on a ‘and-office business” for a
time, Issuing hundreds of thousands of dollars in elegant-
ly engraved ‘‘shin-plasters,’? and literally “coining mon-
ey” as they proceeded, until a day of reckonivg came,
when, in one body, they suddenly ‘went up,” and the
holders of the bills found they were not worth the paper
they were printed on. :

Of this “ring’? of banks, that at Ypsilanti, of which Mr.
Peter Darwin was President, was a prominent example.
Mr. Darwin enjoyed a wide-spread reputation for hon-
orable dealing, and, as has already been stated, he was
esteemed immensely wealthy, as he was, Ae i

ut the great “suspension year”’—1837—found the bulk
of his. property in his-bank, and for the liabilities of this
institution, he was held, by the law, individually respon-
sible. This left him as poor as a church mouse,

Engineer Phil had been provided with a situation upon
another of the company’s steamers, on the route from De-
troit to Buffalo, it taking the place of the Washington.

We left the Jady passengers irom this vessel,‘in the last
chapter, on board the launch, under charge of Eugineer
Phil, making the best of their way shoreward.? -

An hour after sunset, the same day, the ‘clouds broke,
and the moon shone down upon the still unquiet, bul sub-
siding Waves. |

Away to the northward a clear, dark line could be seen.
It was the laud they sought. With a will the four stout
sailors Jaid to their oars.

“«Land, boys!” exclaimed Engineer Phil, as the moon’s
rays burst through the parting clouds. “Land ahead,
ladies!’ he added, cheerfully, addressing himself to the
passengers. ‘Land, Ella, yonder!’ he continued.

“Thank Heaven, Philip. we are safe once morel’’

CHAPTER XXIX. do anything for you, but this looks like treason to oe else, and everything els: has failed,” “Mrs, Rymer,” she asked, suddenly, “how old are} _ “Oh, yes; we shall soon make the Long Point shdte.””
Calmly, as she had spoken, Lady Ianthe removed | Lady son. Pray do not ask me.” via left Lady Leeson. Tiere was a weight on} you?” Silvia looked up in wonder. nanan, ere che Toward: tno) ark Une line 150 od r ;
her jewels. The maid, standing by, with a puzzied,| For the first time Lady Ianthe bent her proud, | her heart, a sense of coming @il and sorrow, that |  ‘‘Twenty,” she replied. against the sky inthe distance, errs .
rplex pair tainn loiicanl ed thaw, i aa hardly und er. | bright head and kissed Silvia. she could not repress. “That is very young to be left a widow with a little | ““pywo nours after Phil first sighted the land and made
oe ? = “You are true,” she said—“true of heart, and I “Tt will uot ena well,” slic said to herself. ‘‘No child; What ai you tell me your name was?—I have the welcome announcement, the launch was safely at
“Bring me a wrapper,” said Lady Ianthe, calmiy, | Shall trust you.” — good ever came of forcing a gri’s inclination. If I | forgotten.” “Broad Beach,” where the ladies were comfortably land-
geet ek this Geeks away.” ’ ys CHAPTER Xxx were Lady Leeson, I should tll her the truth, and| “Silvia,” she replied. ‘It is an old-fashioned | ed, and furnished with shelter at the house of a farmer
Who H had ¢ y- to do her bidding, Lad e let her sacrifice herself if shewould.” name.” dwelling near the shore.
en Honor gone to do her bidding, Yj; Mrs. Rymer had been nearly six weeks at Dale

Ianthe turned to her companion.

‘*Mrs, Rymer,” she said, pointing to the obnoxious
vy me “will you oblige me by taking those flow-
ers down stairs and putting them into the fire ”

“Burn them!” repeated Silvia. ‘Oh! Lady Ianthe,
Icould not; it seems to me they are living, and
would cry out when the flames touched them.”

“You are fanciful. If they did cry out I know
what they would say.”

“What would it be?” asked Silvia.

“They would ask pardon for coming where they
were not wanted. Seriously, Mrs. Rymer, do remove
them; spare their lives,if you do not wish to kill
them; take them to your own room; you seem fond
of flowers.”

*T love them dearly,” she replied, thinking of the
roses and lilies at Brae, and how lovingly she had
tended them. Lady Ianthe did not seem inclined to
continue the conversation. Silvia took up the flow-
ers and quitted the room, not, however, before she
had seen the beautiful face bent over the lilies, and
the levely lips kissing them with endearing words.

Mother and daughter were equally well-bred; they
met on the morning after the little encounter ami-
cably as usual. y Leeson talked of the ball;
Lady Ianthe asked who was there.

“You must look to your laurels, Ianthe,” said her
mother, smilingly; ‘‘last Pe you were called ‘La
Reine Bionde,’ this year I think Cecile Everington
eclipses you.”
_ “Does she? I did not find the role of queen very
interesting; it may please her better.”

“I think it will; she is a very charming girl. The

‘Duke of Grifton, Lord Monford, and many of the
best men in the room seemed qui

were not missed.”

If the proud mother were trying to pique the proud
daughter into anything like jealousy she did not suc-

ceed; the beautiful face was calm and unmoved as
possible. They talked on, Lady Leeson telling anec-
dotes, Lady Ianthe listening and commenting, when
the earl entered the room, and Silvia saw him for
the first time. He started-at the sight of the deli-
cate, lovely face and deep mourning dress; then he
spoke very kindly to Mrs. Rymer.

“Discussing the ball ?” he said, carelessly. “How
was it you did not go,Ianthe? I understood you
were to accompany your mother.”

8 “I displeased mamma,” was the candid reply,
and she told me I had better remain at home.”

“What did you do™ asked the earl, with a smile
that was half a frown. ;

“I refused to take the bouquet Lord Monford sent
me, and I wanted the one that Mr. Raymond brought.
Mamma would not let me have it, soI stayed at
home.”

The Earl Leeson looked as though it would have
been a great relief to him If he could have whistled
aloud; as it was, he contented by saying:

“If you are wise, Ianthe, you will follow your
mother’s wishes,”
bier BRS Ie raising one eyes to his with a

‘ g , “Tam not wise, papa, andi
sense, never -shall be.” EP aceon wate

Visitors came, and Mrs. Rymer left the room
wondering a little at what she had heard. Later on
that day the countess: sent for hér, She closed the
door of her dressing-room, and seemed to have a
hm desire for a private and confidential conyersa-

* “Mrs. Rymer,”. she said, gently, “£ want you to
tell me what my daughter did youtcntapalnn ates.
ing rather—-with those flowers,”

‘ Slivia halGhesitated,

nd,” she continued, “if Iam asking you these
questions, it is not that I want you to tetany upon

Ore uae for a _— minutes,

urse,” she said to herself, “a girl’s mother
must be her ‘best friend. Oh, if I hail but trusted
mine, how different all my life would have been!”

“Have you decided upon answerin 2
Lady Leeson, Peta m nner
Silvia looked up at her.

 

ite enchanted with
her. I telt half offended. Lady Reny told me you

mystery than she wasat t. Then Lady Leeson
when she wasto know why she had been engaged
as companion to Lady Ianthe.

The countess looked into her face with a smile as
she entered. :

said, ‘‘because I want to speak to you privately and
confidentially.
reader of character, and I have read yours.
have a secret in your life—that much I can tell. But
I have no wish to know it. I trust you implicitly.
Of course you can ruin us.

than Ido now did occasion r

‘*You do me ree. said

le candor. “if I haveno other good quality, at
east I have that—-I am quite trustworthy.”

“Now sit down,” said the countess. ‘*We shall not
be interrupted, Mrs. Rymer. That which I am going
to tell you you must never repeat. I only ask your
word.”

“That I pledge you,” she replied. ‘Nothing shall
induce me to reveal one word of what your ladyship
may say to me.”

The countess gave a great sigh. It was as though
a mask had suddenly fallen from her face—a mask,
the falling of which left her older and careworn,
with lines on her-brow, and a piteous quivering on
her proud lips. It seemed to her such a relief that
she was to tell the truth, even though it was to this
humble companion.

uire it.”

Leeson, one of the proudest peers in England, is a
ruined man,”

Her voice seemed to die away on her lips as she
said the words. Silvia looked up in utter wonder.
The master of this magnificent house, this superb
mansion, a ruined man! It was not possible.

‘‘How it has happened,” said Lady Leeson, ‘does
not matter. My lord was imprudent, not wicked—
only weak and imprudent. His affairs would right
themselves in the course of time, but that there is a
heavy mortgage upon his property. Do you under-
or enough of business to know what a mortgage
3?

“Yes,” replied Silvia; ‘I understand it quite well.”

Lady Leeson continued—“There is a mortgage of
eighty thousand pounds on the Leesdale estates,
and of twenty thousand on this mansion, plate, etc.
The interest alone is enormous, and it takes a large
income, but that is not the worst of it. If that
money never had to be paid, we might do; but if the
mortgage should be suddenly called in we are
ruined beyond all redemption. Do you see?”

“Yes,” she replied, gravely; ‘I understand.”

“This mortgage money was lent, through our
lawyers, of course, by Lord Monford. He is very
wealthy—one of the richest men in England, I
should imagine—and I fancy that he loves money.

“When we borrowed this my husband did ‘not
know who advanced it. It was money that Lord
Monford’s solicitor had to put out at interest, and
they thought, I suppose, that a mortgage on Lees-
dale was as secure as anything well could be.”

She paused for a few minutes, then went onin a
dry, hard voice—

“It was hard for us, very hard; but there seemed
no help for it. I must tell you also that it was
agreed this money should not be cailed in without
& year’s notice, Six months ago, this notice came,
and then Lord Leeson knew himself to be a ruined
man;—-where and how was. he to get a hundred
thousand pounds? But Lord Monford’s advisers
had seen a better way of investing the money—one

 

before there was any need, so that we should come
up to London and enjoy our, last season.

“I must tell you that at Leesdale Park we have
some neighbors called Raymond, They live on a
pretty little estafe called Pentons. They are good,
a ene country people, not remarkable in any way
—neither very aristocratic, very rich, nor very
clever; but they have a son called Clifford, and this

*

 

House, without being any nearer to solving the

sent for her one day, and she saw the time had come

“I asked you ‘to come to my dressing-room,”’ she
I want to trust you. I ama good
You
If you betray my secret

you will ruin us; but I would trust you even more

rs. Rymer, with sim-

» “Mrs. Rymer,” she said, ‘“‘my husband, the Earl of

“You will come inte the drwing-room this even-
ing, Mrs. Rymer,” said Lady Ieeson, with a gracious
bow, on the morning followim.

Lady Ianthe looked up, surjrised at her mother’s
unusual kindness, and Silvia £lt her face grow crim-
son under the calm clear gaz of those eyes.

Lady Leeson was gifted wita great tact. She said
nothing to her daughter as to dress, toilet, or even
making her appearance. She took it all for granted
in a serene, queenly kind of fashion, that nothing
disturbed. ‘
When evening came, Silvia fincied herself in a
new world.
Cleve House had not been famous for the brilliancy
of its entertainments, but herethe gorgeous saloons
and reception rooms were threwn open and brilli-
antly illuminated. She looxec around on the splen-
dor, the luxury, the magnificence.
“Who could believe,” she said to herself, “that a
bankrupt earl lived here ?”
She had no evening dreses, but she wore one of
black crape, through whict her beautiful shoulders
and arms shone like snowdrops; her fair, delicate
face and wealth of fair haii made her conspicuously
beautiful. Many gentlemei: thought her the most
lovely woman in tlie roon. Lady Ianthe wore a
very beautiful dress of pak lilac, with bouquets of
lilac fastening the white cleuds of lace, and a superb
wreath of the same sweet lowers on her head. Sil-
via looked anxiously for the two gentlemen. The
rooms began to fill. LordMonford was the first an-
nounced; his appearance peased her at once. He
did not look like a man tocfond of money; he had a
strong, shrewd, sensible face—clearly cut, intelli-
gent, with firm, well-closd lips,and honest eyes.
Perhaps not a young lad’s most romantic ideal,
but, for all that, a taerouga English gentleman, She
liked him at first sight.
“That isa man I could tust,” she said to herself.
She saw him go to Lady anthe, who received him
very coldly, but he did notseem to mind that. She
was thinking of him so irtently, that it was almost
a shock to her to find his eyes, full of admiration,
fixed upon her. He said smething to Lady Ianthe,
evidently asking who she was. en Lady Ianthe
rose, and they crossed tle room to speak to her.
Lady Ianthe introduced tiem, and Silvia was sur-
a that Lord Monfori seemed to ask nothing
etter than to sit by herside and talk to her; she
never once. remembered tlat the delicate, graceful
loveliness of her face and figure was sure to attract
all attention. Lord Monferd was very pleased with
her, He was just. tellingher some little anecdote
when Mr. Raymond was aniounced,and Silvia looked
up in haste, her face full of eager interest.

“Do you know that geatleman?” inquired Lord
Montord.

“No,” she replied, with some little confusion.
‘“*Why do you ask ?”

“I fancied you seemed very much interested in
him,” he replied. Then her. fair face flushed, but
she could not tell him that interest arose from the
fact that she knew they were rivals. _

There was no coldness on Lady Ianthe’s face now;
it broke into a thousand gleams of tenderness; the
light that came into it was dazzling in its beauty.
No need to ask whom Lady Ianthe loved best; there
was nota tone of her voice, not a look of her eyes,
that did not tell the secret.

Looking at the two men, and judging calmly, Sil-
via felt that Clifford Raymond was handsomer; in-
deed, he was a model of manly beauty—few men
surpassed him; but his face had not the strength,
the sense, the truth of his rival’s. He looked like a
man who could be easily led, who would sacrifice
most things to his own pleasure and inclination;
there was DesuDs heroic about him.

n€

tion. In his presence, Lady Ianthe was a different
creature; her very beauty seemed to take a new
character, tender, sweet, winsome. More than once
Mrs. Rymer saw Lady, Leeson looking anxiously at
her daughter, but she was too diplomatic to inter-
fere; the less attention drawn to them the better,’

The gathering was a very brilliant one. Some of the
most beautiful women and most celebrated men in
London were there, and as*Mrs. Rymer looked on

 

 

“But a very pretty one,” said Lady Ianthe; ‘though
you are so delicate and graceful, Lilian, Violet,
Grace, or some name of that kind would have suited
you better. Iam tired of calling you Mrs. Rymer—
it does not seem natural; you look too childlike to
be Mrs. any one. I shall call you Silvia. May 1?”
titer be very pleased,” said Mrs, Rymer, with a

ush.

‘Well, then, tell me, Silvia, how have you en-
joyed this evening?”

Her heart beat, for she saw what lay before her,
and she did not half like the duty that had been im-
posed upon her.

“T have enjoyed it very much,” she replied; ‘tand,
Lady Ianthe, as you are so kind to me, let me tell
you how very much I admire a gentleman who cer-
tainly admires you.”

Her whole face lighted with pleasure, her eyes
brightened, her lips wore a soft, luminous smile.

**T thought you would—every one says so. He is
so handsome—there is no one like him.”

“JT did not think him handsome,” she replied;
“but his face.struck me as being very intelligent
and clever, honest and true.”

Lady lanthe looked at her with an amused smile.

“You are the only person in the world who does
not think Mr. Raymond handsome.”

“Mr. Raymond!” repeated Silvia; “I was not
thinking of him. I meant Lord Monford.”

The whole expression of the beautiful face before
her changed.

“Lord Monford—I never thought of him at all,”
she said, slowly.

“*T must be true to my colors,” thought Silvia.

“T admired him very much, Lady Ianthe; Isaw so
much that was sensible and good about him.”

‘Very possibly. I rather admired him, I think,
before he annoyed me,”

“Did he ever annoy pon asked Silvia, gravely.
“I am rather surprised at that. Ithought hima
true gentleman.”

“So he is, in that sense of the word. Perhaps
‘annoy’ is too strong an expression. if mean, that

uite unconsciously to himself he gave me some
little trouble.”

“He looks as though he would save you from all
the trouble in the world, if he could,” said Silvia.

**We will not discuss him. He is very worthy and
good, but he does notinterest me. Now, Mr. Ray-
mond is handsome; Ithink he has the most pic-
turesque face Lever saw. I have known him a long
time.”

And into her beautiful eyescame an expression
that seemed to say:

“Do talk to me about him; my heart hungers to
hear his name,”

“We were children together,” she continued.
core are near neighbors of ours, at Lees-

ale.

*““Heis handsome,” said Silvia; ‘‘but his face does
not look to me so trustworthy or so good as Lord
Monford’s,”

Lady Ianthe became quite animated in the discus-
sion, and all the time she talked her slender fingers
clasped the golden chain.

‘““We are such old friends,” she continued, afler a
pause; ‘‘and I think it is so natural to feel a warm
interest in old friends.”
aidee have not known Lord Monford long ?” asked

via.

“T never met him until this season; he is a triend
of papa’s, not of mine.”

‘*Poor unconscious child!” thought Silvia; “Show
little she knows.”

; a Ianthe looked up with a smile on her beauti-
ul face, 7 ;

‘‘Not only is he a friend of my father’s,” she con-

‘‘Lord Monford does not look forty,” she said.

“Forty!” repeated the beautiful lips, in delicate
scorn. “Why, that is not only old, but ancient, Sil-
via.

‘It is generally considered the prime of life,” and
then Lady Ianthe laughed heartily.

*“T could almost fancy my lord had been bribing

Two days afterward, Ella and her father reached home,
and dear Uncie John shortly got the better of his Ureadful
fright aud sea-sicknésss

The reader will have observed that Ella Darwin had
grown quite indifferent toward Uncle Jolin Calder before
the unfortunate occurrence upon the lake; now lle was
disgusted with him. -

She mentally compared the conduct of the rich bache-
lor during the trying scenes through which they had
passed with the manly and brave demeanor of the poor
young engineer, and the conclusion of her cogitations was
vastly to her “‘intended’s” disadvantage.

“A pretty protector Mr. Calder showed himself!’ she
exclaimed, when she found herself in the privacy of her
own boudoir. “Had I been compelled to ‘lean on him I
should indeed have reclined upon @ broken reed.’?

But she had not as yet exchanged a word with Phil in
reference to Lhe expressive declaration she had made to
him confidentialiy on the deck of the steamer, the after-
noon before the casualty, nor had Philip found opportu-
hity to speak with her on this subject, though the words
she uttered with such startling fervor at that unguarded
moment, still rang in his ears,

There occurred no chance, in fact, for an interview be-
tween these two young people, whereby further explana-
tion—though earnestly desired by both—could be had.

Uncle Join was more attentive to Ella than ever from
the hour they all returned to Detroit, and it was very ap-
parent to both Ella and Phil that he was most jealously
observaut of her every moyement. ’

Indeed, John Calder felt assured, from what he had ob-
aerved on board the boat, and subsequently as they all
journeyed together by land homeward, after escaping from
the burning steamer, that there was a friendship existing
betWeen his nephew and his afflanced that was quite
alarming. But he kept his suspicions to himself.

“There must seon be an end to this,’? he thought. ‘We
must be united. Either Miss Ella loves me or she doesu't.
She will redeem the pledge she has given me or She won’é.
This is my first venture with a woman; it will be my last.
Two years have gone by since I proposed and she accepted
the offer of my hand and fortune. She’s a charming crea-
ture—good and brave—but a trifle spunky. We must be
married; I have waited patiently and long enough. Ana
now I must secure her, or, by Jove! that shrewd nephew
of mine will get the better of me, and he might do this
now. ‘She fancies he saved her lifeon that dreadfully
unlucky trip down the lake—so she avers. Well, he was
very kind and useful ou that occasion, aud I’il remember
him handsomely in my will—married or not. But he
mustn’t interfere in this affair now. No; hesha’n’t come
between me and my Ella now. If he does—if he dares to
attempt such treachery, ill cut him off witha shilling,
sure as I am now his bachelor uncie!”? ‘

But Engineer Phil all this time had been plodding on in
the old way, devoted to his business, and since the acci-
dent he had never once approached Ella upon aby pre-
tense whatever. :

He could not have done this had he felt inclined to com-
port himself thus dishonorably, for no opportunity pre-
sented, and to force an interview, Wilh sinister purpose,
was farthest from his thoughts, ,

Besides, when he turned his thoughts toward the girl
he still loved now more than ever, he repeated to himself
the same arguments that he had so often admitted before.

“She is solemnly engaged, and she voluntarily pledged
her honor to this gentleman. He is my mother’s brother;
heis rich and can support Ella in the Juxurious style to
which she has for years been accustomed. am but @
poor mechanic, No! It is destiny, and Ella Darwin hever
can be mine,” beg

And so, with only a castial meeting, between Ella and
Piil, when they could barely exchange glances, or com-
mon civililies—so narrowly were they watched by dear
Uncle Jolim—the summer. wore away, and Winter came
again, when the lakes were frozen over, and. navigation
was Closed for months, betweer Detroit and Buffalo.

Engineer Phil bow found himself at leisure for a few
days, but he looked about him for work, for he would not
remain idle, and upon the recommendation of good Uncie
John, who, as we have said, had latterly been very watch.
ful of his nephew’s goings and comings, aud who evinced
a more than ordinary interest in his welfare, he accepted
a situation to superintend the engines in a cartridge man-
ufactory, at Port Huron, St. Clair County, distant some
fifty miles north of Detroit. ;

So far as dear Uncle John felt interested in this under-
taking, he thought it “about the thing’ for, iis purpose,
And so he urged his nephew to accept it, at once.

“The pay is liberal, Phil,” said his uncle, . “1,am inter-
ested in the stock of the company, and they are, prosper-
ing tinely—having heavy cash contracis always;in hand
for the Government, wiich is profitable work. And they
can afford good salaries to good workmen. I have taken

 

 

you,” she said, ‘‘but that you are too true; he could
not have a warmer advocate.”

care to commend you, in the rigit direction, aud you will
have an easy berth and the best wages.)

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

_ ding, Lam told; for her ricufather promises to make the
‘marriage of bis favorite daughter an event iu fashionable

yi Know, also, that your good sense aud maniy spirit must

 

 

 

 

 

Phil thanked hia ancle for the interest he evinced in his

advancement, and became engineer-in-chief at the
“Bloughupp Cartridge Manufacturing Works,’ Port
Herron, to which place his uncle informed him it would
be uecessary to repair, forthwith, to make sure of the sit-
uation.

Ue left Detroit, accordingly, without delay, He in-
tended to proceed to the eastward the following season,
to take charge of a locomotive upon a hew railroad estab-
pe oy iu Peubsyivania, of which position Le had had the
offer.

But the Port Huron job would occupy his time, mean-
trhile, to gvod account, aud so he took up with the com-
pany’s proposals for the next six months, al one hundred
dollars a month, aud found—uat that time very fair wages
for even a master-mechunic,

Wucle Juhu was delighted with Phil's ready acceptance
Of this plage. “Ft suited hint toa dot. His nephew would
then be out of Mis way, for the present; avd it released
him frem the task of keeping walch over his move-
ments, *

“Six months,’ said Uucle Jolin, to himself. ‘That is
long enongh, Within that period, (which will make it
three years since Miss Ella accepted ive), sue must redeem
her pledge, aud marry me, or I suppose,” he con-
cluded, slowly—*I must wait still Jouger! Ah, she’s a
sweet girth A lovely young woman; and I’m very fond of
herl But six months isa good while. ‘Piii’s out of the
way, how. Hetil goUp to the works, to-night. He's en-
gaged for halfa year. When his time is up, we will pay
him more wages, if Lam met then married. He must not
come back here. Lwon’t bevatinoyed. No. The field is
clear, Bow; and if no apchleut hoppens at the factory,’
continued Uucle John, thoughtfully, (“though it ts a con-
foundedly combuatibie place—what With the cartriges, the
powder, tle Bteam-Voilers, and all together), then 1 lope,
when Philtretutiis, iMueé won't stiiy thereany longer, to be
a married man, aud to be able to sliow him my wife, Mrs.
Ella Calder, tumy/own house, That will be delightful
» Thus Uncle Joa planned, and speculated, and built his
castles in the air, while Ella remained close at home in
her father’s elegant mansion, brooding quietly over her
concealed but growing disgusi for the old bachelor, whom
she had engaged to make a happy husband at some future
day. The eud tad uot yet approached for Peter Darwin,
indeed, uo tocsin.efaturm reached his ear. No warning
of Lhe Const baka tothe Wildedt aud Red-Dog concerns
of the West was vouchsafed the aristocratic, pussy presi-
dent at all.

At the Line Engineer Phil left Detroit to enter upon his
<luties asengineer atthe Port Huron Bloughupp Factory,

: Peter Darwin, President of the Ypsilanti Wildcat Bank,
was floating ta the full tide of successful experiment,
and neiluer he, nor dear Ducle John, nor Ella, nor Phil, or
anybody else, had the slightest idea that this eminently
respectable ‘*president’’—portly and sellimportant as he
wWas—was trot tvorth his weight in gold!

When Piast Hardwick-conversed confidentially with his
kind-hearted mother, and. she so frequently lauded the4
excellent qualities of her younger brother to her sou, Phil
said, on oue,eceasion, bluntly:

“Mother, the Mackinaw L[udians, with whom dear Uncle
John traded sO many years, have adry suying among
thein,”?

“What is that Philip???

“White nan berry ansartin’—mother.’’

This Indiaw proverb would apply with peculiar aptnuess
to Mr. Presideut Darwin.

Aud we shall see how very ungartin' both John and
Peter were, as we proceed.

Eugineer Phil found the factory of the Port Huron
Bloughupp Works a busy place. He entered upou his
<tuties there immediately, aud was very well contented

for the time being. eee
CHAPTER VIII.

A FEARFUL EXPLOSION AT PORT HURON.

The caruwidge factory of the Bloungupp Company at Port
Huron was au imweuse establishment, employing several
handred hands, maleand female, and turniug out anuu-
ally upok government and private orders, millions of
powder cartridges of all dimeusions,

BRugineer Pail. was by. this time, quite at home in his
profession. He understuod his business thoroughly. The
two engines which worked the exteusive machinery of
ihe Port Huron Oompany were large and powertul, and
Lue new engineer found his time pretty well occupied.

He had lite leisure, therefore, Lo dweil on the past, yet
occusionally-his thgughts turned back to his mative city,
and Lo those hedevedand had left behind him there. He
did uot omitto Observe the parting injunction of his
dearly loved «mother, to ‘write to her.’ And regulariy
ounce a month 4ie-penned along, fumuiar epistie to Mrs,
Hardwick, du whictrche alluded always, in calm bu
earnest language, to kis early attachment, or ashe termed
it, his **first aud.only dove.” lu one of these home letters,
written f@ur amontis after he went to Port Herron, he
thus expressed hiniselfls

* * *. “You do not expose my missives, I am sure,
dear mether, They are for your eye alone, Aboveail, L
beg Luat you willuever permit them to fall under the ob-
servation of my Uncle Jobu. You will readily appreciate
this bint, of coarse. ’

“In uy retiremeng at evening, after the wearying and
monvolouous round of my everyday duty is over, I recur
to the geod old days at home, and I call to mind very
often the gentle Kindnesses aud watchful care that you,
iny best of mothers, have. ever manifested toward your
loving son. My good and worthy father’s interest iu his
buy’s welfare is Scarcely secondary in my remembrance,
A assure you, f

“But there’s another, my dear mother, toward whom
my thoughts Constantly tura, yet who can never be augut
to me, alas! EF will not write her name here, for surely |
have 1f0 right fo mention itnow. Yet the old times will
come back ia spite of alimy philosophy! I trust thegreat
banker's beautiful daughier is well; and, with all my
heart, [hope she may be very, very lappy with the wor-
tuy nan she bas. chosen for her husband,

“And yet—though it is no affair of ours, lam aware—I
sometimes feel surprised that the long looked-for union
velween the parties Whom you will Compreheud I now al-
jude to, has not been consuinmated,

“They have been engaged now nearly three years. (You
see ikeep the record, motherl) He is very willing, cer-
tainly, but she declines to suame the uy,’ it appears. Is
there cause for this delay? ‘Andif there is, what is all
that to you, my son?’ Lalmost hear you rightfully sug-
rest.

. *-Well—I could answer this, dear mother, if I dared to
put on paper what] suspect, Aud this it is that Keeps me
tuinking, thinkiug of tue past—of her, of him, aud you.
No, itis allover, dong ago! IL have endeavored Lo school
uiy heart to bury tae hopes that, at one time; I dared to
cherish, and wiich, if Fate bad not ordained should not
be realized, how happy should I now havebeen! * * *

«Wien you see Kila, mother, remember me to her. She

may soon be Mrs, Calder. She will lave a splendid wed-

 

eircies. Jshall not be there Lo wiluessit! * * * Love
te my Uucledohu. He ought tobe a happy man, indeed!
Accept the assurance, dear mother, of tue Constaut affec-
tion of your absent son } PHIL."

QOiher letters, similar in tone and sentiment, came
every month from Phil to his mother,

She auswered them, and gave him sound advice.

Upon the subject embodied iu his epistle above quoted
from, she briefly wrote him:

*‘T cun understand the state of your feelings, dear Phil,
in regard tu the approaching marriage of the youug hidy
you faucied some years ago, you were allached to. But

long since have influeuced you to overcome anything like
aerivus regret for the past, in éiat direction. Aud I feel
certain that you will by-and-by meet with some other fair
and worthy girl, who will be a suitable mate for you, when
you think of getting married. Thereis ample time, yet,"
for you to seek out such a companion, and prove her
worth befure you entertain the idea suggested.” * * #¥
“f think no time hag positively been fixed upon as yet,
for the wedding of yourdear Uucle Johu with Miss Ella,
Bat itis notuow far distant, I judge, from certain prepara-
tions aud dectlarations [ have lately learned he makes.”) *
* * «+f will keep you duly advised of all this. Ella is well,
aud looks as beautiful as ever. Sheis a charming young
lady, indeed, and your dear Uncle John ougAt, as you say,
to be avery happy mau, in view of his euviable pros-
pecis.”? + * ¥

~ Bngineer Phil received this letter at Port Huron, from
his moluer, fale oue afteruoon in May, and stood by the
window of tlre engiue-room reading it.

He liad just Auished tie final seutence, above quoted,
when his ears were Saluted witha thundering explosion,
succeeded by a second One; and he found himself sudden-
iy dashed outward, througn the great high sash, down
fully ten feet to the yard below, just as the end and side
of the massive brick building, luckily farthest from him,
tambled to the ground, With a terrific crash!

From his own immediate sensations, after he struck the
ground, where, fur au’ instant, he lay utterly helpless,

hil supposed that his spine had been fractured; for he
could move neither hand nor foot, though lie was perfect-
iy conscious, He was throw flat on his back, and wit-
nessed, a minute afterward, the most heart-reuding spec-
tacle it had ever been hid misfortune to behold!

What the cause of this terrible calamity was, he had not
the slightest idea. Whether one of the huge boilers aud
then the other had Collapsed, aud thus torn the premises
inte fragmeuts, or whether the powder in the cartridge-
chambers had ignited, he could not determine.

For hiinself, #e was temporarily paralized, and felt nei-
ther sensation nor power Of motiouin his limbs. He es-
sayed to cry out forhetp, but could command uo speech,
evens And so he lay where he fell, lookiug upward at Lue
dreadful sceue beyoud him. ‘

Instautly, after tre explosion, there poured out from
every door in the great factory, as well as from all the
lower windows, @ throng of work-people—men and wo-
men—wlhdocame screaming, andcrowdiug, aud scrambl-
ing over eacu other, tearing the Clothes off their compani-
ous as they pressed their way out of the wrecked build-
jug, and Gilliug the air with their shouts of fright and
madness.

Some were wounded in the head, or about the face, and
were bleeding from the gashes cutin scalp or flesi. Some
had broken, arius, or bruised bodies, and otliers, who
were jeft vehind, were fearlully contused, scalded, or burn-
ed frem thefiytng splinters, powder, or steam that burst
among Laem as they tuiled, when the explosion occurred.

No one seemed to Kuow for several minutes what had
happene, or how or Where the noisy disaster had orig-
imated; butitavas soon discovered that the interior of
ihe premises was on fire in several places.

Nobody ventured to re-enter the building, for the pow-
der magazine, it was see had not yet been reached, and
the people aceustomed to the inside of the factory dared
not risk their lives by approaching that place when they
iad po means of knowing pow low soon this dangerous
apartment night be fred!

oo’ ~=THE NEW YORK WEEKLY,

 

Everybody was crying out for every oue else:

“Where Is Mary? Where's Jenny? Where is Tom,
Dick or Harry? Whatisit? How'd it happen?”

“Biler's busted,’ ventured one.

‘“‘No—it’s cartridges,’ auswered the next.

“No, the powder room

‘No—that’s on Voter side o’ the buildin',’? cried an-
other.

-‘Where’s Jake Freeman ?’?

“Where's the freman?’?

“What's come 0’ all the stokers?”’

“Where is Engineer Phil Hardwick?’ bawled a sten-
torian voice at this moment,

“Here—herel’’ responded Phil, recovering his speech,
and flading himself able to turn over, upon one side.
Then he sat up as the last speaker approaciied him,

“Hurt, Phil? continued the overseer, who had first
mentioned his name. “Are yer badly injured ??

“I don’t know. I hope not much.”

“How'd you come here, Phil?”

‘ernrough the window yonder,’ replied the young en-
gineer, witha ghastly expression of pain and surprise
combined.

“Where from ?? ya)

“The engine-room, and in a hurry too?”

“Tleu the boilers burst?!’

“J don’t know tiat, sir. Pray help me from this spot,
won't you?” said Phil, rising.

“Here, boys—yes. Give usa hand. Up with him. It’s
our bully young engineer.”?

“The powder-room will go shortly,’’ continued Phil,

 

“for the factory’s on fire in half-a-dozen places. Call the
people away, sir.’?
‘“‘Ay—give the alarm, there—pass the word! Tell them

to leave!’ shouted the overseer,

“What's to become of the poor creatures that are hurt
and scalded inside yonder, who can't get out by thein-
selves’? suggested bruised Phil, more thoughtful than
the rest, aud shaking himself vigorously.

“Let's rescue ’eni!’? answered a dozen voices.

‘Well, we must be about it then,’’ replied Phil.

“Goahead, Phil!. We'll foller wherever you'll lead,”
suggested another,

“Come on then, lads!’ replied Phil, stoutly.

And in he bolted at the word with twenty scared but
unharmed humans behind him to save the lives of the
bruised and wounded men and girls they all knew were
still within the burning, crumbling building.

Despite his bruises; and the fearful shock Phil had ex-
perieaced in his sudden exit through the window of the
elgine-room, amid the excitement of this sad and busy
scene he scarcely thought of his own hurts, and he proved
a@ power for good in this unusual emergency.

Backed by his. sturdy followers, he plunged into the
burning factory, and went straight to the cartridge-room,
for he was satisfied thatthat must be the scene of the
disaster. é

Here he found over thirty prostrate bodies, of both
sexes, but mostly girls, who had been stricken down by
the crash, ail but three of whom were alive, thougli every
one was disabled, scorched, bruised or wounded dread-
fully.

He raised them up one after another tenderly, and with
the assistance of the men, who followed his directions,
caused their instautremoval outof aud away from the
damaged premises.

‘Hurry up, lads!’? he exclaimed at last; ‘“‘you’ll hear
thunder shortly,’’ and he pointed significantly to the fire
that was eagerly ealing its way along tie opposite side of
the building inside, toward the powder-room,

They hastened their mcvements accordingly, and quick-
ly emptied the great cartridge apartment Of the maimed,
the dying, and the dead.

“Are they all out?!’ cried Phil, finally. ¢

“Ay!” was the response.

He turned about, listened, called aloud again, “Is any-
body left?’? and then hurried away himself to a spot of
safety, though greatly exhausted.

Three minutes afterward, as every one had predicted
and expecied, another tremendous crash occurred, and
the great cartridge factory of the Bloughup Company at
Port Huron was shattered into shreds, and fell to the
ground a mass ol stnoldering ruins,

The fire had reached the powder magazine and ma-
oninery, building, and the contents were totally demol-
ished. '

It seemed almost miraculous that Engineer Phil should
escape without a broken limb; but though the shock to
his whole body was severe, he was not injured, as it
proved, in any serious way.

The wounded were cared for directly, but several hun-
dred persons—poor men and poorer girls—were thrown
out of employment for months by this disaster.

The next day Engineer Phil packed up his traps. His
occupation was gone in Port Huron, though his six
months contract had not yet expired by a few weeks.

But hearing that asmall steamer, running from Sagi-
naw through Lake St. Clair to Detroit, would halt at Port
Huron thatday on her downward trip, he availed him-
self of the chauce to leave; and at evening he reached his
mother’s house somewhat crippled and sore, but not much
the worse for his blowing-up. ;

That very night, three hours after Phil’s arrival home,
his uncle Jolin called to see the family. The bachelor was
not alittle surprised to meet his nephew tliere, for he
kuew that his engagement with the Bloughupp Company
had not yet expired, But Phil quickly explained matters.

-_
CHAPTER IX.

MISS ELLA SURPRISES HER BACHELOR LOVER.
“Biow’d up, did you say, Phil???
“Yes, uncle. Aud totally ruined.”
“Why, bless us! How’d it occur?’ inguired Uncle
John, when Phil totd of the accident. ;
A sudden ignition in the cartridge-room,’’ said Phil.
“Tore everything to splinters, dashed me bodily through
the window out upon the ground, threw out the upper
end-wall, and killed, or shockingly maimed, five-aud-
twenty of the poor work people.
“Why, you don’t say so, Philip!
“Yes, sir. Then—when everybody fortunately had been
got out of the building—it took fire. This communicated
to the powder-magazine On the other side—and another
terrific explosion followed, which quite finished the fac-
tory, | assure you.??
“Is it possible! The loss must be very heavy, Phil?”
“It's all gone up, uncle—or rather down, I assure you.’?
“Well—well! Ll always knew it was a very combustible
affair. And there’s no insurance on it. We never could
get any company to take the risk of underwriting it.”
‘And you have a considerable interest in this company,
brother John, if 1 remember?” queried Puhil’s mother,
who sat a listener to the cunversatio&,
“T hold ten shares of the stock.’ @&
“And the par value is——??
“One thousand dollars each.??
“Then you've tem thousaud dollars out, uncle?!’ said
Phil.
“Yes, I suppose so, if, as you say, the establishment is
utterly destroyed.’
“Completely, sir, And the nearly or quite finished
stock on hand was unually large, I think, this month.”?
“lus an unfottunate affair,’ continued Mr. Calder,
thoughtfully, ‘‘And there were thirty persons killed, you
tell me??? ™
‘‘No, sir! Not quiteso bad as that, thank Heaven. Only
three of the girls were killed outright, aud some.thirty-
odd badly scorched and bruised.’ :
“It was a risky place, anyhow,’ said Uncle John, in-
cautiously. ‘Ll always supposed that it would explode
and kill everybody in the building. It was a cursed fire-
trap—that cartridge factory,’ he continued. “I wonder
allof you weren’t slaughtered instead of less than half a
dozen!?? he concluded.
“Aud yet you sent me there, I notice, very cordially,”
thought lis nephew. (But Phil did not utter this thought
aloud.)
Two events had now occurred which vastly disturbed
the equilibrium of dear Uncle John, to wit: Phil Hard-
wick had returned to Detroit, out of work, and the mo-
ney-loviug bachelor had suddenly lostten thousand dol-
lars’ worth of what had been, for some years past, very
handsome-paying Company stock.
“What next?’? he asked himself, quickly, as he retired,
an hour afterward, and went to his private lodgings, ina
state of active thoughtfulness.
“Back again! And ata most inopportune time. Ella
has been quite agreeable of late, and I had feit fully con-
fident that very shortly she would appoiut the day for our
union. But he returns—just in time—to—to—get into our
way again!’’ concluded Uncle Jolin, who really had: but a
vague suspicion of what might occur, possibly.
Mr. Calder went over to see his intended next day, but
he made no allusion to the accident at Port Huron, nor
did he speak of Piil’s return to Detroit. Indeed, he never
mentioned the young engineer’s name at all in Ella’s pre-
sence, except when she first inquired about him, as she
occasionally did.
“Are you not well, John? asked Ella that evening,
when her would-be husband sat down near her; fur she
observed that his face bore a troubled expression.
A aot very, very well, Eda. Why did you ask that ques-
on :
“You don't look so well, though, as usual.?!
‘No? I’m quite inyself, Ella, | assure you.”
“Well, I’m glad to hearit. 1 was afraid you were out
of tune to-night.’’
“No, I’m enjoying my ordinary good heaith, thank
you,
“You haven't seen these cards of invitation, I suppose?’
continued Ella, pleasantly, ,
And the heart of bachelor Calder jumped into his throat
for an instant, for he fancied that his charmer had pre-
pared an agreeable surprise for him, as she pointed to
two or three elegant squure envelopes lying upon the
center-table, which he absolutely mistook for wed-
ding-cards,
a thought Uncle John, “she has fixed the day at
ast.

Aud so she had, but notin thesense that her lively
on" friend fora moment flattered his imagination
with,

He eagerly seized and opened one of the promising bil-
lets which were addressed to the Darwin family, and his
suddenly excited fancy, which had soared upward like a
rocket, Came down decidedly like the stick, as le perused
vad coutents of that missive, which was couched ug foul-
ows:

“U.S, MAIL STEAMER Co.'s OFFICE,

“DETROIT, Muy 30, 188—.
:—The proprietors of the new steamer Gov-
ernor, just completed and placed upon this Line as sub-
stitute for the Washington, destroyed last season by
fire, beg the pleasure of your company upon her trial trip
hence to Buffalo and returning ou the sixth of Juue,
proximo. Respectfully, for the Company,
“C, BOTSON, Clerk.

“What is this, Ella?’ gueried Uncle John, ina chap-
fallen tone, as the recollection of his experience on board

c

 

 

A Oe

“Not another excursion down Lake Erie, e?”

“Exactly, and a splendid opportunity, 0, to see
Niagara, John!’

“J dou’t wish to see Niagara,’ responded fr intended,
nervously. “1 don’t hauker after Buffalo, om Wip down
the lake, nohow.’’

“You've been tere a dozen times, John—’

“Yes; it has no attractions for me——”’

“While I have never seen the Falls, as younow. 1 am
bound to go this time, and father says he/take me, for
all the big folks are inviled, aud we shall ive a grand
time. It will be splendid, John, You will), of course?”

“Well, Ella, you know | hate the water, ‘ua dreadful
poor sailor——”? 5

“Then | wouldn't go, John. I won't ins. There will
be lots of gentlemen with their ladiesour triends—
aboard, and I shall get along nicely.”

“Then you will go, Ella?” queried Jol

“J wouldu’t miss this tip for anythin John, | assure

ou.” 3
7 “Then I will go, too, Ella,”

And thus this second lake excursion /as settled on,
though timid Mr. Culder joiued the par muck against
his will.

On the 6th of June Engineer Phil hacbeen at home
nearly three weeks, ‘Lliree days prior utlat date he re-
ceived by mail a letter which lad beendressed to him
at Port Huron, and forwarded thencet Detroit, from
the proprietors of this Mail Steamer Ly Offering him
the post of chief-engineer on board the pY “Governor,”
if he would take it. :

But Eugineer Phil had already closed engagement
with a railroad corporation in Peunsfania, and had
agreed Lo take charge of a locomoti' there that very
season.

He called upon the steamboat owne, thanked them
for their handsome offer, but declined@ Place, for the
reason stated.

They then formally invited Phil to @ the company on
the trial-trip of the Governor down ie Lake, which he
accepted; fur he was then about rey to leave Detroit,
on his way to Philadelphia. . ’

The bruising Phil eucountered at &@ explosion in the
Cartridge Company’s works had keslim confined pretty
sieadily to his mother’s house, He }! not seen Miss Ella,
therefore, nor had his Uncle Junnuce mentioned lis
name in the Hardwick residence sce he returned, al-
though his visits to his sisier—P’s mother—had beeu
frequent. But he knew that his phew was obliged to
remain within doors on account dis hurts, and he was
not very sorry that the young 40 he secretly feared
could not.be loitering about the Y, Or perhaps Veptur-
ing to call upon his former frjendliss Darwin.

The evening before the 6th Of Jre, Eugineer Phil made
bis final arrangements to quit Droit, and early the next
morning he sent his luggage to # buat. :

After an affectionate leavetamg of his: mother he re-
paired on buard the Governmpr, feu lying at her pier, and
fired up, in readiness to sttt pon her first trip across
Lake Erie. }

A large and distinguished company of ladies and gen-
tlemen were already on Vard a few of whom Phil recog-
nized; but being better :cqujinted with the officers be-
low, lie went to the englé-r@m at once, without know-
tng that’ the Darwins, ¢ Lis Uucle Johu especially, had
any idea of accompanyg the crowd upon this excur-
sion. .

The fine new steams With its happy company, got
away an hour afterwal, aid moved down the river, out
into the lake, ata faj Speed, aud every Oue on board
seemed greatly to enjy the l"p.

The water was upified, Lie southerly breeze was re-
freshing and balmy aud even Uncle Jolin Caller began
to think that Lake rie ona pleasaut day wasn’t 80 bad
@ spol ag he had hirerto conceived it to be.

20 BE CONTINUED.1

Bady Matched ;

WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN.

By Helen Corwin Pierce,

 

 

(“Badly Mataed” was comnenced in No. ll. Back numbers
can be obtaine from any NewsAgent in the United States. j

CHAPTER: XXXIX.

We left Ms. Bazel in seach of Vida Chandos. She
had the leter she had so tracherously intercepted in her
pocket, Siz knew it was fron Sterne Beauchamp, andshe
hoped to 2 able to extract [rom Vida a knowledge of
whiere hewas going upon that mysterious mission of
which hespoke iu his letter, That it concerned that
frightful wrong which had been done him by Luigo
Vershon she did not doubt, The letter, indeed, as good
as said mat, but it did not contain a hiut as to where he
was gobg uor did it intimate that he and St. Just were

 

°

e

"Vida Chandos was in the music room, as Mrs. Bazel
soon discovered by hearug tie piano softly touched. She
Waiteda moment to smooth tlat treacherous and deceit
ful face of hers and wentin.

Vida stopped playing atd turned upon the stool to speak
to her.

“Practicing ?? cried Mri Bazel, sweetly. “What an
industrious child itis! Bu den’t you miss M. St. Just?
Oud that he neither comesbaek nor sends word. I am
really afraid something haj happened to him.’

Mrs. Bazel was not lookijgat Vida at the moment or
she must have seen how tle pure, Sensitive face flushed
and then whitened at her vords,

The clever widow had n¢ gaspicion of St. Just. She

was casung about in ler nifd, how best to introduce an-

other subject. z

Vida Cliandos was naturaly most.unsuspicious, but in
spite of une reason sile thowht she-ljad to love and trust
Mrs. Bazel, a duubt had beaa creeping over her of late—a
horrible, creeping, fearful nistrust, that would not be
allayed. Ever since the beatiful widow's return to Long-
mere without Lady Clara sige had never beheld her with-
Out aninward shudder, whith she could not repress,

“My dear,” said Mrs. Bazi, at Jast, beldly fixing her
false blue eyes on the girl’s face. “Why did you never
tell me you knew Sterne Betuchamp? 1 have been 80 in-
terested iu that young manSstrarge romantic life.”

Ste spoke slowly, Watchmg Vida all the time.

Vida's heart stood still vith amazement and apprehen-
sion, but some impulse o! caution kept her from ulteripg
a@ word yet.

“Poor Beauchamp,” the widow went on, “I'm 80 re-
joiced to hear there is a clance o/ his getting his rights
after all. He has got on the track of that-villian Vershon
at last, he tells me.??

Vida thrilled again, but still kept silence. Onty her
large, fearless eyes interrogated the treacherous widow's
face.

“J have been hoping to hear something like this a long
lime,’”? Mrs. Buzel went on, slowly watching Vida still,
and feeling her way, ‘aud thismorning he has written To
me to say that he thinks he is sire of Vershon this time.
I do hope it is true. He sends iislove to you, tvo, aud
says—let me see—I’ll read you hat part.’

And here the bold woman puied out Vida's own inter-
cepted letier, and proceeded to read from it with interpo-
lations of her own., ; ‘

“There you see,” she said, folling it up. triuiiphantly,
ane turning her glittering glance full upou Vida’s startled
fuce, “he trusts Me more than you do. Why did you
never tell me, you sly Witcli, that matters had goue so far
between you and Sterne Beauctamp?2”,

Vida still did not speak. Her bewilderment and per-
plexity were great. Her lover lad not felt any confidence
ip Mrs. Bazel when she saw hin last. Aud Mrs, Bazel
talked as if she knew him well, while Vida had supposed
him to be an utter stranger to her, Could Mrs. Bazel
have known all this time that S. Just was Sterue Beau-
champ?

“] did not suppose you would be interested at all,’ she
managed to stammier at last.

“On, but kam. 1 should be ot your own account. And
then poor Beauchamp--where ever did you meet him,
my dear? He talks in this lettel as if he had only parted
from you yesterday.”

A conviction suddenly flashel through Vida'’s mind.
There must be a he somewhere in this queer story. Mrs,
Bazel could not Know that Sterre Beauchamp and M. St.
Just were oue, by her talk. Sle Knew nothing. All at
once she felt positive of that. She Anew nothing, but she
suspected something, and was tying to pump that some-
thing out of her. Vida was on her guard from that mo-
ment. She was not by nature suspicious, but she was
quick, and had good intuitions, She felt as satisfied as if
she lad positive proof of the fac, thit Mrs. Bazelewas de-
ceiving her for some purpose of ier own.

‘‘May I see your letter, Mrs. Buazel ?”? sie asked.

“You might for all me,”? the widow answered, prompt-
ly, ‘but it contaius a special request that I shall not show
it to you.”! z

“That is very odd,” said Vida gravely, ‘or would be,
if your correspondent andl held the relations to each
other which you intimate.”

“Which you do hold,” laughed the widow, her wicked
eyes gleaming. ‘Doesn't he call you sweetheart, love,
darling? Oh, you witch, how he adores you.” :

“You are making fun of me, Mrs. Bagel. He would
never write such things about me, whatever he might say
to me,

A flash of anger darted from Mrs. Bazel's blue eyes.

“Then he has said those things to you? You ackuowl-
edge that???

“J acknowledge nothing,” quickly returned Vida, her
own temper roused a little.

The beautiful widow threw herself back in her chair
and laughed convulsively. It was more an expression of
ao rage, iowever, than of pieasure, ag Vida de-
ected,

Mrs, Bazel sat up presently and wiped her eyes.

“Seriously, my dear, do you think of marrying this
clever ex-convict of yours?!

“Mrs. Buzel ! cried Vida, her cheeks flaming at the
opprobrious title.

*Dou’t lose your temper, child; he is worse than that.
He is an escaped convict, or was. They have recaptured
him. ;

Mrs. Bazel said this, partly to deceive Vida, if she did
not know where her loyer had gune, partly in hope of be-
pariog from her some clew to where he had guune, if she

cHew. .

Vida grew very white.

“You said——"? .

“Never mind what I said.
out.’!

“How then——'!

 

I was only drawing you

 

the ill-futed Washiugton flushed upon hid mind,

“Did I guess you were go fond of him? Never mind, I

did guess it, and a good thing I did, too.

] Ihave no idea
of letting you throw yourself away on a low impostor

like that. His true name is Vershou, my dear, Whatever
he may have told you. Heisa branded convict, and his
name is Vershon.”?

“It is false,’ cried Vida, her sweet voice ringing with
passion.

The widow laughed.

“Tam your guardian, you know,’’ she said, carelessly.
“T have my duty to do.’?

“Jt i8 no part of your duty to talk in this manner of the
man I love and esteem, and kuow to be the noblest of
men. Sterne Beauchump is no impostor. If they have
dragged him back to that horrible Van Diemen’s Lands it
is bis uncle’s—Carrol! Beauolamp’s doings; aud girl as I
am, I will make him do him justice yet.”

“You forget that you are not of age,” said the widow,
quietly, ‘I shall permit mo’ such folly, I think it was
Lord Beauchamp who had him arrested. Naturally his
lordship did not faucy the fellow claiming relatiouship to
him.”

“Carroll Beauchamp is not the Jord. Itis he whois an
usurper. The title aud all belong to his nephew. That is
why he hates him so aud pretends to believe he is an im-
postor.”’

“Vershon told you that, did he? Very clever of him,
but a dreadful lie, my dear, So yeu fancied by marrying
him you could becume a countess? I did not think you
were so easily fooled. He is no more a Beauchamp than
you are,”?

Vida stamped her small foot, 7

*We will not talk of it. Was the letter you read to me
a@ hoax, too?”

“Precisely a hoax.'’?

“And he uever wrote to you at all?”

“Never,’!

Mrs. Bazel smiled sweetly.

“But you had a@ letter, and you read froma letter; I
could see the writing, and it looked like his.”?

The widow colored and bit her lip.

“It was not his. I made up everything I read to you as
I went along.”

‘“*You—did ?”?

Vida's spirited face was as expressive of contempt and
wonder as any face ever was,

‘| shall never know when to believe you again,’ she
said.

“Not when [ tell you you can be mistress of Lopngmere
any day you like?”

Vida’s large eyes opened uncompreliendingly. The only
thought she had was that the artful widuw inight mean
that she could buy it some day.

Mrs. on smiled aguin, aud came beside the wonder-
inbg girl.

‘You do not understand me, I see. Have you never ob-
served the singular iuterest Mr. Delaney has in yon???

“Mr. Delaney ?” e

“Yes; Lam sure he loves you.’’

There was an instant’s silence, It seemed much longer
than that to Mrs. Bazel, watching the proud, sweet face
of this girl, Whom she hated so. Neverhad she seen a
face Chunge so in a single moment. Horror, wrath,
shame—a fearful blending of all three. Vida Chandos
seemed suddenly to have grown iuches taller asshe turned
to Mrs. Bazel.

“Why do you say this to me? she asked, in the low
tones of extreme excitement. “Do you do lt purposely
to insult me? If Mr. Delaney could Jove any one so soon
after his sweet wife’s cruel and mysterious death, I would
not be the one on whom his shameful choice would fall,
aa you know very well, Mrs. Bazel.’?

The handsome widow lifted her pencilled eyebrows.

“I Know it is you whom he loves,’’ she said coolly and
positively. ‘Of course, itis soon to tell you so, but heown-
ed it to me not an hour ago, and as I hate to see you mak-
ing a fool of yourself about ——, well, about Beauchamp,
if you like to call him that, when you can do s0 much bet-
ter; Lhad to tell you. Mr. Delaney is very rich, Vida. He
owus a number of mucit grander places than Longmere.
It's just a whim of his living in this comparatively quiet
way. When youare his wife, you can eat gold, as the
saying is.”

Vida’s lips were white still, and curving with scorn and
anger.

“I shall never be his wife, Mrs. Bazel.
why you should wish it.
self.”

And she could not imagine it. She wasin a sea of be-
Wilderwent aud perplexity. That nameless, horrible,
creeping doubt, which she lad before experienced toward
Mrs. Bazel, grew upon her every momeut. Wy should
Mrs. Bazel wish her to marry Delaney?

, An expression of bitter malice, a look of mingled male-
poles aud cuuning, crossed tle widow’s handsome
ace.

“My dear child,’’ she said the next moment, ‘‘it’s natur-
al you should thik that, perhaps; but let ine whisper a
secret in yourear. l’m too nearly related to Delaney to
love iim in that way. I’m his half-sister. His mother
Was married twice, and she married so high the second
time, that she got ashamed of the first. Then ZJ made
what she considered a low marriage in my turn, and tak-
ing that with the olher—I was her child by her first hus-
band, you understand—they about disowned me alto-
gether. Delaney is good to me and generous; but he
doesn’t likeit known how nearly we are related, the great-
er simpleton he, in my opinion, Of course, 1 get talked
about for his pains. But men are so selfish.”

The widow uttered these deliberate and atrocious false-
hoods witha smiling and innocent effrontery worthy a
better cause.

Vida’s horror of the pair, her disgust aud repuision were

beyond words. If she had beiieved Mrs. Bazel, it would
not have lessened these feelings now. But she did not
believe her. She showed it, tuo, in that expressive face
of hers, aud the widow saw aud hated her mure aud more,
if possible. But she dissembied her resentment and pur-
sued her intentions.
“Vida,” she said, “promise me one thing—to. think of
this, Lam sure, when you revolve all the advantages of
marrying Bruce Delaney—and he won’t thiuk of asking
you yet, not for a reasonable time——”?

“He must never ask we, If he waited a thousand years,
and I could live so long, | would slill have the same utter
hortor and detestatiou of him. Don’t let him dare to ask
me.’ ;

The daring and scornful girl slightly bemt her stately
head, aud quickly left the room,

Mrs. Buzel looked after her a moment, then her white,
teeth clenched again.

“You are brave enough, my girl,*? she said, with a
frigitful sneer, “‘but wait. You arein the absolute power
of those who will hesitate at nothing to accomplish their
purpose, Cotscience? Remorse? What are they but
names! ZJhuve uever repented of any evil thing I ever
did yet, aud I uever shall uutillam /ound out, which l
Will tuke good care not to be.”?

I can’t imagine
1 am sure you love him your-

 

CHAPTER XL.

Lord Arnault did not remain at his aunt‘s house in Ex-
éter more than that one bight of Lis arrival. He feit that
he could not trust himself to meet Lady Chira, as le
must doif he stayed. He loved her wit all the strength
of his young, impassioned soul, and he felt thatif there
Was any truth inthe language of woman’s eyes, sie also
loved him. Hlewas the soul of honor, and he decided
very quickly that if he would save her from herself and
him he jnust not remain where she was. Not a breath
must sully the pure soul of this dainty, spoiled child. He
saw the grieved look come into the innocent eyes, the
disappointed quiver olf the sensilive red lips, when he
said, at breakfast, that he was going. He noticed that
Lady Clara ate po more, and he only made a pretense of
doing s0. But wlien the meal was over, and while the
old countess was performing her mmatutimal fault-finding
with the servants, he drew Lady Ciara to a deep window
which looked upon the street, and Look the littie hand in
his for one moment. Both hearts were beating fast, The
slight, soft fingers thrilled him, and there was a tender-
ness in his giance and yoice despite his effort to appear
calm and only friendly. He had believed her dead,.and
he had found her living, and the shock had stirred all his
being into such a tumult that he could scarecly thiuk col-
lectedly nor speak quietly.

“T hope you believe, my lady,’’ he began, in s0 cold a
tone that tears rushed to Lady Clara's blue eyes, “that I
am your true iriend. I would lay down my life for you.
Dou't cry, pray. What have I done?

The last part of this speech, which began so formally,
was expressed in a voice of the deepest Lteuderness. Lady
Ciara looked up, pouting.

“But you are guivg away,’ she said, in her petulant,
baby voice.

Yes,’ answered the young man, blushing deeply and
trying not to look at lier. ;

At that moment the countess came bustling up.

“Of course you Will stay to-day. What difference can a
day make?’

But Lord Arnault knew better, and he conld say no to
his aunt easier than to Lady Clara. As he steamed away
toward Loudon an hour later and thought with throbbing
heart of Lady Ciara, he felt that ke was only wise.

“If Lhad been alone with her this morning, and no re-
Straint of any one else in the room, I stiould have told her
L toved her, and that was why I raust keep away from
her. I could not have helped it.”

St. Jast was in time for the down train—barely so—and
congratulated himself us he tvok his seat because he had
Lot gone to see Danvers.

He had scribbied him a hasty note to announce the
chauge in his planus, and given it to the cab driver to de-
liver. Butif le had remotely guessed what he missed by
not going he would have got off at the firgt stop the train
made and walked back to hear it.

It was atittie past noon when St. Just reached Longe
mere. He left the ‘fy tn which he had come at the gate
and walked up to the house.

No one was in sight, not eyen a servant. He mounted
the low, wide steps slowly. His heart was beating fast,
but he had to remember the limp, which was part of his
disguise,

His hand was on the door when it opened from within,
and Mrs, Bazel stood before him.:

The handsoine widow was tne most Startled of the two.
She turned like ashes at Sight of him, and fooked for a
“moment as she stoud holding the dvor between them, ag
if she meant to bar his entrance tothe house. St.Just
had. on his glasses, but his black eyes shot lightning
glances through them.

“You are uot looking well, Mrs. Bazel. Have you been
ili??? he asked, pushing on into the tall almost rudely, in
his anxiety to getin. “liow is Misa Chatidos?’?

“Miss Chandos is—she will not need you any more,
monsieur. If had known where to direct I should have
written vou tuthat effect. But you went away so sud-
denly, without explanation, and stayed away go long,
that I concluded you were pot coming back. But per-
haps you have come for your pay. If you will go into the

 

drawing-room a moment I will a toit, Yeu might
lave written fer it if you had chosen," ;

 

 

The color came slowly back into the widow's brilliant
face while sie ran on thus vodubly.

“T hope Lacy Clara’s health is improving,"' St. Just said,
watching her with his blazing glance, which his glasses
seemed to magnily rather than couceal. .

Mrs. Bazel shrieked aloud.

“Haven't you heard ?”’ she demanded, putting her biack
bordered handkerchief to her eyes, “Lady Clara is dead,
three weeks ago, and more,”

“Where did she die? Not by violence, I hope??*

‘Violence ?)? called the widow, in a high, angry voice.
“What do you mean by violence? How dare you? Who
could wish to harm that darling creature ??

“7 should wouder if anyoue could,” returned St. Just,
with significance, ‘but this is a wicked world, Mrs, Bazel.
There are people who could thiuk uoyhning of destroyiug a
delicate young life like that, if it was in their way.’

The beuutifal widow glared at him as he spoke, with ler
greenish blue eyes, ‘

“Perhaps you tink somebody murdered Lady Clara,’
she said. “She ‘Was undoubtedly drowned. She was
iusane—you know that—and she contrived to escape from
her friends and wandered away. We found some ofher
things on the river bank, but have never found her
body.”?

“How do you know she is dead, then?”

“Oh, of course she_is, or she would have been found
before this. What is {t Lo you, monsieur, whether she is
or not?”

M. St. Just shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have my curi-
osity, madame, Cuan 1 see Miss Chandos ?'’

“What for, pray?!

“Only to say adieu to my pupil.
madame.”

“You will have to forego that pleasure, monsieur. Iam
sorry to say, Miss Chandos is very ill. What ig the amount
of your bill?”

“What ig the matter with mademoiselle, Mrs. Bazel?
She seemed as if she could never be ill, she was 80 bright
and strong.”’

Mrs. Buzel reflected a moment.
man was. He must be got rid of.
self defiantly.

“She has the small-pox, monsieur. I advise you fo get
away from Longmere us soon as possible. The servants
have all rub away but two. I have had the disease, so I
stay.’

St. Just knew that every word was a lie. He felt it, but
he did not say so.

“Mr. Delaney has run away, too, I suppose?’ lie said,
questioningly.

Mrs. Bazel winced a little.

*“He refuses to go, batl make him keep quite to the
Other end of the honse,”!

“IT think L will stay to-night, if you will permit-me. I
am not at all afraid of the disease, aud should like a good
night’s rest. lL have been deprived of sieep a good deal
lately. I presume my room is as I lett it.”

“Jt would be -murder; | cannot consent,’ the angry
widow said, as sweetly as she could for her vexation.

“Oh, then I must stay without your consent. Iam
literally unable to go away till lo-morrow,’!

What could Mrs. Bazel do? A policemau or a London
detective would have been nearly as welcome, but to
drive him away literally might provoke disagreeable com-
ment, or might make him suspicious. Sne concluded to
let him remuin.

“That man?’ cried Delaney, when she told him. “How
could you? Whatis tie back here for? Mischief to me, I
am afraid. I always feared and hated him. For aught
you know he isaspy of Sterne Beauchamp’s." ;

“Hel’? and the beautiful widow curved her red lips into
asneering smile. ‘lt am only atraid the old feol is iu love
with Vida. I have seen him watch her when he thought
I was not looking, and he really has fine eyes. Did you
ever notice how. black they are. Ishould hike tosee him
without his glasses.’* }

*So should I,” uttered Delaney, with an emphasis that
startled Mrs, Bazel. Her words had stirred in his cow-
ardly soul a vague but intensely painful doubt.

He toldittothe widew before they paried, but she
sneered so openly that he acknowledged himself that he
was fanciful.

“IT did see Beauchamp, though, in London.
swear that,’? he wenton. “You can’t sneer me out of
that. If he had only remembered me as wellas li did
im it would have been all up with me; and I'm not so
sure but he did. Anyhow, he dodged and got out of my
way very strangely. Where have you put St. Just?”

“He has gone to his o)d room, the same he had when he
was here before. He wouldgo. I have set a guard in
the west passage, however, aud if I thought nobody but
we knew hie was here, l’d be tempted to poison hin. I
declare I would. I believe he means to find out some-
thing before he goesaway.”’

Delaney looked at her a moment.

“I believe you would,”’ he said, with ashudder. “You
never think of apy other way of getting out of a difficulty
but that one."!

“Jus the surest one,” she said, under her breath.

“But it isn’t the safest. We’venot heard the last of her
business, in my Opinion,’! 5

“Whose business?

He dropped his voice to a Lusky whisper.

“Clara’s.”?

The widow looked at him a moment darkly.

“IT don't care whether we have heard the last of it oc
not, so we don’t hear she isn’t dead,’’ she said, through
her teeth, “They can bring nothing home tous. You
ought to be thankful that she’s done for, if she is; so
easily, and without risk."?

“Was it without risk ?? ;

“What can [ say toconvince you? If Clara is dead, she
died without any lelp of mine. 1 wili take auy oath you
like to that effect, as I have told you before.”’

Delaney frowned. ,
“You don’t yalue oaths.
you #’ he said.

The more the treacherous widow tried to convince him

I was fond of ler,

How persistent the
Sle straightened her-

I could

What is a lie more or less to

 

that she lad not barmed Lady Clara, the less he believed

her, -—
CHAPTER XLIL

St. Just had taken triumphant possession of his cham-
ber. He did not leave it again till after dark. But he sat
with his door ajar listeuing keenly for any unusual sounds
in the house,

“There issome mischief afloat, lam very sure. They
don’t meauv me to see Vida,’ hesaid. ‘Can they have
taken her away from here, and not wish me to kuow it?!

He come out of his room presently when it was quite
dark, and walked about the halls and passages in his
slippers.

No one seemed stirring. The house was as stillas a
tomb till he came to the last. wing, in which Miss Chandos?
apartments were. Here he found the man Dorst walking
back and forth across the gallery.

St. Just limped on asif he meant to go by him, but
Dorst put up his arm, berring the way.

“] beg your. pardon, sir, but my orders are to permit no
one to pass this way,” he said. St. Just stopped.

“Why not???

“For fear of catching the disease,’ he said, firmly but
respectfully.

“7 am not afraid of it.”

*Ybou need be,’? was Dorst’s answer, and he did not
move from his positiou.

It looked more and more like a conspiracy, St. Just
thought.

“Is it true that the servants have all gone but you and
another??? he asked of Dorst.

“Yes, sir.??

*“*Who is the other?"?

“Mra. Hill.”?

“Oh, indeed! I wonder if she would not make me some
kind of hot tea to sleep ou, J feel aa ifihad taken a bad
cold.”

“I dare say she would, sir. She is very obliging is Mrs.
Hill. I'd go and ask ber fer you, but it might cost me
wy place to leave here.’? ;

“Thank you,”? laughed St. Just. “I haven't forgotten
the way to the kitchen; I think I can go myself.”

Dorst watched him away, much relieved, inuttering to.
himself that he wished Mrs. Hill would put opium tu his
tea.

The lame and gray-haired tutor had been a great favor-
ite with Mrs. Hill. Ste welcomed him quite eagerly, and
set about making tlie tea at once.

St. Just watched her. Presently he asked:

“Have you got such a thing as camphor among your
stores, Mra. Hill? £ believe that is. good to keep off con-
tagion, and I'd like some myself. .I don’t care to get
small-pox at my time of life.”

Mrs. Hili put down the stove-lid she was lifting witha
crash, and turned her sharp gray eyes upon him. St. Just
bore the scrutiny gravely.

Mrs. Hill turned back to the stove, with a very audible
sniff. Lifting the kettle of water to its place, she came
round to were St. Just sat, leaning Lig head upon his
hand, but furtively watching her,

“Why did you come here if you are afraid ?'? the woman
asked, abruptly.

“How should I know f’!

“What did you stay for after you heard it?’ ;

“You kuow Lalways was fond of Miss Chandos,’ he

id.
“How fond ?¥

Tue woman Jooked at him eagerly.

“Mrs, Hill, ig i¢ small-pox?'! he asked, suddenty, in a
whisper.

“Hush! syllabled the woman, and darted back fo the
stove again, just in time tobe seen there by Mrs, Bazel,
who had just learned from Dorst where St. Just had gone,
and had followed him to prevent apy private couversa~-
tion between him and Mrs, Hill.

St. Just concealed his annoyance, asked Mrs. Hill for
the camphor again, and gotit, and taking his hot tea, de-
parted, with a big flannel cloth muffled round his neck.”

Mrs. Hill opened the kitchen-door for him, and without
looking up, said in a low tone:

ee q

sa

“What igthat? What were you saying ‘no’ to? de-
manded Mrs. Bazel, suspiciously. 9

“He wanted to pay me formytrouble. Asif i minded
it, poor old gentleman! How is Miss Chandos to-night,
ma'am ?"? .

“Much the same, Hill. I shall send for a doctor in the
morzing if these bad symptoms continue,” E

St. Jast went up to iis Chamber, and poured Mrs, Hill's
tea out of the window.

“J wish I could have seen Vida to-night,” he said, as he
threw himself, dressed, upon the bed; but they don't get
me out of the house till I have seen her.’?

He did not go tosleep. He lay listening, with his door
ajar, and no light, except what came from a few coals left
on the hearth.

Toward midnight, the house remaining so still, he fell
into a partial dose, from which he was roused by a@ touch
on bis arm, which lay outside the-quilt.. .~ O5

“Don't be scared, sir; it is only me,’’ said a whispering

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

% ;

 

3

 

 
ee

”

 

ae

 

‘Jike.a scarlet thread.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And turning his head, he made out a dim outline that
reminded him of Mrs, Hil.

“Tt ain’t proper, I know,’? murmnred Mrs. Hill, apolo-
gelically, ‘but when things is being done xs bad as mur-
der, ene can’t stop to be proper. 1 want to tell you about
Miss Chandos, She isn’t got Wie small-pox, Whatever else
she’s got. Madame wouidn’t risk her pretly face if she
had, you kuow.”

“Madame says she has had it.””

“She lies, then. Don’t you remember the scare we had
about it being in the town just before you left here. She
said then she never had had it, and she forbid any one
going to the town,’? ;

St. Just sat up,

‘Is Miss Chandos sick at all?’ he asked.

“I saw her this morning. Sne looked sick, butshe's had
no doctor. And if she’s sick, what are they in talking to
her half the night for?’ -

“Are they ???

“They’re there this blessed minute, sir.’

St. Just started. *

“If | could only hear what they are saying, Hilil’’

“You can’t, sir; and there’s no use in trying.
Dorst is watching in the passage by her door.”

“Pye a mina to go and see if they will not let me in.”

“They won’t,’? pronoauced Hill, decidedly. ‘Better
wait till they’re gone.*?

“They may lock the door, then, and there is Dorst ail
the same.’?

Hill refiected a moment, .

“There’s a way of getting to the passage from the oppo-
site side to where Dorst is.’

“How ?”?

“There’s the pack stairs.
but I’ve gota key.”

“We'll try the back staira, Hill, by all means, and at
once.”

“fA once ??? :
* “At once.”

St. Just got off the bed.

“JT suppose we go through the kitchen ?”’ he asked.

“Yes, sir,’? Hill answered, and both went out into the
passage.

It was quite dark, butt knew the way, and as they
moved on swiftly, both In slippers, they made nv noise on
the carpeted floors.

They feached the kitchen, crossed it and mounted the
back stairs, of which the woman had spoken. The door
al the top was fastened, but Mrs. Hill’s key unfastened it
without much sound. St. Just passed through.

“Now you willlock the door again,’? he whispered,
“and I won’t move till 1 think you have got back to your
own chamber. They willsuppose I slipped past Dorst
somehow, and itis as well for them not to suspect you of
kuowing anything about it,”

Mrs. Hill nodded, and drawing back, locked the door
and pocketed the key. x

She was safe in her room in three minutes afterward.

Sr. Just advanced along the passage till he come to the
turning beyond which Dorst was. Listening, he fancied
he could hear him breathe. He took a Jew steps forward,
stopped, and from here could faintly distinguish voices,
Going still farther he imagined that he couid just diseern
Dorst lying upon the floor across the passage. He breathed
as if he were asleep. Miss Ciandos’ door was close at
hand, the key upon the outside, This he coolly removed
and putin his pocket. Then hetriedthedoor. It yielded
to his touch without sound, and he entered.

He saw Vida first. If the room had been fall he would
have seen her first, and that sight nearly took his breath
away with the shock andthe anguish of seeing her so.
He had left lier bright, stroug, a very contagion of youth
and health seemiug to radiate from her beauty and
strength. He found her looking as if she had been sick
with some fearful wasting illness for months. The sweet
face had the pallor of death. She wassitting up, propped
with pillows and cushions, bat she breathed us if each in-
spiration was almost beyond her strength,

St. Just’s black eyes Jiterally flashed behind their mask
as he looked at her.

No one had perceived him as yet,

Mrs. Bazel stood by Vida’s chair. She held an open
paper before the young girl with oue hand, the other ex-
tended a pen.

“Sign your name there,’’ she was saying, and her eyes
speemed to blaze with a greenish flame as she spoke.
ueenne glastly lips moved, and the long dark lashes

ed. -

“You know I never will,’’ she said,
Mrs. Bazel compressed her Celicate Jips til they looked

That

They keep that door locked,

x

“Delaney,” she spoke, suddenly, throwing up her head,
and stopped. With the movement she beteid Sr. Just,
and her false face turned whiter than it had when she

  

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; WINCHESTER & CO.,

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Invested in Gold and
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Wall St. Review and pamphiet sent iree by J. HICKLING & CO..
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A MONTH SURE ‘tO AGEN'T

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If you want to know what you

 

 

 

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FOR OFFICES, FOR BANKS, FOR DWELLINGS, FOR
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WATERS’ New Scale Pianos

 

met him so unexpectedly at the door at noon.
*“Whathas sent you here??? she burst forth, In a fury.
St. Just did notanswer her. He was looking at Vida.
She had started up with a cry of joy. She fell back, evi-
dently too weak to stand,
St. Just rushed forward. Te caught the lituie wasted
hands between his, and knelt beside her, clasping them

tight.
“What have you done to her?’ he demanded, passion-
ately. “What craelty is this?’
Vida, dropping her bright head upon his shoulder, burst
into hysterical crying that shook her from head to foot.
' (10 BE CONTINUED)

 

TO ADVERTISERS.

One Dollar and Twenty-five cts. per line,

CUTS DOUBLE PRICE, ~—
FOR BACH INSERTION CASHIN ADVANCE

“

 

ee ion are ein

tegrity] PENE TEA industry.

40 cents per Ib. by Express, or 50 cents lb. pack-
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U.S. M

80c. to $1.25 for TEA, enclose in letter to us 50c. for sample pound

of Green, Black, or Mixed, and you will always trade with

PAXSON VICKERS’S SONS, No. 130 and 13% Water:st, N. Y
No Margins. No Agents, No Poor Tea.

 

 

When you
¢ tire of pay-
ing from

 

rs Write your address plain. (PLUCK.
REMINGTON.
The Remrnc: |

TON SEWING
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REMINGTON No. 2. Machine for manufacturing and family use
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Good Agents Wanted. Send for Circular,

Address

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Branch Offices of Remington Companies.
2S and 28S Broadway, New York, Arms.
Madison Square, New York, Sewing Machines.
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Boston, 332 Washington st., Sewing Machines.
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B. n & Sons, 7
Remington Sewing M. Co. } ILION, N.Y.
Remington Ag’l Co, 21-4

 

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21-13. F, P. GLUCK, New Bedford, Mass,

 

 

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can be. made in leisure moments without capital. For particulars
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N°? MONEY REQUIRED vwntil goods are sok, Full
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AGENTS COLD E Sitiod tame, oe

 

UDGE FOR YOURSELS.

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Send for catalogue to L. DECKER & CO.,

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7 UEL FRENCH & SON, 122 Nassau 8t., N.Y.

 

 

 

 

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THE BESS SUBSTITUTE FOR MOTHER'S MILE.
Recommended by eminent physicians. Health to the child.
Re iothe mother. Tins one donur each.
21 F. SCHULTHEIS & MENSING, S36 Water st., N. Y.

FINELY PRINTED BRISTOL VISIT-
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Sent tor 25 cents. Send stamp (not postal card) for samples of

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22-1. A. FULLER & CO, Brockton, Mass.

 

 

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SKIN |

DISEASES.

IN IT! The wonderful Pocket Match-

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Wine, Wife and Song—Strauss; A Happy Circle Galop—
Strauss: Le Fille de Madame Angot Waltz; With Steam Polka—
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Annie Dear—Abt.

Why throw away money on high-priced music when you can
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BENJ. W. HITCHCOCK, Publisher,
22-4teow $355 Third avevue, New York.

 

 

 

 

“ USEFUL
‘HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.

To preserve the hands soft and white, they should
always be washed in tepid water, with fine soap, nnd carefully
dried with a moderately coarse towel, being well rubbed every
time to insure a brisk Circulation, than which nothing can be
more effectual in promoting a transparent aud soft surface, If
engaged in any accidental pursuit which may hurt the color of
the hands, or if they have been exposed toshesun, a Jittle lemon

 

 

juice will restore their whiteness tor the time,

When the voice is lost, as is sometimes the case,
from the effects of cold, a simple, pleasant remedy is furnished
by beating up the white of one egg, adding to it the juice of one
lemon, and sweetening it with white sugar totuste. Take a tea-

poontul from time to time.

It. is said that to set newly-made preserves for
several days open in the sun is one of the lest methods of ma-
king them keep through the summer unfermented. It is worth
trying.

Bottles can be readily cleaned by putting in them
twenty-five or thirty small shot, and rinsing them afterward
with hot soap-suds. ¢

To remove proud flesh, pulverize loaf sugar very

 

fine, and apply it tothe part affected. This remedy has been
used in England for many years.

New York Weekly! _

 

MOIDS AND TENSES.

BY GRACE 4: HORR.

   

“Phen youre a crature of Moods?’
“Of moas and of tASes too;

Of moods thich mrt Vary and change
As each f Lifes ictures I view!”

They chame and Ley shift without end,
As various pers I meet;

DPve moocs and ‘adations of moods,
As I taste of ue bitter or sweet.

Are you in:hesame kind of mood,
When sliverbg out in the cold,

As when. he@ the shelter of Home,
You a¢ ons of the family fold?

Our mods cunge inevitably—

Whe strugiling with Life, Time and Fate,
We pand athe footsteps of Love,

An: cowan, Deceit, we must hate!

Philathrop’s walking abroad—
Ov heart sympathetically glow!
The: Envyand Malice prow! round,
Ad scorh all fair things where they got

~ Weallar the creatures of moods— “
See Sech, with her sneer, come this way—
Licentiosness hovering near—
Like te wild beast, is watching his prey!
Who bests that he never is moved—
Not ibject to mood nor to tense?
Who «0 look with the same placid mien
On ruth and faise-hearted Pretense?

Towft, on the dark sea of Life,
Ar worthless things guarded with care,
‘Whe the gems are cast from the life-boat,
Te gems that are costly and rare!

Wh secs, in unchangeable mood,
"he arrogant cowing the weak?

Wio sees, in acalm, happy mood,
The tyrant oppressing the meek?

D annals of years that are gone,
Whose pulse does not throb as he reads,
And his mood more expansive become,
As he pores o’er the patriot’s deeds?

When hands are stretched out from a wreck,
And even a finger might. save,
That finger is never held out,
What moods do you think we can have?
> 2 * * * * =

Ah, yes, we are creatures of moods—
Of moods which are varied and true—
Of moods and gradations of moods,
As each of Life’s pictures we view!
st Ls PI a a ea

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

[Mos of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing to
ward naking this columo an attractive leature of the Nkw YoRE
WERK.Y, and they wiil oblige us by sending for publication any-
thing thich anay be deemed of sutlicient interest for general pe-
rusal. [tis not necessary that the artieles should be penned in
scholaiystyie; so Jong as they are pithy, and likely toafford
a ¢, minor defects will be remedied.

 

Wncle Schneider gets a Caudie Lecture,

Ubm my wordt, Mister Schneider, 1 dink J might as
vell s¢ up der rest of der night for all der shieep Ill got
now. Dis is a fine time of der glock for you to be apokin’
your ise im here, ain’t it now % My! but I’m so played
out aviitin? up awake for you, dot | Kin hardly vaggle der
end ofmy tongue, do'’s so. f :

“Vatde you say? You dink I’m adoin’ pooty vgil mit
it unde der circumstances, do you? Now, Mister Schnel-
der, 1 won't hafe not none of your insulting insulis, 80 I
yoont. Jt am qvite bad enough to sot up here all night in
der coh vedderalosiu’ my waluable shnvoze, widout hay-
in? youashewin up my vordts vhenefer 1 habben to drop
a jeetleopserwation. Now, you better understand werry
hard, dot d Yount sot up not no more, and pesides———

Vat? Way don’t I grawl into der bedciothes dhen like
a sensiple, yooman, eh? Ol! no, Mister Schneider, not
no grawl, no sir, IJ yoodent grawi for a cent. Dnhere’s

 

no doubt but vat you'd like it remarkaple veil to come
home aay time of night, und find eferypoddy fast ashleep,
so you voow enjoy your vild garryins-on, widout nobody
knowing not nudding aboutit. Ohl yes; dot vood be ‘pie,’
youdentitnow? Und I hafe no deubt you cvod do mid-
out my instructive jJecture every night, when you come
home in dis bromiscuous vay, couden’t you?

Vat? You dink you cood iniss der lectures werry easy,
und vood try werry hard not <0 feel vorrid at dheir omis-
sion? Oh! yes; I believe you, soI do; but you voon't
miss dhem, Mister Schneider, you voon’t! I’m agoin’ to
gontinue dis jecture bizuess iu der noplest kind of vay,
unlul you Kin Jearn to come Wome Biidout bein’ ‘dwo-halts-
der-sea-ofer;’ und if I vasu’tder softest-hearted little yoo-
man in der yorldt, 1 yood le ascratchin’ der top of your
shkull mit der poker, so I vood. But I'm too easy mit you,
und you know it, dou’s you’ Don’t you know it, I say?
Come, shpoke out like 4 man, you trunken wagaboned!

Vat? You don't feel inder mode for any extensive
gonversations zoost now, da@’t you? Vell, upon my vord,
der coolness of dot opserwaion am berfeculy putiful! Vat
you dink lam, anyhow?

Vat? You ain’t answern’ hard gonundrums like dot
to-night, ain’t you? Vell, vill you biease und tellme how
long do you dink I’m agoin’ to hafe der heart shtrings
teared out of me, und——_-

You “give dot up, too,’? dy you? Nowdon’t you dink
you’m awful funny, ain’t ve? Do you dink I’m a fool?

Vat! dot'’s a easy von to answer, amit? Veil, all right
uf you dink so. 1 sbose you jink you’m awful gomic in
your big tongue to-night, don’, you, you beery raskell ?

Eht 7m gittin kinder vild\u my opservations, am I?
Und | better pick out pootier vords to shling at you, eh?
No, sir! 1 bick out der very hardest vordts in Vebster's
Directory, und efen dhen dhey ain’t good enough for you,
you old skaleyvyag! ~

Vat! I’m in gonsideraple danger of receiving a wicious
bang in der mout, am 1? Vell, go ahead; but remember
uf L receive der bung shpill detshtofe on you yoost so
shure as you’m almost tumblin o1t dotshair! Vy don’t
you sot upshdrait und hafe sane siityle apovt you?
You’m a- sittin dot yay a burpose,am you? Und you’m
tryiu to shtand on your head, eh? Vell, look out, for it’s
werry probable 1 might help you h dot last leetle trick.

Now, Schneider, vere in der name of gootnnss vas you
out go late last night? Vat! youodent come home no
later, eh? Vell, I believe dot; bit vere vas you? Eh?
O! no, sir! Dot's too altogedder diin. Four hundred und
fifty-von times I vas villing to beleve it vas “der glub;"’
but on der four liundred und filtysecond time I veaken,
und | ain’t a tookin dot shdatemint no more. Aha! vat's
dot paper you dropped dhere on ¢er floor? Aha! I’m got
it. No, sir-ree, I don’t give itoack. You'll valtz der
pack hair out of me uf I don’t, vil you? Idon’t care uf
you’d preak me in dhree bieces I’in a-goin to read dis
paper. Now let’s see. **

Vat, Mister Schneider, am dis? Kin I believe der lhear-
ing of myown-eyes? “Der Pisk Crooked!’ Ho, hol
olt man, so you’m bin to der theaer a-wisitin der **Plack
Crooked,” hafe you? Dot's a fine ding for a old, shmood-
shkulled family of a fader like yu to go shkibbin out to
saw der ‘‘Plack Crooked!’ Dot settles it, sure. You kin
at vonce gonsider yourself a diwrced Sclineider under
benalty ofder law! My! but yovm a olt raskell! Isub-
pose dhere vas some nice, poot; young yoomans adhere,
now vasn’t Ghere? Werry pooty.ei? Und mit not such
big hoofs like mine, eh? Go on keeb ub your insulting
bropositions to der vile of your som.

Dovs right. Forgot all apout dr good she’s done you.
Forgot all apout it, yoost like all nes. Forgot ail apout
der pice red flannel shirts mit ablue border vat I made
you for Jast summer; und forgo; all apout der nice pan-
wheat buckcakes lshtewed foryou efery morning; und
forgot how often J got up in der norning to saw 4 pail of
coal so you cood hafe a nice fim to vash your face mit!
Forgot all dhese dings, und goi-valizin out to saw der
“Pluck Crooked!’? Oh, yes, dot’sa nice vay to——

Vat! dows a bill you bicked up in der shftreet, am it?
Und der “Plack Crooked”! ain't Layin’ here till next veek
already, anin’tit? Vell, slure erough, Schneider! Vell,
Pm—

Vat! vill l shut up und bin a bleasant goot-natured Mrs.
Schneider uf you took me to saw der ‘‘Plack Crooked ?’?
Vy, of gou I vill, my goot. o& poy; Vil shutupina
minute, so I . Now I know pu’ma. plamed goot olt
Schneider to me, only yousee . git kinder vild in my
tongue when you come in so zareless dis time of der
night und vant to sing gomic sonzs und shtand on your
head, dot’s all. Now vent out, Ot man, und buy me a
quart of half-und-half lager, und I say no more about it,
so 1 yoont—und dot settles it!

A Law-Abiding Man.

Ex-Governar Vance, of North Carolina, relates the fol-
lowing pithy story:

A reverend Scotch gentleman of my acquaintance, who,
under the influence of mammon, had married during the
war an invalid and rather hard-looking old maid for the
sake of fifty negroes, was told by 4 joker, after Jounston’s
surrender, that the Yankees had set the negroes free, and
were going to abolish everything done during the rebel-
lion, even the dissolution of all marriages contracted dur-
ing that time.

“Aweel, aweel, Duncan, my mon,’’ said the overmar-
ried Scot, ‘we maun submit; Z'’n a law-abidin'mont"

Oratory.

Many years ago, Edward Everett delivered an address
at Concord, Massachusetis, on the anniversary of the. me-
morabile battle, in the course of whicli he made one of his
happiest impromptu hits. He was addressing the group
of revolutionary veterans, survivors of that encounter,
when they all rose respecifully. Mr. Everett immediate-
ly exclaimed: ‘Sit, venerable men! We should rather
stand in your presence!” An apostrophe which elicited:
universal applause. This gave rise to a rather dull and
malignant joke. Some penny-a-liner asserted that the in-
cident was pre-conceived, and rehearsed beforehand by
the orator and veterans, a piece of clap-trap, of which, all
who knew Mr. Everett, knew him to be incapable, The
penny-a liner attributed the following speech to one of the
old soldiers: f :

“We shouldn't keer 10 hey Mr. Averitt come to Concord
to speak his piece often, cause he drills us so hard, and

 

ao till we’re e’en a’most tired out and worrited to
eat,

A worthy but illiterate old lady, who almost idolized the
orator, With whom she was personally acquainted, gave
another version of the incident.

“Mr. Everett,” she said, enthusiastically, “hain’t lost
none of his old sperrit and fire. T’other day he spoke a
piece at Concord, and some of the poor old played-out,
addle-headed veterans stood up and tried to interrapt
him, but he looked at ’ein as ferse as pison, stamped his
footand sung oui: ‘Set down! Ine here to do the tajkin!’
That shut up the old fellars mighty quick, I tell yer.”

Some people ‘make history.” THE “OLD ’UN.”

Ye Late Thomas Toplight.
Tom Toplight was a nice young map,
Born in the back countree,
Who was resolved on seeing life,
And so he went to sea.
He feared no fast when once aboard,
Whatever they might do,
His mother’s hens laid but one egg—
But every ship lays-to.
They weighed the anchor merrily

 

first query was answered in No, 14. 2d. Sir Edward Lytton Bul

wer (Lord Lytton), the novelist, was the son of Gen. Bulwer. He
was born May, 1805, and died Jan, 18, 1873._ &l. Charles Dickens
died at his residence, in Gadsiall, Kent, Engiand, June.9, 1870.
4th. Very good........ Skimer Horn.—Ist. The papers containing
“Texas Jack,” will cost 84 cents. 2d..The distance frem Indian-
apolis to Sacramento is 2,360 mules, and the jare about $120. 3d.
Subscriptions to the New YORK WEEKLY May commenee from
any date... . Stella V.—The drama has not been issued in printed
Pind Pree y eee W. J. S.—The song cannot be procured at the music
stores. We judge from the title that it is one of those Jocal airs
sung by college give clubs........ Birdie.—We eannot, from your
imperfect description, form an idea of the material of the work,
unless it be the delicute threadwork made by glass-blowers......
Inquirer.—There is no work of the kind we, can recommend.
There are plenty which cover the ground more or less in all its
aspects, but you could derive no benefit from reading them......
Starport.—Calculations of this Xind vary so materially that they
are not to be relied on...... Passmore.—We do not think 80......
Codmen.—Ist. An Archimedes screw is an instrument for raising
water, formed by windiag 2 flexible tube round a cylinder in the
form ot ascrew. Wen the screw is placed in an inclined po-
sition, and the lower end immersed in water, by causing the
serew to revolye the water is raised to the upper end. It is so
called from the name of the inventor, the Greek philosopher
Archimeees. We do not know where you can get oneuniess of
some «ealers in pumps. and hydraulic machinery. 2d: See
“Knowledge Box.”..... Reader.—Of the writers of the. present
eay Swinburne’s and Joaquin Miller’s verses are the most

 

Upon that very night—
Tom didn’t see the balance, but
He knew it wasn’t light.

The ship dropped down the harbor, and
Approached the ocean biue;

But when the sea began to rise,
Then Thomas dropped down t0-

Though Thomas dropped, *# stomach rose,
And dinner did the seme;

The sailors got an excra dish,
Of Thomas mlaking game. :

The ship fied fast, loud roared the blast,
And be Was in despair;

And wien the billows ’gan to comb,
He weut and tore his hair.

When twenty men went on the watch,}
He wondered at its size;

And thought they must be watched indeed,
When seas and winds arise (are eyes).

The ship so pitcifed into the swell—
And wouldn’t from It cease,

He said, wherever she was bound,}
'T should be to keep the peace,

While he was knocked from side to side,
Of grog they. brewed theirstore;

But he couia bang*em all at brews,
or he was bruised all o’er.

A gentle-hearted mariner,
Who saw how matters stood,

Told Tom to take the dog-watcn first,
Because the bark was good.

._ Then like a faithful watch-dog Thom-
As did the dog-watch try;
And while each watclhmate eyed his pipe,
Poor Thomas piped his eye.

At eight bells grog was served around—
‘froin couldn’t take his horn,
But got into his narrow berth,
~~ And wished he'd ne’er been born.

Midnight they shortened sail, and Tom
Endeavored to te brave—

But in the shrouds, alas! he thought:
Of nothing but the grave.

That horrid thought so shook his nerves,
He lost his hold, and fell,

Aliguting on the boatswain’s head—
The boatswain he said—well—

No matter what he said—for Tom
Was how extremely ill,

And feil—to thinking—thinking of
His home in Puimpkinville.

At length he would turn in again,

But stumbling in the dark,
De turned in where they “jawed” him well—
~ He turned iu—to a shark,

The sailors all they looked aghast,
But cook aaid, *‘Never fret,

He's where we all would like to be-
Gone in from out the wet.’?

Now Tom had had a sweetheart dear,
Whose lovely name was Fan—

That night she saw Tom’s ghost appear,
And thinkivg ’iwas ‘a man,??

She shrieked and screamed in mortal fear,
Anda scared the ghost away;

But disappointment murdered Fan
On the ensuing day.

Now in’the nodk where he should lie,
Is visible after dark,

An awful Fan-Tom grouped inside,
The phantom of a shark.

A Disappointed Couple.

A young lady, more noted for keeping school than
keeping house, recently assumed the matrimonial yoke.
Considering that ‘‘Jove in a cottage’ had the greatest
charms, the young couple proceeded at once to house-
keeping. Being fond of game, John, ere many days
brought to his bride some pigeons for a pie, to be prepared
for dinner. Dinner hour came, and with it John anda
particular friend, whom he invited to test the culinary
skill of his bride. The pie appeared, a lovely brown, pe-
eculiar to the best of its kind. With a triumphant ex-
pression Jolin seized the curving-knife, divided the pie,
also a pigeon’s crop, Which the bride had not removed.
From the ‘sublime to the ridiculous,’ does not express
the change in John’s face, as the pie hastily passed out.

Moral—Ali brides should learn to dress their pigeons
before they make pies for John and his particular Jriends.

MAGNUS ET BONUS.

To P. P. CoNTRIBUTORS.— W. Williams.—'‘The Ambitious Dog”
will launch bis bark in the Phunny Phellow...... The following
MSS. are accepted: ‘“‘Snow-Bound Husband,” “Darkey’s Phil-
osophy,”? “Are You Scott,” “Slight Mistake,” ‘“Briggs’s Mare,”
“How to Find Out,’ ““Ravings by a Lunatic,” “Praying for Pies,”
“Number of This One,” ‘fo Marry His Daughter,” “Running
Joke,” “‘Force of Logic,” “Some of You,” ‘Snuff Story,” “Fool-
ing a Dutchman,” “Biting the Biter,” ‘Recollections of Boy-

ood.”’...... The foflowing are respectfully declined: “That
Knickerbocker,” ‘Chosef Prew,” ‘Parson’s Revival,” ‘Didnt
Ask Her,” “Bad Penny,” ‘Pest,? “Jean’s Pants,” ‘Who Are
Wicked Men’s Companions?—irreverent, ‘Schlousheimer,”
“Handsome Young Men,” ‘“Couldn’t Subscride’—old, “Shad-
rach’s Courtship,” “Troubles mit der Vater.” ‘Looking for the
Money,” “Careiul Irishman,’ “Crockery Ware,” ‘Handsome
Young Girls,” ‘Taking the Census’’—old, ‘Got Even With >Em,”
“Battle of the ‘Barn,’ ‘“‘Washing and Scouring,” “Graveyard
Ghost,” “Saved Crumbs,” ‘The Railroad Car.”

eres ae lee elgin

To CORRESPONDENTS.

To BuyErRs.—All communications in regard to the prices or the

urchasing of various articles must be addressed to the NEW
Vonx WEEKLY Purchasing Agency, contain the full address of
the writers, and specify the size, quantity or quality of the goods
desired. Those requiring an answer must have two threv-cent
stamps enclosed. wing to the large increase of jetters to be an-
swered in this column, a delay of several weeks must necessarily
ensue before the answers appear in print,

THE PURCHASING AGENCY CATALOGUE.—The new and en-
larged edition of the NEw YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency
Catalogue is now ready, and all orders received will be filled at
once. It will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of
ten cents.

NoTIcE.—With every mail we receive a number of letters oil
various subjects, in which the writers request an answer by man
instead of through the various departments. To do this we are
cet pag to employ additional help, beside being put to consid-
erable trouble and expense to obtain the information. This we
will cheerfully submit to when the questions are answered
through our columns, as the knowledge thus impart ed will inter-
est and benefit the mass of our readers; butinthe future, to se-
cure an answer by mail, persons desiring it must inclose a FIFTY-
CENT STAMP, to pay us for our trouble and expense.

har GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
A. E. Mc.—Write to the office of the- Druggists’ Journal, No. 350
Pearl street, for a copy of that paper......... Ellen Lee,—Copyists
are usually employed by lawyers to write Jegal documents and
fill up blanks, in a large, legible hand. They are sometimes pail
by the folio, and by the week when there isenough to do to keep

x

 

them steadily employed.......... Cooperstown.—We have no list of
wrecks on the lakes except those in which a number of lives were
OBE e456 » Susan.—To establish your claims as the wife of the de-

ceased gentleman, your correspondence and the testimony of ya-
rious perties to whom you have been introduced rt him _ as his
wife, is all that is required. Should you desire further evidence,
the different hotel registers could be procured. The absence of
the marriage certificate would not impair your claims....... Bill
Yawdid.—\st. We do not know the technical terms applied to the
other teams. The first are called the leaders, those nearest the
vehicle the wheelers, or wheel-horses, Those immediately in
front of the latter are sometimes called ‘‘swingers.” 2d. W
should not like to be compelled to read all the evidence. 3d.
Belladonna is a poisonous plant, known also as deadly, night-
shade, and is used as a remedy in convulsions, neuralgia, whoop-
ing-cough, rheumatism, paralysis, scarlet fever. On account of
its poisonous character it should not be used except under the ad-
vice of a physician.......€. 4. H.—1st, If the lady is an intimate
friend it would not be improper to ask for her photograph; it
merely an acquaintance, it is not advisable for you to ask for it,
or for her to comply with your request. 2d. Wecannottell. 3d
and 4th.—There are so many good actors, and there are so many
different styles ot acting in which each may excel, that it is im-
possible to institute comparisons..... Memphis.—There is no line
of steamers from this portto Australia. The most direct route
is by rail to San Francisco, thence by the Australian and Ameri-
can Mail 8. 8. Co.’s steamers to Sidney and Melbourne. The fare
to the former is $200, first. cabin; $150, second cabin; $100, steer-
age. To the latter, $225, $162.50, and $110...... Doctor Typo.—Thre
office of lieutenant-general was first created and the rank con-
ferred on Gen. Washington. In 1855 the brevet rank wasrevived
and conferred on Gen. Scott, to date from March 29, 1847. In
1864 the full rank was revived, and the commission presented to
Gen. Grant March 9. In 1866 the grade of general was created,
and Gen. Grant eae to the position, Gen. Sherman was
promoted to the office of lieutenant-general, and on Gen. Grant
being elected President, Gen. Sherman was commissioned as
general, and Gen, Sheridan promoted to the office of lieutenant-
general, which position he now holds.......-..+» Viaduct.“ John
Jones, Jr, Esq.,” is the correct form, it itis desirable to use the
term Esq....... Diogenese.—We do not know of such afirm.......
A. K. H. R.—\st. Oysters and snails are different species of mol-
lusks, one of the classes into which the animal Kingdom is divi-
ded. 2d. We will furnish a book of instruction on the banjo for
75 cents.........- Helen, Countess of Mar,—\st. We do not know of
any work which will aid you. The grammar itself should fur-
nish the tests by which you can determine whether the sentence
is parsed correctly. 2d. Your composition and penmanship are
good, but your punctuation is faulty. For instance, you have
used no interrogation points at the close of your queries..../.....
Cultivator.—Write to an agricultural journal, We can tind noth-
ing on the subject........ J. F. M.—We have heard nothing of the
proceedings in regard to the Anneke Jans estate for a number of
years...... Amateur.—The instrument referred to is the only one
ever manufactured, The performer using it says the manufac-
turer blew his head off in testing it, end that he (the performer)
is the only party possessed of the sveretof its mechanism.......
Shiloh.—Ist. For first newspaper in America, see reply to “W. H.
Murch” in No. 4. 2. In its present form in L J. W. G.
Ottawa.—It is allogether a matter of individual choice....... Free
E. G.—lst. We have no record of the dimensions of river steam-
ers, 2u. Acaptain in the British navy is unofficially called a

ost-captain to denote that he is of full rank, commanders often

oe

 

ey

 

 

makes us keep agittin’ upand setting down when he gives

ing called captains by courtesy,.,.... Very Anzious,—Ist. Your

‘ .

 

 

amorous...... H. E. McBride.—\st. The lady is still under engage-
ment. 2d. No date has been fixed...... Coniributor.—lst. We
do not know who are the three wealthiest men in the United
States. 2d. The largest dry goods firms in this city and in the
country are A. T. Stewart & Co, and Claflin & Co. We cannot
give the figures of the business of either house....@. F. Fouman,
—Ist. We will send you Richardson s Choice Seleetions, No. 1,
containing J. Rodman Drake’s “American Flag,” and other reci-
tations suitable fora public entertainment, for 75 cents......R.
R. R.—We wil! furnish Shaw’s “Civ3l Architecture” for $10, and
Sloan‘s ‘Constructive Architecture for $9...... Glide.—Consult a
good pianist...... Boston Boy.—The gentleman named has been
tor years and is yet engaged to write exclusively for the New
YORK WEEKLY.—D. S. Sessions.—lst. The phrase Aj} quiet on
the Potomac” was used during the war by co! nidents who
had no news of movements of troops to chronicle. The mac-
tivity of the troops in that section tor a Jong time led to its tre-
quent repetition, until it became a pet phrase to indicate a deartiz
of intelligence from any quarter. 2d. We know nothing of such
an agency......Mrs. Z.—The machine cannot be purchased. It
is used by the inventor in his own business.

ETIQUETTE.

Laura M.—Ladies should not upon ordinary occasions take the
arm of any one but.a relative or an ac lover in the street
in the day-time; in the evening, or in a crowd, or in any emer-
gency where she may n ecti she hot refuse
such assistance from a gentleman, She should pass her hand
over the gentleman’s arm merely, but sMould not walk at arm’s
length apart, as country girla;semetimesdoL wens

Charlie.—Your position is really.a apparent one; but
are you sure that you really love the sec , and that the
one to whom you are engaged jis 60° dibtas lf you have
ceased to care ior her and cannot.be,a lasthfuby ren should
by all means tell her of your changed feelings, a: her to re-
Jease you: from your engagement. We thin ‘she will give you
your treedom, as no Jady can wish to marry the man who does
not Jove her.

Doubtful.—Yes; the lady’s name is pronounced first in intro-
ductions. You may say, “Miss B., allow me t6.p nt ¢or antro-
duce) to you Mr. Y.” You may remark, tomake the greeting
cordial, ‘an old friend of the family,” or one “much esieemed,’’
if the party happens to be such.

F.ve Years’ Reader.—1st. The young lady who sends poetry
to you undoubtedly wishes to become better acquainted, 2d. If
the young lady was a relative, or ap affianced, there would be no
wie in your kissing her, providing she did not object.

Friend.—A difference of ten, twelve or fifteen years between
the agesof a husband and wife is not intrequent; and if the
young lady returns your love and her parents do not object, urg-
ing as an excuse her extreme youth, there can be no possble
reason why you should not address her, Inany event youshould
first a pO to her tather or guaroian before addressing herself.

Nichole Traviata.—lf you have any friends who are acquaint-

:

introduce you. If you have no means of obtaining an introduc-
tion, she must remain ignorant ot your admiration untida lover’s
ingenuity overcomes the ostacles which at present make you a
silent adorer.

OUR KNOWLEDGE Box.

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.

 

 

We take pleasure in responding to every question nddressed
to usin this column, for the answers generally afford information
not only to the parties especially seeking it, but also to the mass
of our readers; but with the increase of our circulation has grown
the number of questions soliciting answers by mail.. These que
tions are almost uniformly important ones, costing, to satisfact
rily answer them, much time and Jabor, For this reasen all per-
sons in future wishing their ass replied to by mait, will please
inclose 50 cents to defray the ex ses necessarily incurred.
QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
HM. B. L.—EVERLASTING FENCE Posts.—A_ correspondent writes
as follows concerning the recipe of which: youdaave heard: “kK
discovered, many years ago, that wood,conld bemade to last
longer than iron in the ground, but thought the process so sim-
ple and inexpensive that it was not worth a paling any stir
about it. I would as soon have poplar, bass or ash as any
other kinds of timber for fence posts. Th ken out basswood
posts after having been set out seven years “were as soung
when taken up as when they were first put in. the ground.

Tine
and weather seemed to have no effect on them, e posts cam
be prepared fora mere trifle. For the benefit of others 3 wila

give the rectpe: Take boiled Jinseed oil aud stir init pulverized
charcoal to the consistency of paint. Puta coat of this over the
timber, ang there is not a nan that will Jive tosee it rot.”.......
W. K,. B.—TrA.—There is a notion that green tea owes-its color
to copper; thisiganerror. If there were enough copper in it to
atfect the color, it would be highly poisonous, and a small quan-
tity would produce certain symptoms, such asnausea, ete. The
Chinese, it istrue, have been charged with coloring common
black tea so as tomake it look like green, thé method of coloring
consisting in first stirring among the leaves while heated ‘in the
pans a little pulverized oe turmeric, and then adding a mix-
ture of finely pulverized Prussian blue and gyrsum. Indigo and
porcelain ¢iuy are also used for this purpose. An authority on the
subject says that the difference between green and black teas is
owing to the longer exposure of the latter to the air before dry-
ing, and during the gifferent stages of the drying process. It is
also stated thatthe difference reierred to is owing in part at
least to difference of soil, climate and age of the Jeaves, the plants
furnishing the black teas being grown In hilly and mountainous

laces, and the green tea shrubs being cultivated on level Jands
in soils enriched for the purpose.....Doughty.—See "M. B. L.”....
Americus.—SIRUP OF COFFEE.—This preparation is of great use
to those who have Jong journeys to make. Take half a pound of
the best ground coffee; put it into a saucepan, containing three
pints of water, and boil it down to one pint, Goo} the liquor, put
it into another saucepan, well scoured, and boi? it again, As it
boils, add white sugar enough to give 1t the consistency of sirup.
Take it from the fire, and when it is cold put it into.a bottle and
seal. Wherttraveling, if you wish fora cup of good coffee, you
have only to Rut two teaspoonfuls of the sirup Into an ordinary
coffee-pot, and fill with boiling water, Add condensed milk to
tasie it you can get it...... Ajazx.—ERASIVE SoaP.—Two pounds
of good castile soap, half-a-pound of carbonate of potash, dis-
solved in half-a-pint of hot water, Cut the soap into thin sliees,
boil the soap with the potasivuntil it is thick enough to mold in
cakes, alsv add alcohol half-an-ounce, camphor half.an-eunce,
hartshorn half-an-ounce; color with half-an-ounce of pulverized
charcoe}l...... Evangeline.—1. We cannot inform you. is 7.
In Earnest, Gale Durg, G. N.S., Flying Dutehman, H. H. B,
John Chinaman, ores Litchfield, Wilham, A Constant
Reader.—Your letters have been received, and will be answered
as soon as possible.

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT,

T. R. ¥.—The following remarks which were addressed some
time since to a fellow sufferer are applicable to your case: -The
first thing to be done is to turn over a new Jeaf in life’s volume,
abandoning the practice referred to, absolutely and entirely. No
half-way measures will bring about acure. You must put your
foot down firmly, and keep it down, permatting. no temptatiorr,
no allurement to make you deviate from the path whieh, if reso-
lutely pursued, will lead you to the promised goal of restored
health. Your malady, if long continued, is, as we have before
said to others, very difficult to cure, it sometimes defying or
baffling for a Jong time the greatest medica}iskill, but time and
patience will achieve wonders, provided youdo nething to ag-
gravate the illsof which you compjain. .Wasrh.in cold water
night and morning, or use the hip bath, if you nag, the proper
bathing convenietices, it not, use the sponge or wet towel freely.
Keep your thoughts off the subject. Avoid late suppers. reg-
war in your habits. Let your diet be simple and wholly free
| from spices of every description. Do not toueb tobacco or alco-
holic liquors. Mingle in cheerful company, Rise early and take
a great deal ot exercise, if possible, during the day and early in
the evening. In bed lie on your right side—never on your back.
Let the covering be light. If you teel inclined to employ the ser-
vices of a doctor, be sure to get aregular practitioner. Placeno
confidence in circulars sent through the mail. They are written
for effect, and alarm without doing any good.

A, B. L.—PIMPLES,—AS We have said to others we say to yor,
that if you would have a clear, fine complexion do not eat tat
meats; avoid also the use of rich gravies, pastry, pickles, spreed
sauces, or anything of the’kind. Take all the outdoor exercise
you can, and never indulge in aJate supper.» Retire ata reason-
able hour, and rise earlv in the morning, sdiphur to purify the
blood may be taken three times a week—a thimbleful in a glass
of milk before breakfast. 1t takes some time for the sulphur to
do its work.’ Therefore, persevere in its use till the humors, or
pimples, or blotches disappear. Avoid getting wet while taking
the sulphur, Sarsaparilla is also good tor the blood. Castor oit
taken occasionally will aid in clearing the complexion unless the
blood is very impure.

.C. L., W. R. J., Coonskin the Scout, Miss Hatty W. S—,
Maximillian.—Your letters have been received, and will be an-
swered as soon as possible.

> O<4-

THE
LITTLE WANDERERS ASYLUM.

THE WOMEN'S TEMPERANCE LEAGUE o% Jersey City,
(organized Feb. 26, 1874), opened this asyiam on Dec. Ist,
1

.

 

These women saw the need of aplace where honieless,
starving children would be received at any hour, and sur-
rounded by kindly influences. coh

Little ones had been sent to jail with drunken mothers,
and the true, womanly heart cried out against that.

With but $18 in the treasury, a basement was rented at
284 Second slreet—it was the best we could then secure—
and an appeal published in the daily papers of Jersey City,
for furniture, bedding and provisions,

The response was more fayorable than-we had dared
hope. And so in, faith and hope, with prayer for God’s
blessing, and trusting in that charity born of a generous
heart and cheerful giving, the asylum was founded.

Little waifs came, and were cared for.

One cold day, a babe, thirteen months old, half-starvec
and freezing, was taken from an intemperate mother’s
arms. Kindness and sufficient food brought her back to
life after a sickness of some days, and her beantiful bright
face is like a sunbeam in that home for little Wanderers.

The entire work has been left to a few—none of whom
are rich—and, convinced that such an institution is need-
ed In this city, they desire to secure other rooms (those
now occupied cannot accommodate all that are brought)
and provide for the hungry and homeless,

Truly grateful-for the aid which has been extended, we
are constrained to ask smal) contributions from those
beyond_our city. A few cents or a dollar from those
dwelling in homes of peace and plenty, Will help to save
many children from eyil influences, and make them use-
ful members of society and an honor to our country.

With hearts full of sympathy for the little homeless
ones, some of whom are worse than parentiess, because
father and mother are drankards, we ask aid from such
as are able and willing to give.

Please send contributions to Mr, FRANCHS 8, STREET,
New YORK WEEKLY, who has kindly offered to take
charge of the money. ANNA RAYMOND.

 

Secretary of Women’s Temperance League.
Jerser City, N. J., March 8th, 1875. %

 

ed with the young lady, or with her family, ask one of them to -

 

steer ieieiaidlliaaiaataninisinsiemeve

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

ov ae £4
. sep
* Cee

 

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

i alemreiocareei ila

 

THE TWIN SISTERS.
BY NATHAN D. URNER.

There is no joy like the joy of spring,

When the stir of life is in everything,

When the world opes its eyes at awakening,
When the warm hues deepen in earth and sky,
And with glances underlidded and shy,

The love-light swims in a fair maid’s eye.

I just met Mary and Margaret,

The farmer's twin daughters, with small feet wet
From a tramp in the pasture, but homeward set.

They paused by the brook, as they saw me come,
With their cheeks together, while out from their bloom
Stole shy, bright glances, that made me dumb.

Till at tast, together with blue eyes and brown,

And fair hair beside dark tresses bent down,

I was all abroad from toe to crown,

Whén Margaret laughed, and her sister spoke,
Which straightway the spell of my silence broke,
And our ‘tongues with the songs of new birds awoke.

Their schooling was over at last, said they,

And now they were home, thank goodness, to stay,
And keep house for their father, and glad were they.
They rained their questions of friends of theirs,

On topics of town, and my own affairs.

Iwas charmed and captured all unawares.

We paused to part, yet loitered awhile

At trie moldering step of the weed-grown stile,
What was it that caused them to turn and smile,
As they tripped up the path to their dairy-gatet
And why leaped my heart if it was not Fate,
Who warns unbidden, or early or late?

What was it, indeed, but the joy of spring,
When the stir of life is in everything,

And beauty and love are awakening ?

As they slipped trom view, a thrush gushed out,
The brook leaped by with a merrier shout,

The wind blew fresh and the buds peeped out.
Upon which of them is my full heart set,

On fair-tressed Mary, or Margaret,

With the deep, dark smile and the eyes of jet?
Alas! I know not; but brighten, oh, spring!
Let us see what the Fates to a lone heart bring,
When rapture and love are in everything.

JOHN'S MOTHER-IN-LAW.

BY HELENA DIXON.

“Of course your mother must have a home with us,
Carrie. Widowed, and with no child but you she natur-
ally and rightly wishes to.come to you. And, only think
how nice it will be for us al! to have her here. No more
lonely hours for you while I am cooped up in that gloomy
work-shop of mine up stairs.”

So spoke Jolin Royalton as he rose from the breakfast-

table and caught up his chubby-faced boy, adding, as he
perched the little two-year-old On tis shoulder:

“And my little curly-head wants a grandmamma’s ex-
perieuced eye upon him to cut short his mischievous
pranks. Don’t you, Master Chatterbox.”

And away the little fellow was borne to the little room
which Jolin had called his ‘‘work-shop.’) Technically
speaking, it Was a studio, for Royalton was a painter, and
the domestic little wife was left alone to write a letter in-
viting her widowed mother to her home.

“How like the dear old times it will seem to have mother
with me,’? murmured Mrs. Royalton, as she folded and
sealed her letter. ‘A woman wants some one beside such
& diguified, methodical person as dear Johu is to talk to,
and I declare I don’t see any one else in an age except
mow and then wlien some sour-visaged old maid or sim-

ering miss comes to have her portrait painted.”

The Saturday following the posting of Mrs. Royalton’s
letter brought the expected gest to the Royalton cottage,
Mrs. Perring was a very nervous, very lively, and very
eccentric old lady, who made it her boast that she was
never idie. a minute between daylight and bedtime.

When she became settled with the Royaltons, she ap-
plied herself assiduously to “putting things to rights.”
Every drawer, every chest, every cupboard was ransacked
and the contents of each arranged in accordance with
the old lady’s,ideag of order. Even Jolin’s desk was
rammaged, and every letter and paper peered into, just
to find out in’what particular niche one ougiit to be put.

In about a fortnight Mrs. Perring had the satisfaction of
thinking that she had got things about the house in “good
ranning order.”’

“There’s only that outlandish paint shop up stairs—
John’s study-o I mind Carrie calls it—but what's had a
thorough ventilating, and the very first day John’s away
from home I'll make a new place of that.”

Fortune smiled on Mrs. Perring’s plans. Jonn and
Carrie, and little Eddie were away, and the little ola lady
prepared herself for the onsiaught. She donned her
poorest dress, tied 2 napkin over her head to Keep off the
dust, rolied. her sleeves above her scrawuy elbows and
went to work.

All day long the furniture in the artist’s room flew vig-
erously around. Many articles denounced as “‘worthless
rubbish” were heaved through the window into the back
yard, while others that ‘‘might comein play for some-
thing, Some, day,’’? were stowed away in the garret. A
portrait, on which the paint was yet wet, was energeti-
cally dusted with a coarse towel; paints were mixed in-
congruously and brushes put through a scouring process,
till theold fady’s, back ached with the exercise, and her
nose became the medium by which copious streams of
perspiration were conducted from her face.

Wien everything in the room was ere ae “done,”
Mrs. Perring made a dash for an adjoining closét, but she
found the door securely locked. For a moment the worthy
lady was in @ quandary. How was sSlie to siraighten
things in the closet? Do it she must and would, and very
quickly Mrs. Perring bethought her of a buuch of keys
which happily ste had brought with hers The keys were
produced, and in triumph Mrs. Perring unlocked the door.

Seizing her broom she rushed into Lhe closet. She came
out shortly, however, and closed the door alter her with
a jerk anda bang.

Johu Royalton’s mother-in-law had made a discovery.

Collecting her utensils, she left the studio and went be-
low in grim aud: dignified silence. She sat quietly knit-
ting in the pleasant sitting-room when Jolin aud Carrie
returned. The steel needies flew out and in very spite-
fully. The cold, gray eyes looked directly down over the
elongated nose, and Were never once raised, not even to
greet littie Eddie.

When bedtime came
silence and retired,

The next. morning, when John repaired as usual to his
studio, be uttered veliement sentences not at all in praise
of his wife’s mother.

While Ke was engaged undoing, so far as lay in his
mortal’ power, the» mischief she had unconsciously
wrought, Mrs. Perring was closeted with Carrie. The
young wife’s face was coloriess, and her eyes wild with
anger and indignation, as she listened to her mother’s
words:

“It's a beautiful face—the handsomest nicture of a real
person lever saw. Great dark eyes that seem to look
you througih, hair.as black as night and hanging in ring-
lets all abont her face and neck. The skin is just like ala-
baster, sO white and clear, and the lips look like ripe cher-
ries for all the world.” -

Carrie sauk back in a fainting condition, and her mother
Clasped her in her arms.

“Oh, my poor lamb! that I should see you treated in
this shameful manper. And John so dignified and proper
seeming. The hypocrite! But I’ve mistrusted that his
loving ways were all put on ever since I cleaned his desk
and foun scraps of poetry about love and such like non-
sense.’?

“Mother, don’t; you will kill me by your suspicions, I
can’t believe it. John cares for no one but me. He is too
noble, too——-—”’

‘Take my keys then, and go satisfy yourself. Go look
at the siren’s portrait in the closet. It isn’t finished yet.
I could see thai, and I wish now I’d had presence of mind
enough to give it two or three extra touches with the
brush myself. No wonder you found his room locked so
many times of late, and had to wait your artist’s pleasure
before you Could enter. And that old woman in the al-
paca hood that we’ve noticed going upstairs so many times
of late isn’t an old woman atall. I’ve made up my mind
about her.’ She’s the original of that portrait and no
mistake. See, there she goes up the steps now! Mighty
careful she is, too, not to show her face.. There—did you
ever see an old woman with such feet and ankles? She's
the woman !?

When the unknown woman had departed, and the un-
conscious John was quietly eating his dinner, Carrie left
the table under some pretext, and with the rusty key in
her hand, she ascended the stairs and entered the studio
closet, and stood before the painted form of a woman
before whom her own charms sank into insignificence.

What was this beautiful creature to her husband?

Carrie’s heart lay like a lump of lead in her bosom as
she turned away and sought her mother.

Shortly after John returned to his labors, the two
women—the elder, filled with virtuous indignation, the
aa too utterly wretched even for tears—left the
jouse, taking little Eddie with them.

Silently the poor wife followed her mother in quest of
some quiet retreat wherein to pass the night. On the
morrow Mrs, Perring had resolyed on taking her charges
into the country.

This was Carrie’s birthday, and always heretofore, dur-
ing the few years of their wedded life, John had remem-
bered the day with & suitable gift; but to-day he seemed
to have forgotten not only the present, but even that it
was her birthday.

“Poor thing!? murmured Mrs. Perring, philosophically,
a8, in a lonely room, Qarrie clasped her boy to her bosom,
and wept passionately over her wrong.

“Poor thing! it’s hard for her to bear at first. She lov-
ed him altogether better than he deserved, even were he
trae to her. It’s best she should see him no more. Let
her have her cry out, and then she will be calm, and a
different woman entirely; strong to regent the insult and
injury which that wretch has heaped upon her.” ;

When the gloomy night was curtaining the earth in
darkness, Carrie begged piteously to be permitted to look
upon her old home once more. She would not enter the
house—she might never again do that—but she could gaze
& moment into the dear, familiar rooms. John might be

the old lady arose in solemn

inthe pleasant sitting-room as of old. She had left a

note for him, and she longed to knew how he bore the

separation; whether he was rejoiced or sorry that she was
one,

: “Ivs a perfect piece of nonsense,’’ said Mrs. Perring,

angrily; ‘but if you’re determined to go, I shall go along
to keep you trom rushing right into the villain’s arms.”

A cieerful tight shone cut from the uncurtained win-
dows of the Royalton cottage as the two women stealthi-
ly approached near enough to gain a view of the interior
of the room where John, with bowed head, was walking
to aud [ro over the Carpet. ;

Carrie could not catch the expression of his face, but
she saw that ever and anon he turned his gaze upon a
painting on the wall—one which had never before hung
there. ,

The young wife’s face turned ghastly pale as, peeping
clese to the window, she saw that the painting was the
one she had seen in the studio closet.

Carrie was ready to faint, still she would not, could not,
leave the window,

At length, John paused before the portrait, and spoke
aloud,

Carrie heatd his words, and stood still a moment to
gather in their meaning; then, heedless of her mother’s
remonstrance, she rushed with Eddie into the house.

Mrs. Perriug, who had not heard a word of what had
transformed Carrie from a breathing statue into her old
joyous self, was too thoroughly provoked at what she con-
sidered hey qaughter’s lack of spirit aud self-respect to
follow her Immediately. When, however, she did so, she
found husbaudend wife—the former with One arm sup-
porting Eddie ahs the. other encircling Carrie’s waist—
standing before the psintiug which, through Mrs. Per
ring’s romantic Suspicions, had wrought 80 much, though
happily not irreparable misCuiet,

A few words neatly wrilten aud pasted under the por-
trait—which, after all, Was NOt & portrait, but purely the
work of the artist’s imagination—conviuced Mrs. Perring
that she was altogether wrong in her surmiges, and that,
after all, the woman in the alpaca hood might be as ven-
erable as her appearance indicated.

“A Birthday Gift to My Wife.’’

These were the words which Mrs. Perring read, and
then she managed to siip unobserved from the room, and
ever thereafter John Royalton’s mother-in-law was a
model one.

0

THINGS GENERALLY.

BY MAX ADELER.
HOW WE EXTERMINATED THE RATS.

— My house has been infected with rats all winter, and
as setting traps for tuem did.uo good, got Smiley, the
sexton at our church, to lend me his dog for two or three
days, so that he might help to abate the nuisance. We
put the animal in the cellar and he inaugurated his reign
by howling all night. In the morning, when the servant
girl descended to get coal for the kitchen fire, the dog bit
her in the leg. For two days nobody dared to go ilito the
cellar, and Smiley couldu’t come to our assistance, for he
had gone up to the city. On the third day the dog bolted
up stairs aud out into the yard, where he encountered the
slop man, and removed a mouthful of trowsers and red
flaunei drawers from the leg of that worthy person. Find-
ing the back window in the parlor open he jumped in and
assumed control of that apartment and the hall. For three
days we had to goin and out through the kitchen, I tried
to dislodge him with a clothes prop, but I only succeedea
in Knocking two Costly vases off of the manteipiece, and
the dog became so exciled and threatening tuat I shut
the door hurriedly and. went up stairs four steps ata
time.

There were no rats in the parlor, and I cannot imagine
why he wauted to stay in there. But he did, and as Smi-
ley remained away we couldn’t dislodge him. On Thurs-
day he sinashed the mirror during an attempt to get up
a fight with another dog that he thought he saw in there,
and he clawed the sofa to rags,

Every night he devoted his time to howling. On Saturday
he had a fitin the hall and spoiled about eight square
yards of Brussels carpet utterly. When he recovered he
went back into the parlor.

At last [ borrowed Cooley’s dog and sent him in to fight
Smiley's dog out, It was an exhilarating contest. They
fought on the chairs and the sofas, they upset a table and
smashed all the ornaments on it, they scattered blood and
hair in blotches all over the carpet, they got entangled in
one of the lace curtains and dragged it and the frame
down with a crash, they scratched and bitand tore and
frothed and yelled, and at last Oooley’s dog gave in, put
his tail between itis legs and retreated, while Smiley’s dog
got on a sixty dollar Turkish rug so that he could bleed
comfortably. t

It didu’t seem to occur to him to
Was still out of town.

The next day I loaded a shot-gun and determined to
kill him at any sacrifice. LI aimed carefully at him, but at
the critical moment he dodged and two handfuls of bird-
shot went into the piano and tore it up badly. Then I
tossed some poisoned meat at him, but he ate all around
the poisou and seemed to feel better after the meal than
he had done for years.

Finally Smiley came home, and he called to get his dog.
He entered the parlor bravely and attempted Lo seize the
animal, when it bit him. I Was never so glad in my life.
Then Smiley got mad, and grabbing the dog by the tail
smashed him through my French glass window into the
Street, ‘4

Then I was not so very glad.

Tien the dog went mad and a policeman killed him.
The rats are in the house yet, and Smiley’s dog cost me
about $400. Lam going to return totraps. It is cheaper,

1 think.

NO PARTING THERE.
— Mr. Keyser is very bald, and whiie he was taking a
nap upon the sofa last Friday his two boys were struck with

go home, and Smiley

 

the fact that the bare place upon the old gentieman’s
head offered a’superb field for a game of ‘“‘mumbiey-peg,”’
so they opened Lheir jack-Knives and stood of and aimed
atit. Two minutes later Mr. Keyser, after picking the
knife out of his sealp, began a new game, in which the
boys dudged about the room while he pursued them with
aboot. At the side of the bald place on the side of his
head Mr. Keyser has a large wart, and the other day
while he was at Cameron’s, the photographer's, he rolled
over on the lounge wlitie he read the paper. Caimeron’s
young man thereupon quietly photographed the top of
Keyser’s head, with the wart made very couspicuous,
and the next day it was exhibited in the front window as
a picture of the Transit of Venus, “ihe phenomenon as it
appeared at a quarter before nine at Honolulu.” And the
best of the joke was that Keyser called to buy a copy be-
cause he said he had never seen the spots in the sun so
distinctly represented in a pholtograpli—the spots being
the stains left by his hat lining.

HIGH ART IN NEW CASTLE.
— There was au auciion out at the place of Jackson, a
Quaker, who died recently near our town; and a very
handsome marbie statue of William Penn was knocked
down to Whitaker, who keeps a lager beer garden a
square or two above me. He had the statue carted over
to the marble yard, where he sougdt au interview wilh
Mr. Mix, the owner. Hetold Mix. that he wauted that
Statue “fixed up someliow so’s ’twould represent one of
them heathen gods.’? He had an idea that Mix might
chip the clothes off of William and put a lyre in his hand,
“30's he might pass muster as Apollo or Hercules.’
But Mix said that he thought the difficulty would be in
wrestling with Willlam’s hat.
It was a marble hat, with a rim big-enough for a race
course; and Mix said that although he didn’t profess to be
much on heathen mythology, as a general thing, still it
struck him that Hercules, in a broad-briimed hat, would
attract altention by his singularity, and might be open to
criticism.
Mr. Whitaker said that what he really wanted with that
statue, when he bouglit it, was toturn it into Venus, and
he thought, perhaps, the hat might be chiseled up into
some kind of a halo around her head.
But Mix said that he didn’t exactly see how he could do
that when the rim was so curly at the sides. A halo that
was curly was just no haloat.all. But, anyway, how was
he going to manage about Penn’s waistcoat?
It reached almost to his Knees, and to attempt to rush
out a bare-legged Venus, with @ halo ou her head and
four cubic feet of waistcoat around her middle, would
just ruin his business. It would wake the whole human
race smile.
Then Whitaker said Neptune was a god he always liked,
and, perliaps, Mix could fix the tails of Penn’s céat some-
how so that it would look as if the figure was riding on a
dolphin; then the hat might be made to represent sea-
weed, and a fish-spear could be put in the statue’s hand.
Mix, however, urged that a white marble hat, of those
dimensions, when cut up into sea-weed, would be more
apt to look as if Neptune was coming home with a load
of hay upon his head; and he said that although art had
made gigan:ic strides during the past century, and, evVi-
dently, had a brilliant future before it, it had not yet dis-
covered a method by which a shad-belly coat, with flaps
to the pockets, could be turned into anything that would
look like a dolphin. :
Then Mr. Whitaker wanted to know if Pan wasn’t the
god that had horns and split hoofs, with a shaggy look to
his legs; for if he was, he would be willing to have the
Statue made into Pan, if-it could be done without too
much expense.
And Mr. Mix said, that while nothing would please him
more than to produce such @ figure of Pan, and while
William’s square-toed shoes, probably, might.be made in-
to cloven hoofs without a very strenuous effort, sill he
hardly felt as if he could fix up those Knee-breeches to re-
semble shaggy legs; and as for trying to turn that half-
acre hat into a pair of horns, Mr. Whitaker might as well
talk of emptying the Atlantic ocean through a stomach
pump.
Thereupon, Mr. Whitaker remarked. that he had con-
cluded, on the whole, that it would be better to split the
patriarch up the middle, and take the two halves to make
a couple of little Cupids, Which he could hang in the bar-
room with a string, so that they would appear to be sport-
ing in air. If Mr. Mix could put a pair of wings on each
of them, why so much the better; but if he couidn’t, very
well. Perhaps.the fiap of that hat might be sliced up in-
to wings, and glued on the shoulders of the Cupids.
But Mr. Mix said, that while nobody would put himself
out more to oblige a friend than he would, still he must
say, if his honest opinion was asked, that to at-
tempt to make a Cupid out of one leg and half the body
of William Penn, weuld be childish, because if they used
the half one way, there would be a very small Cupid with
one very long leg; and if they used it the other way, he
would have to cut Cupid’s head out of the calf of Wil-
liam’s leg, and there wasn’t room enough, let alone the

 

fact that the knee joint would give the god of love the ap-

 

pearance of hawing ayroxen back And as for wings, if
the man had been bornwyo couldclisel wings out of the
flap of a hat, all he Walhg was tc met that man, so’s he
could gaze on him and stuty jim,

So finally Whitaker suggeteg that Mix should make
the statue into an angel aad xejj jt fo am Ornament to a
tombstone,

But Mix said that if he shoug jasut the dead by put-
ting up in the cemetery an abye) wit) a stubby nose and
a double-chin, that would let lim oytas a manufacturer
of sepulchres. J

And so Whitaker sold him thtgtatse for ten dollars,
and Mix sawed it up into slabS for marble-top tables.
High art doesn’t seem to flourislyyct. in this place.

MY EXPERIENCE WITK THE FRENCH
HORN.

— Nothing is more delightful tikn t jhave sweet music
at home in the evenings. It lighiteas tie burdens of care,
it sooths the ruffled feelings, it exa@ciseé a refining influ-
ence upon the children, it Calms the passions and it
drowns out the noise made by thevats i the garden. A
few months ago 1 thought that it night. lease my family
if | learned to play upon the Frenclihorn. It is a beauti-
ful instrument, aud after hearing @ han jerform on it at
a concert I resolved to have one. . bouht a splendid
one in the city, aud concluded not tomenion the fact to
my wife until I had learned to play athe, (hen I thought
I would serenade het some evening al surprise her. Ac-
cordingly I determined to practise in he parret. When
I first tried the horn Lexpected to biw Olly a few gen-
tle notes until I learned how to handle, But when I put
the mouth-piece to my lips no sound Wg eyoked. Then
I blew harder. Still the horn remaing gjjent, Then I
drew a full breath and sent a hurrivantearing through
the horn. But no music came. I bl at it for half
an hour, and then I ran I wire throyh the insoru-
ment to ascertain If any thing blockeijt up. It was
clear, Then I blew softly and flercel, quickly and
slowly. Lopened all the stops. I puffedand strained,
and worked until I feared an attack of apdjexy. Then I
gave it up and went down Stairs; and MrsAdeler asked
me what made me look so red in the face. forfour days
[ tackled that horn, and got my lips jo puckered
up and swollen that ‘I went about lookingas r I was
perpeiually trying to whistle, Finally, I too, the instru-
ment back to the store, aud told the man tht the horn
was defective. Whatl wanted was a horn lith insides
toit. This one had no more music to it than éteria cotta
drain-pipe. The man took it in his hand,’put | to iis lips
and played “Sweet Spirit Hear My Prayer’ aseasty as if
he were singing. Hesaid that what I needed wasto fix
my mouth properly, and he showed me how,

After working for three more afternoons in tte garret,
the horn at last made asound. But it was nota sheer-
ing noise. It reminded me forcibly of the groan: uitered
by Cooley's horse when it was dying with blind saggers,
last November. The hafderI blew, the more nouwnfal
became the noise,-and that was the only note I culdaget.
When I went down to supper, Mrs. Adeler asked me if I
heard that awful groaning. She said she guessedit came
from Pitman’s cow, for she heard Mrs. Pitman sa) yester-
day that the cow was sick.

For four weeks I could get nothing out of that brn but
blood-curdling groans; aud, meantime, Cooley sh¢ at me
twice, while | was at the garret window, thinkin; I was
a wandering ghost. The people over the way miwed to
another house because our neighborhood was hated,
and three of our hired girls resigned, successively, fer the
same reason.

Finally, a man, whom J consuited, told me that “Nelly
Bly” was an easy tune for beginners; and I made areffort
to learn if.

After three weeks of arduous practice, during which
Mrs. Adeler several times suggested that it was brutal
that Pitman didn’t kill that suffering cow and putit out
of its misery. I conquered the first four notes of thetune,
but there I stuck. I could play “Nelly Bly shus——”
atid that was all. I performed ‘Nelly Bly shuts——’ over
eight thousand times,and asit seemed unlikelythat I
would ever learn the whole tune I determined to wry the
effect of part of iton Mrs. Adeler. About ten o’elek one
night I crept out to the front of the house and strvck up.
First, ‘Nelly Bly shuts——’’ about fifteen or twentytimes,
then afew of those groans, then more ‘Nelly Bi?’ and
so forth. Then Cooley set his dog on me and I'stddenly
went into the house. Mrs. Adeler had the childremin the
back room, and she was standing behind the door with
my revolver in her hand. When I entered she ex-
claimed:

“Oh, I’m 80 giad you've come home! Somebody's been
murdering @ man in our yard. He uttered the moss awful
Shrieks and cries I ever heard. I was dreadfullpatraid the
murderers would comeinto the house. It’s perfectly fear-
ful, isn’t it?”

Then I took the revolver away from her (it wasnot load-
ed and she had no ideathat it would have to be? cocked),
and went to bed withott mentioning the horn.*L thought,
perhaps, it would be beter not to. I sold it the next day,
and now I am looking br a good hand-organ. ‘I know I
can play on that.

VERY UNACCOMMODATING.
— The other day a man Damed Brown was picked up in
the street in our town epparentiy dead. Barney Maginn,
our coroner, Summoneda jury in hot haste, and in a few
moments obtained a verdict that “the deceased, Thomas
Brown, came to his death rom apopiexy.’’ About an
hour afterward, however, Mr. Brown began to revive,
and soon he was as well a: ever. He was subject to
cataleptic fits, and this was «ne of them. The coroner
heard of Brown’s return to life just after he had collected
his fees, and he called on Brovn. The following conver-
sation ensued:
Coroner.—‘“Do you have thise fits often, Mr. Brown?”
Brown.—“‘Quite frequently.’
Coroner.—“And you alwajs appear to be perfectly
dead ??
Brown.—“I believe so.”
Coroner.—‘‘Well, Mr. Brown, I want to make you an
Offer. ‘Things are dull ’rouni here now. Nobody drop-
pin’ off suddenly; nobody gettin’ stabbed, or drinkin’
pisin. Iv’s rough on me. |! don’t scare up a fee once a
month. I dou’l, pon my sul. Now, s’posen’ you and
nie were to strike up a little kind of an arrangement by
which whenever you have afit we’d let on you were dead
and I'd set on you and hold an- inquest. I’d go half and
haif with you on the profits”
pgs ecg ord that it strikes me favorably, Mr.
aginn.’?
Coroner.—“‘It'll_ be clear gain for you. I might git-a
couple a hundred inquests 1 year out of a man like you.
There’s money init. It's tie most beautiful idea I ever
heard of. Dll treat you rightif you'll go in. Seems to.
me it’s asplendid opening for you.”
Brown.—*'| believe I won't, Mr. Maginn.”
Coroner.—“Not as a personal favor to me? Not to ac-
comimodate a friend whe is hard up? Think of the profit!
Why, Vit guarautee youfour hundred dollars a year, It’s
a big thing.’?
Brown.—“‘I don't likeit.’
Coroner.—‘‘Come nov, Pil go you thirds, and you can
have two fits a day if yar waut to.” ‘
Brown.—“Cau’t do it, I tell you.” “
Coroner.—* Weil then, look a heret Pil. fix you. You
mind me. You're legally dead anyhow, The law says
you’re a corpse. I’ve had one inquest on you; and if the
community had its righ® you'd a been chucked into a
sepuichre ten hours aga Now if you don’t come into
this thing bust me openif I don’t Keep you from votin’ at
the next election upon tle ground that in the eye ofthe law
you're a dead man. I will, by George! and if there’s any
justice in this land, ll ‘am you into a hole in the ceme-
tery anyhow, or my name’s not Barney Maginn.”?
Then the coroner withirew. Brown is now canvassing
for a life insurance company, and Mr. Maginn is wailing
grimly for election day.

FREEZING TO DEATH.

Our readers have fron timé to time, during the past
rigorous winter, seen pudlished accounts of many persons
being frozen to death in ‘he Northern and Northwestern
States of the Union. Sac as these events must always be,
yet there are commoniy <ecepted notions relative to such
a death which are entirely erroneous. To be frozen to
death many suppose must be a frightful torture, judging
of their own experience of the effects of cola. Here we
fall into the usual error ¢f thinking that the suffering will
increase with the energy of the agent, which could only
be the case if the sensibility remained the same. The
truth is, intense cold brings on speedy sleep, which fasci-
nates the senses and thus fairly beguiles nag out of their
lives.

Acase in point will illustrate this. A small party of
hunters, accompanied by a Swedish doctor named Me-
nander, in northwestern Alaska, numbering in all nine
persons, were lately overtaken by a blinding storm, and
remained so long exposed that five out of the nine per-
ished, being actually frozen to death, and among them
was the dector. During mostof the time Menander,
knowing well the deceptions of a rigorous climate, cheered
on the little party, and, in defiance of the mevitable lassi-
tude which overcomes people under such circumstances,
made the men keep moving. ‘Whoever sils down will
die,’”? he said to his comrades, ‘‘and whoever sleeps will
perish.» The. poor doctor spoke as a well-informed and
scientific student; but, alas! at the same time he felt as a
man, and, in spite of the remonstrances of those whom he
had instructed.and alarmed, he was the first to lie down
and die!

This recalls to mind the famous retreat of the French
army from Moscow, where the warning was repeated
thousands of times by the officers to the staggering sol-

diers; but the terrible fascination to stop, if but for one
moment, and rest, was too powerful to resist in a vast
number of instances, and whole army corps found a frigid
grave upon the surface of the frozen snow. Alison, the
historian, relates his own experience as to the cold. De-
siring to understand the matter fully, he tried the experi-
ment of sitting downin his open garden when the ther-
mometer was six degrees below zero, at night, and so
quickly did the drowsiness come stealing over him, that
he deciared he wondered how a single man of Napoleon’s
army, in that awful retreat, had been able to resist the

 

treacherous influence.

A TERRIBLE FIGHT.

Not long sluce the foreign newspapers gave currency

to what was termed ‘‘A Man and Dog Fight,’”? which was

represented to have taken place at Hanley, England, but

which subsequently proved to be a sensational hoax, as

no such event took place in or near that town. But we

have now a brief mention of aterrible fight between a

man and a bulldog, which took place near Glasgow, a short

time since, and which may have been incited by the read-

ing of the fabricated description Which is referred to as

having taken place at Hanley. The circumstances of the

fight near Glasgow, which we now depict, go to show

how human intelligence can debase itself, not to the level

of the brute creation, but far below that standard. Itis

said that such encounters are by ho means uncommon in

that neighborhood, a statement which we sincerely trust

is incorrect.

It seems that two men, whose names are Daniel Shields
and Donald Dumbarty, metata drinking saloon, when
the latter commenced to boast of the pluck aud powers
generally of a dog which he owned, of the bull species.
Shields, who was excited by liquor, declared that he
could whip the dumb animal with nothing but his fists,
Dumbarty very much doubted that, and offered to beta
gallon of whisky that he cowkg not. The talk upon the
subject grew warmer and warmer, unlil several others
joined in the matter, and a formal bet a3 above was ar-
ranged. No time, it was declared, was like the present
time, and so the fight, it was resolved, should come off at
once. Dumbarty went home for his dog, while all the
interested parties adjourned to a secluded spot not far
away. Here anarena was marked out and the prelimi-
naries arranged in the most formal manner, the rules of
the ‘prize ring” being adopted, the same as though two
pugilists were to contend for superiority in sparring.

It was not long before Dumbarty appeared with his
dog, a medium-sized animal, which he held ia restraint
until the word was given, when he released him and set
the animal at Shields. The latter stood alonein the
middle of the ring, and the dog seeming to understand
perfectly what was expected of him, leaped forward and
sprang at Shields’ throat, but was receivedin mid air
With a blow straight from the shoulder, taking him be-
tween his throat and jaw with such force as to send the
dog high in the air and over the heads of the bystanders.
An opening was made inthe ring, and the dog rushed
back toward Shields. This time the man was the attack-
ing party, and meeting the animal before he could spring
upon him from the ground, Shields kicked him with his
heavy brogan shoes, so as to send him once more like a
football into the air, and, as was afterward found, break-
ing one of the animal’s ribs. But the dog never uttered
a cry; he was “grit” all through,

The instinct of the animal nowstaught him caution, and
in place of springing recklessly at his enemy a third
time, he came forward cautiously, and watched his chance
to spring upon Shields without exposing himself to the
same sort of catastrophe which he had twice experienced.
If he could once fix his jaws upon the man’s body—that
was his naturaigame. This time the dog jumped on one
side and the other, avoiding the approach of Shields, until
by a sudden movement he jumped forward and fixed his
teeth in the upper part of the man’s hip. It was a terri-
ble grip, and bull-dogs are proverbial for holding on when
they once get their jaws fixed upon an enemy. The man
had a big quid of tobacco in his mouth, and by bending
down his head succeeded in expectorating nearly halfa
gill of the strongest kind of tobacco saliva through
the dog’s jaws into his thrvat, at the same time seizing
one of the fore-paws, he bit it through so as to nearly sev-
er it from the limb. The tobacco-juice nearly choked the
animal to death, to say nothing of his paw, the most sen-
sitive part of a dog’s body, and he slunk away.

It was none too soon, for Shields was bleeding profuase-
ly from the frightful wound in his thigh, some artery
having been severed, and he soon became partially insen-
sible. He was conducted to the hospital, and properly
resuscitated by surgical aid. It was a pretty costly gallon
of whisky for the winner; but the end was not yet. Some
person, justly indignant at the circumstances, entered a

 

complaint against Shields for the part he had enacted,

and he was, as soon as able to appear, brought before a
magistrate, who sentenced him to twenty days’ imprison-
meut for having created a breach of the peace.

HOW JANE

LOST HER NEW DRESS.

BY M. SILINGSBY.

Our object in submitting to the intelligent readers of the
NEw YORK WEEKLY the following spicy incident, com-
ing under the writer’s immediate observation, is not so
much to set forth gaming in an alluring form, as to show
the inconsistency of some in evading all moral responsi-
bility in matters of this kind, whenever they imagine the
advantages securely in their favor.

While perambulating through the State of New York a
few years ago, I halted in @ small village, comprising, per-
haps, some two or three thousand inhabitants,

It was a gala day which marked my arrival there; fora
traveling circus company had arrivedin town that morn-
ing, to the great delight and admiration of the villagers
aud people from the surrounding country, who were
flocking in squads in the direction of the enchanted
ground, dressed out, with the exception of some few
shabby specimens, in their Sunday best.

With difficulty I had my horse provendered, and after-
ward elbowed my way into the interior of the “Pavilion,*’
as it was Called by the noisy vender of tickets.

I succeeded in securiug a seat at the feet of what I con-
sidered to be a freshiy-married couple, into which I con-
trived to wedge myseifin a very uucomfortable manner,
just as the band struck up “‘Yankee Doodle.”

“On! my—ain’t that splendid?” cried the young wife,
with asudden burst of enthusiasm. It ought, with jus-
tice, have been pronounced jittie short of execrable.

The young farmer, as his appearance indicated, made
no reply, but looked straight toward the entrance from
whence he expected the troop to emerge.

Toe Ta wife looked vexed at his indifference to her
appeal. ;

“I don’t b'lieve you’ve got a mite of an ear for music.
Albert!’ she at length said, petulently. .

“No, Jane,’’ he replied, with stolid composure; “I
never had much of a hankerin’ furit. Wd rather Bee the
clown and them other carcis chaps—I had.”

I drew the inference from appearances that the wife
laid greater pretentions to sharp intelligence, taste, and
refinement, than her liege lerd, and I became immedi-
ately more interested in therustic young couple—the one
with her vivacious black eyes, pretty face, and loquacious
tongue, and the other with his generally unraffied stolid-
ity, except when some stereotyped witticism dropt from
the lips of the clown, when he would open with a broad
guiffaw, which showed there could exist no disease, con-
Stitutional or otherwise, in his robust, expanding chest—
than in all the spangies and trappings of the circus
troup or the stale yokes of the incorrigible Merriman.

The feats of horsemanship, of ground and lofty tum-
bling, seemed particularly to astonish ané delight Albert,
who had unquestionably neyer witnessed a similar exhi-
bition in ali his life; while Jane infinitely preferred the
comic songs and the pantomime that concluded the per-
formance, declaring most emphatically that she didn’t
like to see them ride horseback standing up, nor tum-
bling over their heads backward and forward, as though
they didn’t know which end they belonged onto. It made
her so dizzy like.

Interested in the unsophisticated pair, I kept my eye on
them as they made their way out of the Pavilion, in close
proximity to a small side show, on the canvas of which
was daubed in coarse, flaring colors, a half a dozen mon-
keys and a Mammoth snake, not omitting a very rude
likeness of what they were pleased to call ‘‘the famous
Australian children,’? where a sharky-looking, glib-tongu-
ed individual, in plaid vest and pants, with unbecoming
long hair, and a knowing twirl to his mustache, stood
mounted on a barrel, haranguing the gaping and jostling
crowd with @ most graphic account of the wonderful
children, who had doubtless never seen Australia, and
the several other remarkable objects of human interest
then and there on exhibition; the whole of which, the
greatest and most unrivalled attraction in the world,
might be witnessed by the admiring beholder for the mea-
ger trifle of twenty-five cents in currency.

Anyone will recognize the picture who has ever seen
one of these catcli-penny impositions; but for all the cau-
tion, we presume many of our readers will rush just as
eagerly to witness the next one that appears as if we
had Kept our own private opinion to ourself.

Albert and Jane—I was never able to ascertain their
surnames—were standing just in front of me, listening,
with open-mouthed wonder, to the persuasive falsehoods
of the fellow on the barrel, till the crowd began to hand
up their quarters, one after another, and drop in, when I
heard the wife whisper excitedly:

“Do let us go in, Albert, before everybody gets in. and
the place is filled up. You’ve got five dollars and a half,
and five will buy my new dress and trimmings.”

The argument was not to be resisted, and the more pru-
‘dent but less decided Albert came down with the ‘‘cur-
rency;’’ a bright, new ffty-cent script, which he looked at
twice with affectionate reluctance before suspiciously
handing it up to the wily sharper, who still occupied his
position upon the barrel.

I did not follow them in, for I knew they would both

 

come out disgusted with the swindle soon enough; but,

Gas IES Gea

——
nevertheless, I determined to wait near the entrance, and
watch the result.

As the dissatisfied spectators began to steal out, mostly
with indifference or disgust, and sometimes angry disap-
pointment depicted in their faces, to the cracked tones
of & barrel-organ and Jewish cimbals, the long-haired
orator descended from his temporary rostrum, and dex-
terously drew three cards from his pocket.

“Gentlemen and ladies,’ he exclaimed, patronizingly,
holding up the three cards to view—a queen, knavye and
ace—‘‘I am about showing you a nice little game, where,
if you were 80 inclined, any one of you, or everyoue of
you, might make your for'unesin an hour, providing your
eyes are sharp enough. Here it is——”

And he opened his litle game of three-card-monte, by
first exhibiting a card, and then Jaying it carefully, face
down, on the barrel-head, with a corner slightly bent, so
that only a very keen observer would notice it. It was
the queen of diamonds,

. He next showed up the knave of clubs, and, laying
that face dgwn by the queen, followed the same formula
with the ace of spades. f
He then adroitiy commenced the process of changing
the positions of the cards in a most rapid and tantalizing
manner for a brief space, when he abruptly inquired if
any one could guess which was the ‘‘queen?”

The sharp eyes of the young farmer’s wife were upon
him, and she had closely kept track of the queen from the
turned-up corner slie had at first noticed.

“7 cant? she cried, confidentially, putting herself for-
ward among the crowd of mascaline lookers-on, much to
the annoyance of the less demoustrative Albert,

“Well,” returned the sharper, with great urbanity,
‘here is an opportunity to win money, if you are sure.
There is five dollars,” he added, laying a note represent-
ing the sum specified on the barrel-head, “that not one
of the company present can point out the queen amoug
those cards.”’

The young woman stood fidgeting, but I could tell by
the expression in her countenance, that she still enter-
tained unshaken confidence in her detective powers.

No one, however, offered to accept the wager.

*“Well,”? said the sharper, after an eloquent pause, ‘‘I
think you must all bein independent circumstances in
this place, ag none of you care to make money.”

His restless eye roved from face to face, as though he
were taking a brief inyentory of their houghts, and fin-
ally rested on the eager, excited features of the young
farmer's wife.

“Do you think you can pick eut the queen, young wo-
man ?”? :

“Yes, I do,’ she answered promptly, and with nervous
confidence.

“Well, then, if you are quite sure, why do you not ac-
cept the wager ?”?

She turned and whispered a few eager words to Albert,
but the stolid fellow shock his head dubiously, as though
vaguely impressed with some faint ¢onception of some-
thing wrong.

“Albert thinks I’d better not,'’ she replied, with a dis-
appointed look; ‘‘but I can tell you which card it is.”

“Be kind enough, then, to oblige us by telling,’’ said the
sharper, blandly.

The young woman touched a card at the suggestion,
and the gambler turned it up.

It was the queen of diamonds sure enough.

“There,” he said, with cool indifference, “you perceive
how easy you could have won.”

The young wife threw a swift glance at Albert, half-in-
dignation, half-triumph, as much as to say: ‘There, you
stupid! didn’t I tell you so?”

The adroit angler saw that his hook was baited, and he
again commenced manipulating the cards, seeming not
to have noticed the corner that was so slightly bent.

He went through the same proceeding as before, hkay-
ing the five dollar note where he had first laid it, and,
turning toward his watchful but still confident victim:

“Do you think you can pofnt It out this time?’

The confident young woman, who saw the same corner
turned up as before, answered his question quickly in the
affirmative.

“Weill, then, the offer is still standing to whoever chooses
to close with it.”

The young woman turned to the husband and whisper-
ed something in his ear.

I could not quite make it out, except from guess-work.

Albert shook Iris head. She expostulated. ;

He shook it again; and she grew impatient, even angry
at the restraint,

“IT know which the card is,’ she at length said, with
angry vehemence, ‘‘and if you don’t bet now, when you
are sure to win, I won’t never——”!

‘But I never did bet,’’ expostulated Albert, in seeming
trepidation at the half-expressed threat of his indignant
better-half.

“Weil, then, there is the money you can get, if you’ve
got the spunk of a chicken left in you.”

“Dd rather not bet, Jane,’’ he said coaxiugly. “I never
did, and I don’t want to."

“Well, then, give me the money, and jet me do it,’? she
answered, with an air of feminine bravadoism.

Albert hesitated, as if reluetant to yield the point.

“If you don’t give me that money, Albert, | won’t stir
@ step home with you to-nigiitl’? and she stamped her
littie foot with angry impatience at Albert’s obstinacy.

I suppose the poor fellow could not bear the thought of
80 unhappy a termination to a day so pleasautly begun,
and he reluctantly surrendered his purse. : ;

 

With nervous fingers the young wife opened the purse,
while the vanquislied Albert stood ruefully regarding her,
and removing a five dollar note—the only one it cou-
eee laid it with an air of triumph beside the
other.

“Please draw your card, marm!” said the sharper, with
a cool indifference, apparently, as to the result.

She had kept a sharp eye all the while, as sue supposed,
on the one with the slightly turned corner, aud made her
Selection accordingly. Imagine her astonisiiment on
turning the chosen card to fiud, instead of the queen of
diamonds, the knave of clubs.

For a moment she gazed at it like one demented. Then
she looked up with an expression of angry inguiry into
the smiling face of the suarper, and as some of (he by-
sianders began to tiiter, she turned toward her husbaud
With @ hall-humilated, half-indiguant expression, and
seizing him by the arm, exclaimed:

“Come, Albert, let’s go right straight home?!

And as they started hurriedly off together, she hurted
scornful giances back upou the unsympathizing crowd.

I followed on a few steps beliind to the place where
Ihad stabied my horse, and the iast words I heard the
discomfitted young wife say, were:

“I won’t ask you for that dress, now, Albert, dli you
get your wood down the ‘slide’ this winter.’

It was indeed a severe lesson to the unsophisticated
young couple, as well as a timely rebuke upon tie de-
pravity of gambling, which wiil undoubtedly serve them
as &@ Warning through their whole after lives,

—_————__>8+—______
A CARPET BAGGER.—A stranger stopped at a West End
hotel in London lately, his only baggage being 4 carpet
bag. In the morning he came down to the office, paid for
his lodgings and departed, but soon afterward the cham-
ber-maid found the bed minus two pairs of sheets, one
counterpane, and two pairs of pillow-cases, There was a
paving stone left. :
———_——__+-0+_-__—__—.

; TIED TO

HIS MOTHER'S APRON-STRINGS.

“Oh, he’s a good fellow enough, but he’s tied to his
mother’s apron-strings!’’

We heard the remark the other day, spoken in a con-
temptuous tone, by a young biood with a eigar beiween
his lips, a fimsy cane in his kid-gloved hand, a fifty-dol-
lar Coat on his back, jn the pocket of which, doubdtiess,
were plenty of ‘‘duuhers’’ from his tailor, boot-maker,
and waslher-woman.

This same young man is in the habit of calling his
mother the ‘‘ola woman,’ and his father the *‘governor,”
and hi8 estimable uamarried sister the “old gal;? and
the young man of whom he spoke was one who had
just come into the town to. reside, accompanied by his
motuer, to whom he was a devoted and affectionate sen.

“Tied to his mother’s apron strings,” ei?

Weil, what does that expression generaliy mean when
applied toa young man? Why, it meaus just about this
—that the young man, of whom shallow-vrained fops and
addile-pated sports speak thus disparagingly, is one who
does not smoke, chew, drink, nor swear—one who has
not forgotten that God once gave for all time a command
which reads, ‘‘Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy
days may be long in the land!’’—it means that he is one
whom virtuous men will respect,- whom refined society
will welcome toils ranks, whom good women and pure
girls will receive into.their homes with pleasure, and
whom his wife, when he gets one, will respect and Jove
next to her Creator,

It is quite too much the custom nowadays to smeer at
parental authority, and to disregatd the advice and ad-
monition of our elders. Old age is no longer reverenced;
it is ridiculed instead, :

It is quite the fashion for young men to spéak slight-
ingly of the ‘mothers who bore them, and who nursed |
them through the troublesome, tiresome season of baby-
hood. Tis the fashion to disregard the advice of the
mother, 0 cut loose from her influence, to ‘‘go it alone,”’
after the manner of other reckless young men, and it is
quite a8 much the fashion for these same independent
youth to bring up in the prison, Or On the gallows, as
,anywhere else. And young ladies, our word for it, the
man who ill-treats his mother will never trausform him-
self into an affectionate and agreeable husbaud—never!—
it is impossibie!

There is an old proverb to the effect that the boy who
is Kini to the cat, and his mother, will be good to his
wife, and we have observed that the sayiug is founded*in
truth,

The'young man who is disrespectful to his mother, and
who does not seek to make her declining years happy,
will tyrannize over his wife (unless, perchance, he should
marry a woman who has the “‘grit”’ to teach him lis place
in the beginning), and she had better be an old maid to
the end of life, and bind shoes for a living. So, there!

KATE THORN.
——___>-2+__—_———___

A Youne HERo.—In the fight between the Constitution
and the Guerriere, When the stars aud stripes were shot
away from the Constitution’s main top-galiant mast-head,
Join Hogan, ayoung sailor, ascended amid a shower of
buliets and naiied the flag to Une mast. We have never
heard ol Hogan's death. He was living we kuow buta

 

few years since, and in receipt of a Government pensica.