~ Vol x

aes

 

MERCY’S TASK. .
BY FINLEY JOHNSON.

Within the heart, oh, there are germs

- Of honor, truth, and leve;

Which if the hand of mercy train,
Will lead to Heaven above.

Within the heart are also germs
Of folly, pride and strife;

Which if they ars not soon destroyed,
Will blast the hopes of life.

The seeds of virtue are but few,,
And modestly concealed;

They need a kind and constant care,
To have their sweets revealed,

But evil germs spring swiftly. up,
With strange potential power;

Like poisonous weeds they're every where
To choke each opening flower.

Then, oh, let us unfold the. good
, To which our souls are given;

And we shall -be rewarded with
A home above in Heaven.

> ee

 

ByMisMarylijle Dallas.

Author of ‘‘Cora Hastings; or, The Rebel’s Daughter,”
“he Bride of Death; or, The Toll-Gate
Mystery,’’ etc., etc.

[Back numbers of “The Negiected Warning; or, the
Trialg of a Public School Teacher,’’ can be obtained
from every News Agent oo the United
States.) -

OHAPTER XxX.

THE PURSUIT.

Rothwood had not forgotten his appoint-
ment with the old sexton. _ On the contrary,
he had thought of nothing else since they
parted. But he had been very busy. His, feet
had not rested. His tongue had not had great-.
er respite. From dwelling to dwelling, from
office te office, he had gone, holding inter-
views with all manner of men. Busy over-
seers, who had hardly time to do more than
nod and give answer in a monosyllable or two;
idle men, arisen to a late breakfast, who spoke
of being up late at night and of merry times
with “‘the fellows;”’ proprietors of groceries,
who nodded mysteriously over packages of tea
and sugar; heads of liquor stores, who wound
up the interview as they began it by proffers
of “a.drink.” All the trustees of a certain
ward, in fact, had been privately called upon.
And ata meeting in the board room of Miss
Patch’s schoolhouse—swept at alate hour by
the janitress, and consequently unpleasantly
full of particles of dust, which set the respect-
able body coughing and sneezing in the most
astonishing manner —Rothwood had had it all
his own way, a8 he always did. A certain
document lay snugly in his pocket, which bore
the address of Winnifred Hall; as he wended
his way toward. the sexton’s dwelling, he
laughed softly to himself,

“Poor frightened bird,’’ he said, “she” ll
flutter and try to fly, I know; but I have her
at last. She knows what tho trials of poverty
are by this time. This offer of independence
will be too acceptable to be refused. I shall
appeal to the Slatterlys as her guardians.
They will not refuse their good advice. She
shall be a teacher, and I——"’ he stopped, and
& queer change came over his handsome face.
Ho bit his lip, and clenched his gloved hands.

‘‘Bah!". he cried at last. ‘Let the future
take care of itself. Let me not be coward
enough to dread its coming!”

And whistling, he walked on—a majestic
figure, treading the moonlit flagstones with a
measured pace, as though in time to the negte
lar beat of music,

The old sexton’s house was gained a atlength,
and tapping lightly at the door, he entered the
room at the very momont when Miss Jerusha,
in alarm, clasped her hands, aad declared that
some terrible misfortune -had certainly over-
taken Winnifred.

Hiram, who had arisen in the utmost agi-
tation, and awakened to consciousness of the

true state of things, had laid aside a cartain
work on Spiritualism, . which had engrossed

STREET & SMITH,
No. ll Franktort St.

 

 

 

$2 50 PER YEAR,
Invariably in Advance.

No. de.

 

 

 

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS BY STREET & SMITH, IN

T -H-E- PURSUIT.

ae

SS:

 

1864, IN CLERK’S OFFICE OF DISTRICE COURT OF UNITED STATES FOR SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK.

 

his attention for four mortal hours, and was
about putting on his hat for the purpose of
going in search of the missing girl.

He hailed the advent of Rothwood with
great joy, for his confidence in that gentle-
man’s sagacity and knowledge of the world
was boundless, and if any one,could help them
out of the dilemma, he was sure that person

| stood before them.

Little time was lost. The story bolted out
at once, and Miss Jerusha, who was a shrewd
observer, noted that Rothwood’s cheek grew
pale, and saw in his eye that his fears were as
great as her own.

“I calkerlate there’s a deep-laid plotin it,”
she said. ‘The gal is purty, and there’s no
knowin’ who may have noticed it. What we
shall do, I don’t know. She’s kinder confided
to our keer, you see, and ’tain’t in me to feel
easy without doin’ my duty, even if I wusn't
jest as fond of her as ef she was my own sis-
ter.”

Rothwood bit his lip.

‘I fear you are right,” he said. ‘Hive you
the note by you to which you allude?’’

‘You want the-address, Ireckon,” said Miss
Jerusha.

‘Yes; and I should like to see the hand-
Writing also,”” said Rothwood. ‘Something
may be judged by that.”

The note was handed to him. He tore it
open, glanced his eyes over it, and ground his
teeth.

‘TY could have sworn — " he said.
accursed hand!
he added aloud.
near?”

“At the corner, sir,”. replied Hiram.
fetch one.”’

“No; Ican move more quickly than you,"’
replied Rothwood. ‘Be ready to accompany
me, both of you, by the time I return. Lose
no time, or Winnifred Hall may be lost for-
ever!”

“"Twon't take me long,” replied Miss Je-
rusha. ‘I shan’t stop to put on my Sunday
bettermost—only jest throw on a shawl and
hood. Looks is looks, but this here is a
time——”

Rothwood did not pause to hear the comple-
tion of her sentence—he was off and outin
the street before the words had passed Miss
 Slatterly’s lips.

That lady tossed her head and tarned away
indignantly, but she was too truly anxious to
rotain resentment long, and after going up to
the bed-room of the old man to see that all
was safe, and peeping into Helen’s little nost
to satisfy herself that- no light was burning,
she wrapped herself up warmly, and locking
tho door of the sitting-room, followed her bro-
ther to the lower floor. They were not a mo-
ment toosoon. A hack had just rattled up, and
Rothwood, stepping out, handed the old maid
in with a gallantry which made her forget his

‘It is her
There is no time to be lost,”
“Is there a carriage-stand

Du

 

unceremonious curtailment of her remarks.
‘“‘Fivegdollars if you reach the Lafarge

House in fifteen minutes,” he said to the dri-
ver, as he followed the brother and sister, and
sparks glinted -beneath the horses’ hoofs as
they clattered out of the dim recess behind the

‘church into the wider street beyond, . The ho-

tel was soon gained, and Rothwood, entering
the deserted gentlemen’s sitting-room, in-
quired of the night-waiter, who advanced to
meet him, whether Mrs, Green was stopping
there.

* “Mra. Green, sah?” said the man. ‘Not
exactly, sah; lady of that name was here, sah,
a few hours ago, sah. But she’s jist took her
departuration, sah. She: am goned off in a
carriage, sah, to go aboard de Silber Star,
sah—about two hours ago, sah, by my watch,
sah.”

“Did you: see her when she left? can you
describe her dress and appearance?”

“Had de felicity ob opening de door for her,
sah. Berry tall lady in black, sah; wore a
berry thick veil, sah. Disconsolable widder
lady Ishould say, sah. Sal, de chambermaid,
what tended to de room, did say she went to
bed wid it on. But Sal hab no more regard to
truf dan she hab rebbrence for dafflictum, sah.”

‘‘Had she a companion ?”

|‘Widder, I speck, sah; companium deceased
in all probulation,. sah.”

“I mean was any one with her when she
left ?"”

- “Beg pardon, sah. Didn’t know you meant
companium in dat sense, sah. Dere wis a
lady widher. Berry pretty young lady, sah—
went off in de carriage likewise. Only came
here dis berry night.”’

Rothwood ground his teeth.

“At what pier does the Silver Star lay ?”

The waiter gave the directions, and Roth-
wood, tossing him a cein, which caused every
ivory tooth in his wide mouth to gleam in the
gaslight, strode out to the carriage. The dri-
ver stood on the sidewalk, stamping his feet
and beating his arms to warm himself. Into
his hand Rothwood dropped a golden half
eagle.

‘Another if you drive speedily to Pier —
North River,” he said. ‘‘Remember every.in-
stant is of importance.”

* You're behind as good a pair of horses as
you'll find in New York,” said the man, proud-
ly; ‘‘and Jim Brant knows a gentleman when
he meets him. You'll be there in no time,
sir;”’ and again the door clanged to and the
wheels rattled over the slippery pavement of
Broadway. The sexton and his stster turned
toward Rothwood with questioning glances.

He answered them briefly.

‘“‘We are on her track,” he said, ‘She left
the hotel with the woman by whom that note
was written an hour ago. She is now on board
ofasteamer which will start for Hurope to-
morrow at dawn. A tow. hours more, pursuit
would have been useless.”

‘And this woman--who ig she?” asked

 

Jerusha, es
Rothwood’s faca grew scarlet: his hands

clenched themselves until.the nails cut ‘tats
the palms.
then answered in a tone of suppressed rage:

‘‘A human devil—a creature without truth—
one whom I would blot from the face of the
earth had I the power to do so."’

And Miss Jerusha shrunk back into the cor-
ner of the carriage and hid her face in both
her hands,

——

CHAPTER XXL
HOW THE NIGHT PASSED.

‘Pier —, sir,” said the driver, opening the
door, and Rothwood stepped out of the car-
riage and assisted Miss Jerusha to alight,

‘Remain here,” he said to the driver; ‘we
shall want you to take us back again.”

And with these words he moved quickly to-
ward the dock, Across it lay the moonlight,
cold and white, falling on coils of cable, iron
rings and bolts, the uses of which landsmen
could scarcely gness—on tethered boats, rising
and falling upon the waves, which washed the
brown woodwork of the pier, and eaught dia-
mond gleams upon their breast as they chased
one another shoreward. Beyond, darkly ma-
jestic, arose the form of a mighty ocean steam-
er, and near it lounged a group of sailors, en-
gaged in conversation, and, as they talked,
chewing tobacco most vigorously. Toward
these Rothwood advanced.

This is the steamer Silver Star, is it not?”
he asked, pointing toward the vessel.

The sailor whom he addressed paused to
squirt a mouthful of tobacco. juice into the
water, and @Hien hitching up his waistband re-
plied,

‘Lord love ye, no! This here is the Nancy.
Sparkles, from t’ other side o’ the water, Cap'n
John Blake—starts at six for Liverpool.”

‘This is Pier No. --?”

‘‘Aye, aye, yer honor.”

‘Where is the Silver Star, then ?”

‘Smash my timbers if I know,” replied the
tar. ‘‘All the folks in New York have been
arter the Silver Star to-night. Two ladies in
@ carriage, not long ago, wouldn’t believe us
when we told ’em she didn’t lie here; and ano-
ther party, what had dismissed a thing what
he called his wehicle, got on the high ropes
about what he called unwarrantable decep-
tion. Hello, Jack! know anything about the
Silver Star?”

The person addressed, a bright lad of six-
teen, advanced immediately, touching his
natty glazed haf. *

“The Silver Star is at Pier —, Hast river,”
he said. ‘“Thoro bas been some mistake, I
believe. But you will have time enough to
Fé cach her; it is not an hour's ride, and she

ig at sunriso."’
k you,” replied Rothwood, turning
nan instant he retraced his steps,
og the old sailor who had at first

 

“You spoke of two ladies who

He ‘paused for a moment, and:

had been inquiring , for the Silver oe
were they like ?”

“One was a tidy little craft withs black peep-
ers,’’ replied the sailor, ‘‘and t’otker wore ker
flags at half mast over her sky scrapen”

The bright. sailor boy laughed.

‘Tom means a. handsome young lady with
black eyes, and another in mourning, who
wore a heavy veil,’”’ he'said. ;

“Hold your tongue, younker,” interposed:
the old sailor. ‘‘His honor understands: Hinp~
lish, if you don’t. I say——”

But Rothwood was already givirg seme:
brief and rapid. directions to: the driver, and
Miss Jerusha had ensconced’ herself within:
the carriage. This time only the brother and:
sister occupied its cushions, for Ralph Roth--
wood mounted'0n the box, apparently anxious:
to catch the first. glimpse of the object of their
destination. :

It was now nearly two o’clock; only the rap*
of some policeman’ s ‘staff broke the silence of?
the streets as the carriage whirled along.
Once the driver missed his way; another time:
they entered a street which had been dug up»
for the repairing of the water pipes, and was.
in consequence barricaded: When-these ob-«
stacles were overcome, the driver, marking
his passengers’ impatience, remarked, ‘We'll
make up for lost time now, sir;’’ and-urged his
horses almost into a gallop.

They were spirited creatures; and liked well
to go at the mad pace which would have been
impossible in the daytime, and once under:
way it required some little time to check them.
Miss Jerusha clasped the cushions with both
hands, and declared to Hiram that every bone.
in her body was out of place, and the sexton
evidently thought pretty much the same of hig.
ewn condition, though he said nothing.

Suddenly, however, a jerk and a heavy lurch,
of the vehicle told that something was wrong..
Miss Jerusha thrust her head from the window...
The wheel had caught in some portion of a
railroad track over which they were passing.
The driver was uttering excited cries and oathss..
Rothwood’s voice arose loud and earnest; a.
tramp of horses’ hoofs; a rugh and rumble of
coming cars was closef§pon them. Down the.
declivity, for the street was just here almost-a
hill, came dashing a long train of Harlem cars.
drawn by six horses, at fullspeed, The driver.
of these cars applied the brake instantly—
passengers rushed to the platform to.see the:
cause of the excitement. The horses attached:
to the half overturned carriage plunged madly,
but the wheel was fastened in the broken ixon,
and in an instant the heavy side of the ear.
struck the polished roof of the carriage, and
before they could be stopped. the: train was a.
car’s length beyond the vehicle. Then, in-
deed, the brake attained some power, and from i
door and platform eager mon sprang to them |,
aid of the occupants of the vehicle. There |
was some difficulty in extricating those within,
but principally on account. of Miss Jerusha’s
hoops. This difficulty over, the ancient dam-
sel was found uninjured, and Hiram, though
absolutely positive of his own demise, had only:
a few bruises to show. Those without had
suffered most. The driver hada gaping wound.
in his shoulder. Rothwood lay senseless, and:
one of the two horses was. dead, while the.
other was almost uxfable to stand
” A public house in the street was. open, and
into this they carried Rothwoed; whose face
was ashy pale, and who was at first belicued. te.
be mortally injured..

This was not the case, however. In a little
while he came to himself, and sitting up, de-
clared himself only shaken and bruised, to the.
great disappointment of.a. German doctor; who.
had been summoned from, his. lager, and: who
had declared him, ‘‘Shust so goot as dead,”
Standing on his: feet; yet giddy and pale, he.
called for wine, drank several gtasses, wrged
some on his companions, causing Miss Jerusha
to retreat in horror with divers smell squeals,
and then turning to the. driver, said,

“We have been delayed too long slready—
drive on immediately. I'll pay you well.”
‘Easier said than done,’” replied the man,
sulkily. “@ne of the horses is dead, and the \
other ruined, and I sham’t. be able to handle
the reing, fora fortnight. A pretty mess this
night hasgot me into. The boss valued those
beasts more’n any other in the stables. And
T’'va got.a wife and family dependent on me.
Confound this job I say."*

“You shall nos suffer,” siid Rothwoca. “I
givo you my word for that. I will see your

here is my address." He took a card from bis.€
pocket and handed it to the man.

 

another carriage,” he said. “It is impontan,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

employer to-morrow morning, meanwhile, &

“Got me, AY
 

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that we reach tho Silver Star before she sails.”

“A hard matter at this time of night,” said
the jandlordiof the place. But we'll do what
weean. Walk into the sitting room—Watkins
isobliging. We'll sendround to him. You're
Willing to pay well, I suppose, sir.”

-“{ will pay anything,” said Rothwood, and
with these words he walked into the little room
where Miss Jerusha sat toasting her feet be-
fore the fire,

There was an odd little clock on the mantle-
piece, and on this Rothwood’s eyes were
riveted at once. The hands pointed to half
past three,

He watched these hands slowly moving
around the white face of the clock, and little
Hiram watched them also. So, after some at-
tention to her disordered attire, did Miss
Jerusha. Ten minutes past—a quarter. The
three never spoke to each other, but sat silent,
listening to the swift tick of the. pendulum—
fifteen mignutes more. It was four o’clock, and
still the carriage had not come., Miss Jerusha
beat a nervous pit-a-pat on the floor with the
toe of hergaiter. Rothwood arose and began
topacethe floor. .

Just then the landlord entered. |
' “Sorry to say, sir, that Watkins’ horses are all

out at the wharves and depots. But he’s sent to
seeit ke can't getone further down. In a hurry,

sir ?”
cee replied Rothwood, “I would walk rather
thah wait;sbut that confounded fall has shaken
me gepreily. Bring me some brandy, will
ou? ge
The landlord obeyed with alacrity. Glasses
stood in an instant on the table; Rothwood drank
© agreat deal; Hiram a very little; Miss Jerusha

none at all.
It was her turn to pace the floor. At last she
We'll never find that gal.

broke forth in ehrill feminine treble,

‘Hate’s agin us, ;

These hindrances mean something, goor or bad,
and I reckon ’twillbe bad for me if I can’t get
Winnie back agin. What on airth did I let her go
out alone for? I never own’d to bein’ a fool be-
fora, but I do own to it now.”

Rothwood fiung down the glass he held in his
hand upon the table and arose. The liquor had
not wrought the slightest effect upon him, His
hand was steady, his eye cool.

“We are not yet too late,” he said; “I believe
wo shall accomplish our end. That woman must
not triumph. Winnifred Hall cannot be sacrificed

her fury.” . : *

, “And why does she want to hurt Winnie?”
- asked@ Hiram; “the girl never harmed mortal crit-

-ter in ber born days.”
. ‘Why does the wolf desire to harm the lamb?”

) asked Rothwood, “I tell you again that woman

is a fiend.”

He crossed the room as he spoke and flung the
shutter wide open. Grey dawn was chasing the
night shadows from the sky; and a church clock
rung out the hour. five. The little voice of the
clock within the room echoed it; and at that mo-

’ ment the landlord flung open the door.

‘Watkins has managed it,” he said. “The hack
is at the door.”

Miss Jerusha uttered a cry of joy. Rothwood
hastily paid for what he had called for, and in an
instant they were in the vehicle. A shabby con-
cern, superintended by a stupid looking driver.

“ Rothwood looked doubtfully at the man.
_ “You understand my directions,” he said.

‘Why shouldn’t 1?” ' :

“The Silver Star, lying at pier — East River.

S°Yes, sir.” ;

*T will pay you well if yon will drive fast.”

‘Ayo; Tl make ’em go, niver fear;” and-as fur-
ther discussion was useless Rothwood closed the |
door and leaned back with a heavy sigh. The
horses stumbled on; the driver apparently dozed
on his box. There were fifty delays. Now to see
the name on the street corner; now to look at the
gearing; now to watk “the bastes” over a broken |
piece of road, :

Six o’clock struck as they turned into the street
beside the water, and saw close to them tall
masts, black chimneys, and piles of lumber;
heard the cry of sailors, and of men upon the
wharves, and smelt the ocean brine blown land-
ward by the morning breeze.

‘Pier —,” cried Rothwood.

‘: and on they stumbled. Coming suddenly to a
alt,
’ “Tig there we are,” cried the driver, ‘Will
your honor seb out, and the lady?”
Rothwood was onghe wharf already.
“Where is the Silver Star ?” he asked, of one of
the group of staring loungers.
“Of this minute, ’ replied the man. ‘There she
is Aonder, and not a hundred feet from the pier.”
The eager eyes of the little group saw the splen-
did steamer floating on the molten gold of the
sun-lighted water, and read upon her side, in
snow-white letters, the name “Silver Star.”
‘*We're too late!” cried Miss Jerusha, “I know-
6d there was a fate in it |”
; ae some amongst the idlers broke into s
augh,

‘*Why don’t you swim for it?” cried. one,

“Boiler to the captin, an’ mebbe he'll stop |”
gaid another.

While a third, lifting his voice, bellowed,

‘Hello, you old Silver Star there, here’s a old
lady wants to goto France!” and convulsed the
crowd with merriment,

CHAPTER XXII.

But while they stood watching the steamer as it

“ moved along, something began to play about its

deck, which was not the morning mist, though it

resembled it; nor yet the pale blue smoke of the
cigars of smoking loungers. :

It wag curious—people said so, and watched it
earnestly. The faces of those‘on board could not
be distinguished by this time, but that vapor was
very plain to every eye—even against the hazy
purple of the sky and the uncertain boundary of
the water. ;

“Mought be a fire,” said a countryman, waiting
with his empty market fagon for a ferry-boat. ‘I
seen @ ship a fire oncet, and ’twarn’t much differ-
ent at first.”

“By Jove, it 7s a fire!” cried another voice. “In
twenty parts at once, it -seems! Look !—look !—
look!” ft

And there was a wild shout—for from the vessel
at that insiant sprang tongues of vermillion
flame, lapping the wood-work and climbin up-
ward wherever there was rope or wood-work for
them to cling to.

A bell on board the steamer began to toll, and
it was evident that she was being backed toward
the dock

‘She'll set the other ships afire? Call out the
engines. . ‘

These cries were heard on allsides, and in », fow
momenta the fire bells began to toll, and eigine
after engine came dashing down the crowded
street.

Confusion was at its heighth, for the Silver
Star, close to them now, but unable to make her
berth, was letting down boats and filling them
with passengers. Other boats were going out to
their rescue, and wild shouts on shore and terri-
fied screams from the steamer’s deck, filled the
air.

_ Rothwood, by main force, succeeded in extrica-
ting Jerusha from the crowd, and placing her in
& position of safety; and bidding old Hiram take
ears of her, and await his return, hurried forward,
and was amongst those busy about the boats in
aninstant. The next his coat was off, and, with
six others—men from amongst the bystanders—
two fashionable gentlemen, three rough laborers,
one a slender boy, from his father’s shipping-of-
fice close at hand—for in these moments of ex-
citement odd'campanions get together—was bend-
ing over the Oars and-straining with all his might

) : time to succor Win-
nifred Hall, if she were yet on board. Others oc-
cupied but a small portion of his thoughts while
she was yet in danger. ~ }

| cried Miss Jerusha,

white shirts of the rowers glittering like silver in
the sun. And now they were close beside the
steamer, and looking up Rothwood saw two fig-
ures, one with its shuddering form crouched
down upon the deck, the other with hands clasped
and eyes turned upward; the crouching form was
draped in black, the other was Winnifred Hall.,

Aid had been promptly rendered. Almost all
the women were already safe on shore, There
Wag & Cry,

‘Hand the ladies along first. We men can
swim if it comes to the worst.”

such a cry in times of even greater danger. God
bless them for their tenderness to our weak and
timid sex. And the boat held all who were left
on board in a few minutes. 2

Men also followed, and the bark pushed off to
give place to others, Some wept, somé prayed;
some were calm aid still. Ono bent her head
upon her hands and sat motionless as a statue.
Over this figure Rothwood bent. His atin en-
twined its waist, and he whispered in its ear,

‘*Winnie, will you never cease to fear me ?—to
flyfrom me? I have found you once again, and
this time you shall know me for a trne and éarn-
est friend.”
_ And Winnifred Hall, looking up, saw Ralph
Rothwood at her side.

een

CHAPTER XXII,
A SCHOOL TEACHER AT LAST,

No word was spoken after this until the boat
reached the dock, There Rothwood grasped the
band of Winnifred Hall, and kept it even after
they stood upon land,

“Your friends are waiting for -you, Wintlie,” he
said, “I soarcely think that you can know how
much they care for you, or you would never have
lett them. Thank God! I have you to restore to
them. They would break their good old hearts
if anything happened to you, I believe. No,” he
said, as she tried to draw her hand away from
his, ‘‘no, I shall hold you fast until you are safely
handed over to your guardians. Runaway child,
I begin to believe that you are not of sane mind.

beguile you from every safe shelter, is your
friend?”

A shadow crossed their
black-draped form,
them.

‘Are you her friend, Ralph Rothwood?” ssid
the voice beneath the sable veil. ‘Winnifred
Hall, do not listen to him, I havestriven to save
you—fate is against me. Guard yourself; my
words were true. Before his very face I repeat
them. Beware of Ralph Rothwood, or you will
rue the day_on which you first saw light,”

The words were uttered and shé was gone,
Winnie, trembling and pale, gazed’ after her.
Rothwood clenched his hand and knit his brow

path as he spoke; a,
spectre-like, stood before

ment had opened the door of the ferry
beckoned to Jerusha and her brother.
They came out at once, and even there, in the
midst of the crowd, Miss Jerusha threw her arms
about Winnie’s head and kissed her. But Roth-
wood allowed no delay. The hack still waited,
and into. this he hurried the party, as though
they were children placed under his care, and
giving the direction of the old sexton’s house to
the driver, jeured in also and was driven away.
Once within he turned to Miss Jerusha, and
said, almost sternly, ; :
“You know this young lady’s life, do you not?
You are aware that I am the dragon, the black
beast, from whom ghe flys at the bidding of a
woman whose face she has never seen, and who
bids her beware of me. She believes that I in-
tend her some harm—what,I think she could
hardly say: and all this while I am her friend,
and have suffered I know not what of mortifica-
tion from the knowledge of her opinion of me, I
am not anogre, who. entices women to his castle
to devour them, whatever she may have been

house, and

‘| brought to believe.”

Winnie turned her eyes full upon him.
“You had nothing to do with my intended jour-
ney, Mr. Rothwood,” she said. “Matters, which
Icannot explain, made me desire to leave this
country. The offer was made, I accepted it. I
repeat, I did not fly from you, whatever you may
think!” -
Rothwood smiled incredulously. , :
“Then that woman is not my enemy ?--does not
poison your mind against me ?”

“I have not said that. You know what she says.
What she means I cannot tell.”
She means nothing. She is at once mad and
very wicked.” E
Winnie made no reply, but bent her head upon
her hand, and sat with her face hidden for many
minutes.
Rothwood tfirned to the old sexton.
*‘T have had an interest in Miss Hall from the
time when she was a school-girl,” he said. “I
have done all I could to advance her interests, in
spite of her doubt'ofme. After hearing that she
resided with you, I took some pains to gratify a
wish of hers, of which I know something. There
is a vacancy in —— school, caused by the death
of a young teacher, Miss Merle. I have procured
the appointment for her. Here it is, But she
must promise not to run away again. Such &

‘propensity is bad enough ina boy, in a girl itis

not easily overlooked by those who judge
sternly.”
‘*Winnie Hall, why don’t you gay thankee ?”
“It’s a nice thing for you,
TImsure, You're jest fit for a teacher; and you
kin put all thoughts of marryin’ out of your head,
for yowll be independent, and what a blessin’
that'll be.” :
‘Winnifred Hall lifted her head, and looked full
at Rothwood. They all treated her that day as
though she were a wayward child, and yet, since
that interview with Mark Graham, she had be-
come more of a woman than ever before, The
love subdued, but unconsciously treasured, sho
had at last laid within its grave. Even a kindly
thought of him she would not allow herself. She
strove to think him a false-heartéd wretch, fickle
as a butterfly; and she had vowed to banish him
from her presence and from her heart forever.
Such a struggle would have killed a man or driven
him mad, but delicate women live through these
things somehow, though they carve wrinkles up-
on their brows and scatter silver threads amongst
their tresses. A black flood had passed over Win-
nie Hall’s soul, and from it she came forth ex-
hausted but not annihilated, bowed to the earth,
but not broken. In the homé to which Mark
Graham.would constantly come she could not re-
main. Whether he madly pursued her still, or
whether obedient to her commags,‘he returned
to his allegiance to Helen, it was alike impossible
for her to meet him. ‘This situation offered
means by which she might be utterly independ-
ent, and seek, if she desired to do so, another
none) whore their paths might never cross each
other.
Turning to Rothwood, she held out her hand,
“T thank you,” she said. ‘I receive your kind-
ness gratefully, Itis very good of you to ——”
‘*To forget how naughty you have been?” he
asked. ‘Well, well, let that pags!”
Still that tone, as though she were a child.
How strange it was. A faint suspicion of the
truth that it was adopted for the ear of her com-
panions crossed her mind. Butshe dismissed it
ag quickiy as it arose. Why should she care if it
were so?”
“And now,” said Rothwood, “E must leave you.
Good bye. Take care of your charge, Miss Jeru-
A ane guard her, especially trom all women in
lack.’ ;
And Rothwoed, witn these words, shook hands
with the sexton, Miss Jerusha, and afterward
with Winnie, and stopping the carriage descend-
ed from it,
Miss Jerusha looked after him admiringly,
‘‘He’s a nice man,” she said, “and a good friend
of yours. You ought to feel obleeged to him.”
(To be continued.) -

Matrimony is &@ bondage, but one that carries
With it the protection which is as necessary to

woman as the airshe breathes; with a tender and
loving husband she will find the chains so over-
grown by afiection, which is the woodbine of the
moral garden, that, instead of being enslayed,

 

Through the blue water the boat glided, the

behold, she finds peace, love and safety within the
charmed cirele. s :

* There are always brave men enough to utter |

Do you fancy that wretched woman, who would :

fiercely. But he said nothing, and the next mio-}

THE PASSING BELL.
Mrs. Eliza 0, Howland, Died, Jan. 20, 1864,
BY WILLIAM B. WHITE,

All too soon the passing bell

Tolls for her we loved so well

Hush, it is her funeral knell.
Toll on—toll on!

We smilé to-day—we weep to-morrow;

Our wine of life is mixed with sorrow, _

Our griefs are ours—our joys we borrow, \
Toll on—toll on!

Falls to earth the withered flower—

Cold for age the bridal bower,

Spite of summer sun and shower
Toll on—toll on! -

We lay her to rest with an humble trast—

‘Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust!”

Her soul is free from the grave-yard rust.
Toll on—toll on!

Toll on, toll on, thine iron tongue

Deep in our inmost soul hath rung,

Where memory sits, with grief o’erhung.
Toll on—tolH on!

Alas for the days that ne’er return!

For the hopes that fade on her funeral urn!
For the vanished joys and the tears that burn !
Toll on—toll on!

Toll on, toll on, thou passing bell!

For her who hath gone with the saints to dwell,
Beyond the sound of thy funeral knell,

Toll on—toll on!

| White Hagle, The Avenger ;
OR

2...

THE BRIDE OF THE SETTLEMENT,

sacerercemne——aQucemomensonsen
BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH,

Author of “Maggie, the Child of Charity,” ‘Azael
Kain,”’ ‘Lilian, the Wanderer,” “Galenus, the
Gladiator,’’ ‘Florence O’Neil, the Rebel’g
Daughter,”’ “Eveleen Willson,” “The ~
: Sexton of Saxony,” etc,
Seeereteerer—nagccescnaonasionn pes
{Back numbers of “White Eagle, the Avenger,” ean
be obtained from every News Agent throughout the
United Siates and Canadas.) #

&

CHAPTER XXYVIIL
A DUEL ALMOST,

Four months had passed away since the
death of Judge Thorne—four months of un-
alloyed happiness to Mark and his affianced,
who were now almost constantly together,
much to the delight of farmer Hanford, who
felt that if he could live to see them united he
would be fully recompensed for all the trouble
and sorrow through which he had passed.
Mark’s intention had been, when his affairs
in Axville were fully settled—which they now
were—to lead Mary to the altar, and start at
once for New York, prevailing upon his fathor-
in-law to accompany them, and to spend with
them the remainder of his days, With this
fixed purpose he had written to his father’s
old friend, Mr. Houghton—now a very old
man, and with whom he had kept.up a cor-
respondence from boyhood—advising him of
his intention, and asking if his bride, her
father and himself would be welcome at his
(Mr. Houghton’s) mansion for a few days till
he could look up quarters of hisown. ‘To this
lotter it may be as well to give the old gentle-
man’s reply, which ran as follows :
“My Daan Manx: It rejoices my old heart to
learn that you have secured for a life partner a
young lady so entirely worthy of you, and you
ought to be whipped for asking me if my house is
open for: your reception. You know it is, you
rogue. Not only is it at your service and at the
service of all whom you may desire to bring with
you, but I wish it to be distinctly understood that
once here you do not vacate the premises till the
grave has closed above me, which, I apprehend,
will not be many years, for I am an old. man, now,
Mark—a very old man—and failing health admon-
ishes me that I am not long to remain an inhabi-
tant of this world, ie
‘iver singe you wrote me detailing the melan-
choly circumstances piconding your unfortunate
father’s death, I have wished for nothing so much
as to see you, and the wish is a very natural one,
for [have not a relative living, and you seem
nearer to me than any other person in this world.
I was, as you are aware, your poor mother’s guar-
dian. Iloved her as though she had been my
own daughter, and it seems but yesterday that
she sat upon my knee-~a little, happy girl—gazing
up into my face with her large, truthful blue eyes,
so full of love and reverence. :
“Yes, dear Mark, I would have you come, and
come at once, I long to see what manner of man
has grown from the black-eyed babe whose ad-
vent into the world I hailed with so much pleasure
twenty-one long years ago. And I want you to do
me an especial favor, if you will. If you are: still
unmarried when this.letter reaches you, will you
not defer your wedding till you reach New York.
It is asking much, I know—but not too much, I
think, for one who was your mother’s second
father. Your mother’s marriage took place be-
neath my roof—would that I could forget all that
happened on that occasion!—and it would gratify
me beyond measure if yours could also take place
here. If your bride should “object, however, set
it down as @n old man’s whim and pay no atten-
tion to it,
“And now with regard to your father and the
settlement of his affairs. Itis hard to speak dig.
paragingly of the dead, but candor compels me
to say that he was ever unjust, and that no act of
his life was more unjust than his last act in wish-
ing to leave you penniless. I do not think that
you are called upon by any Jaw, human or divine,
to heed what he said, Mark. The estate which he
left is rightfully yours, and“I am amazed that
your uncle does not-refuse to touch a penny of it.
Since you are resolved to turnit over to him, how-
ever, have your own way. I have more money to
leave behind me than you can ever spend, if you
are prudent, and I have not a soul to leave if to
except yourseli—so that, as far as I am con-
cerned, [had much rather you would eome here
penniless than loaded down with wealth. ALI
desire is that you come, and come quickly, to
‘Your old and affectionate friend, :
‘SROBERT HOUGHTON.”

«Pp, 8.—I suppose it is hardly necessary to re-
quest you to bring Aunt Polly with you. Ofcourse
she would come, if she had to walk here all the
way. R. H.” |
This letter decided Mark to alter his plans
80 as to comply with the old gentleman’s
wishes, and as both Mary and her father
favored his views, he at once proceeded to
make the necessary preparations for his de-
parture, and when everything was in readiness,
he called upon his uncle, the doctor, to tako
his final leave,

 

Dr. Thorne was an eminently just man, and

A

knowing what he did, he was not at all sorry
when Mark Thorne first expressed his deter-
mination not to touch his father’s estate. The
doctor was aware that the Judge’s estate, as
well as the name which Mark Thorne bore, of
right beloned to the man who had been known
as White Eagle. The name could not be re-
stored to its-rightful owner without crushing’
the noble-hearted youth who had always borne
it, as he supposed, rightfully, but the property
could be restored, through him, without /
awaking suspicion, and so he accepted the
sacrifice on Mark’s part, knowing as he did
that the latter would never lack means
while he had such a friend as Mr. Robert
Houghton. -

It was on the evening preceeding the day
fixed upon for Mark’s departure, that the lat-
ter, and hi8 affiancied, called at the doctor’s
residence to bid that worthy man adieu. He
and Mary were cordially welcomed by the old
man, but not so cordially by Luke Thorndyke
and Annie, who were present, and who, to
judge from their actions, had not expected and
did not desire to see visitors.

‘Well, Unéle,” said Mark, when they were
seated, ‘wo turn our faces eastward to-morrow,
never, in all probability, to look upon Axville
again.”

’ “Well, good luck attend you both,” returned
the doctor, as he regarded the young couple
affectionately, ‘‘your absence will be sadly felt
in Axville, I shall miss you, T cannot tell how
;tauch, and yet I am not sorry that yon are go-
ing since I know that it is for yotir benefit, and
that you will be much happier in New York
than you can possibly be here. For myself, I
do not expect ever to leave this place. I am
not hard to please, and rough as are the sur-
roundings of Axville, I think I shall live and
die here.”’ °

‘Whatever my surroundings in the future
may be,’’ returned Mark, “I shall always
think of this dear old spot with a melancholy
pleasure, and so will Mary, I am sure, for
many of our happiest hours were spent here.”
“You are certain to be happy wherever you
go,” interposed Annie, in a slightly sarcastic
tone, *‘you are so confiding—so entirely un-
suspicious,’’ and she looked, as she spoke, di-4
rectly at Mary Hanford, who blushed scarlet
at the inuendo conveyed, although she pre-
tended not to notice it.

“I have, as you say, a large ‘degree of confi-
denee in my fellow creatures,” replied Mark,
looking sharply at his cousin, ‘‘and yet I con-
fess that it has been-severely tried ere now.
For instance, I had a friend once, who tore up
a letter directed to me and substituted ano-
ther in its place.” It was now Annie's turn to
blush scarlet, and perceiving that he had
probed her to the quick, Mark hastene® to
add, ‘‘But I bear the friend alluded to no ill
will, and only wish she would exercise so large
a degree of charity towards others as I do to-
wards her,’
‘There is too much hypocrisy in the world,”
broke in the doctor, who, of course, was not
aware that his nephew’s remark was aimed at
Annio—“altogether too much; and we some-
times find it where we least expect it, Annie
herself is not free from it, nor is our friend
Thorndyke here. These young people have
been trying to lead me into the belief that they
were quite indifferent to each other, when at
the same time they were making love as furi-
ously as possible--a state of things which cul-
minated in——”

‘Now, don’t, Uncle Oscar!” exclaimed An-
nie, attempting to put her hand over the doc-
tor’s mouth; ‘‘you have no right to talk so.’’

‘TI havn't, eh?” rejoined the doctor, as he
removed her hand and gently held her by each
wrist; ‘then, egad, I'll take the right! Why,
what a simpleton you are! Thetruth must be
known sooner or later, and why not now?
Culminated in matrimony—that’s the word,
As true as you live, Mark, they were married
by our parson yesterday, and itis not more
than halfan hour since they.made the confes- |
sion’ suk
‘Indeed !” exclaimed Mark, with somo sur-
prise. ‘Well, Iam really glad to hear it. Al-
low me to wish you much joy, cousin Annie;
and you, Mr. Thorndyke, may you experience
all the happiness which belongs to married
life. Ithink you might have invited us to
your wedding, but as an evidence that I enter-
tain no ill feeling in the matter, thus I salute
the bride!” and approaching Annie he im-
printed a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

The eyes of White Eagle sparkled angrily,
and a frown gathered upon his swarthy brow,
but suddenly checking it he said, while the
rich blood mantled.on his cheek, and eager
desire took the place of anger in his looks,
“It is quite proper, Mt. Thorne—you have
an undoubted right to salute the bride, but it
is a poor rule that will not work both ways,
and thus J salute the bride elect!” and before
any one present was aware of hisintention, he
sprang towards Mary Hanford and imprinted
a kiss full upon her lips. a
Mary, she knew not why, had always felt an
instinctive dread of the dark-browed stranger.
From his first introduction into Axville she
had always avoided him, and now, under his
sudden attack, she was so terrified as to come
near fainting.

“Sir!” exclaimed Mark Thorne, as he flew
to her side, ‘‘you are both rude and presump-
tuous! This lady is a comparative stranger to
you, and were it otherwise she is not yet mv
wife, and custom accords no such privilege as
you have taken. Your wife and myself have
grown up together from childhood, and she
is, besides, my cousin—facts which surely
warrant some little familiarity on my part.”

‘‘Well, sir,” returned White Eagle, haughti-
ly, ‘if custom accords me no such privilege,
T have chosen to take it, in spite of custom,

 

 

and I see not how you can very well help your-
self.”?

*

that!
not apologise!”

consequently exceedingly tedions,
serve no purpose, therefore, to accompany our
travelers all the way from Axville to New York. |
It is sufficient to say that they arrived there in

safety, though ‘sadly fatigued, and were most
cordially welcomed by the free-hearted and
benevolent old gentleman, who so eagerly
watched for their arrival. 3

‘Sir,’’ answered Mark Thorne, with flash- §
ng eyes, ‘I am sorry to be compelled to say, *
that according to the standard by which
judge men, you are but little better than a
ruffian, and were it not that you are beneath
my uncle’s roof, and in the presence of ladies,
you shouid bitterly repent your conduct,”

“That difficulty is easily obviated,” replied
White Eagle, with terrible calmness. ‘Fol-
low me!” Oe OK
He started toward the dooras he spoke,
and Mark was about to follow him, when Mary
Hanford for the first time spoke,

“Mark,” she said, persuasively, at the same
time gently detaining her lover ag he was about
to pass her, ‘Dear Mark, if you have any re-
gard for me do not fellow him! Dr, Thorne,”
she continued, appealing to the old physician,
who seemed stupefied with amazement at the
unlooked-for turn which affairs had taken, .
“will you not use your authority to prevent
this quarrel from goixg farther ?”
. “Of course I will, my girl,’’ returned the
doctor, decisively. ‘I should have spoken
sooner, had not astonishment rendered mo -
dumb. Luke,” he continued, raising his voice
toahigher pitch, ‘Luke Thorndyke, come
back here!”’

The young man returned with a sullen
frown upon his countenance.

“Luke,” resumed the doctor, after gazing
at him angrily for a moment, “your conduct
both astonishes and disgusts me! It dis-

graces you no less than it humiliates me!

What haveI done that you should seek to
make my house the scene of violence? You

know how much reason you have to respect, if
not to love me, and I command you now, by
every tie that binds you to me, to apologize for

your brutal conduct.” :

White Eagle hung his head, and seemed,.

for a moment, to muse deeply. He was not
devoid of gratitude, Not only had Dr. Thorne
saved his life, but he had since treated him
with all the affection of an indulgent father.
He knew that in the present quarrel the blame
was all on his side, and his passion having -
somewhat abated he really wished to gratify
his benefactor by making an apology, but the
pride of his stubborn nature was at war with
his inclination, and he ended his brief cogita-
tion by saying,

‘No, no, no, Dr, Thorne, anything but
It is true I owe you much, but I can-

s

“It ig the evidence of a noble nature to

apologise when you are in the wrong,” return-
ed the doctor, persuasively, “and you cannot

but feel that you are in the wrong now. Be-
sidés, I have especial reasons for wishing that

you two who are about to separate, perhaps

never to meet again, should shake hands like

brothers, Nay,’’ he continued, firmly, ‘I not
only wish it, but will have it so, Do you
hear, Luke? I demand that you apologize on
pain of my displeasure. Take your choice—
either make friends with Mark Thorne, or af-
ter this night my house is closed against you
and yours forever !’’

White Eagle seemed to have decided even -

before\the doctor ceased speaking, for walking
up to Mary Hanford he said, frankly,

“Lady, I have treated you with great indig-

nity, but the act was the offspring of rash im-
pulse, and not of cool deliberation,
ry, Very sorry, for what I have done, and hum-
bly beg your pardon.”

Iam sor-

“It is granted, sir,” replied Mary Hanford,

in a low, sweet: tone, but without raising her
eyes. : ao ye

yi

“And now,” continued White Eagle, tarn-

ing to Mark Thorne, ‘having made one apol-
ogy it is easy to make another.
mit that my conduct has been anything but
gentlemanly, and I hope you will believe me
when I say that I deeply reeret the occurrence
which has brought discord where all should
have been harmony. My unjust anger haying
abated I would much rather shake hands with
than fight you. Here is my hand—will you
take it?”’

I freely ad-

“Right willingly!” responded Mark, seizing

the outstretched hand of his late enemy, and
shaking it warmly,

“Now that is as it should be!” exclaimed

the doctor, evidently well pleased at this hap-
py termination of the quarrel, “lei bygones
be bygones, and@f you can think of each other
in the future, let it be as brothers and not as
enemies.”

*

A better feeling seemed to pervade all par-

ties after this, and when Mark and his affian-
cied took their leave, they had almost forgot-
ten that anything disagreeable had occurred,

The next day aparty consisting of Mark

Thorne, Mary Hanford, Farmer Hanford, Aunt
Polly and Uncle Clem—the latter having
begged for and obtained permission from. Dr.
Thorne to accompany them—set out from the
settlement of Axville on their toilsome journey
to New York, in which city we shall next meet
them,

\
eemcn

CHAPTER XXIX, -

THE ARRIVAL IN NEW YORE.

In the days of which we are writing there
were neither steamboats nor railroads to facili
tate travel, anda journey of any length was

It would

Mrs, Houghton would hardly allow his guests

to speak till they had entirely recovered from 2
the fatigue of their toilsome and weary travel, B
and it was not till the fourth day after their » '
arrival that he summoned Mark and his #%

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

RLY, bean

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

affianced. to his library with a view of having

| _ & sociable chat with them.

‘So, my boy,” he said, fixing his mild eyes
upon the fine face of Mark, ‘‘you have come
at last, have you? and in order to please a
whimsical old man you have brought Miss

Hanford and not Mrs Thorne with you.” As
he spoke he looked fondly from Mark to his
affianced, and then as he took a hand of each
he continued, ‘It was kind of you—very kind
—and I thank you. You are very welcome
here, and I wish I could make you as happy as

_ you deserve to be.” es

‘We are already happier—far happier—than
we deserve to be,” returned Mark, with aglow
of pleasure. ‘Perfect happiness is not to be
‘locked for in this worid, but our happiness I
believe to be as near perfect as any that falls
to the lot of humanity. Is it not, Mary?”’

‘Yes, dear Mark,” was Mary’s reply, ‘I am
very, very happy!” and her swimming eyes
showed how deeply.earnest were her words.

‘*Yes, yes, I dare say,’’ interposed the old
gentleman, with a smile; ‘life is all coleur de
rose with yoa now, and pray Heaven that it
may continue so, for judging from letters con-
cering you both, which I have from time to
time received from Dr. Thorne, you richly de-
serve it.” Here the old gentleman fell to
Closely perusing the youth’s countenance, af-
ter which he said, with a sigh, “I have no
fault to find with your looks, Mark, save that

you do not at all resemble your poor mother—

the sweetest tempered and most glorious crea-
ture—noé even excepting the present com-
pany,” (and he cast a glance of admiration at
Mary Hanford) .‘‘and that is saying a great
deal—that these eyesever beheld. And yetI
dojnot see why I should have looked for any
great resemblance, for I distinctly remember
when a babe you had your father’s eyes—bril-
liantly black—while*your mother’s was of a
softand heavenly blue. But I have seen a
pair of eyes somewhere that yours closely re-
semble. Not lately, but many years ago.
Where did I see them ?”

The old man closed his eyes and fell into a
deep reverie, during which Mark and his affi-
anced, unwilling to disturb him, amused them-
selves by gazing forth into the street and tak-
ing note of the passers by.

Suddenly Mr. Houghton aroused from his
reverie and said, A

‘This is Wednesday, is it not, Mark?”

Having received an affirmative answer, he
continued, :

‘‘And you are to be married just two weeks
from to-day. Itwason Wednesday night that
your father and mother were married, and
your wedding shall take place in the same
room in which the ceremony was performed
on that occasion, and you shall occupy the
same chamber which they did.’’

Here there came a knock at the street door,
and a moment after Uncle Clem appeared and
announced the Rev. James Fairchild.

“A young Methodist clergyman,” observed
Mr. Houghton, turning to Mark, ‘in whom I
have taken a great interest. He is an Indian
missionary and very eloquent. I have a
strong desire that he should make you man
and wife, and if’ you de not object I will en-
gago.him now.” i

‘As you please,” re

turned Mark; “I am
‘sure it makes not the slightest difference to
me who ties the knot, so long as itis tied se-

oe

curely.”’

‘*Then I will leave you for the present,’’ re-
fumed the old gentleman, who arose and
walked towards the door. Before he left the
room, however, he stopped short and asked
Mark abruptly,

‘What was the general appearance of that
singular woman ‘who was found lying dead be-
side your father’s corpse ?”’

‘She was, above the ordinary height,” re-
turned: Mark, ‘‘hair and eyes very black, dark-
browed, stern-looking, and might, I think,
have been very beautiful in early life.”

The old gentleman replied not to Mark, but
ashe descended the staits he whispered to
himself, :

‘It was undoubtedly her, and a just rotri-
bution overtook Mark Thorne at last! Thank
Heaven his son is not at all like him in dis-
position, but rather resembles his sainted
mother!” :

Mr. Houghton was correct in his identity of
Adelaide Graham, bat, as the reader is well

aware, he was very, very far astray with re-

gard to the true mother of the youth, whom he

had &dopted.
(To be Continued.)

SDOBSTSS BRS RRB ROAR ISAS TOE,

AGUSTA CAMPBELL,
A REAL LIFE TRAGEDY. /

BY FRED VERNON,

“How are you, Fred, my boy? Where do you

spend the season ?”. was the salutation and inqui-
ry of my friend Charlie Clayton, as we met in
Broadway one fine morning in June, 18—,
_.. Well, really, Charlie, I have not yet decided
between the merits of Newport and Saratoga,
and do not really know which placé will be graced
With the presence of my noted person.”

‘Are you, then, undecided ?”

ss] am,”

‘Allow me to decide for you then, and I shall
render @ decision in favor of Saratoga. Jeannie
and myself start next Monday morning, and you
musi make one of our party. That will give you
two days to airange Matters, and you can ‘pack’
on Sunday—no harm’ for once you know—and
ae. morning we wil leave for the
. Of course I assented, for I numbered Charlie
among my most valued friends, He was one of
your noble, generous, warm-hearted fellows -
handsome, refined and wealthy, A great ‘catch?

he had eluded the vigilance 6? scheming mam-
mas; and, One year previous, had married a poor
but-refined and beautiful girl, who loved him for
himself, thereby causing much
among the disappointed young and
oe of his ae i

sannie Storrs, or perhaps we should say Garl-
ton, as she took the name of her Suole, with
whom she resided. at the time of her marriage
with Oharlie Clayton, was a lovely girl. Not physi-
cal beauty alone, but a certain indescribable

Stable talk”
ancient maid-

with whom she came in contact. She was
eminently fitted to adorn the position bestowed
upon her by Clayton. ‘‘But, Fred,” he would say
sometimes, when speaking to me of Jeannie,

fault: she does not possess the warmth I wish she
did. She is most emphatically a daughter of the
North. I wish she loved with the passionate fire
of the women of the South.”

I thought I detected a shade of regret on his
handsome countenance, but it soon passed away.
On the following Monday we set out for Sara-
toga. Aclearsummer morning was one of the
accompaniments of a ride through an extremely
picturesque section of country; and we were in
Albany, where we were to remain until the next.
morning. As we registered our names on the
books of the American, I saw written in a bold,
clear hand, “Miss Agusta Campbell, New York
City.” I Knew Miss Campbell was a friend of the
Claytoris, and therefore pointed out the name to
Charlie; he turned slightly pale, but turning, re-
marked:
“Good; she

r she will make one of us, for I presume
she is going

to the Springs. Come with me to
the parlor, Iwill give you an introduction.” .

Miss Agusta Campbell was a tall, elegant lady
of twenty-two or three summers. To say she
was lovely would be to speak tamely, and yet her’s
was not beauty. She was majestic—eraceful—
regal, and looked a perfect queen of passion.
From a fall, intelligent brow the heavy black hair
Was swept carelessly back and confined at the
back in a silken network, interwoven with pearls.
The deep, black, almond-shaped eyes appeared
volcanoes of passion; they would flash and
sparkle with joy or indignation, or fill with mois-
ture as the topics of conversation affected thoir
owner. Those sparkling orbs of Agusta’s were
treacherous. Her complexion ayer eens ia bru-
nette, her cheeks flushed with the faintest rose-
color, while her mouth, with its full pouting red
lips was perfectly enchanting—a mouth maie for
kissing. My pen is altogether too feeble to give
descriptive justice to this charming—aye, more—
fascinating creature. We were at Saratoga, and
time was passing very pleasantly with us, when
one morning, as I sat on the balcony of the
C—— House, Charlie drove up and I accepted his
invitation for a ride, and seated myself by his
side in the light buggy wagon, when we dashed
off down the sandy road at a brisk trot. Char-
lie’s beautiful “bays” were “fast,” and we were
goon riding through the forest. Wo rode some
distance in silence, I enjoying my *‘‘Havana,”
Charlie. occupied with his evidently not very
pleasing cogitations. The horses gradually slack-
ened their pace and were soon walking lazily
along, possibly surprised at the freedom accord-
ed them by their master. At last, as I was on the
point of bre king the long silence, Charlie looked
up, and with a degree of earnestness that some-
what surprised me, inquired my opinion of Agus-
ta Campbell. :
*T think she is a dan
replied.

‘Dangerous ?” :
‘Yes; she would steal a poor fellow’s heart, and
then ‘cut’ him.”

. “Nonsense,” replied Charlie, ‘I tell you, man,
she is splendid—glorious—she is the Queen of
Love. Oh, I could worship her!”

‘*Why Charlie, are you insane ?”

I was astonished at the vehemence of ‘the man
by my side.

“Has this Miss Campbell been using her arts
of fascination on a married man, who has hereto-
fore sustained a reputation for strict honor and
integrity, and who would sooner sever his. right
hand than commit a dishonorable act ?” I said.
Charlie flushed, and then as .a shade of deep
melancholy setiled on his face, he said,

Oh; Fred, I have done wrong in allowing her
to occupy, for a single moment, a place in my
memory. She is not to be blamed, Jam the
only one upon whom the slightest particle of
blame can rest, bnt Fred,” he added with great
vehemence, ‘‘I love her—I adore her—I know it is
wrong—aye, sinful, if you will, but I cannot hel
it; Jeannie is a good girl, but she is so cold,
while Agusta is all love and fire and passion.
What shall Ido? Isee nothing; I know nothing
but Agusta. Wherever I go I seem to see her;
she is ever present in my thoughts, and I cannot
rid myself of this feeling of enchantment.”
“Charlie,” I said, “you must leave this place;
retiirn to New York, and in the turmoil of busi-
ness forget her. Leave this place at once—to-
day. As you value your happiness, go! If you
love your wife, go! before the syren that now |
laughingly binds with silken cords, forges chains
no human arm can rend. Go, I say, and save.
yourself ere it be too late.”

I will obey you, Fred, You speak truly; you
are a true friend. I will, at. least, try to follow
your injunctions.” =
Treceived a telegram that evening requiring
my immediate presence in New York, and loft
Saratoga on the evening train. I found, on my
arrival here that it would be necessary for me to
‘go to Washington, and therefore I heard nothing
from Charlie until I returned to the city, when,
upon inquiry of a mutual friend, I learned to my
horror that he had eloped with Agusta Campbell
and no tidings could be heard respecting them.
He had piaced at the disposal of his wife the
bfown stone house and all its magnificent sur-
roundings, together with an ordet on his banker
for fifty thousand dollars. This was a shadow of
his former generosity, but could money heal the
wounded heart of Jeannie Clayton? Far from it.
The injured wife felt keenly the great wrong that
had been done her, but her woman’s heart yet
clung to the memory of the man who once was
proud to caliher hisown. She prayed for him.
She watched for some tidings from him, and
¢$hough counseled by her friends to procure a
divorce she refused, saying: “If Charlie comes
home repentant I will forgive. It is not my pro-
vince to judge harshly. Charlie was a noble,
open-hearted man, susceptible to every influence,
axid she fascinated him so far ag to cause him to
forget, for a moment, his humble wife, She was
brilliant; I am plain. That is the difference.
Charlie was dazzled, and became an easy vic-
tim.” :

- Thus she reasoned.

A year passed, and nothing had been heard
from Charlie. I wag sitting in the reading room
of the St. Charles House, in New Orleans, one
evening, when-an acquaintance of mine entered,
and sitting down on the sofa by my side asked if
I had heard the news.

“What news ?” I inquired.

“Why, haven’t you heard? Thé murder in——
Place. A wonlan has murdered her pagers and
then taken her own life, or rather, I should say,
attempted the murder of her husband, for I be-
heisstill alive, while she was dead when they
found her, Everybody is talking about it, and I
thought you had surely heard of it before this.”

I replied that I had not, and inquired the names

gerous woman, Charlie,” I

 

of the parties.

‘De Lacy,” was the reply;
in the city.”
“Ig it possible! Why, what is the cause of the
tragedy ?” <
“Oh, jealousy, I believe,” anavered my friend,
“But suppose we walk out and see the house,
and perhaps we can seo the persons themselves,
I believe they admit a few into the house,”

We went out and soon reached the place, a
largagnansion, elegant without, and having ob-
tained an entrance we found oriental magnifi-
cence within, Superb furniture, velvet carpets,
golden chandeliers and candelabra, exquisite
paintings and statuary, marked this abode of
wealth and splendid ease, We wers ushered into
the roo n where the corpse of the woman lay. As
the attendant raised the covering from the face I
started, for there, beautiful in death, lay Augusta
Campbell. Iwas obliged to support myself, for
a moment, by laying my hand on the back of a
ofa, but soon recovering ITasked in as calm a
voice as I possibly could to see Mr. De Lacy.
‘‘Sartin, massa,” said the negro servant, “but,
bress you, sah, de doctah say dat no pusson be
lowed up dere.” :

“I can’thelp it,” I replied, “he is my friend; I
must seo him.” «

\ “If you wish to see Mr. Do Lacy, sir, you may
come with me” said an elderly gentleman at this
moment, stepping in the doer.

He was the physician, I followed him to the
room where the injured man lay. What my sen-
sations were can be imagined, forI knew I should
see my old friend Clayton. Weentered the ropm,

‘tho ‘richest people

 

“But, Fred, she has one fault, if I may call it a| but he had

 

 

beauty of mind and disposition, endeared her to | and there on the bed lay Charlie, pale and still.

He sleeps,” said the doctor. “Tet us retire

until he awakens; he ig not so dangerons as was

at first supposed, and I think will soon recover.”
My meeting with Charlie was somewhat painful,
suffered much, and was very penitent.
A letter found on the person of Agusta gave the
following facts: Charlie had lately become quite
melancholy, often speaking of his wife, and re-
see the step he had in a weak moment taken.
She had become jealous, and determined that they
should die together. Full of this purpose she
rose earlier than usual one morning, and after, as
she thought, stabbing Charlie to the heart, she
plunged the dagger into her own bosom, thus be-
coming a victim to her ownevilnature, Iwatched
over Charlie until he had entirely recovered, and
then came North with him. He met his deeply
injured wife, and in terms ‘the most penitent
begged her forgiveness for the great wrong he
had done. She with the warm, trusting heart of
woman, freely accorded her forgiveness, and in
after years Charlie looked, with sorrow, back on
Las, blot on the otherwise fair page of his life’s
‘story,
They removed to a distant part of the State
where they are spending the remainder of their
lives in striving to make each other, and all who
associate with them, happy. Do not, my dear
reader, censure Jeannie Clayton for receiving her
husband again with love and forgivetiess, for. we
are all human, and you know, “To err is human;
to forgive divine.”
ee i

JANUARY FATAL TO KINGS.

Towards the end of the last century, one of the
popular songs ended with the distich—
‘* January’s tle month for the murdering of kings ;

But we’ll teach these French Jacobins much better

things,’”’

There is a singular resemblance in the cireum-
stances, the character, and the fate of the French
and English kings who perished on the seaffold
in the gloomy month of January. Both were
called upon to suffer for the tyranny exercised
by their forefathers. Both were good domestic
men, and showed, under the most trying circum-
stances, a degree of courage apd fortitude for
which former vascillation would not have pre-
pared one.

The solemn closing scene of the life of Charles
I, of England, asit was represented more than a
century before that of Louis XVI of France,
must first be described.

Charles I slept soundly the night before his ex-
ecution, though the noise of the workmen em-
ployed in framing the scaffold sounded continu-
ally in his ears.

At length the fatal ae the morning of
January the 30th, 1649, arrived. The king called
one of his attendants, and bade him dress ‘him
with more than usual care, for what he was
pleased to denominate a joyful solemnity. The
street before Whitehall was the place destined for
execution,

The king was led through the hanquetting-
house to the scaffold, attended by Bishop Juxon.
The scaffold, covered with bla>k, was guarded by
soldiers. Onit were to be seen the block, the
axe, and the executioners in masks.

The king surveyed all these solemn prepara-
tions with composure,- He forgave his enemies,
exhorted thé people to return to their obedience,
and to acknowledge his son as his successor; and
he signified his attachment to the Protestant reli-
gion. Never did Charles appear so truly great as
when on the scaffold. :

While preparing for the block, Bishop Juxon
called out to him—

“There is but one stage more, which, though
turbulent and troublesome, is yet a very short
one. It will soon carry you a great way. It will
carry you from earth to Heaven, and there you
will find, to your great joy, the prize to which
you hasten—a crown of glory.” :

“I go,” replied Charles, “from a corruptible to
an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can
have place.” : :

**You exchange,” said the bishop, “a temporary
for an eternal crown—a good exchange.” :

Charles, having taken off his cloak,’ delivered
his george to the prelate, pronouncing the word,
“Remember.” Then he laid his head on’ the
block, and, stretching out his hands as a signal,
one of the executioners severed his head trom
his body at a blow, whilé the other, holding it
up, exclaimed—

“This is the head of a traitor!” :

The spectators testified their horror in sighs,
tears, and lamentations. Theregicides had risen
to power as the champions of liberty; but the
execution of the king was an act Of unjustifiable
tyranny. ay

It is a curious fact that the sheet that received
the head of Charles I, after its decapitation, is
carefully preserved, along with the communion-
plate, in the church of Ashburnham. The blood,
with which it was almost entirely covered, turned
nearly black. The watch of the unfortunate
monarch was also deposited with the linen.
These relics came into the possession of Lord
Ashburnham immediately after the death of-the

king, :

The body of Charles I was buried at Windsor,
in the vault that had already, received the.body
of Henry VIII. : .

The quaint Historian, Lilly, states that many
have curiously inquired who it was that cut off
the king’s head, and he says—

“T have no permission to. speak of such things,
only thus much I say, he that did it is as valiant
and resolute a man as lives, and one of a compe-
tent fortune.” Lilly also observes—

“The next Sunday but one after Charles I was
beheaded, Robert Spavin, secretary unto Lienten-
ant-General Cromwell at that time, invited him-
‘Self to dine with me, and brought Anthony Pier-
son and several others along with him to dinner.
Their principal discourse all dinner time was
who it was beheaded the king. One said it was
the common hangman; another, Hugh Peters;
others also were nominated, but none concluded.
Robert Spavin, so soon as dinner was done, took
me by the hand and carried me to the south win-
dow; saith he, ‘These are all mistaken, they have
not named the man that did the fact. It wag
Lieutenant-Colonel Joice. I was*in the room
when he fitted himself for the work; stood be-
hind him when he did it; when done, went in
again with him, There is no man knows this but
my master (viz., Cromwell), Irston, and myself.””

And now for a parallel scene of @eep tragedy,
‘enacted on January 21, 1793, at eight o’clock in
the morning, Lowis XVI entered the carriage in
which he was to be conveyed to execution, Fhe
procession was nearly two hours in. reaching the
place appointed, formerly called the Place de
Louis XV, but which was then denominated,
Place de ia Revolution, The interval was em-
ployed by the king in his devotions, and in reading
the prayers for the dying.

When the carriage stopped at the scaffold, the
king said: ‘‘Nous voici donc arrives” (Then here
we are.) He pulled off his coat, unbuttoned the
neck of his shirt, ascended the scaffold, and sur-
veyed for a few minutes the immense multitude;
then approaching the edge, he made a motion
for silence, and, with a raised voice, said, in
French, of which we give the translation:

‘Frenchmen, Idieinnocent. I forgive my ene-
mies; and I hope that France——” but the king’s
voice was drowned in the noise of the drums,
Three executioners then approached to seize
Louis XVI. At the sight of a cord, with which
one of them attempted to tie his arms, the king
showed signs of indignation, and ssemed about
to resist, but almost immediately after submit-
ted. The executioners laid hold of him and
placed him on the guillotine. The Abbe Edge.
worth, the king’s confessor, then knelt down with:
his face near to that of the king, and pronounced 4
aloud these words, “Fils de St, Louis, montez au
ciel” (Child of St. Louis, ascend to heaven.)

The blow fell, and the Abbe Edgeworth’s face
was sprinkled with the king’s blood. The execu-
tioners walked round the scaffold, holding up the
king’s head to be seen by the people, and some
cries were heard of, ‘Vive la Nation’— “Vive la
Republique” (Long live the Nation. Long liye
the Republic.) é

There have been many French revolutions even
in our time. In that of 1848, and its result, the
coup deiat, there has been muck blood spilt, but
we have had no legal murdering of kings since
the execution of Nouis XVI,. on January 21, 1793.

 

 

pee, starve, ugh!” and he shuddered at the
idea,
“At this assurance I ventured to approach the
fire. At this he seemed well pleased an@ con-
tinued. ’

Me Thunder Cloud; great king of his na-
eee get lost way from warriors; storm come on,
ugh?

gh}

“I still advanced towards the fire-place, and
reached out my hand to take the infant.

“Please no,’ he pleaded, ‘Thunder Cloud wo-
man now, child, no hurt anybody—Great Spirit’s
big Storm, big cold, make “fraid.’

‘I seated myself before the fire,
8aVage Visitor askance,

“ “Me hungry—poor Indian,’ he said, in a tone
that showed how dependent he was in his posi-

tion.

“T arose and sat’soms food before him, which
hevate voraciously, apparently having undergone
alongfast. During this time he gave up the in-
fant to me, but the moment he finished eating he
held out his arms to receiveitagain, I was loth to
return it, but he looked up with such an expres-
sion that I gave it to-him; and there he sat the
whole afternoon, before the fire-place, dandling
my child upon his knee and then tossing it up
and down with his strong arms until it was tired
out by the violent exercise, and sank to sleep
upon his breast. Little did the innocent babe
realize the nature of the man in whose arma it
reposed,

‘When it came time for the stock to be fed and
bedded down for the night, he arose and per-
peed it and seemed well repaid in receiving my
shanks.

“At the hour of retiring, he said, pointing with
his finger,

‘* ‘Mo lay by fire ‘night.’ \

“I brought him out from my great chest a
blanket to lay upon; he gave me his knife as a
term of his good intentions, and then. spreading
the blanket on the floor before the fire, he laid
down prepared to sleep.

“I sought my room with my child, fastened the
door securely, and went tobed. For a time my
feelings were conflicting, and, after deliberation,
argued it in this way:

“Here Iam, alone in this cabin, save under
this roof is my helpless infant and an Indian,
the known foe of the white man. Still he is un-
armed; I have his knife; the door is well fast-
ened; he cannot injure me without burning the
cabin down over my head; but this would be pre-
posterous, as he was for the time being as much
dependent upon its shelter as I.

**When I had arrived thus far in my soliloquy
the stillness in the kitchen was broken by & series
of snores that showed that my visitor was sleep- .
ing. Without waiting to arrive at farther philo-
sophical conclusions, I sank to sleep; and, al-
though I awoke several times during the night, I-
secured a good deal of rest.

‘Well, Thunder Cloud stayed to breakfast, to
dinner and to supper; in return, taking care of
the dumb creatures in the barn. This day it
snowed, ordinarily ‘not as it had done before, and
I began to take courage that it would soon cease.
Although I began to feel a degree of confidence
in the Indian, I could not but wish that he
wouldleave, This very thought served to keep
me irom being in constant distress in regard to
my husband. That night there was a change in
the atmosphere—a warmth, and dampness, a
drizzling rain followed for several days; I forget -
how many; I was so anxious for the return of
your grandfather that I lost all record of the
time. At last it cleared off cold, freezing every-
thing without. As soon as this change took
place the Indian asked for his knife, saying in his
gutteral tonsa, b

6s ‘Mus’ go.”

“I gave him the knife and the blanket which he
had used, together with a quantity of provisions,
With my presents he appeared delighted. He
tookthe babyin his arms, kissed it as he had
seen me doing during his stay, and then, as he
wees to go,-he took one of my hands in his and
said,

s* ‘Me go now; Thunder Cloud never forget!’

“He hurried away, and in a few moments was
out of sight. _

THUNDER CLOUD:

THE GREAT SNOW STORM.
4 TALE OF THE SAVAGE.
BY CHAS, HENRY DAY,

Grandmother Potter satin her great cushion-
ed rocking-chair, in the corner nearest the fire,
knitting industriously upon a stocking, for the foot
of some one of her grandchildren in the room.
The children were kneeling in the chairs before
the window, looking out at the fast-falling snow,
giving vent to their childish glee in joyous excla-
mations. At last one little fellow named Eddy,
the ‘youngest of them all, turnedto his grand-
mother, and in childish simplicity asked,

“Did you ever see it snow so, in ali your life,
gram’ma ?”?

The good old lady dropped her knitting, and
looked out at the’torm, after which she replied,

“Yes, a good deal harder, and undoubtedly
longer than this will last.”

“When was that?” was asked by one of the
group.

“A good many years ago, when your grandfa-
ther was alive,”

“Oh, please tell us all about it—how long it
snowed, aud how deep?” pieanes one of them, a
desire which was echoed by tlie rest by cries of,
“Oh, yes, yes, please do!” and to further urge
their cause, they gathered around her, and look
inquiringly up into herface. —

heir entreaties were not to be disregarded,
therefore their grandmother bade them bring
their little chairs and stools up beside and around
her, and she would tell them all aboutit. This
they cheerfully did. While they were thus ens
gaged, she pet awayher knitting, and took httle
Eddy upon hew knee. :

The children became seated, and were very still.
She sat for several moments in a deep stady, and
then commenced :

“I scarcely know how to commence. Your
grandfather was named George Potter. After we
‘were married we left the Hast and went out West,
away off to the unsettled country, whers scarcely
any white men lived, and where the Indians and
the ferocious animals roam. Right in the middle
ofa.great forest we built alog cabin, and then
began.to cnt down the big trees, and prepare the
adjoining lands for cultivation. Out there we did
not consicer the wood of value, as there were such
large qnantities all about us to be had for thecut-
‘ting, so the wood was piled up and burnt, the
ashes helping to enrich the land. This was early
inthe spring. Grandfather put in what seed he
‘could among the stumps, and then he sat about
building a barn for our stock, which we had
bought at a settlement. 5

“At first, I lived in great fear, and could scarce
g0 out of doors without being in fear of being
pounced upon by some Indian or animal; but this
did not last long—the demeanor of my husband
gave me confidence, and, after a while, I felt no
ore atraid of damger to my person than I would

ere, :

“Thus in repose we lived, undisturbed by the
Indians; and as for the bears, a few of which I
had seen, I always found ran equally as fast
away from me as 1 did from them. For the pan-
ther and the wolf I cared nothing, as they only
howled in the night, and they could not getiat
our stock, which was secure in the barn.

“The summer passed without anything note-
worthy occurring. In the fall our httle crop was
gathered in and safely deposited in the cabinand
barn for the future use. Winter came on in due
time, with its chilly. blasts, snow, ice, and storms,
but the little cabin was strong and warm, and the
logs were piled into the fire-place, making rous-
ing fires.

“It wasin the middle of February, clear and
cold, with bare ground, scarce a mite of snow or
ice to be seen, when it became necessary for your
grandfather to visit the nearest settlement,. a dis-
tance of sixty miles, for the purpose of procuring
family supplies, the want of which we had felt
for several weeks. The time seemed favorable,
and no signs of an approaching’ storm were to be.
seen, Early in the morning, before light, he
arose and mounted bis horse, an empty saddle bag
swung across behind him, in which to bring back
tHe articles. It was his intention to make the
whole distance before dark, as there was no ‘half
way house’ before reaching the settlement, and
he did not’ wish to spend a night in the open air
onthe frozen ground. The next day he would
make his purchases, the horse in the meantime
resting, and on the succeeding one return,

“This was the first time during our residence in
the forest that he was about to leave me alone,
and it made me melancholy. To be sure I was
not altogether alone, for 1 had my infant, but I
missed his company, and knew that as long as he
was with me I should receive the protection of his
strong arm to thelast extremity, 3

“During the forenoon I tried to oceupy my
mind by work and attention to my child and
household duties. From time to time I swept
the heavens “ith my eyes, as I felt forebodings
in regard to the weather. Later in the da#the
sky was overcast with clouds, and it began to
snow, at first now and then a flake, that did not
seem to reach the ground, or was lost apparently
onthe field of brown earth. As the hours vassed
away the storm grew in strength, and when I re-
tired for the night it was snowing sp I drew
my babe close’ to me and tried to sleep, but my
busy thoughts would not allowit. Thus passed
one ofthe most miserable nights of my existence.
I tried to be calm a4 resigned, but could not. I
only lay there and imagined the worst; for I
feared that he would not be able to reach the set-
tlement before dark, and might be obliged to pass
a night without shelter, or, what I worse feared,
losé his way on the untraveled prairie and perish
in the storm.

“Morning camevai last, although it seemed to
tome that it never would, and I looked in vain
for any favorable change in the weather. ‘Tt
snowed without cessation, and was bitter cold, I
had a good stock of wood within, and was able to
keep warm, There was nothing that required
my attention without, except the watering and
oping of the stock in the barn which I perform-

regarding my

v

have attempted to nfake the journey during the ©
snow storm would have been madness, and as it —
was followed by rain, as 1 have told you, therais-
ing of the streams, if nothing else, would not al-
low his return. I told him of my strange visitor.
He was surprised at his conduct, fer, said he,
‘That Indian is notorious for brutality, and has.
ape 3 been a terror to all the whites upon this bor-
er.’

“In time we forgot almost of the strange visi-
ter. During the following autumn news came to
our, ears of an attack upon the settlement by
Thunder Cloud and his tribe. This we learned
from a fleeing settler, who had witnessed the
butchery of his whole family, and barely escaped
with his life. The sight of the burning ¢abina,
the din of fire-arms, and the cries of the savages :
and sufferers, who were falling beneath their
tomahawks, urged him on.. He entreated my
husband to have us join him in his flight, but he
would not consent. His theory wag, that the In-
Gians, once haying a taste of bicod, savage beasts
as they were, would continue on to adjoining set-
tlements, until their career was stopped by large
bodies of whites, who would most assuredly
arise, . Not looking atthe matter in this light, the
terrified settler continued in his flight.

“The following week was one of great anxiety
tous. It was Saturday; the sumewas just set-
ting, your grandfather was fastening up the barn
for the night, and I was just outside of the cabin,
with the child in my arms, when, without a sec-
ond’s warning, a score of war-painted savages
burst from the wood directly infront of me, I
cried to my husband, who, perceiving the say-
ages, started upon a run toward the cabin. A
number of Indians appearing from behind the
barn, secured him before he had performed half
the distance, and at the same moment I was
seized from behind by agreat Indian, while ano-
ther wrenched my child from my arms with a vio-
lence that endangered its life.

“What a tableau of horror to behold! I can-
not describe my feelings to you. Just imagine
yourself held securely by an Indian, your child
hanging by one little limb, dangling beside ano-
ther fiend before your eyes, a maticious smile
lighting up his dark, paint-bedaubed face, whilst
: group of demons are crowded around your hus-

and.
‘SAt this stage of affairs there rushed from the’
woods and across the clearing a giant savage,
wearing the plumes of a chief, in his war lock.
He shouted an angry exclamation in the Indian
tongue, whereupon we were all released. I saw
atonce, by the scowls upon their faces, that they
were not well pleased with the command. He
waved them to the right and left with a haughty
disdain, and came directly toward me.
‘Good heavens!’ I exclaimed, in thought,
‘are we to be spared tortures worse than immo-
diate death ??

“The chief, whom all seemed to fear and obey
stood before me, looked at me for a moment, and
thensaid, in broken English, :

“Tam Thunder Cloud. The great chief is upon
the war trail. The cry is blood! His braves
would slay all of your people alike, but the In-
dian recollects the great snow storm and the
padaess done him by the pale-face squaw. Good-
ye ;
‘He shook my hand, turned to his warriors
and braves and harangued them in their native
tongue, and thenthey swept on through the for-
est, as he was about to énter it, and became lost
to view. He waved his hand in token of fare-
well, and I never saw him more. :
“In a few hours a band of whites came on in
hot pursuit, and, as I afterwards learned, over- ©
took the Indians, whereupon @& decisive. struggle
took place, and among those that fell in a hand
to hand conflict with a great Indian fighter was.
my ever to be remembered benefactor, Thunder:

“This day passed away like the preceding one.
When night sat in, the wind aroge, and it seemed
to snow with renewed violence. This was what I
had most dreaded, for I well-knew that if the
wind blew, that the snow would drift and make
the matter still worse. :
‘All night long I Jay and listened to'the shriek-
ing wind as if waved through the forest and
arouni the cabin, which it fairly shook to the
base, threatening to unroof it or demolish it alto-
gether; but it. was well buili and stood ont the
gale. On awakening in the morning, I saw the
great banks of snow around the cabin piled up
so high that they almost shut out the light, I
deferred attending to the stock in the barn, for I
knew that when I opened the door the great bank
of snow which rested against it would pile intothe
room and occasion me much trouble,

‘Snow, snow—nothing but snow! not a bit of
sky or anything to be seen save a descending
‘white mass. About the. middle of the afternoon,
after listening for several hours to the pitiful
bleats and lows of the dumb animals in the barn,
who were in want of water and food, not able
to withstand their appeals longer, I deter-
mined upon relieving them. I put the baby in
the cradle, and struggled through the deep and
drifted snow to the barn. The poor, dumb crea-
tures betokened their joy as best they could, and
I felt well rewarded tor my labor. After pro-
viding for them I started on my way back to the |
cabin. When I reached the door saw, to my
horror, @ grevt footstep in the snow. It seemed
as though every drop of blood in my veins was
chilled. I could scarce stand up from affright.
[thought of my helpless infant—all a mother’s
love was aroused. I had no fear of danger then, 4
I pushed the door open boldly and entered. Ats | Cloud. |

glance I saw before me such a scene that it trans- amr a ee eee ee

fixed me. There in front ofthe fireplace, seated ‘ of
inmy chair sat an athletic savage, dandling on Ipzas INEXPRESSIBLE.—All of our thoughts.
his.knea my baby, he seeming delighted with his | have not words corresponding to them; many of |
charge, while she laughed and crowed, having | them, in our yet imperfectly Aeveloped nature, .@
little thought of fear, can never express themselves in acts, but must Bak

“He turned in. his seat, and intuitively under- | be appreciable by God only, like the silent melo- 3

stood my feelings, and in broken language said: | dies in a great ‘musician’s heart, never to roll g
“Be no fraid—me no hurt; cold, hungry, | forth from harp or organ.

®,

 

 

 

—~e—

 

“In a few days your grandfather returned. To |

 

 
 

 

 

  
  
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, MARCH 3, 1864,

 

——

OUR TERMS.

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY is sold by ail respecta-
ble News Agents throughout the United States. Thé
price is Frvz Orns, but in some cases, where Agents
have to pay axirs freight. or postage, a higher price is
pecan? charged. When there is a News Agent in the
town, we desire our friends to get the WEEKLY through
him. Ws do not wish to mail the paper except to places
whore there is no other means of getting it. When sent
by mail, the price. will invariably be $2 50 8 year, in ad-
vance, Subscriptions taken for three months, Two
copies will be sent for a year for $4; four copies for $8.
Posimasters and others who get up clubs of ten, and
send as $17 60 at one time, will be entitled to an extra
copy for their trouble. The bills of all solvent banks
taken at par for subscriptions. Canada subscribers must
send one dollar and four cents extra with every sab-
soription to pre-pay the American postage.

 

 

A LITERARY FEAST.

Next week we shall commence the publica-
tion of
TWO NEW STORIES,

from the pens of celebrated authors. The first
is Busunxz’s great story, entitled, the

One-Armed Trapper ;

oR,

THE HEROINE OF THE PRAIRIE,

And the other is a tale of absorbing interest,
by one of the greatest romancers living, enti
tled

‘Red-Handed Hugh:

THE HEIR OF OSMOND HALL

This latter tale will be found by our patrons
one of the greatest ever written. It carries
with it an interest which will hold the reader
spell-bound, from the first chapter to the last.
Té will run through about three numbers, and
when it is finished, we shall follow it up with
another great story, entitled,

Adeline, the Tempted:

oR,

THE SUDDEN MARRIAGE,

 

We are determined that the NEW YORK
WEEKLY shall take the lead of all competi-
tors.

 

 

et

MARRIAGE IN BAVARIA.

_A writer in Bavaria, among: other interest-
ing things, mekes the following statement:
“Many of the Bavarian laws are stumbling-.
blocks to the people, but none so wickedly so
as the lawsrespecting marriage. It is the ob-
ject of the legislators that as few people as
-possible should marry, unless they have as-
sured means of subsistence, Gretna Green is
quiteout of the question, because by an arti-
cleof the Police Code every man who marries
abroad without permission of the mother
country is liable to a fine of a hundred florins,
or thirty days’ imprisonment. The Bavarian
Government do everything in their power to
enforce the rule; the minute surveillance of
the policein every town is such that a secret
marriage oould “not by ‘any possibility be

. made; unmarried couples may not live to-

gether. The consequent immorality makes
of Munich a place where the illegitimate
“gometimes exceed the legitimate births in
number. As an illustration of the working of
the law, I may méhtion that I have heard of
a case of two poor people having to wait fif-.
teen years for permission to marry, and spend-
ing 200 florins on applications. One of the
writers on the subject gives the following in-
stance: An operative earning twelve shillings
@ week was engaged to a girl earning seven,
and owner of a hotise valued at £120, anda
acow. They applied for permission to mar-
ry, and were refused; ‘means of subsistence
not assured.’ Time went on; they had two
children, and still their application was re-
fused on the same ground... The owner of the
manufactory took up their cause, and pleaded
it himself with the official, saying that this re-
fusal was not what was intended by the Gov:
ernment, The official replied curtly, ‘What
does that matter to us? The Government
may have its own ideas on the subject, but
we have ours, and I in particular am of opin-
don that such matriages are neither right nor
useful.’ The author from whom I quote this
adds, ‘While I am writing, my servant girl,
aged fifteen years, comes in dressed for a
feast-day, and saysthat her fathor and mo-

 

 

gone; when the youth became a watcher of
windows, and studious of a glove, a veil, a
ribbon, or the wheels of a carriage; when no
place is too solitary, and none too silent, for
him who has richer company and sweeter con-
versation in his new thoughts, than any old
friends, though best and purest, can give him;
when all business seemed an impertinence,
and allthe men and women running to and
fro in the streets, mere pictures. For, though
the celestial rapture, falling out of heaven,
seizes only upon those of tender age, and al-
though'a beauty, overpowering all analysis or
comparison, and putting us quite beside our-
selves, we can seldom see after thirty years,
yet the remembrance of these visions outlasts
all other remembrances, and is a wreath of
flowers on the oldest brows.
* >a @re ~
GIRLS, DON’T YOU DO IT!

Under the above caption, the N. Y. Sun pub-
lishes the following, which we recommend to
the perusal of our young lady readers:

‘Last week we took occasion to warn the young wo-
men of this city against an establishment called a Pho-
tographic Union, and expressed the hope that no young
lady who valued herreputation would give any coune
tenance or assistance to such an institution. We have
since been informed that several young girls—with less
brains than discretion--have responded 10 the circular
issued by the originator of this scheme, and, for the sake
ot ihe few dollars offered in prizes, have given to the pro-
je.tor of this concern the photographic likenesses of a
number of their friends. In several instances we have
obtained the names of these women, who are acting as
agents for this institution, aud, if the interests of the
young womoen of this city require it, we shall feel bound
to publish the list. The Pnotographic Union is de-
signed to become a gallery of the portraits of young
females, to which will be attached the name and de-

 

‘| scription of each young woman, for the avowed pur-

pose of showing their pictures to young men, and af-
terward bringing about an acquaintance with the girls
whose portraits and descriptions happen to please. For
the purpose of forming this gallery, circulars have
been issued requesiIng young women to act as agents,
and bring to the author of this scheme the cartes de
visite of their lady friends. Toinduce these agenta to
obtain the likenesses and descriptions of a large num-
ber ef young girls, six prizes are offered, viz: $20 for
the largest number broughtin by any one agent before
the 14th day of February; $10 for the next highest
number; $5 for the next, and a set of jewelry to each
of the other three. We feelassured that no woman of
respectability wili consent to act as an agent in further-
ing the designs of the proprietor of this Photographic
Union, whose plan, if carried out, will be sure to re-
sult in the ruin of many a young girl now enjoying the
confidence of her parents, and the esteem of her
fyiends,’’
Reema) 4 GD > ¢<fipamncneenaey,

DECEIT.

An English writer, discoursing upon the
different forms of deceit, instances the fol-
lowing as one of the forms. Its truthfulness
will be at once recognized by every unfortu-
nate who has relied-on the promise of a poli-

{ tician and been ‘badly sold;"

There is another form of deceit which is consequent
on the interested patronage or vanity of such as load
you with promises, in order to get a place (pro tempore)
in your esteem; a kind of tgnis fatuus in the deceitful
world—“lights to mislead the way,’’ and upon whom
you may dance attendance tili your “dancing days are
over.’’ This, in a comprehensive sense, is what is sim-
ply called the deceit of the world; which, fortunately
for it, does not mark the countenance, and which we
can no more provide against, than we can tell what
will happen to-morrow. A» worthy man to whose
canvassing exertions an ‘‘honorable gentleman’’ was
indebted-for a seat in Parliament, promised him, in
the event of his success, to procure him, through the
interest of a commissioner, a situation in the Excise.
The poor man called repeatedly upon his patron, who
as often left him with this consoling sentiment, that
‘man never is, but always to be, blest.’’ At length,
tired out with his importunities, he gave him the
promised letter to his influential friend; the fortunate
creature hastened home, and threw down the letter be-
fore his wife, whose curiosity getting the better of her
discretion, she dislodged the seal with a warm knife,
and opened the honorable gentleman’s letter, which
ran thus: ‘My lord, the bearer of this letter has been
pestering me a long time to procure him a situation in
the Excise; but you may do as you please about it, as
Ihave no particular desire to serve him. I have the
onor to be, sincerely,” &c.

act 8.6 GS -
A STALLION FIGHT.

It is perhaps not generally known that for
pugnacity and ferocity, the stallion equals, \if
he does not exceed, any other animal. Ly-
sander W. Babbitt, writing from Council
Bluffs to Wilkes’ Spirit of the Times, describes
a fight between two stallions owned by him— }
Cherokee and Nimrod—which exhibits the
qualities mentioned in a striking degree. The
writer details the contest with great minute-
ness, and winds up His account as follows :

“Cherokee, though minus several pieces of hide, a cut
about two inches long on the end of the nose, andthe
right ear about haif bitten off, was not otherwise much
punished. Nimrod was literaily cut all to ‘pieces.
Every leg bore evidence of the scientific manner in
which Cherokee had used his teeth, in the shape of
cuts from two te four inches long. Both hocks were
cut to the bone, and he may never recover from the in-
jury the joint has received. This is the first stallion
fight!I ever saw, and I hope it may be the last, No one
who has never witnessed a fight between two horses,
can imagine with what savage ferocity they come to-
gether, and how still, sullenly and bull-dog like, they
fought. They are quick as acat, and when they get
their hold, they hold on like bull-dogs. They are
strong enough in the jaw to drag their adversary on
the ground when down, a feat which Cherokee accom-
plished in the above described fight. He dragged Nim-
rod several feet, and that, too, by a hold upon the hock,
which is a much harder feat to accomplish than a drag
by the neck.”’

‘How strange it is that the bull-fighting bar-
barians of Spain have not discerned this qual-
ity in the horse, and drawn amusement from it!

 

 

; PA? <p
UNINFLAMMABLE DRESSES.
A Professor Pepper (a fiery name that) is
lecturing in London on uninflammable dress-
es. He introduces the following interesting
experiment: A flame is applied to the ordinary
muslin dress of a lady, placed on a lay figure,
and in an instantit is ablaze, and though wet
blankets are at hand, (as we know they never
are when these accidents occur in every-day

ther are to be married to-day, and she must#life,) and are instantly applied to extinguish

henceforth be called by her father’s name.
Twelve times her father’s application for li-
cense to marry was rejected, aad each time
he had to pay fees and expenses, lawyer's
bills, &o.’” j ;
PeeemenanceanGe-2 6 6 ¢Gpanraamenees
LOVE.

Be our experience in particulars what it
may, No man ever forgot the visitations of that
power to his heart and brain which created all
things new; which was the dawn in him of
music, poetry, and art; which made the faco
of nature radiant with purple light, the morn-

_ ing and the night varied enclantments; when
a Single tone of one voice could make the heart
beat, and the most trivial circumstances asso-
ciated with one form is put in the amber of
memory; when we became all eye when one
was present, and all’ memory when one was

the dresson the figure, they cannot do so till
there has been flame enough to show how lit-
tle chance any unhappy girl to whom such an
accident might really happen would have of
escaping with life: A real young lady then
enters, clad in the same kind of muslin dress,
dipped in the cheap solution, which can be
obtained at chemist’s, and which renders it
utterly incombustible. To this young lady’s
dress the flame is eyerywhere liberally ap-
plied, but quitein vain as far as combustion is
concerned. It will shrivel and singe, but
light it will not. °

 

*@>
ANEW STYLE OF WEDDING CELEBRATION.

Woodon weddings are taking the place of
tin weddings. The Utica Herald states that
one came off there recently, at which the gifts

 

jacks, wash-tubs and’ rolling-pins, potatoe-
mashers and rat-traps, beefsteak-maulers and
match-safes, wooden trumpets and jumping
jacks, wooden shoes and cord wood, etc.
What noxt?

 

 

A SOLDIER’S LINES.
; BY W. E. CREDESLEY.,
Down by the verge of the ocean, watching the writhing
waves :
Leap from the kiss of the zephyr, struggling like
maidens coy; :
Watching the blush of evening which the western beam
engraves,
Bright as the cheeks of a goddess—embiem of lovers’
joy— ‘
There my heart is mocking the ocean’s constant swell,
Surging and running over with love for my dark-eyed
Nell,
Late in the lone hours of midnight, pacing my weary
round, ‘
. Seeing the moonlight above me drip o’er the fortress
walls;
Wine from a silver goblet, pouring from heayen to
ground, ~
Cheering the brow of nature as its golden current
falis;
These my thoughts are gliding the mem’ry of ma belle,
Halos of love encircle the form of my dark-eyed Nell,
Thus in my lonely musings, while thinking of her afar,
Though distant her love still cheers mo, as §ol’s re-
flected light,

Streaming through space enkindles a smile#on the far-
off star, : ee
Its dark breast glowing with lustre, gleaming with
radiance bright,
Thus my soul is cheerful beneath the magic spell,
As fancy brings before me the form of my dark-eyed
Nell,

IB} ee

LETTER FROM THE WEST.

Fonp pv Lac, Jan. 12, 1864.

Eprrors or THz WrExLy—Dear Sirs: I have
not the slightest idea’ what the state of the
atmosphere is in your part of the country,
but Ioan safely say what it is here—thirty-
eight degrees below zero stood the ther-
mometer on New Year's day. If any of
my friends in (I hope your more temperate
clime) had felt any inclination to know what
a residence in the frigid zone would have been,
I would gladly have given them an invitation
to make me a visit, feeling perfectly convinced
that they would have been gratified to the
highest bent of their desires, and ere a week
had elapsed would have tale-piped home, un-
der the firm conviction another such a day
would have frozen them into statues of ice.
Truly speaking, we have had a terrible winter
so far. Not any of the inhabitants that I
have condoled with on the subject, ever recol-
lect such an one in this State of Wisconsin
before, and I sincerely hope never will again,
both for their own sake and mine; and more
especially those poor ill-clad creatures who
have not the wherewithal to fight, with any
show of victory, this terrible monarch of win-
ter. We feel a sickening sensation at the
heart when we look at our own well-gloved
hands, warm-clad feet, and feel Jack Frost
maliciously pinching at the ends of our toes,
tops of our fingers, and tips of our noses
Then what must it be ‘with them? We can
only, one and all, give as much as we can of
our mite, and pray to God, the stiller of the
tempests and the goyernor of seasons, to smile.
down the warmtheof his loving heart on his
people below.
New Year's day I attempted to write to my
favorite paper, the New York WEEKLY, but
the ink froze in the pen ere conveying it to
paper, and I was forced to give up in despair.
Nobody made calls er expected them. Peo-
ple were too glad to sit, nose and knees, over
their stoves, in their own houses, and even
then, with their faces scorching, their backs
were freezing. The air is clear, bright and
nipping. The sun shining down on the snow-
covered earth, but seeming to bring no
warmth in his brightening rays. Frozen noses
is but a common sight now-a-days. The men
who venture out muffle up over ears, and
heads, with shawls and everything they can
lay their hands on, until they present a most
ludicrous appearance to us women folks, who

 

pense of the lords of creation.

Dear WeExty, I hope you will forgive this
little impromptu letter, but misery likes com-
pany, you know, and if any of your readers
aro enduring the same it will be some satis-
faction to them to know that we western folks
are enjoying, the same blessing; so au revoir
for the present, and remember me, as ever, if
not frozen,

Your truly admiring friend,
Exiza SP£an Coox.

WALOLA;

OR,
THE INDIAN LOVERS.
A LEGEND OF LAKE PEORIA,

 

 

BY FRANK M. COX.

 

I stand alone upon a little grassy mound, on the
lake shore. Arude pile of stones on the summit
of the mound, marks the last resting-place of
some dark son of the forest, whoserace is fast
passing away,

The gently rippling waves of the lake are
dancing and glimmering in the bright rays of the
setting sun; and I hear the confused hum of the
not-far-distant city, whose domes and spires are
glittering in his evening rayé.

In the beautiful city, where all is life, where the
merchant and mechanic walks upon the paved
streets in thé prideof wealth and prosperity, but
a few years ago the wilddenizen of the for-
est strode in all the grandeur of his ore pride
and haughty nature. Where now stands the large
factories and stately warehouses, stood the rude
wigwam of the Indians; where now curls the blue
wreaths of smoke from the suburban cottages,
mingling its deeper blue with the azure vapor far
above, curled the smoke from the camp-fires of
the red man; and in yonder, wood, where now is
heard the sound of the woodman’s axe arid the
teamsters’ song, was heard the sharp crack of
the hunter's rifle waking the echoes of the lonely
dell, and the shrill war-whoop of the India war-

 

 

were water-pails, cradles, clothes-pins, boot-

4

rior, a8 he grappled with his foe; and there out
on the bright waters of the lake,

can find plenty to Jaugh at even at the ex-

 

“Moving like a thing of life,”

is a magnificent, palace-like steamer, parting and
dashing aside the crystal waves, where once
glided the light and graceful birch canoe of the
Indian. And here, perchance,where I now stand,
the Indian lover wooed and won his dusky bride,
and wandered at eventide along the pebbly shore
of the lake, whose tiny wavelets break upon the
shore with a low, sad murmur, which seems to
sigh a requiem on the graves of a race fast losing
itself in the gloom of the past.

There comes to my mind an indistinct remem-
branee of a legend of the beautiful lake, when the
red man roamed undisputed lord of the forest,
when the broad prairies and forests from the
headwaters of the Missouri to the Northern lakes
were under the sway of the two most powerful
tribes, the Peorias and Pawnees.

These two tribes had at one time smoked the

but now the hatchet which had been burried long,

bloody and exterminating war.

he was pounced upon bya band of murderous
Pawnees,

the last of his warriors fe
with wounds
and foot, and carried mid yells. of triumph, to the
camp of the enemy.

Walola, the beautiful daughter of the Pawnee
chief, learned in the medical virtues of the

with her own hands bound up the wounds cf the
captive chief. :

The chief gazed with love and admiration on
the Ereoem form and lovely face of the Indian
mai

“What is the daughter of the Pawnee called?”
he asked.

‘“Walola,” said she, in a voice low and musical,
which went to the warrior’s heart. :

“Walola is beautiful,” said the captive, in the
musical tones of his language. ‘Her eyes are as
bright as the star of morning; she #s beautiful as
the lily of the valley kissed by the dews of morn;
her voice is more beautiful than the song of the
birds of spring. Pancha loves the .dapghter of
his foe.”

She heard him through with a pleased, sad ex-
pression on her face, then glided Bilently from the
captive's lodge. oe

Night spread her dark mantle over forest and
camp. The chiefs and braves were getherey to-
gether in the council lodge, to decide upon the
fate of the captive. Walola, crouching on the
outside of the lodge, heard the decision, which
was death at the stake, at sunrise.

With stealthy steps she moved toward the lodge
where the captive lay guarded and bound. Enter-
ing, a laid her hand upon his breast, and whis-
pered, ;

‘Walola loves the chief of the Peoras; she will
free him, that he may flee from his foes, to his

own peepee :
‘ = ; : aughter of the Pawnee will go with me,”

e said.

“Fly, ere it be to late; Walola cannot leave her
people.”

‘Then I will not go,” he said.
Walola knew the nature of the réd man too
well to urge him more, and was decided ina mo-
ment, and said,
*‘Oome, I will go.”
Springing quickly but silently to his feet, he
struck out swiftly and quietly, through the forest,
looking neither to the right nor left, followed by
the Indian maiden. | :
They had not proceeded far, when their escape
was discovered, and the camp aroused. Soon-the
deep silence of the night was broken by the fiend-
ish yells of the pursuers.
Gray streaks of dawn began to light up the east.
On sped the fugitives; and now and again could
be heardthe distant yell of a pursuer in search
of thetrail. Onthey sped—again they heard the
yell of those behind, and this time it told them
that their trail had been discovered !
The maiden began to weary, and implored her
lover to leave her and save himself. He took her
hand and started on with renewed speed, ~
Soon before them the bright waters of the lake

appeared through the foliage, and behind them,
the yell of the pursuers came nearer and neater—
now they come in sight, and the forestrings with
the shouts of exultation!
The maiden falters and falls to the ground.
‘Leave Walola to her fate, and save yourself !”
_ Heeding her not, he silently gathered her up
in his strong arms, and again moved swiftly on.
Now he gains this little mound, and hke the
stag at bay turns upon his pursuers. Ascore of
arrows are pointed at his breast, the bows are
bent, and the arrows speed on their way, but erd
they reach their destination, the maiden throws
herself before them, and the lovers sink to the
earth in each others’ arms, pierced to the heart |
Tradition points this rude heap‘ of stones out,
on this grassy mound, as the graveiof the In-
dian lovers.
And for years the waves have broke ovey the
pebbly shore, and murmured a requiem oyer
thelr grave. \

 

 

10 CORRESPONDENTS.

wae We are often requested by correspondents to an»
swer them by letter. This we should be very happy to
do in all cases, if we could find tho time, but as we have
but very little leisure, we can hardly undertake so oner.
ous & task. : :

kar PARTICULAR NOTIOE.—WE CANNOT UNDER-
TAKE TO RETURN REJECTED MSS. KEEP A DU-
PLIOATE OR YOU WILL LOSE THEM. -@@

Gossip with Reapers AND CoNTRIBUTORS,—
Sylvie A. Sperry.-The papers shall be sent..... ;
Samuel Badger.—You could not have read the book
advertisement very carefully, or you would have per-
ceived the price (five cents per copy) attached..i...
Ianthe Everest,—Send along your sketches by all means,
and you shall have our opinion regarding them. ‘The
Orphan’s Prayer,’’ while it contains some good verses,
is not, as a whole, up tothe mark. Woe insert the first
two stanzas, which are the best. They are full of deep
pathos, and while every one who has a heart to feel
will appreciate them, only those who have lost an idol-
zed mother can iully understand them:

My mother! oh, my mother! I am all alone to-night}

In my lonely, lonely chamber, that hath neither lamp
nor light; :

For when the @limmering moonbeams on the floor be-
gan toplay, 5

I closed the heavy shutters and they quickly fled away,

For I thought, perhaps in darkness, in silence, and in

: ‘loom, .

I Sioutd see your white-robed angel walking with me

in the room,

For you told me once, to cheer me, if the dead to

earth could come,

You would,sarely linger near me till our God should

call me home.

My mother! oh, my mother! I am very sad to-night!
My heart is likea flower that hath git an early blight;
For I’m weary, oh! so weary, of thé wretchedness of
life—

Of its never-ending trials and its ceaseless angry strife!
Deeply fromthe cup of sorrow have I quaffed life’s
bitter woes, ©

Till I dread each coming morrow, andI sigh but for

repose.
Of all the busy thousands thatin life have passed me

die

‘Beauty is Everywhere,” though very pretty verse and
smoothly written, is hacknied. The same subject has
been treatedin the same style a thousand times, till it
has become threadbare. A writer possessing the abili-
ty which you do, should dive deeper into the realms of
imagiuation fora subject. This may never have oc-.
curred to you before, but do you not see the force of
Gee cues Annie.—The subject of your poem is a good
one, and it is very well written, though somewhat
faulty in construction. We have slightly altered it,
and it willappear in duo time...... Lieut, Taylor.—The
matter suggested by you would not do‘ior “Pleasant
Paragraphs;’’ it would cll for the introduction intg our
columns of a new department, and we are so crowded
at present that we cannot entertain the idea. We will
keep your proposition in view, however, and may act
upon it hereafter...... Ruby Garnet..— Your reply to the
Lieutenant is neat and pungent, and we should have
published it had we not not decided to drop the con-

 

troversy altogether. ‘Music’ did not exactly suit

2

were taken prisoner, bound hand

¥ :
Thou was't all that ever loved me, and I have seen thee

 

—We did receive the “Gold Ring,” and noticed if
at length in this department, giving our reasona
for not accepting it........Viekie Spencer.—We da
not know how fo account for the matter of which
youcomplain. We are pretty certain that the fault
does not lie with this office. Let us hear from you of
ten......Zteut. A. B. Somers.--Your sketch is disjoint
ed, ‘carelessly written, and out of the range of possi-
bility. You may do better with practice......J. H. N.
—It is not absolutely necessary to punctuate matter
for the press, as the compositor is supposed to under«
stand that thoroughly. Imperfect chirography is a
much greater objection than bad punctuation. As a
general thing the compositor would rather his manu-
script were not punctuated at elithan that it should be
impreperiy punctuated...... C. H. H.—The sketch you
send us is a beautifuliy written one, although it does
notcontaia much plot. We think you have the ele-
ments of a first-class writer within you, and with pa-
enos and perseverance you must succeed. You are very
welcome, and we shell be pleased to hear from you Of-

calumet of peace, and followed the same war-path; | ten...... Frank Cariton.—Send slong your contribu-

tions, If we likethem they will be accepted, if the

had been dug up, and they were engaged in a| contrary, declined...... Royal True.--The paper shall

be sent...... Sylvie A. Sperry.—We will contply with

It was on a mild, beautiful day, in the balmy | your request;..... M. L. —The paper shall be sént.....
‘month of June, that Pancha, the brave war chief
of the Peoria’s, was traversing the forest that
skirted the lake, with a score of his braves, when | Newman, who was oue of our favorite contributors. If

Sarah A. Watson.—Your request shall be complied
with...... Austin B. Hulse.—We sympathize with you
sincerely in the death of your sister, Mrs. Augusta C.

we can get together the papers containing her poems
we Willi send them toe you willingly...... Bartley Camp-

Pancha and his little band of braves fought | d¢il.—It is impossible for us to say at present when we
bravely againat the overpowering uumbers, till | can publish “‘Tangtewild,” but we will doso the first
bh and himself covered | Opportunity that offers....Cherry B

lossom.—-The vir of
San Frahcisco must agree with you, for you improve
both in styleand matter with every attempt, Don’t be
afraid of tiring us. When we grow weary of reading you
we shail let you know. Success to you. May you find
& nugget “as big as all out doora!”....Mrs. J. A. B.D.
--You are welcome afier so long asilence. The story

various plants, gathered them in the valley, and | you send usis an excellent one. Many thanks...... :

N. F. Nickerson.— Your request shali be complied with,
..-.drene Grey.—The poem you send us is hardly up te
the mark, which we regret, for we should
like to, oblige you by publishing it. You
can write prose much better than you can poetry.:... _
Grace De La H. Horr.—-There sre two Episcopal or-
gans published in this city--the “‘Church Journal,”’ No.
18 Beekman street; and the ‘Christian Times,” No.
683 Broadway. The office of the ‘‘Metkodist Quartere
ly” is at the Methodist Book Concern, 200 Mulberry st.
We have no knowledge of the ‘‘Albany Register.”.....
The following MSS. are received and accepted: ‘The
Eagle;” ‘No letter;’’ “The Warning Hand;”’ ‘The
Strange Child?’ “Grandmother’s Story;’’ “A Woman’’
Love;” *‘An Adventure in Lima;”’ ‘Our National Cemes
tery at Gettysburgh;” ‘‘The New Year;” ‘‘Answer to
Prayer;’’ Letter from the West;’’ “Orphan Kitty;
“Look before you Leap;” “False Pride Rebuked;””
God Bless our Volunteers;” “The Christmas Shadow;””
“Morning; ‘‘Walter’s Dead;’ ‘Olden Memories;’
“Our Patriot Dead;:” ‘Agnes Manning; ‘Edith Ware
ner’s Vision;”’ “Albert Mortimer;’”’ ‘‘The Lost Ship.”
Ley The following are respectfully declined: ‘‘She’s
an Angel Now;” “Beauty is Everywhere;’’ ‘‘A Baliad;”
‘sAn Ocean Wreak;”’ ‘‘Music;” “My Adventure in the
Rocky Mountains; “Louden Heights;’’ ‘Love’s Vie-~
tory;” “Curing a Rheumatic Pa‘ient;’’ ‘‘All These are
Mine;” “Allen Glenmore, the Drummer Boy;’”’ “Litile
Corry.”

 

L

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

aar Everybody has heard of the vast system of
sewers which underlies the great city of Paris. It seems
that during the severe frosts, the vast [multitudes of
rats which abound in Paris, take to the sewers 438 @
refuge from the cold. Latterly, the weather has been
more than usvially severe, and the conditions being
favorable, it was resolved to have a great rat hunt.
Accordingly the authorities, assisted bya number of
men, gamins and dogs, entered the sewers at various
places, and began a grand drive towards a commen
center. Just as the beaters inan Indian jungle, with
tom-toms, gongs, hors, drums, and frightful yells,
send all the animals, from the tiger to the smatiest ane
telope, towards the hunters, the subterranean drivers
soon hed miliions.of rats massed together, struggling,
squealing and fighting with extraordinary ferocity. At
length they were driven into a large sewer near the
bridge of Asnieres, and forty dogs were let down among
them, A battle royal ensued, which lasted no less than
forty-five hours, and at the end of it victory remained
with thedogs. But the latter had paid dearly for their
triumph. Four were found in the drain killed outright,
and quite a number were totally blind and helpless
when recovered by the gamins, who at length ventured
to explore the profound depths of the battle. Most of
the rats-escapedin the melee, but yet no less than
110,000 were found dead. As the finest Parisian kid
gloves are said to be made of the skius of these animals,
there will be material for many gross,

aay One evening during the last cruise of the
whale ship Cicero, in the North Pacific Ocean, when
the ship was lying-to, five hundred miles from land,
the nearest beivg the Fox Islands, a large American
eagle came on board, alighting in one of the boats. A
sailor at once went to secure him, but the eagle made
@ gallant fight, and was only mastered after a long
struggle. Afterhe had been kept on ‘board several
days, it was found that his rations did not agree with
him, and he was setat liberty. Soaring aloft on his
mighty wings, the eagle flew off until he was ont of
sight. After a while, however, he came back, end cir
cling round and round the ship many times, drew grad-
ually nearer, until he alighted in the rigging, The men
now caught fish for him, and relishing his fresh food,
he remained. The eagle now throve upon the ship and
the sailors of the Cicero became much attached to their
visitor trom the cloudy, windy regions above the seas.
He was taken to Honolulu, ,where he remains at the
American Hospital,

4a The Galena Democrat tells of a man who,
in a buggy, was slowly passing a farm-house,in the neigh-
borhood of Warren, ong of the cold days last week.
The good woman of the house, thinking that he must
be very cold, called to him to come in and warm hime

 

‘| self, He made no reply; but, turning neither to the

right nor left, kept on hisway. ‘The lady, fearing that
the man would freeze, knowing that there was no
house for five miles in the direction he was going, re-
quested her husband to follow him, and induce him to
stop and warm himself. He did so ; and, coming up,
found him frozen stiff---dead—with the whip in one
hand and lines in the other.

xa A gentleman of Ithaca, N. Y., having the
idea that the ladies of the Hospital Aid Society of that
vitlage could make better progress in their noble work
of sewing for the benefit ofthe soldiers if they would
talk less, accordingly offered to. contribute fifty dollars
to the society if twelve Jadies could be found who would
sew all day without speaking. The task was entered
upon by fifteen self-sacrificing women of that village,
and fourteen of them actually accomplished this very
difficult feat of self-denial, although tempted in various
ways by a large number of Visitors and interlopers. .
One of the number failed in the undertaking, having
been tempted into a slip of the tongue.

‘nee A peculiar kind of -business carried or in
Rome is the trade in cigar ends—or “butts,2? as’ they
are often called—pieces of partly smoked cigars, which
are picked up by enterprising urchins, during their
perambulations. The second-hand merchandise finds
a ready sale, and is either employed for chewing or for
smoking in the small wooden pipes used by the modern
Romans,

na A most expensive piece of mechanism,
costing over 2,000 francs, has been produced in Paris
representing the recent prize-fightin England. On
being wound up, the figures draw gradually near, and
lash out frightful blows, ending by falling down ina
heap ; and round two begins with absolute variations,
iponee of course always going down in the same fash-
on. ‘

ag- They have a new winter sport in St. Louis.
An enterprising genius places a live duck in a box, leay-
ing about six inches of its head «nd neck out, and
charges the skaters six cents a throw at the head ;
whoever hits if takes the duck: but as the fowl is
trained to duck its head, this is a dificult undertakin &

ag- A large American grey eagle was recently
caught ina trap, by one of his toes, in thetown of
Madison,Me, He is evidently young; hisywings measure
over seven feet when extended, and he weighs about
25 pounds,
ag In the West Indies they have found a new
use for rum--it is employed in the preparation of
paint. Judging from noses we bawe seen, we should
Bay it might produce a fine color,
aa- The grave of an unknown goldier at New-
port News, Va., is marked by a head-board bearing only
this touching and poetic epitaph--“A soldier of the
Union—Mustered out,’’ : ;
ag A British soldier was floggedin a public
square in Toronto, receutly, with somuch brutality
that a physician interpcned to save his life,
ag It is stated that the new king of Greeco
has quitted the country, in despair of featisung the
confusion. A slippery throne is that of Greece.

 

Bakex’s Cough Mixture and Fever Cooler,
Bakez's Rheumatic Balm, and
Baker’s Croup Alleviator,

are four remedies that no family or mother should be with-
out. Price One Dollar Per Bott!e each; also, BAKER'S &
KIDNEY AND GRAVEL REMEDIES, which are invalu-
able. Price $5. Principal Depot, Wo. 154 Zenth Street, near »

 

receipt of price.

 

 

us. Why don’t you try 2 sketch?..... along Exeref.’ qm

 

 

   
  
    

Fourth Avenue, New York. Remedies sent to any address on 4} 5
mh3 4t f

Be
   
 

 

 
 
  
  
 

 

 

cag eee state.
-

aaa

 

THE OLD AND THE NEW.
BY WILLTAM Ht BUSHNELL

 

THE OLD.

An aged warrior with his locks of whiteness,
With sword-edge battered and with shield defaced, -
With banner sullied from its pristine brightness,
With gay plume tattered and with helm unlaced,
Stands looking heavonward, as his end draws near,
Resting his worn frame on his broken spear.

Not one is left ofall the hosts that dashing
Gharged daily forward in their proud array,

With clang of trumpet and with armor clashing
Neath the soft sunlight of fresh, flowery Mays
Not one that in the Spring tide spur’d*his courser bold,

Not one that breasted Autumn's sea of gold.

All, all are gone, and the atern warrior bended,
Looks not to earth again for weal or woe—

Gone are the thougands that he once befriended,
Logt his true allies of the long 8803

Alone he stands ‘mid hosts of the departed,

Sad, desolate, deserted, broken-hearted.

Waiting with eye fixed on the star that slowly
Mouhts to its zenith, burning bright o’er earth,
Hyraning his doom in solemn strains and lowly,
Though bright its glow a8 e’en upon his birth;
Tha doom of all, earthborn, that toil and delve,
When death’s cold fingers wake the chime of ‘4welve.””

THE NEW. ”

Lo, armed at birth, Minerva-like, there springeth
' A warrior young and eager for the fray; 24
With voice that clear as silver clarion ringeth,
With rolling drum and clanging trumpet’s bray,
Hoe fearless wanders with the unknown to cope,
An anchor on his shield—upon his banner «Hope.

High aims and holy in his brain are besting—
Leaps his proud heart for action and for strife—
For the stern fray from which there’s no retreating—
¥or the fierce conflict ended but with life;
When he shall lead the champions of the right,
Crush the foul wrong.and tame the monster Mighé.

Ah, child of centuries! Time’s youngest son and fairest,
Shall all a nation’s prayers for thee be vain ?

Shall priceless blood pollute the plume thou wearest—
Thy path be marked by corzes of the slain?

Thy march of triumph be but wails and groans?

Thy monuments but graves and bleaching bones?

Fair champion of carth, sublime in youth,
Be thine the holy task the strife to end, :
Blunt thou the sword with love—the spear with truth—
Brothers should war not—twin children ne’er con-
tend! ; :
Restore the blotted stars—bid bloodshed coase,
And hide each grave ‘neath snowy flowers of peace.

GLADYS THE LOST:

The Curse of Beauty.

 

BY ESTHER SERLE KENNETH,

Author of “The Vane Murder,’’ etc.

 

[Back numbers of “Giadys, the Lost,’’ can be obtained
from every news agent throughout the United States.)

 

OHAPTER XV.

SPURNED.

Percy Gaylord found Gladys very ill—so ill
that she did not know him. He was glad of
this, for he thought perhaps she would seri-
ously object to his plans, if not delirious. He
gave orders to have her prepared for removal,
as well as possible, and left the house.

He returned in little more than an hour with

“~g close carriage, and Gladys, in an anodyne
slumber, was carried down and laid upon the
cushions,

. eine Clare touched Percy Gaylord’s arm as
hoe was about to follow her.
“Who is going to nurse that girl?’’ she
asked.

“[ shall find some one,” he replied.

“J will go,’’ she said.

Percy coneidered a moment. ©

“Well, comealong!” he said.

Leine wrapped herself hastily, and followed
him into the carriage.

‘““Why do you move her?” said she, as they
drove away. ‘‘We were taking good care of
her.””

“Oh, I want her out of town. I have hired

lodgings for her about two miles from here,

- where she can get welkat her leisure. I'll pay
you good wages to nurse her; and then you
may both go to France, if you choose.”

He spoke as if in jest, but he was quite in
earnest. . He meant to keep Gladys secure un-
til she was well, and then send her out of the
country. :

Arrived at a great, weather-beaten house on
a lonely road, he put the two girls in charge
of an old, hump-backed woman, and left them.
Gladys was stillin a stupor, and was put to
bed, and Leine found every comfort prepared
for her; butshe also found herself confined in
ths house. All the outside doors were strong-
ly locked, and the heavy windows could not be
raised. Her meals ‘were prepared and brought
to her room, and she saw no one but the old
woman and two or three evil-looking men oc-
casionally. It was a strange place—probably
a den for thieves and rascals—but from the
first she was treated well, and as she had learn-
ed philosophy in life, she was stolidly content,

having abundant occupation in nursing Gla-|

dys, who continued very ill.

She had long been fearless to all evil, and
she feared nothing for herself, while she was
bound to protect Gladys, even to the sacrifice
of her despised life. And as sho bent over
her, day after day, bathing the pale forehead

* and lifting the weary head, a plan to take the
girl to some place far off, where they were not
known, and could make a sinless home for
themselves, grew inher mind. But Gladys
grow better very, slowly.

Die Hunt's pale distress was all a mystery
to Josey, but she was too kind-hearted to

- press Die to tell her while the subject was so
evidently disagreeablo; and she was also ela-

“4 ted by the prospect of her cousin’s visit to her
home.

So she packed trunks, and flitted
about the house, busy and merry, so that Die

Sv. | could hardly find’a silent hour in which to

\ write to Neal. Firt she had given orders t#

a y the servant who tended the door to be denied

mas y
2

  

 

  
 

 

 

 

  

 

‘to himif he called. ‘Then she locked herself
in her room, and addressed.a few words to
him, but they were ® Very few. She merely
gaid that she did not wish tosee him again—
that a man guilty of acrime like his, justly
forfeited not only the love but the respect of
all pure women, and since his conscience must
go readily accuse him, she would say nothing
put that it was her peremptory command that
he should never again seek her notice by word,
token, or letter. ~

This note was dispatched, and in two hours
after Die and Josey wére in the steam cars for
a beautiful town in Massachusetts.

Josey’s father was not wealthy, but he was
comfortably situated, and she was his only
child, so she had been petted and indulged
vastly. There, if Die was not happy, she was
aswell off as she eould be’any where, and she
strove hard to be cheerful and meet fate
bravely. But she had not been domesticated
in her uncle’s family more than four days be-
fore she received a letter from her mother,
saying that Neal had called and been civilly
repulsed, whereon he had written a note to be
forwarded to her, as she was out of town.
The note was enclosed in the letter; but after
a short struggle with her love and a sense of
duty and wisdom, Die re-enclosed it in an en-
velope and sent it back unopened to Neal. It
was @ cruel thing, but she did not dare give
him a hearing, because she feared his power
over her heart, and since she believed him
guilty, because his guilt had been proved, she
did not wish to be overcome in her ideas of
duty by any excuses or sophistries of his.

The spring broke, and the skies grew blue
and the fields a tender green. Then she
heard, one balmy April day, that Neal Gay-
lord had enlisted in the Union cause against
the rebels. She almost, hated. herself for the
sharp pang the news brought her; she was
ashamed that she could not conquer her love
for him when he had proved so base, 80 un-
worthy her thoughts; but Mrs. Browning says
that they who love once love always, and Die
Hunt's experience seemed to support the
theory.

ES

CHAPTER XVI.

THE HORSEBACK RIDE.

Another letter from Mra, Hunt to Die in-
formed her that Mordant Lee was in New-
York, but that he had altered strangely. He
no longer attended to his business, but wan-
dered continually about the city, day and
night, as if seeking something.

This letter was handed Die and she read it
while preparing for a horseback ride with a
party of excursionists who were to start from
the house of Madge Eldridge.

Madge lived in Harford. She had spent
only a few days in New York with her friends,
the Hunts, and Fred Orne, a New Yorker,
had followed her home. Perhaps he had only
a cousinly lovesfér Madge, but Josey would
have given her pet curl to be satisfied on the
subject. Be thatasit might, he had asked
her to ride with him instead of asking his
cousin, and Josey'was in the highest possible
spirits. Mr. Lester put the girls up and they
rode over to Madge’s house, where, upon
alighting and entering the house, they found
a gay company.

'«Jogey,” said Madge, coming forward,
“Fred has gone to New York. He had a tele-
graphic message that his father is dangerously
sick, and he took the eleven o'clock train.
But there is the horse he hired, so that some

‘| one can take his place.’’

“Q dear,” said Josey, “I won't go js
“Of course you must go,”’ said Madge, with

‘| her usual imiperiousness.

~ «haven't anybody to go with,” replied
Josey, pouting. :

“Go with Die.”

‘“Sho’s going with your brother.”

“Pil téke you along with Carrie, - Josey!”
said Charley Burt.

‘No!’ interposed Madge, “another gentle-
man must be found. Cousin Will!”

A handsome little fellow turned around,
laughing. :

“Madge, I’ve two ladies already—Kate and
Nellie Warren—not but’what I shali be very
happy if Miss Lester will accept of thirds.”

“That won’t do. Where is Uncle Paul?”

Mr. Paul Randolph, an uncle of Madge,
and a widower of thirty, with a grave, hand-
some face, and a little daughter, turned around
from his occupation of watching the horses at
the door.

“Do you want me, Madge?” he said.

“Yes. You must ride with Josey Lester.
Her cavalier has. disappointed her.”

“Madge, I can’t spare the time.”

“We shall be back before noon, Uncle Paul.
Do be obliging and not keep us waiting. We
are late now. The sun will be in- our faces
all the length of the turnpike. Josey !”’

Josey turned around, evidently in the worst
of moods,

“T don’t wish to trouble Mr. Randolph,” she
said; and then, under her breath, to Die, aside,
“J detest widowers!”

‘Nonsense, Josey; you're cross!’’ said
Madge, who never stood on ceremony with
any one. “Come! Ned! Frank!”

“The gentlemen went out first; then tho
ladies followed, and the mounting commenced.

Mr. Randolph stepped to Josey’s Side, and
said, N
“J ahall be pleased to accompany you, Miss
Lester, if you will accept my escort.’’

Josey bowed, gave him her hand and went
silently down the ateps with him. A groom
held the horse. Mr, Randolph put her easily
into the saddle. The next moment he was
mounted and beside her. There was a great
deal of merriment. Everybody -was laughing
and chatting, The horses capered, the more

 

timid of the girls cried out, the gentlemen as-

 

 

j bounded up the stairs.

  

 

 

sured them, there was plenty of bantering
and retorts. But Josey Lester sat silent; evi-
dently, as Madge had expressed it, cross. She
had been bitterly disappointed by the non-
appearance of her escort, she did not fancy
Mr, Randolph, and more, she felt as if the
company of each had been forced upon the
other.

As the party set off Mr. Randolph glanced
at the face of his companion; he was astonished
to find it so decidedly unpleasant, His quick
intelligence divined the cause. :

“There is no amusement I like so well as
riding,’’ he said, affably.
little time to indulge in it. I have not ridden
any before for two years,’”

“You ride well, anyway,” thought Josey;
but she only bowed in reply to his words.

Mr. Randolph exerted himself to entertain his
companion, and as he was really very intelligent
and courteous, he would have succeeded, only
that Josey was in the mood to be pleased at
nothing.

"The party had left the house at eight o'clock.
They rode to Pine Hill, dismounted and rested,
and returned before twelve. Now if Josey
had ridden a horse accustomed to bolting, and
he had run away with her, and Mr. Randolph
had rescued her, very probably she would
have been brought back in a better humor,
possibly actually in love with her fine-looking
escort; but nothing of the sort happoned, and
she was still so much out of sorts that Mr.
Randolph could not conceal his annoyance as
he lifted her from her horse.

“JT am sorry you have not had a pleasanter
ride,” he said.

Josey gave a quick glance into his face and
grew burning red. She stammered out some-
thing, and turned away hastily, thinking that
she had been very rude, She was realizing

‘that Mr. Randolph had been very kind and

pleasant, when Madge Eldridge caught her
by the waist in the hall, and swung her around.

“How do you like my handsome uncle,
Josey ?”

“T told Die that I detested widowers, and I
do! I wish you'd let me alone, Madge!”

Just then some one passed the girls and

It was the very gen-
tloman. :

‘Josey, he heard you!”

“I don’t care!” replied Josey, wrenching
herself away.

“Why, what a detestable mood you are in!”

No one could realize it more forcibly than
Josey herself. She and Die were to dine at
the Eldridge’s, so she went up staizs to dress,
and cried herself into a dreadful headache.
Lying on the bed, she had a good hour before
dinner to think herself into a better frame of
mind. She believed that Mr. Randolph might
very justly think her a rude, ill-natured girl.
He was'a guest of the Eldridges, and the pros-
pect of seeing almost daily a gentleman who
held that opinion of her was very humiliating.

“J presume he didn’t want to ride with me
any more thanI wanted to have him,” sho
said to herself; *‘and he had just as much rea-
son to be disagreeable as I did; but he wasn’t;
he was courteous, and kind, and gentlemanly.
O dear! I’m so ashamed of myself!”

Josey dressed herself carefully and went
down to dinner. Mr. Randolph, who sat next
her, wasa little distant. She felt it with burn-
ing cheeks. Not that he was in the slightest
degree impolite or inattentive to her. wants; ho
was too thoroughly a gentleman for that; but
she could not fail to see that he was not pleas-
ant with her. And she ewxert¢é herself to pleaso
him—thero was where the sting was. A little
autocrat among her lovers, she was not accus-
to indifference when she deigned to exert hex-
self to gratify any gentleman, and she finally
left the table and Mr. Randolph, in high dud-
geon.

“Such an unbearable man!”

 

CHAPTER XVIL
MISFORTUNE.

 

The next week Mr. Lester went to Boston
on businegs. Madge, who was very fond of
Die, took advantago of his absence to ask her
and Josey to a visit ofa week at her home,
for while at home Mr. Lester did not like to
have his pet daughter away.

The invitation was accepted, though Josey
had much rather not have gone on Mr. Paul
Randolph’s account, But she did go.

The cousins rode over there one sunny
May day, and took ap their abode for a week. —

To Joszey’s delight, Fred Orne came on from
New York to spend the remainder of the
month, . He was very attentive to Josey, and
she thought herself much in love with him.

Die liked Mr. Randolph very much, and
was with him often on @ morning stroll, or an

‘evening’s game at chess. The May weather

was very sweet, and the mornings were most-
ly beautiful; but the dew was falling damply
one evening at twilight as Josey stood with
Fred Orne upon the piazza. They had stood
there since they came out to watch the sun
go down, and in that quiet hour Fred Orne
had managed to convey to Josey Lester's beat-
ing heart that insinuation which is so sweet a
belief to a woman. Ho was talking to her in
his low, musical voice; her eyes ‘were down-
cast, and warmest blushes were burning softly
on her cheeks, when little Hallie Randolph
sprung between, them, her dark curls blown
over hor childish iace.

‘Hero, Miss Lester,” she said, ‘papa seat
me out with this shawl for you. He said
you'd get cold in this damp air.”

Josey took the shawl in silence. Fred
Orne laughed as he wrapped it around her.

“That's like Randolph,” he said; ‘he’s

good fellow.” /
Somehow it never occurred to Fred to be

 

jealous of Mr. Randolph, who’ thus showed

 

  
  

 

‘But I have very

BERL Y. Sess

 

 

se a a

 

 

 

himself so thoughtful of Miss Lester's com-
fort. No one ever was jealous of him. He was
a favorite with the ladies, but so far from ex-
clusiveness in his manners that his attentions
were received byevery one. But between Jo-
sey ond him there was an almost distant civ-
ility. She met him coldly with an angry light
in her violet eyes, and he was apparently
quite indifferent to her; yet withal he often
bestowed those courtesies upon her which a
thoroughbred gentleman always bestows up-
on ladies when in their company. If he did
not fancy Miss Lester he was always ready to
oblige her—to pass her plate at dinner, to as-
sist her toa carriage, to mail her letters; or
even to send hera shawl, it seemed. She
wondered if he would have done the same
for any lady—concluded he would—and called
her thanks after little Hallie, as she bounded
away, just in time to preserve her reputation
for good manners.

The next day a letter came to Josey from
Boston, sealed with black. It contained
startling news. Her father was thought to be
dying; he had been stricken down bya fit of
apoplexy; and she was sent for.

It was the first real sorrow Josey had ever
known. She did not shed a tear, but she
commenced packing her trunks with a fever-
ish energy—her manner so wild and excited
that her friends were alarmed.

“Lucy,” said Mr. Randolph to his sister,
Mrs. Eldridge, ‘Miss Lestex is not fit to
travel alone. Itis twelve hours’ ride to Bos-
ton; she will have to change cars, and is not
fit for the undertaking.”’

“But she must go, Paul.”

‘Toll her, if she willallow me, I will ac-
company her.”

Mrs. Eldridge made known the offer to Jo-
SOY.
“Hoe is very kind. ‘Tell him I shall be very
grateful if he will,” said Josey, forgetting in
her distress everything that had passed. Die
had intended to go with her cousin, but se-
erétly believing Mr. Randolph capable of far
more use than.she could be, she resigned to
him.

“Have you dined, Miss Lester?” asked Mr.
Randolph, when Josey appeared, dressed for
the journey, andthe men were carrying down
her trunks.

“No; I cannot eat, Mr. Randolph.”

“She has eaten no breakfast,” said Madge.

‘‘And it is nearly eleven o’clock! Madge,
go down and send up one of the servants with
some luncheen for Miss Lester.”

* “Mr. RandgJph, I cannot eat. We shall
miss the train, besides.”

“Miss Lester, you must not go else. You
cannot endure the fatigue. We shall not miss

the train if you do not force me to waste time:

in expostulations.”’

The luncheon was brought. Josey drank
gometea and ate a sandwich, and afterwards
went on board the cars with Mr. Randolph.

’ He took excellent care of her. In all her
misery she could not but realize it. He made
her eat again when they stopped at three
o'clock to change cars. Though he did not
force her to talk, all her needs were antici-
pated. Whon night came he made her rest
her head on his shoulder, that she might sleep
if possible; and Josey, she was too absorbed
in grief to care where her head was put. She
did not believe it possible for her to go to
sleep, but at last she heard a voice say, “Jo-
sey, poor child, we are at Boston;’’ and she
realized that it was night, and she had
been sleeping comfortably for a long time.
They entered a hack and were driven to the
hotel where her father was.

Mr, Lester was quite insensible, and died a
few moments after their arrival.
was a dreadful blow to Josey, but the an-
nouncement which soon followed was more
bewildering. His estate was found to be in-
yolved at the time of his sudden death, and
the creditor claimed it.

So Josey was homeless. But Die told her
to go, after the funeral, to her home in New
York, promising to follow her in a few days,
which she did.

oe

CHAPTER XVOL

THE SEARCH.

Die found Josey much changed in a week—
gay, mischievous Josey. Her tears seemed to
have washed the soft bloom from her face, and
she was so pale, and thin, and wan, that the
tears came into Die’s beautiful eyes as she
kissed her. Henceforth Josey was invited to
make the house her home; but the young girl
had a spirit which thoughts of dependence,
even upon the kindest of relatives, chafed,
and she thought secretly and sadly of seeking
work at school teaching, whereby she could
earn her own livelihood; for she had not three
hundred dollars in the world.

She had also another grief. Even when a
fortnight had passed she had not heard a
word from Fred Orne.

There was another person, the change in
whom shocked Die inexpressibly. Mordant
Leo came to see her on the day following her
return, but his face and manner was 80 altered
that she hardly recognized him. He was worn
fearfully thin, his manner eccentric, and his
dress careless. Before the usual civilities had
hardly been exchanged, he asked her if she
knew where Percy Gaylord was.

_ “JT do not,’’ said Die.
York when I went away. Why, Mordant?”

“[ have soughthim through the whole city.
I believe he knows I am locking for him!”

‘“Tooking for him, are you, Mordant?
Why?”

“Yes, looking for him in every man I pass
in tho streets. Ihavo been to the hotel where
he used to ledge, and he has gone from there.

 

I have sought his brother, but he has gone to

 

His death.

“He was in New’

etree ee eee

the war. I have written to his father, but he
does not know his present address. Yet I will
not be baulked! I shall find him at last!”

His words and manner were £0 strange that
Die thought he had become deranged, and she
was half afraid ofhim. But she said calmly,

“Why do you want to find him, Mordant?
Why do you think he avoids you? Has hein-
jured you?” . os

Never before or after did Die Hunt hear such
an oath as burst from Mordant Lee’s lips. It
froze the very blood in her veins, and she grew
white to the lips. a &

“OQ, Mordant! Mordant!” she cried, half
rising in terror and distress.

“Forgive me,” he said, passing his hand
across his forehead as if confused; ‘‘I did not
mean to speak like that, Bat ‘has he injured
me?’ My God!”

Die put her cool, soft hand, on his,

‘*Tell me about if, Mordaunt?’”’ she said.

“J cannot—I eannot talk of it! It makes
me wild. Yet I think of it day and night, un-
til I believe I am growing crazed. I must go
now, Die. I may miss him in the street if I

‘stay here.”

Die thought it more than* probable that he
would see him if he remained long where he
was, but she felt instinctively that an encoun-
ter between the two men was to be avoided in-
stead of sought, and she did not detain Mor-
dant.

‘Make up your mind to tell me about it,
and come and see me again,”’ she said, giving —

him her hand at parting.
“Perhaps so. God bless you, Die!’’ and he
was gone.

Die could not but surmise what the cause
of Mordant’s strange manner was, but she did
not guess the trath. She could only imagine
that he had been led by Percy into extravagant

haps the confidence of his employers. And
she gave a thought to the little girl he loved,
and whom he was to have seen that very
month. She wondered whether or no they
had met.

Bat other matters entered her mind, and in
the pleasure of her mother’s company, the
earnest efforts she niade to cheer and comfort
Josey, and the painful thoughts and memories
which the sight of home brought her, she was
too engrossed to find in the disquietude of
Mordant Lee the clew to her own ill-fortune.

But she thought of Mordant the instant she
saw Percy Gaylord the next evening. He
came to ask her to accompany him to the
opera. Butshe could not go, and he went
away, accepting her invitation to call again.
He rah down the high stone steps, sprang into
his sulky, and drove rapidly out to the old

Clare was. There he spent most of his time.

Gladys was better in health, but not strong.
Her innocent expression of face had given
place to one of sadness and premature ma-
turity. The days and weeks went by slowly
while she waited for and dreaded the hours of
terrible suffering which should make her a
mother, ‘To Leine Clare she clung as one of
her tender, dependant nature must cling to a
single friend, and together they had planned to
discover Percy Gaylord’s intentions. It was
their wish to remain together, since both were
outcasts, and mutual sympathy had drawn
their hearts to each other, and any disposition
on his part to separate them they were pre-
pared to resist,

CHAPTER XIX,

PERCY'S PLAN.

On the evening upon which he called on Die
Hunt, Percy Gaylord entered the room where
Gladys and Leine sat. It wasa large, well
furnished apartment. Gladys lay dozing upon
the lounge. She was in a half broken dream
of her old life, and transient glow of hap-
piness was in her heart, for through all the
fancy was a half realized sense of the real
which she imagined some dream she had
awakened from.

\
gazing silently among the dying embers, for
it was late, and the fire was going out upon
the hearth. There was little need of any, for
through the slight opening of a window came
in thé fragrant scents of a May night May!
May !—when Gladys was to have been claim-
ed by an honorable love!

Percy Gaylord pushed open the door, which
was ajar, and walked to the hearth. —~

‘Leine,’’ said he standing beside the girl,
who gave no token of his presence, ‘is Gla-
dys well enough to travel ?”

Leine Clare gave a start, and looked up.

“She isn’t very strong yet,’’ she said eva-
sively. ‘Where do you want her to got”

“To England.” =

‘She isn’t able, Perey Gaylord.” -

“Not if you go to take care of her?’ said
he, his lip curling, and a slight persiflage in
his voice. :

“Of course she is, he added immediately.
“and I want you both to get ready to go to-
morrow. The ‘Crescent’ starts to-morrow
night. I will take you into the city in the
morning to make any purchases she may
need.

“But where are we to go in England?”

“You are to take care of yourselves, then.
Tl give you a hundred dollars apiece, and
Gladys may draw on me for thirty dollars a/
month until her child is two years old, if it
lives; You won't be known thete, and can he
as respectable as you choose. Gladys can take
the young widow role—and you, Leine—why,

husband is better than an American master,
isn’t it, eh ?” Re
' He touched her familiarly under thechin.

 

“Keep your hands off mew” she said, with eud-
den passion.

 

 

habits, whereby he had lost money, and per- -

Burleigh House. where Gladys and Leina y

*
Leine sat in a great rocker before the fire,

perhaps, you'll catch ahusband! A cockney — 5

   
 

a

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

—[—[————SS——————__
Gladys started, awoke, and broke into a dis-

tressed ery. - .
“Oh, I thought it wasn’t true!” she moaned,
‘What wasn’t true?” asked Percy. ‘Come,

Gladys, you’ve been dreaming. I’m going to

send you toEngland. Come here, and be iriends

with me. You won’t see me again after to-mor-
row.

He iitted her dp, and sat down beside her on
the lounge, with his arm around her. She was
hardly awake, and weak and bewildered, and she.
leaned against him as he embraced her. Her
sweet, paleface was wet, her hair fell loosely
around it in soft, dark waves, “A pang of some-
hing like remorse stole into Percy Gaylord’s
heart as he looked down at her, 80 pitifully
changed. . ;

“O01” she murmured with a sobbing breath, “I
thought I was with Aunt Ellen.”

(Do you want to see her?” asked Percy Gay-

ord.

2 0, no |” she cried, shuddering. “Not now—
oh, never again |”
‘Well, don't think of that.” And he told her of
his plans. ae

They were not objectionable to her or Leino,

Indeed, it was just what they had hoped—to be

able to.go away where they were not known, and

live quiet ohne lives—humble in their dis-

grace, but not known in it,

Leine had first planned this, and Gladys had
put herself trustingly into her hands, tobe done
as she pleased with. But it seemed only a little
while that they should be together to Gladys,

“But then,” shemurmurod, “she will take my
baby when I die,” -

_ ‘She lay still‘on the lounge,
. outof his arms to waitk the floor, and heard

Leine and him talk of the new arrangement,

So she was going away? She was not even to
stay in the land with the few she loved! Well, it
Was just as well, since her shame separated her
from a a of their faces. She thought of her.
aunt, of Little Lute, of Mr. Gaylord, of Mordant
—Mordant Lee. How kind he had always been
toher! She thought of his kindness, his looks
and words along time. A faint suspicion, sweet

as the pevtume of arose in winter, stole into her
her. ‘© blinding tears came to her eyes,

“Tt might have been,” she murmured.

The house ghey were in they knew little more
of than when they first entered it—only Percy
spoke of it as the old Burleigh House. The same
aged, deformed woman brought their meals and
‘arranged their room, but she was remarkably
reticent, and they had never asked her any ques-
tions. The same dark, suspicious-looking men
were seen Occasionally, and.as they lay in their
beds they would often hear the noise of arrivals
and departures in the night; but these things had
ho immediate effect upon. them, since they were
not concerned init. Years afterwards the house
was razed as a den of-thieves and smugglers,
As it was neither had been outside the huge,
darred hall door since they had been there; but
they had not wanted to go, so there was no
trouble on that ecore.

The next day Percy came for them in a cloas
carriage. They were driven into the city and
down upon the wharf. There it was found that
the departure of the steamer was postponed until,
the next afternoon, and no passengers were to be
received on board until morning, So Percy was
forced to place them in lodgings at a hotel until
the next - He entered their names on the
books as “Mrs, Grey and nurse,”
to be served in their rooms.

Even then he was uneasy at having Gladys so
hear Die Hunt- Ho was restless with impatience

have her safely away; and, strolling down

oh ero avenue that evening, he called at tho.
unt’s.

for Perey put her

and they were

for him since it takes so little to wean me from
him, He has not written me, At first I was half
angry; now that I hear that he is engaged I do
not care.”
“Then I am going to ask you ing.”
ceWhat? going you something
Sab you marry me, ahd let me take care of

Josey’s face blanched in dismay. Such a
thought had never entered her mind. She glanced
up at Mr, Randolph,
estly, yet half smiling,

aM not considered a marrying man. ButIad-
mire you excessively, Josey, and could love you
dearly if you would give me the right,”

Josey waa startled, but not displeased, yet she
hardly knew what to say. When a woman’s
friend becomes her lover he seems to her like a
totally different person. She had never looked
prettier than with that nervous flush coming and
going on her cheeks as she hesitated before re-
plying.

“I do not know what to say to you, Mr. Ran-
dolph. I don’t want to marry you, just because I
haven’t any one to take care of me,”

‘*And I certainly don’t wish you to, Josey; but
cannot you love me?”

“I don’t know,” said Josey, blushing.

‘*Won’t you try ?”

- StVeg,”

“Then I will come again to-morrow for your
answer. May I?”

“If you please.”

But he either had his answer when he went
away, Or was very well satisfied what it wouid be,
for he took her in his arms and kissed her ad part-
ing, and she kissed back!

 

CHAPTER XXI,
“GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY,”

That afternoon, as Die was passing through the
hall, the bell was rung Violently. She opened the
door herself,

Mordant Lee stood there. He was pale and ex-
cited, and he had been drinking. Die’s heart
meee with distress and pity as she looked at

im. :

“Come in, Mordant.” :
I have been drinking,” he said, looking at her
with a flush rising to his forehead, “and I do not
want to sé6e any one.”
“There is no one in the parlors,” she replied,
surprised to see that he understood his state,
He went into the parlors, and she closed the
door, gazing at him with the tears coming into
her great, calm eyes.
“OQ, Mordant!” she said, “what
you so? You never used to drink !”
*Pve had trouble, Die.”

Don’t drink! 0,

“But you are going to ruin,
itis so dreadful !—so dreadful |”

‘When I’m drunk I forget everything--that is,
when I’m drunk enough,” he replied, half dogged-

has changed

Ye
“What do you want to forget, Mordant ?”
“About Gladys. I told you, you know.”
“What? You never told me anything,”

“I told you that I loved her-——”

‘Mordant! the name?”

“Gladys Starr.”

“Good Heavens! what do you mean ?”

“I mean that the thought of her drives me
half wild! You never knew how I loved her, Die!
She was all I had to love—all there was in my
life worth living for. I went up to Lennox last
March, and found her gone—gons no one knows
where. Ubelieve she was sedticed by Percy Gay-
lord, and followed him to New York, No trace of
either can I find; andi search through crowds

 

CHAPTER Xx,

ME. RANDOLPR,

That morning, an hour after breakfast at the
Hunt’s, Josey Lester. gat alone in the parlor in
her black dress. The door-bell rang, and the
next moment Mr, Paul Randolph was shown in.

Mr. Lester had been buried at Mount Auburn;
the funeral had taken place at the house of s
friend in Boston; and Josey, who had been escort-
ed from Boston to New York by Mr. Hunt, . had
not seen Mr. Randolph since the sad scene of the
funeral. :

He had just arrived from Harford, but the im-
gesiog that he had come directly from her

ather’s grave came strongly over her as she saw
his face, and a nervous ery broke from her lips at
his appearance. The next moment she was sob-.
ping convulsively.

Mr. Randolph led her to a sofs and sat down
pope her. pod fea

; am very, very sor nd you feeling go
badly,” he said, Edily z -

After a moment Josey controlled herself,

“It was only the sight of you that overcame me,
It seems as if you came fron: Mount Auburn, but
you are from Harford, I suppose?” :

S*Yeg,”

“Mr. Randolph, I am glad to gee you, and you
» @annot understand how grateful I am to you for

' your kindness!. What should I have done with-
out you?” said Josey.

“1 was glad to be able to serve you; but all
that I and others have done has not been able to
save you from growing so pale and thin that I
should hardly have recognized you in the street,
Are you not happy here, Josey ?”

“My friends are very king to me, but I feel
homoless. Mr, Randolph, I have no right here,
and I do not like to be dependent,”

The spirit which looked out of Josey Lester’s
blue eyes was one which surprised Mr, Randolph.
wo yess gazing at her thoughtfully, when ghe
Bai >

‘“Who has the old house, Mr. Randolph ?”

“A man irom Boston; I do not know his name,
But the furniture, which I thought you might
valus, isin my possession. i have had it stored
against the time when you may wish to. claim it
to set up housekeeping. on your own account,”
and Mr. Randolph smiled,

Oh, Mx Ezcuoiph! I thought the dear old
things were all gone |” cried Josey.

., NO; indeed; the man had no claim on the fur-
niture. Mrs. Henry, your oid housekeeper, has

reserved everything she thought you would care

rr ;

“Then I shall furnish lodging rooms and teach
music. Oh, Mr. Randolph! this is so much bet-
ter than Thad supposed |”

. “Are you really going to struggle for your own
livelihood, Josey?—you who have been so ten-
derly reared and petted and indulged all your
life? You are so young, too.”

“I am_ eighteen, and perfectly well, Mr, Ran-
dolph. It does seem a great task, for I have
been unaccustomed to work, but I had rather do
it than to be dependent on the charity of
friends.”

“There is an old Italian proverb: ‘Misfortune
does not always come to iujure.’ I think it is
proved true in this case, Josey.”

“How?” =
 _ "It has developed a noble spirit

don me, but you were almost a
Month ago.”

Josey blushed. Mr. Randolph’s manner was 80
kind that she could not be offended even by the
mention of an unpleasant truth, Somehow a}
strong wish to deserve his approval rose up in
her heart as she looked up at bim,

“Do you think Iam doing right in my plans
now, Mr. Randolph ?” she asked.

Yes; you are a very brave little girl, Josey.
Butis there no better way for you than this?
Will you allow me a friend’g liberty in speaking
plainly >” .

“Dear Mr. Randolph, who has earned the title
of friend if not you?” y

“Well, Josey, but I thought Fred Orne was
something more to you than an acquaintance, or
even afriend. Howisit? Wasi mistaken?”

A hot flush came to Josey’s cheek,

‘He has not written me,” :
|} ~ SAnd [heard yesterday that he wag engaged
@. toMadge.” - =6

Josey was silent for a moment. I? her heart

ached a little she showed no sign,
) _ “I presume it is true,” she said ‘On conngit
fe, Vami au besom’—a friend is known in time of

} need, Mr. Randolph.”

Mr. Randoiph took her hand,

in you. Pats
spoiled child a

by day, and dream of them by night. &{ cannot
resi! I musi find Gladys! and it one hai of
her head is harmed——” :

“Mordant, Mordant! she came here! O! it
was not Percy who betryed her, but his brother!
O, Mordant, do not harm him, for I love him!”
‘You have seen her? Neai Gaylord? you love
him? Die, for Heaven’s, sake, what do you
mean ?”
All. the stupifyine effects of the liquor he had
drank was shocked from his brain, and he sat up-
right, gazing at her with eyes glittering with ner-
yous intensity. But Die’s excitement and the
natural impulse which induced her to right or
wrong had betrayed her into a confession which
she immediately regretted, Strong and passion-
pte, a: love for Neal Gaylord surged up in her

eart,
“T will not tell you—I will tell you nothing,
Mordant, unless you promise not to harm the
man I love. Promise me! promise me!” she
cried, standing before him with flushed cheeks
and shining eyes,
“Where ig Gladys?” he demanded, catching at
her slender wrists, in his excitement, “Tell mel”
“I do not know, Mordant Lee.”
_ ‘Who does know? Where is Neal Gaylord ?”
he cried, starting to his feet,

Die clung to his arm,
“Ido not know. You cannot find him. Per.
rps he is killed now—-he is in the war.> Oh, Mor-
dant, formy sake, spare him!—for my sake!”
and she pleaded with such a pale passion, that
ea s hisown wildness Mordant Lee was ar-
rested,

Ho was looking at her earn- t

know you never thought of such a thing; I]

 

 

 

————
the door-bell, and, a moment after, s note was
handed her. She excused herself to Percy, step-

ed under the gaslight, and read it, It ran as fol-
OWS:

“DEAR Die: I have found Gladys! Can you-—will
you come to my aid? I need you so much, dear
friend, but I cannot leave her, Ihave sent a carriage—
the driver will bring you here, Please come!

Morpant.”’..

Die stepped to the door, opened it, and spoke
0 @ servant in the hall,

“Otis, is there any one waiting 2?”

“Yes, m’am; the driver of the hack as brought
the note.”

“When Mrs. Hunt-returns tell her that I have
gone out,” and she shut the door,

“Percy,” said she, “I must beg you to excuse
me, I have been very urgenily sent for by a
friend.”

“Certainly,” he replied, rising’ gracefully, but
secretly annoyed at her nonchalanct manner of
treating him.

“Don’t go,” she said, ringing for her cloak and
bonnet, “Josey and my mother will be at home
soon. Cannot you make yourself comfortable
until they return? Iam sorry to be obliged to
leave you!”

“But it is time I was at home,” he'said, looking
at his watch. It was nine o’clock. He intended
to have a game at billiards, and an oyster supper
with a club-mate, before seeking his hotel.

He handed Die into the carriage in waiting—
then went to his club-house for the billiards.

Die was driven rapidly to one of the hotels of
New York. The driver spoke to a waiter who
conducted her up stairs and through halls and
passages until he finally stopped before the door
of a room.

‘Mrs. Grey’s—No, 42, ma’am.”

Before Die could knock, the door was opened
by Mordatit. Hedrew her in, She expected to
find him.flushed and excited, but he was pale and
serious. “His hand was cold as ice, but steady.
Yet it was a strange calmness. It seemed by his
pale, compressed lips and glittering eyes, a dan-
sence of it,

“I think she is dying,” he whispered,

“Dying 9

He bowed, stepped forward, and opened the
door of aninnerroom. It wasa chamber draped
in white, Among the pillows of the bed lay a
delicate, pale face, with dark hair drifting over
the faintly breathing bosom, and dark violot eyes
that told of strong suffering. Beside the bed
knelt a givl,-but she rose at their entrance and
turned upon them the handsome face, auburn
hair, and chestnut eyes of Leine Clare, .

‘‘Has she come?”.came from the bed. Tien
recognizing Die, Gladys Starr, though in the
dreadful pains of premature birth, panted out a
few words which sent Die’s blood whirling
through her veins.

“He is innocent—Neal Gaylord; I did not mean
him, but Percy; Iam sorry; I am dying. Com-
fort Mordant—I—”

She could not speak for a moment,
Mordant’s arm.

‘“Mordant, does she mean that Percy Gaylord
is the father of her child ?”

“Yes,” he replied, between his teeth,

Gladys lay still and panting. The shock of the
meeting with Mordant, who had seen her face at

Die grasped

without any notice, had a fatal effect,

She was too weak to live through the birth—
the physician waiting in the next room had said
86. Mordant.went out and spoke to him and he
camein. The room was closed; only Leine Clare
and the doctor remained within,

Mordant commenced walking the floor of the
outside apartment. Die stopped him by putting
her hand upon his arm, and saying:

“Mordant, do not berash. Tell me what you
intend to do.”

“Tintend to kill him!” said Mordant Lee.

- aces remember the consequences of mur-
er!’

‘He hag murdered her,”

“But you cannot prevent that harm. It is too
late now.”

“I can kill him; she shall be avenged!”

‘Mordant, you will not.”

‘I will, s0 help me Godt”

Be was walking the floor again,
and still, his eyes glistening. The little French
clock upon the mantle rang out the strokes of ten,

was stillin the next room. People traveled
through the passages of the hotel—voices sounded
in the halls. There were footsteps on the side-
walk beneath the open window, and the noise of
carriages driving swiftly over the pavements of
the street, The clock peeled, in its clear bell
tones, half past ten, Then it ticked on, and Mor-
dant Lee kept up his restless walk across the
floor, while the sounds came in from the halls and
up. trom the street. Another sharp ring—eleyen
o’clock, :

The door of the. chathber was opened slowly,
and the physiciati Came ont. He motioned them.
to go in, took his hat, and passed into the hall,

lt was the chamber of death surely, Not even
the ticking of the clock disturbed the silence
there. The waxen figure upon the white bed was
motionless. The babe that had never breathed
lay wrapped in blankets upon the dimity lounge.

his face pale

 

“Die, he has
have a right to his life!”

‘Let him answer to God for his sin. You have
not the right to avenge her wrong. I know it is
dreadful; let me tell you what J have done.”.
And she told him how she loved Neal Gaylord
better tnan her life, had put him from her for-
ever, because he had dishonored an innocent girl,
., tt has nearly broken my heart, Mordant, but
it was right. I love him—TI love him as you love
Gladys! Think! But no suffering of mine shall
come between me and my duty to myself and my
God. Will you be less strong than I, Mordant?
You, a man? [I have avenged your wrong, by
God's will, better than you can doit! He cares
more for me than for his life! He has flung that
into the war! You must not seek him! Find
Gladys! LIvwillhelp you.” .

She spoke rapidly. “ Standing before him, with
the almost unearthly beauty of her face raised to
his. Deathly pale—her eyes burned into his with
@ will which subdued him, while she persuaded
with words,

“Will you, Mordant? For my sake, remember ?
We have been friends ao long!”

She put her hand in his ag she spoke,

“I will not harm him,” he said, hoargely.
‘Help me to find Gladys.”

“I will, Perey Gaylord may be here to-night,
andI will ask him, He will know, perhaps, most
likely. You will not forget your promise, Mor-
dant ??

°*No. 9

She took his handin hers, _

“My poor brother!” she said, looking up into
his face,

He looked back at her for a moment; then his
lip began to quiver, and he suddenly flung him-
self upon the lounge, and wept among the cush-
ions such tears as a man seldom sheds!

CHAPTER XXII,
DEAD,

That evertiiig, Percy Gaylord, stealing restless«
ly through Tenth avenue, called at thé Hunt's.
Josey and Mrs, Hunt were ata lecture, but Die
sat alone in the back parlor—the gas turned down
80 that the room was dim; and the SnOWy cur-
tains waving slightly in the cool, sweet Lreeze,
which came in through the open window, for it
was the first night of June,

As Percy was shown in, she arose to greet him,
but she did not turn on the gas, and he sat down
with her in the dim light, which did not show that
she had been weeping. He had brought her a
bouquet of wild spring flowers—anemones, white
and dainty, pink arbutus blossoms, and blue wood
violets—which he had precuased from a little
flower girl, because he knew the flowers would
suit Die’s taste.

She thanked him, and held their petals
against her fave, but she seemed silent and sad,
and Percy began to fear for his suit—she seemed
80 indifferent to him; as much go as she could be,
and not treat him coldly or uncourteously.
Mordant Lee had gone away before dark. It

 

You liked Fred, Josey?” —
‘I did; but I don’t think I cared a great deal

was of him Die was eae and she had been
weeping for Neal. Bnt suddenly came a peal ox

dishonored the woman I love. I}

Leine sat motionless at the head of the bed.
til—still as death.

Glady Starr was dying, but she opened her
violet eyes once, Their expression drew Mordant
Lee close to the bedside. He sank on his knees
and bowed his face over the hand she put feebly
toward him. An instant’s pause—she mui-
mured his name—her breath fluttered away—she
was. dead! .

serearem

CHAPTER XXIII,
THE END,

A few moments silence—then Mordant kee rose
up and went into the adjoining room. Die Bid
not follow him. His grief was sacred to her.

She covered the sweet dead face, then attempted
to gently arouse Leine, who sat as if stunned, by
the bed’s head. -

“You must do what is needed,” she said, kindly,
“TI do not know how.”
mee will come—he will see her,” murmured the

irl.

a sWho?? —

Just then came the sound of a door opening and
shutting. .Then was heard a swift bound, a
xy, & fall—a wild struggle—a pistol shot—a groan.
Then all was still. Die had stood. petrified with
aterrible fear, but she staggered dizzily to the
door, and looked out. Persey Gaylor lay dead
upon the floor, shot through the heart; and over
him stood Mordant Lee,

“Ihave killed him!” he gaid, calmly, vorning
to Die. She could not speak for horror, 8
turned and staggered to asofa, There wasa glow
on his neck, and his shirt-bogom was soon dyed a
atrange, vivid tint. She went to him.. He was
weltering in blood from a knife wound in his
throat, He could not utter a word. Overcome
by the horrors of the scene, Die fled frdm the
room, and alarmed the house. An hour later she
waa driven, faint, sickened, and dizzy-headed, to
hor home, :
Hor father did not perceive her exhaustion when
she first entered. It was just twelve o'clock, and
he had waited for her impatiently for hours. He
came forward with a daily journal in his hand. :
“Why, Die! where have you been? Here is
some news. Neal Gaylord lies wounded at a hos-
pital in Washington.”

But Die did not answer. She reeled, and then
fell forward in a dead faint upon the carpet. .
The next day her father accompanied her to
Washington. She sought out Neal Gaylord. He
lay in bed with a shattered-arm, She was kneel-
ing beside him before he recognized her. Be-
tween tenderest kisses she explained the dread-
ful mistake which had cost them so much suffer-
ing.

“Come home with me,” she murmured, put-
ie el beautiful face on the pillow beside his,
“What will you do with me there 2”

‘Nurse you well and marry you.”

‘With only one arm ?”

‘You shall have one
about his neck, :

He went home with her, one beautiful June
morning, and she nursed him tenderly. They
were married in the fall, with Josey Lester and

of mine,” putting one

 

Mr,,Paul Randolph:

gerous intensity of feeling rather than the ab-

the window, and immediately appeared to her |.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mordant Lee was buried from the house of the
Hunts, Gladys and Percy Gaylord were . sent
home for burial. One’can hardly blame Mrs.
Saxton that she would not have them laidin the
Same room, and that she would not look upon
Percy’s dead face.

The shock of his son’s death shortened Mr.
Gaylord’s life. He left most of his property to
Neal and his wife; but a good income was settled
Upon his housekeeper and her child. Some
thought it was in atonement for the grief hig son
had brought her; but it was not so. He had_al-
ways intended to reward her for her servicer,

When Die was marfied, she took to her home
the beautiful outcast, Leine Clare. She knew
her story, but her compassion overcome her
Scruples; she treated her ag she, would wished to.
be treatedi fin her place, and Leine, sewing quiet-
ly by the long windows of the ‘‘Maples,” and at

last tending the dark-eyed young heir of the

“Maples,” was ever an honor to the beautiful
out-of-town establishment which Neal Gayloré
urchased for his home. They were all very
appy.
Poor lost Gladys was buried at Lennox, near
the river, under the pines. «
THE END.

FREE ITE IL EIEN

HASTEN, BROTHERS, TO THE
BATTLE,

BY THEO. D. C. MILLER,

Hasten, brothers, to the battle,
Loud the bugle sounds afar;
Tam weary, wounded, dying,
But [hear the call to war.
Basten, brothers, do not linger,
Leave me here alone to die;
Forms seraphic hover near me,
Thoy will bear my soul on high.

CHORUS. :
Oh! I see the shining angels
In that far off world of light;
They are coming—quickly coming—
Comrades, hasten to the ight!

Tam faint and lonely, brothers,
And I cannot ask your stay
To watch o’er your fallen comrade,
While the battle calls away; :
Leave me then ta lean on Heaven ,
For the aid you cannot lend;
Christ will shield his lanib from danger,
He will couztless angels send,

Chorus.—Oh! I see tho shining angels, &e,

Iam dying—surely dying,
Do not drop the bitter tear;
Lam bleeding for my count?fy—
For the cause I hold so dear?
How I love our starry banner!
Comrades, waivo it o’er my head J
Let me see that spotless smblem
Ere I’m numbered with the daad,

Chovus.—Oh! I see the shining angels, &c.

Tell my mother—darling mother,
That T love her fondly now—
That I longed for her caresses—
Her sweet kisses on' my brow}
Tell my father I have fallen,
Yielded up my precious life,
Tel him not to mourn my ahsence—
Comrades, hasten to the strife,

Chorus.—Oh! I see the smiling angels, &¢,

Bark! I hear the notes of angels
In that far off world of light,
Christ is calling—I must leave you—
Darling brothers, nobly fight}
See! a shining angel’s coming
To watch o’er my fleeting breath;
fam coming -gently coming—
Comrades, tis heroic death ? e
CHORUS. *
Gontls lift your fallen brother,
Soon I'll see that world of light;
Zam dying--nobly dying—
Comrades, hasten to the fight!
ren 9-4 > (et pemereroncores

Athens, where I am now, is eminently a litera-
ry village, There is a kind of life about it over
and above the vegetable—yea, and more than the
animal, There is something in the idea—the
purpose—which draws a number of individuals
together either devoting or depressing, even al-
though in the end the idea which was the nu-
cleus of the gathering may be only partially re-
alized, the purpose may not be perfectly effected,
Tam conscious that I am now in a place which is
superior to New Jericho; (that is the village
where I lately resided;) and ¥ feel a degree of in-
terest,in watching from my lonely windows the
students going to and from college. The pro-
fessors are doubtless intellectual and worthy men,
but I do not heed them so much as Young Amer-
ica which is here represented, and which is year
by year from this institution launched into the
unknown future; One of the professors is a celeb-
rity, but I have not seen him—an aged and wor-
thy man I believe. Others are oe. trying to
atiain a name; whether they will succeed none can
tell; but let us hope that they may prove them-
selves earnest, clear-sighted, unprejudiced, faith-
ful teachers of those young men committed to
their care in these days of their couniry’s trial,
I wonder how many Presidents there are among
these youths, how many poets, how many artists,
hew many generals! Not many Lopine, although
there may be a great many useful, good men—
honorable, trustworthy, generous, diligent, and
patriotic, and intelligent, and surely these are no
mean attributes. Let us hope that the will not
mistake their vocation, but esteem things
justly, neither overrating nor underrating any
position, person, or occupation. It is possible
Ihave more interest in these young persons, as
many of them, for the time being, are “strangers
in a strange land,” like myself, unknown, uncared
for ae :

Ihave heard of rock-girt coasts and ice-bound
shores, and verily I think this might be described
asa hill-bound hill. There are some good views
in the neighborhood, one of which is obtained by
ascending to the top of a very*high house,
where there is a view to me as singular as beau-
tiful. The hills. are numerous and undu-
lating, and have the appearance of a solidified
sea—an earthy seal The views generally are
aimost beautiful. To me the neighborhood de- |
pends very much for its attractions on the mists,
the atmosphere, and the clouds. I could expa-
tiate-on this, but do not wish to ramble any far-
ther from my subject—or I might rather say I
musta ot any longer defer my subject. One must
not expect country houses to have larger rooms
than city houses, nor country people to locate
their houses with respect to a fine prospect; on
the contrary, they are singularly oblivions of
these things; there are not probably in existence
closer, smaller rooms than in middle-aged Yankee
country houses. What makes this more sur-
prising is that the land is often cheap, barren,
and a great deal of it worthless for anything
but building. : :
The view from my windows, which look over a
verandah, consists of a small piece of sky; a piece
of road, which runs due east from the corner of
the house where my room is situated; another
road which runs south, and is at right angles
with the east road; across the south road I have -
directly facing me the gable end of a house, and
a few trees growing in the yard which surrounds
the house. Ido not know how many trees there
are, but at first, when the foliage was thick, to
my imagination they represented a forest, It is
gbvious that the view was not very magnificent,
and fancy supplied the deficiency. One tree, a
noble elm, steod apart; it was pleasant to look on
—Sso perfect, so beautiful; the other trees, discov-
ered after a time, were mostly apple trees—dark,
full-ieaved, healthy, vigorous, mature; while in
front of them, a few yards distant, on the descent
of a small bank, stood a little tree. Youthful and
full of life and béatity, I knew it to be; and, at
times, it seemed almost endowed with intelli-

| gence, and as though it would walk off the bank,

Thereit stood, rejoicing in the summer breeze
and the summer heat. Whenever I looked atit I
was reminded of a picture I have seen, a German
print, which represents a mother guiding the
first steps of her child, a bird teaching her yor
tofiy, and a dog watching the steps of her little
one; an odd but sympathetic picture. The older
trees almost appeared to be engaged in like
manner,

Strange ideas! Perhaps so. But were you
ever alone in a strange place, and associated
with persons so bruised, so warped, or at ali
events so contrary to you, that you have been
fainto think that the more you spoke the legs:
you were understood?—persons whose tone of

 

THE LITTLE TREE,

BY GRACE DE LA VERITE,

Jam staying in a.village at present; but not ons
of tu6 villages you read of in romanticlove stories,
where the pédple are simple, and honest, and

ure, and unsuspiciots, There may be such vil-

ages, but Ihave been etudying village-ology for
some half dozen’ years and more, and am now
somewhat incredulous on the subject. :

There are different kinds of villages. There are
agricultural villages, trading villages, and literary
villages—the two last mentioned being more or
less agricultural, ‘certainly. :

Now I have sojourned in all these varieties, but
have not found that in either the type of charac-
ter was of the kind alluded to; nor, indeed, has
the model of purity and simplicity been held up
asthe desideratum. Nay, I believe you would
give offence if you intimated that you expected
such Arcadian qualifications in the villagers. So
far all the villages are agreed; in other things
they differ materially. You can well imagine the
disappointment of a city person to!find these
things so. :

The women—alas, that I should be obliged to
say so!—but I never saw any city person worship
drese as these country women appear to do; and
the worst of it is that itis not simply admiration
of beautiful textures and tasteful arrangements
of laces and flowers, that produces this state of
affairs, but the worship is urged-on chiefly by the
desire to outiiress some neighbor. Amiable de-
sire! Our unfortunate Mother Eve could not
possibly have been actuated by any such motives
in preparing her robe of fig leaves. Simple souls
although so much blamed on some acccunts, all
she could have desired in arraying herself, must
have been to appear seemly and-graceful in the
eyes of Adam, the ey ae ae

Some women would have been quite indifferent
ag to their appearance before a husband, scwite
so well, asshe must have known, that she coul
have no rival, and there was no other female with
whom to compare her. It is to be hoped Adam
made no surly remarks on her taste or style. I
cannot believe he did, lest his Eve, the one for
whom he had longed in his Eden solitude, might
have been withdrawn. :

To return to our villagers. _I believe that the
women generally know precisely the pattern of
the dresses, the number of the flounces. and the
varied trimmings of each dress, of each woman ia
their respective villages,

In the Jarger villages, some of them affect to be
quite tonish. Itis quite amusing to see the re-
suits, and the comparative results. I know “‘com-
parisons are odious;” but still we make them, and
something can be said on the subject of compari-
sons, Ah, but if a lady arrives from the city, what
an inspection she undergoes! What a prize for
study! But some sly ones pretend they are not
observing her!. They know everything about city
life; and a great deai more than she does—why
they had seen those patterns that she wears so
carelessly, long before her dressmaker had them !
Wonderfully ounning, pretentious creatures, you
meet sometimes in these rural shades, if they
only knew how disgusting they are!

One lady, who keeps boarders, told me that she
knew exactly what every boarding housekeeper in
the village had on her table. ‘
fed her boarders. Singular knowledge! Delight-
ful statistics! But she would not have confided
this toeveryone. It was imparted in a triumph-
ant manner, and in strict confidence to me; and
in the same trust, you, dear reader, are admitted
into the secret. :

Of vices, I forbear at present to speak. Purity,
simplicity, and honesty, forsooth! Behind the
times for these villages! Why, they have a bil-
liard room here; and itis said, never mind—I was
on the verge of gossipping—the natural effects of

 

rustication—but I forbear,

That is, bow she] th

voice even was disagreeable to you—whose aims
were not your ¢img, no, nor even assimilated to
‘them ?—persons to whom, if you made a common
remark of one sentence, you required tivo more to
explain what you meant? Have you never, fall-
ing to find meet association and sympathy in
your own kind, estranged yourself from those
with whom your lot was cast, and found consola-
tion in abstractions, and in contemplations of the
scenes of nature, andthe unconscious life around
you? Itistrue there is no sympathy apari from
humanity, apart from our race; but harmonious
relations with all nature may exist as far as those
relations may extend. However disagreeable
Mr, Mauvaisgout may:be with his familisr man-
ners, however nauseous and repellant Miss Sour-
krout and Miss Le Grudge, however slippery Mrs,
Pleas@’om-all, the trees in their gardens wave us
gracefully, the flowers give us delicious odors, the
birds sing as sweetly in the branches ag nee
the owners were all that you could desire,
have not lost all happiness when we are in such
relations with nature that we can enjoy these
things wherever we find them. Of course I do
not mean to compare these earthly pleasures, re-
fined though they be, with the divine and full
consolations which are tendered to all who suffer. .
Have you ever lived in the house with a person ~
who would grovel all day in the earth with teeth
and nails rather than not give an additional six-
pence—from avarice, not necessity? An humble:
disposition, not ashamed of the mother earth;
yes, but denying the heavenly spirit! :

In such a house was I when I saw my little tree.
Tcannot quite account for my interest in it; as
for the other trees they were perfectly indifferent
to me, with the exception of theelm. ‘A thing
of beauty isa joy forever;” and so was the youth-
ful tree, with its pretty fluttering leaves, a joy to
me; unconsciously was the pleasure giyen, and
unconsciously received. :

I would not tell any person but you, indulgent
reader, of the pleasure in my solitude that young
thing afforded me, There were plenty of trees in
all directions, but that was so near, opposite my
windew. My mind has wandered from my book,
or other occupation, frequently to distant scenes;
to affairs in the neighborhood; to matters in the
house, and again concentered in my room, and
then I have gazed again on my book; but no, I
must look out, and I glance from my window, and
the verdure of the elm, and the little tree, have
refreshed me, and I hive been free from the har-
assing thoughts which have beset me. :
But the time arrives for the trees to dof their .
summer glory, and be roughly prepared for their
long winter night. ©

We have had a storm, an autumnal storm. “We
must expect storms at this season—I enjey them,”
Isoliloquize. I raise my curtain one moruing
somewhat carelessly, to gaze at the wizzard view
Ihave described, and see the passers by—but
what is this? My little tree is blighted, the one
I took such pleasure in—nothing else changed,
but that blighted; and the few leaves which re-
main are blackened and beaten down. What does
it mean? Black. leaves, not brown, nor ce
nor red, nor mottled, but black. Is it dead, or in
a death-like sleep? Will it be recusitated ? Are
those old trees its progenitors, or are they indif-
ferent strangers, or are they indifferent parents?
T do not know, but it seems as though even a tree
must grieve to see its offspring so changed, And .
® view from my windows now! Ah, miserable!
Surely the earth, which has been so cursed for
man’s sake, by thorn, and thistle, and blight, will
one day be blessed for his sake, with more glorions
beauty, more abundant fruition,

wecmemmmesnemanG~ > ¢ GD) ¢-rocemmssemneenes

Haru! ye small, sweet courtesies. of life! how
smooth do ye make the road of it! Like grace
and beauty, which begets inclinations to love at
first sight, ’tis ye who open the door arid let the

 

stranger in,

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

J. H WINSLOW & CO.

Ss CHAINS. &C, &eC, &G,
ey hus WORTH $500,000 °
¥e be said for One Dollar each, without regard to value, and

mcd o9 patd omy you know what you are ta get.
: Splendid List.

OF ARTICLES TO BE SOLD FOR ONE DOL@AR EACH

1000 Gold Hunting Cased Watches.

306 Gold Watches........ Saseseec:

400 Ladies’ Gold Watches...... seees

800 Ladies’ and Gents’ Silver Watches..
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5000 Gold Band Bracelets.....csscsecessoee
5000 Osingo BEOOCNOs... ci icc sceck
ee Mosaic and Jet Brooches.......05
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1s
i Drops

Lava and Florentine Har Drops.....
8000 Qoral, Era., and Opal Ear Drops....
8000 Gents’ Breast Pins.
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* 8000 Fob and Ribbon Slides.

* 6000 Sets of Bosom Studs

8000 Siesve Buttons....

Plain fee ke
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5000 Sets 1og’ TEWEILY...r-seccsveee as
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nooo Gola iii . ° sccccceee £00 tO 600 cach.
Allof the above list of Goods will be sold for one dollar
each. Certificates of all the various articles, statin:

oo ceescee sso eeoones

a wo pono 298g RO DEOL mR Ce
Susaaesasssssssssecs

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tet pos

 

=
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what

one can have, are first put into envelopes, sealed up,
aac iced ; and when ordered, are taken out without re-
gard to choice, and sent by mail, thus ¢ : @ fair
Ghance. On the receipt of the Certificate, you will see what

OU Call Bave, and then itisat your option to send one dol-
lar and take the article or not.

In all transactions by mail, we shall charge for forward-
ing the Certificates, paying postage, and doing the business,
36 cents each, which must be enclosed when the Certificates
ig sent for. Five Certificates will be sent for $1; eleven
ar di Li thirty for $5; sixty-five for $10; and @ hundred
‘or

Agenzs.~-Those acting as agents will be allowed ten cents
on every Certificate ordered by them, provided their remit-
tance amounts toone dollar. Agents will collect 25 cents
for every Certificate, and remit 15 cents to us, either in cash
or postage stamps. Great caution should be used by our
one tees OS iving their correct address,

anty, an e. ress *

pe stead id. H. WINSLOW & CO.

208 Broadway, New York,

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Sent by mail, free from observation, on receipt of price, 30
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Prepared from a prescription of Sir. J. Clarke, M. D,
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"all directions in the pamphlet around each package,
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£25. 186 Sole United States Agent.

 

 

 

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ag IF YOU WANT TO KNOW

Man and Woman, Inside and Out,what the sexes are made
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“MEDICAL COMMON SENSE,”

actrious book for curious people, and a good book for
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Broadway, New York. mh3 3m

WANTED—CORRESPONDENCE.

By a Young Officer, of 2!, whose heart has become sadden-
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JG BUTLER, Co. G., 2d R.1., 6th Corps, Army Potomac.
Photographs exchanged, if desired. mh3 lt

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A MAN OF A TH@USAND, |
A CONSUMPTIVE CURED.

DR. H. JAMES, a Retired Ss of great eminence,
discovered, while in the East Indies, a certain cure for Con-
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Debility. .The remedy was discovered by him when his
only child, a daughter, was given up to die. His child was
cured, and is now alive and well. Desirous of benefiting
his fellow mortals, he will send to those who wish it*the
recipe, containing full directions for making and _ success-
fully using this remedy, free, on receipt of two stamps to

ay expenses. There is not panes case of Consumption
frat it does not at once take hold of and dissipate. Night
sweats, peevishness, irritation of the nerves, failure of
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Addre, CRADDOCK & OO,,
f18,3m. 225 North Second st., Philadelphia, Pa..

' WHISKERS! WHISKERS!!

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Sent by mail for 25 cts. a package, or 5 for one dollar. Ad-
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PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

—The communications which have been
published in this column for some time past,
in regard to the old maids, have attracted con-
siderable attention; but as the disputants
have indtilged in personalities and epithets,
which are very uninteresting to the general
reader, we have thought proper to bring the
controversy to a termination. Ina previous
issue we stated that we would allow ‘Vickie
Spencer” to make one more reply, which
should conclude the. discussion. She has
availed herself of the privilege, and thus exer-
cised the prerogative so strenuously contend-
ed for by females—that of “‘having the last
word”—and good use she has made of it, too,
in her

 

 

 

REPLY TO “GLexpowzn,”

Who, in an angry torrent of passion, vented his pent
Up spleen by terming me the ‘“‘Queen of Old Maids.”
Quite an honorable position I admit, but one I cannot
hope to claim, on account of minority, for years to come,
Itis true I am called ‘by the elite and ton of society
“Little Queen Vic; but the class of subjects over
which Irule are far from belonging exclusively tothe
feminine gender—many of them wear unmentionables
and sfort imperials, while one, for whomI reserve a
closer friendship, possesses @ pair of shoulder-straps
dnd occupies a post of honor in the ranks of those who
fight for liberty or death—quite equal, if not a little su-
perior to the “Glendower Club, Feeling entirely safe,
therefore, ag concerns self, I felt it to be my duty to de-
fend a class of females who, from the fast growth of
young America, have suffered severely from the at-
tacks of rareripe rapscalions of the ‘Glendower ”
type. Devoid of one particle of truth or honor, tarry-
rying only where they can betray youth and innocence,
and despising those who have been taught by years of
experience to avoid the shoals and quicksands where
many a young lady has been wrecked. Iam a bread
and butter schoolgirl yet, but from my heart I feel
sincerely to thank the many good lessons I have learned
from these same old maids, whom, in truth, I do
honor and revere, for by their kind example and pre-
cept I can say with Solomon of old, “There be threo
things which are too wonderful for me—yea, four
which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air, the
way ofa serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship in the
midst of the sea, and the way of an unrightecus man.”
“‘Make up is produced by wadding and pads!” Ah,
ha! “‘Glendower,” truth will out, and even crime un-
witiingly betrays itself, This proves what long ago
ceased to be adoubtin my mind—that you belonged
to a class of rakehells, whose vicious propensities
not unfrequently run away with their better natures.
tion, I doubt not. “Lucky is he that condemn-
eth not himself in that whioh he alloweth.”
As to the appellation of ‘vinegar,’ it suits
me admirably; a little of the good article is
néeded, where there isso much damaged sour krout.
It does not require a microscope with a double convex
lens to observe the shallowness of that cabbageshead !
Tam really glad you admire “those maiden fruit-ven-
ders,’’ ButI pity the one who shall be so unfortunate
a8 to receive your admiration. With regard to your
present mirthfulness, which you intend us-to believe,
merely because you have asserted it; if there is as
much truthfulness in it as has characterized your pre-
vious assertions, we may readily belieye your “invol-
untary guffaw,’’ was ingiead an uncontrollable, violent
boo-hoo, You ‘respect the young ladies!” Some more
of your truthfulness, in extenuation of which no evi-
dence can be brought. The heart of a young lady of
sixteen Summers has been in the matrimonial market
for the space of forty years; and is made up of wad-
ding, pads, rouge and cosmetics, so says “Glendower.”’
By the way, “Aunt Mollie,” whom you have go respect-
fully treated, has not yet passed the bloom of youth;
and you are some years her senior. So much for your
respect. As for ‘“@lendower,” whose strictly moral
and religious literature is calculated to produce so
good an effect upon the minds of the youth of America,
leading them to loftier aims and nobler resolutions—
implanting in their bosoms a sense of the difference
between right and wrong; in short, every ennobling
passion is incyllcated, and the best good of mankind
generally sought after and faithfully delineated by this
model writer. (?) Friends, of learning and improve-
ment throughout our land—lawyers, sages and divines

.—the sayings and doings of “Glendower” and ‘his

apostles, are they not recorded in the veracious re-
cords of ‘Sal Griffin,” ‘‘Widow Mulrooney,’ and tho
“Irish Indian?’ Which forthwith procure, peruse,
and be instructed! The old maid controversy is ended,

— We have received a number of commu-
nications on this subject, pro and con.; but, for
the reasons previously stated, we have failed
to publish them, and thus terminate the dis-
cussion. .... A new contributor, “C. Quincy
Tirrell,” favors us with @ paragraph about

A PRECOCIOUS JUVENILE,

Our minister hag a fine, intelligent little gon, six
years of age, whose precocity is a subject of much com-
ment among the neighbors. A short time since his fa-
ther had occssion to punish him on account of some
transgression of parental authority, and had made ail
the preliminary arrangements necessary, when Frank,
drawing himself up to his full height, said, “Father,
haven’t I served you faithfully six years ?”’ His punish-
ment, itis unnecessary to say, was very slight. On
another occasion, he endeavored for a long time to
draw a tack from the floor. with his hammer, but did
not succeed for some time, Finally, out it came, and
looking up to his mother, he said, with artless simplic-
ity, “There, mother, I believe now God answers pray-
er.” “Why, myson?” ‘Oh,I tried and tried, and
this tack would not conie out, but when I closed my
eyes, and said, ‘Oh, Lord, gocd Lord, take out this
tack !” out itcame.”” Some one once asked him who
his father was? ‘-He is Mr. 8. B——,”’ he replied; ‘the
man that works Sundays, and loafs the rest of the week!”

— That juvenile needs reproof.........A case
of practical reproof is cited by our old friend,
“Neil Bush,” in an anecdote about

A DISOBLIGING COACHMAN,

Mr. G. has a coachman, who, though a capital one
in his own department, puts on airs if requested to. go
beyondit. A fow nights since, when old Boreas was
out on a spree, and the rain was coming dowp in the
diluvial fashion, Mr. Ge had company arrive very wth-
expectedly, and it became necessary to send to a neigh.
boring confectioner’s for refreshments. Hig Waiter
was. of the feminine persuasion, and his good wife
“allowed’’ that it was no night for anything of woman-
kind to go out. Somewhat unwillingly he called up
the coachman, for he wag no strahger to his peculiar
notions, and desired him to do the errand. “I am not
a waiter, sir!’’ replied John, throwing himself back on
his reserved rights and dignity. “I know that, John,
but it is too dreadful a storm for Bridget to go outin.”’
* Sorry, sir; lam not a waiter, and can’t lower myself
by doing their work.” This was a little too much for
even Mr. G., good-natured as he usually was, and he
sharply asked John what he was, “A coachman, sir.”’
‘and your duties?” ‘To take care of the horses and
the harness and the carriages, and to drive.” Mr. G.
retired to the parlor fora fow minutes, Then he rang
the bell and desired Btidget to tel! John to harnesa up
the best carriage and drive round to the door. In a
fow moments it was there, and Mr. G. told Bridget to
step in and John to drive her to the confectioner’s !
It is said John swore “‘some,” both during the drive
and the next day, when he was cleaning the muddy
harness, horses and carriage. He had, however, far
too good a place to give up, and Mr. G. is of the opin-
ion that John may hereafter consider his duties to
‘have a wider range than heretofore,

— A well-merited rebuke; and the coolness
with which it was administered enhanced its

 

everity. .. . Speaking of coolness, we append

’ &

That you have tested the truth of your asser- |”

@ communication from ‘Joe Junos,”’ giving
the particulars of -

AN UNPARALLELED ®ASE OF ASSURANCE,

A young friend of ours, who had been religiously
brought up, once conceived a desire for learning the
mysteries of that unbound-book, which contains fifty-
two pages, and is illustrated by twelve engravings,
His thirst fer knowledge was soon gratified, after a
short introduction to those erudite gentlemen who, by
incessant study of the aforementioned pages, have be-
come adepts in-the science of “bluff.” As might be
expected, his firatlesson cost him all the money he
possessed atthe time. It would have been fortunate
for him had he stopped there, but he didn’t—he had
‘taken a hand’’ at “bluff,” became infatuated with it,
and Once & week, for nearly a year, he left all his loose
change at the magic table. At length he came to the
conclusion one day thathe had better ‘stop it,’”? and
he did. The meeting night came, and the “bluffers”
looked for him in vain. They waited for him about
three hours, and when if became evident that he did
not intend to make his*Appearance, they resolved to
address him a note, which they did, and itrun to the
following effect: ‘Mr. : Dear Sir; After having
waited for you some three hours, we have come to the
conclusien that you are unavoidably detained. If you
cannot make it convenient to call areund yourself,
ploage let the bearer have what money you intended to
bring with you, and we will either divide it equally
amongst us, or put it into the first double pot, and ‘let
the longest pole rake the persimmons.’ On behalf of
the ‘boys.’ Yours, ——.’’ To this our friend replied
as follows, in a note daubed with assafotida: ‘Gentle
men: Your kind forbearance in not at once commence
ing legal proceedings against me, instead of sending a
boy for the money, is only equalléd by your extreme
liberality. I hasten at once to comply with your wishes.
Enclosed I send you a bad scent, and for this smount
you may send weekly, a8 Ido not intend ever again to
‘chip up’ amongst you. Yours, -” Itis almost
Reedless to gay that our friend had no farther trouble.

Although a novice, he “bluffed” the gam-
blers that time, who perhaps acknowledged a
“straight’’ defeat by a ‘full’? volley of pro-
fanity.......An instance of unmitigated pro-
fanity is thus recorded by “Neil Bush,’’ under
the caption of

A PROFANE DAREEY.

A humane lady in the West, during the rush of con-
trabends thither, took. pity on @ poor ragged boy ofa
decided!y dark complexion, gnd concluded to give him
‘ahome in her family, Af eing decently clothed,
Jack was as happy a8 arebéfin a Union prison. and
soon was fat as a prize pig. The good woman was
pléased with her succes, and all went on swimmingly
until one day she heard him uge the Lord’s name in
anything but areverent manner. Calling Jack to her,
she proceeded to lecture him upon the enormity of
the deed, telling him that he would certainly go to
Tophet unless he stopped swearing. ‘Whatkind ob4
place am dat?” It is alake of fire and brimstone.®
“Fiah and brimstones, Missus?’’ ‘Yes and you will
be put into it and burned forever and ever.”” “But poor
Jack burn all up, missus.” ‘No, you won’t; you will
constantly burn but never b& consumed.” “But I
could nebber stand it.” ‘You will have to stand it,’’
replied the woman, somewhat at a loss for words to
make him comprehend her meaning. “Well,” replied
the juvenile contraband, “if I kin stand it, I:don’t care
a—!” and immediately.began to whistle “Dixie,”

— That darkey needs reformation. .... So,
also, does the youngster spoken of in the an-
nexed paragraph, who is denominated by an
“Anonymous Contributor,” ag

A HARD CASE,

‘“Halloo, my little man,’’ said a gentleman from 4
window in the second story in his house, to a little ur-
chin passing by, who was gazing up with much appa-
rent wonder; “I guess you think there isa little
heaven up here, don’t you, bub?” “Well, yes, sir, I
should if I hadn’t seen the devil stick his head out of
the window.”’

— The boy had the old man ‘‘by the horns”
on that occasion,....,. “I. C. R.” favors us
with a few
CONUNDRUMS,

When isa bottle like a fully organized regiment ?
When it’s mustered in.

Why is a lawyer’s mouth likes toll bar-gate? Be-
cause it is seldom opened bet for money.

What condition of reverse must thé army of tho
Cumberland (or Potomes) suffer to resemble a dinner
party of deaf mutes. A def-eat,

OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

[We have received numerous communications from
persons who are desirous to contribute to “Our Knowl-
edge Box,” providing they are paid for their trouble;
and we here desire to say to all such, that we opened
this department for the benefit of the readers of the
WEEELY at large, and are always supplied, gratis, with
matter enough to make it interesting. Wo shall be
thankful toall who will furnish us valuable receipts,
etc., and in doing so, they will be benefiting themselves
a8 well as us, because for any one item which they may
furnish, they will receive half-a-dozen in return.)

Quzstions ANSWERED AND Inrorwation Want-
ED.—J, H, Linden.—The following is the modeof pre-
paring an excellent OINTMENT FoR CHaPs AND ERUP-
TIONS.—Simmer ox-marrow over the fire, and after-
wards strain it through a piece of muslin into gallipote,
When cold, rub the parts affected.......Mrs. W. 7.
asks how to extract the Essence or Onrnery.—This is
done by soaking for a fortnight half an ounce of celery
in a quarter of a pintof brandy; afew drops will fla-
vour a pint ofsoup or broth, equal toa head of celery.
«eo. -JQ8. Harriott.—LiGUID GLUE is made by dissolv-
ing shéllac in water, along with borax, which possess-

resinous lac. This preparation is convenient from its
cheapness and freedom from smell ; but it gives way if
exposed to long continued damp, which that made with
naptha resists, 2

VENISON Pasty.—A venison pasty is made of
what does not roast well, ag the neck, breast, or{shoul-
der. The breast makes a good pasty ; cutit into little
chops, trimming off all bone and skin; make some
good gravy from the bones and other trimmings ; place
tat and lean pieces of the meat together, or, if very
lean, place thin slices from the firm fat of a leg ora
neck of mutton along with each piece; season the meat
with black pepper, salt, pounded mace, and allspice ;
place itina dish, and putin the drawn gravy, a quar-
ter of a pint of claret or port, 2 wineglassful of eschalot
vinegar, and, if liked,a couple of onions, very finely
shred ; cover the dish with a thick crust. Before the
pasty is served, if the meat be lean, more sauce, made
of a little wine, gravy, mixed spices, and the juice of a
lemon, may be putin hot. A common fault of venison
pasty is being overdone. An hour and a halfin amed-
erate oven is Jfully sufficient for baking an ordinary-
sized pasty ; an hour will do for a small one. Some
cooks macerate the meat in the wine and other season-
ings for a night, or for some hours previous to baking.
This, no doubt, imbues the venison with the flavor of
the seasonings, but at the same time drains of the
pieces, and destroys the natural flavor of the meat.

To Dress SKINS WITH THE FuR On.—There. are

‘| many ways of preparing furs for‘use as articles cf dress

or ornament. A way the writer used successfully with
pelts, ag those of muskrats, Minks, cats, rabbits, foxes,
etc., is as follows: After stretching and drying, scraps
off all the bits of flesh and lumps of fat which may ad-
here, then wet thoroughly on the flesh side with a
strong solution of salt and alum ; fold one half upon
the other with the fur out, and roll up or pack the skins
awayfora week or ten days. After this, the pelts aro
shaken out, each is spread with a layer of bran or saw-
dust, and thus they are piled one upon another, or
again rolled up to lie fora day or two. The moisture
is absorbed, and after this, repeated vigorous rbubings
and working by the hands flnish them. ‘Thick skins
need to be treated a second time with alum and salt,
which is best applied finely pulverized and rubbed in.

EXxceLtent Bezr Sovr.—The strongest and best
soup that can be extracted from meats i@ produced by
the following method: Chop lean beef fine as for mince
meat, Mix it unifermly with its own weight of cold
water, heat it slowly up to the boiling point, and let: it
boil briskly for one or two minutes. Strain the liquor
through coarse linen, add salt and other seasoning,

Recipz yor Currant of Plum Carsur.—Five
pounds of currants or plums. two pounds of sugar,
one pint of vinegar; one tablespoonful of salt, one of
pepper, one of cinnamon, one, of allspice, and one of
cloves. Mash all together, and cook tenor fifteen min-
utes.

Honzy Vineaar.—Mix one pound of honey with
a gallon of cider, and expose itto the sun, or keep it
where itis warm, andina few months it will be so
strong that water will be necessary to dilate it, :

Cream Tartar Canz.—One cup of sugar: half
cip of butter ; two eggs ; One teaspocnful of soda dis-
solved in a half cup of sweet milk ; two teaspoonfals of
cream tartar ; two cups and a quarter of flour ; nutmeg

 

to suit the taste,

es the peculiar property of causing the solution of the }

Sucar JumBLEs.— One cup of butter; two cups
sugar; one cup of cream ; one egg ; one teaspoonful of
soda dissolved in thecream. Do notknead very stiff,
Nutmeg. Bakein a quick oven,

Tra Fuavorn.—To impart a fine flavor to ordina-
ry tea, place rose leaves in the tea -canister, add one
drop of the ottar of roses on a@ piece of soft paper to
Ms pound of tea, and keep the canister closely cov-
ered,

ITEMS FOR FARMERS AND GARDENEBS.

Youne Ca1cKens.—As the earliest hatched chick:
eng, provided they have a dry, warm and sun exposed
house or coop, free from lice, generally do the best ;
the hens should be set to hatching about the middle of
February or the first of March, but have fewer eggs
than common, so that they may cover them well and
keep them equally warm, And the young chicks
should be kept off the cold ground and out of the wet,
and in a dry, warm place, and fed with warm food until
they are old and strong enough to do without warm
food. Ifa setting hen looks pale about the head, it is
& sure sign that she is lousy. To remedy this evil clean
out her nest—wash her eggs in warm water—and
grease her under her wings and on her breast and bel-
ly, and put her back again, and feed her well, and she
will soon improve and do well.

Worms 1x Cotts.—Turpentine is the old reme-
dv for tape-worms, the dose’being for colts four years old
20 1 under,29 many half ounces as the ania al is years old
—on6 otnce is not too much for a colt six months old ;
but pumpkins seeds are now the favorite remedy for
human patients and why should it not dofor horses,
Try.it. Mash the soedsand give them to the colt in
the morning, after his fasting twenty-four hours ; fol-
low this with a purge of some sort—six drachms of
pulverized aloes, and ten ounces of ginger, with enough
honey or molasses to roll them into a ball, will do.
This may bring away other worms too. For round
worm, two drachms of tartar emetic given to 8 full
grown horse every morning for severel days, in a ball,
is reccommended. {For pin worms injections of train
cil and of brine are advised,

Ticks ON SHEEP AND Lamps.—The time to rid
& flock of ticks is about two or three weeks after shear-
ing—at which period the ticks all leave the old sheep
and go upon the longer-fleeced lambs. Then dip the
lambs in strong tobacco water, using tobacco stems
from the segar makers. At this time of year use mer-
curial olnment, (unguentum) mixed thoroughly with
four or five times its weight oflard. Open the fleece
and rub the unguentum upon the skin, in lineg down
the back, around the neck, and around the belly. This
ought not to be done in cold raw weather,

Roots are a substitute for green feed, which no
good farmer ought to be without, Sortover all kinds,
separating the soundest to keep latest into the spring,
Feed the partially decayed and wilted at once, Be care-
ful not to feed decayed turnips, rutabagas, or cabbages
to milch cows—the milk willtaste. Cook beforé feed-
ing, all that are not entirely-fresh and sound,

Burss.—Pring forward from a cool to a warm
and light place, a few at a time, in order to havea suc-
cession of bloom,

SCIENTIFIC NOTES.

Motion or ELEotRicity.—The mode by which
the rate of motion of electricity was obtained by Pro-
fessor Wheatstone is so curious, thatlt deserves to be
described. He caused the electricity from a common
machine to pass through a long coil of insulated wire,
in which were two or three more breaks, across which
sparks must necessarily pass. A mirror was made
to revolve with immense rapidity before this coil, The
reflection of the sparks was thus thrown occasionally,
when the mirror was in the right position,‘upon a
canopy above, graduated in divisions. The reflection
of one of the sparks was found always to lag behind the
other, on account of the time occupied by the electrici-
ty in passing through the intervening portion of the
coil, the effect of which waz was multiplied by the re-
volving mirror. The lengtt: of the coil between the
breaks and the rate of revolution of the mirror. being
known, and the distance of the reflected sparks from
each other being observed, the wate of electrical motion
was easily calculated. :

PaystoLocy or Swimmine.—The medical author-
ities ofthe French army especially recommend that
men inclined to disease of the chest should be made to
awim, The following are among tho effeets which
swimming has on the srgans of respiration:—A
awimmer wishing to proceed from one place to an-
other, is obliged to deploy his arms and iegs to cut
through the liquid, and beat the water witb them to |
sustain himself. Itis tothe chest, as being‘the cen-.
tral point of sustentation, that every movement of the
limbs responds, This irradiation of the movemenis
of the chest, far from being hurtful to it, is beneficial ;
for, according to a sacred principle of physiology, the
more an organ is put into action, the more vigor and
aptitude it will gain to perform its functions. Apply:
ing this principle to nature, it will easily be perceived
how the membranes of the chestof a swimmer acquire
development—the pulmonary tissues firmness, tone
and energy.

BRANDY FRoM Coan Gas,—Permission to work a
French patent for the manufacture of brandy from co
gas has recently been purchashed fora, large sym by
an English company, and the work of manufacture is
on the point of being started in London. Coal gas, as
many know, isa mixture of several sorts of gases, and
olefiant gas, the chiefilluminating principle of coal gas,
is one of these. The ricner, therefore, that any coal.
gas is in this principle, the better fitted is it for the
manufacture of spirits, (brandy or whiskey). Now, it
happens that the coal gas msde in this country is
among the very best produced anywhere, and accord-
ingly we may expect that this new use will be quickly
found for our coal gas, and that possibly the price may
come to be enhanced by the circumstance,

DOES SHE WISH ME DEAD.

mereoee

BY J. N. 8.

And does she wish that death would come,
And take me from her side?

The one I once so fondly loved,
When first she was my bride,

And does she wish mo in the grave,
Consuming into dust?

The one to whom she pledged her troth,
And gave her heart in trust,

And has that love now turned to hate?
Aud Ia man to dread ?

Docs she to whom I bound my fate
Now wish me with the dead?

If this is so, my life is naught,
And sorrow’as deepest gloom
Shall shade my path of lovelinesa,
‘Till laid within the tomb.
coraenonneesemenitie > 4 GD > ¢~<iijpacuonaneaneeegD

ONLY A JOKE,

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES,

“Well, I don’t know what John Duke was think-
ing about toengage himself to Cora Byington,
when there are so many prettier girls in town!”
said Miss Dorcas Jones.

“Yourself, for instance?” laughed Anna Dell,
with a mischievous gleam shooting like violet
lightning from beneath the Jong lashes that
fringed her pretty eyes, Miss Dorcas tossed her
head until the rows of curl papers with which it
was decorated quivered in unigon.,

“Of course I didn’t mean myself, although Cap-
tain Duke has always been very attentive to
me 32

Particularly,” whispered Anna to her next

neighbor, ‘“‘when he was a little boy, and went to |’

school to Miss Dorcas, ages ago!”

“And,” went on Miss Dorcas, unconscious of
Anne’s roguish by-play, ‘‘there’s no telling what
might have happened, if Cora Byington hadn’t
been go very forward in her attempts to fascinate

jhim! Jmight have been madam a dozen times

over, if I had chogen to
coquettish ways.”

“Very possibly,” murmured Anna, demurely
twirling her pink fan, “strange things have hap-
pened in this werld.”

“And they do say,” interrupted Sylvia Glen, a
young lady trembling on the fatal verge of old
maid-hood, *that since he’s gone off to the wars,
he writes to her every day.”

‘Poor fellow,” sighed Dorcas, “he'll soon dis-
cover his mistake when he’s tied to her for life—a
flirting, conceited little vixen with a face like a
wax doll’s—one half of it paint and powder, Pll
bet a cookey.”

Anna Dell sprang to her feet, while an angry
flush burned on her cheek.

“Now Dorcas Jones, you know that’s not true.
Cora Byington’s beauty is as genuine as—as your
teeth arent! and her heart is as good and noble
a8 yours is malicious and false!”

practice Cora Byington’s

“No, ’'m only speaking the truth, Iwon’t hear »
Cora Byington reviled by a set of old mae wi ,
are simply furious because her beauty and sweet-
ness have won the heart of the handsomest man
in Middleville. And if you’re going to talk scan-
dal any longer, Z wont stay to listen toit.”

And Miss Anna Dell tied héy white sun-bonnet
round her peach-blossom face, and walked delib-
erately out from amidst the tea-drinking cabal, up .
the lane, where gigantic cherry trees leaned over
and interlaced their green boughs into a sort of
cool, fragrant arch, and across the clover-dimpled
meadow, to “the old Byington place,” as it wag
commonly designated in village parlance,

If Captain Duke, of Company E th Regi.
ment, could have seen his pretty little ‘betrothed
at that moment, sitting on the door-step, under
the shadow of moving leaves, shot through with
golden beams of sun, he would have been—not
more in love with her than he was, for that were
impossible—but one degree prouder | ;

he was a rose-cheeked little lassie, with large,
velvety eyes, black as jet, and soft, silky curls,
touched with purple gloss—one of those frail, de-
licate blossoms in life’s garden, on whom you
look with instinctive fear, mingling with your ad-
miration, lest some rough wind should blast ita
fragile loveliness.

As the garden latch clicked under Anna’s touch,
Cora Byington started up with a sweet, welcom-
ing smile,
‘Anna—is it you 2?” :

Yes; and I’m furious!” said that young lady,
energetically fanning herself, as she sat down be«
side her friend. ‘Only to hear Dorcas Jones and
Sylvia Glen tearing you to pieces—metaphorical-
ly, of courge—because John Duke had the good
sons _ prefer you toa pack of malevolent old

aids t
“Nonsense, Anna—what can it possibly matter
to me ?” laughed Cora, blushing just enough to
make her cheek look like the inside of a pink
morning-glory,

“Well, nothing, I suppose,” said Anna; “and
yot I must confess it provokes me to hear Dorcas
pretend that John was wildly in love with her be-
fore Cora Byington spread her nets to entrap his
Unsuspecting innocence 1”

‘Dear Anna,” said Cora, softly putting her arm
round her companion’s waist,.“‘let them say what
they will—it cannot cast a solitary shadow on my
happiness, as long as John loves me, and is spared
to me and to his couxtry |”

And the peaceful mellow gold of sunset, flood-
ing. the meadow slopes with .tides of level light,
seemed fiterally to glorify the. pure,. seraphic -
beauty of Cora Byington’s face, until it reminded
Anna of some pictured saint above the colored
glow of cathedral windows.

“Wouldn't it be a joke ?” said Miss Dorcas Jones,
laying down the newspaper.

“What?” inquired Sylvia Glen, who had just
joined the gossipping group who sat in council
over the village affairs of Middleville. .
‘Why just to tell Cora Byington that her cap.

tain’s name is in the list of ‘Killed’—to see how

she would take it!”

“But it isn’t there.”

‘Yes, it is—see there—John Dake: but of course

it isn’t the name, for it is a private in a Kentucky

regiment; but for all that I should like to see what

my young lady would say.”

“But wouldn't it be cruel?” asked the relenting*

ylvia.

Oh, we'd set her right after awhile—it would
only be ajoke!” s
Miss Dorcas’ pale blue eyes gleamed with apite-
ful lustre as she spoke; the very thought of astab
at Cora Byington’s heart was pleasant. It would
be a nice settlement of old scores with the little
village beauty. :

The very pinks and daisies in Cora Byington’s
garden seemed to brighten that evening %s the
flutter of her white muslin dress passed through
the borders, to greet the solemn visitors, Her
curls were slightly disordered by the south wind,
and her cheeks stained with soft rose-tints, while
the velvety eyes were full of tender radiance,
Cora Byington had never looked go lovely in all
the eighteen years of her life. Miss Dorcas might
have relented in her cruel purpose; but Cora’s
fresh beauty only hardened her heart,

They talked on awhile, until at length Miss
Dorcas, looking with solemn shyness at Sylvia
Glen, began.

conte ee you're feelin’ very sad, Miss Bying-

n

“Sad? nol Whysbould 1?”

“Oh, nothing, only John Duke’s death_—”
“John Dake’s death!” gasped Cora, turning
cold and white as a corpse.

‘Dear me! havn’t you seen it? Why, it’s in
this morning’s paper, in the list of killéd—John
Duke,’ as plain as a pikestaff, and——”

Miss Dorcas stopped abruptly, with a thrill of
mortal terror blanching her yellow face, for Cora
had fallen at her feet like one stricken by a thun-
derbolt—cold, dead, and lifeless,

‘Who would have thought it ?” she faltered,
with chattering teeth and shaking hands, “£
never s’posed she cared so much about him—it
was only a joke|” i,

Day followed day in close succession, and Dor.
ag Jones, standing at the gate, intercepted the
grave doctor as he came out of the old Byington
place a week afterward.

“How is she, doctor ?—will she live ?”

“She willlive /” said the old man; “butit will
be a living death {” :

“What do you mean, doctor 2?”

“I mean that her reason is gone!”

_ And Miss Dorcas Jones, for the first time in her
life, fainted dead away! She had. never dreamed
of so dreadfu la sequel to her “little joke !”

When John Duke returned, pale and worn with
anxiety, only to see the beautiful maniac, whose
fair face had won his heart but to wreck ita hap-
Piness, he simply said to Dorcas Jones,

“Were you a man, Miss Jones, I should send @
bullet through your heart, for the cowardly and -
wicked act—as you are protected by the fact that
she was of the same sex, I can only leave you to
the punishment of ‘your own conscience—may it
be a bitter one {”

Ho lies on the fatal field of Gettysburg, having
literally thrown away the life that was no longer
dear tohim. Yet, even in his battle-reddencq
grave, he is less dead to the world than the fair
-girl whose reason is eclipsed in everlasting dark.
ness by Miss Dorcas Jones’ “little joke |”

(ELS EAR CEPR AS UNE LTT:

ee rie

A BARE CHANCE FOR THE LOVERS OF LIGHT
LITERATURE,

We have now on hand, in neat pamphlet
form, and is for sale by évery news agent
throughout the United States, at five cents per’
copy, the following stories by popular authors:

THE RED SHARK;
OB,
THE BRIDE OF THE ISLE.
AN EXCITING SEA STORY.
BY AUGUSTUS OOMBTOOK,

THE REBEL QUAKERESS;
oR, =

The ‘Tory Guardian,
BY COL. SAMUEL STARKE,

REUBE, THE RANGER;
- a
THE IMPRISONED BRIDE.

 

A TALE OF: MEXY7O, ;
BY HARRY HAMILTON,
SRR ORO ipo ORR
Address

STREET & SMITH,

 

 

“Anna, you are crazy!” exclaimed Dorcas,

No. 11 Frankfort Street,

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

|’ DESPERIT SASSAGE MAKER;

THE OYSTERMAN'S BRIDE. ,
A VERY EXOITIN' BALLAD,

BY TOMAS TOMKINS, THE LOZENGE BOY,

Orther of “Nickerlas Boggs, the Soap-Biler Sooer.
eide,’’‘ Batsey Von Gheit ; or, the Clam-Boy’s
Revenge ; “The New York Fire Laddie,"’

' ete., etc., ete:

Taustraited with Kuts by the Orthur, in a Stile
Pecooliar to Hisself.

Come all ye bold young fellers, likewise ye
maidens, too,

An interesting story I will relate to you:

"Tis of a cruel parient—one Diedrich Vonder-
dan— ; ;

Who tried to sell his dorter to a German sas-
sage man!

- Portrait of the Cruel Parient and His Dorter.

Now Von he kept a lager shop, as you shall
understand—

And swore that Hans, the sassage man, should
have his dorter’s hand;

But the beautiful Katrina, her stern parient
defied,

Ses she, ‘‘No one but Gallus Jake shall ever
call me bride.”

Portraits of Gallus Jake and Hans, the Sassage
Man.

At this the cruel parient swore at her like a
Turk,

And said, like any nigger wench he’d make
Kairina work.

He vowed he’d cut her lager down te forty pints
a-day, ek

And take one-haif her sour-crout and Switzer-
cheese away !

— i

The Cruel Parient Swearing Like a Turk.

Oh, it’s then the fair Katrina began to pine
; away, ‘
And Von he saw her failin’ and’ fadin’, day by
day;
' But still the brave gai managed to go her daily
rounds,
-*Till, by and by, alas, she weighed a scant
three hundred.pounds!

Now Vonderdan began to think his precious
gal would die,
And so he dropped his wrath, and thought a
compromise he'd try;
% He sent for Hans, the sassage man, and Gallus
4 Jake, straightway,
And to the savage rivals he proceeded for to

 

Picter of the Old Man Makin’ his Proposishin'
to-:the Rivals.

‘Mine poys, I vant to sproken.now some
solemn words mit you—

You both can’t have mine gal, and so I tells
you vot Pll do—

Der yon who in von leetle year shall der most
money make,

As true as I’m an honest man, Katrina’s hand
‘shall take.”

=
| a
Pister of the Old Man when he Uttered the Afore-
said.

‘Oh, Shake!” eries fair Katrina, ‘farewell,
mine licb—mine Shake!

How can’st da so much money as. de sassage
maker make?

You cannot even feed your horse, and Hans
‘will marry me!

Mine lieb! mine lieb! Vot I shall do?”
Gallus Jake, ‘*We'll see!”

Ses

Picter of Gallus Jake and Katrina when the for-
mer said, *‘Well see!”

And so they parted, Gallus Jake he tore his-
self away,

And Hans, the sassage maker, saw Katrina
every day: /

His trade increased—he grew rich fast, and for
a mile around :

No dog, nor eat, nor mouse, nor rat, nor dead

_ horse could be found!

SASS ARE go.
EVERY Sian &
BAY S ios

FREskly/ ‘ a
Pp}

RK

Picter of Hans when Fortune smiled onts him.

At last the year was up, and Hans he came to
claim his bride,

Old Von invited all his friends to see the knot
well tied. :

The parson came—the two stood up—Hans
‘whispered in her ear,

‘‘Where now is Gallus Jake, mine lieb ?”
voice exclaimed. ‘‘I’m here!”

A

Surprise of the Company at the aforesaid.

Katrina, with a start, oried out, ‘Mine own

a

res as

hen like a dart she sprang
him ’round the neck.

He glued his lips to hers, and smacked—then

heaved a heavy sigh—

Then hugged and smacked again—then said,

“Great Cagar! Ain’t that high!”

at him, and ecrt

ey. ¥
Picter of Gallus Jake Kissing Katrina.

Now Hans, the sassage man, was mad as ever
he could be—

‘‘Vot for you comes here, Shake,” he cried,
‘‘to fool yourself mit me? :

I have funf tousand dollars got, an’ so der gal
is mine!” .

| ‘Not as you knows on, yet,” ses Jake, ‘old

swell-head—I’ve got nine |”

Picter of Jake when he said, ‘I’ve got nine!”

“Qne year ago, my poor old nag was all my
property— -

He cost me half-a-dollar,-and I sold him for a
V, :

To a government contractor, who had plenty
cash in store,

And who told me for to take the V, and go and

- buy some more, :

=

 

Picter of some of the Horses which Gallus Jalce
bought,

‘*T did so—fifty more I bought with that ere
lucky five—

They each brought five apiece, and thus the
business did thrive.

At last I got a contract for supplyin’ army
hacks, : J

And here’s the pile it’s brought me—nine thou-
sand in greenbacks.

Gallus Jake Displayin' His Greenback,

‘‘And now, old Hans, you're satisfied you
can’t win, I suppose--

| So leave at wunst, or else I'll take and split yer

_ ugly nose!”

**Yah, das ist coot!” said Vonderdan, a-pint-
in’ to the door,
‘Clear out, you Hans, unt don’t you comes to

» mine haus any more!”

 

 

 

prave Gallus Jake!”

ra

SapeaIteasacmnanaaogB Od

So then the parson tied the knot—the lager

And the dancin’, and the singin’, and the

RERLY.

vee = FESS

was rolled in— / t
rompin’ did begin—

They danced and drank till legs guv out, and
swelled was every head,

And the galliant bridegroom and his bride
stole slyly off to bed.

 

A Picter of the Dancin’ and Drinkin’.

But what of Hans, the sassaga man? With
frenzy in his eye,

And desperation in his heart, he hurried home
to die! $e

Determined onto suercide, he sat him down to

ea” eat

No common 'pison, but a pound of his’ own

sassage meat |

 

Eating a Pound of his Own

Picter- of Hans
Sassage Meat.

He ate it—then he mixed and drank a glass of
apple toddy— :

And then ‘he wrote upon a board, ‘Mine
friends, don’t waste mine pody!”

And then he stretched hisself out straight, as
stiff as any post,

And then, without a sigh or groan, he yielded
up the ghost!

Mine PRYENDS
DONT WASTE
MISE Boppy

 

IS IT BETTER S02

So asked the half-crazed mother, as they led
her away from the lifeless form of her first
born, and left her in her loneliness and sor-
row. Is it better to bury my heart’s idol be-
neath the sod, and leave our wide halls deso-
late, while yonder widow weeps tears of help-
less anguish, as the squalid group at her side
rend her heart with their piteous wailing, as

ae ra nere

is the weary cry

ing object!
before the glass.

ee

aoa

we psss through
he valley of the earth, preparing to meet Him

of life, as

who alone can explain the gaeat mystery of
Our Woe,

gee
or

JOSH BARNUM’S ©

HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPE,

.BY JOSEPH B, MOORK.

I was seated in an easy chair in my offics, quiet-
ly enjoying a ehoice Havana, toward the close of
& hot summer's day, in Auguat last, when Joshua
Barnum, a particular friend of mine. entered.

. Thad been absent some six or seven weeks on
business, to Cincinnati, and had returned but the
day before, and this was my first meeting with
my friend Josh singe my return.

After exchanging customary Balutation&, in-
quiring about friendg, ete., Josh drew his chair
up to me, and in a low, confidential tone, said,

“Joe, I. want your/advice in a matter--yes, a
confounded serape I have got into.”

T roared out, “Ha! ha! ha!” I could not help
if; and you, dear reader, would. have done the
same had you seen my friend Josh just then!
Imagine a short, stout figure, with a fiery red
mustache—a la Napoleon—hair of the same hue,
cnt very short, and when excited, ashe was at
this time, his face bore a color almost scarlet.

As soon as 1 recovered my gravity, I said,

‘Excuse me, Josh, but I can’t helplaughing to
gee you 80 excited at some trivial matter,”

You see, Josh wag always getting into some
foolish little scrape, and was easily scared, and
so I thought I would plague him. :

“Trivial matter? No! Au outrageous scrape!
but wait till I explain,” and he drew himself up,
took in a deep inspiration, as though ’twere to be
his last, and continued:

“Joo, listen now; I’ve promised to marry a girl
I’ve never seen. Hang her! and I can’t get out
of it, unless I put an end to myself, which V’ll/do
rather than hitch myself to a female goed for
nothing !” : :

‘Is thatall, Josh?” I asked, in a cool, indiffer-
ent manner.”

“All!” he muttered; “isn’t that encugh? To
promise & person, in black and white, that you'll
cut your own throat on such a day, and—”

“Hush!” TI interrupted; “I’m a married man—
don’t speak thus of marriage.”

“But it’s just as‘bad; there is no choice—none
at all, Zounds!” and he brought his hand down
on my sheulder, as though he meant it.

‘‘Have you given her a receipt to the effect
that you will marry her?” I asked, langhing.

“Yes, you may call it a receipt—a certificate—
a—anything! We corresponded together since
last January. A few weeks siuce I proposed,
(fool that I was!) and she has aecepted. Con-
founded serape it is!” Can’t you devise some
means, Joe, to free me from that abeminable
creature ?” ; .

‘‘An easy matter, Josh—a mere nothing,” I re-
plied; “I'll promise to bring you out, right side
up, provided you'll stand a champagne supper.”

“Agreed,” he cried, and we shook hands to
bind the bargain. :

“Now, Josh, listen. Go to Anderson’s and get
a wig of long, brick-red hair—your natural crop
ian’t long enough or it would do. (Josh looked
daggers.) False bushy whiskers of the same del-
icate ghue. Then to Barnes’ drug-store and get
on oufice of Lanitues Loriumz. (I cast & glance
at Josh; he was all attention, his eyes as large ag
saucers, mouth wide open, as though he was pre-
paring to swallow a pumpkin.) And at-Beadle’s
second-hand clothes shop you can complete your
toilet.” e

Reader, did you ever gaze. on a man when the
news was brought to him that he had just had a
ynillion dollars left him by a distant relative he
had never thought cf? Such was tne picture that
stood before me in the person of Joshua Barnum,
Esg. Hewas delighted, perfectly enraptured at
the idea,

“Why didn’t I think of it before?” he golilo-

| qutzea wo himself. ‘Surely it’s a go.”
qu §

In a minute he spoke. :

“Joe, my dear friend, Pll do it. Do you think
it will bring about the desired resuli ?”

“Of course it will,” Lassured him. “But when
are you to see her?”

“On next Friday evening, at No. 817 Madison:
Avenue.”

“The dickens! You don’t mean in this city ?”
Tasked, in astonishment.

“Certainly, of course,” he replied.

“Well, Josh, you’re a model young man! Just
think! Corresponding with a lady in your owa
city for over seven months, promising to marry
her—all without seeing her! Yes, you’re a.cau-
tion! But all the better of her residing in town
for your ‘scheme,’ you know,” I-added.

“Yes,” he answered, and then in a moment,
‘Joe, can you step ont a little while and help me
buy the ‘necessaries ?’” ;

‘Certainly; les us go at once,” and off we
started.)

At Anderson’s we found the hair and whiskers,
jast such ag we wanted, and at the clothes shop
found allsorts of garments, cast aside by circus
performers, &c., from which I picked out, for the
coat, a long, swallow-tailed, orange-colored dress
coat—oh! such a beauty !—the vest, a large red
and white plaid, and a pair of white pants. We
then returned,with the purchases, to my office,
He agreed. to meet me at the office on Friday at
six o’clock, and I was then to prepare him.

Well, Friday afternoon came, and at the ap-
pointed hour Josh stepped in, and we at once
commenced preparations. First, was to dissoive
the Lanitues Loriumx, and with the solution
wash his face and hands. This would leave the
skin as though the person had the itch. It pro-
duced the effect admirably. Secondly, put on
the clothes, and lastly the wig and whiskers. At
seven o’clock all was completed, and such alook-
He hardly knew himself as he stood
The old gentleman who goy-

to:earn their daily bread?

.| with bent back and moistened brow she strives

Is it better so? groans the ontcast, as sho
totters past, her ragged skirts fluttering in the

erns the lower regions would have fainted had he
been privileged to see him, He would have
scared the blackest crow! aa

I accompanied him to the door of his affian-
ced (?), gave him a few extra instructions, and
told him be would find me at the next corner af-
ter he had got through. I hadn’t waited more

breeze, and her poor heart bursting, as she
watches him who brought a curse upon her
head, whirl past her in an ecstasy of mirth, with
all to hope for in the future, and listens to his
light laugh, as he walks through life respect-
ed and fawned upon, while she must bury her
mouth in the dust, and bend beneath the

than five minutes, when I saw poor Josh rash
down the steps, and come toward me at a quick

ace,
. ‘“How’s it gone ?” I shouted, eager to know the
result,

“Saved! baved! thank Heaven !” was the an-

swer, in atone of joy and relief.

“Explain to me, Josh ?” I was anxious to hear.
Well,” he began, ‘‘a servant answered my

at his downfall.

 

Picter of the Old Man Invitin’ Hans to Leave. t

stones hurled upon her by those “without
sin,” who have made their appearance in the
world along with many other improvements.
Is it better so? asks the young wife, as the
coarse laugh of the rumseller flutters through
the open window and his little oner, surround-
ed by the luxuries of life, send forth the ring
of their merry voicesupon the calm summer
evening air, while she staunches, with tremb-
ling hands, the dark blood oozing from that
horrid scar upon the temples of the insensi-
ble form of her husband, and forces gently
away little ourious pale faces, peering half in
wonder, half in dread, upon the disfigured
countenance of their daily foar..
Is it better so? sighs the bankrapt, as he
beholds his vast wealth swept from him with
one swift blow, and sees his frail wife and
little ones, heretofore surrounded with every
comfort, shrinking beneath the whizlwind of
want beginning to pierce them, while the
poor family he helped from his abundance a
short while since, now look down from their
prosperity to laugh at his misfortune and sneor

Oh, God, is it better so? Alas! alas! that

summons. I asked to see Miss Maud ———, and
was shown intothe parlor, At the piano was
seated a young lady, dressed to kill, (she would
have killed me, if no for you,) which I, of course
supposed to be my Maud. I bowed, asking if
had the extreme pleasure of seeing my own, dear
belovod Maud? ‘No, no!’ she fairly shrioked.
‘Maud left yesterday with her husband for Eu-
rope, on their wedding tour!’ I beg#ed to be ex-
oused for intruding, ete., to all of which she
seemed to turn up her nose, ag much as to say,
‘the sooner you leave the better!’ which advice I
followed, as you perceive; and now, Joe, with your
congent, we'll go and have the promised cham-
pagne supper. Lord! J feel like a new man |”
Se we.went, and believe me, kind reader, we
had « grand old time that night !

Josh made me promise not to let his “hairs
breadth escape,” as he termed it, be known to
any one, which promise I kept, till now I narrate
it with his kind permisgion.

Josh is still enjoying “single blessedness,” and -
the prospects are ditto for the future, for he says,
“Taik of the dear, kind ladies! Doar imposters!”
andin corroboration cites Miss Mand’s words:
“Maud left yesterday with her husband for Eu-
rope,” etc., which sentence, I myself think, is *
“whopper |” :

t

 

~~ > 9 Bp > o—<ap-

Cuinproon has little retrospection; its heart
and soul are in the future, a glorified: dream.
Memory, with all its pleasures and pains, is for
the old, and chiefly for the prematurely old; but
youth is a vision of the islands of the blest; it
tells ite own fairy tale to itself, and is at once
the inventor and here,