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ENTERED ACCORDING 70 40 OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1869 Ry strert & SMITH.

IN THE CLERR’S OFTICE OF *HR DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT ©F NEW YORK.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vol. XXV.

FRANCIS 8. .
FRANCIS S. SMITH, {2 roprictors.

STREET,

4ERMS {

ihree Dollars Per. Year. N. 5
Single Copy, Six Cents 0. 6

 

Sones pa

BY MES. M. A. KIDDER,

An editor satin his easy chair,

And his scissors they went click, clack;
While with many a groan and many asigh,
And a far-off look in her weary eye,

An authoress mounted the staircase high

To that horrid three pair back!

The woman was old, and gray, and worn,
And her face looked pale and thin ;
* But she smothered the sigh and the weary moan,
And her eye looked less like an eye of stone,
As she asked in a quiet, modest tone,
“Ts the editor within ?””

The editor rose from his easy chair,
But a frown disguised his brow,

As he eyed the manuscript in her hand,
That was neatly tied with an azure pand.
“Madam, pray what may be your demand ?”

And he made a freezing bow!
“T think I’ve intruded, excuse me, sir,”
And the voice was low yet keen!
* Well, ma’am, we are busy, as you see here,
Besides we’re expecting Miss Rose Revere,
Our bright young contributor now for a year,
Whom yet we have never seen.”
The editor sat in his easy chair,
And his scissors resumed their clack;
He had done his duty if never before,
And bowed the old lady quite out of the door,
And thus got rid of a scribbling bore,
From that stifling three pair back.
* * * * * *
A beautiful spring-time lay by post,
And a note—’twas quite severe!
“ Our mistake was mutual, sir,” it ran,
“You had pictured me on the youthful plan,
While I had drawn you asa gentleman!
Your contributor—Rose Revere !”

CECILE’S MARRIAGE:

OR, THE

HEIRESS OF EARNSCLIFF.
BY LUCY RANDALL COMFORT,
Author of “Amy Raynor; or, The Tangled Path;” “Agnes

Crofton; or, The Daughter’s Revenge; “The Belle of Sara-
toga; or, The Heart of the St. Severns,”’ etc.

*

CHAPTER VI—(CONTINUED).

It was Cecile’s voice. She stood there, still leaning on
Mr. Vanier’s arm. He looked down into her Soft, inquir-
ing eyes—he felt the hardness melting out of his heart at
the very sound of her voice.

Had it come to this? Was she an enchantress, whose
slightest glance had power over his dark moods? He
felt the vanishing resolution, and strove to speak.coldly.

“J am going heme, Cecile.”

“Upon my birthnight, Gilbert 2”

“T am not wanted here,?? he answered, moodily.

“Yes you are—I want you,’ she said, coaxingly. “Now,
Gilbert, be good.”

He smiled—it was not in the possibility of human na-
ture to resist the arch, winning way of the little witch.

“Do you really wish me to remain, Cecile 2”?

“Of course Ido. Stay—what is that in your hana???

it was a little bouquet of wild rosebuds, tied with
scented grass, full of the wild, free grace of the moun-
tains.

“Some flowers, Cecile—I had intended them for you,
but—”

“Give them to me.,??

He placed them in her outstretched hand ; She fastened
the bouquet into her corsage, sadly to the detriment of
the dainty rows of quilted French blonde that the dress-
maker had placed there. Gilbert smiled as he met her
eye. Gerald Vanier’s brow grew dark as he glanced
down at his own bouquet carelessly swinging from the
holder.

“Tam sorry my poor offering met with so little favor in
your eyes,’ he said, coldly.

“It's very pretty,” said Cecile, indifferently. “Oh, I for-
got that you had not been introduced. Mr. Vanier, this
is Mr. May.”

Gilbert inclined his head—Mr. Vanier bowed stiffly.
Both gentlemen looked as little inclined to be friends as
possible. d

“Gilbert, I shall want you to take mein to Supper by
and by,’ said Cecile, carelessly. ‘Mind you are on
hand.”

And Gilbert, raised by the beauty’s trivial notice from
the depths of despondency to the seventh heaven of de
light, turned away once more. He knew very few among
that brilliant throng, but Miss Ferrars was always ready
with her choicely-selected language and didactic remarks
to talk to any one, and both Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan had
treated him with the greatest kindness. It would not be
long until supper, and then Cecile would be his compan-
ion for a few brief, happy moments.

“You seem on excellent terms with tha¢ young man,”
observed Vanier, a little critically, as he walked on with
Cecile.

“Tam! she answered, quietly. ‘Gilbert is the best
friend I have in the world.”

“Is he the dearest ?”” '

“I don’t recognize your right to ask that question, Mr.
Vanier,” the heiress answered, haughtily.

“Pardon me, Miss Redesdale, I was but in jest.”

“Where do you draw the boundaries between your jest
and your earnest ?”? demanded Cecile, still a little rufiied.

He answered by asking her to waltz with him.

“No, Mr. Vanier, 1 donot care to dance this waltz.
Take me back to mamma, please.’

“You are not offended with me 2?

“Am I offended with the chance wind that blows the
petals from my wild roses?” .

“No, for, like myself, it is incapable of annoying you.”

‘Very well, then—you hare your answer.”

Mr. Vanier was not exactly Satisfied with the results of
this verbal passage at arms, but Cecile would continue
the subject no longer, and he was unwillingly compelled
fo take her back to Mrs., Redesdale’s side.

Maurice Trevelyan, leaning against a doorway beside
the host, observed them as they passed.

“My young friend seems very much devoted to your
daughter, Paul,” he said, turning with a grave smile to-
ward Mr. Redesdale. “If Cecile cares for the boy, she
might do worse than to accept him. He is well-born, cul-
tivated, and will be wealthy.”

“Not for worlds!” ejaculated Redesdale, with a start.
“My Cecile is but a child yet.”

“She is sixteen.”

“Yes, but—it is but yesterday she was playing with her
dolls and quarreling with her governess, I Suppose she
is a woman, and yet I would fain have kept her a child a
few years longer.”

“Who amone us can stop the wheels of time 2” asked
Trevelyan, a little sadly.

“Do you think that Gerald Vanier really thinks of any
such piece of folly and nonsense as falling in love with
my Cecile??? demanded Mr. Redesdale, still looking some-
what uneasily after the two young people, now nearly
passed out of view.
oy From present appearances I should think it remarka-
bly probable,” answered Trevelyan, coolly.

“speak to him, Maurice. You ave his intimate friend
and adviser. Tell him not to entertain such a thought
for an instant,” said Mr, Redesdale, in a quick, excited
voice. ‘It won’t do—it mustn't bel”? } oe

“Why must it not be? Apparently they are well suited
to one another.” é 5

I will tell you why, Maurice.”

Mr. Redesdale had taken his friend by the button-hole
and drawn him hurriedly into the recess of the deep bay
window, where exquisite tropical flowers, brought from
the greenhouses, had been arranged to form a semicir-
cular wall of blossoms,

“It was to have been a secret, but I have ho secrets
from you. You remember when 1 was in Rurope, five
years ago???

“Perfectly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And you remember my telling you of the warm per-
sonal friendship that exisfed between myself and Sir
Croft Beilairs 2”

Veg.)

“T stayed a month at Byington, his residence. Our ac-
quaintance, beginning in the merest accident ever de-
vised by chance, ripened into respect, esteem, friend-
Ship. And before we parted—you will laugh at this, for
a Quixotic bit of romance, Maurice—we had made a sort
of informal compact that when Guy Bellairs, his son,

| then a fine lad of fifteen or Sixteen, traveled, as he soon

expected to do, he should come to this country, become
my guest, and—now here’s the Quixotism of it—fall in
love with my daughter Cecile!??

Trevelyan had listened very attentively, and, as his
friend paused, he spoke:

“T see nothing so particularly Quixotic about it, pro-
sea the young people should take a fancy to one an-
other.”?

“Cecile is beautiful,?? went on Redesdale, ‘‘and she will
be accomplished. She has sulficient wealth to give foun-
dation to the alliance—in those old countries, Maurice, a
dower is naturally expected with brides who aspire to
such rank as the old family of Bellairs holds—and her
manner will grace any position. In this country, no
matter what a girl’s qualifications are, she can never rise
higher than a certain socia) eminence. As Lady Bellairs,
for Guy will inherit the old knighthood, 1 should see my
Cecile in her proper place.”

Trevelyan shook his head, smiling.

“T fear you have a touch of the epidemic of aristocra-
cy,’? he said. ‘What sort of a fellow is this Guy 2?

“As fine a boy, at fifteen, as ever breathed.”

“When will he come over to view his bride-elect ?””

“Sir Croft writes me that on the attainment of his
twenty-first year, a few months hence, he will commence
his travels.”

“Does Cecile know anything of this arrangement 2”

“Certainly not.”

“Why do you put so much emphasis on the ‘cer-
tainly 77 9?

“Because, thy dear Trevelyan, I have seen enough of
the caprice and inconsistency of women in general, and
my Cecile in particular, to know that if I were to mention
the affair at all, my girl would make a Special point of
falling in love with the very first young mah that hap-
pened to come along. No, no—let it rest. Time enough
yet.

“And suppose that, independently of the matter con-
cerned, Cecile should take it into her Wayward little head
to make a choice of her own??? ‘

“Cecile is only sixteen.”

‘ ao Will have to watch her very carefully, my
riend.?

(Poon! Nonsense! She is not out of the school-room
yet.”

“And Mrs. Redesdale- n

“Knows nothing whatever of the whole affair. Itis so
immature as yet, that 1 scarcely feel justified in mention-
ing it. Only, if you could in any way contrive, quite in
an off-hand sort of way, you Know, to give Vanier a hint
that Cecile is destined for another, it might save some
awkwardness and embarrassment.’

‘In other words the future Lady Bellairs must not get
up a flirtation with my young friend, Gerald.”

“If you choose to phrase it thus,” said Redesdale, a lit-
tle annoyed. “Hush, here comes a lot of people our way;
ail confidences must end, perforce, now.”

And he turned with all the smiling affability that dis-
tinguished his position as host to greet the new-comers.

Gilbert May had his one bit of Sunshine to light up the
otherwise somewhat monotonous current of the evening
forhim. Cecile was with him at sSupper—she leaned on
his arm, and looked smilingly up into his face, and
flashed sparkling little Sentences at him with all the
bewitching fascination that she knew so well how to
infuse into her manner. His roses blossomed on her
breast—his words were listened to with the deepest in-
terest—he was all in all to her for the time. Vanier, the
polished, easy-mannered rival, was forgotten utterly.

But there is a waking to every delicious dream, an end
to the loveliest day of light and sunbeams—and Gilbert’s
happiness could not last forever.

When Cecile was claimed for the first quadrille after
supper, by Squire Dimmick’s eldest son, fresh from Co-
lumbia College, who stared at young May asif he had
been an elephant freshly captured out of ‘the jungles of
Ceylon, Gilbert’s sun went down behind acloud. He
lingered a few minutes, but it was no particular pleasure
to see Cecile making herself just as agreeable to half a
dozen others as she had been to him—and he went away
long before the gay gathering broke up.

lt was a relief to him to stride up the rough roa
lay along the mountain Slopes, breathing in long i
tions of the delicious summer air.

“I could thrash that Oliver Dimmick with one
thought he, “and I will, too, if he dares to loo
shat manner again. But after all why should
am oddly d 1; 1am different trom other y
Iam rude, an
to college too, and learn to be more like my k

It was past one o’clock when he reached’ the
the shelving tabl a dim light burned
the o Dinah sat nodding on the door

“SB back sa

ou have not gone to bed, Dinah.”
“No, honey, I kind o’ wanted to hear
you'd had.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONCILE'S MARRIAGE—GILBERT 4AY AND DINAH.

“My coat iooked very well. Is my mother in there,

Dinah ???

The old woman shook her head.
“Goned off on one o’ her long tramps, dear. So you had

a nice time, eh?”
“Thad, Dinah, and
Gilbert sat down on

yet I hadn’t.”?
the grass with his back against the

side of the cabin. In some one he felt that he must con-
fide, and his mother had always repelled these intima-
cies. Gld Dinah was. faithful as a dog, and she loved
him with all the strength of her heart.-of that he felt

quite certain, and old

Dinah was better than no one,

“Don’ understand’ what ye means, honey, darlin’,”? she
said, leaning both elbows on her knees so as to bring her

head nearer to his,

“There was a young fellow there who came from New

York, Dinah, with the

Trevelyans—Vanier was his name—

and he was gallanting Cecile round, and whispering in
her ear, and fanning her.”
“But she was good to you too, wasn’t she, honey ???

“Yes, part of the ti

me—but oh, Dinah, it makes me so

angry when I see Cecile so wrapped up in any one else.
I could have murdered that young miscreant.””

“Gilbert, chile, don’

t talk so.’

“I could, Dinah—and then afterward Oliver Dimmick
came up to ask her to dance, and he looked at me go in-

solently.”
“Dem Dimmicks is
“All money an’ nuffin

drefful mean people,” said Dinah.
else.”

“f had been so happy with Cecile the minute before,”

went on Gilbert, ‘but

when she looked up in Dimmick’s

face and smiled, lalmost hated her. L was happy, Di-
nah, and yet I was miserable. What does it mean???
“Honey, dear,” said the old woman, putting her hand
with almost motherly tenderness on the young man’s
shoulder, ‘don’t you know what it means, Lord love ye???

“No?

“Tt means dat you love her. It mean dat you love Miss

Cecile, bress her prett.

y little heart 1)?

Gilbert sprang to his feet. It must be remembered that
he had been brought up under circumstances of peculiar
isolation and solitude, that he was a novice in many

things that people in

general learn almost by intuition.

He had read no novels and seen hut little ofdife. And
when old Dinah’s words suddenly revealed to him the
great crisis and necessity of his being, it was a shock as

unexpected as it was
“Love her, Dinah ?””

startling.

“Yes, honey, love her; an’ why shouldn’t you? Dar

ain’t a better: lookin’
cl’ar round, an’ when

boy than you, not take ten miles
you’s got on dat ar coat a

“Never mind the coat, Dinah—don’t talk tome now—

let me think a minute.

“To think dat de b

9
lessed boy should bein love, and

shouldn’t know it !’ muttered Dinah, between her teeth.
“Well, of all families ever I lived in, dese Mays is de odd-

est |?
“Dinah!
‘Well, chile!”
“YT could never m
“Why not?”
“Tam poor, Tamr
to be her servant.}?

arry Cécile.”

ough and awkward. Lam only fit

“Chile!” cried Dinah, rising indignantly to her féet,
“what you's talkin’ ‘bout? Isn’t we all born alike? S’pose
y

her father’s rich—you

kin git rich too. I hasn’t no pa-

tiencé to hear you talk dat ar way.’? 5
“But, Dinah, Iam sure Cecile has never thought of such

a thing.” .

“Well, an’ s’pose she hasn’t? Dear heart alive, she’s

nuffin but a chile yet.

Give her time to know her own

mind, an? you read an? study all you kin; but don’t go to
lowerin’ yousef talkin’ ’bott bein’ her Servant. De good

Lord made you ebery
ter !??

“Oliver Dimmick ha
years.”

bitas good as she is—yes, and bet-

$ been to Columbia College for four

“All de Clumsy Colleges in creation can’t make nuffin

but blockheads out o?

Squire Dimmick’s boys. You jes

hold your own, Gilbert, an’ see who Miss Cecile’ll like best
five years from now, you or Oliver Dimmick.”

Long and earnestly

old Dinah harangued Gilbert, nor

was he altogether uncheered by her sanguine views. And

when he retired to his

couch, with the dawn light already

beginning to flash athwari the east, it was with a vague
sensation of undefined happiness. He loved beautiful
young Cecile Redesdale, and she might perchance one day

become his.
And old Dinah, in tl

1¢ tumble-down shed which she dis

hified by the title of “barn,” fell asleep on the straw pal-
let, muttering to herself:

“Mbery bit as good «

4s dem numbskulls of Dimmicks.?

CHAPTER VII.
A DECLARATION OF LOVE.

The year which had
grant with the bi
dale’s birthnigh

had covered its g

sung

where
She y

out of

Yepald WV

 

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i

all open to
rly declining \
SS the libre
olors.
xt stood just beyond, lo
a stern, set look on his face,
> Over her work, admiri

an’s few, cautiously spoken

 

 

 

 

| a

i an

Hy
7
f
|

words of warning were utterly unheeded. Gerald Va-
nier was unaccustomed to deny. himself any luxury to
which he had chanced to take a fancy, and Cecile Redes-
dale was the greatest luxury this young Sybarite had ever
known! So he came often to Harnscliif, and Mr. Redes-
dale, supposing him to be forewarned and therefore fore-
armed, took very little heed of him, further than the du-
ties of hospitality required.

Miss Ferrars, engaged in making MSS notes out of a
large folio volume, with a double pair of spectacles on,
formed the fourth in this little domestic quartette.

“You will ride out with me this afternoon, Cecile,’’
pleaded Mr. Vanier. ‘It is not too late—the days are so
much longer than they were. Shall I ring the bell and
order Blackbird to be saddled 2”

Cecile slightly altered the position of a rose-bud in the
glass of flowers she was copying, and looked at it criti-
cally.

“My dear,” said Miss Ferrars, looking anxiously up,
“do you consider Blackbird a safe horse for you to ride?’

“Safe? justas safe asa rocking-chair,”” answered Va-
nier, alittle contemptuously. “I'll take all the responsi-
bility. Come, Cecile, 1t is such a lovely evening, and just
consider how long it is since I’ve had a ride with you.”?

“We rode last Saturday, if I remember rightly !”

“Yes, but we had the honor of Mr. May’s company, and
a lot of other people were tacked on!”

Gilbert’s dark cheek reddened as he stood locking out
of the window, but he make no remark Whatever...

“My dear Cecile,’ interposed Miss Ferrars, “take some
other horse than Blackbird, if you are really determined
on going.

“There are no other horses in the Stable to-night,
ma’am. Maurice has two of them over at Vi erhnam, and
Dr. Raymond has borrowed Sybilla for his gig.”

“Then vou had better stay at home!”?

“T hate staying at home always,”? said the beauty with
a petulant little shrug of her shoulders.

“There is no necessity for it in this case,”? smoothly
struck in Gerald Vanier. “Blackbird is Safe enough!??

“Gilbert May says not,’ persisted Miss Ferrars ‘and
Gilbert is the best rider in the county!’

“I don’t remember asking Mr. May’s advice on the sub.
ject,’ curtly answered Vanier! “1 Suppose I am quite as
good a judge of horses as he is.”

Cecile stole a sidewise glance at Gilbert, from under her
long lashes, as she dipped her pencil in the deepest shade
of Carmine; he stood quite motionless, still, as if inward-
ly resolved to take no notice of Mr. Vanier’s glib imper-
tinence.

“You will go, Cecile 2?

“T don’t know—yes, perhaps so. 1 am wearied to death
ane Staying in the house. Tell them to saddle Black-

bird 1

“My dear!’ groaned Miss Ferrars. “And the sun will be
down in half an hour,”

“Let it.go down. I can’t Stop it,’? willfully answerea
Cecile, pushing back her case of water-colors.

“Gilbert, won’t you interfere,” cried Miss Ferrars. “She
hever pays a bit of attention to anything I say!’

Gilbert turned calmky round.

“Cecile has already heard my opinion. If she prefers
Mr. Vanier’s advice, lhave nothing further to say,” he
answered.

“She has gone to put on her habit! groaned the goy-
erness. “Iam sure ldon’t know what her mamma will
say.’?

My. Vanier whistled and walked to the fire-place,
where a few logs were blazing, for Miss Ferrars was thin
and chilly, and liked to sit by a fire, always. Gilbert May
Walked out upon the terracein front of the housa, and
began to pace up and down its paved expanse, with fold-
ed arms. Presently the horses were led round to the
Steps—Mr. Vanier’s steed, and Blackbird, a fiery young
horse, with jet black tossing mane, and eyes rolling vi-
ciously round. The next minute: vile caine out, looking
bewitchingly lovely in tight fitting habit of dark green
cloth, and her dark curis scaping from beneath her
jaunty little hat. Mr. Vanier followed her, all delighted
attention.

Gilbert walked forward to the carriage-block, watching
her with grave eyes. Somehow he felt that this was a
vital moment in his life—Cecile was deci ding, as it were,
between him and his gay city rival,

As Cecile approached her pawing horse, who wag with
difficulty held by the groom, Gilbert also advanced. Mr.
Vanier interposed himself here.

“Pray do not trouble yourself, Mr. May,:1can help Miss

tedesdale on to her horse.

“Stand out of my wa)
but determined passion.

‘T will not! Fellow! who are you?

Gilbert’s eye blazed—he advanced a step or two.- Van-

inctively recoiled.
{ that question, and I will answer it in '@ way
10t relish,” hes ice { osely pitched
f cile's ear. Va Qf ‘ned pale,
| Gilbert
> to be light-

In accents of low

if you de
But of one

insfant looking at him—then, with a

sudden movement; she flung the riding-whip on the pave-

ment, and turned toward Gilbert.
“TI choose you!” she said softly. Come—let us go into
the house.” :

Mr. Gerald Vanier stared at Cecile as she turned away.

“You will not ride, Cecile ?”

“No, Mr. Vanier, I will not ride. I prefer to remain at
home.”? é

Gerald Vanier bit his lip—his handsome, effeminate
face became purple with rage.

“Good evening, then!’?

“Good evening!”

And Cecile ran into the house.

_ “How I shall astound Miss Ferrars,” she cried, gayly.
eee think she ever knew me to give up my own way
efore!’

But Miss Ferrars was not in the room. Fancying her-
Self threatened with the premonitory symptoms of a sore
throat, which she was rather in the habit of indulging in
at times, she had gone upstairs to prepare a decoction of
red pepper therefor. The library was empty, and Cecile
stood in the middle of the room, thoughtfully drawing off
her gloves.

Presently the silence was broken by another footstep
on the soft Persian carpet—it was Gilbert May’s!

Cecile looked round, with the brightest: roses blossom-
ing in her cheek. ;

“Gilbert!”

‘Cecile—my darling!??

For all secrecy and concealment were dashed to the
winds now—the passienate upspringing of his. soul
Spurned all restraint. He took both her hands and stood
looking into her eyes with a gaze whose ceep earnestness
seemed to read the depths of her soul.

“Cecile,” he said, speaking gravely but with the tremor
of repressed emotion thrilling through every word, ‘‘the
crisis is close upon us at last. It refuses to be farther
postponed. I must know my destiny; you must decide
your future fate. Do not tremble—do not look So fright-
ened, my little jewel—is it such a terrible thing to know
that I love you with all my heart and with all my soul,
and with all my strength?”

; oe Was silent, but he could feel her tremble like a
eaf.

“Tell me Cecile—shall I go away and never allude to
the subject more ?”?

He could feel her tiny hand tightening its clasp over

 

 

 

 

 

his, and although she did not speak he read the mute en-
treaty to remain.

“Cecile, I am poor and you are rich—I am. low and you
are high—I am rude and rough, and you are polished and
gentle, but——_”

She interrupted him here.

“Hush, Gilbert! I will not have you speak thus slight-
ingly of—of the man I love!” - :

“Then you do love me, Cecile!??

“Yes, Gilbert, I do.”

True love is seldom eloquent Weaen its first thrill and
happiness are new. Gilbert drew her gently to the sofa,
and stood over her, his eyes full of the rapture and gilad-
hess that his lips found no words to express.

“Cecile, dearest, say it once again—prove to me that I
4m not under the delusive spell of some happy dream.!

“¥ love you, Gilbert!’

The words were spoken with the fond, . trusting truth-
fulness which was a part of Cecile’s nature. Gilbert sat
down beside her.

“Do you know what you are Saying, my dear one? Do
you know that you are giving up rank, wealth, position
in soc ety, all, all for my love !??

“I know that Iam Winning atreasure more precious
than them all, Gilbert.”

“But Cecile,’? he exclaimed, passionately, “you shall
not give them up; I will win them all back for you. My
wife shall one day hold up her head with the proudest in
the land! My queen shall reign upon a fitting throne.”

“Your love is enough for me, Gilbert, without aught
else. Since I was a little wayward child, you have been
the dearest to my heart.”

“Mr. Vanier is richer than I am, Cecile; the world will
wonder at the choice you have seen fit to- make between
us.”

Cecile put her hand with a pretty, impatient motion
over his lips.

“Mr. Vanier is nothing to me!”?

“Nor Oliver Dimmick 2”?

“No, nor Oliver Dimmnaick. Surely, Gilbert, you are not
jealous ?”

“Not now, love. I will not answer for the absurdities
I may have been guilty of, during the past year, when I
read as plainly the wide difference that interposed itself
between you and me.”

“Gilbert ?? interrupted Cecile, eagerly, “you have
spoken more than once of this ‘difference, fancied or real.
Never allude to it again! I do not care for social rank—I
aim wearied to death with the perpetual money worship
that is around me. Let us leave it entirely out of our life
Gilbert. The tiniest cottage that was ever built will hold
us two—the simplest food will suffice us. What more de
we want, so long as we are rich in each others love ???

“Yes, Cecile, but 2)

He stopped abruptly. He had been Sitting with his
back to the door, but he read in the changed expression
of Cecile’s eyes, that they were no longer alone, and
turned to meet the piercing gaze of Mr. Redesdale. Ce-
cile rose, self collected as a little empress.

‘Papa,’ she said, calmly, “I am glad you happened to
come in, just now. I have something that I want to tell
you. Gulbert.and I love one another.” ‘

Mr. Redesdale stood perfectly silent. The twilight had
advanced too far for the young lovers to perceive the
deep, angry crimson that suddenly dyed his cheek, and
then left it pale and cold. They waited in breathless sus-
pense for his answer, but it was a minute or two before
he spoke.

“Cecile, go up stairs to your mother. Gilbert. May, I
will walk part of the way home with you.”

» “But papa 0

“Go to your mother, I say.”

Cecile obeyed, giving Gilbert a bright, encouraging
ue as she passed him. Mr. Redesdale turned to Gil-

ert.

“Come |?

Side by side the two men passed out of the vestibuleinto
the soft spring twilight—side by side they crossed the
lawn and struck into the silent woods. Gilbert waited
impatiently for his patron to speak, but in vain; at last,
unable longer to restrain himself, he spoke.

“You had something to Say to me, sir.’

“Yes, Gilbert May, [had. 1 wished to ask you whether
my senses had deceived me, or whether you had actually
had the presumption to make love to my daughtsr—to Ce-
cile Redesdale !?

Gilbert flushed scarlet, but he controlled his rising pas-
sion.

“T love her, sir,and she has returned my. affection.”?

Mr. Redesdale stopped abruptly, the veins in his tem-
ples swelling out like knotted cords.

“How dare you stand there and utter those audacious
words to my very face??? he exclaimed, in a voice ren-
dered husky by passion. ‘Vow in love with my daugh-
ter! Truly 1 have warmed in my bosom an adder to
siing my very heart.??

“Mr. Redesdale,” said the young man,,“‘Iam deeply
grateful for all your kindness to me. T know that you
have been niy benefactor in no common degree, yet this
scareely gives you the right to insult me.”

“I donot insult you. I only tell you the truth. Boy,
you have been mad—dreaming—infatueted | Give up this
impossible scheme, and return without further folly to
your proper level.”’

“IT would do much at your bidding, sir, but I cannot
give up Cecile.” ‘

“You must give her up !? almost shouted Redesdale, “I
will not listen for one instant to such a thing !?

“And why not, sir?”

“Because you are not her equal—because you can give
her none of the luxuries without which she-cannc
because—good Heavens, sir! you have n .

i nor culture befitting Cecile Redesda ture hus-

ake rank, Mr. Redesdale—I will win position—
lob i Culture.”
You will find the Philosopher’s Stone—you will capture
ond mine of Golconda !’ bitterly mocked Mr. Redes-
£ 9

5

h ter look for a strait jacke

sneered R les. “You, the son I

per—you, the dependent o

Yant country bumpkin that I picked uy

tain————’? :

upted Gilbert, speaking in a strange-
You have said quite enough al i

€ Saia tt much.”

ma I to be silenced

(es, Mr. Redesdale,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

Ain

 

 

 

 

cree Se

 

Jv

LE NEW YO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SERA at har i IE CEO AR ET

 

 

= crac
ee —

maine, in this strange way, youare. I would tolerate much

Srom you, but this exceeds the bounds of toleration. Now
listen to what Lhave to say. I love Cecile, and I will
ynarry her-—bub not now. I will leave this place to win
all (aut imay render me worthy of her infinate grace and
gooduess—and 1 wik return to itjone day to claim her as
my own.”

leet Y? exclaimed Mr. Redesdale, “she is destined for
one a8 jar above you ag yonder staris above the vile worm
that crawis upon the earth, emitting & feeble light as he
goex? Ovcile Redesdale snall never be your wife! Do you
henr me ?”? 2

“ hear you, gir, and I hear also the idie wind that
Dlow ees x : : :

Guibert was standing with folded arms, his attitude full
of a certain native grace and resolution which Mr. Redes-
Gale could nut bu recognize, even in the moment of his
hottest wrath ond indignation. He turned away, Say-
ing: : :

Sauter Jet me See yourface again!”

Gilbert restrained the angry answer that trembled upon
hislips. Mr. Redesdale was Cecile’s father—he was his
own benelactor—and in virtue of these two things, he
would not spéak all that rose to his utterance. He simply
turned an@ walked away with a heart full of fierce, con-
tending emotions.

Oecite was standingin the doorway when her father
returned. She came forward to meet him in the twi-
light.

ePapal” she cried, passionately, ‘what have you been
saying to Gilbert?” Fe . :

“What I shall say to you, child—that this is all romantic
nensense. You cannot marry Gubert May. He is a name-
less adventurer—a hanger-on to my household.”

“Papa, 1 will not Hear suck words. Heis the noblest
man that ever breathed, and I love him.” \

“Ohild, you are alittle crazed. You will get over this
infatuation after a while.” es

“fF shall love him and be true to him while life lasts,”
she answered firmly. :

“And hewill saw wood, and you'll take in washing for
a living, |suppose. <A pretty state of things that would

0? ; ; ,

“{had rather take in washing than marry some one 1
don’t Jove just for the sake of his wealin,’? valiantly an-
swered Cecile. 2

“My dear,” said her father, coaxingly drawing her arm
within his own, ‘just listen to reason. You are young—’

*sT am quite old enough to know my own mind, papa,”

“And Gilbert May is @ mere boy, not twenty yet. For-
get this piece of absurd folly. Putit away from you with
she rest of your schoolgirl fancies. Be will soon cease to
thiak of you

“Papa, only when he ceases to livel’’

“And you will both begin life over again. Hush, Ce-
eile, don’t iiterrupt me, but hear me out. My little girl
is destined to beur a titled name—to shine .amid
the proudest of England's aristocracy. The only son
and Heirof Sir Croft Belairs is already preparing to
come to this country to woo and win you to be his wife.
Yow have heard me speak of Sir Croft often, and this al-
Hanceig the dearest wish of both our hearts. And, now,
what 00 you think of my plans?” : ‘ 2

He spoke triumphantly, fully expecting that Cecile
would'be overwhelmed with delight at the brilliant pros-
pects awaiting her.

His surprise can be more easily imagined than de-
scribed when the young girl spoke, after a moment’s
pause of astonishment: :

“Papa,” she said, deliberately, ‘you have no right to
buy and éli me, without a word to myself.”

But, my love 2. ;

She stamped her tiny foot authoritatively on the
ground. :

“It is my turn to speak now, and I will be heard.”

“Goon,my dear!” :

: “¥jove Gilbert May, and I will marry him. I will never
——no, never marry your scion of Iunghsh aristocracy,
though he were ten times as rich and noble as he is!
Now you have my decision.’

“And I gay you shall not marry yonder miserable beg-

ar?

Paul Redesdale's voice was husky with passion. But
Gecile had inherited too much of her father’s bold and
imperious disposition’ to yield a single inch. She turned
haughty away and Walked out of the room, pansing on
the threshold to say:

“it is quite useless for us to discuss this subject farther.
We do not agree upon it; we never snall agree. Jam de-
termined,” ! :

Long and anxiously Mr. Redesdale paced up and down
the libraty, im the flickering firelight, considering What
course were better for him to adopt. It was evident that

' violence and ‘coercion were entirely impracticable. Gen-
tleness and persuasion would prove a better policy.

 

 

“She will come to her senses by-and-by,’? he muttered |

tohimseim “i must manage—I must contrive. Of all
plans)"this is the last one which must be overturned by
the mad freak of a silly. girl. € ]
here to advise with me; but thigis only another link in
this euain'of awkward complication that he must needs
be in Europe now. Of all perplexities, a grown-up
daughter is the worst. And Cecile is so self-willed!”

 

CHAPTER VII.
_ GILBERT SEEKS AN EXPLANATION.

Gilbert May's thoughts, as he strode with unconscious
speed overthe long and solitary road thatled up the
mountain, wove a curious web of confusion, and would
have required one more skilled in mental philosophy than
himself to unravel the warp and woof of their crossing
threads, : : .

Predominant above everything eise was a triumph-
ant exultation in Cecile's love; next came the pang of
@ proud spirit, humiliated by Mr. Redesdale’s cutting
words; then the mortifying consciousness that, perhaps,
they were not enurely groundless.

“{ am poor,’? he muttered, grinding his white, even
teeth together. “fam unworthy of the precious boon of
Cecile’s affection, but what of that? Lifeis long. I am
still very young. The time shall yet come when I will

“meet that haughty aristocrat on his own ground.”

Twilight hud long since faded into the fragrant, starry
Garkof the balmy April night, when Gilbert May entered
the little hut which he had been accustomed to dignify by
the title of “home.’? Never before had it looked so
cramped and squalid; never before had its utter forlorn-
ess and lack of all civilizing grace or adornment struck
him so painiully.

Yet, otd Dinah had bestowed unusual care and pains
that evening in arranging -the scanty fuimiture, and
sweeping up the floor, and had even carried her unculti-
vate ideas of the sesthetic so far as to place, in a cracked
saucer on the mantel, a few violets, whose fuint, delicious
odor fitted the whole room.

She looked'up proudly from her mending as Gilbert

. came in, and threw himself curclessly on the old chest,
his eloows on the taple, and his hands supporting his
forehead. .

“Chile, you's Jate to-night, and—why, good laws, what’s
de matter ?”? :

For her quick eyes had discerned in 2 moment that all
was notright with the child of her tender@t solicitude
ang most faithful affection.

oe Dinah!’ he answered, in a low, suppressed
voice. ‘

Dinah sat looking at him for an instant, through the
huge silver bound spectacles whose tenses aided the one
tallow candle on the round pine stand, and then rose and
Went across the room toward him, parting the hair from
his wet forehead with a touch that was infinitely tender.

“Chile, chile,” she said, wistfully, -‘your mother isn’t
like other folks, and you’s growed up mos'ly alone—
thar’s no one fur ye to tulk to. when your heart's full.
like, an’ I know I’s only a poor ole black woman—but }
joves.you, Gubert, and I’m better’n nobouy, aint], chile?
Tell te ole woman what de trouble is! No matter how
bad tings may be, dey’s al’ays better for speakin’ out.”

Gilbert took both Dinah’s black palms ia his, and looked
earnestly into her face. Asa hero of romance, he ought
Goubtiess to have spurned her contemptously from him—
an old colored woman should have been repelled, as no
fit confidant for his romanuce sorrow. But Gubert hardly
met all the indispensable requisitions cf @ full-fledged
hero of romance—he was spiritiess and tame enough to
accept the sympathy of the old creature whose instincts
yearned so dumbly toward him. ;

*Ohn, Dirnahl!? he exclaimed, impetuously, “you cannot

‘ a Lam tied down and fettered by my position in
es

“flow, Gear? don’ ’zactly understand you.”?

“Sha loves me, Dinah. Cecilelovesime. But her father
despises and scorns me. Heintends her for some weal-
tinier saitor, and he tells me, as igsolently as only a rich
man can speak, that I am poor, ignorant, unworthy.
Hush, Dinah, doo’t speak. I know that itis all true, avd
that gives a sharper venom tothe sting. If never felt be-
fore What it was tobe poor. Even Oliver Dimmick, the
biggest blockhead in all the township, can go to college,
and waste the precious opportunities his father’s wealth
Opens to hia, and I—I must long in vain for what isso
Bllerly cut of my reach.

Dinah had turned away and gone to the fire, and was
poking 11, apparently unconscious of what she was doing.
Suddenly she turned round toward him.

“Gilbert, it’s late, you better go to bed—and don’t wor-
ry *bout dat ar college edication. It'll come to ye, dear,
8ee’f it don’t—only be patient.”

*{ am ayraid it will be a compulsory virtue on my part,
Dinah. But good-night; you were right when you said
that sorrows were lighter for being shared with at least
one faithfal, affectionate heart.”

He took the candle and climbed ep into the garret as
he spoke, teaving the old negress standing alone before
the tire. Her face was working and a strange, stealthy
dire had shot into her eyes.

“It’s de Lord’s own mercy,’”? she muttered to herself;
“and not nuffin buta chance dat I had de toof-ache su
powerful bad a year ago come June, an’? come back to de
house te get a drop o’ camiire on sugar arter 1’d ought to
have been in bed and: asleep, an’ saw de missis trough
de window all huddled up in de corner by de big chest a
countin? over dem shinin’ stones dat sparkled like dey
Was bits o’ fire. Dem’s diamonds, dem is, an’? dey must
be wurf a mit o’ money; an’ how come missis by *em?
an’ what’s de use o’ hidin’ away as I seen her do, under
de front stone of de harth in aieather bag? I’s racked
my poor ole head offen enough ‘bout it, an’ I can't make
neither head nor tailon’t. Dar’s no use askin’ missis
for money—I’s tried daf more’n once, an’ I don’t dare let
her Know Iseen her countin? de shinin’ stones. Good
laws, I b’lieve she’d done kill me,’? muttered Dinah, in-
Stinctively shrinking within berseif; ‘but dar, I jes’
Knows what I will do.
an’ I don’ b’lieve de missis would eber know one was
gone. Vil take de biggest ever I kin find an’ Pll sell it

» dawn in New York, an’ he shall have de money. ‘faint
Stealin’, it’s only belpin’de boy tohis own. PUdodat
ar jes’ de berry first chance I gets,”?

    
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

If Trevelyan were only |

De boy has a right to dem stones, |,

 

So earnestly was Dinah absorbed in the combinations
of her new scheme that she started like one detected in
the very act of theft when the outer door suddenly swung
open and her mistress entered.

“Bless an!’ save us, missis, dear, how ye started me,”
was her smooth apology. ‘Don’t ye know ‘taint health-
some to be out arter dark dis season 0’ de year, eh?
Good law, your dressis wringin’ wet. Sit down by de
fire, honey, an’ dry it—-dar’s a good*blaze yet.”

She stooped to examine the peculiar blackish mud that
clung to the hemof Mrs. May’s draggled skirt a8 she
spoke. ‘

“Lord be good to us, missis, you’s been down to de
Black Pool agin;’””. she exclaimed. ‘‘What you goes dar
for so much, ‘clare I don’t know.”

Mrs. May turned fiercely on the old woman.

“Will you mind your own affairs, Dinah Morris?’

The old woman, stumbling backward in apprehension,
tripped over @chair and sat prone down on the floor,
trembling hke 2 leaf. Mrs. May’s eye was, blazing, her
face livid’ with a strange commingling of rage and
terror.

“Trne's T live, missis, ] never meant anyfin— ay

“How dare you dog me and spy measilf I were a—a
murderess?. How dare you question me?”

 

“Ineber questioned nobody, honey, darlin’ chile. I }

didn’t, please de Marster.
tout’?

She uttered a short, deprecatory howl, as Mrs. May
still transfixed her with her burning gaze. Suddenly she
turned away, controlling herself with a powerful effort.

“There, there, Dinah, don’t make a fool of yourself. I
meant nothing—only you are somewhat meddiesome at
times. Goto bed—lam tired, and it islate. I went to
Black Pool to look for some of those roots that help my
rheumatism so mueh—that was all.’

oe you find ’em ???

6. 0.)?

Missis, don’t look at me so—

“I tought so,” returned the negress, shaking her head.
“F could ha’ tole ye, missus, dear, dem roots don’t grow
by de Black Pool—nuffin grows dar but poison vines an’
ugly creepin’ tings. Youshould ha’ looked up beyond
whar de Rattlesnake Rocks is.”

“Yes, yes, I know,”? absently returned Mrs. May, who
was evidently awaitin Dinah’s withdrawal with feverish
impatience. But she was not destined to be gratified in
this instance, for just then Gilbert descended the ladder
into the room.
okt I tought you done gone to bed,’? exclaimed

aegis -

“J could not sleep, Dinah. Mother,’ he said, gazing to-
ward Mrs, May, and confronting her with a gaze that was
at once stern, penetrating and dignified. “I have some-
thing to'say to you.” ‘

“To say to me, Gilbert ??? Mrs. May had been pale before
but nowshe was white as the whitest snow drifts that
mantléed the mountain sides in bleak December. ei

“Yes, toyou, mother. Ihave been kept long enough in
ignorance ofmy birth and history. 1am no longer a child
to be pub off with evasive answers and equivocations. I
demand the truth of you. LThave this day been bitterly
taunted with my namelessness—my worse than obscur-
ity.

“Who bas taunted you, Gilbert 2?

“The man whose daughter has promised one day to be
my wife—Redesdale of Harnscliff. Mother, I charge you
to tell me now, frankly and at once, who is my father?
Where is he? Why am J Kept in ignorance of all my an-
tecedents ? Mother ! mother !”” he cried, blanching to the
very lips at the zearful suspicion that crossed his mind,
“ig my birth overshadowed with disgrace? Tell me
the truth, but, for Heayen’s sake, let it be anything but
that 1? '

The drops of dew stood on his forehead like globules of
ice, a8 he gazed eagerly into his mother’s eyes. Appar-
ently Mrs. May had at first been taken by surprise—but
she had now recovered herself. A look that was harder
than adamant. settled rigidly over every feature.

“Mother,” pleaded Gilbert, ‘will you tell me alll would
fain Know 2?" ' : ‘ :

“Gilbert, I shall tell you nothing.”

“Mother! “

“Nothing,” she reiterated wildly, ‘no, not if you. were
to tear me limb from limb—to tie ine to the stake—to sub-
ject me to all the horrors of the rack! Never—never—
NEVER!?? :

And with a shriek like that of a frenzied wild man,and
2 look: whose dumb agony Gilbert May never forgot, she
broke from his detaining grasp and fled wildly out into
the ae of the night.

Gilbeft turned with a questioning glance toward the ola
negress who stood opposite him with dilated eyes and
open: mouth. : : : <

“sifoney 1? she answered, her teeth chattering with ter-
ror." don? knows no more’n de dead. I’ve tole ye,time
an’ agin, dat you were four year old when I come here, a
poor éreetar, widout a friend in all de world beggin’? my.
bread) cause LT jist: Outer de hospital, too weak to
‘ i m? was kind to me. Don’t. ax
t, She ain’t one ob de open-
in’t, dar’s do use try’ to find
p hid

  

    

OW, Splint-bottomed chair
he wide-throated chimney
ad against the rude bricks, witha drawn |
kK Of 0 AMOUTILE AMA ROSES, 8

“Oh, Gecilée!? he murmured, “my little Cecile—how
shall Lever reach you now ?”” Pee

There wis an instinct of refinement in the negress’ rude
nature that maGe her respect the great anguish of his
struggling soul.

She spoke no word of consolation, but stood mutely by,
still stroking his shoulder, as a dog might lick his mas-
ter’s hand.

And so the long, slow hours of the night passed by, ana
Gilbert sat there struggling with the strange, vexed prob-
lem of his existence, and Dinah crouched at his feet,
every now and then looking wistfully up into his face,
but never venturing to speak. At length, when the gray
indistinctness that prefigured the coming daybreak began
to glimmer in through the window, he rose up and went
out.

“Ohild,” called Dinah, after him, ‘“‘you hasn’t slept a
wink dis night! Lie down a bit afore ye goes out,
won't ye??? :

“I could not sleep, Dinah. I feelas if there were an
impulse witnain me urging me to perpetual movement.
The wind feels cool to my forehead—the morning air is
delicious. On, Dimah, how strange it seems that these
circling woods, yonder valley, and the rocky glens be-
yond are just the same that surrounded my boyhood—the
same sweet, still repose—the same grand, everlasting Si-
lence—and Iso changed! This night has been a crisis in
my life. Iam not the same Gilbert May that I was; Iam
as different as if I had been born anew. A boy no longer
—a man at last!”

 

    
 

(To be Continued.)

_ WITHIN THE VAIL;

OR,

 

A Leaf from the Experience of an Opium Eater.

BY §. A. LEE, U. S. N.

 

There are times when the pulse lies low in the bosom,
and beais slow in the veins; when the spirit sleeps the
sleep, apparently, that knows no waking in its house of
clay, und the window-shutters closed, and the door hung
with the invisible crape of mourning; when we wish the
golden sunshine pitchy blackness, and are Willing to
fancy clouds where no clouds could be.

What shail raise the sleeping Lazarus? What shall
make the heart beat music agaiN, and the pulse dance
through all the myriad-thronged halls in our house of
life ? ;

What shall make the sun kiss fhe hills again for us,
with his old, awakening gladness, and the night overflow
with moonlight, music, love, and flowers?

We have tried many things, but, alas! in vain. Stimn-
lants but require the use of more. In vain- we try to
drown the floating dead of oursouls. The corpses will
rise.

Stimulants may set the world whirling again, and the
pulses playing the wildest music, and the thoughts gal-
loping; but the fast clock runs down sooner, and the un-
natural stimulation only leaves the house it fills with
wildest revelry more silent, more sad, more desertea,
mere dead.

It was in the early part of the summer of i8s—that I was
first iatreduced to opium—fatal friend, treacherous en-
emy—root of that tree called wormwood, which has over-
shadowed ail my after life.

While traveling by steamer from Marseilles to Malta, I
picked up 2 wagazine containing anoticeof the opium
experiences of De Quincey. The writer painted a glow-
ing picture of the delicious effects of opium in exalting
the mental powers, and producing 2 pleasurable condi-
tion of the entire system, beyond the power of language
to describe. * 7

lt was to this agent that the writer attributed that
marvelous spiritual activity, that exhaustless tide of hu-
mor, sentiment, eloguence and poetry, which form the
charm of De Quincey’s writings.

I returned home in the fall. The voyage across the At-
lantic Was 2 tedious one; the weather was stormy; cold
winds, alternating with rain and sleet, almost constantly
prevailed.

Iwas attacked by inflammatory rheumatism, which,
by the time Ireached home, became extremely painful.

In this condition, De Quincey’s account of his first ex-
perience of the effects of opium recurred to my mind. I
longed for relief from some quarter, and pined to surren-
der myself to the glamour of some potent spell which
might lift me but for,an hour from the dull actualities of
aweary lifeup into the sunshine of a brighter sphere,
and an experience more peaceful and immaterial. 1
know that my desire will be pronounced by the moral
reader—who never groaned, probably, under the burden
of which I speak—weak, if not wicked. No matter, my
moral friend. Weakness and wickedness are quite in the
line ef every day human business. You may haye your
little peccadiloes also, if it were worth our while to
search them out; therefore be moderate in your censure.

I betook myself to an apothecary with whom I was ac-
customed to deal, a man “jolly, and sleek, and jocund,”
who might be taken as the type of his class in these mod-
ern times, when apothecaries are a power in the land, and
mignt well resent @ comparison with the ‘Smeager-look-
ing” wight in *“Romeo and Juliet,”

“With tattered weeds, and overwhelming brows,

Culling of sunples,??
as a comparison equally impertinent and mal apropos.
I begged to be supplied with some genuiae Turkey opium,
stating that I desired to experiment, bub upon what, or

 

 

whom, I prudently leit the goud doctor to surmise toy
himself. ;

About five o'clock on the afternoon of a lovely spring
day I valiantly swallowed a four-grain bolus of the mag-
ical eastern drug. I then commanded a broad-bottomed,
luxuriant arm-chair to be rolled out on the spacious pliz-
za, and, having carefully adjusted myself therein, awaited
with anxious, thrilling expectation the plensure of the
wierd enchanter into whose hands I had incontinently
committed my spirit.

The scene about and above me was glorious in the calm
of itsperfect beauty. Nota cloud, save one solitary band
of white, transparent vapors, changed momentarily into
something new and strange by the golden alchemy of
sunlight, could be seen throughout the wide spaces of the
leavens; the windsavere soft and balitiy; liere and there
a sprightly robim chirped its pléasant song among the
garden trees, and, glancing beyond the tops of the ever-
greens and the reefs of the tall houses which formed their
not inappropriate background, the eye rested with delight
upon the sky, so neéxpressibly bluepand the birds, that
swept in circles higher, and stili higher, toward the
Zenith.

lt needed no nepenthe, no philter, no artificial stimu-
lant in the midst of sueh a scene, to steep tlre soul in that
“divine languor,”? composed of the sensuous and the
Spiritual, whith is the atmosphere of Elysium.

The happy moments passed unconsciously away; the
sun neared the horizon, lingered, as it were, lovingly
upon its boundary, dipped, waned, and at length wholly
disappeared.

The tall form of a young laurel tree, surrounded with
analointhe fiushof evening, stood out against the
luminous West, and the breeze scarcely perceptible be-
fore, having utterly died away, itseemed asif its dark
green leaves had been awed into stillness by some mys-
terious influence of the hour. My eyes were riveted upon
this tree.

Gradually, @ vital motion crept thrillingly ‘along the
branches; the dark-green leaves changed to transparent
emerald, tipped with ruby dews, and thesingle white
blossom which hung from an upper stem, assumed the
appearance of a, crown ofpearl, wreathed with fringes of
the most delicate purple.

Then, although not a breath of wind could be heard or
felt, the laurel bent its graceful head, and a murmur of
voices, multitudinous, and of perfect harmony, yet each
plainly distinguishable by itsell, fowed frem its thou-
sand leaves, among themthe tones strangely familiar,
yet intensified to the utterance of the spirit, of those who
had bidden me farewell with broken voices, and left me
desolate in the bitter past.

But the tones that now reached me expressed the con-
cord of peace and love; no words they uttered, but a
meaning déep asthe life of the Eternities came with
them, and the profoundest forces of the soul were moved
and stirred within me.

They surely said:

“We have left you, oh! beloved! among the shadows,
and in the darkness of the Valley of Death, but the love
we bore you lives kere without blight or qdiscord; we
chant it in a perfect song, waiting for the time when the
shadows shall fall off about you, andthe Star of the True
Life shall rise.??

So.-murmured the leaves; but as [still continued to gaze
upon them, and @rink in their music, the whole landscape
widenéd; the grories of the sunset streamed through in-
calculable distances, and by a strange confounding of
space with time, I fancied myself the witness of a Grecian
sunset in the days of Pericles. I stood upon the hights.of
the Acropolis, near to the werld-renowned statue of
Athenf, below me the Bopylosa, and the grand avenues
issuing from its gates; upon my right, the gleaming walls
of the Parthenon; in the distance tiie roofs and the porti-
coes of the city, while further still the billows of the
M@eean, and the beautiful villages with scarce a shore
line between.-them and the surf, lay radiant in the
gorgeous atmosphere, which sparkled with emerald and
Sapphire. And still the ‘prospect widened, until all the
great cities of ancient fame were presented to my view—
Perseopolis, and Palmyra, and Babylon; and Nineveh and
Alexandria; the mystic capital of the Astecs, and finaly,
the tall spires of immemorial temples rising amid the
throng of strange houses and antique pagodas and mon-
strous idols on the banks of the Tadus and the Ganges, or
far off among the untracked wildernesses of Thibet. And
each city I looked upon was in the pride of its’ greatness
and prosperity; a hum of unknown tongues, mot clamor
ous, but measured and distinct, rose upon the gir; pilos-
ophy flowed from the lips of Athenian’ sages, and the
spell of the sophist was vanquished by its calm authority ;
the hymns of choristers celebrating: the deeds ¢
divinities were mingled with the rush oF great
the stir of countiess multitudes of mons; |
palm tree, separated: by thou: :
under the infiuence of some oce

.

  

   

 
  
    

 

      

Bs y6

an individuality of its own: ; dat

But as I gazed and listened thick vapors gathered in
the dells of Hymettus, which, forming into a huge’ mass
of clouds, swept out to meet a corresponding iwass from
the East. They were suddenly united, and darkness coy-
ered the scene.

For a brief period, Reason resumed her sway. The
conviction that what I had seen was phantasmal and
illusory, the deceptive offspring of the brown pillg which
i had swallowed an hour before, no sooner became clear
to my mind than I felt that Lapproached some other illu-
ati ve PSUS perhaps, as the one that had just van-
ished. o

By a strenuous exercise of the will, however, I man-
aged to preserve @ lucid condition of the judgment, until
[had walked into the parlor, where some ladies were as-
sembled. I soon had reason to regret my appearance
among them, for I was soon under the law of opium, and
my sensations immediately after grew so confvunding
and anomalous that Icould not but dread an exposure,
the consequences of which would have been painful in
the extreme:

Here let me pause to comment upon the testimony ot
opiun? eaters, which declares that when a necessity arises
for concealment, it is almost always possible so far to sub-
due the effects of the drug as to retain conventional com-
posure of manner in the midst of the intensest excitement.
By what appeared to me a superhuman effort, I conversed
with the ladies in a quiet tone upon ordinary topics, ai-
though I knew that my condition was infinitely removed
from theirs, and that no possible sympathy could ever be
established between us. Itis hard to embody mm words
the feelings which so powerfully possessed ine. In sucn
a condition of mind and body, but retaining the will still
unclouded and triumphant, [continued to talk uncen-
cernedly with the company. But while my lips were ein-
ployed in a purely mechanical way, the spirit wus absent
in other regions, and absorbed by matters of infinitely
ereater moment, | marvelled more and more at the won-
derful domain into which the spirit had been ushered.
The conviction was so overpowering that { moved anu
thought wholly as a spirit unincarnated, that such, and
io otherwise would be my state hereafter, when tue mor-
tal body should have given place to the complete, immor-
tal, spiritual body.

The influence of the terrible spelithat bound me became
rapidly intensified. The will which had for some mo-
ments sensibly relaxed its sway, ai this point of my ex-
perience almost succumbed to the flood of strange Sensa-
tions which rushed in and possessed my whole being. I
deemed it expedient to beat a hasty retreat; and, bowing
to the company, I leftthe room. Now, one of the most
ordinary and universal of opium Ulustrations seized upon
me,upon leaving the seat Thad occupied. and auvanciny
toward the door, it seemed as if cach flowery figure im
the pattern had been suddenly endowed witha mystic
life; they were indefinitely multiplied, and spread out
into measureless prairies thronget with scarlet blooms
uniform in shape and color, and all steadily inclined in
the direction of 3 moonlight luster that bordered the dis-
tant horizon.

Through interminable plains of dazzling colors, and
confronted by a magnificence so invariable and respiend-
ent us to bewilder, nay, oppress the vision, I traversed
With euger steps, hundreds and thousands, and tens of
thousands of leagues, and siillthe garden of Fairie
stretched unbroken around me, and the luster in the dis-
tant horizon had not broadened into the definite rising
either of sun or moon. Atlast, after a century’s travel
I emerged from the territory of flowers into the wild
blaze of whatordinary people, in their ordinary condi-
tion of literalness would have called an astral lamp, but
what was tome a great globe of purest flame suspended
by chains of gold from the center of a done of alabaster.

Up to this period, the struggte between two plinciples
of life thrown into partially different spheres of action,
although fierce and continued, had been modified by a
third conservative principle. Suddenly the latter was
overcome. The forces which bound the spirit to its cor-
poreal tenement’ resolved themselves into innumerable
delicate chords or conduits of feeling and vital couscious-
ness, and these, asif severed in one circling sweep of
the sheaves of Atropos, parted utterly; the body sunk
into a shapeless, inert mass, whilst the soul in the exalt-
ant joy of absolute freedom, :

“Shonein the Empyrean, like a star.”

I shrink from attempting a description of, the visions—
let me rather cali them, the revelations—that follow. Up
through the spaces of a realm of ineffable peace, I fioat-
ed in the stillness of the snnligat that has never known a
cloud. “I have done withthe earth, and the thiags
of the earth, the body and the things of the body,” the
soul whispered to itself; ‘the cumbrance of flesh and of
pain has been rent and cast into darkness, and lo! the
eternal Father out of the exceeding fuliness of tne
fountains of His mercy, has given it unto me, even unty
me.

“To begin the great life that no death can o’ertake, :
And to dream the great dream lhat uo tumult can break.”

I dare not go into the detail of the circumstances of
what I saw, and heard, and felt, but, reader, the solemn
twilight of those august experiences is around me still,
never wholly to depart until, indeed, I shall have entered
Within the vail! s

Ten out of a dozen persons who read the foregoing ac-
count, will dismiss itin asentence. “Tne man is drunk,
and has not yet recovered from his debauch.” My good
friends, with you, drunk or sober, itismore than proba-
ble that no dreams but dreams of men-servants and maid-
servants, of asses and oxen, would ever abide;‘you 1]
never hoped to address orto consult; go to your ledgers
and your money-rolis, yourmusty mortgages, and your
ten-per-cents; ibisto the earnest-eyed thinkers, whom
you have rudely jostled on their way, that 1 make my ap-
peal.

They stand ever ready to catch every note, however
low, every glimpse, however faint of their ‘‘fatherland.”
_ Brovgst back into the shadows of the present exis-
tence, but with the remembrance of the glory that was,

 

and is to be, pervading every higher avenue of thought
and being, lean sympathize with the aspirations and

 

Occult law, tO wave in sym- |i
pathy, and not a sound inthas mighty swelt of ‘life von: } t
tributing to the general and actual result, but possessed

NS = es Ser
trembling hopes of Psyche described in the following
lines:

“Tn visions lone she hears the chimes

Of voices trom diviner climes, :

And sees entranced the statues grand

That throng her loity father-land;

Unwonted odors strange and rare

Fleat round her on the midnight air,

From gardens where her youth was spent,

Beyond the dark-blue firmament.

The fleshly walls are white and thin,
Which close her yearning spirit in-—
Celestial footfalls she can hear
Inaudible fo grosser ear; ;

She mourns her Jot like one exiled,
Her songs ure filled with Jongings wild,
For home, and that serener day
Which lights the angels far away.

Se

DOESTICKS’ LETTERS.

DISCOVERY OF A NEW “ADDER,” NOT DANGEROUS.

Y’ve got something tosay about_an ‘‘Adder,” and iam not
going to give a lecture on uatural history vituer. My “Adder”
is no relation to any.other “Adder” on the face of the earth.
His first progenitor aud earliest parent didn’t walk into the
ark arm-in-arim with the boa-constrictor. He isn’t cousin to the
ratuesnake, nephew to the cobra-di-capello, brother-in-law to
the viper, noris he in the most distant degree connected with
any of whe copperhead iamily. He doesn’t crawl, huss, 8.ing,
nor bite, nor has he the remotest symptom of poison stowed
anywhere about bis body. *

My ‘adder’ is unique. Beis the only genuine one'of the
famiiv; all the others—and inere are several—claiming to rep
resent—or, rather, to be—the royal faumi.y of “Agders,” are spu-
rious bey are illegitimate children, with not the slightest
honest claim tu the uame or fortunes of tne true *Adder” tribe.
My * Adder” is-—-

Bet let me begin at the beginning.

Know, then, that from my eurliest school-days, figures were
my utter abomination. t could never jearn my muttiplication
table, anyhow, tarther than 9nmes-8 are 67, ana I never was
cock-sure of it, further than 6 times 11 are 98;and even then, in
going through the fours,1 generally insisted that 4 times 9 are
36, unless I stopped and took ime to count my fingers, when I
would yell out the proper answer, triumphantly, ‘4 tines 9 are
17. As for “fractions,” I never, for the life of me, could see
why one-sixth 1sm’t-just twice ag much as one-third; and, to
this day, Lwould, I believe, pay three times a3 muco for one-
twelith ofan acre of «croundas I would “for one quarter of the
same acre. S ; < e

Twas rather distinguished, however, in school for my logic;

but soon f vod that my losic sometimes clashed wath my ina
thembtios, and I was turned oupefithe district school. for main-
taining eceording to sound Jcgic, that “the converse of a prop-
ostion Must, always hold;”. consequently, it twice three are
Six, naturally twice six are three. 1 gouso excited about it that
when the teacher wouldn’t give in,and acknowl dee the selt-
evident trath of my oxeeedipagly reasonable ‘proposition, I
kicked him’on the shins fora stupid b.ockhead, wiiereupon he
whal-d me like a balty doukey betove the wihicle schoo! that
afternoon, and pubhely emp me texatmorning. — Z

Istudied at homeyor fone ven taoninis,and then, consid
ering imyse f “prepared fora ME presented myself before
the protessors forexamiba ton vot alongtriumpiutly with
my Greek, Latin, andilegic, and then came the Mathematics.
They asked me this silly question

“If one man can dig 2 diten in one day, how long will it take
four men to dig i¢?% ;

I replied that of course any fool could see thatit would take
them four times as long as four days.

I congratulated myself on having answered the first mathe-
maticalquestion so easily, and thou htif they didn’t give me
any that were harder than that, Pd put things alt right.

Next question to know:

“If five eons can eat a pudding in ten minutes, how long
would iftake one person to do it?” ‘

Treplied that it would depend on whether the one person had
anything else for diner; also, on what kind of pudding it was;
and'also onthe size of the spoon.

Ithought dd sait) something very clover when, tomy utter
surprise) ine president of toe board of examiners tuld:meI was
decidedly the ‘greatest spoon” he nad cver encountered, and
advised me to sec-up a “het corn” establisninent on the corner
of Iiuster street and the Bowery. tHe also informed me tnat
my application for admission to college was rejected, for they
were of the unanimous opinion that T woult never know
enotgh aboubfigurest) spend’a quarter of agollar, ant get the
right change, aud that the kind of figure £ was likely to cut in
the world weusdin't suit their collegiate backs at att:

ro DPlefes 3 : .

I was about sixteen years old—“‘sweet sixteen” —and thought
Isaw the way to @ speedy fortune by peddling; so entered into
a contract with a man who was to stock my basket with or-
angcs, apples, peanuts, and similar articles/e¢ ilculated to to.ch
the publie heart, aud to.o;en the pubis pocket. Tentered on
my. work with joy. At night—my first night—on counting up
my sock, I found Phad suid four dollars’ worth, and that my
share was. a) dollar—twenty-five percent, I tuigk they
cahed “it; but: when my employer came. to count up, he
found in the Pasket:two oranges, a quart of peanuts, five
sticks of lemon: candy, and a bauana, short; all of which he
stopped out of my Share of the profits, and ferept nome with
tno and stcpence onlyipstead of my expected dollar. :

; i ) 1 great care I was al rigut, save the loss
wort of taffy candy, andthe taking of a. coun-
ridoilar; but the next day after; owing tomy la-
bee wi figures, not only were-theré halfa doze:
1 Lp , & big watermelon, two pounds of mixed candies,
SOUL: ‘anges, and a box of figs missing, but the man, wnen he
ame to count the cashysgidithe money was) th eevdolars ‘an!
vinety-seven celits short. He took me vy the collar, he ted me
to the door, he raised his heavy boot, and-——~—well, T leit.

i next gotachance as ticke: seller toa traveling minstrel
show. The proprieter gave me, to sell, four hundred tickets.
Phe house was full, allthy tickets were'so'd, andy after the rer-
formance was o¥ “pray it, in High glee, exme fo me to
settle up. Pe eet eee e A near

Strange to say, though he-had given me four-hundred tickets
osell, at half a dollar a p’ees, when be counted'tue money I
ave him, he swore hugely, and said there were only sixty-three
do lars and eight cents, among which he found two counterfeic
five dellar bils, seventeen bogus half dollars, and a lead five-
trance piece. x by
I saw at once, by the man’s looks, that something had annoyed
him, and when I observed him pick up a huge club with one
naad, avd draw a revolver with his other, I tuought he might
be coming my way, so I——well, I left. :
J then wandered away to this city of New York. i
Through the mistake of a banker, who thouzht he knew my
une e, and thought he rememberea that he’d heard me spoken
of asa young man of wonderful skill and quickness in figures,
an i of the strictest honesty, | was as once accommodated with
a situation in bis banking-house, and even put at a desk, and
as occupied as a sort of petty cashier. I had to receive sever-
al huodreds of dollars every week; but, owing to my reputation
for honesty and correct book-keeping, I was informed tnat I
need only account forthe cash once a month; for, as the cld-
gentlenian was pleased to remark:

“J gin’ curtain your cash will be ali correct, and your books
will be in beautiful order.”

nee just betore the end of the month I thought I’d make up
my books.

When I’d received money, sometimes I would put it down in
the regular book; or, uf that didu’t happen to be handy, I'd note
it on the fiy-teat uf the novel, or play, I chanced 10 be readin
at the tims, or putit dewn on any old s:ip of paper I votid lay
my hand on, of cise ’'d say to myself, **Remember tunis, aud set
it down first time it comes handy.”

So you see. naturally wheu [came to wrile up my month's ac-
count I wasa htile puzzi d. The last day came. I had io pre-
sent ny ba:ance-sh -et pext morning, am! Icoul n’cGodge it.

In the morning Lwencin tothe boss wita a trembling heart.
Iie asked for my account ot cash for that mouth. I told him L
* guessed I'd received about jour thousaud @ dlars;” and then,
with a smile of triumph, [handed himthe money. I naturiWy
vhought that receiving so large an umount or cash wouid r-cou-
cile him tonce to any litte irregu:arities he migh; seein my
bookkceping. I Know it would reconcile me to almost any-
thing.

to my sarprise, he at once asked to see my books. Iwen
out, and Soon ime back with & handful ofrasged bitx of pauper,
which were my flying memoranda; aise. wi h'The Mn Who
vaushs,”? “Ware Lies,” “Hard Times,” “Pickwick Papers,” and
th: priuted plays of “Rob Koy” and *tArran-na-cogue,” on the
blinx leaves of allef which I had made various cash entr es.
Toe’ old banker Jooked at m3 aghast; then he glanced over
my papers as wellas he could; then he said:

* Young man, there are fuur d-posits of $1,(00 each that [know
of shat are not entered here anyvhere. Lam convinced your cash
is at least $600) short. - T hope it is carelessness, und NOt crime, and
Lteusttuat it wil be jound that you have, at varius times,
handed over he money to the cashier. Meantime, for tne sale
“of your uncle, Who leat me he firs: hundred dollars that started
me in lite, and who has beeu my true friend siwce, I wid take nu
iurtber steps. Fou must do ail the st-p-taking. Go 1”

Ilere he opened the door, and——I left.

As Tmeavdered di-consolately up the street, f met Charley
Nerr, sn old tricnd evut good telow. I told hm my sorrows,
whsn he jeyously exclaimed:

“Give nie your haud, oid bov! You're just the subject for my
new institution, the Auder! Donjc sou see? All your trouvle
coiwes rom a want ofexaciness in fi,ures. Now, Ive invenied
a machine thatis so «Xact that a team of borses coullu’t draw
it wrong. Cometomy room. Lil give youan Adder, and to-
morruw you snall be restored to your desk; your accounts
ullrigbt; your furure fortune assured; and 2:1serene |”

Charles took me te his reon. gave me an Ade , and showed
me now toset him going in the morning. Kariy I “eut into
th: pank, to my old desk. the boss hadv’c «ome down yet,
aud nob dy knew I'd been discharged. I put the Aader in o
wy desk, touched the spring, and snot the desk Ia twenty
aiautes T opened it, and there lay the missing cash, and alsy a
peautifel balence-sheet. He (¢ e Adder) had found all my fly-
tue memoranda; he had cupied all iny notes fruin the aov: ts
aid p.ays; he had teuuscribed all my entrics from the regular
boos; he had set them own, sGded teem up, struck the b |-
anee, whien came out all sqeuaiv on the paper. but 1s!t w little
wautter of $1,492 76 fur ime in a corner of my desk.

I went in.o the old banker's reom, tofd him I had come to
apologize for my ¢xcee ingly stapid practical joke of yestcrday,
and to present ins with my g nuine accounts.

He exami ed tnem; he was aciizhted; he trehled my salary,
gave me # higher position, ana Says he'll set me up in business
mm two years.

Meantime, the Adder had kept qvietiy at work in my desk,
and wben I went ibere avain, I found the real, pro er, houest,
g-nuine accounts of every e.upioyee of the bauk miave out, A
resume Ot tt suuwed the old mia? thathe was worth really
319,86209 a year wore than his rascally head clerk (hls uwu
son, who fougot tigers) nade him suppose. fle (ee Adler)
also spowea + iin where certain other clerks, with tue knowl-
edge of she son (f r they kuew hig rascaliues, aud he couldn’t
help himse.f), were robbing him of frem $2, 00 to $5,000 eac
in short, tre Adder soon revolu ionized the office. The old yen-
temaa ise ernally gratetul, and attributes his new loriune all
to the Adder. : : :

Why, the miracles that little machine will. and can, and does
do, are miracles, und no misiake. He wiliadd up correctly any
lady’s age, no matter how hard she may fib about it. He will
add up election mojorities, and the number of honest Votes, Lu
matter how many “repeaters” have been at work,

ile will add uv, honestly, the prover income of any man, no
matter,how hard he may try to swiudle Unvie Sum by telling
and swearing to a: sorrs of falsenoods about it. ;

Then, as to littie everyday Things, he wil add vp exactly how
much & draagen man owes at the bar, no matter row hard the
sober bartender may try to make him pay for drinks he never
had.

He will do the same thing for an intoxicated man on a car
when the conductor tries to collecta fres fare every three
blocks, or of:ener, if his passenger goes to sleep oftener.

He will add up how many pocke?-hankerehiets the washer-
woman steals every week from careless young gentlemen who
dot attend to their own adding.

Jt willadd up your salary tor fhe year, and show yon hov
much you can honestly spend, and’ not be in any body’s debt a.
the end of the twelvemonth. He wili add——

But this article mus stop. Really, however. and honest'y,
witpoUt nonsense and badinage, this little.macbine, known as
the “Adder,”’ is so useful, so infatlible (for it can’t go wrong,
beipg snechanitcal, and not human), and. withal, is of such handi
ness and ease of use that it willdo the work of half a dozen
quick accountants, without the errorsin a thousand years that
one of the six would make ina day. :

I won't tell uae inventor’s nams, for two good reasopis: First’y.
This article is not a puf of any sort—paid-for, ortricndly. Sec-

 

 

 

  
 
   

 

 

 
      
 

    
 

S

  

OQ oF

 

 

 

busipess. has sense enough to advertise, and proper advertising,
he knows, as we know, is the only Key to unlock the golden
gates of success. d

I’d no more be withont my “Adder” in astress of figures than
a sailor would be without his compassin a dark night. and on an
vitamiliar sea. Ir Ishouli lose bia, Ishbould probatly siraight-
Way assert tnat thrice 2 are l/,and thenset about trying to

 

ondly. The inventor, being both a newspaper map and aman of

convince the world that 203 taken from 96 leave “34, or more,’
with “tifteen-two’’ to carry. Thanktily,
‘ Q. K. Privanner Doxstioxs, P. B.

—— OS

Our Knowledge Box.

 

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED,-—
Jersey Oity writes as follows: “Iseein No. 2 of the New Yore
WrRrKLY that ‘R. J. A.’ wishesto know bow glossy ink can be
made. Tsend vou the following recipe which I think the best
ever made, forthat purpose. tis galled the Japan Biack Wrr-
TING InK.—In § quarts ot water boils ounces of logwocod in chips
cut very thin across the grain. The boiling may be continued
for nearly an hour, adding from ume to time, a Hiule boiling
water to coinpensate for waste by @vaporation. Strain the li-
aguor while’ hot; allow it to cool, and make wp the quantity
equal to five quarts by the fartheraddition of cold water. To
this decoction put one paund ot blue galls coarsely bruised, or i
14 veunds of the best galls in surts, 4 ounces of sulphate of iron
calcined to whiteness,12 ounce of acetate of copper, previous-
ly mixed with the'decoction ill Gt forms a smooth paste, 3
ounces of Coarse sugar, and 6 ounces om senegal or arabic.
These several ingredients may be introduced one alter another,
contrary to the advice of some, who recommend the gum, &c.,
to be added when the ink is nearly made. The composition pro-
duces the ink usually ealled Japan tk, from the high gloss
which it exhibits wheu written with) The above ink, though
possessing the full proportion of every ingredient known to con-
tribute to the perfection of ink, will not cost mere to those who
prepare it for themselves than the common ink when bought at
retail. When guin is very dear, or when no very high goss is
required, #6unces will be sufficient, with 1 1-2 ounces ot sugar
Another way to make glossy ink, which I oftendo, 13 to
take any good ink and add gum mucilage until the desired gloss
is obtained.’ Toa small bottietul (say a gl), I generany add
abouta teaspoonful of muciiage. In thisway I make all my
colored inks glossy as any varnish.”’...... George —See No, 3.....
Guntown, Pa —1. We cannot give you a recipe to make “corn
balls.” Perhaps a reader will furnish it. 2. Tell your friend,
that the person named is a notorious swindler, and deals in
counterfeit money as well as quack nostrums 3. See advice to
“Sufferer,” in No. 49....., Harvey. —DEAFNESS.—A mixture of
tepid water aiid genuine Castile soap, injected into the ear, is a
remedy, for cases of deafness that have not been of long stand-
ing. ‘The addition of afew drops of glycerin is beneficial, as
the glycerin softens the hardened wax whichls often the cause
of temporary deatness...... Mrs. J. T. HW. recommends the tol-
lowing method: remove: SPECKS FROM. tHE) LyKEs.+-Lo remove
foreign substances from the eye, stich as specks of dirt, etc., you
have only to lift the lid and introduce a flaxseed beneath it. The
seed will make the circuit o1 the eye, and bring out the offending
substance. ...Subscriber.—See advice to “‘suffcrer,” im-No. 49....
R.S. Vv. P.—You require medical advice...... Old Forge.—We
cannot state where the articles are on sale...... Scallawag 1,
Cannot aidyou. 2. Easily read, but lacks neatness. ...Rngince .—
For bronzing copper or brass, a weak solution of bichluride of
platinum is used. Another method isto moisten the surtace of
the article to be bronzed .(which must be first washed in weak
lye, to remove the dirt, and thoroughly dried4vith diluted nitrie
acid, allow it to dry, and then appiy a gentle heat by placing be-
fore a fire...... 410 Ws, Chicugo.--A medical authority gives the
following directions for making a solution of chlorinated hme:
Take of chlorinated lime, one pound avoirdupois; distilled wa-
ter, one gallon; mix-weli the water and Inne by trituration in a
large mortar, and having transterred the mixiure to a stoppered
bottle, let 1t be weli shaken several times tor three hours. Now
pour out the contents of the bottle on a calico filter, and let the
solution, which passes through be preserved in a well closed bot-
tH ee Fag Anxiey.—At any drug store you may procure a depila-
tory for the removal of superfluous hair; but we do not recom-
mend tts use, as itis likely to be injurious to the skin..........
Widdlewodule.--1. Yes, it they desire to do so. 2. You will find
recipes to make red, violet and purple inks, in No. 35; gold and
silver inks, in No. 21; black ink, in No. 45; and indelible ink, in
No. 34..... J £4, #.—To Parner Macic LANteRN Suuprs.—The
colors used are those which are transparent, such as the lakes,
sap-green, Prussian blue, distilled verdigris, gamboge, &.,
ground mn oi}, and tempered with mastic varnish. Copal var-
nish may be used inthe gark shades. Draw on paper the sub-
ject you intend to paint, and fix it at ench end of the glass;
trace the outlines ot the design with a fine hair pencil in strong
tints in their proper colors, and when these are dry, fill up in
their proper tints; shade with black, bistre, and vandyke
brown, as you find appropriate...... Bb. . Danvers.--STAINS FROM
CriotHinG:—To remove ink, paint or grease-spots from clothing,
mix Well in a bottle four tablespoonsful of spirits or hartshorn,
the same quantity of alcohol, and one tablespoonsiul of table
salt. When thoroughly mixed, apply with a sponge or stiff
brush. This is an effectual method. Tnk-staims on linen may
be eradicated by first dippmg the stamed part ina sireny solu-

tion of salt and water, and washing out in ‘lemon juice......
Alexander.—1. See No. 2. Glycerin..... Dobbins.—To rembdve
warts, see No. 4...... £x-Soldier.— BROWNING GUN-BARRELS.—An.

ounce of the tincture of iodine, diluted with halt an ounce of
water, is a superior liquid tor browning gun-barreis. To bronze
gun-barrels, dilute nitric acid with water and rub the. barrel
with it. Lay aside the barrel foraftew days, and then rub it
with oil and polish it with beeswax...... W. Bi~See No. 4 for a
preparation which will gradnally. impart a dark shade to the
Mai se: E. C. B.—1, Most bair-dyes have for, their base either -
nitrate of silver or sugar of lexd. When used tor any great
length of time, the articles just named are gradually absorbed
into the system, and cause constitutional infirmities that are
difficult of cure. The sugar of lead affects the muscles, and
impairs the sight, and produces what is called lead palsy; the
nitrate of silver, if used to any great extent, imparts a slate-
colored tinge to the skin, and is frequently the cause of paralysis.
2. To remove dandruff, wash the sealp frequently with bay rum,
to raise a lather. Borax and water will be found efficient for |
the purpose if you do not wish to use the bay rum. 3. Pluck out ©
the hairs singly; but not many trom one spot on the*same day;
then wash'the' part with diluted alcohol. Even this plan does
not prevent the growth of superfiuous hair,asit will grow again
In the same places, but not so soon as when depilatonies are

used.
—__——_ > o<____—_

Items of Interest.

gas The success which rewards tact, energy and fair-
dealing, and which is within the reach of every man who
is determined to persevere until fortune smiles upon him,

 

intendent of the Western News Co., Chicago.
extract in reference fo Mr. Walsh: “In 1852, there was a

of $2,000 perannum. Several years later, an enterprising
iad named Walsh began to sell morning papers on the
street corners. His capital lay in the fact ‘that he could
‘toil terriblv.?. Now, while yet sv youthtful-looking that a
Stranger instinctively glances around the store to see

pany, which 18 owned balf in New York and half in Chi-
cago; employs fifty men ana boys, and distributes annu-
ally throughout the Nortuwest—clear to the Sierras aod
t Northern Texas—about $1,000,000 worth of current
|:terature, from the morning newspaper to the hewest
bo k and the latest quarterly.” ?

kas A marriage and a funeral service were performed
in og. household, and at the same hour, on the &th of
November, by toe Rev. Mr. Timlow, of East Cambridge,
Mass. The mother had died, and, juss berore her death,
requested her daughter to have her contemplated mar-
riage consummated as soon after death as practicable.
itso happ bed that convenience and other things poiated
to the nour of the fumeral service. And so it occurred
that, by the side of the mother’s coffin, the daughter was
inarried, There was the weeping father, with the sacred
marriage tie just broken, and there was the daughter
just forming tne tie, and with emotions that can hardly
be imagined. Just after the marriage ceremony Mr. Tim-
low proceeded with the burial services. Jt was ‘a season
of gréat solemnity, and yet must have impressed ail tne
spectators as very strange. ;
a= The wife of Wm. M. Thackeray is still living, in
Devonshire, England. She las been a hopeless maniac
since the death of her first-born child, and her sad. fute
greatly embittered the novelist’s life, for he ever mourned
her as enduring a living death. There are two surviv-
ing daughters, Annie and Minnie; the former of whom
nas inherited a part of her fatner’s genius, and has pro-
duced mauy entertaining stories.

ka= A friend of a Paris Commissaire de Police goes to
invite him tua lithe evening party: “Impossible,” is the
reply. “L imast preside to-night ab @ public meeting at
the Gros Chataignier. But, alter reflecting a moment,
Ah, allyight! {£ willgo. The meeting opens at ‘eight
o’cluck to discuss the relative merits of diseased pota-
toes. Ata quarter past 8 I will dissolve the meeting tor
an attack on tue goverument.”’

aa The Astor Library, during the winter months, can
be visited ouly between 10 A. M.and 4 P.M. Why not
prolung tbe hoars until ten o'clock at nignt, and thus give
the workiog people a chance to read the books donated by
the late John Jacob Astor for the benefit of thetpublic af
large? AB now conducted, Ouly persons of leisure can
enjoy the privileges of tuis library.

ga> Sir John Herschel always maintained that the
moon WaS8 2 furnace—so hot a place tuat nothing could
live under its torrid infinences, Captain Joha Hricssen,
whose ability no eae disputes, declares that the moon’s
surfava is Ope sinuses of solid ice. When such men disa-
gree, who shall decide ?

fae Elder Smith, at Salt Lake City, recently married
the wiudew and two daugiters of his brother, and a re-
porter of the Telegraph inguired what relation the children
of the two daugiiters would bear to Smith. Thereupon
Smith's son thrashed the reporter, and his curiosity ig
supposed tu ve satisfied.

Ras A line of vessels between New York and Portland,
Oregon, Wil soon be established. Portland is situated
on the left bank of the Williamette river, and is 642 miles
north from San Francisco, by sea communication. Turee
steamers per Mouth ran regularly between the ports last
named. :

ka The oldest person in Delaware is Mrs. Hannali
Fenuimore, who was born in Amsterdam, Germany, on
Dec. 11th, 1761. and is therefore nearly 108 years of age,
She resides in Delaware City with her son, Charles C.

siggen, the offspring of her first fusband, to whom she
was married 101777.

£a= Toere is said to be an insane iad now in the Mis-
sourt Asylum, who is an eaterof nis clothes, which he
devours—jacket, breeches, shoes, aud all—leaving the
battons on tls plate lke bones.

4a5- Dr. John Porter, of Troy, Mo., said last summer
that he would die on the second Saturday of October, and
kept his word.

kas The new capitol building in Sacramento will be
occupied by the California Legislature during the next
session.

 

 

To Bill Posters.

NOTICE!

 

PARTICULAR

 

BILL POSTERS THROUGHOUT THE UNION —IN
EVERY CITY, TOWN AND HAMLET—ARE REQUEST-
ED TO SEND US THEIR FULL ADDRESS IMMEDI-
ATELY UPON THE RECEIPT OF THIS NOTICE, BY
DOING WHICH THEY WILL NOT ONLY BENEFIT
THEMSELVES, BUT GREATLY CBLIGE

STREET & SMITH

 

 

 

Dro
&

 

is exemplified in the career of Mr. John R. Walsh, Super- |
é | Ina letter —
written by Mr. Albert D. Richardyon, we find the annexed |

single periodical depot in Chicago, and4it did a business _

whether ‘the old gentleman’ is 1n, he is the superinten- |
dent and largest stockholder of the Western News Com- .

 

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(asm teaisereac nisamt rare eenrec amine nest

NEW PUBLICATIONS. Se

Linpa; on, THe Younc Pitor or rau Butte Creorx. By Mrs.
Caroline Lee Hentz. Publishers, T. B. Perterson & Bros,
Philadelphia. The Messrs. Peterson have commenced the pub-
lication of an elegant edition of the novels of Mrs. Caroline
Lee Hentz, alady whohas for thirty years been a favorite
with all readers of American fiction who admire strength, vi-
vacity and elegance of style, combined with a wide knowledge
of the world and the imagination to comprehend the workings
of the passions of mankind. Tae novel before us is a very
beautiful tale of Southern Hfe some forty years ago, and is
equai in graphic cescription and in an idealized reality to any
story which has been written on the same subject. Those who

read “Linda” will be anxious to procure the rest of Mrs.

Hentz’s novels,

Rosert Grama. By Wrs. Carolina Lee Hentz Pablishers,
f. B. Peterson & Bros. ‘Robert Graham” is a. sequel to 'Lin-
da,” and the second volume of the new edition of Mra. Hentz’s
novels, which the Petersons are issuing on the first and fil
teenth of cach month. The interest of this novel is well sus-
tained, the characters vigorously portrayed, and the plot,
though of the slightest, is so skillially worked oat that any one
who commences the story will read it to the conclusion, and
feel tacreasing admiration with every page, for tha, genius that
produced a taleso excellent in artistic treatmentso pure in
tone, and so thoroughly enjoyable.

Our or Town is the name of a valuable pamphiet that has been
igsued by the Western News Company of Chicago. The book &
a descriptive, h storical, and statistical account of the subarban
towns and residences of Chicago, nnd canvot but be of imterest
to all who resileinu Chicago, or have dealings with the enter-
prising population that dwel' in the vicinity of the Northwest-
ern metropolis. The author of thus unvretend ny litle volum>,
Mr, James B. Runnion, has presente! the matter in an excecd-
ingly entertaining and instructive shape.

Poprine THS Question; O8, THE BELLY OF THE Balt. By Mrs.
Gordon Smythies. . Publishers, T. B. Peterson & Bros. ‘ihe ar-
tificial life of Eulish upper-tendom has few so truthful biste-
tiangas Mrs Gordon Smythies, apd in the novel under con-
sidcration, the follies, crimes and the virmues of the dwellers
in Mayfair are vividly described. The story ig interesting,
alse, for its plot and the variety of tho characiera introduced.

——__—__>-@~

; NEW RUSEIC.

T. W. Martin, of Chicago, has just isucd a fine comic song,
entitled ‘You musta’t Fool witu Cupid,’words by M. Thomas
Watts, music by Herman Straub. Theair is lively, and the
wo ds ure free fro anything approaching vulgarity.

 

 

 

 

ARENTS.-PRESERVE. THE HEALTH OF YOUR OFF:
spring by using Diweurson’s PATENT SLEEPING COLLAR, FOR
RETAINING ‘BED-CLOTHES ON'CHILDREN. “Effectually secures the
bed-clothes; allows perteet freedom of movement: applied in a
moment. “From Mrs Stowe’s Hearth and Hon, Aug 14. “A Bit:
le and effective contrivance tor retaining the clothes on ehil-
dren who kick inthéir slesp.” . Every parent who has used
them testifies to their ont Sent vy mail, post paid for $f
Ww4-2t THOMPSON BROS.. 39 Park Row, New York.

A LITERARY SENSATION!

 

a osh Gullings’
Farmers’ Alminax.

ippeeenraere cea cermecs,

A laughable burlesque on the old-fashioned Farmers’ Alma-
nac, giving weather prognostications, advice to farmers aixl
housekeepers, family receipts and moral remarks—all by that
famous philosopher, “Josh Billings.”
*,* Elegaatly printed, with lots of comic illustrations, paper
cover. Price, 25 cents.

bag Copies of this exceedingly rich, rare and racy little comic
work will bo sent by mail, free of postage, on receipt of price, 25
cents. Address,

: NEW YORK WEEKLY,
New York City.

FUST PUBLISHED,

THE LOVE SONGS”

ROBERT BUKNs.

Contalning the songs usually omitted from the standard edi-
tions. 150 pages. Pauper 50-cents. Cloth 75 cents, Mailed free
“upon receiptef vrice., Address UNION PUBLISHING CO., Box
356, TROY, N.Y. i wl,

 

 

LT. WiLL PAY 1008 vindles wi1e exoose tin the
‘Star Spanglet Banter” during 1869. “Itsaved $10J,000 to the
-spublio. It iva large @ pp 40 column. Ciastrated Paper, full of!
splendid reading Ledger size.’ “Phe New and Soperd E aL ~
ing—size L1-2by 2 fet, mounted oa rotler, is given graiis’ to
every Subscriver. | On rents, AE
$3 steel Plate, “EVANGE SINE” and the “STAR SPANG
BANNER,” a tall year. Fou can have your money refunded Yf you
Gre not PERFECTLY SATISFIED. NOW IS THE TIME,

a
Address, STAR SPANGLED BANNER,
w-tt. HINSDALE, N. H.

PARKLING LITTLE BEAUTIES ar>@ ntg’ Lie

va Dinmond Pits “Exquisite specimen mailed, 30 cents.

Money returned if vou aré notsurprised and delighted. PAUL
LEE & CO., 1272 Broudway, N. Y. w5-2t,

 

 

 

EiMPLoyMENtT—“Fteasant and Profitable” Books. Send stamp,
for particulars, to S. R. WELLS, No. 389 Broadway, N. Y. ae
W2Z-

TQ $200 PER MONTH TO AGENTS,
salary or coimmission, to sell our Patent White Wire
Clothes Lines, Address Hudson River Wire Works, 75 William St.,
N. ¥2, Cnicago, UL, Richmond, Va., or Memphis, Tenn.
w5 2t-eow. : :

- Impaired Digestion.

All the organs ofthe body are, so to speak, the pen-
sioners ofthe stomach, In that living laboratory is pre-
pared the nourishment required to sustain them, and by
the vessels and ducts connected with the digestive ap-

paratus, thut nourishment is conveyed to every part of
the system. Upon the quality and quantity of this element
of life, and upon the manner in what it is distributed
and apportioned, physical health mainly depends, and as
the mind inevitably sympathizes with the body, the vigor
of the one is absolutely necessary to the well-being of the
other.

Itis because HOSTETTER'S STOMACH BITTERS ac-
complishes this double object that it enjoys a@ reputation
as a preventive and curative never heretofore attained by
any medicinal preparation. But its direct beneficial
operation upon the weak or disordered stomach is not its
sole recommendation. It is the most comprehensive of
alt known remedies, It tones, strengthens and regulates
the discharging as well as the assimilating organs; gently
moving the bowels, promoting healthful evaporation
through the pores, rousing the inert liver from its torpor,
and inducing harmonious and natural action in the
whole animal machinery. This benign result is not pro-
duced by any of the reactionary drugs which are used su
dJavishly in the old school practice, founded by Paracelsus;
but by mild, safe and agrecable vegetable agents inter-
mixed with a pure and meow stimulant which diffuses
their influence through the system and renders their sani-
tary properties active and effective, w5-1t.

~ .
Facts for the Ladies.

{ purchased my Wheeler & Wilson machine July 10th, 1857,
and for the first six years used it colistantly rrony mornmeg unrit
late in the evening on-teavy cloth and Marsesles work, and the
reinainder of the time I have used it for family sewing, without
repairs, and the machine isin so good condition that { would
notexchange it. for your latest nuwber.
years mors without repairing. [hav used one needle nearly
three years, avd have some of the dozen needles that L received
with the machine,

Jersey City.

ISTEN TO THE MOCKING BIRD.—The PRAI-
: RIB WEISTLER and ANIMAL IMITATOR can be used
by achild. Itis made toimitat: the sone of every bird, the
neigh of a horse, the bray of an ass, the grantofa hog, Birds
beasts and snakes are «nchanted, and entrapped by it. Is use
by Dan Bryant, Charley White, and all the Minstre sand Warb-
lers. Ventrilogdism can be learned in three days by its ait.
Senteverywhere cpon receipt of 23 cents; three for 50 cents;
$1.25 per dozen.

_, I. W. VALENTINE, Box 372, Jersey City, N.J.

 

 

 

Mrs. T. Epmonson.

 

 

POCKET REVOLVERS.

WEST'S SIX SHOOTER. A neat, durable weapon, four-
inch barrel. Price $1 50, post-paid. Address 8. G. AUSTIN
Elsie, Mich. , : w5-lt.

 

R. CAMPBELL, .
SaDDLE AND HARNESS MAKER.
ALSO,

IMPORTER OF FINE FRENCH

; AND
LNGLISIT SADDLERY ;
No. 50 POURTH AVENUE.
NEW YORK Curry,
A large assortment ot Harness, Whips. Spurs, Horso- e,
gran heiress realy Ala
ia Remember—

Do. SO FOURTH AVENUD.

ara.)

end Only 75.cents and reccive this elevanc,
GLED

it will wear a dozen:

 

TOO LATE.

 

BY DIANA MARCH.

Ones in the morning of my years,

When only sunbeams barred my way,
‘are the bleak autumn-rain of tears

Had banched the rosy hues of May—-
While the dark forces, grief and strife,
Yet jatent slumbered in my blood,
And destiny was mine to prove—
When youth with roses crowned the cup,
And smiliog held the banble up
Unquuffed, the mingled cup oflife,
(The bitter-sweet, the bad in-geod)
Ere the bright passion-flower of love
Had burst resp.cndent from the bud,
And sealed my royal womanhood
With God's sign-manual, written ‘wife {"*

Dear love, thy slender strengthful hand
Shone like a jewel in my hair,
And looks, my soul could understand
Less thn the babe its mother’s prayer
Breathed low above the cradle-nest—
Thy grave, sweet eyes dropped into mine,
Troubling the fountains of my breast
(As hope the angel troubled thine)
Wit a vague sorrow and unrest,
A pang half mortal, half divine,
Ag if the vailed Divinity
Shrined in my bosom, thrilled fo sea
The solemn shadowing forth of tears—
A dim penumbra of the fate
That looms athwart the coming years,
Wherein lite’s tangled ineanings wait.

Ah me, that radiant sunset tryst!
Far-off it gleams, divinely fair,

Half vanied in twiiight’s golden mis,
When earth and Heaven were like a prayer!

Athwart my soul, with magic power,

Still Moats the iofluence of the hour:

I see, in memory’s radiant glass,

The fountain Jeapin, in the gloom,

The moon’s impassioned face half-hid

In the dead day's diaphancus shroud

In cragged fire one purple cloud

Doomed up, a toppling pyramid;

Tho daisies glittered in the grass—

And restless in her secret bower

Shrill piped the lonesome katy-did;

Thearching bows.of sammer-bloom

Steeped all their rosy wealth in air:

In crystal chasms of infinite night

The tremulo sstar of evening hung:

Uttered in some melodicus tongue

The wind went babbling her delight t

Thy white hand, like a floating lower—

Or like a wandering moonbeam—slid

Down the black torrent of my hair,

The wind’s soft touch had shaken down

From jeweied comb and daisy-crown. -

_ Oh, masterful white hand, my fate
Lay in thy grasp--a brittle thread!
I chanced upon the truth—too late!
Dear God! what wrecked it? He was dead |
Why pierce the heart that inly bleeds?
Why crush the trampled worm? I cried,
Since the dark measure of my needs
Crowd the dim years unsatisfied:
And love that blossomed Jate—(I said)
Love's sweet fruition is denied f
Why yield my snirit’s shrinking sight
The vision of her lost delight?
‘Content thee in the ways to tread
Where falls the shadow of the cross—-
To win the golden need through logs,
And wear the crown!’ A voice replied—
# * Remember thou the crucified !”

 

TE

UNLOVED WIFE.

By MES. HELEN CORWIN FISHER.

“The Unloved Wité” was commenced in No. 2. Back numbers
© Can be obtuined from any News Agent throughout the United

States. amar
CHAPTER IX.
e ‘. THE CONFESSION.

For very shame, Robert Percival, joined his wife.as she
quitted the magistrate’s office with Maud Meredith. He
was too proud to wisi to'have it suppo8ed there was any
coolness tetween them, anil to lave stayed. from her side
at that time, would have created such an impression, It
was an exceedingly disagreeable position for Nim it

 

*

irked him terribly €o see the high-born- mistress of Perci-.

val Court linking herself so closely with a woman arraign-
ed as his old love and espousing her cause s0 publicty,”, —

And herein; perhaps, may be seen the singular revnl-
sion of feeling which had come over. him toward the beau-
tiful and fascinating creature:;he had once. loved so blind-
ly. Herein, also, the estimation in which unconsciously
to himself'as it were, he had’ held his wife. (
cival had come to the conclusion that Maud Meredith was’
guilty of. his uncle’s death. :

He had not listened ito the investigation very.calmly, it
is true; but rather the contrary, his whole mind being in
a tumult from many causes. We. have all, I dare say,
experienced aS sudden @ Change of feeling toward one
whom we hadesteemed as he. now had toward. Maud
Meredith. Generally, itis a more gradual process: than
we are'ourseives are aware of, till some startling event
reveals the result.” It was ‘impossible that he should have
beheld these two women in such earnest contrast with-
out being to a degree affected by the natural nobility, and
sweetness of the one, and the cold selfishness and deceit
of the other.

Mrs. Percival had come te Wimbledon in her own car-
riage’ her husband had come on horseback, but at her
timidly uttered request. he joined her in the carriage,
giving bis horse to charge of a. servant.

Briefly, and with dignity, Elaine put himin possession
of the facts concerning her own connection with Maud,
and the circumstances which led to her arrest, which she
had not been the least responsibie for.

He must have felt in her tone the kKeeness of her anx-
iety to acquit herself in his eyes, but he gave no outward
sign of even kindly feeling toward her, and the latter
part of the ride passed in silence, the husband’s hand-
some face darkened with an expression exceedingly like
sullenness.

The wile, sad and theughtful, resolved plans for releas:
ing her husband from the bondage of her presence with-
out danger of that disgrace to which she imagined him
with some correctness to be so sensitive.

Readily would she have dissolved, all ties that bound
them to each other, but that was impossible. ‘

“He will never love me,” she sighed inwardly, as she
furtively watched him from her corner of the carraige.
“He thinks only of her.”

But Robert was saying to himself; ‘I can’t have my
wife, espousing so publicly the cause of a woman about
to be tried for the crime of murder, but how I am to tell
her so, Lam blessed if I know. Good Heaven what if I
had married that girl, and I came confoundedly near it.
If she had got to Elmwood two hours sooner than she
did, Eshould have married her instead of Elaine. :

He sbivered involuntarily, and glanced toward his
wife, whose mournful, deep eyes had been watching him,
but were quickly withdrawn. Ashedid so, he recalled
sometning be had heard that day, while he paced the
street, near the county fail, waiting for Elaine, who had
gone as far as the juiler’s sitting-room with Miss Mere-
q@ita.

There was the throng usual upon such occasions, and
the crowd commented with the freedom customary to
such gatherings upon the two who had just passed from
view.

Robert Percival caught but a sentence or two, which
had dwelt in his memory for their very singularity.

“The black-naired one’s a beauty,’ said a workman
ngar him; ‘and didn’t she step off handsome, like a born
queen? T’other oae did the killin’, you know, and she
looked like it, with ber face like a stalk of celery, and her
tow hair.”

The aristocratic gentleman bit his lip, as he walked on,
in mingled annoyance and amusement. To call Maud’s
beautiful tresses “tow hair,’ and to pronounce his wife a
beauty. =

He thought of the last assertion now, and he looked et
Elaine with critical eyes. : ;

‘Handsome, with that dark face and that large mouth?!
he questioned of himself, doubtfully. “She has wonder-
ful eyes,though, and her mouth is well shaped; deliciously
colored, too, like a scarlet blossom in the midst of that
pale, dusk face. Humph!”’ with an impatient movement,
‘J had better grow poetical over the beauty of Elaine
Percival, hadn’t I 2?

And he looked resolutely out of the carriage window
the rest of the way.

Bessy Carter sent for him in theevening. She had been
greatly agitated by Mrs. Percival’s report of the investi-
gation in the magistrate’s office,and as soon as the nurse,
who had been placed in charge of her, could be persuaded
to do so, for fear of the excitement, she asked for a con-
versation with Robert Percival.

He came at once, though, it must be acknowledged,
with some reluctance, for he knew, from Elaine, that Mrs.
Carter was Maud’s mother, and he had a man’s horror of
a scene,

He had always liked Bessy. however, and he was
wondertully touched now by the sight of the change
which had been wrought in herin so short a time. Her
pinched, sick face, in spife of the eager flush that over-
spread it at his coming, had somehow a look of death in
it that was positively startling.

“Wil you humor a dying woman, sir?’ she asked,
when he bad sent the nurse outside the door. “I want to
mak6 a very queer request of you. Will you go, with a
light, to the picture gallery, and look at the faces of the
ladies there, and see if thereis one that looks lke me
any 7? =

 

Robert’ Per- |

 

He gave her astartled,inquiring glance, but she clasped
her hands entreatingly.

“Please to go, sir, and Pil tell you all you would ask
me when you come back.”

Generally, Robert. Percival would have hesitated about
humoring a dependent in so singular a request, and
would have pronounced it the promptings of a crazed
brain.

Now, however, the woman’s words seemed to stir him
with excited surmising. He took the light and hurried
away.

He could not remember when he had been in the long,
old-fashioned, tapestry-hung room before. Certainly not
for years. It had never been a lavorite resort with him.

“Too ghostly a place,” he said. ‘

Now, as he passed slowly along, flaring the flame of his
lamp first on one face and then another, they seemed
like the images ofthe dead, indeed, dawning upon him
out of the darkness and then vanishing again.

Before one, a bright, handsome, saucy countenance,
marked, “Violet, wileof Hugh Percival,’’ he paused the
longest, studying it intently, and ending the perusal with
ashake of tne head and the muttered word, ‘“‘impossi-
ble.’? He stopped suddenly and. grew pale, as a yellow-
haired beauty smiled down upon him with the very sap-
phire glance of Maud Meredith, uttering aloud, “What a
resemblance!’ and turned to read the name: ‘“‘Maud Per-
cival Disbrowe, wile of Sir, Percy Disbrowe, of Long:
holme.’?

He etood there, as ifrooted to the floor, some moments,
his look gloomy as death. Then he resumed his inspec-
tion. In most of those waxen-fair Percival faces, he read
more or less of the same resemblance which had thrilled
him so, but rather with foreboding than with pleasure.
There was one picture, quite at the upper end of the hall,
which stopped him as it were without volition of his own.
lt was not because it was newtohim. He had seen it
often enough before, and admired it, too. Jt was not the
superior sizc—double that of the others, or the magniii-
cence of the pearl-inlaid ebony frame. He did not need,
either, to look forthe name. This was Lady Katharine
Percival, daughter of Lord Stratton, and wife.of a Robert
Percival who had lived at least a hundred years before.
The Lady Katharine was royally beautiful, without the
aid either of yellow huir or moonlight fairness, for she
was dark asa gipsy, and the long, silken braids which
wound her superb head were black as the eyes which
flashed in somber richness beneath,

“Hiainel? exclaimed he, ‘‘as lam @ living man. It.
might have been painted for her. Wonders will never
cease,”? he murmured, a8 he moved away with a linger-
ing backward glance. ‘And she married a Robert Perci-
val too.” é

He found Bessy Cartér alarmingly worse even during
that brief absence. His wife was with her, the doctor had
been sent for, and by Bessy’s desire,a magistrate and
minister. .None of them had yet arrived, aS

The sick woman turned toward Robert Percival a face
palpitating with eagerness.

“You guess, surely you guess?’ she asked. ‘I did not
send you to look for my picture, as 1 said, though it is
there. Iam Violet, wile of Hugh Percival, and Maud is
our daughter. Maud Percival is your cousin. Now will
you imagine that she killed her own father? You did
imagine it, [saw itin your eyes, Robert Percival. But!
must talk fast. In my trunk there is ample proot of what
fassert. You knew that your uncle married twenty-one
years ago, and lost his wife?’

“I Knew that, yes,” said Robert, ina sort of blank
amaze. :

‘“Weacted unfairly by me. Iloved him with all my
soul, though he wasso much older than]. He never
cared for me; he married me to pique another woman
who refased 4im, and then coquetted with him after we
were married. He had always loved her, and when I re-
monstrated and resented his neglect of me for her, he
told me the truthin hisanger. Ifled from him and
caused a report of my death to reach him. Two months
after my flight Maud was born. Henever knew that he
had a child. I lay ill for months in a charitable hospital,
and during that time my litle girl disappeared—-was
Stolen, it was supposed. I had always meant to return to
my husband some time, but when I recovered and found
my beauty all gone—I had had the smallpox—my child
also gone, I resolved that he should hever know of the
existence of either of us. Then the whim seized me to
come and live at Percival Court, where I knew my
altered looks would protect me from recognition. Iknew
Maud at once, both from her Percival look and some
reminiscences of her stolen babyhood, which’ I secretly
searched for and found in her room. But I hated Hugh,
my husband, yet, I would not gratify him with this beau-
tiful daughter of whom I thought he would have been so
proud. had never heard of the project to marry you
to your cousin, Elaine, andiimagined that you would
marry Maud, and make all right. Iwas absent from the
Court’ looking up the proofs of Matd’s’ birth, when you
and your uncle came to an understanding. I did not
learn the real facts of the case till the night before your
uncle was to start for Elmwoed to attend your wedding,
Iwentto him them, late agit was, and told him tne
whole truth. I was taunting and bitter, for I hated him
yet, and the’ old anger and passion arose in him toward
me. He refused to*believe me, laughed my story to scorn,
denied my identity and hers.”

She stopped 'an Instant breathless, and Klaine touched
her ghastly lips with cordial.

She swallowed it Sot and hurried on as though her
story ran a race with death.’

“I think ‘if ‘éver woman’ was’ possessed with a de-
jusn was that night. His own’ heart must have cor-
roborated my story, for he Nad just had an’ interview
with Maud} and she looked that night like one ‘of those
pictuies of the Percivals stepped out of its frame. He
knew TI told the truth, but he was so angry with me after
all those ‘years, ‘that he would not acknowledge it even
for thé sake of his’own child: Perhaps he would if I had
waited." ‘But I wanted to stop your marrying your cou-
sin Elaine—l imagined I could.”

Another’ breatiiléss’ pause, during which the doctor
presented himself, and in spite of the dying woman's
insistance to the contrary was admitted fo her. :

“Look at me then and be gone,”’ she said, sharply, her
voice even then husky with what was coming. ‘You
know IT am dying.’?

- “YT know you will be, if you persist in doing as you are
now,” said the doctor, calmly, putting his hand on her
wrist. «She looked at him almost angrily.

“7 could not live the night through, do what 1 would.
Give me an hour of life and the rest may go.”

The shocked physician did not reply to her. He admin-
istered some powerful restoratives .and, beckoning Rob-
ert Percival into the adjoining room, told him that his
patient was dying as sheasserted. It was impossible to
say how long she might last. Death moved stealthily in
such cases as this, and Robert Percival returned to her
bedside, :

She was impatient.

‘Flag the magistrate for whom T sent come??? she de-
manded.

He had not.

“He must hasten.”

Then she went on:

“Tt watched where Edson hid his gin. I knew he had a
botile, and I put as much laudanum as I daredin the bot-
tle. Your uncle always had a bowl of something hot be-
fore he slept. Itook it in to him that night, and heasked
me With a sneer that made my hard heart harder, if I had
poisoned it. I had put some jaudanum in it, but not so
much as into Edson’s gin. However, he slept sound.
Then-when Edson, half-fuddled, took the pan of charcoal
down stairs, and coming back lay down by his master’s
door instead of going to bed, I thought that was: all the
better for my plans. You can guess the rest. I lighted
the dying coals, took them back, and shut the docr on the
man who had wronged me, and persisted in his wrong
after twenty years. Thatis all. J don’tknow what made
Edson crazy. Jf didn’t. Fright and gin together per-
haps. He swears he saw Maud do all this, but if he saw
anyone he saw me, I swear it. Has the magistrate
come? I wish I could see Maud once more. Oh! my
Maud.” ~

Robert Percival turned and quitted the room swiftly.

With a face like a saint’s Elaine Percival bent over the
dying woman, while the doctor, admitted once more,
came up on the other side and said, sternly:

“If you will be silent and obey me, I will try to keep
life in you till she can be brougnt. * Mr. Percival has gone
to, Wimbledon after her.”

“Has the justice come?) was the half-imperative re-
sponse,

There was 2 slight stir at the doov, and the justice be-
fore whom Maud’s committal had been made out came
in. He took the confession of Hugh Percival's wife in
due form, and as briefly as possible;then he hurried back
to Wimbledon to make the necessary legal arrangements
for Maad’s liberation.

Jt was by this time two o’clock in the morning.

Six hours Elaine Percival stood over the dying woman
battling with death, while the doctor upon the Other side
with his finger on her wrist, directed from time to time
what should be done; and over the road from Wimble-
don two horses galloped madly.

The ministor came.

“Thave no breath to spare,’ whispered Violet, Hugh
Percival’s wife. ‘“Pray.??

All the time the still eyes, the agonized, death-stricken
face Seemed to plead, “Don’t let me die till she comes.”

At a quarter past eight Mand came.

“Mother, oh! mother!"? she uttered, with her arms
around her neck, her kisses on her face.

: abe dying eyes shone gratefully; the dying lips moved
eebly.

“Tam a miserable sinner,” this repentant soul breathed,
but died with the shadow of a smile on her lips, and in
the arms of her child, é

CHAPTER X.
HOW ELAINE GREW BEAUTIFUL.

The Percival pride would have been glad to coneeal the
relationship, but that was impossible, and really the
whole country side pitied the woman who was dead as
as much as it blamed.

The sorrowful domestic drama to which she had al-
Inded_ so briefly in her confession was still fresh enough
in the memories of most for that. They remembered the
bright, piquant beauty of Hugh Percival’s young wife,
and there were perhaps other wives than her who re-
membered the enchantress who had beguiled her hus-
band by the sorrows of their own hearts.

Maud was treated by them all with courtesy in the
brief interval that still saw her at Percival Court.

She departed for the continent very soon, Robert Per-
civai caused to be transfered to her before she went the
half of his uncle’s property, which was ail he conld induce
her to accept. f '

The master of Percival Court saw her go without regret.
Maud herself realized how much he had changed toward

-.| ber before che wens.

 

“Yfhe were free to-day he would choose any woman
for a wife sooner than me,” she said boldly to Elaine.

The proud young wile drew herself erect with pale
hauteur, without reply.

“T beg your pardon for saying a disagreeable thing,”
persisted Maud, with that bluntness which had made her
so disliked among the servants, ‘but all the same I aim
glad lsaidit. I haven’ta nice way of saying things, I
know. But Ido want you tobe happy, Mrs. Percival,
and I am very sure you can be if you are not too proud to
let happiness come to youin its own way. One thing is
certain—Cousin Robert has as much as he can do now to
endure me. J] believe he feels chilly whenever he ‘sees
me.??

That was the morning of Maud’s departure, and this

comfortable. 1t would have been impossible for her ever’
to have liked Maud, even under more favorable circam-
stances, and changed though she was—and decidedly for
‘the better—the dazzling blonde could never be anything
but intensely disagreeable to her,

Robert Percival’s awakening from that love dream was
complete. He never ceased to wonder that he had ever
entertained it.

But his wife was quite unconscious of all this. The
thought that haunted her now, waking or sleeping, was
how to bring about, without disgrace, that complete sev-
erance from herself which, she believed, would alone se-
cure her husband’s happiness.

“She is as much overloving me as I am overloving
Maud,’ Robert Percival said to himself, as he* watched
her cold, proud face, and thought of Lady Kutharine in
her queenly loveliness. His wife was no handsomer to-
day than she had been when she became a loveless brie,
Ba months before. But she had grown beautitul to
lim.

“How could I ever have imagined her plain?” he asked
himself. ‘Beside her dark, clear beanty, our waxen
Percival fairness is simply insipid. Then, what noble
grace in every movement! hat & noble soul looks fron
her glorious eyes! Ihave been a fool, and a fool f shall
have to remain, I suppose. She shows her good sense by
despising me, after all that has happened.’?

As for Elaine, she had firmly resolved that nothing
should tempt her again into a betrayal of her deep love
for the husband who was not merely indifferent to her,
but seemed positively to evince dislike.

“How he watches mel’? she, thought, bitterly. ‘Con-
stantly, no doubt, he coimpares me with that beautitul
Maud, whom, nevertheless, 1 would not be even to have
him love me.??

“Have you ever been in the picture gallery’? asked
Robert Percival of his wife one evening.

“Freqnently,”’ answered Elaine, with whom it was a
favorite promenade when she wanted company, and that
of her thoughts was too painful.

“Then you must have noticed your own resemblance to
one of the pictures there?”

“T had not,” quietly, but wonderingly, she replied; for
theretwas not so plain afacein the whole collection, in
her opinion.

“Lady Katharine’s,” said her husband.

Lady Katharine! That superbly beautiful woman!

Elaine sho. at him a glance of angry pain.

“He dares to make a jest of my ugiiness.?? she said to
herself, dropping her eyes that he might not see the tears
that fillec whem. :

‘“Robert,’? she asked, in a low voice, “may I not go to
Eimwood and live? We should both be happier; and
what oes & little gossip matter beside your pleasure and
mine. :

Robert Percival grew pale.

“Do you wish it, Elaine?” ° |

“YT do.?? ‘

“Twill no longer oppose you then.) :

“Thank you,” and she rah away to hide her unhappy
eyes from his sight, whispering: “How glad he ig to have
me go—how giad he is.” f

“1 must have been out of my senses ever to have imag-
ined that that woman loved me,” muttered Robert, with
great bitterness. *

Elaine gave herself three days’ grace- -three days yet to
linger within the sound of the beloved voice, grown doubly
dear, now that she was going where she should hear it no
more; for she said to herself that of course Robert would
not come to see her, and never, so long as she lived, would
she, of her own free will, come back to live at Percival
Court, an unloved and neglected wife,

“Better be a wanderer on the face of the broad earth,
forced to tui. with my own hands for the bread I eat, than
tobe mistress here and suffer whatI have in the ten
months that are past. Only ten months. It seems ten

ears.”?
y She longed to go—she‘told herself that she was impa-
tient to’ be away where she could not see his cruel, hand-
some face, or hear his sneering voice, but. at the same
time she yearned to stay, i

“We can be ready to go in one day as easy as in three,”?
argued Ursula, with the privileged pettishness of an in-
duiged servant. “She don’t want to go, that is what,’
she added to herself, and the old nurse fairly glowed at
her master as shie-‘met him outside her mistress’s door.
“Hain’t got two eyes in his head, he hain’t, or he’d see
who was handsome.” ;

Robert Percival ‘certainly did not see the old nurse, as
he stalked moodily past, hesitating an instant before his
wife's door, longing to enter, but too angry to do so, and
then hufrying on, as though he could not trust himself.

“Wan’t to pizen her again, don’t you??? muttered Ur-
suia from her obscurity, and in her passion speaking so
loud that her master’s quick ear caught the words. He
turned upon her sharply.

cwhatis that you old witch??? he demanded.

Elaine’s nurse was particularly disagreeable to him,
and the more now, for he knew something of the estima-
tion in Which she held him, and he was foolish enough in
his present state of mind to imagine that she influenced
his ‘wife against him.

When the old nurse did not answer, but eyed him in-
stead with mingled fear and and defiance, he seized her
by the arm and drew her into the light, his handsome
features working. ; ‘

“What was that you saidjust now? Repeat it or——.”

The blue lightning of his eye, his white lips, told the
rest. The foolish words which he would have laughed at
at any other time, fairly maddened him in his present
mood. Ursula’s face tarned ghastly, but she said them
over with sucha malignant intonation in spite of her
fright'that she was glad to be compelled tospeak. « Ro-
bert Percival loosed her arn: as though it had been hot.

‘Your mistress never,’? he began.

And turning, marched to his wife’s door and knocked
impatiently, scarcely waiting to be bidden before he threw
openthe door. — ;

Elaine was slowly pacing the floor, and she had been
weeping. She stood still at sight of her husband, who
almost forgot his anger in his amazement at her tears.

“My wife,”? he exclaimed, impulsively, coming for-
ward, ‘you have been crying ?””

“He shall not think I cried for him,’’ thought Elaine,
and she laughed softly.

“Tlaugh now, you see,”? she said. ‘Laughing or cry-
ing, it is all one to you'and me, my husband.’

Robert was silent, her manner repelled him. In 80
humble @ voice that his wife looked at him in surprise,
he said:

“The night before her arrest, Maud made you a singn-
lar: confession. You did not know that I heard it.
{ did. I followed you that night. I was in the next
room.” .

Elaine had never told her husband of that confession.
She had been so generous toher rival. She had never
suspected his knowledge of it till this moment. She
looked something more than surprise, but she made no
audible reply, only slightly inclining her head while she
said to herself with some scorn:

“To know that, and still love her!”

“Did you ever for an instant connect me with Maud's
wicked and idiotic experiments?”

His voice rose now, and he regarded her sternly.

Elaine felt as though her doom lay in the next words,
but she could not withold them. -

‘Por more than an instant, but not now.”

It was doubtful if he heard the conclusion of the sen-
tence, for with his face in a blaze of white wrath, he had
flashed out of the room as the words left her lips.

Elaine dropped upon the floor in a shuddering heap,
and covered her face with her hands.

“Now he will hate me indeed, and with cause,’ she
moaned. “Oh! mamma, if you had only lived, and I
might have stayed with you at Eimwood.”?

“No wonder she is afraid to be at Percival Court if she
believes that of me,’? thought Robert Percival as he

kicked an embroidered footstool half way across the room,
in his passion.

He did not make his appearance again allday. Hewas
chewing the cud of bitter thought in moody loneliness in
the library.

The pair met the next morning, but merely exchanged

each other agaim till evening.

Every arrangement had been made for Elaine’s depar-
ture the following morning. Both husband and wife
longed for kindly words from each, this last evening, but
neither had the courage-to utter them in the face of the
other’s stern and averted looks,

Morning came. The carriage waited. The trunks had
already gone to the station. Elaine came down dressed
for departure. She had breakfasted alone. Her husband
had not made his appearance at all, and her heart was
swelling with an emotion in which it would have been
difficult to tell whether pain or resentment bore the
greater part.

“He can’t be so cruel as to let me go s0,” she whisper-
ed to herself, with quivering lips, “Oh! Robert, oh! my
darling come and speak to me once more.”

Tears forced themselves through her shut eyelids ag she
leaned ler head against the doorway. '

“Good by, Elaine, ’'m sorry [haven't been a better bus-
band to you. I never meant to let you regret’ tt when I
married you.”?

He stood beside her without sound, looking haggard
and worn, like one who had kept @ vigil of pain. He saw
her tears, but he made no remark.

Impulsively she turned toward him, extending both
hands, while a sudden glow suffused her pale face. The
sight of him just then, his gentle tone, was toomuch. She
struggled with herself an instant, and burstinto tears,

Her husband looked startled. His lips parted eagerly,
then closed again with resolution.

“Tt is safest for me not to speak,’ he said to himself. “I
am always hurting her when I talk, blunderhead that {
am.”

“Good-by, Robert,’ Elaine said, dashing the tears from
her lashes.” I never thought ill of you long,and if Lt have
heen sorry you married me, it was more for your sake
than my own.”

“For my sake?) he began in a thrilling voice, then

 

checking himself, fell back on his former resolye. “You

taik left the sensitive and reticent Elaine pale and un- }|-

strode into the library, shut and locked the door, and’

the most common piace courtesies, and they did not see.

are very generous,” he said, and his wife's heart sank
Be a heavier throb than before at the coldness of, hig.
words, :

With tears coming agaih faster than she could, wipo.ther
away, andblinding her eyes till shecould sédrte gee
where to step, this proud but well nigh broken. heart
turned toward the waiting Carriage, Bee

Jn mute agony, Robert followed her, ¢

Atan abrupt descent ofthe terraced grounds, Eiaine
missed her footing and fell _ Robert caugnt her from the
ground almost before she touched it, and held her an in-
stant in a convulsive embrace. ms

“Oh | my wife,’ he exclaimed, almost to nimself rather .
than her. ‘I deserve tolose you, but itis hard.’

Her eyes sought his face wildly.

“You don’t want me to stay,” she cried, beginuing to
tremble. .

“IT don’t want you to go.*?

“Then I won't,” she said, with sudden decision.
“Dempsey,” (tothe coachman) “you may pat up the
horses, I have hurt my ankle, and cannot go to-day.”

“Ursula,” (fo her nurse, glowering. in the carriage)
“send some one to the station to bring back the trunks.
Oh, Robert, itisn’t true that you want me to stay. — -

The last words came feebty, her head fell on his sheul-
der, she had fainted.

(Te be concluded next week).

[When will be commenced an exciting story entitied,
“Tu DUEL BY. LOT; 08, A WOMAN'S VENGEANCE,” by 3
new contributor.] 2

Be :
Bornxeti’s Karusron improves the complexion withoht injury.
SSSR aaeksoe oememeemeeeeme

Pleasant Paragraphs.

[Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing
toward inaking this column an attractive teature of they New
YORK WkEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending fee publica-
tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for
general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles ‘showk# be:
penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy and hikely to
create amusement, minor defects will be remedied. | ;

HIDING THE HOG. kai

On a rainy afternoon, the country grecery in the village of
P—— was filled with loafers. Among th assembled” was
Mose -——, 2 gentleman of color, and a great joker. “It wasitis
delight to plav jokes at the expense of his comrades, and mwmany
wer? his vicums. Mr. S.,a traveling salesman, was present.
and was smarting from the effects of a bent pin pl tet’ his
chair by Mose. Mr. 8, said nothing, but inwardly vowed ven-
geance. Agaime was suggested to pass away the time.” Mr.
prgned that one should hide an egg and the rest haat for it.
Mose took great delight in the game and was very successful'in
finding theegg. Now was Mr. 6.’s time. He quickly told the
storekeeper his plan and then aaid to Mose. “You cant hide i€
where I can’t flnd it,”’ an@ lett the store tor him'to dose) Biore-"
keeper handed him a-rotten egg, according to plan, azud gad.
“Put itin your hat, he wilt never think to look there.” Mase.
adopted the suggestion and smilingly announced that hé wag
ready. Mr. 8.searched a few minutes tor the egg, then ap-
proaching Mose and slapping himon the hat, said: ‘I believe
you've got thategg.” The tables were turned on Mose tor oltce
and he quickly leit the store, with the stuff. running down his
face and neck—with curses “net loud, bat deep,’ amid. a roar
of laughter from the crowd. ALAMANDER.,

THE SUICIDAL BLACKSMITH.

Near the village of Pine hiulf there rcsided two bcone ane
ions who were inveteraie tovers, and usuathy enjoyed thew pro-
tracted sprees together. One was a blucksinith, and the other
a carpeuter who for years bad niade the coffins for the setile-
ment. Once, when Billthe blacksmith, had lengthcned out a
spree until thoughts of suicide entered his brain, he attenipt d
to clese his earthly carecr by «dose of laudanum. The resutt .
was Not fatal, however, bat he siept that day, that night and
the next day. His relatives became -uneary abc ut him] ‘atid
tried crore they cculd think of to arouse him, but without
suocess. The second wight passed, and still he did not awake.
In the morning the carpenter entered the abode ot iis sleeping
comrade, anc resolved to try astrata® ene Getting a small pele,
he laid it lengthwise on the old fellow and began to shake Bim.
and talc véry loud. “81H,” said the carpenter, “I have come ~
to take your ineasure to make « Coffi| for you. Pi teifyou h w
IT will make it; I will leave both ends of the coffin otem, so: that:
when the devil comes acer you atone end youcen crawl gat
at the otner.” The loud tonés aroused the blicksmith, and s€n-
ing his biaired eyes he stared sbout himvina most frightietman-
ner. Jumping up, he shook off the lethargy which had so long.
kept htm unconscious, snd exclaimed: “Iam not dead yet, and
Tam not quite ready tocommence hammering iron that’ has
been heated in the devil’s furnace.’ The stratagem had the de-
sired effect. RAW Be OO

OUT TOO LATR.

Farmer Colwell, who lived within fifteen miles ef Becton;
once had o¢zasion to remain inte elly over night, and tog}
lodgings at a.second-class hotek About eleven o'clock he as ;
with a throbbing headache, and “thinking a tectDath' Woukrdd «
hur, 5oud, he filled the wash-ba:in with water and bathed his
‘ very. Feeling relieved, he opened thé Window at the head
ed—-which,.as he supposed, opened. on the arnget bub
on opened into another Bedroom instéad—and “threw.

ucte the face of the man who was siceping on the other
side of ne partition. Half choked by the deluge, the oceupant
qn ped up i bed, shouting: “What the dickens do you mean ?
rou’ve nearly drowned me 1”? The old farmer, in a sleepy tone,

 
 
  

 

replied: “Good enough fer you. Go home! You have ho bus-
iness to be out solate at night. >, woogie > Wd. AGRO: *¢

THE SCHOOLBOY AN YH BUNCH OF GRAPES. sak

A schoolboy Who had ‘. ‘returned from church, where he
had heard the minister publish the bans of marriage, had pea. :
sion to pass through the refectory, and wecing some fine grapes ”
on the sideboard, could not resist. the temptation. tipeing,
himself unobserved, he took . btnch, and litiig it’ to per
repeated: “I publish the bans of marriage between this bunch |
ot grapes and my motith, if anyone Gah show cause why’ ot
shotd not be united, Jet him speak now, or ever after-hotd his
peace.” The grapes and mouth were timmedintely united, bac’
unfortunately for the boy, the master perceived and overheard
him. However, he said nothing till the following day, when, ”
calling the boy to him before all the scholars, he took a im
his hand and prepared to flog: him, sayitig¢: “oF publish “the bans
of marriage between this rod and this boy's back; if any one
can show cause why they sheuld net be united, let ‘him speak
now, or ever after hold his pea The urchin perceived what
was the matter, and instant y cried out, with great’/preseticd of
mind: “I forbid the bans!” “What impediment can you show?’
said the master. ‘‘Why, the parties are notagreed.” “Ob. pe:
plied the master, pleased with the boy’s wit, “if that ie the cage,
we must defer the marriage.”? Rose Hiny:

GRINDING WATER.
A few Sundays since, as two Mileslans, recent arrivals, v oe
standing at the Fairmount Waterworks in Philadelphia, bookie
atthe large water-wheels splashing the water in all directioiis
they became much interested, and one of thein said: “Mike,
arn’t this # quare counthry, where they have to grind their,
walter before they can use it? Wa. J. Matoomson.
SHOOTING THY RAPIDS. als
A braggart Rae releting higadventures'in South América, and
during his ré lL he said: ‘To reach the camp we were
obliged to shoot the rapids”—meamg to passover them “iia
boat. This was a daring undertaking, as the rapids described ,
had a fall of twenty feet; and desiring’a confirmation of the -
assertion, he said toa compamon: “We had to shoot the rap-
hids, hadn't we, Pat?” Pats reply somewhat startled the éom-
fpany. “Yes, yer honor, we didit, but the rabits attacked ‘us
‘and so we had to shoot them, You hit yours a oe

eyes. UYMAN,
PORK OBJECTIONABLE. * 2 een ess
A lady friend was visiting our house witha little pet dag.. It
chanced that we had pork for dinner, and the visitor was asked
if she wanted some meatcut upfor her dog: &he anawered:
“My dog never cuts pork-” Hearing her answer, our litule four
year old looked up innocently in her mnaroma’s:face and said;
‘Mamma, is that dog a Jew?’ ; : -E.'G.
YOUNG MEAT. a :
A German cook wishing to teil the butcher to send some veal,
said “Send me twelve pounds of baby meat from the cow.”?
CALIFORNIA,

 

TELLING LIES. :

A man meets a friend, to whom he confides a secret; friend
afterward discloses the secret to his wife, whose name is Mliza,
or “Lize,” as she is fauntarly addressed. When the friends
again meet, one accuses the other of having ac ed treacherous
ty—sayiog that he told Lize. Married man iilignantly denies
the calumny, exclaiming: “You utter an antruth when you say
that I told lics,”’ and he makea- his language understood by
knocking down the slanderer. J. G. La Ror.

A FASHIONABLE CONUNDRUM.

In what style is the hair worn by the kidies at the present
time? Baker style, or twist bread—(braid.) Broxrr'’s Cuxrx.

: A BLUSHING IRISHMAN.

An Irish drummer whose illuininated nese indicated intem-
perate habits, was accosted by the reviewing general: “Pat,
what makes your nose sg red??? ‘‘Plase, your honer,” sald Pat,
“T alway blushes when I spakes to the officer.’

_. TRE MOYHER OF Vick.

Why is intoxication like water? Beeause it isthe mother of

vice (of ice) AL GEBSRA,
THE WATER-WORKS FEAST. :

—QOur closing paragraph, in a recent issue, referring to the .
jotlification at the official examination of the Brooklyn Water-
Works, was incorrect in an important particular. The bills were
not presented to the Common Council by Alderman Francis No-
lan, but by the Finance Committee, ag we learn from the official
report. Mr. Nolan informs us that he wag not present at the
banquet—that itssavory odor did not (ickle his nostrils; and he
thinks 1¢- tantalizing to accuse him of taking such a fatherly in,
terest in the paymentof bills for which he was inno manner

responsibie

   

To P. P. Conrrisotors.—Webdiek.—Pallished before..... Peter
Post.—Your “‘Auswers” wil appear in tie Phuany Pheliow..... .
W. J. L.—Oid........ Ww. S. &.—Old.. f#. C. W—The articia
was published soon after 1% reception...... The following MSS,

are accepted: “Particular Beggar.’ “Rogue’s Mistake,” “Model
Neighbor,” ‘Lazy Greenhoru,” “Unsolicited Charity,” “Physi-
ological Pun,” “Yankee Bull,’ ‘Second-Hatted,” “Hotel Joke,”
“Tea-Table Talk,” “Goose Oil.”......The following are respect-
fully declined: “Captain and his Company,” “Swinging a Mile
High,’ “Jimuel,” ‘Irishman’s Dog,’ “Communion,” “Coinie
Retort,” ‘Curious Yankee,” “Hog or tne Brain,” “Old Lady's
Revelation,” “Two lrish Gunners,” “What l Want,” “Take the
Weekly,” “Fun.’* from 8. L. P., “Little Harry’s Rabbit,”
“More Rum,’ “Molasses,” “Query,” “Forgot the Tune,” “Mag-
tard Plaster,’ “Cheese,” ‘Not Practicing What he Presched,”
“Substantial Nothing,” “Ain't a Gun,” “Rather Forry,” “Fin-
ishing Nails,, ‘Bible Talk,” “Sharp,” “Hard on Darchimen,’
“Losing a Coat-Tail,” “Leg of Mutton,” “Saving Buiter,” “Hit
on the Old Man,” “Preacher’s Advice,” “Democratic Polls,”
‘“Sake’s Reply,” ‘First Appearance,” “Strike Where He Looks,”
“Weavy Laden,” ‘A Hint,” “Wha? Dat Por?” “Exacting es.
tion,” “Power ef Conscience,” “De Grande Calamity,” “A Good
Story,” “Wrong Quotations,’ “Sharp Answer.” ‘Didn't Know
His Name.”

TO NEWS AGENTS

Just Commencing Husiness !

 

 

 

 

News Agents who have but recently com<
menced business and who have not yet re-
ceived circulars from us, will favor us by at
ounce forwarding their FULL addresses to
this office.

We are abont effecting arrangements that
must prove mutually advantageous, and we
desire to have on our books the name of
every News Agent throughout the Union.

PLEASE SEND PRINTED BUSINESS

 

CARD IP POSSIBLE.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

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NE POTIT TA a ET

AOE eer ogee a eter mecagnn

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THE NEW YORK

 

EEKLY. ee

 

   
 
 

eek

  

PARA AAAA AED RADAR EDDAISS

NEW YORK, DECEMBER 16, 1869.

PAID es

 

 

 

DAD aes

NOW IS THE TIME TO SUBSCRIBE

FOR THE .

NEW YORK WEEKLY.

Tne PEOPLE'S FAVORITE JOURNAL,

 

The Most Interesting Stories

Are always to the found in the

NEW YORK WEEKLY.

_At present there are

SIX GREAT STORIES:

running through its columns; and at least

One Story is Begun Every Month.
New subscribers are thus sure of having the commencement
of anew continued story, no matter when they subscribe for
the

NEW YORK WEEKLY.

Each number of the NEW YORK WEEKLY contains
Several Beautiful Ilustrations, Double the Amountof Readlng
Matter of any paper of its class, and the Sketches, Short Stories,
Poems, ete., are by the ablest writers of America and Europe.

The

NEW YORK WEEKLY§

does not confine its usefulness to amusement, but publishes a
great quantity of really Instructive Matter, in the most -con-
densed form. The

|N. Y. Weekly Departments

have attained a high reputation trom their brevity, excellence
and correctness.
Tur PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS are made. up of the concentrated
wit and humor. of many minds.
_ Tue Kyow.epex Box is confined to useful information on all
manner of subjects.
Tue News Items givein the fewest words the most notable
doings all over the world.
Tar Gossip with CoRRESPONDENtS contains answers to in-
quirers upon all imaginable subjects.

AN UNRIVALED LITERARY PAPER

1S THE

NEW YORK WEEKLY.

Hach issue contains from EIGHT to TEN STORIES and
SKETCHES, and HALF A DOZEN POEMS, in ADDITION to
the SIX SERIAL STORIES and the VARIED DEPART
MENTS.

 

The Terms to Subscribers:

One Year—single copy......... sues Cacuecee Three Dollars.
ts * Four copies ($2 50 each)...........06. Ten Dollars.
es ore ASIGNL COPICS <2 8: dees e sk cass oo .-rwenty Dollars.

Those sending $20 for a club of Hight, all sent. at one time,
will be entitled to acopy Frrex. Getters-up of clubs can after-
ward add single copies at $2 50 each.

All Letters must be directed to

STREET & SMITH,
Office 55 Fulton Street. Box 48906 N. Y.

Coming Next Week!

The Greatest Romance of the
Age!

 

 

 

 

To announce new strength and more interesting fea-
tures in Literary Enterprise is but one of the pleasures of
the publishers of the New York Weekly. With an
unequaled circulation, and a corps of writers, male and
female, which cannot be surpassed in America, nor in-
deed in the wide world, they feel justified in claiming the

motto,
“Unsurpassed and Unsurpassable !??
We.are now able to announce the exclusive engage-
ment of Col. E. Z. C. Judson, widely known by the
production of over one hundred popular romances, under
the nom de plume of

“NED BUNTLINE,”

as well as by his connection with the Naval and Military
service of his country, and his advocacy of temperance.

In engaging this writer, we are aware of possessing the
only man in America whose life from boyhood to the pre-
sent date, has been literally an almost constant scene of
living adventure. His travel has been literally world-

wide, his stories therefore are descriptively nearer life

perhaps than those of any other writer.

The first one of LAND ADVENTURE to be commenced
Next Week in our columns will be

BUFFALO BILL,
THE KING OF BORDER-MEN.

 

The author has written this con amore, for the hero is
one of his warmest, chosen friends, by whose side he has
ridden many a mile in chase of buffalo and antelope on
our great Western plains, as also In the more exciting
and startling work of reducing the red warriors of the
West to the laws of the pale face.

“BUFFALO BILL”

is known, especially among our army officers, as the mos

DARING SCOUT,
The BEST HORSEMAN,
The BEST INFORMED GUIDE,
And the GREATEST HUNTER
of the present day. From his childhood on, even now
engaged as chief of scouts with a daring band under his
leadership, his life has been a wild, thrilling romance.

A part of this, including pictures of other noted, and
some most lovely characters, has been woven into a ro-
mance that cannot fail to thrill, to please, and to deeply

-interest every reader. In parts it is HUMOROUS, in
others PATHETIC, but as a whole it is life as life 7s, and

“not as it is fancied by those who have hunted in cities
and fought their battles in drawing rooms.

For the last two years “Ned Buntline’? has been
preparing by travel for a new series of works calculated
to excel any of his previous efforts to please the people,

and we are proud in having succeeded against all compe-
tition in securing his pen exclusively for the

~ New York Weekly!

BUFFALO BILL'S picture has been expressly photo-
graphed for the story, and when the author, who was in-
timate with Kit Carson, Ben McCullough, and many other
notable hunters and scouts, tells us that Mr. Cody, the
real name of his hero, is the handsomest man he ever
saw on the plains, we may fancy an Apollo ‘In the
saddle. ‘ ;

His female pictures in the story are also sketched from
life, and are so pure and beautiful that one would almost
think them fancy-drawn.

We will say no more, but let our readers feel assured
that we are happy in making an announcement which
will add to their pleasure and our profit.

 

‘| or more unselfish than he. I tried to love him, but my

tender, bewitching voice:

 

js SPECIMEN COPIES SENT FREE, -@\

A WOMAN’S HEART.

BY HANNAH HOPPER.

 

 

Whom first we love you know we selaom wed.
Time rules us all. And Life, indeed, is not
The thing we planned.it out ere hope was dead.
And then, we women cannot choose our lot.
. MEREDITH.
fama cold, prond woman. The days of my girlhooa
are set in my memory as priceless gems, much as the
bright, laughing stars are set in @ cold winter’s sky. 1
have left them far behind among the many things that
have been and are no more; but keen-eyed memory seeks
them out one by one, and holds them up to my vision all
shining with purity and innocence, to mock the hard, bit-
ter woman that I have become,

I sit in my widow’s weeds and look off over the meadow
to where a tall, gleaming white monument towers up
against the gloomy sky, on which my husband’s name is
carved—an honcred one which I wore with pride, but not
With love. Perhapsit was my fault thatI did not love
him; it certainly was not his, for no man was ever kinder

heart would not soften. I vowed that I would learn to
love him, and tried to force my affections to obey my rea-
son, but thay rebelled with renewed force, and I almost
cursed Heaven and myself because I could not grasp the
happiness which seemed so near my outstretched hana.

I have thought, since he slept over there in the church-
yard, that mayb I tried too hard, and placed too much
confidence in my own powers; and I have thought, too,
that if he had not been taken away so soon I might have
learned to love him. Yet even when I saw him in his
coffin, with a peaceful smile about the lips which never
to me uttered an unkind word, it was guilt and pity that
caused me to fall across the coffin and weep so violently,
not the heartbroken sorrow which a loving wife feels
when an idolized husband is called to the other shore.
And when I go each morning to his grave and leave fresh
flowers upon the mound beneath which he lies, it is only
because I did not love him, and feel constrained to do
these acts of remembrance to still my conscience.

Sometimes, when he had spoken to me with tenderness
and love, I used to wish that he were not so true and no-
ble—that he were hard, distant and unworthy, so that it
might not seem so unjust and sinful not to return his
great, warm love.

Yet why conjecture and surmise? I know what there
was berween me and the man I called husband. It was
a fair, boyish face set in a frame of shining rings of gold-
en hair. Laughing blue eyes, brimful of innocence; red
lips over gleaming pearls of teeth, and cheeks pink-tinged
like a school-girl’s. Even when I stood over his cofiin,
the fairimage of my lost love magnetized me with the
soft, pleading expression of the beautiful eyes. I never
gave my husband a kiss or an affectionate word, and it
was all because the lips of my beloved seemed pressed
against my ownif Lattempted it, and Iam now cou-
vinced that the poet has said truly:

“The world buds évery year, 2
But the heart just once, and when
The blossom falis of sere,
No new blossom comes again.
Ah! the rose goes with the wind,
But the thorns remain behind.”

I cannot remember the time I did not love Arden. We
were lovers from childhood, and each year the chords of
affection bound us closer and closer together, until we
were all in all to each other.

_ We were both orphans. But he was poor, and 1 was
rich; and his proud spirit scorned dependence, and so he
Sailed over the ocean, hoping to make himself rich. But
he never came back until I had been a month a wife.

They told me he was dead, and for a year I did not go
outside the grounds which surrounded my spacious
house, and not till five years did I accept an offer of mar-
riage. It came from an honored friend, and, as life had
lost all charms for me, I cared little what I did, or what
became of me, and so I stood up in the great church yon-
der, and heard the words which made me a wife, as
though I were in a dream.

Inamonth after my sailor came back, bronzed and
bearded, but with the same beautiful soul-lit eyes, and

I met him on the lawn, beneath the maples, for I was
wandering there alone in the moonlight, and thinking of
him as lying beneath the blue waves of the ocean, and at
the same time chiding myself for thinking of him at all,
while my husband sat behind the green blind, a few rods
off, and read by the lamplight.

Arden came straight from the vessel which brought
him to his native shore, and, asking no questions, came
to my house to seek his promised wife, and we met
beneath the maple, in the moonlight. We recognized each
other instantly, and I was only conscious of these words,
uttered in his own peculiarly sweet voice:

“Darling, darling, come to me!” and of the pressure of
his strong arms, which were clasped about me. Then,
with a loud, piercing shriek, 1.fell upon his bosom, and
knew no more untii weeks afterward, when I found my-
Self upon my own bed, with my husband beside me.

Since then I have grown harder, colder, and more bit-
ter, and led my poor, nobie husband a wretched life; and
almost every night for a whoie yearI have sat inthe
twilight at this window, and gazed off over the meadow
to that gleaming white monument which bears my hus-
band’s name, ;

Arden has gone, I know not where, and I never asked.
Sometimes I imagine I hear his familiar step on the
gravel-walk under the maple, but he does not come, and
1 grow colder, and harder, and bitterer every day.

But look!

Oh, Heaven! itis he! Isee him! ‘ He is beside me, and
I cry, upon his breast:

“Arden, Arden, the night is past! Oh, joy! joy! I
feel your breath upon my cheek, your kisses on my lips)
My ro is softened now. Dear Lord, I bless and thank
you

“Amen !’? came in a low, Sweet voice from my darling.

SHE MARRIED FOR WEALTH.

BY HELENA DIXON.

 

 

 

 

“Girls, there is.a chance for a handsome husband for
each of you. But you must do your best with the graces
dame nature has given you, for, of course, all the maids
and widows in Chittenden will be striving for the mistress-
ship of Greystone Hall. It seems to be decided by the vil-
lage gossips that Milton De Vere is the new proprietor
since Lawyer Lacy, who drew up the papers says the
deed is given to him, but the others—an uncle they say he
is of Milton’s—is more aman to my mind. But which of
the new-comers shall you choose, ‘my little Lily?”

Thus spoke fatherly Miles Stanhope to his wards, Lily
Jasper and Claudia Greaves, after a lively chit-chat con-
cerning the recent purchase and repairing of the most
aristocratic residence in the country. Lily’s deft fingers
flew in and out among the flowers she was arranging
for the mantel, but she made no reply save by a quiet
Smile to her guardian’s bantering question.

“Say, Lily, which one do you choose? Speak quick or
I shall give the choice to Claudia.”

“O,” said Lily with mock seriousness, ‘I shall take the
one she is pleased to leave me of course. It would be use-
less for me to enter the field against one so peerless as
my Claudia knows herself to be.”

And Lily stooped to fasten a rosebud she had taken
from her bouquet among the shining bands of her adopted
sister’s hair: eos

‘Well, Claudia, has either of the twain found a vulner-
able place in your heart? As you are Lily’s senior, I sup-
pose you will take the uncle, though for all his looks in-
dicates, he may be younger than his nephew, still you
should be the aunt and Lily the niece.”” And Miles Stan-
hope’s brown eyes twinkled roguishly.

“Tf IT understand you aright just now you said that the
uncle was not the owner of Greystone.”

And the beautiful Claudia drew her tall form to. an erect
position and glanced complacently at her reflection in the
great mirror before her.

“Y understand,’ said the guardian slowly, ‘‘an empty
hand can never win so regal a prize as our peerless
Claudia.??

“Exactly, dear guardie. I cannot, will not, marry a
poor man though he combine the beauty of an Apollo,
with the chivalric virtues of a Bayard. But here is Lily
now, I do believe she would be perfectly content with
‘love in a cottage’ and never pine for anything beyond.”

“Of course,’ said Lily, while a charming color mounted
to her forehead. ‘Ido notsee how any one could but
choose the cottage with love rather than a place without
it. You know what the poet says:

“For, oh! the choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thrones without?’

“Lily is right, Claudia, quite right,’ said the guardian
as he settled himself behind his morning paper to forget
the subject in his interest in the ‘commercial column.”

 

A year has passed since the occurrence of the conver-
sation related above and in the same room which wit-
nessed it a small circle of guests are assembled to enjoy
the sight of a double wedding. Allare in their places.
The minister is waiting. Presently there is a slight rus-
tle in the corridor and the happy bridegrooms, each lead-
ing a white-robed, flower-crowned form enter the room,
followed by a bevy of attendants.

Claudia Greaves comes first and the man who walks
beside her is Milton De Vere, He is young and handsome,
andthe reputed owner of -Greystone Hall with all its
broad acres. But even at the altar there is an air of reck-
lessness abont him whieh could not fail to impress a close
observer unfavorably. But he loves his pale, haughty bride
deeply, wildly. Does her heart go out to his in warm re-
sponse ? ee

No. And how many of that company who looked upon
her placid countenance could guess that she was marry-
ing for wealth alone ? é

_Lily’s face was pale also, ‘but there was a sweet expres-
Sion of trustfulness and purest love in her blue eyes
whose counterpart could not be found in the dark orbs
of Claudia, as one and the other pronounced the words
which made them wives.

After the bridal tour was ended and the old Greystone
Hall received both couples to its keeping, village gossip
began to be rife with tales of Claudia’s wild and unwifely
conduct.

She never crossed the threshold of her private apart-
ments it was said, and her husband was forbidden to en-
ter her presence.

Lily and her husband were also excluded, and thus
Claudia lived until one day it was rumored that the un-
happy woman had flown. Gone no one knew whither.
Ere jong her wretched husband, now a confirmed inebri-

 

ate, departed also, and then it became known that Lily

a Claudia had married the master of Greystone
all.

 

_ The wind of a winter’s day was piling the loose snow
in great fanciful drifts in the grounds abbout Greystone
Hall, and the three children grouped together to watch
its cunning workmanship from the great window of the
library, laughed merrily at the odd freaks of the rushing,
eddying mass of snow.

Suddenly the childish voices ceased, and three pairs of
bright eyes were eagerly watching a creeping figure
which with difficulty was toiling up the long avenue lead-
ing to the house. :

_ Oh, mamma! come and see what a queer old woman
is coming.”’

Lily came to the window in response to her children’s
wish to see and recognize Claudia, clothed m rags, her
face haggard and wan, and prematurely aged from want,
and exposure, and sin. :

She was brought in and placed before the fire into
which she stared vacantly.

She spoke nota word of other days—asked nothing con-
cerning her husband, on whose dishonored grave the
snow was even then building a transitory monument.
She simply asked to be sheltered until after the storm.

Two days afterward when the sun shone forth warm
and bright, a path was shoveled through the snow-drifts,
and all that was mortal of the once beautiful Claudia De
Vv ere was laid beside the dust of her unloved husband.

“She married for wealth alone,’ said one who had
known her in other years, as he watched the sexton
rounding off the new-made grave. “She supposed her
lover wealthy, though he was only a dependent on his
uncle’s bounty, and when she found the golden platform
on which she had hoped to blaze before the world was
not hers to tread upon, she had no saving love for her
husband to cling to, so down, down she went until at last
she has reached her final and only safe resting place—the
grave.

THE DUEL BY LOT;
oR,
A WOMAN’S VENGEANCE.
BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

 

 

 

A fascinating story, with the above title, is in our pos-
session, AND WILL BE COMMENCED NEXT WEEK:
It will prove particularly interesting to the ladies, as
may be inferred from its suggestive title. The story is
based on the life of a woman who cannot wholly resist
the blandishments of a designing dissembler, and, forget-
ful of her marriage vows, is inclined to waver between
love and duty.

Farming Confessional.

BY REY. T. DE WITT TALMAGE.

 

 

 

Like all other beginners, our first attempt at buying a
horse resulted in our getting bitten—not by the horse.
From Job’s vivid description, we went forth to look fora
horse whose “neck was clothed with thunder.’? We
found him. We liked the thunder very well, but not so
well the lightning that flew out of his feet the first time
he kicked the dashboard to pieces. We give as our ex-
perience that thunder is most too lively to plow with.
We found him dishonest at both ends. Not only were his
heels untrustworthy, but his teeth, and the only reason
we escaped being bitten by the horse, as well as the
jockey who sold him, was that we are gifted with powers
of locomotion sufficient for any emergency, especially if
there be sufficient propulsion advancing from the rear.
Job shall never choose another horse for us. We tele-
graphed to the jockey: ‘Come and take your old nag, or
I will sue you!’? He did not budge, for he was used to
being sued. Having changed our mind, we telegraphed,
offering to pay him for the honor of swindling us, and the
telegram was successful. We gave him a withering look
as he rode away, but he did not observe it.

Our first cow was more successful. She furnished the
cream of a good many jokes to our witty visitors, and
stands, I warrant, this coolday, chewing her cud like a
philosopher, the calmness of the blue sky in her eyes, and
the breath of last summer’s pasture-field sweeping from
her nostrils. Gentle thing! When the city boys came out,
ahd played “catch,” running under her, or afterward
standing on both sides, four boys milking at once, she
dissented not. May she never want for stalks or slops!

We were largely successful with one of our two pigs.
Our taste may not be thoroughly cultured, but we think a
pig of six weeks is positively handsome. It has such an
innocent look out of its eyes, and a voice so capable of
nice shades of inflection, whether expressive of alarm or
want. Sucha cunning wink of the nose, such artistic
twist of tail! But one of the twain fell to acting queer
one day. It went about as if, like its ancestors of Gadara,
unhappily actuated, till, after awhile, it up and died.
We had a farrier to doctor it; and, poor thing, it was
bled and mauled till we knew not whether to ascribe its
demise to the disease or the malpractice of the medical
adviser. Butits companion flourished. We had clergy-
men, lawyers, and artists admire and praise it. We found
recreation in looking at its advancement, and, though
the proverb says that you ‘‘cannot make a whistle out of
a pig’s tail,’ figuratively speaking, I have made a dozen
out of that mobile and unpromising material.

Our geese flourished, Much-maligned birds. They are
wise instead of foolsh, savein the one item of not know-
ing how to lower their necks when you want them to go
under the fence. (Who of ushas not one weak point of
character ?) They are affectionate. and die if shut up
alone, and with wild outcry sympathize with any unfor-
tunate comrade whose feathers have been plucked. From
their wings they furnished the. instrument for writing
Walter Scott’s Rob Roy, and Thomas Carlyle’s Sartor
Resartus. They are worth more than an eagle any day;
have better morals, and pluck more nutriment out of the
mud than eagles do out of the sun. Save for Fourth-of-
July orations, eagles are of but little worth—tfilthy, cruel,
ugly at the beak, fierce at the eye, loathsome at the claw.
But give mea flock of geese, white-breasted, yellow-
billed, coming up at nightfall with a military tramp, in
Single file lead on, till, nearing the barn-yard, they take
wing, and with deafening clang the flying artillery wheel
to their bivouacs for the night.

eo ee

. To Correspondents.

uae We are constantly in the receipt of letters from contrib-
utors desiring to know how soon their MSS. will be published.
We have grown tired of answering such queries, and can take
no notice of them from this time henceforth. As we receive
contributions we notice them either as accepted or declined,
and if accepted this is the last the author will hear of them till
they appear in our columns. If contributors are not willing to
abide by this rule, we had much rather they would send their
favors elsewhere...... We cannot longer consent to take charge
of letters intended for contributors*# We are always anxious to
oblige our friends in every way possible, but our time is limited
and the matter in question subjects us to much annoyance an
loss of time. We must, therefore, decline to take charge of any
letters intended for contributors after this date...... We wiil not
undertake to return rejected MSS. under any circumstances; we
have so large a number to go through that itis utterly impossi-
ble for us to keep the run of them, and contributors must either
keep duplicate copies, or sacrifice their labor, if we do not use
their favors.

Gossip WITH READERS, AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Salamander.—\st. The numbersof_ the New York WEEKLY con-
taining “Mildred, the Chiid of Adoption,” are out of print. 2d.
At present our arrangements will not permit of the republica-
tion, but we will take your suggestion into consideration........
Rebecca.—ist. As we have never read the book we cannot tell
you the name of the plant which the author states has such won-
derful effects. It is probable that it is the tops and tender parts
of Indian hemp, from which is produced the drug known as
Hashish. Itisa mistaken idea that it will not produce bad
effects. Nothing which greatly exhilarates or stwnulates can
be taken into the system without serious injury to the health;
and it is well known that indulgence in Hashish leads to insani-
ty. 2d. We do not believe that the book to which you refer kas
been published in this country, butif it has, by applying 1 the

 

American News Company you can getit.......... H. V. C.—We
think you have decided rightly in concluding to part from your
husband, who is a habitual drunkard. We are of those who
think thal wife and husband should not separate on slight
grounds; but a drunken husband or wife is beyond human en-
durance. It is very great misery to see those we love prove un-
worthy; but when they sink bejow all respect, descend step by
step into the mire, striving to drag with them in their downfall
those whom they are bound to love, cherish and protect, then
it is time for the afflicted to take thought of themselves. It is
wise, too, for another reason. Men cannot habitually indulge
in liquor without danger of an attack of delirium tremens, and it
isa peculiarity of this terrible madness that its victim usually
thinks that those who are his best friends have become his ene-
mies, that they want to kill him, torture him—that they are the
cause of his suffering. And then comes into his mind the thought
of murder. And, perhaps, while the poor wife is sleeping peace-
fully, he steals upon her and ends the life which he has already
made wretched. In view of these facts, we think it wise for the
sober partner to save her or himself from utter and continuous
misery by separating from a drunken husband or wife..........
Urs. I. B. Stevenson.—We have on hand the papers containing
Hero Strong’s story, ‘A Man’s Love and Pride.” It ran through

nine numbers...... Maumee-—We do not know what you mean.
Will you not write the question so that we can get at what you
want to know ?...... Fenian.—Ist. Where there are three candi-

datesrunning in one borough for seats inthe Parliament of
Great Britain and Ireland, and {wo of them are to be elecied,
the electors cast votes for the two of their choice, and each*vote
counts one for the candidate whoreceives it. Electors often
vote for but one, so that he may be sure of election, no matter
what may be thew preferences asto the othertwo. 2d. The
elector only votes in the borough or county in which he resides.
3d. The answer to the second question, also answers the third.
4th. By pragticing writing for halt an hour orso each day for
three months, you would yecome a good penman...... Hilton
Mclrose.—The story was written by Guy Decker...... £, M.—I\st.
The gentleman steps back, and permits the lady to take pre-
cedence of him. 2d. Ona country road a gentleman always
gives the lady the inside of the path; but on a city street, which
is mostly crowded, each takes the right hand side of the walk.
3d. When meeting twoiady acquaintances, if it be after dark,
you should offer an arm to each. 4th. Your handwriting is
hardly up tothe standard of bookkeepers..... .. Roderick Ran-
dom.—To our knowledge he was never brought to punishment,
and we believe he 1s now living, aithough we have seen several
reports of his death...... Hunter.—It would not look well......
Dentist—1st.—A person is out of the “teens” on the twentieth
birthday. The “teens” are those years which end in teen—the
first being thirteen and the last ~ineteen. 2d. The color of the
skin, particularly that of the face, is what is known as the com-
plexion. Wesay that people of fair complexion seldom have
black eyes or hair....,. Cood.—We know nothing whatever of
the firm...... A. Byrd.—ist. Yes. 2d. In the latter part of the
summer. 3d. The course of instruction at the Naval Academy,
which embraces a period of four years, includes mathematics,
astronomy, navigation and surveying, ethicsand English studies,
natural and experimental philosophy, French and Spanish,
drawing, artillery and infantry tactics, practical seamanship,
naval gunnery both theoretical and practical, the steam engine,
etc. During the academic course two cruises of about three
months each are made in a ship of war for instruction. 4th.

.

 

You write a good hand...... Samuel A. Blackman.—We have re-
ceived your letter containing subscription money, also one com-
plaining of not having received the paper, yet in neither do you
give your post-office nor State. If you keep your place of resi-
dente a secret, how is it possible for us to forward the New York
WEEKLY to you?...... A Canadian.—lIst. We do not know who it
was the gentleman married. 2d. The navies of the world have
been in such a transition state for the past few years that it is
impossible to arrive at any thing llke a true statement of their
relative strength. 3d Vice-admiral Collingwood took command of
the English fleet when Lord Nelson fell at the battle of Trafalgar.
Collingwood entered the British navy in his thirteenth year,and
gradually rose through the subordinate ranks until he reached
the rank of vice-admiral of the blue. This placed him second
in command to Nelson at the battle of Trafalgar, where, on Oct.
21, 1805, he was the first to attack and break the enemy’s line. It
was on this occasion that Nelson exclaimed: “See that gallant
fellow, how he carries his ship into action.”?> When England’s
greatest naval hero fell, mortally wounded, Collingwood com-
pleted the victory, and continued in command of the fieet. His
services were rewarded witha peerage. He died.aboard of his
ship in the Mediterranean in his sixtieth year...... S. MOE. P.—
Ist. The Rev. Henry Ward Reecher and Mrs. Harriet’ Beecher
Stowe are brother and sister. 2d. Rob Roy (‘‘Robert the Red,”’)
was a famous Scottish freebooter, whose real name was Robert
MacGregor, but who took that of Campbell in consequence of
the clan MacGregor being outlawed. Before the rebellion of
1715, in which he joined the standard of the Pretender, he had
been a trader in cattle; but the Duke of Montrose having de-
prived him of his estates, he made reprisals upon the property
of the latter. For many years he continued to levy “blackmail”
upon his enemies, notwithstauding every effort made to cap-
ture him. This bold, active and courageous outlaw is the hero
of one of Sir Walter Scott’s romances. He wasborn about 1660
and died anterior to 1743. 3d. The visitor, of course, should say
“good night” first...... Garrcitsville.—If it were not for the natu-
ral obstructions, such as ice and land, the world could be cir-
cumnavigated no matter what course the vessel sailed, so it
were a straight one.......... Bell.—Your writing is poor.......
A, Y. M.—Ast. The next U. S. census will be taken in 1870. 2d.
Apply to the U. S. Marshall for the district in which you live.
3d. His chances of obtaining employment in either city as a
clerk would be but slim, as there are always more clerks than
situations...... St. Louis.—Ist. To remove freckles, wash the face
three or four times a day, and every evening before going to bed,
with a fluid prepared as follows: Take one ounce of lemon
juice, a quarter of adrachm of powdered. borax, and halfa
drachm of pulverized sugar. Mix together and let the com-
pound stand in a glass bottle for a few days; then apply and al-
low to dry on the skin. 2d. You write a fair hand. 3d. The
tirm is one of the worst swindling concerns in this country.....
Dempleton.—There is no set wages for apprentices in the trade.
Journeymen receive from $18 to $25 a week...... Henry Hals-
heimer.—That is the price of the paper for the period stated; but
then you will have to pay the postage, and the paper would not
reach you quite so soon as you can purchase it.from news deal-
Orne Ss B, J. B.—The relationship is too remote to make a
marriage obnoxious to the most fastidious in such matters......
Mrs. S. R. U.—The story is a long essay rather than a tale. It is,
also, altogether too learned for the mass of readers, and even
scholars would be compelled to refer to their classic dictionaries
very often to properly understand your allusions. This
is a trouble that readers of romances will not take. The
story shows talent, which, if properly directed, cannot fail
in producing that which will be creditable to the writer, and
the source of much pleasure to the reader. Young writers
should bear these factsin mind: Magniloquent writing is not
elegant writing, and that abstruse allusions are always out of
place in works of fiction...... Jozevus Widdle.—Iist. ‘Deo date”—
“sive unto God”’—is the motto of Lord Arundel. 2d. “Le jour
viendra” is transiated ‘‘the day will come.”’...... R. P. F.—We
care not to publish translations of the old Greek comedies......
Wangaratta.—Ist. The custom of having an annual Thanksgiv-
ing day originated in New England and thence spread to the
other States. The day was appointed by the Governors of the
different States, until President Lincoln appointed a day of Na-
tional Thanksgiving, and his action has been followed by Presi-
dents Johnson and Grant. 2d. Your handwriting is excellent.
Mattie B.—\st. It is decidedly wrong for a young lady to notice
the salutation of astrange man. 2d. By going into company
you will overcome your bashfulness, and soon learn to talk
glibly the empty nothings of society. 2d. The gentleman isa
widower...... Felix.—ist, James A. Maitland was the author of
the story entitled “Rosa Milton; or, The Hermit of the Sea
Shore,” which was published in the New York WEEKLY in 1858.
2d. We know nothing whatever of the character of the paper
named. 3d. By publishing the stories as we do we are enabled
to have something in the paper to suit all tastes...... W. M. B
The firm is not known to us; but if it isa gift enterprise concern
you can take it for granted that it isa swindling concern.......
will V.i—Ned Buntline’s “Life in the Saddle” was published in
book form. The American News Company will furnish it to you
on receipt of price...... J. G. L. R.—Howard Macy’s great story,
“rhe Locksmith of Lyons; or, The Weavers’ War,” will be coin-
menced in the course of afew weeks. We think the story equal
in thrilling interest to any story that has ever. appeared in the
columns of the NEw YorRK WEEKLY....... Wm. H. Jancy.—We
have looked through the columns of the New YorK WEEKLY for
the past year, but do not find any article by the title which you
give... ... Eben E, R.—We cannot add to our list of paid con-
tributors......J. M. Prendergast.—ist. The Latin motto ‘‘Quo fata
vocant’? means ‘‘whither the fates lead.”? 2d. The priesthood
of the Catholic church in its early days married; but the
celibacy of the priesthood came gradually to be esteemed as a
more perfect state for them than matrimony. From the time
of the Apostles there were persons in_ the priesthood who prac-
ticed celibacy and esteemed it a moral triumph; yet there was
no iaw nor uniformity of opinion or action on the subject, and
it was not till the 4th century that even the higher clergy began
generally to live in celibacy. The council of the Spanish and
African churches at Elvira, Spain, in 305, commanded
ecclesiastics of the three highest grades to abstain from conjugal
intercourse under penalty of deposition. A motion to the same
effect was made in the Council of Nice, in 325, but it was reject-
ed. Yeta tradition became prevalent about that time that
priests once admitted into holy orde®s should not afterward
marry, and this practice being once established led naturally
to the opinion thatpersons who were married should not be
admitted into orders. Near th- close of the 4th century, Pope
Siricius forbade conjugal intercourse to priests without distinc-
tion, and. this interdiction was repeated by the subsequenc
popes and councils. The Council of Tours, in 566, decreed that
married monks and nuns incurred excommunication, and that
their marriage was null. The Greek Church opposed the action
of the Latin branch, and has always recognized the marriage
of priests and deacons which took place before their consecra-
tion. Notwithstanding the decrees of the councils and the
bulls of the Popes celibacy was not strictly observed by the
Roman Catholic priesthood until the time of Gregory VII.,. who
excommunicated every married priest, and every layman who
should be present at a service celebrated by him. The reform-
ers, under the lead of Luther, rejected celibacy as contrary to
natural law, and permitted Protestant ministers to marry.
This innovation brought the question up again in the Catholie
Church, and the Council of Trent, which ciosed its sitting in
1563, decided finally to retain the discipline of celibacy. From
that time the law has been imperative. One o has married
cannot be ordained if his wife is living, unless a separation has
taken place by mutual consent. Those who have yet attained
only the lower orders may renounce their benefices, forsake

their orders, and be married; but deacons and the higher:

grades can only retire from the priesthood and\be married
through a dispensation from the Pope. 3d. All sections of the
country have produced eminent men in the different walks of
life, and it is of unimportance which secticn has furnished the
greatest number of such men......Oldenburgh.—As we have
never to our knowledge seen a prairie whistle, we cannot say
whether the specimen which you send us isthe real article or
not.<...- E. V.8.—We do notremember the date ofthe destruc-
tion of the Pemberton Mills of Lawrence, Mass. Will not some
one of our readers forward the information?......Fred Union.—
You might do better by going West; but $200 is a very small
capital to begin with, and the majority of it would be spent in
getting to the frontiers. The mass of young men who understand
farming can do better at the West than in big cities; but those
who think that their labor will be easier, or that they can make
a fortune in a few years, had better stay where they are. To
succeed in the West a man must not be afraid of work or hard-
ship. He must be ready to meet with disappointments, and
have the energy to overceme them; besides, he must_be tem-
perate, industrious, and avoid getting into debt. We cannot
point out the places in the West where enterprising young men
would be likely to succeed the best...... Nellie Norton.—Iist. We
do not know of anything which will aid the growth of the hair.
To prevent the falling out, you should consult some physician
who has made thescalp and hair a speciality, and when he
has discovered where and what the trouble is then he can pre-
scribe for you. 2d. In addressing a letter to an unmarried lady
it is considerd but common politeness to write the word *‘Miss”’
before her name. 3d. Your penmanship is excelient. The
only way in which it could be bettered would be by enlarging
it. 4th. Itis considered decidedly improper, and is certainly
very great folly...... Emma.—We do not remember when......
A. B. C.—The name of Indian Summer is given in America to
the brief period of warm, sunny weather, which occurs in No-
vember, sometimes in the early part of the month and some-
times in the latter part. The origin of the name is a controvert-
ed question. The New England tradition is, that the Indians be-
heved this season tobe caused by the southwest wind, which
prevails at this period, and which their good divinity, Conten-
towit, who resided in that quarter, sent them as a special bless-
ing. Another conjecture of the origin of the name, and proba-
bly the correct one, is that this season was called Indian Sum-
mer, because in itgameis plenty, and the hazy condition .of
the atmosphere favors the near approach of the Indians to the
game unsuspected. The Indians do little hunting till September
and October, and when November comes they gather up their
corn, rice and meat and start on the winter hunt into the for-
ests. The Indians believe universally that the Indian Summer
is sent by the Great Spirit for their particular benefit. Indian
Summer is observed in nearly all the countries of Europe and
Asia, as well as America, and known under various names,such
as, ‘St. Martin’s Summer,” ‘The Latter Summer,” ‘Second
Summer,” ‘After Heat,” ‘Summer Close,” etc. This season
varies somewhat in different countries, and in our own land is
much more marked inland than on the sea-coast. Inthe neigh-
borhood of the great lakes it continues for from two or three
weeks......-... James Ridley.—Albany bears no comparison what-
Philadelphia in the manufacture of cottop and woolen
s......Lonely Youth.—We cannot inform you where the
lady resides, as we have not the honor of her acquaintance.....
Julian Frazer.—The story has neyer been published in book
form, The numbers of the New York WHEKLy, in which it
appeared, are out of print...... Jones.—Take a legal course......
Chicago Boy.—Present in the best manner in your power the ar-
guments in favor of your belief. We know of no way to make
converts but by argument...... Ceci! Gray.—Ist. Yes, forward the
MS., and when we haveread it we will decide whether it will
be accepted or not. 2d. ‘he MS, will be returned to you should
it not prove acceptable....J. B. UW. #. M. M.—When a lady mar-
ries it is expected that she will be om less familiar terms with
her male acquaintances than before marriage; consequently she
will not call gentlemen by their Christian names, but will al-
ways use the title Mr. when speaking of or tothem. They, of
course, are in turn expected to address her as Mirs..... eran
N. ¥.W.—1st. We know of no wav in which you can hasten the
growth of the beard. 2d. When a gentleman gives his arm to a
lady in the sireet, he should take the outside of the walk; but

  
   

it is excessively ridicutous for him to drop her armevery time

he crosses a street or turns a corner, and hop round to the other
side soas to keep her on the inside of the walk. 3d. Between
the hours of three and five. 4th. You would have the right to
call, the lady having invited vou to do so. The fact of her being
“engaged” is not proof that she does not desire your further ac-
quaintance. Women haye work todo which they cannot ne-
glect because some acquaintance calls on them. 5th. By getting
some friend of the lady to introduce you. We know of no other
way. 6th. In such matters it is best to permit the gentleman to
volunteer his services........ J. B. Hauley.—tist. Color is a pro.
perty inherent in hght, which, by a difference in the rays or
the laws of refraction, gives to bodies particular appearances to
the eye. The principal colors are red, orange, yellow, green,
blue, indigo and violet. White is not properly a color, as a
white reflects the rays of light without separating them, Black
bodies, on the contrary, absorb all the rays, and therefore black
is no distinct color. But in common discourse, white and black
ave denominated colors. 2d. This isthe pronunciation of the
word: ‘‘a-nal-o-gous.’? 3d, You write a good hand... .Hammond.
—iIst, A raven is a large bird of a black color, belonging to the
crow family. 2d. Lenore is a woman’s name; Pallas is one of
the names of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom. war, and all the
liberal arts; nepenthe isa drug or medicine that relieves pain
and exhilarates; and nevermore means “never again through
all eternity.” 3d. The ten largest -cities in the United States,

according to the census of 1860, were: New York, Philadelphiag ’

Brooklyn, Baltimore, Boston, New Orleans, Cincinnati, St
Louis, Chicago, and Buffalo. 4th. Your handwriting is fair....
Constant Reader.—lst. A solution of carbonate of potassa is used
for the cure of skin diseases. But such articles should not be
used without the advice of a physician. 2d. We do not believe
that any invention has permanently injured workmen; of
course, Where a machine does the labor of a dozen men, it tem-
porarily deprives them of work, but it soon opens up other
fields of labor for them...... Tony.—See announcement..........
Nellie Z. H.—We cannot add to our list of paid coniributor,
M. M. B.—The individual is a quack......Levt A. Farr—This
gentleman replies as follows to some questions which were pro-
pounded a few weeks since by ‘‘A Constant Reader:” “In an-
swer to the question of ‘A Constant Reader,’ I would inform him
that there are 1,968 Divisions of Sons cf Temperance in the

 

 

SEEMED cacao

United States, with a membership of 137,454—males, 96,673; fe- .

males, 40,781. I would state that any person can become @
member of any division by making proper application. All

“meetings are private and none are admitted but members and.

those having the pass-word. We are willing and anxious to
help the fallen. Allthose wishing information respecting our
Order will receive it cheerfully it they make application to E.
H. Hopkins, Grand Scribe, No. 132 Nassaustreet, Room No. 3.”
feces Adebphia.—A subject of a foreign government cannot be
compelled todo militia duty inthis country...... H. W.—We
cannot give you the information....Antonius.—iIst. Away from
the great rivers the climate of-Brazilisas healthy as that of
any country in the world; butin the neighborhood of the great
rivers, with their rank vegetation, there is much sickness from
miasmatic fevers. 2d. We cannot inform you what are the
chances for employment for young men; but we do know that
aman who cannot do wellin the United States will have put
little success in Brazil, or any other country in the world.
This is the ‘workingman’s country’. and the laborer
is more respected in it than any where else on the face of the
earth. 3d. To get along at all in Brazil, you should understand
Spanish, which is one of the easiest of languages to acquire a
slight knowledge of.... William.—It, would not be proper to do so
......0. Wellington.—If, you thought the lady was in earn-
est in requesting you to return her present, of course, you acted
right in returning it. It is evident, however, that the lady was
and is merely teazing you, and itis your duty to bear it hke a
chivalric gentleman...... Fannie H.—All the articles of food
named have a tendency to increase the fatin the system......
An Occasional Reader.—It is always difficult fora young man
without acquaintances to procure a situation such as you seek.
One reason why this is so,is that so many young men are anxious
to become clerks. They appear to think clerking more honora-
ble employmentthan a trade.. Now, our advice to you is, to
seek employment ina small town, or go to work ona farm. If
you come to New york you will probably remain idle until what
little money youghave saved is gone, and then sheer necessity
will drive you into the army again. With what you have saved
and what you can save while learning farming, you would be
able to make a start in life far better than you can ever expect
through clerking. There is this difference between those who
take to clerking in New York and those employed upon farms:
It takes a large capital to engage in the business the clerks have
learned, while with 4 comparatively small amount of money a
farmer can commence the tilling of a small piece of land, and
he is then more independent than he could ever hope to be as
a Clerks. 5s Bell.—We cannot give you the information......
Cheyenne.—In a matter of such importance to your tuture you
should consult your friends, as they have some knowledge of
your capabilities and could give you better advice than those
unacquainted with your peculiarities of mind and character
would be able to give.......... Urgent.—Ist. We do not know the
amount of wealth in the possession of the gentlemen named.
2d. The entirety of George Peabody’s benefactions and the pro-
perty willed amounted to less than $9,000,000...... T. J. B.—Siv
George Calvert, the first Lord Baltimore, was born at Kipling,
in Yorkshire, England; and his son, Cecilius Calvert, second
Lord Baltimore, was born at Baltimore, Ireland. The lords
take their title from the little Irish village. It was the second.
Lord Baltimore who established a colony in Maryland, and af-
ter whom the city of Baltimore is named. Lord Baltimore
never visited Maryland, but his brother Leonard was the gov-

ernor of the first colony established in the State.......... Hunter.
Apply to a bookseller...... Mercury.—To the best of our belief it
was at Genesee Falls.............. Wevil.—See No. 4

G. W. W.—I\st. Some smokers mix cascarilla bark with tobacco;
thereby destroying the offensive flavor of the tobacco smoke,
but at the same lime impregnating the smoke with a musky
scent, which ninety-nine people out of every hundred find vast-
ly more objectionable than the odor of pure tobacco. The only
way to avoid the disagreeable stench of tobacco is to give up its
use altogether. 2d. Take the advice of a physician—one you
know to be an educated man, and not a quack. $d. The price
for advertising in the New York WEEKLY is $2 a line each in-
sertion...... A Constant Reader.—We are not acquainted with the
reputation of all the physicians in the country, consequently we
cannot answer your question.......... Invalid.—The tellow is a
quack...... Iyanilla Rienzi.—Ist. We. do not know of any firm.
which advertises to give poor women sewing machines. 2d.
You would be more likely to destroy your furs than do them
any good should you attempt to color them...... Typo.—ist. We
think you can learn your trade more thoroughly where you are
than in a large city. It is probable that you would get higher
wages in a big city, but your expenses would be proportionate-
ly increased. 2d. You write a miserable scrawl, a fault inde-
fensible in a “typo” who must often experience the vexation of
deciphering hieroglyphic writing...... Jim Jam.—John Lester
Wallack, the actor, is fifty years of age. He was born in New
York city in 1819....¥ox.—It is being played at the Olympic....
Alpha.—We do not think that: because yourself and the lady of
your love are not demonstrative such a characteristic would
render a marriage between you an unhappy one. As you be-
came more acquainted with each others peculiarities you would
be likely to discover differences sufficient in thought and aspira-
tion to make each an interesting study to the other...... Dan
Dix.—A quack...... C. £. B.—\st. We have seen no statement
which gave the name of the disease of which George Peabody
died. We suppose that he died of general debility and old age.
2d. The memory can be strengthened by the study of Mnemonics.
3d. Out-door exercise is the only way to get red cheeks without
painting them. 4th. We have on hand all the numbers of the
New York WEEKLY containing ‘The Boy Whaler,” so far as the
story has been published. 5th. Hypertrophy, or enlargement of
the heart, is caused either from an overgrowth of the muscular
substaice, or from the expansion of cavities, or from the com-
bination of both. Hypertrophy, though compatible with a pro-
longed and useful existence, sooner or later, if the patient escape
death from syncope or apoplexy, gives rise to congestion of the
lungs and liver, and finally to general dropsy....J. R. La Rue.—
We are greatly obliged for the interest manifested in the success
of the New York WEEKLY, and have not the least doubt but that
you will eventually succeed in overcoming the faction that
clings to the disreputable paper which you name............
S.C. R. and Lenox.—The entire falsity of the statement, contain.
ed in the paragraph to which you call our attention, will be
seen at once when we state that in the course of a few weeks we
will commence an original story from the pens of the writers
named......The following MSS. have been accepted and will be
published in the New York WeEEK Ly: “Christmas Banquet Song,”
“Long Ago,” “Searching,” “A Baffled Schemer,” “A Shark
Story,” “Nellie at the Well,” “The Falling Leaves,” and “Once
Again”... ..:: The following will be published in the Lirrrary At-
Bum: “Binding Bundles in the Field,” “Tis All in Vai,” ‘Good
Night,” *‘An Autumn Madrigal,” ‘The Past,” ‘‘The Castle of In-
dolence,” “Retribution,” ‘‘Milly’s Hero,” “Life’s Oasis,” and
“The Old, Old Story.”...... The following are respectfully de-
clined: ‘Lines, to Mary,” “Lines,” “Never Give Up,” ‘Hare-
well,” “Love’s Ghost,”? ‘Dan Tucker’s Election Speech,” ‘“Un-
gle De SEA ee ae ueaion = Memory,” “A
ong of Friendship,” ‘Janet, he in eggar Girl,’ ‘‘Life,’’
and “The Girl of the Period.” ee :

A GREAT PAPER!

 

 

 

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SPCR a wc AOE Seer)

 

 

 

 

“WHILE WE MEET UPON THE LEVEL.’

 

BY EMMA ALICE BROWNE.

 

Tis the zenith hour of darkness—
Hark, the warning midnight bell!

Ere the lights fade on the altar,

Let our solemn hymns of parting
Into sweet thanksgiving swell!

Met for labor and retreshment,
Brothers of the Mystic Rite, -*
For the goodly gifts that crown us
Humbly be our hearts uplifted
To the Giver of ail Light!

By the plumb-line of His justice,
And by Virtue’s Jeweled Square,

May we test our every action,

And from earthly stain and blemish
Keep our garments while and fair!

Circumscribe each wayward passions
By the Compass of His Will—
Truth, Relief, and Love Fraternal,
While we meet upon the. Level
Guide our stumbling footsteps still.

When temptations rude assail us, +
Thralled by treachery s subtle snare,
Menaced by the storms-of sorrow,
All the waves of death g0 o’er us,
He wiil hide us frompdespair.

   

Taking tor our high example,
That our iives may blameless prove,
Him whose glorious name and record—
® Faithful unto Death’’— is written
Tn the bright Archives Above!

Gladly when the chilling winter
Of the grave 13 drawing near,
When its icy winds sigh round us,
And ils cold dews gem our foreheads,
We the Master’s callshall hear—

We shall hear the awful summons
* Echoing in the vaulted night, -
And with joy our Lord obeying,
By the token and the pass-word
Enter Everlasting Light!

There, in that All-glorious Temple,
In that house not made with hands,
Filted by the mighty Builder
Unto perfect Strength and Beauty,
Linked in Love’s eternal bands. °

Sweetly we shall dwell together,
While the cycles roll and shine,

Children of all climes and ages,

At the right hand of the Warden,
Gathered to the Lodge Divine!

_Fadeless asthe bright Acacia,

May our deeds immortal bloom;
While beneath her mystic garlands,
Folded by His peace, our ashes

Slumber in the silent tomb!

‘The Boy Whaler:

YOUNG ROVERS.

A BOY’S AND GIRL’S VOYAGE,

BY LEON LEWIS,

Author of “fhe Witch Finder,” ‘Water Wolf,” “Boy Magician,”
“Silver Ship,” ‘‘Red Knife,” etc., ete.

 

 

 

 

(“The Boy Whaler” was commenced in No. 49. Back numbers
can be had from News Agents throughout the United States. ]

CHAPTER XIX.
THE CANNIBAL QUEEN.

A few minutes later, the captives were landed on the
beach of the inner island, in the midst of the thronging
natives, who greeted them with terrible and threatening
cries. When the canoe struck the sand, the dusky natives
rushed upon the young couple, whose captors beat them
back with clubs, then forming a guard about the captives
and leading them up the beaten street toward the village.

The crowd preceded, surrounded, and followed the

‘prisoners, but did not again offer to touch them.

Lily clung to Richard, fearing separation from him, but

her countenance betrayed none of the terror gathering in,

her soul.’ ;

“They are unreclaimed savages,” said Richard, glanc-
ingat the village. ‘I see no sign of church nor mission-
house. Heaven grant they are not cannibals!”

“T pelieve they are,’ replied Lily. ‘See how they point
to our limbs and bodies, while they laugh with satisfac-
tion. Their faces are all animal. Oh, Dick, I am swre
they are cannibals!”?

“T have myself to blame for our present perii,’’ declared
Richard, despairingly. ‘The captain told me to take you
below before the storm came on, and I did not!”?

“Ifis Il who am to blame,’ said Lily. “I wouldn’t go
below, you know, when you asked me. But regrets won’t
help us. Weshall need aliour courage and strength
now.”? ;

While they had been thus conversing, they had been
marched through the picturesque little village, and now
found themselves -approachIng a thatched hut of more
than ordinary proportions and appearance.

It stood on a little knoll, commanding a view of lagoon,
atoll, and the blue sea beyond. Behind it stood a grove
of palm trees of many varieties, most of them fruitful.
An immense cocoanut tree rose grandly at one side of the
dwelling, and under its shade a clear spring bubbled and
trickled, its waters working their way over pebbles to the
Jagoon.

The hut itself was rather an assemblage of huts, all
thatched from the apex of the roof tothe ground. The
doors were all of gayly-woven mats. The windows were
square, unglazed apertures, provided also with mats for
rainy weather. These mats hung loosély now from wood-
en pegs in the outside wall.

The strange edifice was evidently the royal residence,
for, on approaching it more closely, the foremost mem-
pers of the crowd fell back, leaving the prisoners and
their guards in advance, and the latter began making
profound salaams, continuing, however, to approach the
dwelling. < *

They soon gained the principal entrance, and the fore-
most of the captors lifted the heavy mat, conducting his
party into the hut.

Lily and Richard surveyed the interior with astonish-
ment.

The walls were hung with various kinds of warlike
weapons, clubs, bows and arrows, slings, hatchets, anda
variety of other implements they could not name—cocoa-
nut bowls and calabashes abounded, and near them were
jars of palm wine and liquors made of rice, all intoxicat-
ing if drunk freely. The floor was covered thickly with
mats. Benches surrounded the walls, and baskets piled
high with delicious, freshly-gathered fruits loaded a table.

The most prominent feature of the room was its occu-

ant.
E Upon a throne-like chair, in the center of the apart-
ment, sat a woman, young, and not without pretensions
to a certain, though savage, style of beauty, She wore a
tinsel crown on her head, and her long, straight black
Nair fell over her bare shoulders and elegantly-tattooed
breast. She wore heavy golden hoops in her ears, and
her throat was encircled by a dozen strings of gayly-col-
ored beads. Golden bands encircled her arms and ankles,
contrasting admirably with her dark skin. Her feet were
covered with sandals. Her attire was simplicity itself,
consisting only of a tunic that reached her knees, but it
was ornamented with fringes and ghellsin great prolu-
sion. She had evidently attired herself in some haste, fox

- two little ris of cocoanut oil were slowly coursing down

her dusky cheeks from her bespattered hair.

The guard of the two young prisoners prostrated them-
selves before this admirable burlesque on royalty, but Lily
and Richard stood erect, surveying the Savage queen in
unabashed wonder..

At first the queen frowned upon their boldness, and
angrily motioned them to kneel, but as they did nob ap-
pear to comprehend her gesture, and as her eyes lingered
on Richard’s handsome, boyish face, her brow cleared,
and she even exhibited signs of satisfaction.

While the savages were thus making their salaams, and
the throng of islanders were prostrating themselves on
the ground outside the open portal, a savage entered
from the interior of the hut. He bowed low to the queen,
and then came and stood at her side, with an air that
proclaimed him next to her in rank. He was, in fact as
the children afterward discovered, her brother and a
prince of no small degree of influence! He was her
prime-minister, chief-counselor, and the leader of her
forces, when she was called upon to do battle with the

' chief of some neighboring isiand.

 

He also frowned on perceiving the upright figures of the
captives, and took a step toward them, as if to compel
their obeisance, but the queen detained him, uttering a
few words in a harsh and guttural voice, yet in a pleasant-
sounding language.

He immediately retreated to his post beside her chair.

“You English?’ inquired the queen, speaking in broken
accents, and addressing her involuntary guests. ‘You
Melicans?”” Bo des

‘We are Americans,’”’ replied Richard, surprised and
delighted at being able to make himself understood. ‘We
were swept overboard from our ship the last night, Is
this a missionary island ?”’ :

The queen looked puzzled, answering:

“This island Tawenga. Me Queen Taliti. He,” ane
ghe indicated the savage at her side, ‘‘my brother, Prince
Waloa. Tawenga great country. Me great queen—killed
many enemies my own hand.”

 

She certainly looked capable of killing her enemies with
her own hands, and Richard’s heart sank within him.

“Ts this a Christian island??? he asked. ‘‘Do you wor-
ship God ?)”

“Oh, yes,’ said the queen, with great satisfaction. ‘‘We
not poor. We got many gods.”

“This is not a missionary island,’”’? whispered Lily, ‘‘out
where couid the queen have learned to speak English?
Perhaps the ships stop here. Ask her, Dick,”

Richard made the inquiry, and Queen Taliti answered:

“Ship wrecked on Tawenga long time ’go- Two Meli-
cans saved. One Melican very handsome. Taliti loved
him. ‘Taliti save his life. He love Taliti and teach Taliti
the Melican ianguage. By’m by, the queen get tired of
Melican man, and the people jealous of him. So, the
queen and Waloa, and the people eat him. He good, live
or dead! Much good!” she added, with an air of intense
enjoyment. ‘Taliti love Melicans.”’

“Cannibals!? whispered Lily, pale with horror and fear.
“Oh, Richard!”

Richard supported her half-fainting form,
nerveless and overwhelmed.

“Taliti not eat young Melican,” said the queen, reas-
suringly. ‘“Girlno account. ‘Taliti like boy very much.
Boy stay with Taliti till she get tired. ‘*Waloa,” she
added, turning to the dusky savage, take girl away.
Needs much fat.?? :

Waloa had been eyeing the delicate beauty of Lily with
keen admiration, his savage glances fairly embarrassing
the little maiden. He had never before seen a white girl,
and Lily’s golden hair, white complexion, soft, sweet, shy
eyes and general loveliness touched his savage heart.

He said something in his native tongue tothe queen,
who angrily answered him, and the result was a fierce
quarrel Which lasted several minutes.

it appeared to end in the triumph of Waloa.

“Girl belong Waloa,’? he said, in as good English as the
queen had employed. ‘‘Come Waloa’s house.”

Hle advanced toward Lily, but she clung to Richard,
turning her back upon her dusky admirer.

“Don’t let him take me, Richard,” she pleaded.
me with you.”’*

Richard’s features worked with emotion. He was tempt-
ed to defend Lily by fighting the savage prince, but a mo-
ment’s reflection assured him that he would only injure
his foster-sister and himself by so doing. Besides, what
would his strength avail against that of this brawny
islander? And, if he possibly succeeded in beating him
off, there were a hundred men on the island to claim re-
venge.

In a minute he had formed his plan of proceedure.

“Go with him, dear Lily,’ he whispered, encouragingly.
“We might as well plead to stones as to appeal to the
queen or the prince. Go quietly, darling, and leave the
rest to me. I will rescue you to-night, or perish with

ou.??

: “TF must go,” sighed Lily; ‘Icandonothingelse. Rich-
ard,” she added, looking up at him with an expression
that afterward haunted him, ‘“‘ifI die here and you es-
cape, you may tell papa and mamma for me that I died
bravely.”

“You will not die, Lily. We shall escape together. Go
now, darling.’’

He caught her to his breast, kissing her with a tender
fervor that made the queen and the prince alike angry.

“Waloa love girl,” said the savage, menacingly. ‘Girl
be Waloa’s wife. Come!’?

He endeavored to take Lily’s hand, but she refused,
motioning him to lead on. He obeyed, leading the way
from the royal hut, and Lily folowed him, not daring to
look back at Richard.

The lad looked after her, however, bending forward so
that he could see through a window the hut to which the
captive was taken. He saw her disappear into the interi-
or of the hut, saw Waloa emerge, place aman on guard
at the entrance, and then return toward the queen’s resi-
dence. :

The knowledge of Lily’s whereabouts thus obtained, he
turned his gaze upon the queen, and was Startled at her
looks and manner.

Her eyes were blazing fiercely, her countenance was in-
flamed with jealousy, and she resembled an infuriated ti-
gress ready to spring upon her prey.

Her gaze avoided Richard’s and turned toward Lily’s
prison with a look of menace that alarmed the lad.

By this time, in obedience to some gesture of the queen
unperceived by Richard, the natives had withdrawn from
the apartment.

“Melican girl good eat,” said the queen, grimly. ‘Me
try her.”’

Richard shuddered, and in his anguish, fearing the im-
mediate destruction of Lily, pladed for her life and safety.
He even begged to be permitted to depart from the island
with Lily, but he might as well have pleaded to a stone.
His boyish face, his clear, brown eyes, and his manly air
had won the fancy of the impressionable queen, and she
looked upon him as a newly-won plaything for the ioss of
which, until she had tired of it, nothing could compensate
her.

Love, in the tropics, isa plant of quick and rank growth.
After the same savage fashion in which Queen Taliti fan-
cied our hero Waloa loved Lily. To have her brighten his
hut with her presence, to be envied the pale, foreign
beauty of his bride by neighboring chiefs and princes, to
own her had suddenly become to himasupreme aim-
bition.

He entered the royal hut while Richard was still urg-
ing the claims of mercy and justice, and again stationed
himself at her side. $

“No, no,”’ said Taliti, impatiently. ‘Me not let you go.
Melican be Taliti’s king. Melican stay |”

“T will be nothing to you!’ cried Richard.

“Taliti love Melican,’’ said the savage, softly.

Richard’s face expressed his disgust and aversion.

“Taliti shut up Melican,’”? said the queen, her anger
bursting forth at the insensibility and coldness of the
youth. ‘Me teach Melican despise love of Taliti. Maybe
to-morrow change he mind. Maybe girl be dead then!’

Waloa interrupted her fiercely, and the two engaged in
a second dispute. After peace had been restored, Waloa
seized Richard’s hand, and half-led, half-dragged him to
one of the farthest huts belonging to the royal residence,
the queen following to see that her commands were faith-
fully obeyed. ;

The hut was small, the floor and walls alike covered
with mats. From its door, a view could be obtained of
Lily’s prison, a fact eagerly noted by the lad. Taliti sum-
moned one of the islanders, and placed him on guard, af-
ter which she dismissed Walva, lingering to whisper with
fearful menace in the prisoners ear:

“Taliti, great queen—greatest in world! A hundred
strong men run at her bidding. How shall Melican es-
cape her power? Melican girl shall die to-morrow—shall
be eaten—and her bones shall be offered to the gods!
Taliti’s words have gone forth. Waloa may talk and beg
and make big, much words, but the queen’s will shall be
done. When Melican girl dead, you love Taliti.”

She turned and left him to the stupefaction of despair.

CHAPTER XX.

A DESPERATE VENTURE.

All day Richard sat by the door of his hut, his intent
gaze scarcely straying from Lily’s prison. He saw Waloa
carrying food to her, he beheld the pompous visit of the
queen to her poor young captive, and fiercely longed to
be with and protect Lily from the peril environing her.
The love of Waloa and the hate of Taliti were alike dan-
gerous to her, and he resolved to defend her from both.

Pretending to become satisfied with his destiny as royal
favorite, he ate the luscious fruits assigned him, carefully
abjuring meat, lest it might be human flesh. His con-
tentedness was so well counterfeited that toward: even-
ing, the queen came to see him, and uttered many ex-
pressions of regard, promising him his freedom as soon
as she felt able to thoroughly trust him.

“Melican girl no be in Taliti’s way long,’’ she observed,
her face darkening with jealousy of Lily. ‘‘Waloa learn
me queen. He take Towenga girl wite.”’

She kissed Richard’s !orehead, as a sign of her contin-
ued favor, and withdrew, leaving him to reflections of
the most painful description.

He had gathered from her words that she had come to
arupture with Waloa, that she had asserted her queenly
authority, and that Waloa had given up Lily to the jeal-
ous hatred of Taliti. He knew, in short, that the hideous
customs of the cannibals were to be practiced upon his
foster-sister. ~

“Poor little Lily, he murmured, “she must be fright-
ened almost out of her senses. We must escape from our
enemies to-night; to-morrow may betoo iate. Oh, fora
night of darkness like last night.”

He paced to and fro the small room, busy with his
thoughts, of which escape was the burden. He finally
decided upon a.course of action, and with a coolness and
deliberation beyond his years proceeded to adopt it.

The night, as if in answer to his prayer, came on early,
with clouds that shut out the light of the stars, and with
a slow, drizzling rain infinitely more disagreeable than a
smart shower.

Richard flung himself upon a couch of matting at an
early hour, and pretended to be asleep. His breathing
became loud and regular, and completely deceived the
dusky guard who looked in at the door two or three times,
and then withdrew his head finally with an expression of
satisfaction.

As the evening deepened the storm increased. The
wind swept over the island with hurricane force, rocking
the hut in which Richard was asif it had been a cradle.

About ten o’clock, as Richard guessed the time, he
slipped from his bed and stole to the door. It opened
outwards, and he gently pressed againstit. The next
moment he became conscious that the guard was leaning
against it heavily.

“No escape through the door,” he thought.
try the windows.”’

He groped his way to the narrow apertures dignified
by the name of windows, and discovered that while they
were too small to permit his egress through them, they
were also provided with a frame of prickly-pear plants
that would have made such egress highly dangerous.

The hut was, in truth, a prison where offenders against
the queen were wont to be imprisoned.

These discoveries made, Richard groped his way to a
portion of the wallhe had observed during the day,
without being able to closely examineit. Sitting down
upon the matting covering the ground, he felt carefully
for the thin place he had observed, tore aside the ragged
wall-matting and investigated the material of which the
wall was composed. It proved to be formed of poles
placed at regular mtervals and filled in with stout reads
closely woven, the whole covered on the outside by the
thatch of wild sugar-cane.

Richard had still in his pocket his stout jack-knife. He
took it out, opened it, and began at once tocut his way
out of the hut. ;

It was a less easy task than at first sight might be im-
agined.

The reeds were like iron wires, hard and metallic, and
the thatch rattled with every thrust of his knife, Had it

himself

“Keep

 

“Let me

 

not been for the steady pattering rain he must have been
overheard and discovered. .

He worked a full hour, vigorously, stealthily and un-
tiringly. His fingers bled, his hands ached, but he would
not pause to rest. Lily’s life depended on his swiftness
and industry, and he worked for her as he could scarcely
have worked for himself.

A length he had cut’a hole sufficiently large to permit
his egress, and he cautiously crept out into the drizzling,
driving rain.

The night was intensely dark. The wind was fierce and
strong like a hurricane, bending young trees to the
ground, breaking off immense branches as if they had
been pipe-stems and hurling them through the air like
stones. The breakers on the atoll sounded loud and
strange, moaning and screaming as if in pain. The rain
whirled by in fitful gusts, and the usually mild lagoon
fretted and chafed within its bounds. The very island
seemed to rock in the increasing storm.

“What a night!’ muttered Richard, Jooking around
him 1n vain for some sign of human life. ‘The islanders
are within doors. Now to find my way to Lily!”

_He noticed a dim light gleaming in the direction of
Lily’s prison, and, guided by it, he approached it, moving
cautiously and stealthily through the gloom and rain.
When he had gained a safe distance, he looked back at
the royal residence, but not a light gleamed from its win-
dows, not a sign of wakefulness was apparent about it.

Greatly encouraged, he gained the hut from which the
light gleamed. Its door was shut, and he peered through
one of the windows, screening his face by @ damp and
leafy bough.

To his great joy, he beheld Lily within.

She was in the act of folding about her head and shoul-
ders her Tartan shawl. She moved softly and stealthily,
and was completely dressed. Richard comprehended,
by her pale face and resolute manner, that she was bent
on an instant flight. :

“Lily,’?? he whispered, softly, after ascertaining that she
was alone.

The little maiden gave a wild start, looked at the door,
then at the window. Her face kindled into an eager
glow as she beheld her boy-lover.

“Richard,’”? she whispered, too thoughtful to betray her-
self by a loud word even in her surprise. ‘Free! oh,
thank God”?

She clasped her hands in fervent gratitude to Heaven.

The next moment, with womanly composure, she ex
claimed: ; :

“Open my door, Richard. The guard is gone. It is
fastened only by a wooden peg on the outside.”?

Richard hastened to obey. He found the door, sub-
tracted the peg, and opened the heavy, massive screen.
Lily stood just within, and sprang out as the door opened,
took his hand, and hurriedly led him to a little distance
from the hut.

“T was just going to escape when you came,’’? she said,
after they had embraced lovingly and fervently. ‘I was
going to try and rescue you, dear Dick.”

“How came your door to be unguarded, Lily??? asked
Richard, gathering her little figure under his thick jack-
et, and endeavoring to screen her from the rain.

“The prince has been to my hut this morning,? said
Lily, still calmly, but Richard could feel her form trem-
ble. ‘He told me, in his broken English, that I must be
his wife. He said the queen was jealous of me, and that
she had resolved to have me killed to-morrow. He said
he would save me, by hiding me in the jungle some miles
up the island. Oh, Richard, he looked at me like a de-
mon! I would not let him come near me, threatening to
scream if he touched me. His visit was a secret one, and
he intended to pretend ignorance of my whereabouts, to-
morrow, and let the queen think I had escaped.”

“But the guard——”’

“The guard was one of the queen’s faithful men, and
the prince told him to go home on account of the weather,
and that I could not escape. He meant to improve the
euard’s absence by carrying me off. He will be back di-
rectly. Is not that a step?”

They listened intently. Both heard plainly footsteps
approaching the hut with the stealthiness of the tiger.

They waited and watched. .

They heard the new-comer try the door of the hut,
heard a guttural ejaculation of astonishment, and then
beheld himrush into the hut, uttering cries of baffled
rage.

The next moment he came out yelling like a madman.

Before the young fugitives could recover from their
momentary confusion, answering yells came from the di-
rection of Richard’s late prison and Jights flashed from it,
proving his escape had been discovered. :

In a minute, the village was in a complete uproar.

The instinct of the young coupie pointed at once to
flight.

Richard's first impulse was to gain the beach, appro-
priate a canoe, and row through she channel inthe atoll
to the open sea. But a moment’s thought convinced him
that no canoe could live in that wild, raging storm.

They must keep to the iand.

“Come, Lily,’? he whispered, giving her his hand. ‘‘We
must fly inland. Quick! Every savage is out in the
storm. The island is alive !”?

Hand in hand they fled up the hill toward the interior
of the island. Both were soon drenched to the skin, but
the rain was theirleast difficulty. They could not see
the way, and frequently wandered from the path, got
caught in prickly thickets, stumbled and fell, and, worse
than all, were often obliged to panse and cling to a tree
till a fierce blow passed over.

It needed all their strength on these occasions to pre-
vent being blown away utterly.

Once or twice, when they heard the rush of the hurri-

cane wind, as it swept on through the air, no tree was

near, and they fell prostrate to the earth clinging to the
very roots of the grasses and shrubs.

“} must rest,’ said Lily, at last, half-sobbing with ex-
citement. ‘Here isa tree, Richard. Letus cling to it.
and sit down. No one can see us in thisdarkness. I am
wet to the skin, and hungry, and tired.’”’

They sat down, hugging the tree. Richard’s heart bled
for the sufferings of his delicate little companion, and he
was about to give utterance to his pity in words, when
Lily said, cheerfully and bravely:

“Don’t think of me, Dick, Imight be worse off. I am
flying for my life, and I can bear worse storms than this.
Look at the lights down in the village. See the canoes
with torches on the lagoon. See the lights on the atel.
They think we have fied in that direction.”

Richard watched them, and saw no reason to appre-
hend immediate danger of discovery.

“J think I recognize the prince and the queen in the
foremost boat,” exclaimed Lily. ‘See them flash their
torches. They will soon find that we have not left this is-
land. Where can we hide, Richard ?”

“In the jungles,’ replied the lad. ‘The islanders all
live ia the village, I am sure. The island is not large
enough to support more. My idea is tohide in the jun-
gles and live on wild fruits, until we can steal a canoe,
and effect our escape.”’

“It is our best and only plan,” sighed Lily.
fly as hunted animals do. Oh !’

The exclamation was one of pain. <A great branch that
had been wrenched froma palm tree flew past, giving
her a blow as it went.

“Are you hurt, Lily, dear Lily 2”? cried Richard, m a
tone of anguish.

“No. I was only stunned a little,” answered Lily,
rather faintly, yet quite bravely. ‘‘That branch came
nearer than was pleasant.”’

Richard gathered her closer, trembling at the danger
she had passed.

“You're a brave little angel,’”’ he murmured, his sudden
tears falling on her upturned face. ‘Heaven will surely
protect us for love of you, darling.”

They were silent a few minutes, watching the lights on
the lagoon and atoll, and the torches in the village and
on the beach. The storm raged around them like a fiend
let loose on a mission of wild revelry, the trees fell with
awful crashes around them, falling with sounds like sig-
nal-guns, and branches and limbs went hurtling past on
their mission of devastation and violence.

It was a miracle that the fugitives escaped serious in-
jury.

“Ags soon as you feel rested, darling,” said Richard,
after a pause, ‘‘we will go on.”

“T am ready,’ said Lily, struggling to her
“Come!”

She gave him her hand, and they recommenced the
dangerous ascent.

On they toiled, dodging the missiles torn from the
trees, clinging to trunks of palms when they felt a blow
of wind coming, and never once loosing their hold of
each other.

When next they paused and looked around, the canoes
had begun their return from the atoll.

“They Know now that we are on this island,’ said
Richard, with desperate calmness. ‘We shall be  pur-
sued. Wemay be cut off from the jungles

“We won’t give up yet,” said Lily. ‘Let us do the best
we can. It must not be our fanit if we are taken.”

They pressed on, wearily now, and with flagging steps,
yet as resolutely as before. Their souls were still strong,
but their bodies were growing fatigued.

Still, Liiy cheered her boy-lover with hopes of escape.
AS his spirits sank, hers arose. Truly, she was to him
an angel of comfort and consolation, inspiriting and en-
couraging him.

She made no more allusions to the wind or rain, bear-
ing both without a sigh or moan, although now and then
she was fairly lifted from her feet by the riotous storm.
Her garments clung heavily to her slender little figure,
rain dripping from them at every step. Her shawl was
a wet rag, and her hair underneath hung in thin, wet
strands.

Her face was wet with the rain, but her voice,
when she spoke, was as clear and sweet and unfalter-
ing asin the old days on Shelter Isiand béach.

Richard was no less heroic. He gave Lily the suppor
of his arm, he sheltered her aS much as possible from
rain and wind, he protected her from falling branches,
and pleaded to be allowed to carry her, if only a few
steps. .

‘At length the summit of the hill was gained.

It was not a high hill, In favorable weather, and: by
daylight, the ascent might have been made easily and
without discomfort. 5

They stood on its brink and looked down at the village
on the beach. :

' The savages were buzzing about like enraged. hornets,
their torches flashing, their yells resounding.

Both the fugitives marked that the natives were moy-
ing inland, a score at least moving toward the hill.

“How fast they come!’ said Lily. “They know the
way so well! They will soon reach us. Oh, Richard, I
am so very tired! If we could only rest 1’?

She looked wistfully around her, and hereyes detected
a faint, dim light at a little distance.

She called Richard’s attention to it,

“Tt comes from a great house I saw on the brow of the
hill—a sort of temple,’’ replied the lad. :

“We can

feet.

 

 

“A temple!’ cried Lily, eagerly. ‘Let us take refuge
there. The savages are coming so fast !””

“There may be priests within?”

“Let us risk all and enter,’ replied Lily, with a feeling
of utter desperation. ‘‘We shall surely be taken here.?’

Afraid to yield to her desire, yet knowing the peril
they ran of being overtaken if they continued their
flight, Richard crept up to the door of the temple and
peered in. P *

“There is a lamp burning,’’? he whispered, as Lily
joined him. ‘I see no person. It is really a heathen
temple.”?

Loud yells sounded near at hand as the savages
swarmed up the hill.

“There’s no time to lose,” said Lily, hurriedly. ‘Let
us go in.’

They hesitated a minute, both fearing unknown dan-
gers, and then, hand in hand, they entered the temple,
closing the door behind them.

(To be continued.)

 

THE

LADY OF GRAND COURT;

OR,

THE SECRETARY'S PLOT.

By the Author

 

of Feerless Cathleen,

 

CHAPTER XXXYV.
T loved my twin sister with a love
Passing the love of lovers,
Her voice made music in my drooping heart,
Her eyes shone down on me
Like stars lighted in Heaven.—MaxweEL Fox.

The chanting continued, melancholy, solemn, monoton-
ous, indescribably awtul in the ears of Viola Beaumont.
Presently she was set down again, this time on the cold
earth. She fancied she could feel the clods through the
wood, and the voice of one priest was raised high in a
Latin prayer. Her heart beat asif it would burst the very
coffin asunder. Should she cry out? :

Now she was lifted, and they were about to lower her
into aliving grave. She—warm, breathing, eager—full
now ot the genial aspirations of a tove which had lain
dormant of late under the cruel oppression of hopeless
circumstances.

Then a voice—a clear, deep voice—came to her ears,
speaking French with an English accent—the voice of
Philip Ruthven,

“J have made a discovery,’’ he said: “the person whom
I have brought here at the request of her husband to be
buried, that she might repose in consecrated ground in
the same spot where she was born, is a heretic! I have
only just read this letter thrust into my hands this morn-
ing. I would not allow a Protestant corpse to intrude in
a Catholic cemetery. You, Dr. Martini, shall keep the
money which I paid you exactly the same as if the body
rested here, but I shallinstantly take it away to the Pro-
testant burial ground, and consign 1t to the Protestant
clergyman. After that I shall visit the weak husband,
who attempted this fraud in the vain wish to confer peace
on his dying wife.??

There was a muttered conference among the priests.
The question was raised, whether seeing that a Catholic
service was read over the corpse, it might not be suffered
torest in that cemetery. Dr. Martini was of opinion that
it might—the good, greedy man was fearful that the code
ofhonor would not permit him to retain the thousand
francs which had been paid him, if burial were refused to
the Protestant lady.

It was a horrible moment of suspense to Viola, breath-—

ing in the coffin, and to Ruthven, paie and excited, in his
priest’s dress.

“Put it in with the other coffin which is already low-
ered,’’ said Dr. Martini. ‘My dear monsieur, why have
said anything about it???

Viola was upon the point of calling out when the voice
of a priest interposed.

“The body must not lie here,’? said an old white-haired,
stately man, high in’the church, in a tone of the calmest,
firmest authority. :

Viola could have kissed his feet in her gratitude.

She was carried out along way in silence, the footsteps
that followed with slow and measured tread, were the
footsteps of Ruthven.

She felt sure at last that the procession was out of the
grounds ofthe Maison de Sante, and pacing along the
Janes beyond the barrier; then a roar and bustle around
her showed that she was in the clamor of the streets.

Presently the men carrying the coffin entered a house,
mounted a flight of stairs, and she heard Ruthven count
over to them a sum amouuting to five thousand franes in
notes and gold.

“And now,go, my friends,’? said he. ‘You know no-
thing of my Whereabouts if you are asked, when they miss
this lady, save that you brought the coffin to this house,
number nine Rue des Pommes.?’

The men thanked him again and again, chuckling over
their wealth with the joy of schoolboys.

At last they were gone. Then Ruthven unlocked the
lid of the coffin and Viola sat up in her dark velvet dress,
her hair slightly disordered, a burning spot on either fair
cheek, a wild light in her blue eyes.

“Rescued, my loveliest one,’? broke forth Philip, pas-
sionately. “Oh, Viola, never to part from me again.”’

And he clasped her in a frantic delirium of joy.

She rested her head upon his shoulder and wept, but
the tears were tears of ecstasy.

“We must away, my love,” said Philip, lifting her tothe
floor. “I must leave. this and tell the landlord to take
care of the empty coffin until it is called for. He will be
pestered, I daresay, with callers from the Maison de Sante
before nightfall. I shall give him a couple of gold Napo-
leons, and then we must be off to another quarter, and to
England to-night.”

“Ah, Philip, I dread England; it seems filled with the
image of Rokewood. I feel as though I should. find him
standing on the shores ready to imprison me again. He
is my guardian.”’

“Weis not, dearest. He has had adead girl buried in
your name; he cannot claim you as Viola Beaumont. Be-
sides, there are powerfulfriends gathering about you now,
Viola, friends who will not only restore to you yourrights,
but also overwhelm the miscreant Rokewood in a total
destruction. But come now, Viola, we must call a cab.
These people from the lunatic asylum willbe upon our
ee in less than two hours, and we have no time to
ose.

Viola, leaning upon the arm of Ruthven, went down
the stairs and out into the street.

A carriage was called, and the two drove to a fashion-
able quarter of Paris, and drew up before the great doors
or a grand hotel.

Viola, still clinging to the arm of Philip, ascended the
wide stone stairs, and then was ushered into a very mag-
nificent apartment, all chandeliers and enormous mirrors,
satin couches, marble and inlaid tables, and gold-fringed
curtains.

A splendid breakfast was spread out. There was a
great silver gilt vase, filled with rare and sweetly-per-
fumed hot-house flowers, in the center of the table.. Be-
fore the brightly burning fire stood a tall, stately man,
with snow-white hair.

As Ruthven and Vlola entered, he hastily disappeared
through the doorway leading into another room.

“Who is that gentleman?’ asked Viola, quickly.

“The Count Ludovico Merhel, a Hungarian of great
wealth, through whom I have effected your deliverance,
and with whose money I have bribed the carpenter and
the other man who helped to carry the coffin. We shall
travel with the count to-night. Ido not know much of
him, dearest Viola, except that he appears noble, gene-
rous, and most unselfish, He isa manof the highest
breeding, and, I should imagine, of the noblest birth. I
think he must have been a bosom friend of your father,
the earl; indeed, he has told meas much. But he will
not consent to sit with you, or te introduce himself. He
says it would be too much for him, considering the vio-
lent death of his friend, the earl. Heis a most peculiar
person, and I have found out, Viola, love, that the best
way with him is to give way to his strange caprice, and
let him pay for everything. He says, on reaching Hng-
land, he shall immediately, though at first secretly, com-
mence proceedings against Rokewood. He is going to
call all the earl’s quondam friends around him, and, con-
fronting you with them in the teeth of the burial certifi-
cate of the Pension, he will claim for you your rights;
therefore scruple not to use his money as your own. He
has hired a lady’s maid to attend you, and also a com-
panion, The last is a lady-like, sweet creature, called
Josephine. I cannot but think that he is attached to her,
and contemplates marriage. Sheis of mingled French
and English parentage. I believe her father is a Protest-
ant pastor, in Normandy. Now let us sit down to break-
fast. Iam to live in the same house with you, Viola, and
therefore, for prudence sake, Madam Josephine, who ap-
pears like a young widow, lives with you.”’

“But this Count Ludovico,”’ cried Viola, “may I not be
allowed to thank him for his great kindness? Who is he?
What friend of papa’s ?”’

The door fell back as she spoke, and there entered a
young French lady in a widow’s cap. Without being
beautiful, Madam Josephine had one of the sweetest faces
in the world. She was grace itself. She were a dress of
black silk. She approached Viola, raised her hand to her
lips and kissed it. : ;

“May your ladyship be happy henceforth,” she said,
and tears trembled in her dark eyes. ‘You have had
many trials, but Heaven has delivered you out of them,
and now your happiness will commence.’

She spoke English very sweetly. :

Viola, by nature affectionate, and more demonstrative
than her twin sister, stooped and kissed the cheek of the
young woman.

After that they all sat down to breakfast. The most
savory viands were served up to them; but the eccentric
Count Ludovico took his breakfast in another room.

Viola’s impatience to see that personage made her less
falkative with Josephine, less contented even with Ruth-
ven.

No emissaries from the Maison de Sante disturbed the
peace of the intending travelers. A large box of linen, a
complete and elegant traveling suit, a splendid dressing-
box containing all the luxuries of the toilet, arrived for
Viola, and Ruthven brought her a purse with twelve
pounds in it.

“The count sends you this for pocket money,” he said.

Viola opened her magnificent eyes in astonishment.

‘eWho is the count??? she asked.

“My dearest Viola, 1 know nothing more than your-
self,’ replied Philip.

By an evening train the passengers traveled to Calais.
The traveling arrangements of the count were more sin-
gular even than his manner of livingin the hotel. He

 

went outside the carriage, leaving Lady Viola, Madam
Josephine, Ruthven, and Clotilda, a ladies’ maid, inside.
At the station he got into a separate first-class carriage.
Never once was Viola able to gain a sight of his face.
When the train stopped at the various stations, Viola, by
dint of peeping out, could just distinguish: his tall form,
white hair, long beard, and martial bearing, as he paced
up and down the platform by lamplight.

Arrived at the coast, he hid completely while the party
were getting on board the vessel.

Viola went into the ladies’ cabin,for the night was dull.
Josephine was as obstinately silent respecting the count,
as was that mysterious person himself. She smiled
sweetly, shook her head.

“I do not think you must ask any question, Lady Vio-
Ja,” she said. ‘Only I will tell you, the count is the bra-
vest man, the noblest-hearted, the most chivalrous, the
most perfect———”’

Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice broke down.

“She loves him,” thought Viola, but she can’t be more
than eight and twenty, while his hair is white enough for
seventy—yet she loves him. What a mystery! Oh, my
Norah, my sweet sister, I hope and pray that youare sale
and as happy and hopeful as I feel.’

The journey from Calais to London was soon perform-
ed. The count’s party proceeded to the ‘Langham.’ and
took up their residence at once in the most splendid suite
of apartments the house contained.

The Count Ludovico occupied a small set of rooms en-
tirely separate from those inhabited by the ladies of the
family. Heheld many conferences with Ruthven, the
purport of which was quite unknown to Lady Viola.
News of the escape of Viola from the Maison de Sante,
had not yet reached England. The fact was, Doctor Mar-
tini was excessively startled at the boid daring of the
young assumed priest. He occupied himself in ceaseless
efforts to find the liberated young creature; he put him-
self in communication with the spies of the French po-
lice, but he wrote no word of what had taken place to
Rokewood. Thus the secretary remained in ignorance o.
the escape of his victim. A

Viola saw much of Philip. She would have been quite
happy but for anxiety respecting her beloved twin-sister.
She knew not how to write or where to address a letter,
Her mind wasina chaos of wild unrest, and then she
suddenly noticed that Ruthven looked away while she
asked about Norah, or entreated him to beg the kind
count to go down to Cumberland and rescue her sweet
sister from the clutches of Rokewood.

It was evening, the elegant coffee equipage was on the
table, Josephine was playing an exquisite German mor-
ceau upon a harmonium which stood in a recess, Philip
was leaning his head upon the mantelshelf, and yet glan-
cing up very anxiously at Viola, who gazed moodily into

e fire,

“1 am so miserable about Norah,” she said all at once,
ae you won’t tell me Philip, what you think I ought

oO do.

“Ah! how sad that exquisite music of Josephine’s
sounds.??

‘ —— momeni and Viola was sobbing quietly, hope-
essly.

“IT know—I know something has happened to Norah.”

At this moment a slight noise caused Viola to glance up
at the green doorway. :

The tall form of the Count Ludovico was there, bent
forward, so it seemed, in a very tempest of grief, he held
a white handkerchief to his eyes, a deep convulsive sob-
bing shook his whole frame. He hadcome to the door to
listen to the music of Josephine, and it seemed that the
effect of it and the words of Viola combined, had been of
a soul-stirring character.

“Who is he??? cried Viola.

Suddenly warned by an impulse asirresistible,as it was
strange, Viola sprang up and ran toward the tall white--
haired man.-

“Why do you weep?’ she asked passionately.

For a moment—just for a moment—the count opened
wide his arms and made toward her, as if ie would have
clasped her in an impassioned embrace, then he turned
and fled, closing the door behind him.

Viola returned to the side of Ruthven.

“Philip, dear Philip, why all this mystery? ah, I am
sure you could tell me if you would. This count, who
never let’s the light fall upon his face, whois he? What
are his schemes forthe punishment of Rokewood, and
the restitution of our property? ah, Philip you do not ans-
wer—something is hidden.” ‘ Ly

At that instant a servant-man entered and laid down
an evening paper, the Standard, close to Philip. The
young man made such a hasty dash at the paper and con-.
cealed it in his pocket so eagerly that the suspicions of
Viola were aroused. Was it to be ever her fate thata
web of mystery, dager and wickedness should be woven
around her?

“Let me see that paper,” she said.

He looked at her, there were tears in his eyes which he
strovein vain to repress, and the ghost of a smile flitted
about the corners of his finely-curved lip,

“How nervous, how excitable, my little Viola,’’ he said
tenderly. ‘‘Willshe not give me a cup of strong coffee,
for my poor head-aches.”’

“Ah, Philip, are you ill???

She was diverted for the time on his account, but after
the coffee was removed, and Josephine had retired again
to her music, Viola having asked Philip sinee his head

ached so desperately, to try and sleep in an arm-chair

and she would watch by him, induced him to lean back
holding her hana. :

He was really ill that night. The excitement and fa-
tigue he had gone through, the secret anxieties which
still pressed upon him, all conspired to make him snffer.
Lhe body nearly always pays the penalty for the troubles
of the mind. :

Holding Viola’s hand, poor, noble-hearted Philip
dropped off into a deep sleep. Then the young creature,
all eager anxiety to know what mystery they were jall
concealing from her, and impressed with an instinctive
belief that it had much to do with Norah, put her hand
into the waistcoat pocket, drew out the paper, retired
quietly to her own room, where a fire burned and a lamp
was lighted, and then she sat down before the blaze,
opened the paper, and read as follows:

“The fearful and murderous burglary in Cumberland.”’
Her heart seemed tostand still as she read on. The
ghastly history was three days old. Ruthven knew it,
the count knew it, Josephine knew it. Out of regard for
her suffering they were concealing the truth from her.
The news in the paper ran thus: I[t toid how the mansion
of a certain Squire M’Cray, a Cumberland gentleman of
fortune, had been entered a few days before Christmas,
and plate and jewelry to the value of three hundred
pounds stolen; alsothat the ruftians had entered the
premises by means of tall laders planted ina disused
yard, and reared against the windows of some rooms oc-
cupied by the Lady Norah Beaumont and her two attend-
ants, the young lady being on a Visit af the house of the
squire. It was supposed that the alarmed females made
some outcries which must have enraged the robbers—
anyhow, all three had been ruthlessly murdered, and the
lower room robbed, without in any way alarming the rest
of the house. Traces of blood were found in the morn-
ing, and the track led toa pond inthe grounds. This
pond had been dragged, and the mutilated remains of
the young lady and the two women had been discovered,
already defaced by the fish which had fed upon them.
The distress of the squire was only equaled by the deep
sorrow of Mr. Rokewood, the much-to-be-pitied guardian
of the young lady. No trace of the miscreants as yet had
been discovered, although the police were upon the scent.

Violaread itall. Her eyes blazed like fire. A pink
spot came into the deadly pallor of her cheek. Holding
the paper in her hand, she returned to the drawing-room,
where wearied Philip still slept in his chair. His young
face looked haggard and ghastly with anxiety in his
sleep. Viola came to him, took his hand, called him by
name. :

“Philip, awake!l”?

He looked up, saw the paper in her hand, and compre-
hended all. :

“Oh, Viola!’ he said, in a tone of agony, “how wrong—
how wrong of you.” ;

She smiled. :

“T do not believe this story, Philip—I donot believe
that Norah is dead. If mry twin sister were dead, Ishould
know it by some instinct. She is alive. That burglary
was a plan between Rokewcod and the assassins. Norah
escaped. Mark you, they say nothing of a body being
identified—they cannot.” :

“Pray Heaven it may be as you surmise, deaxest,’? said
Philip.

SE ai sure of it,’ she said, “quite sure! An instinct
more powerful than reason tells me this truth.”

She seemed inspired asshe stood in her maizvelous
beauty before her lover.

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“We will search—” he began.

“She will come to us,’ interrupted Viola, confidently,
“she will come to us. Let us advertise simply,in the
Times thus: ‘Norah, come tothe Langham Hotel, and ask
for your sister.’ ”?

“No,” said Philip, ‘no, dearest, that will not answer.
We wish to conceal from Rokeweod that you have es-
caped. Martini is hiding the fact for hisown purpose.
Our plan is a deep-laid one—to allow the monster to con-
tinue in his fancied security, then suddenly to pounce
upon him, and overwhelm him in the ruin which he de-
serves. He must read no warning of Lady Viola being
m London; beside, Viola, were Norah alive, would she
not have come forward and contradicted the reports of
her death? Hammond, too—we should haye heard of
him.”’ ‘

‘J tell you, Philip, she is alive,’’ said Viola.
[ know it!”

More they discoursed on the subject that night. Viola
impetuously urged the expediency of an advertisement,
and Ruthven agreed to draw one up which should not
mention Viola.

in passing to her room, by a long, carpeted corridor,
Viola, carrying alamp herself, perceived a figure in front
of her, likewise carrying alamp. ‘The figure was of her
own hight, or nearly so, slender, graceful, draped in deep
mourning garments. Her heart beat fast. Something
there was in the turn of the head which awakened a wild
doubt, a sweet, frantic hope. she rushed on, and came
up just as the lady turned the handle of a door and en-
tered 2 room. Vicla went on and knocked impatiently.
After a pause @& neat servant, with a quief, careful young
face, opened the door. 5

“what is the name of the lady who entered here just
now ?”’ asked Viola.

“Mrs. Brown,’ said the girl, demurely. : Gos

“Tell—tell Mrs. Brown I naust see her,” cried Viola, im-
petuously. ‘I must see her—I must see her!” :

“My mistress is at supper’ with my master,” said: the

irl. ‘
e “F cannot help that. Go on, and say I want her.’?

“Your name, please?” said the servant.

Viola hesitated.

“A friend from Paris,” she said.

“1 feel it—

  

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

a ope

 

 

4

 

 

 

5 PaaS See ae

gn

 

 

 

 

 

ey

 

 

 

It seemed that the quiet servant exercised a discretion
that passed the bounds of politeness. She turned and
closed the door, locked it, and left Viola standing in
the passage. While she so waited, she heard a Step, a
stately; masculine tread at the farther end of the passage,
and looking behind, saw the tall form of Count Ludovico
Merhélistanding under a lamp. He was watching her,
he made her a Sign, half-impetuous, half-entreating, halt-
tender, pointing with his finger toward the door of her
own chamber, as if commanding her to enter.

“iow he watches me, that count,’? mused Viola.

Allat once the door fell back. on

“Pray what do you wish to see 2? asked a proud young
voice. « ss

oy y___1) gasped Viola. :

Another moment and the count, watching from under
the lamp, heard a wild, hysterical cry, saw Viola enter
the room of strangers, and then the door was closed and
locked. He rushed up toit, and beat against the pine
polisied wood. He did not speak, but he beat furiously;
the door was opened. He saw the twins weeping in one
another’s arms, Hammond standing by. The wildest ex-
pression of ecstasy burst from the lips of either.

“My Viola, my own love, they told me you were dead,”
cried Norah. .

“And you—you, they said you were murdered!’

“Yes, but ITescaped; and Hammond is only waiting,
only laying his plans. We keep it secret.”

«So do we.””

“We mean to crush him all at once.”

‘So do we."

“Who is that?) asked Norah, pointing suddenly to the
figure of the count standing in the shadow of the door-
way.

The count moved off as he spoke. He cast up his hands
to Heaven, as though imploring a blessing on the twins,
then turned and fled, :

‘Where have I seen that gentleman before?’ asked
Norah. ,

“fT know not,’ replied Viola.

“He comes to me like the memory of some sweet melo-
dy learned ia childhood, of which I have forgotten the
name.’

“He is called the Count Ludovico Merhel,”’ said Lady
Viola. ; :
{To be Continued.j

a en

The Josh Billings Papers.

Ever since natur waz diskovered, mice haw had a hoe tew

Paradise, az good a job az it waz, would not hav bin thor-
oughly fitted up without a mouse tew dart akrost the bowers
like a shaddo, and Eve would never have knu how tew skream
pretty without one ov these little teachers

Adam would never hay bin fit tew kontend with the job ov
gitting a living outsids the garden if he hadn’t trapped suck-
cessfully for a mouse. Sa

Ketching a mouse iz the fust cunning thing that every man

uz.
Mice are the frome of shrewdness; their faces beam with
sharp praktiss; their lit'le noses smell ov cunning, anu their
little black-beaded eyes titter with pettit larceny.

Tney are azchee! ful az the criketon the harth. j should be
afrade tew buy a house that hadw’t am use-hole in it.

alike tew see them shoot out ov their hole in the korner, like
awad outova pop-gun, and’ stream akross the nursery, and
teow hear one nibble in the wailnscot, in the midst ov the nu ght,
takes the death out ov silence.

Mice alwus move into a new house fust, and are there reddy
4ew receive and welkum the rest ov the family.

They are more ornamental than useful, ackording to the best
vo leeuasalal we hav az yet; bus this iz the case wiih most

Ings.

Mice cum inte this world tew seek their fortune, fourata
time, and lay in their little kradics ov cotton, or wvol, 1 ke
bits ov rare-dun meat, for a month, with not a rag on them.

When they dine, they do it jist az a f.mily ov yung pigss duz:
each one at their own partikular spot at the table, and itis sel-
dam that yu see better-behaved boarders, or them that under-
siand their bizZness more thoroughly.

_ Ehaywséen'them at their meals, and I will take mi oath. that
Ceeane iz orderly, and azstrikly on the square, as a checkKer-
eard., -

When mice hav reached their ntanhood. their tales are just
| the same length a4 their boddys. This would seem atfust sight
| few be/a grate waste ov tail,

The philosophik mind, ever at work. applying means tew
ends, might be a bigg phool enuff tew want t> Know whi a bub-
tailed mouse wouldn't be a better finished job; but philosophy
haz no bizznes tew alter things tew suit the market. It must

BELO) given just az they cum, and either glorify them, or
‘ghutaups) ° ‘ .

if there want ennybody in the natral philosophy trade, i hav
thought it would be jist as well for natur. bekause a man, if he
kant orthodox a reason for the entire length ov @ mouse’s tale
eee willing tew tell his nabors thatthe whole critter iz a

allure. . ; oe ;

Suteh izman; but a mouse iz a mouse.

The miouse kap live ennywhere tew advantage, excent ina
church. They phatt very slow in a cburch. This goes tew
showihal they Hant live.on religion enny more than @ mimister
kan. , Religion iz excellant for digestion.

Thare aint & more prolifick thing on earth (prolifick ov fun i
mean now)than a mouseina distrikt school-house. They are
better than a fire-cracker tew stir up 2 school-marm with, and
i ae justithe things tewithrow spellin-books at when they are on

@ TUBB) ie’ ai HG
; Ona mouse, will edukate a parcell ov yung ones more in ten

. minnitts during school-time than you. can substrakt out ov their
heds in three days with Daballs arithmetik.

Now thare iz many folks who kant see ennything to write
about in a mouse; but mice are fuilovinformashun. The only
way that eaukashun was fust diskover:d waz bi going tew
school to natur, Books, if they are sound on the goose, are only
natur in tipe.

A grate many kontend that a mouse 1z a useless kritter; but
kan they prove it? : ak ;

fam willing to give an opinyun that too many mice might
not pay; bat this applies to musketoze, elephants, and side-

wheel steambotes. : 4

A mouse’s tale ig az unhairy aza shustring. This jz another
thing that bothers the philosophers, andi aint agoing to explain
ituingess F am paid for it. ee

@ihav alreddy eXxplained:a grate menny things ia the nuze-
panersthatinever got acentfor, _

There aint nothingon earth that will fit a hole sosnug az a
mouse will, Yu would think they waz made on Paes for it,
and they will fit it quicker, too, than ennything Lever saw. If
yu want to see 2 mouse enter hiz hole, yu mustn’t wink. Ifyu
do, yu will hav tew wait till next time.

Iluv mice. They seem tew belong to us.

Ratsidontluv. They lack refinement.

 

A Story of the Fortunes of
A New England Factory Girl.

MAGGIE MAYSON;

THE HIDDEN WILL.
BY GEO. P. B, BANKER.

Maggie Mayson was commencedin No. 1.. Back numbers can
‘be obtined from any News Agent throughout the United States

CHAPTER XY.
PEARL BLANC MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

At this period the office of Probate Judge, in Massa-
chusetts, for which Benham had for some time been a
candidate, was not so lucrative as it has, with its pick-
ings ana stealings, since been at certain times} but, still,
it was rather wu desirable position, for there were, occa-
sionally, rare chances for the ineumbent who controlled
this important branch of judicial management in the old
Commonwealth. And this court, in the county of Middle-
Sex, was then a very promising and excellent field—so
Mr. Henry Benham, attorney, had long thought—in which
to display and exercise is talents advantageously to
himself.

True, the Probate Court for Middlesex was, like the
same in other-counties, the tribunal for the protection of
the rights of orphans and widows, in great part; and only
@ man with a heart in his bosom ought to hold the posi-
tion of its judge, surely. .

But “kissing goes by favor,’? and so does: the appoint-
ment to those fat offices, and Heary Benham had friends
at court.

He hed been twice sent to the Legislature; he had
had 2 hand in tinkering and arranging tne statutes, and,
finally, the hoped-for opportunity turned up, and Benham
Was made Probate Judge in Chancery, for life. -

Circumlocution was Benham’s hobby and ideal. He
was now in the very flood of his element. His abso-
lutely corrupt, though astute and subtle nature, was no

‘bar to his appointment, thoughit ought to have been,
but he did not permit it to creep out, su far as the public
were concerned. :

He was learned in the laws, and he could, and did,
Keep his own counsels admirably, while he quietly and
constantly feathered hisown nest. But all this happened
more than half acentury age. Such abuses could not
exist and thrive at the present day in old Middlesex, cer-
tainly. if they did, the fact would, at least, never be
found out.

The promotion of Mr. Henry Benham, attorney, to the
responsible post of Probate Judge occurred within @ Gay
or two after his return to Lowell from his last flying trip
to Boston.

And Mrs. Blanc now had the honor and the pleasure
of conferring, in her future legal intercourse connected
with the matter she had in hand, with his ‘‘iionor Judge
Benham,” into whose confidence she very quickly ingra-
tiated herself,

Pearl forthwith explained to Judge Benham, whont she
now retained as her legal adviser henceforward, all the
detaiis of her position as original legatee, under. Old
Hackett’s will, of that deceased man’s large. estate; the
only portion of which she bad as yet been abla to find
being the old house on Middle street, Boston, and its
contents,

The latter she had taken away and sold. The house
itseif was of smail value then, and nobody wanted it.

Under the second will, or codicil, this oid house had
Still been left to Pearl, it will be remembered. But she
made no mention at present, to Judge Benham, of any
second will. ;

Pearl was too sharp for this; and she naturally
Supposed that this Lowell attorney, to whom she had
been made known, it will be recollected, by letter,
through her whilom legal adviser at Boston—plain. John
Cheetum—had no knowledge of her or her affairs, except
what she had afforded him after arrival in Lowell. And
during her first confidential interview with Judge Ben-

 

ham, whom she quickly came to like very much, she aid

not spare the redoubtable John Cheetum, notary, of Bos-

fon.

But Pearl little suspected, of course, who she was talk-
ing to, and advising with, in these animated tele-a-tetes
which she had with Judge Benham, in Lowell.

. “He's a confounded scoundrel |? said Mrs. Blanc, one
yeorning, soon after she thougnt she had got upon jne
inside of the track with Judge Benham, at Lewell, “1

bee your pardon, judge, for using terms so emphatic in

json Sentence

my speech in reference to your friend, Mr. Cheetum, who
introduced me to you here by letter. But I think I know
something of human nature, and I have studied men,
too, in my time. andif beisa notary public, which I
suppose makes him “a great man’ in the eyes of sume
people, 7 know him to be an interbal scamp, and an ue
terly unpfincipled Kuave, Whenever and wherever he
dares to be one.’

“ don’t know much about Cheetum, the notary,” said
Judge Benham, briskly, and looking demurely at fair
Pearl through his dark blue goggles. “I have seen bat
little of him; met bim occasionally at Boston; but I hear
ne is a very good lawyer. His introductory letter, which
you handed ine, was simply a business note, and he re-
membered me, I presume, as a@ brother lawyer here, sim-
ply, when you informed bim you were coming here on
legal business,” said Judge Benham, coolly.

“Very likely, jadge. 1 am happy and fortunate, in
meeting with a gentleman like yourself, however; a man
in position, who is known and respected. I can trust you;
but I must say that your friend or acquaintance, Johu
Cheetum, has shown himself to me to be a tricky, cun-
ning, avaricious, merciless rogue. And I have dene with
him, at any rate.”

“You have had business with Mr. Cheetum, then?”
queried Judge Benham (who didn’t kuow all about it, of
course.)

“Oh, yes, judge," said Pearl. ‘Yes. And I paid the
cunning rascal roundly too, for hisservices, from whicn
on SE ea yet realized scarcely a particle of benetit,
either.”?

And Mrs. Blanc then went into details with her newly-
found legal friend, Judge Benham, and gave him a his-
tory of her whole aifair, studiously avoiding, however,
any mention of, or allusion to, any second will or codicil.

“The will of this old gentleman—what did you say his
hame was?” asked Judge Benham.

“Hackett, judge. Alonzo Hackett.’!

“Of Boston ?”

‘Yes, judge.

‘Relative, did you say ?

“No, jadge,” faltered Pearl, slightly.
friend, judge.”? :

*Ah—yes, | see. And he wasrich, you say 7”

“So he was always estimated, judge.”

“When did he die 2?”

“Five months ago,”? said Pearl.

“So recently? An old man?!’

“No. That is, near sixty, however,’ said Pearl.

“What was the cause of his death 7”

Pearl flinched a little here, though she didn’t know she
did: and perhaps the jadge didn’t observe it, for she
quickly answered:

“I’m sure I never knew!’

“Sudden, was it ?”?

“Very, judge. Found dead in his bed, one morning.
Thougnt tobe apoplectic, I believe.”?

‘Did this occur soon after the—the—that is, alter mak-
ing his will?’ queried the judge, indifferently.

“[ think it did. 1 don’s¢remember how long, though,”’
muttered Pearl. ‘But, alter all, he was well in years,”
she added, refiectively.

“Yes—so he was. Near sixty, yousay, and inclined to
apoplexy. Yes; natural enough,” concluded Judge Ben-
ham. ‘When do you retarn to Boston, madai 7”?

“| cannot yet say, Jjadge,” replied Pearl.

“If you see my friend Mr. Cheetom, there, make my
panpaeile to him, please ?”” remarked Judge Benham,
coolly.

‘+ shall not go down immediately to Boston,” replied
Pearl. .“I have bussiness that muy detain me some days
here yet, and upon which I shall need your legal advice,
very likely, judge.”

‘I shall be happy to serve you, professionally,’ re-
sponded Judge Benham, politely.

And Mrs. Blanc left the business-office of the newly-ap-
pointed Judge of Probate, with a very exalted opinion
just then of the talents, urbanity, and good temper uf that
gentleman, though she had expressed to him very freely

   

Long time a resident there.”
A relative of yours ?? :
Afriend, an old

her honest opinion of that grey-eyed scoundrel friead of

his, who had introduced her to him; ‘Mr. John Cheetum,
of Boston !

Pearl Blanc went about the prosecutioh of the search
for Miss Maggie Mayson, directly. This was really the
object of her present business to Lowell, though she was
very glad to meet with a new Jegat adviser, in the form of
so nice &@ man, and so excellent a lawyer as Was clearly
Judge Benham, in exchange for that horrid, gray-eyed
scamp, John Cheetum, who didn’t suspect, evidently,
when lie gave her that introductory letter, that it would
be the means of her transferring her legal patronage
from him to the judge, sne reckoned.

But Pearl now felt easy in her mind. She had got rid
of “Mr. Cheetum, notary,’ she thought; and through the
aid of Judge Benham, she would scon be even with that
scoundrelly Boston lawyer, who pretended to have the
codicil te old Hackett’s will, securely locked in his safe,
at home. The eminent Judge Benham, with nr advice
and aid, and liberal means to pay for his legal services
she thought, would be quite able to “fix the flint” of the
as wre John Cheetum, whom she how supremely

ated.

Pearl had met Maggie twice at the old house in Middle
‘street, Boston; once when the girl called and found her
Uncle:Hackett dead, so suddenly—and once afterward at
the funeral, when Maggie took away with her the big old
brass-ulamped’ chest and. contents. She, therefore, knew
and remembered her.» She had never laid eyes on Muag-
gie since then, however; but now, like Harry Maitland
and the notaryywhodrewiup the wills, Pearl was very
anxious to see Maggie again.

Her plan was a very laudable one, she thought. She
wouldifind Miss,Maggie Mayson first. If there existed
any such codicil as, Cheetum had shown her a copy, of-
Maggie being therein named chief legatee, she would cer-
tainly know of it-~-and. perhaps, after all, have the genu-
ine document in her possession; malgre all that Cheetum.
had told her about his having it “in his safe at home.”’

If Maggie should thus chance fo have the real codicil,
Pearl thought she woald be able to get hold of 1t before
Cheetum could get it. If Maggie hadn't got it and didn’t
know anything of it—which was not impossible, then she
would (with the aid of Judge Benham), go at the slippery
Cheetum in earnest, and compel him, by law, to put her
in possession of what she deemed her legal rights.

But, aS yet, she had not found Miss Maggie Mayson.
And as this was a very important thing to dv, Pearl com-
menced the search forthwith and earnestly.

She went through all the factories in Lowell, one by
one, and being an extraordinarily fine looking woman,
she was paid marked attention to, by the clerks and over-
seers, who aided her assiduously,in the quest she was en-
gaged in.

By this time 80 many persons had apparently so re-
peatedly mentioned the young lady’s name at the mills,
that Miss Maggie Mayson was now better known in Low-
ell than nineteen-twentieths of all the girls that, actually
worked.in the different factories. But she wasn’t there.
And she never had been there.

Peart went about among tne young ladies, however,and
looked for the lost niece of her old friend Hackett, with
ardent zeal. She peered at the girls in the mulls, looked
under their bonnets in the streets, watched them as they
came to and went frum work, and talked with them and
inquired of hundreds of the operatives for poor little stray
Maggie, but ail to no purpose.

Unfortuuately for Pearl, Miss Maggie Mayson had never
yet been in Lowell atall, She was four miles away at
the new millin Lawrence, where she had always been.
But no one in Lowell seemed to know this fact at all.

Still it was at lengfh soggested te the lady, as it had
been on a former occasion to Harry Maitland, that possi-
bly the young woman she sought might be employed at
Luwrence. There were ® thousand girls at work in the
fuctory there. This was a new ildea. And Peari started
over to Lawrence at last.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
PEARL MISSES MAGGIE.

Maggie Mayson, meantime, had not recovered her
health as yet, though she was much better, and was ap-
parently getting along very well again. Sbe was not fit-
ted, however, by nature or her habits to occupy the pest
of a working-girl iv @ cotten-imill:in those days. It wasa
very lanorious, Wwearying, Wearing mode of life at that
time; and far too many hours were devoted to the mono-
tonous drudgery daily for a young creature like her, who
had, up to the time she went into the mill, beem all her
life at her leisure, comparatively.

the duty her whole time, and thought and energies Her
naturally beaatiful golden hair began to come out, but
she was obliged to continue to wear the skull-cap for a
long time.

Pearl arrived in Lawrence and went through the mill
there carefully. Miss ‘‘Margaret Mason’ was pvinted
outto her. ‘Did she Know the young lady ske wanted to
find? was the inquiry. “On, yes, she Knuew her.’’ She
could never torget the sweet face, and rosy cheeks, and
exquisite sunny locks of Pretty Maggie Mayson, to be
gure.

And Pearl Blanc saw her, in Lawrence, hard at work
in the mill; busily watching and dettly tending the flying
snuttles and the humming spindles—caring jor turee or
four machines at a time—dodging now here, now there,
intent upon her labors; and still attired in the dun-colored
cheap dress, and frightful round cap—and she saw nige
hundred other girls there, also. But Pearl saw no Mag-
gie Mayson!

She recognized nobody who, to her recollection of Mag-
gie, ag she had seen her, came within a mile of her good
looks—or who bore the ghest of a resemblance to her—
she insisted on returning to Loweliagain, She was sat-
isfied she wasn't there—at Lawrence —elther,

Both Pear! and Harry Maitland had given up the search,
in this direction, with the firm convicuon that some mis-
take ha@ been made, either intentiopal or otherwise, to
put them upon this wrong scent. And finally both be-
heved that Maggie had never gone into a factory to work
at all. At all events, she wag not in Lowell, or Law-
rence; they had made gure of that, beyond peradventure

fiss Pearl Blanc was disappointed, greatly. She had
supposed it would be a very easy task—should she ever
want to see Maggie Mayson again, when she separated
from ber, after Hackett’s funcral—to find her; but secret-
ly, in her own willful and wicked heart, she trusted that
she never should see her again, when Maggie took the
clumsy old brass-bound chest, and left her. For she re-
membered that she had premised her uncle Hackett,
(when she induced him to sign his will in her favor,) that
she “would take good care of Maggie; and he need not
make any special provision for her.’ But she did not in-
tend to perform this promise at alt. And she did not
care to be burthened with any such incumbrance, either,

And so Maggie got away from her, then; and Pearl was

 

very glad ofit. Whenshe wanted her, she would fad
her; but she probably nevershould. Whatcould she ever

-thing else’?

Besides this, she was very ambitious, and devoted to}.

 

 

—tnat is, she had his will for it—and that was ail she
wanted, except to obtain legal possession; this would

come, naturally, Maggie Mayson, the poor orphan-girl,
was therefore nothing to hér, and couldn’t be. . She didn’t
Kuow where she wenf, and she surely didn’t care. ff it
ever cume to be desirudle, or necessary, Pearl presumed
there would be no difficulty in finding Maggie—so she
thought, when they parted, after the faneral.

Now she had found, to her cost, that this then appa-
rently trivial matter was net so easily to be Compassed.

Pearl hunted Lowell and Lawrence through and
through; but no Maggie Mayson was there, she was satis-
fied. And, at last, she prepared to return to Boston. Her
lunds were getting low. She had expended all the money
she took with her, from home, except sufficient to pay
her expenses, by mail-coach, and she began to have fears

for the future.
*;CHAPTER XVII.
PEARL AND DAN RETIRE TO PRIVATE LIVE IN DRACUT.

The long months of a dreary, old-style New England
winter, with its interminable elongation of sleet and snow
and cheerless easterly winds, succeeded. Spring came
round at last, slowly—and poor Maggie Mayson tugged
away at her monotonous lavoer in the cotton factory,
“with fingers weary and worn,’ at times, but still plod-
ding on, dutifully, and acceptably; though it was

“Work, work, work, while the cock was crowing aloot,

And work, work, work, till the stars shone through the roof.”

There was no cessation—no let up—no recreation—no
change, ui those earlier days, in a Massachusetts mill, for
the iul-fed, lightly-paid,,and over-worked girls, whose for-
tunes placed them in this unenviable position. Still they
could earn three or four dollars a week (some of them) if
they were smart and stuck to it daily; long enough—in
each day, and week, and month—and lost no time in be-
ing sick.

What right or occasion had these poor girls to stop
work: to be sick, pray? They hadn’s any. And they
mustn't doit! They could earn three dollars weekly-—and
they had to pay out only two of it, for their board, every
Saturday night. This left them a whole dollar a week,
every week, for clothes, shoes, bonnets, doctors, medi-
cines, and other necessities. This was fifty dollars in a
year! And it was asmall fortune, you see; at least so the
corporation thought—though it is said that “corporations
fave no souls,” which must bea flat libel, certainly.

Maggie Mayson earned this, and she didn’t complain.
There were those who did grumble, however; and the
representatives of the corporation wondered ‘what those
girls could possibly do with all the money they paid
them??? Or the overseers would grumMly intorm them that
‘if tney didn’t like it, they could leave, and try seme-
Some of them could, and did. Maggie
Butit was a severe trial for her

 
  

couldn't, and didn’t.
young years, truly.

Meantime a crisis had arrived in Dan Blanc’s affairs, as
wellasinthe concerns of his estimable Pearl. Their
furniture was sold out by the sheriff at length, and the
hice estaelisument in which they had rioted in spiendid
comfort for more than six years (upon the bounty of
Peari’a late friend, Hackett) was broken up, and they
“retired to the country,’ for economy's sake.

Mr. Dan Blanc and his wife went to Dracut to reside.
This was 4 small village Iving half way between Lowell
and Lawrence.. They were foreed into this seclusion.
The eyes of the authorities in Boston were upon Dan's
movements. He had long been suspected, and ‘Old
Read,” the then chief among sinning constabies—nimself
a “rough-and-tough” of the roughest and toughest kind,
asa police officer—was upon Dan's track. And so Dan
concluded to reure from public observation for a time,
and ragticate.

His Anna street pawnbroker’s establishment was relin-
quished. Tnis foul den had long been asert of shelter
for him, and had served him to cloak his really infamous
deeds fur several years, where he bought and sold trifies
und carried en an ostensible calling, But all this was
relinquished at length. And after the breaking-up of the
household arrangements both he and Pearl deemed it
better to get out of sight for a time, and live quietly upon
the very trivial surplas left them after the sale oi the
furniture and her jewels, allof which they had parted
With from time to time.

They took asmall out of the way “‘ten-footer’” cottage
in Dracut, of plain New England model, and very an-
cient in appearance, at this time weather-worn, dulapi-
dated, moss-covered and unpresentable, but tight, ample
in size and ata very lowrent. And here they squatted
to watch for the chances. ;

It was tame occupation, however, for Dan, though for
a time his supply cf wine and brandy was uninterrupted,
even at the'sectuded old tenement they occupied, in the
then secluded and out of the way Village of Dracut.

The little ten-footer that Dan and Pearl occupied was
located on the ancient reserve called the “Wolden Farms,’’
and was quite isolated—haif a mile, at least,from any
other dwelling, It was flanked by a large heavy piece of
woodland, through which ran a busy branch of the river,
flowing from the high grounds and hills beyond, into the
Merrimack: Nobody visited them at this distant spot,
and few knew or cared about them in that sparsely occu-
pied neighborhood.

Pearl took care of what little money ehe got, or had left

‘from time to time, but though slie was now growing older

and had come to be careless of her personal appearance,
as well: as more’ reckless im her habits, yet she was sttli
very comely, and a very showy woman for her years.

Pearl came and wentjnot soften, but occasionally, to
Lowell for the purpose of conferring with Judge Benham
regarding her future prospects, or to Lawrence still to en-
quire for the lost Maggie Mayson, but without success in
either direction for a while. .

A cash customer (at one fourth the real value of the land
on which it stood) was at length found for the old house
in Middle street, Boston. And Mrs. Blanc transferred to
Judge Benham, at his suggestion, all ner right and title in
and to that tumble-down property—whatever her right
might be—by ordinary ‘‘quit-claim deed,’ for the sum of
eight hundred dollars ready. money.

The wily, but apparently honorable and upright Judge
Benham informed Mrs. Blanc that he wanted it for a client
in town, who proposed, by-and-by, to make. improve-
ments upon the land in Middle street. He was himself
the actual purchaser, and he thus got the balance of
Pearl's property into his own hands Clean, and ata right
good bargain. j

Upon these sight hundred dollars, after Judge Benham
had deducted therefrom the modest charge of one hun-
dredand eighty dollars, which he said was for notarial
aud transfer fees, and for his own valuable services in
Pearl's interest thas far, Mrs. Blanc retired once more to
the low ten-foot cottage and the delectable society of Dan.

But six hundred and twenty dollars could scarcely be

expected to last this reckless twain forever, It quickly
vegan to melt away. And this was the last of all they
had. Furniture, jewels, fine dresses, the old house in
Middle street—all were gone at last—ali but her lovely
Dan.
And to add to their troubles Dan Blanc went from bad
to worse. Ab last Pearl got nearly out of money again.
Maggie Mayson bad not been found. Pearl had gone
away down to Boston, on three different occasions, to
huntup “Mr. Notary Chectum,” in her. final desperate
strait, to see ifhe couldn’t, or wouldn't, make some ar-
rangement with, or for her—whereby she would be able
to get possession of the personal property—money, bonds,
and stecks—whatever there was belonging to the re-
mainder of old Hackett’s estate, which she continued to
lay claim to-—if she could find it—under the will in her
fuvor. :

But Pearl couldn't find even “Mr. Notary Cheetum,”
now! Hisoffice, where she had met him, was closed, and
she could obtain no clue whatever as to where he had
gone,
~ She went back to Lowell, and detailed her troubles into
the ears of Judge Benham again. But he could do noth-
ing for her, or give her any information as to where Mr,
John Cheetum could be fuand. He had not heard of, or
from him, so he informed Pearl, since he re€eived the tet-
ter she brought from him, Though he added the comfort-
ing information, for Pearl Blanc’s benefit and further he-
wilderment, that he Knew Mr. Joun Cheetum had long
been contemplating a visit to fhe Far West—and probably
he had gone there—to settle!’

This was interesting news to Mrs. Pearl Blanc, surely,
just ab this precise time, when she and Dan had got down
into the middle of the last hundred dollars they jointly
had, on earth.

But Dan Blanc continued to drink, notwithstanding.

a
CHAPILER XVII.

MAGGIR HAPPILY HITS TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE

Time flitted by. Summer came, and went—and winter
settied in again. Maggie Mayson Was seventeen years
old. Her superb stuck of golden hair grew “out again,
andif it had been possible, was finer and richer, and
more luxuriutly beautiful than ever. But stil she toiled
and lavored in tne Lawrence mill. ; 3

By the terms of the codicil of old Hackett, it will be
borne in mind, that Mr. John Cueetam, Notary, of Boston,
had been named as Maggie’s guardian, during her minor-
ity. In another year, Maggie would be eighteen, when,
vy the law then in vogue 10 Massachusetts, the female be-
cume legally “of age;’”? and when the proposed guardian-
ship of Mr. Cheetam would naturally cease, of course.
if the coaicil were not forthcoming prior to Maggie’s
eighteenth birthday, Mr. Cheetum would have no duty to
perform for his proposed ward, inasmuch as she would
them be competent to take possession of any property left
her, in her own person.

Nobody kuew these facts better than Judge Benham
did. But, when he accepted the guardianship, he in-
tended, secretly, (should Hackett die, seasonably, to get
possession, as guardian, and make over, Or pay over to
Maggie, so much (or so little) of the great estate, as he
pleased to bestow on the legatee, whom he thought he
should find no aifficuity in managing, to his mind.

But the codicil was gone. Time was rapidly passing
away. Maggie could not be found. Perhaps she was
dead! Abt if this could only have happened, Mr. John
Cheetum was all right—provided he eould find the codicil,
however. :

‘As to the disguise, and the false name, he could readily
mahuge that, if required todo so. But he had no idea, of
running any risk in that direction. The property itself
was now where he alone knew it to be deposited, for the
most part; and it was of such a nature that he concluded
he could getitinto his hands—with properly prepared
papers, which he knew how to draw up, and sign, and
seal—vithout being obliged to go into court with them,
as John Cneetum. He was a Judge of Probate, too, him-
self, and “dog don't eat dog,” he said to himself. :

But Judge Benham was very desirous to find Maggie
Mayson, as soon as possible, now. There was yet ample
time to carry out his plan, fully. A great. deal of legal
roguery can be accomplished in farless time than a full
year, tobe sure. He wanted to satisfy himsetf, by con-

 

 

 

 

ferring with Maggie, as to whether she had the codicil; if
not, then it must be found, or a duplicate must be manu-
factured—or something must be done. Until he could see
the legatee, he didn’t care to move, of course, for he
didn’t know how soon the real document might turn up,
to stare him in the face, and confound him, should he
move prematurely. And thus the notary’s, or nominal
guardian’s hands, were compietely tied. :

Judge Benham had about got through with Mrs. Pearl
Blanc, however. He was very tired of her importunity,
and ske had no mure money to fee him with. He knew
this fact. As to entering into any conspiracy wilh ker—a
plan she had recently more than once darkly hinted at—
it was simply absurd in his view; forthe samereason
that operated to deter him from taking possession, upon
forged papers, alone—namely, thatif the codicil should
ever turn up, he would be held accountable for all that he
assumed to possess himself of, even though he got it upon
Pearl's will. For the moment the rightfal heir and the
genuine codicil should be produced, le would be obliged
to yleld. And whatever Pearl might have received as’her
share of the *‘thirty pieces of silver,’’ he would be called
on to pay, because she would very likely by that time
have squandered her share of the plunder, or was surely
smart enough to put it where he would never see a dollar
oe again, if she were so fortunate as to get it.

oO.
except to watch her sharply. Andasshe didn’t know
him, only as her friend Judge Benham, he could do this
at his leisure. And after waiting and watching and hunt-
ing for over eighteen months from the time of Old Hack-
ett's death, while Pearl and Dan were “at low ebb’? in
their finances, and still residing in the little old ten-footer

at Dracut, the late notary (now Judge of Probate) be- |

thought him of a new expedient—which he adopted—to

further his purposes; and the following brief advertise-

ment appeared one cay in the Boston Weekly Gazette:
“TO THE NEXT OF KIN.

“The relativesof the late Alonzo Wackett, gentleman, de-
ceased, at Boston, will hear of something to their advantage by
addressing John Cheetuim, Notary, Esq., Bosten, Mass. Or ii Miss
Maggie Mayson is alive, she will please address as above, stat-
ing where she may now be heard from or communicated with.”

The late notary had thought of this plan long before,
but he wasn’t ready until now to adopt this course. He
wanted to see Pearlin a position where she couldn’t trou-
ble him farther, for he Knew that she would quickly run
through whatever she could get; and now he knew that
this had come round. Peart had. no means to travel
about with; he could go down quietly to Boston after a
few days, and if there were any answers to his advertise-
ment he would get them and examine them, and act on
them, all by himself, without annoyance or importunity
from anybody. * ‘

There were at that time but few newspapers circulated,

compared with the number issued daily and weekly at
the present day. There was the Middlesex County paper,
however, into which whis advertisement was also insert-
ed two weeks. And afterten or twelve days the adver-
tiser went down from Lowell to Boston to see what this
“card” had done for him—if anything.
_ Inthe meantime, this peculiar advertisement appear-
ing in the county paper drew the notice of the Lawrence
corporation clerk to it, and he at once called Maggie's at-
tention to it, for he had sometime since, at her request,
corrected the spelling of her name on his books, and re-
membered it.

Maggie Mayson’s experience in Boston, if will not have
been forgotten, had been none of the pleasantest. she
didu’t like Boston. She didn’t like the men there—and
especially the man she met there who purchased her
trumpery for the little shop in Ann street.

Now as to this advertisement—she didn’t comprehend
itatall. It was very ambiguous. “Something to their
advantage”? was all very well; but she didn’t see through
it. She “had been abused by one Boston man, and she
shouldm’t run any risk again. This advertiser might be
the same man. Probably is was. What a horrid name,
too—‘John Cheetum! His very signature condemned
him. He wouldn't cheat her.

Thus Maggie argued to herself, all alonein her little
low chamber, with the advertisement before her, which
she a brought home from the mill, after her long day’s
work.

Beside this, she was well enough off as she was. She
was getting her living, and as long as she had her health
and strength she didn’t want ‘anything to her advan-
tage’) more than she had. At all events, nobody would
get her at a disadvantage now, if she knewit. She had
grown older since she was in Boston. No—she would not
notice this advertisement herself, at all. :

But a sweet little scheme should grow out of this, she
concluded.

“I will hit two birds with one stone,’’ she murmured,
triumphantly.

For months Maggie had been racking her delicate
brain, when she wasn’t in her factory labors, to in some
proper way get word to the Maitlands as to her present
location, and’ afford them, and Harry, eSpecially, if they
desired it, the opportunity to come to see, or to commu-
nicate with her. Now the chance had been thrown most
unexpectedly and happily into her hands to do this.

And she would’ avail herself of it. She could now do
this—though with a double motive, it is trne—without
immodestly intruding herself upon their notice; and at
the same time She could Jearn what the advertisement
meant, if anything, through this means. And so Maggie
sat down that very night, all alone in her’ lithe room,

and after no little trepidation wrote the following letter,.

just to see how it would look, you know, but not to send
it to anybody until! she had carefully examined it, and
perhaps not at ail. :

But this is what Maggie Mayson wrote:

“LAWRENCE. Mass., ——-— ———, 18-—.

“Year Sir:—I have for some time desired to hear from your
kind-hearted family, to whom I was a long while since indebted
ior a favorin my need—and particularly: to know that your
pretty sister and yourself are well and. happy.

“Tam living in Lawrence now, | If oo come up here again
1 hope you will recognize me. You did not when, you were

here more than a year ago. You passed me twice without
speaking then.

“he principal object of my taking the liberty to you now—
and I beg you will excuse it—is to inclose you a singular adver-
tisement to which my attention has to-day been directed by a
young gentleman here, in connection wilh my name, and to
ask you, if it be not. toa troublesome, when you are in Boston,
to call on this Mr. Cheetum, (whose name I don’t like) and see
what it means.

“And you can, ask him to write me what he wants, if you
please, for I will not trouble youtoreply, unless you have
leisure, for you must be very busy in town, I know.

“And with my kind regards to your sister, Matty, and the
rest, I remain yours, truly,

“Magers Mayson.

“To Mr. Harry Mairuann, Boston, Mass.”

For a first attempt ata business love-letter, Maggie
thought this wouid answer, after reading it over four or
five times, She thought the third paragraph of this com-
munication, to “the young gentleman here’ was very
good. Then when she had got the line in about request-
ing Mr. Cheetum to write her, and proposing notto trouble
Harry to do so, “unless he had leisure,’ she thought it
very good.

But then Maggie was an honest, simple-hearted girl,
and she was all alone, and she was very innocent in this
self-praise.

Next day, when the mail went from Lowell it took this
letter from Maggie to “Harry Maitland, Esq., Boston.”

When Miss Maggie returned from the mill, on the even-
ing after she had dispatched this ictter, she wens to her
room again hnmediately, and opening the old brass-
bound chest where she kept everything under lock and
key, she drew forth the copy she had taken of this mis-
sive, which she read over once more,

“7 hope he will net: think this bold in me,” she said, to
herself, “I’m sare there is nothing in it thatisn’t busi-
ness like, unless,” (she smiled when she murmured this)
“he may think I don’t want him to answer it himself,
and that L was in earnest when Il asked him to tell that
horrid Mr. Cheetum to doit. But we shall soon see,”
she continued, turning to the little black-framed looking-
glass again to learn how she looked, When she con-
cluded: ‘Suppose he should come up himself, instead of
writing ?*?

Maggie felt really very happy justnow. She was in
high health and never looked prettier in her whole life.
It was along, loug time since she had seen any one in
whom she took any interest particularly.

This advertisement had had the effect of affording the
advantage of an vupportunity to communicate with her
friends, 1f they still remained friends, and that was some-
thing, at any rate. She had no idea what it meant. She
noticed her Uncle Hackett’s name in it too, but that
might refer to a hundred other relatives beside herself,
surely. And she was only a niece, any way. It wasa
little thick, she thought, but she did want to hear from
Harry Maitland.

Perhaps Harry was married?

And then again perhaps he was not. :

This second thought really pleased her the best. She
would soon learn, perhaps, If he didn’t write to her she
would at least know that he didn’t care anything about,
or had forgotten her.

Thus Maggie thought, and mused, and argued to her-
self all alone in her little low chamber—and finally she
went to bed, and to sleep, and enjoyed delightful dreams,
and arose next morning and went to work as cheerfully
and as earnestly as ever, in the everlasting cotton mill in
Lawrence.

Tne mail took Maggie’s* letter that night, an@ Harry
Maitland was: startled almost out of his boots next day
busone after it was written, upon opening it, (when he
arrived in town from Milton) to find at the bottom of this
sheet, in a fair, round hand, the signature, which he pe-
rased first of *‘Mageie Mayson.”?

“She’s alive!? shouted Harry, jumpiag wildly up.

‘Who's alive?” queried his partner, gazing at him cu-
riously, a8 he uttered this queer exclamation, and noting
his excited manner.

“Of course, she’s alive, said Harry, “er she couldn't
have signed this letter. Let’s see what it is.”

And Harry proceeded to devour the contents of that
sheet of paper with a gusto that he had never yet en-
joyed in @ similar performance,

{To be Continued.]
oa ee
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He would have nothing todo with Pearl Blane, |

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Friday; December 31.1869
LIST OF PRIZES.

 

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NEBRASEA REGISTER,

 

   

 

 

 

 

    

   
  
 
 

   
   
    
 
   
  
 
   
 

A nine-column Democratic Journal, published weekly
Brook Neb. The BEST ADVERTISING M
] $2.00

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

we will pay”

 

HARRY VANE AND NELIIE GRAY.

 

BY MRS. SOPHIA P. SNOW.

Within a wild, sequestered nook,

Where murmurs low the babbling brook,
And where the flowers of Antumn hide
In modest beauty by its side,

Beneath the larch tree’s humble shade,
In gold and erfmson leaves arrayed,

Two lovers sat at close of day, ;

Young Harry Vane and Nellie Gray. :

In earnest tones they talked of love,
And he, by all the Powers Above,
Swore to protect the form from harm
That rested on his circling arm;
And as she bowed her drooping head,
In tender tones he softly said,
“ When Spring comes langhing o’er the plain,
Then you shall be sweet Neltie Vane."

Just twenty years have passed away
Since Harry Vane and Nellie Gray,
Within that wild, sequestered nook,
Where murmured low the babbling brook,
Pledged to each other life and love, .
Heard only by the Ear above;

But where are now those lovers twain,
Sweet Nellie Gray and Harry Vanef

Unmindful of the promise made

Beneath the larch tree’s humble shade,
He broke his vows, his honor sold,

To win the hand that brought him gold.
When Spring came laughing o'er the plain,
Another bride had Harry Vane,

Whieh stole the bloom of roses gay

From off the cheeks of Nellie Gray.

How many hearts the story know,
The same olé tak of sin and woe,
Instead of the averted eye,
Men doff their hats as he goes by;
-Forhe, the haughty millionaire,
Has gold enough, and some to spare.
* So allto him their homage pay, .
Who broke the heart of Nelhe Gray,

And thus, O world, you sanction sin;
*Twill ever be, has ever been.

Had he but used the glittering steel,
The halter’s tightning hold he'd feel;
But as it is, you cause no stain

To rest on men like Harry Vane;

For honors fall on him to-day,

And summer dews on Nellie Gray!

 

BH

FALSE HEIR;

OR,

THE BELLE OF THE SEASON.

BY MRS. HARRIET LEWIS.

“The False Heir” was commenced in No. 41. Back numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mure Hall, the residence of Dr. Muze and his brother. stood a
short distance from the sca Coast, In & desoate and thiuly-set-
tled region.

It was'a large and rambling edifice, built of stone, and two
stories in hight, and possessed a wing ot more modern archi-
tecture. ‘Lhe tali chimneys, the many gables, the dormer win-
dows, the narrow doors, all proclaimed tue age of the main
structure. The wing possessed no doors opening upon the
grounds, and. its windows were smait square apertures, cvyi-
cently near the ceilings of the rooms to whi h they were in-
tended to furnish light. These windows were providea with
narrow iron bars; painted white, which were not perceptible
from the grounds, ; '

The hall was surrounded by a profuse growth of g'oomy trees,
which grew closeto the building, shading it completely trom
view. Outside this circle of foliige was a green lawn, sprinkled
with clumpsof trees, and having in its center a small fountain.
This lawn was protected by a hizh stonewall, an@ was used by
the patients of the establispment in their daily exercise. A
few flowers gave it brightness, and, rendered i an attractive
feature to the friends of the inmates. d

In the rear of the hall flourished a vegetable garden, where
none of the patients were allowed to walk, it being shut in only
by a simpié hedge of ordinary hight.’

A few fields behind the garcen belonged to the hall. and
furnished cereals for the consump.ion of the doctor’s large
family.

On eae side of these fields stretched a barren, rocky shore; on
the other, fertile meadows, and still further inland, at a dis-
tance of afew miles, villages and towns.

The estate, which, underiis present tenant, was called Mure
Hail, was quite smail,and belonged to a wealthy nobleman,
who knew very little, ot the doctor, but who was very: well
pleased with his prumpt payments and improvements of the

 

ace.
y Within the mansion was presented a strong contrast to the
pleasant lawn. There was 4 prison-look about the bare, uncar-
peted halis, and particularly about the doors opening trom
them, these doors being each provided with an open panel,
closely grated, through which a keeper could survey the occu-
pantoftheroom. _ f

None’ but male patierts were admitted to the hall,and these
all had gveater or lessidiosyncrasies, many ot them ‘eing harin-
less and gentle. To these latt r, Mrs. Mure, the housekeeper,
and wife of Caleb Mure, the manager, was unitormly kind, avd
she managed to mitigate the severity of their lot by the pleas-
ures of the table, and by hersympathizing manner. These harm-
less patients, many of whom: recovered under the +kill of tne
doctor, and the kindness of his brother’s wife. and were then
sent home, occupied the main buiding. The more-violent in-
mate, or those whom it was deemed necess:ry to guard more
closely, and keep enti ely secluded, were kept cunfiued in the
wing, where Mrs. Mure was never allowed to make her appear-

nee. ‘

The staff of servan's was moderately iarge, the esteblishment
paying its proprictors handsomely, und its present reputation
wus very goog, the inspect. rs having re orted more than ouce
very favoratly of the remarkably huniane treaunent accorded
o itginmates

Bui, thep, they had never been behind the scencs,

Dr. Mare, it was true, wore a velvet giove, but it concealed a
haad of iron. Sume of the patients never discovered him to be
other than gentle. and these were loud in his praise to visirors;
but 1o others he was an inearnation cfr cruelty. »mong these
letter Was the strunge togitive who had appeakd to Walter Lo-
raine,

The sun had not fully arisen when the wacon, ecntaining the
prisoner and his captors, turn-d into the grounds belonging to
the hall; } ut, early as Was the hour there were two or tpree
wild. ooking, sleepicss faces pressed against the painted grat-
ings1oca ch a glimpse of the new arrival The tli k sotiave ct
the irees prevented theic succes, however, and the next miu-
ule the wagon stopped betore tlre iront door.

Cramp sprang out, ani sounded the missive knocker, and
then returned to :ssist rhe prisoner from his seat.

the knock was speeally answered ty the appearance of a
keeper, woo hastened to ale Cramp with the ca;tive.

“So you've got him. docior?”’ excl.imed ine keeper, in a
tone of satisfaction. ‘Weil suonteach him terun away!”

“Stop, Horley! No violevec!” conm: nied te doctor
“Smith must be taken care of—good care of—mind youl” ss

Horley arched bis brows inturprise, but aglenece wt the doc-
ter ass rea him thatthe order was to be obeyeu, and his move-
ments instantly becaine More gent €,

Tne } osition of tbe sate tugitive at Mure Hal! had sJways been
unbearuble. He bad ben ibe scapegoat of the<stsblishmen’,
the butt of every keeper's i} -humory, and the j articu‘ar cbject
of the doctor’s crue lti-s apd herspness,

Jt seemed strange, therefore, that “good care” was henceforth
to be taken of hun.

He was assisted into the house by Cramp ana Worley, preced-
ed by the doctor, and followed by the manager. Thus guarded
he was conducted into a waiting room at ou side
dor, and placed upon a seat_

“How do affairs geton, Horley 7?’ asked the doctor; when
Crau!p had disappeared, and the younger Mure had departed to
announce his arrival to his wiie. “Have things cone all right
during my absence?

“Ailrizghtsir. But we expected you hack before this time,
sir. I’vesent Cramp every morning to the coast to look tor you,
as Vou direcied gs

“Very vood, Horley. The patients are all as well as usnal ?”

“Yeox, sir. Number five is recovering, tir—hasn’t had any at-
tack since you went away.”

“)'l] write to his friends to-lay, then. He has quite recovered.
The corner-r 1 in the wing Is not occupied t”

Jioriey rep in the negative.

“Prepare it then, Jor Smith, and see that he is got into it im-
mediateiy. As you go up to atlend toit, give the order f
breakfast. At thes «me time, order a break‘ast for the
seamen, who will be here directly, and then rend them E
They ought tobe able to take something handsome tu market
this week z
Horley bowed and withdrew.

The doctor took afew turns about the room, looked at his
razed irumthe window, and then went mito a litie
ining, which seemed to be asort of laboratory, aud
elves laden with bottles of medicines.
1oment he was leit dione, the dull look vanished from
mers face, and was succeeded by one of the secnest de-

,

of the corri-

   

 

 

  

 
   

 

 

   
  
  
    

  

  
  

ight of those
tural apath -
s banucufis,

walisreemed to arouse h’m from
s breast heaved convulsive ind
vainly cndeavoringto pa

shall

     

ever h

a at

 
  

oped and pulled
zeiher in

 

effor
ner

i 3 s *v
ead jall upon his breast,

      

 

aching footsteps of Horley
on his coat-sieeve, ar
w the keeper aj
docter ft”
0

} upon a pile of mattr

i whieh it would be hy

 
 
 

  

   
  

 

 

 

new comer was greeted with derisive shouts and exclamations
of pity. ; :
be “end-room” was soon reached, the prik
the deor locked upon him, and he had ags
among Maniacs as one of them. es
The room in which he now tound himself
before occupied, and be gave a momentary
2 hope it is unne State. 3
yere Was bat 2 > window, and. this, tke the. others in
the wing, Was ite beyond the reach. ofa man
of ordinary hig as unesarpeted, and the furni-
ture very simp of alow bed Inone cerner made
a couple of cushions to sit upen, and a
s were of some hard weod,. through
possible te cut, hada Knife been at hand

 
 

mer thrust inside,
m taken his place

  

was one he never
ance, With what

   
 
   
    
   
   
 

       

 
    

washstand. The w
for the purpose. j :

The prisoner tettered across the floor, bis ehain, clanking at
his heels, and sank dewn upon the little bed, \

“Sr T haa only teld my stery te Walter Loraine!” he moaned,
in an almost inaudible tone. | “It I bad only tuld him the place
otiay longimprisenment! Perhaps he might have rescued me,
Bu _ lam now buried ative!”

The tears he had. checked when in_the wailting-room burst
forth again, and he gave way to » wild burst of weeping, sub-
bing forth hisanguish in a way that would have sottencd the
hardest heart, could it have deen witnessed.

Socn after leaving the returned fugitive, Horley returned
3 his master, and announced inat his breakfass was uwaiting

him.

“Shall I take something to Smith, sir?’ he asked. “Shall I
put him en his usual diet of bread and water and oameal
gruel, sir???

“No, Horley.
you about his food.
about it.’’

As the doctor turned to proceed to the breakfast-room, the
keeper smued broadly a. his iast remark, and aisappeared to
attend to his duties.

‘rhe breakfasic-room was a neat and rather pleasart apart-
ment, profusely furnished, and contained at the moment of tae
doetor’s eutrance his brother and his brother's wile.

Mrs. Mure was an ordinury-Jooking woman, evidently kind-
hearted, and f nd of table luxuries.

She wasseated ut the hexd of the table when the doctor en-
tered; and 8 vacant'chairat the foot awaited his occupancy.

The doctor howed to his sister-in law, ana took his sent,
glancing over the tuble wih the look of an epicure who was
very well satisfird.

the coffee—real Java—gave forth a fragrant odor, the beef
steak was smoking hot, ana done to & turn, the buitered toast
was of a most delicate brown bue, and a joint of mutton stood
at one side for those who preferred cold ian 3.

The trio ha@ eaten some time in silence, when the ycunger
Mure asked:

“Have you ordered anything for Smith, doctor?”

“not yet,’ was toe reply.

“But he had nothing to eat all day yes‘erday,” said Galeb.
“You know'he wouldn'‘teat.. He willstarve to death ””

“On, nol” responded the doctor, coolly, “iis spirit may get
broken—that’s all, t's singular to me that at hasnt broken
long ago. Viltake up his breakfast when 1 have finfshea my
own.

Tne manager was silenced, and Mrs. Nure stood too much In
awe of her vrother-in-law to venture # remoustrance against
his. course %

When he had finlshed his breakfast, the doctor cut a slice
from the joint offmatton, rang tor some stale bread, which he
considered healthrul for any one cxcept bimself, and, with
these and a mug of ale, departed to visit the captured fug!-

 

When I have hac my breakfast, PM speak with
Tam hangry new, and can’s be annoyed

tive,

He found him lying upon his bed, faint and weak from the
v.olence of his Lite emotions, as well as from wane oF food,

The prisoner made no ¢ffort to arise a) on the entrance of the
doctor. On the contrary, .e took no nouice uf him—not even
appearing to see hin.

T: was remaraad.e that during his years of captivity, under
all the cr uelties to Which he had been subjected, he had al ays
conducted himself with an unfailing dognity, pever showing. an-
geror emotion at the Keepers or any one, and never once fall.
ing to conduct himself us a trve genleman,

‘The doctor's manner was not without respect to his prisoner.
but this respect was an involuntary tnbute which he would
have teit asvamed to exhibit betore a third person.

“Here 13 your breakiast, Smith,’ he smd, placing the tray
upon the cushions that served instead of chalrs—cbairg being
convertible into pevans of defense, and thereiore not used ly
the patients at Mure Hall—ai d pushing them toward ihe bed.
“I wills ay here while you eat it.” :

The prisoner Inage'no reply.

“Why don't yowanswer?” demanded the doctor, with some
a “Are you not hungry ?”?

‘ne prisoner languidly unclosed his oyes, glanced at the doc-
tor, and then said, quietly:

“are you speaking to me ?”?

“Tam. | Who cise is there here?”

“Smithinot being my name, I do not answer it,;’? remarked
the captive.

“Number Eight, then, since you prefer that style of address,”
said the doctor, with a smile. “I am sure you must be very
hungry atter yesterday’s tas , mv lurd--—”

He paused, and bit his lips, ay if annoyed at the title that had
escaped them. :

“You believe me at last, doctor? You know that I am the
person whom Ihave solong declared myself to bey”?

“I know. vostch thing,” replied the doctor, coolly. ‘I was
but pumoripg your munia by calling you by a tittle. I did It
simply to test you,” he added. “I wanicd tosee if I could dis-
cernin you some glimpse of returning reasou.’ But you still
deny that you are Jolin Smith.”

Asmile.of contempt and scorn curved the lips of the prisoner
as he listened to this explanation. He telithatic was false—
tnat the doctor believed his story.

“You know that I ain'not in ane, Dr. Mure,” he said, repress-
ing his indignation. “You know tbat my vitle aud fortune have
been usurped, and that T have been piaced bere under a false
name aaa luvatic. You know all this! Ido not appeal to your
mercy. Ihave done that too often. I wish to say to you, what
Lhave said.a hundrea times—I cuh pay you betier than my en-
emy does, if you willset me free. I willeven aid your escape
from England, that justice may be bafiied.’”

“Enough!” declared the doctor. ‘You had better eat your
breakfast!"

His tone made the suggestion a command, ard the hd
ceased his pleadings, although his eyes suvdenly flashed with a
spirit vw bich all his sufferings had failed to subdue.

Asthe younger Mure had said, the cuptive had eaten nothing
during the preceding day.

The’ scream that Aad alarmed Walter Loraine had been ut-
tered by him atthe m: ment of his capture, We had been taken
inland, on a wogon that waited near, and had been conveycd
to.2 country ion, where he had been ullowed toxpenk to no
one. His disappointment at nut escaping hat ceprived him of
Suppei and now, fur the first time ince his capimre, he felt

esirve for food.

heaching out hishand as feras he could, despite its incum-
brance, he lif edjthe mug of ale to, his livs, and drank frecsy,
He shen devoured his bread and meat with apparent relish, aid
resumed hs reclining posiion. )

The doctur appeared Inc.ined to conciliate him, seating him.
self on aeushion at a litde distar.ce, und endeavoring tv open a
conversation with him. Jt was nor becau e the prisoner’s wild
aud haggard countenance ¢xcited his pity—he wusteo much
accustumed to such taces—it was) ot because he hoped to gain
anything from him, bus because he believed his +t. ange story,
and coud not resist indulging in his curivsiry by conversing
with him.

Butthe captive seemed to divine his thoughts, and wag un-
usually reserved aud taciiurn. No managemcnt of the doctor
cou dinduce himio repeat the story of his wrengs, already so
familiar to both the Mures, nor indulge in denunciations of his
evemy.

‘uf you don’t wantto talk, you needn't,” said the doctor, st
length, arising. ‘there's iu forcing of paticnts 10 do whut
taey den’tlike to duviu my estab i bent. Youree, Smith,” be
added, “your new room isimuch better and pleasater than
the old. You wilt also find itealer. Nu getting cut of thut win-
dow, you'll tind ””

“S nce ihe room isin jtself so strong.’’ said the captive, “1
hope you’ i have the gocduess tu remove thes fetters.”’

The doctor spor k bis hh. ad.

‘Extra ores ns are necessary in your ense,” hesaid. “Tf
Tw: re tuo leave your person at liberty, would you give me your
word of honor net to attempt an escape yr?

“No,” responded tne captive. “but,” be sdded, with al itter
smis», “wratis the werd of « Janauc Worth? Lou pretwud to
think me ajunatic, youk owt’

The doc or bit his tps, + pd said, hurriedly:

“Youstay as yeuare. Snith! You peed make no mere ap-
peais to my leniency 1’

He turned abiuptly. picked un the tray, and left the recom.
The prisoner head him doublesovk the cvuvur, and then the
sound of his fooiste) 8 dying outin the corrico .

“Now Lam indeed alone!” he muttered, sadly. “My old im-
prixon ent bas begun veain, Oh. my eluid, my daughter! Ic
youcouli tot Buow tbat your iatner eit Mises, bow quickly
you v ould fiy ts rescue mel?

A sudden ziow lizgnied up his worn and waated fearures, look.
ing like the play of firelichtupon a satuc; bucit quykly faded,
leaving h sface More pue 2 sod than te tore,

He permitted his thoughts to revert to the past—a ral ject hie
had been wontiosvoid, lest?) sneuld Cxcite him to the 4 itech of
Inaoness—and tender memorics fivvded his soul, gutteniog Lis
unrverved Lesrt.

*-[ will wake avother effort to escape!” he ericd, at length.
Wih kindilig yese ution.
cupghcin an attempt to escape. On the one Ineanid, my dau. n-
ter, wy freed 3, wy fries, wll temi tie 1 exertevery « fort,
and reg in wy treedoml bave tee purse of mio y sti,
heard the docicr say tout Marks cou.d be |ribed, anal know
Warks is the keeper of tus ward. Yes, yes, will hope! I
may escape yet!”

He seaied nimself vpon the edge of his couch, an1 fixed his
gaze upon the grated j aiei iu the Coor, wWalungs w feverish
eageruers for ne appearance of the keepers visuge ut the aper-
ture.

~

CHAPTER XXX,

of Loraine, Rosenbury returned to his
been recorded. He tound them envaged
, Which was not broken off at his en-
trance, but it wag plain that lis presence threw a restraint over
the little pariy. Walter could not torget or excuse Raymond's
recent insult tu his ladyshiy, and Lady Rosenbury and the Laay
Geraldine felt a seniiment of indignation against his sui Jidsat

ship jor his patronizing inanner toward tie youn artiet.
Rosenbury, however, pretended not to-notice their coldness,
joined in the conversation occasionally, aichough the no.ice
ti he received was scarcely satisiaciory. He was strongiy
to make further aliussons to the vieit of Colie Lerai
ude soine patrouizing promisesto Walter, but he wisely
ifrom yielding to ithe temptation. He te-red jest he
might say too moch, and in someway betray lis own secret re-
tor.

lationship to his late
ecret identity had grown to be ever-

  
  
    

After the departure
mother’s guests, as ha
in cheeriul cony f

   

      
 
    

   

 

   
  

ixciousness of his

   
    
   

t with Rosenbury, and he had grown to weigh every word
f her ladiyship, with the fear of detecti SOI

      

He feared to leave her alone wi
lion should turn upon Walter's re
Lord Rosenbury, or some natural instinet

hip that Walter was her own son.
Wasiulivt retribu-

of wrongdoing

he truth

     

 

    
  

 

   
    

  

    

   
    
  
 

 

 

   

Ce.
ara ¢
aracter of

    
   
       
  
  
  

  
 
 
 
    

‘
hundre

 

although

405

Sinenia

his

   

   
 
 
 

   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

“My lac can feareely be we rse, if

   
     
   
   
 

 

   

 
     
 

Sote Walter, and he felt he could }
t large a © PRwe for which he had sold his |
| honor and hategrity. s determined that not a penny of |
; her wealth should go teany one beside himself. But if the |
} artist were tomarry the Lady Geraldine, he would probably
receive a large sum from Lady Rosenbury as gq wedding pre
sent. That was ene reason fer preventing the proposed mar |
riage.

Another and equally powerful reason was Rosenbury’s leve .
for the charming belle. The flreef his passion had received |
new fuel from the tact that she seemed unattainable.. That she |
did net leve him, that she had rejected him and ‘preferred an
other, gave her an additional value in lis eyes, And he was
more than ever determined te win her. He hoped to marry
her, and in se duing te completely erush the dreaded Walter, |
and drive him in despair trem his native country,

He felt that then, and not til then, should ne be perfectly
Sue. ;

Walter once gone, he fancied he could inspire Geraldine with
resignation to her lot, and evem prevent Lady Rosenbury from
making a will in the arust’s favor.

But hew were these—to hin—desirable ends to be brought
about?

He turned the subject over and ever in his mind, and finally
decided upon a plan ef action that seemed to him feasible, al
though it consisied in getting rid of Waher immediately, and
wedding the Lady Geraldine in his absence.

TheJovers remained to dimner, and sven after the maiden
proposed to take her depariure,

“You will remember, my dear,” said Lady Rosenbury, “that
you Can meet Walter here at any time without impropriety.
regard you both as my ‘enildren, and delight in nothing \ more
than to make you happy. Tahink it wil be quite right for you
toevade your uncle's nyjustice by meeting here openly and giten,
There need be nothing Clandestine about it?

These remarks were made i the boudoir to the lovers before
the return of Lord Rosenbury froni the table, where he lngeree
over his wine, and both warmly thanked her lidyship tor her
uyterestin thelr behalf

Walter offered his services as escort to Geraldine, as a matter
of course, and the maiden hastened to attire hervelf in bonnet
and mantel for the street.

She was scarcely ready, when Rosenbury entered the apart-
ment.

“Going so soon, Lady Geraldine?” he sald, in a tone of disap-
pointment. “Ef hoped you would brighten our evening by re-
mainmeyg with us,’

Geraldine replied by thanking him,

Rosenbury noticed that Walter had prepared to accompany
his betrothed, and continued:

“Allow me to escort you home, Lady Geraldine, if you prefer
to walk.” ‘

BE HOCOIRY will accompany me, thank you,’? was the gen-
tle reply.

“Yam quite sure that the earl would prefer that T should go
With you,’ persisted Rosenbury.

“LT consult my own preferences, your lordship, and not the
earl’s,” returned the maiden, with spirit.

Rosenbury bivhis lip, and said no more on the subiect, but he
inwardly resolved that the Lady Geraldine shouldsuftet tor his
present humiliation when she became his wile.

- Walter and his betrothed soon took an afiectionate leave of
Lady Rosenbury, ater accepung an invitation to spend the next
evening With ber, and they hud scarcely departed when Rosen-
bury himself lett the house.

Tustead of taking his brougham, he went to the nearest cab.
stand, entered one of the vebicles, and gave the order to be
driven to Kensington, to the lodgmgs of Loraine,

It was necessary that in his newly-conccived plan against
Walter he should have a confederate and assistant, and he de-
termined to use Loraine to carry out his purposes. He was by
tar too cautions to place himselt In ihe power of any strange in.
dividual, and he believed that by threai and promises he could
make an able co-operator of Loraine.

On arriving at his destination, he found that Loraine was
domiciled in a very neat three-story house, in a very good
neighborhood. Dismissing the cab, he sounded the knocker
himself, and waa admitted by a respectable-looking elderly wo-
mann a cap and spectacles,

“ts My. Loraine at home tf” he asked,

“Ves, sir)? Was the reply. “We has just come in,
walk up? He has thé first floor, sir.”

Rosenbury accepted the invitation to ascend, and passed up a
narrow flight of stairs, ghted by a lamp whieh bung trom the
hall-ceiling, and found himself on the narrow landing of the first
floor, which consisted, by the way, of two rooma only,

Atier announcing his approach by a knock at the door, Rosen.
bury entered, and found biinsell da the sitting-room, and in the
presence of Loraine. :

The room was very neatly furnished, and well lighted, and in
the center of it, upon the carpet, sat its peaprioior, with avery
perplexed expression upon his rublcund visage, while around
him were heaped piles of garinents, beside boots, bottles, ete,,
sufficient altogether to fill several liurge trunks, and before hin
lay u single small portmanteau,

he seemed to Rosenbury that the color in Loraine’s cheeks
were several degrees deeper than on his late visit to Rosenbury
House, from which indication he rightly judged that he had vis
ited one or more of hig tavorite tayerns on his woe home,

Loraine looked up at Rosenbury’s entrance, and his perplexed
look gave way to one of surprise. :

“Pos'ble, my ludl’ he ejaculated, making an ineffectual at-
tempt to rise. “Come in, m’ dud. Dom’ honor.””

Rosenbury closed the dvor behind him, and sat down near his
host, whereupon the latter's manner changed, and he said,
familiarly:

“Un'stand
gettin’ up. buch bother pack,
vO Mito V'lise.””

He looked about him helplessly, as well he might, consider.
ing the impossible nature of the task he had undertaken, and
then he turned toward his visitor, ag if he expected him to come
to his relief.

“Yoo much clothes for v'lise, or too little v’lise for clothes,”
he remarked, by way of eliciting ald. “Yowre # keen Mla,
Raymon’--s' pose oo pack ’em, eh?”

Rosenbury hastily declined the task, adding:

“Stay. Leave your packing. I have something to say to you
that will change your planssomewhat.”

om eeey i ejaculated Loraine, struggling to his feet, and
raining achair. ‘Talk ’way.’?

“Do you know what you are about?’ demanded Rosenbury.
“T can't talk with a tipsy man--—’’

‘Tipsy 1” interruptea Loraine, ‘Scorn imputation, Sober as
you are. Jesttry me. Want see me walk seum in carpet?”

Rosenbury declined subinitting hint to this test, and re-
marked, impatiently:

“You know you've been drinking-——”

“Well, whatif Lhave? Free couutry, ’Nough left for you,
if that’s what you’re riled at. Yes, stepped into tavern tor jas’
drop ‘fore leavin’ 1’miliar scenes, ‘deared ‘by thousaw 'socla-
tions. ’Tain't light thing set out on p’tracted journey like the
tower ’fore mie,”’ : :

Loraine seemed affected at his own remarks, but Rosenbury
had by this time become sutticiently acquainted with his host's
peculiarities to see that he was quite sober Cnough for the com-
munication he intended to make to him.

“Well talk of your journey pretty goon,” he replied, “At
present I desire to talk of Walter,”

“Waler, eh?” returned Loraine, with a beaming smile.
“Waller! Good joke! Youcall him ‘Wal'er,’ when he’s real
Lud Rose’by. Queer worl’, And he says ‘Ludship'to youl”

Loraine winked at the Ihts, a6 if he expected them to share
in his sense of the ludicrous.

‘Tush !? exclauned Rosenbury, nervously. “Walls have cars
Aisa?

“Not here, though. Landlady perfect gem. ’Spressed sorrow
losin? me, so paid her keep rooms till return, Unie wren’,
Kaymon’, but true—true as steel! Leave part clothes with her
Owy think, Raymon’, poor creature gave ine lecture on drink.
in’, Seemsshe lost husbuw by drink, L’spise driunkia's,
he added, reflectively. ‘“Nervouscreature, P’rays rhe ll give
you Jeeture on drink’ when you goout. 1 does, treat her well
my suke.’’ :

“But ullthishasnothing to do with what I want to say to
-you,” said lis lordship, eudcavoring to restrain. his feeling of
sel.-annoyance. ‘Lf warntto speak of Walter-—-?

“Waler!s Oh, yes, "member. Met himat your hotse his
house—’s af’noon, Raymon’, Ready talk of hint, and girl, too,
Nice couple, echt When going ge )

“Never, if I ean help it? was reply, ‘l wish to marry
the young lady myselt, In fact, Tintendty dogo, -I have come
here to-night tor the purpose of gaining your assistance,’

“My sistance!” repeated Loraine, “Dou iwicre, Raymon’,
Sure as you keep trying to hurt Waser, iC ll alt enme out, Bet
ter let weli’lone, Let hin have girl while you keep money
and tile. Be contented thout robbin’ him. of everything,”

Loraine $; oke soberly and seriously, a8 uf he were thoroughly
in cernest in what he said,

“Ido not ask your advice,”
“bit f demand your assistance

“*Woll, what want?”

Rosenbury drew his chair nearer to Loraine’s, and said, in a
low tene:

“f don’t feel safe while Walter is alive.
ed from my path!”

Loruii¢ stared at his visitor in blank amazement, scarcely
able to comprehend the ineaning of the words which he lad
heard,

“Vou want Waler kill—removed 1” he ejaculated,

“I dol” wasthe respouse. “I tell you I don’t teel gafe t
looks too much like his tather,”’

tosenbury spoke liryaly, as if his mind were quite inade up
on the subjee

It would have been an interesting, but alengthy task to de-
seribe by what process he bad reached his } rerent deterinisia-
tion; how tear and hate had struggled fiercely in hie soul, con-
quering all human instinets, all merciul suggestions, aud de-
wmanded Walter’s rewoval torever trom bis puth,

by what teariul sirides wus Rosenbury descending the down-
ward path ! ‘

Loraine shrank from him with a look of aversion, and ex
claimed:

“Horrible. Torriblel Oh, J
Zool and innoceut—le: him Lone!
a wurderer.”

“Hush your whining! commanded Rosenbury, “Do you not
see that] am ruined tf he hvest Lady Bosenbury bas declured
that she is volug to leave him her entire tortune. You have

recipitated mutters by your visit to the to-tlay. Do you suppose
f cau have gardeners Vielting ihe without people becoming sus-
Do 5 otf uot suppose that her ladyship Willeouple my
your wile wh your sanithar Visits, ard upset tie

  

; leave her own

fort
net lose so large a

 

 

 

 

Will you

Raymon’, spoke for ‘fect, while door’s open. ’Scuse
Ont see how all those things

    

  

replied Tosenbury, haughtily,
7

  

I—I want him remov-

Iie

 

 

mon’, let him ‘lone. Te is
1 never ‘spected you'd become

  

 

  

picious?
likeness to

iruth? if the i1rtuih SOINCS OU, © Hin a ruined man, I have no
abiluy te earn my living. I cannotrink to my vrigiual sphera
aller my club lie aud aristocrauc as<oviations, 1 cannot Lear

 

to drop out of my rvocial position. Luxury ix necemary 19 my
exmience, Aud I will marry the Lady Geraldine Suinniers. You
we now where I stand—upon the crust of a burning voleanot’’

Lora soverwhelmed by this outeurst, but ventured to
offer a iew irightened reomonstrances, which he speedily saw
i would be of tiv avail

 

 

  

 

 

i sail at any mement
} him around, and then

so. You must thon fit it up, putting in provisions enough to last
three weeks.’ ‘

“And then!” asked Loraine, as Rosenbury paused,

‘Then You must go and see Wakter at his studio, and have a
little talk with him. Tell him you have bought a Httle cratt;
shew him the bilLot sate, and ask him to go dewn with you to
look at it, He is se good-natured, he willdo it, particularly if
you tell him you are going cruising about all the summer, ang
may not see him again for along ume.” '

“What then?”

“T target to mention that you must hire a sailor Ia the morn.
ing to attend to your craft, Keep him on board, so that you can
‘Phen, When Walter comes aboard, show
ask hha into the cabin to have some re
treshments. Be sure to have wihe and trois”

‘But what has all this got to de Withe=With “Moving him

Raymond bent forward, and whispered:

“Khe wine nast be d wed |»

“How?” eried Loraine,
“PYsoned !”

“No; simply drugged with a nareotico, which you will get be
forehand, While he is asleep, you will sail, Before he awakens,
bind him, and leave him in his berth, telling yore seaman that
he isl Keep him drugged during your voyage,”

“But where am T to take him toy”

“You had better go northward,” said Rosenbury, thoughtfully,
“There are small istands to the north of Scotland, uninhabited
save by birds, Take him onone of these, and go back to your
vessel without him,’’ he added, significantly,

“But what will the sailor think

“You must tell him the young gentleman is your invalid son,
pretend to think a great deal ot him, and after you go back from
the island to your Vessel, tell the seamen that your son fell off a
rock inte the sea.’

“But the sailor may want to look for him?’ suggested Lor.
aine,

“Let him look, then,
S&—you understand f”

Loraine rephed m the aftirmative.

“And then,” remarked Rosenbury, “my path is left free and
tunmenaced, Tecan woo the Lady Geraldine, and win her, foo,
since Walter will never return, You will be safe, and from the
hour of your return, shall live in grand style. Twill settle a
handseme fortune upon you,”

“And wt T dont?

You Know the alternative as wellasT do. If you have any
natural effection, you will do this for me, If you refuse me, 4
shall never know another peacetul moment, Tshall always be
fearing exposure and ruin, You have now the eppeortunity of
fixing your son firmly in the position to which you elevated him,
One eae stroke, tather, and your fortune as well as mine is se-
oured?

Loraine appeared thoughtful, as if deliberattng upon the mat
ter, and Rosenbury used every means to Induce hin to yleld as-
sent to his infamous scheme, He threatened, bribed, coaxed,
appealed to his paternal pride and affeetion, and was fually
gratified by hearing him say:

“Tusa terrible thing you want me to de, Raymon’, but Pl de
itt’ Kor your sake, whom lve already ainned so deeply, Ti
finish him off! We won't talk any more about the way of domg
it, for 2 un'stand that well enough, Have I got money enough
to buy the sloop and fixin's?? :

“It not, here is mere,” returaed Rosenbury, with a sigh of re
liet, handing him a bank note,

Loraine put it in his pocket, and satd:

“shall Tlet you Know ?morrow about my éraft?”?

“No; [wash te hear nothing of you until your return, Yshall
hear that Walter has disappeared, and that will assure me that
you have progressed iavorably. Be careiul not to let Walter
free for amoment on the passage, and be sure to keep him
arugaed. He mustn't suspect our secret, or Know that I have
anything to do with his seizure,”

Loraine assented, and then, emboldened by the calmer tones
of Rosenbury, made a last appeal to his merey, it was in vain,

“Well? he then sighed, ‘What must be, must be, I only
hope yowll never ‘gret it, Raymon’,”’ :

“Remember, 1Us for your own satety, aa well aa mine,” replied
Rosenbury, signiticantly.

They conversed a while longer, and then the visitor arose to
take his departure, quite satisfied with the result of his inter:
view. During the latter part of it, Loraine had shown a greater
interest in it, and had seemed less fearful ef undertaking the
drendiul task,

The last injunctions were at length given, and Rosenbury waa
escorted to the door by Loraine, and as his lordship passed down
the street, he thought; Y

“Tle will doit! He will do itt!
And IT shall be safo,”

With the exultation came a feeling as if he were a murderer.

Endeavoring to shake it off he hastened homeward,

Meanwhie, Loraine returned to his chamber, resumed his
seat, and gave himself up to thought, At length he muttered,
halt aloud:

“T will do it-sinee necessary for Raymon’a safety and mine,
Ill buy sloop, carry Walter off; but, slead of killing him, land
him on one of those little islands, and some fishermen will take
him off. Before he can get back, Raymon?’ ?ll marry the giv,
I'llgetmy money, and 1] be sate, He needwt know Raymon!
had anything todo with it) and T can hide from him some
where, Yes, that's;the way to do it, Wal’er shall live, and
Rayinon’ and P)1 be safe.”

Having arranged the affair to his mental satisfaction, and
made up his mind to @xecute it as planned and correctod, he
flung himselfon a couch and fell asleep,

(To be Continued,)
fe mereme nen mnersemamyparse: - od #-qracn peuangusmeenpanssre:
PREVENTION OF SCARLET FRVER,

Anything which may tend to mitigate the severity ov
prevent the spread of scarlet fever, will be attentively
perused by parents who have, through sorrowful expe-
rience, become famillar with this dread disease. We there-
fore give the following suggestions the publicity afforded
by the extended circulation of the Nuw Yor« Waxk.y:

Scarlet fever is a highly contagious disease, and spreads
from one person to another, andyis thus propagated in
families, town, and districts. Ibis therefore highly desir-
able that every ona should understand the nature of this
disease, and the means of preventing ita spreading, | It is
always attended with a scarlet eruption onthe akin, and
is mostly accompanied by aA sore throat. Whenever chil-
dren have sore throats or eruption on the skin, they
should be separated from the veatof the family until a
doctor has seen them, or, these symptoma have disap.
peared. There is every reason to believe that during the
progress of this disease not only the eruption of the akin,
but everything thats thrown trom the body of the infect
ed person ia heavily laden with the germs or seeds which
are capable of propagating the disease in another person,
ne discharge from the noge and throat are especially
virulent. There is algo reason to believe that the dig-
charges from the bowels are the same. The kidneys are
trequently dangerouply diseased in scarlet fever, and
the secretion. from these organs is algo probably highly
contagious; the power of spreading the poison by means
of these secretions is not @onfined to their immediately
leaving the body, but continue long after,

It ig onthis account that when these secretions have
found their way to the cesspool! and sewer, they may atill
give off poison to the surrounding air, and persons breath-
ing it may become infected, Taking these thinga into
consideration, ib will be seen that it is necessary, if pose
sible, to destroy and annihilate this poison before it leaves
the room where the person is whose body has produced
it. The following directions, drawn up by Dr. W. Budd,
should in all cases be carried into effect:

‘1, The room should be Cleared of all needless woolen
or other draperies which might’ possibly serve to harbor
Lhe poison,

2, A busin charged with chloride or carbolate of lime,
or some other convenient disinfectant, should be kept
constantly on the bed for the patient to spit into,

“3, A large vessel, containing water impregnated with
chlorides, oy with Condy’s fuid, should always stand ta
tie room for the reception of all bed and body linen im-
mediately on 118 removal from the person of the patient.

“4, Pocket handkerchiefs ahonld not be used, and small
pleces of rag employed ineteaa for wiping the mouth and
nose. Each piece, after being once used, should be ime
mediately burnt.

“6, As the hunds of nurses of necessity hecome fre-
quenuy soiled by the secretions, a good supply of towela
wud two basins-one containing water with Oondy’s
fivid or chlorides, and another plain soap and water,
should be always at hand for the immediate removal of
tie taint.

“6, All glasses, Cups, or Other vessels, used by ov about
the patient, aliould be serapulously cleaned before being
us¢ea by obuers.

7. She discharges from the bowels and kidneys should
be received on thei every issue from the body into vea-
eels cuarged With disinfectants,’

Ly tiese measures the greater part of the germa which
are Uirown Of by internal surfaces may be robbed of their
power to propagate the diseuse. The poisonous germa
ilet are thrown of from the skin require a somewhat
different treatment. Tie plan recommended by Dr. Budd
fur the purpose of preventing the poison from the «kin
being disseminated through the air is to put oil all over
lie skin. This practice is lo commence on the fourth day
alter tie appearauce of the eruption, and to be continued
every day until the patient is well enough to take a warm
bat), in which the whole person is well washed with dig-
MleCting soap and water. These baths should headmin-
istered every other day, for four times, when the disin-
fection of the skin Inuy be regarded as complete, This
procecding should not, however, be adopted withgut con-
sulting the Inedical man who ie in ‘altendance on the
patient. Speaking of the plans above recommended, Dr,
Budd says:

“The success of this method in my own hands has been
very remarkable. For a period of neariy twenty years,

   

 
  

 

   

 

 

 

halfspringihng from his chair

 

Walter must really have fallen into the

 
 

 

The guilt will be his, not mine,

 

 

In truth, Roenbury was thoroughly alarmed
Ald prosps ¢ nd im bie present snood
Gres 176 he would have shrunk
irame of ning

*“tow—uuw are you going to do it

at his position
would venture upoii
Whe if a Caliner

 

   

?” at length, faltered Lo

 
      
     
    

t going to do it ut all—it ls you who will carry out the
the repl
Ti "ty £24

  
   
 

with the execu-
ited the guilt.
{ won't.”
(ou, there’d h
inice-—you shi

 
 

  
  
 

  
  

     

  
 

2 heen no
I finial it
»1 shall go

 

     

it

ported ior lie.’
y subdued Loraine, but he responded:
like be wusmy ownson. He 4

 

yor AG it
“You wil do it. or be transported,”
Z he shuddered. On
the other luxury
good in the soul of
2 was in Rosenbur
1c wigan he had
yet treated him als
He could not bear to st

   

       
 
   

 
 
   

 

    

ie

4 course, Tle

suid the emotions

 
 

190
Ts 4

 

 
 

during which | have employed it in a very wide field, I
| have never known the disease spread in a single instance
beyond the sick room, and in very few instances within
it, ‘ime after time I have treated the fever in houses
crowded {rem attic to basement with children and oth-
ers, Who have, nevertheless, escaped infection, The two
vleisents in the iethod are, separation on the one hand
and disinfection on the other,’ M
—- & <4 — mee
TO NEWS AGENTS REMOVING.

News Agents changing their places of business will
confer a great favor on the proprietors of the New Yourx
WEEELY, by forwarding notice of the change of location
at the earliest moment after such change has been deci-
dei on, We make this request in the interest of Hews
Agents as well as for our own benefit. It is nothing un-
usual for us to receive letters from News Agents com-
plaining that in their cards, published in our Supplement
Sheets, their old places of business are gavertised and
the card does them no good, as they have removed, If
News Agents do not keep us posted as to their move-
they alone are to blame for not being properly ad-

/ YORK WEEKLY Supplement Sheets,

 

ments,

 

 

   
  
 
  
  

i Rosenbury, fr
of execeut

noice
NOsCce

nik from the details |

for sale €or

  

   

t attentior
AAI A TD 5

’' You«w WEE)

  

rting business, Or going out of busi-
ayor by noiying us of the fact,
i receive Supplements for dis-
be promi-
Havoid the trouble con-
gent by us under the im
< News Agency business,

oo

 

   

 

scarag will

nackages
PIACKAZES

 

  

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the above requests 2 little

NEw

WH! not News /

proprictors of the

L088 22g trouble?

THETEDY

  

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

-<es THE NEW YORK

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ST WAN IRR SENT TRE STS

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHARCHING FOR GOD.
BY LU BILLINGS SPALDING.

O, sky! with thy bosom begilded with light;
O, sky! with thy bosom bejeweled at night,
While cradling the stars with glittering beam,
O, tell me, if ever the Maker thou’st seen?

O, sun! in the hight of thy dazzle and glare,

High sweeping thy way through the sweet bine aiz,
O, teil me, I pray, on thy wide, circling round,

If ever the Maker of all you have found?

And tej me, O storm on black wings driven,
While raging supreme from Earth to Heaven-~=
Pray tell me, if ever wild, sobbing and wet,
The great and the wonderful God, thou hast met
O, moon! like a silver globe circled in jet,
Supreme in thy reign ’mid timid stars set;
O, hast thou encountered while shining on high,
That power that for mortals did suffer and die?

I stood in the wild wood, the green boughs above,
On bramble and leaflet the birds sang of love;

The wild fiowoers in clusters of rose and of snow,
Bejeweled the mosses that glistened below.

When softly and sweetly, a little voice said—
Twas the voice of a violet, drooping its head—

“Tam weak—I am lowly—and small is my part;
But the secret you're seeking I hold in my heapt.

‘, look on the earth, the ocean, the sky;
O, look on the least of His works, such as I,

He lives in the grass blade, he breathes on the air,
And look where you may, He is there! He is there!”

T turned from that spot more wise from that hour,
And pausing I gazed on the low, little flower,
As bowing so meekly toward the green sod,
Yet held in its petals the infinite God.

> 0 <t—-—
OLD GRIGGS’'S DAUGHTER.
BY JOHN ALFRED CONWELL.

On the banks of the Ohio river, and within a stone’s
throw of the water’s edge, can be seen a rude, shapeless
mound of moss-covered stones, with here and there jutting
out from among them,a decayed and half-charred piece of
timber. These are the remnantsof what was at one
time one of the first cabins built in that part of the “dark
and bloody ground.”’

It was, at the time of which we write, the home of a
gruff old Indian trader and fighter, known. ali over the
country as Old Griggs. He was a surly, morose old fel.
low, near sixty years of age, and wore his iron-gray hair
and stiff, grizzly beard closely cropped. A fearful look.
ing scar, extending from his right eye across his nose to
the left.corner of his mouth, the relic of some backwoods
conflict, added not a little to his sinister and forbidding
appearance.

His family consisted of himself, a poor frightened-look-
ing wife, who always started in a scared way when sud-
denly addressed, and their only child, Judith, or Judy, as
she was generally called. Judy was a buxom girl of
eighteen summers, ‘illiterate, as most girls reared as she
had been, were; but who, for all that, was a wild rose
among thistles.

In those early days every Settler’s cabin in. the vast
wilderness that stretched away in every direction for
hundreds of miles from the Ohio river, was a sort of hos-
tery, andin arather homely way provided entertain-
ment for the traveler.’ This entertainment consisted gen-
erally of corn bread and a rasher of bacon, with an occa-
sional stew of venison for the traveler, and standing
roomin a rough shed with an armful of “fodder” for his
horse.

Old Griggs’s cabin was celebrated far and wide for the
excellence of ifs accommodations; and justly too, for Judy
and her mother were famous for their skill in the culinary
art, and especially for their “‘corn-pones” and venison-pie.

But finally strange rumors began to be circulated that
more than one traveler who was known.to have stopped
at Griggs’s, had mysteriously disappeared. And Griggs’s
reasons for their disappearance, such as he chose to give,
were contradictory and gave little satisfaction, but as the
old nian was kuown to be desperate and vindictive, and
there being no positive proof of his criminality, the peo-

ple of that spaxsely settled country, thought it best not to
entangle themselves im trouble with him, and conse-
quently no investigations were made, and those mysteri-
ous disappearances remained a mystery.

At that time the waters of the Ohio had never been dis-
turbed by the wheel of a steamer, and the echoes that
slumbered among the bordering hills were as yet una-
wakened by the. engine’s shrill whistle. The mode of
traveling was by flat-boats or ‘‘broad-horns,’’ as they
were termed by their early navigators.

Judy, who had been on 2 three months’ visit among
her relations in Western Pennsylvania, embarked on one
of these, with a family of emigrants, who were going to
float down to the ‘‘Falls.”?

Among those on the boat was a young man, named
Reuben Jackson, a fine-looking, athletic specimen of ‘his
race, who was seeking a home and a fortune in the far
West.

He had no definite destination selected, but, like
Micawber, was looking for “something to turn up.?? He
was.a clever fellow; rough, but kind-hearted. And Judy
and he being thrown much together during the voyage,
it was not a marvelous occurrehce that they should grad-
ually have become warnily attached to each other. Ot-
ten, when the nights;;vere warm and clear, and the full
moon threw a silvery pathway across the water, for
fairies to trip over, the old negro cook would seat him-
self on the ‘‘check post,” and, after ten minutes’ prelim-
inary tuning and thrumming of a wheezy old violin, play
for a dance.

And. the Virginia reel would be danced over and
over again, till the ‘wee sma’ hours ayant the twal’.”’

Jackson Invariably chose Jndy for his partner, not be-'
cause he.could net find other partners, but simply be-
cause he had learned to love her. ;

Many a time they had sat until late in the night, on
the rude seat on deck, silently and lover-like gazing at
the stars, or watching the sturgeon leap into the air,
scatter a shower of water drops that elittered for an in-
stantin the moonlight, and then plunge to the silent
depths of the river, with nothing to break the stillness,
save the distant and ominous cry of the lonely owl, or
the shrill scream of some startled night bird from the
bosem of the dark forest.

Reuben had never told Judy that he loved her, More
than once he had been.on the eve of doing go, but his
heart would fail him, his throat would choke, he would
tremble violently, and find it impossiblé to whisper a
single word. ‘ :

One dark and cloudy evening they were sitting in the
forward part of the boat, which was drifting rapidly, with
the current close in shore.

Jackson was growing desperate. He knew that Judy
would soon leave the boat at her father’s landing, and
“the old, old story’’ was still untold. After a long silence
he said, in & hoarse whisper, with her hand tightly clasped
in his:

“Sudy, I
kinder

“Look out. ahead there,” shouted’ the steersman; but
too late. Poor Jackson’s legs and arms were gyrating in
the air, and he found himseif seated inatub of warm
soapsuds, while Judy was lying near him with her head
in a pan ef ashes. An overhanging limb had swept them
from their seat, and put a sudden and rather unpropiti-
ous end to their wooing. :

Like a true man Jackson was not to be bafiled in his
undertaking by such amishap as this. The very next
evening while the boat floated down the middle of the
stream, far from ruthless limbs, and there was no one

near to hear them, he bravely said:

“Judy, ve been a wantin’ to tell ye sumthin’,” and he
hitched up a little closer to her, ‘ever since we got onto
this ole scow.??

Here he began to look nervous, and he seemed to he
trying desperately to tie his feet and knees together with
a ved cotton handkerchief.

“I do—I want to—consarn it all, Judy, I love you, there
now,’ and blushing to the roots of his hair, he released
his feet and knees from bondage, and frantically en-
deavored to cram his handkerehief into his mouth. But
the difficult part was over—the was broken, and re-
covering from his embarrassment, he continued,

“Pve loved ye Judy, ever since i first sot my eyes on ye.
That's a fact, Judy, hang me if it aint so.??

‘Why, la! Reub, I don’t believe ye,” yet she blushed
charmingly, and looked as if she did not mean what she
said, and twisted and untwisted a bit of yarn about her
little fi very industriously, now and then shyly glanc-
ing up :

“NOW Say

A low

“Yes, Reub, i

“An? will yen

She hesitater
around her waist.

“Say, Judy—don't be skeert.’?

“You'll have to ash

That's a f ;

am—will you~you know—I—I—sorta—feel
9

U

faintly replied.
1e’S Willin??”?
teub, you don’t know
f ise Im afeard of
my Marryin’ a rich

cuben, and he
1at’s the matter?
anil make ye marry
Consarn, it, Judy, if I

iy, tel
y rd the ole a
some rich old seon?
thought
Don’t Reub, }
didn’t lov
fifty dol
hat
st)

eat

a hundred and
marry anybody

pap’s i
h, pshaw, Judy,
ole man, U1l stop off lon
landin’.””

The boat drifted into old
the afternoon, and the ¢
was standing near

}

oO he
* Q

oa

n’l; but Dl gee the
you. 1 nh we get to your
#s’$ place the next day in

{ fellow with his wife,
th at touched the
d looked as grim
ighted at the re-
ionately while

shore. He w
and gruff as ever.
turn of her daug
her father merely sai
“How dy, Jude,” and shook |
Jackson stepped lightly to ti
luggage tied up in a small et

vith her.
carrying Judy’s

lin his hand, and

 

his own bundle balanced on the end of his gun across his
shoulder.

“Pap, this is Reuben Jackson,” said Judy.

The old man merely nodded his head. pas

“Dd like to get to stay with you a few days if it won't
be onconvenient, Mr. Griggs.” : :

“lm not Mister Griggs—jest Griggs, or Old Griggs, if
you like it better. An’ as for stayin’ 1 don’t know as I
have any objection.”

The entire party sauntered leisurely tov yard the settler’s
cabin, from whose wide chimney, built of sticks and clay,
a thin column of blue smoke was gracefully curling up-
ward, high above the tops of the tall forest trees near by,
and floating off toward the west. : ; a

“Out huntin’ land I reckon,” said Griggs, in an inquisi-
tive way.

“Well—yes,” said Jackson.

“Want to find a trac’ o’ vacant gov’ment land to squat
onto, I spose ???

‘Well, I dunno but I do,’ was Jackson's response.

By this time the party had arrived at the cabin. After
Supper the hew-comer was provided with lodgingsin a
low apartment next to the roof, with loose boards for a
floor, and undressed clapboards for a ceiling, to which he
retired early; though he would much rather have passed
the evening in the society of Judy. But her mother had
SO many questions to ask, and she had so much to tell
about lier visit, that Reuben could not fulfili his wishes,
even if it had been prudent to disclose his attachment be-
fore addressing her father on the subject. He resolved,at
the very earliest opportunity, to brave the old man’s evi-
dent dislike for him, and ask his sanction of the proposed
marriage with his daughter. He was all impatience,and
bright and early the next morning he met Judy’s father
walking up from the river with a string of fish in his
hand.

‘‘How’s fishin’ round here ?’ said Reuben.

“Tolably like,’’ grufily responded Griggs.

‘‘How’s it fur game an’ sich like in the woods?” con-
tinned Reuben.

‘“Middlin? fairy” answered the old fellow, and he was
rapidly pushing on toward the cabin, without apparently
desiring to enter into any conversation with Jackson.

“Id like to say a word to ye, if ye’re not in too big a
hurry.’

“Well, speak it out quick, I haint no time to talk. I’ve
got to catch the old mar an’ tote a grist to mill,” said the
old man,«wheeling around.

‘Well, it’s jest this—hem! I’ve taken a likin® to that
girl o’ yourn, Judy, and 7

‘You want to marry her?’

“That’s it adzactly.?

‘Well, look a here, stranger, I suspicioned that was
what you had to say, but I don’t know nothin’ about

you, and you don’t know nothin’ about me, and n

“1 don’t care nothin’ about you—1 mean I’m satistied
what you are—that is I y

“Jest hold on, young man, till I git my say. I cale’late
you've got no money. How in thunder are you ‘goin’ to
support a family?”

“T expect ’? began Reuben.

“To board ’em long 0’ me,” said Griggs, interrupting
him. “You cale’late to marry yourself tnto my family in-
stead 0’ marryin’ my gal owt, an’ settin’ up on yer own
hook. Not by a long shot.”

“But then I reckon——” again began Reuven.

“You reckon that Ill give ye a lift, pay fur a quarter
section o’ land, put a cabin onto it fur ye, keep yer pork
bar’l full the year round, an’ keep you an’ heran’Is’pose
half a dozen tow-headed young ’uns from cryin’ fur bread.
No, sir, the man that marries my gal must have money,
nroney, I say,’’ and he thrust his face with a malignant
scowl upon it close to Reuben’s,

“Tam young and strong and can work for money. I
have not asked for any help from you. I only wanted
you to say I could have Judy,”’ said Reuben.
“Well I say you can’t have her.”

“She’s willin’ and 1

‘*Yes, you’ve stuffed her head full 0’ nonsense.
that out 0’ her,” said old Griggs.

“I can an’ will support her without askin’ for a cent
from you.” °

“7 tell you now, stranger, once for all, you shan’t have
her, an’ I want you for to be makin’ tracks out o’ this
region mighty soon, or you won’t carry that hide o’ yours
away whole,’? and the old man flourished his. string: of
fish alarmingly close to Jackson’s face.

Jackson’s anger at old Griggs on. account of this un-
generous treatment of his application for his consent, was
well-nigh uncontrollable, but the appearance of Judy and
her mother at this period prevented any violent demon-
stration on his part.

“Ole man, breakfast’s ready; bring the stranger in
long 0’ ye,’ said Mrs. Griggs.

‘YT won't eat no breakfast this mornin’, and that feller
shat, in my house!’? thundered the old man.

“Oh, pap, now, don’t _)?

“None 0’ them tantrums, gal.”

“Listen to him, pap. He has somethin’ to tell ye.”
*%ve heard him.”

“Do not—you will not drive him away.”

“But I will, though.”

“Oh, do not! You cannot!
him!?

And the poor girl sank to the ground and buried her
face in her hands, crying as though her heart would
break.

“I don’t love him, an’ I tell you wy

“Come, now, ole man,” began the mother, to plead her

Pll take

I love him, pap—I love

‘child’s cause.

“Silence, woman!’ And he stamped his foot upon the
ground and glowered fiercely upon her. ‘‘Ain’tI master o?
my own household?! .

Reuben strode forward, with a stern look at old Griggs,
which changed toa look of gentleness as he place: his
arm around the helpless girl and raised her up.

“Come with me, Judy. Iam yours, an’ you are mine,
an’ I'll purtect you from all harm.”

‘Without his consent I can’t go. My heart ig yours,
Reub, and nobody else’s; but [must not go—I can’t g0,
without he’s willin’.”?

“Will you trust in me, then?”

“1 will, Reub.”’

“Then good-by! Ill come again and bring the old
man’s god—that cursed money!”

An@, imprinting a warm and passionate. kiss on'J udy’s
lips, he left her weeping in her mother’s arms.

The old man smiled a grim, hard smile,and strode away
to the forest.

A year passed by, with nothing
of a life in those western wilds.
Old Griggs had grown more surly and morose, and the
pale wife more stricken with her fear of him who should
have been to her what the sturdy oak is to the clinging
vine.

Judy, wan and thin, moved about listlessly, heart-
broken, crushed. She had not heard a word from Jack-
son, but she still implicitly believed in him.

Whata beautiful thing is a woman’s faith! It. reaches
farther into Heaven than all else save her love.

One morning, when the clouds hung black and low, and
the hills echoed and re-echoed, with scarcely a moment’s
intermission, with the deep-toned thunder, and the rug-
ged hillsides were lighted up with the lurid glare of the
lightning, and the rain fell in torrents,and all the streams
and. ravines were pouring a deluge of murky water into
the river, which was swollen and turbid, and bore on its
bosom a long, dark line of drift—on such a night an ap-
parently old and decrepit man rode up to Griggs’s cabin
and hallooed loudly. :

The hounds bayed furiously, and, old Griggs opening
the door, the blazing fire of hickory logs threw a streain
of light out into the darkness, across the yard to the low
Virginia worm fence, and disclosed the horseman arip-
ping with rain.

“Hillo | yourself, what's wantin’ ?” cried Griggs.

“Yve rid all day. in this,rain, an’ can’t find any tavern,
and want to stay all night with ye.”

“Well, l reckon ye kin—light eff yer hossan’ come in.”

“7 can put up with a corner to sleep in, but I’d like my
critter to have shelter an’ a good feed if ye’ve got it.??

“All right, come in an’ I’ll see what we kin do fur ye.”

The man alighted, and throwimg the hridie-rein over
the end of a rail, proceeded to lift 3a pair of heavy saddle-
bags from his saddle. At sight of these, particularly when
they seemed so heavy and well-filled, the old man’s blear
eyes fairly glistened. He hastened to assist the man and
carried the saddle-bags into the cabin.

‘Don’t forget the hess, my friend,” said the traveler.
= “Oh ! no, Pll tend to him, an’ you too. Come in to the
ire.

“Wife, give this mana cheer by the fire, an’ a warm
supper, an’ make him a cup o’tea, dye hear, ole woman,
@ cup o’tea, while I put away his nag.” And he stepped
out of doors, but did not go to the horse.

He took from his bosom a piece ot buckskin, and un-
Wrapping it carefully by the firelight that streamed
through the broad cracks and crevices of his cabin, re-
moved a black phial, and uncorking this, took from it a
small dark peliet about the size and shape ofa pea. This he
retained in his iiand, then recorking the phial he wrapped
it in the buckskin cover and replaced it in hisbosom. At-
ter remaining outside a few moments tonger he entered
the house. Supper was soon ready.

“Come, setup, stranger, l'li take a bite with ye myself
far company’s sake, though I’ve had my supper. Traveled
fur to-day???

“Yes, nigh on to fifty miles, leastwise I staid last night
twenty mile beyant the mouth o’ Hogan, whar they’re
talkin’ ‘bout layin’ out a town,’ said the traveler.

“Well, that’s a pooty good day’s ride. Like tea ?—take
another cup.”?

“T don’t keer if I do.”
filled, :

The little brown pellet was slipped into this cup before
it returned to the traveler’s hand.

He was wet and chilled'through
cup of its cdéntents.
Griges remarked:

“Them’s hefty saddle bags 0’ yourn, stranger; reckon
ye ain’t peddiin’, air ye?” and he laughed a low and
chuckling laugh—a devilish laugh, full of meaning only
to himself.

“No, yes—l’’—drowsily began the traveler,

“Ain't sleepy, air ye ??’—No ansiver.

“Well, 1 guess ye’ll sleep sound'this night. Thunder
won’t disturb ye.”

_ “Oh, Griggs, have you
in a hoarse whisper,

“Hush, woman, or it will g0 worse with you. Go to
bed, take the girl with you and see that she keeps away,”?
said he in an angry tone.

The terror-stricken woman said not another word. By
this time the traveler’s head hung heavily upon his
breast, and his respirations were heavy and hard.

“Ha, ha, easily done.” And the old demon took a
thong, made from the sinews of a deer, from a peg’ in
the wall, and stopping onhis way again tested the

weight of the saddle bage.

to break the monotony

And the traveler’s cup was re-

eh and soon drained the
After a few moments’ silence old

again’)--began his wife, speaking

 

“They jingle all right—they’re mine—sleep on old fel-
jow,’’ he said to himself, and he proceeded to make an
ordinary noose in his thong, and passed it around the
neck of the traveler. ;

The revolting particulars of the struggle that followed,
and ended in a cold-blooded murder and the deposit of
the remains in the river, though known by the dying con-
fession of the woman, aretoo full of horror for publica-
tion. Suffice it to say, that early next morning, some
drift catchers drew a human body to the shore. From
appearances, it had lainin the water but a short time,
and without much hesitation or delay, for in those days,
that generally useless ceremonial, a “‘coroner’s inquest,”
was Seldom held, they improvised a small litter, and
were carrying the body toward Griggs’ cabin, prepara-
tory to giving it a christian burial.

The long gray hair and beard were wet and clung close
to the features, almost entirely concealing them.” On the
way the bearers met Judy going to the spring for water.
Morbid curiosity prompted her to stop and look at the
burden. A shudder ran over her frame, and she gasped
convulsively as she recognized the old traveler, who,but a
few hours before had claimed the hospitality of her fa-
ther’s house. :

At this moment, some one in attempting to remove the
hair from the forehead of the corpse, discovered that it
was false—that beneath the gray locks was a suit of short
black hair, and beneath the gray beard, a smoothly
shaven, almost boyish face.

The removal ofthese false appliances caused a com-
plete change in the appearance of their burden.

Stiil, more horror-stricken and astounded at this, the
girl stepped still closer, gazed intently on the pallid face
before her for an instaht, uttered a Single, startling, mad-
dening shriek, threw her arms over the dripping form
and sank insensible to the earth. The remainder of her
days she lived a maniac.

They were bearing the remains of Reuben Jackson.

—_____ » @-<_ ee

WHICH WILL HE MARRY?

BY HOPE HOLLY.

_ Delaney St. John, that was his name. Proud, genial,
English; that was his nature. Tall, broad, light-haired,
blue eyed, his appearance; good-natured, great-hearted,
egotistical, honorable, his character. Of unexceptional
family, with a well-fillea purse, and aged twenty-five.
There you have him. And he had crossed the Atlantic
on purpose to laugh at the Jonathans who had made his
grandfathers cry a century before.

He landed at the city of New York on Thanksgiving
day, and presented his letters of introduction tothe Hon.
rend Clay Burton, who had once been officially to Eng-
and. 4

hey do not keep that day in England, but they did
keep it in the family of the Hon. Henry Clay Burton, and
the oid gentleman in consideration of the many pleasant
dinners,to which he had been invited in the land of roast
beef and plum puddings, took the young stranger home
with him in the most cordial manner in the world.

The dinner was a complete success. The turkey was
roasted to a turn, and the pudding could not have been
outdone, “even at ’ome,’? and so the Englishman frankly
confessed. .

The Hon. Henry Clay Burton sat
ble and carved, and Mrs. Mollie Effingham sat atthe
other and poured tea. Mr. St. John sat on one side with
Mr. Harry Erwin, and opposite them were placed Miss
Grace Burton and two lovely children. Willie Effingham
aged five, and Minnie three, the pride and joy’ of their
widowed mother’s heart.

Miss Grace Burton was alittle blonde beauty, with a
passion for tall, dark men, like Harry Erwin, for instance,
who was a distant cousin on her dead mother’s side, and
a fine young fellow as you will see in going through ten
towns, and whom her father had forbidden Grace to
think of in any other way than as head clerk in the count-
ing room of Burton & Guild.

Mr. St. John ate his dinner with a good appetite, an-
swering meanwhile the many questions.of Mrs. Mollie
about things she had seen when she was in England in
her childhood. He chose from the dessert: the biggest
grapes, and the reddest apples, and the juicest oranges
lor the little curly haired cherub opposite him and be-
Side Grace.

And when it was finished and the evening through, he
pronounced it one of the very pleasantest days he had
ever spent, and feared that if all Americans were like
the family in whose house he sojourned, he should find
but little exercise for his facial muscles.

To be sure there had been little drawbacks, He had
overheard little Will ask his mother “‘if that was the kind
of men Gen. Washington had licked to the tune of Yankee
Doodle?” But then the mother had whispered back that,
“he did not look as if he would be licked very easily,??
and that put aplaster of honey on the smarting spot,
and he couldn’t findany fault. Then he was sure he had
seen Harry Erwin press Miss Grace’s hand under the
piano when he had’stooped to pick up a piece of music she
had dropped. But Harry was her cousin, and perhaps
she had been bashful about playing before an English
gentleman, and he had taken that way to reassure her,
and he went to bed and slept asif indigestion was not
among the evils which affiict mankina.

Over in Moilie’s room the ladies were discussing him.
“He’s taken with you, .Gracie, quite,” said ollie,
threading her white fingers through ler black hair.
“Pooh!?? said Grace, fidgeting a little.

“No poohing about it, little sister. Papa is not rich, if
he does keep up a show, and the family is expensive. .
You Wil, 0 Course, marry some time, and now is your
chance, before he makes acquaintances outside.”

For answer to which speech Grace laid her pretty bead
in her sister’s lap and cried bitterly.

“Now what is the matter, darling? Tell Mollie ali about
it,’ said the widow, kissing her. :

“Pll never marry any man living except Harry Erwin—
never, never! And I wish you wouidn’t say such things,”
sobbed Grace.

“But papa has said you mustn't marry him, and papa
seldom gives up.’

‘And that’s wherein | am just like him,” said Grace,
kindling; “‘and I say I will marry him.”

“Very well, Gracie,” returned the widow, coolly. “I
would have said the very same regarding Wili, and if
your mind is made up, I will help you ali I can, and take ,
Mr. St. John myself.” :

“You!”) cried Grace, looking up with astonished eyes—
“vou, Molly Effingham ???

“Why not?” quietly asked Mollie,

“Have you forgotten Wil in two years and a half?”
queried Grace. ey :

“No, darling—not forgotten him, nor ever shall; but
because 1 have loved him is no reasonI should never
marry again.?? :

And the widow wiped away some very genuine tears,
“Forgive me, Mollie,” said Grace, softly, putting her
arms around her sister’s neck. “I did not. mean to hurt
you; but I had never thought of it before, and 1 was sur-
prised.” : 2
“I have never thought of it before myself; but, Gracie,
you know Will left me penniless, and father barely sup-
ports us. . My children are growing mure expensive every
year, and father is old; he is sixty-five. If he should be
taken from us, what would Ido with my darlings? Do
you think Will, if he could see us, would rater his
children should grow up uneducated and in poverty, than
that their mother should marry a good man, who would
love her and them as if he were their father??? e

“No, Mollie, I suppose not, said Grace, doubtfuily.
“But how can you know this of Mr. St. John, whom you
met for the first time yesterday??? _ :

“J canread itin his good tace, his calm eye, and his
behavior to my darlings. If he were trying to reach my
heart through them, 1 might distrust him; but you see,
Gracie, he lias no motive for deception. He likes’ them,
and I like him, and have concluded to marry him,”

All Mr. St. John, if you had eaten less dinner—if your
sleep were more ethereal, peruaps ina prophetic dream
or vision of the night you might be warned; but, while
you snore, your destiny is sealed.

Mr. St. John spent a week in New York, then went on
to Boston, whe eremained full three days, and re-
turned. So ee

He dropped in to tiffin at the Hon. Henry Clay Burton's
in the most natural way imaginable, and escorted the
adies to the n the evening. : *
Sra os sile d reserved, and Mrs. Mollie whis-
pered him not to mind her sister till she came down from
the clouds. ‘So he conversed with Mrs. Mollie and enjoy-
ed it very much.

COM Sta oan departed forthe sunny south, went as far
as Washington, but came back to New York for the holi-
days. He was invited and courted, and feted; for was he
not young, good-looking, and rich? but no amount of
maneuvering, no number of bright eyes could divert his
thoughts from the two women at the Hon.. Henry Clay
Prive 2

DDO YOnT sister dislike me, Mrs. Effingham 2” he ask-
ed of the widow one evening when he had been vainly
waiting fora chance to say a few words to Miss Grace,
and at last following her into the conservatory found she
had slipped through another door and left him alone

rith her sister.

: oN oe Bt all 1 believe,” was the smiling reply; “but
American ladies have the reputation of hunting foreign.
ers into the matrimonial net, and we wish not to have
rou think it of us.’? : :
me ee be impossible to suppose it,” he said, bowing
and seating himself beside the lady. “I, at least,have no
fear.” : (ete is refreshing

“Right,” said the widow. “It really is refreshing to
find one man who is not thinking continually of his own
fascinations, whom one may talk with having no fear of

ine misunderstood.’ ae 5
ne BL johns heart stirred warmly beneath his white
vest. He was not flattered—not at ail, only he liked to

ae f : and he conversed at ease with his enter-

on.
morning he called at the house. Miss Bur-
ton was not talkative and looked perseveringly out of
the window till Mrs. Mollie came in and the conversation
became general, and as usual, pleasant. aS

Fhus Mr. St. John performed the tour of the United
States always coming back like rays of light to a common
: he house and home to which he had been wel-
l And by and by August came, and the fash-
rable world was at Saratoga, 5 :
rotmne Burto s were there, and Harry Erwin got leave of
absence and followed them, and, almost at the end ofthe
season, behold! Mr. St. John also. He devoted himselt
to Grace who wouid much rather walk in the ground with
Harry and hear the band, and watch the soft moon
through the flickering leaves overhead, than driv aver
the dusty roads with a span and tiger, and Mr. St, John
to drive.

at one end of the ta-

center, to

comed

 

Mrs. Effingham liked te see her little sister pleased of

 

 

A

 

course, and, to say nothing of the loaves and fishes, she
really loved the good natured fellow who carried Minnie
in his arms up and down the promenade, and taught Wil-
lie to ride his great black horse, and did not seem to care
the snap of his finger it the “fast ones,’? who drank things
Stronger than the spring wa ter, and gambled the night
away, did laugh and declare him caught. He was honest
and independent, and did not fear the widow, who in va-
rious ways aided and abetted his rival, Harry Erwin.

; But Grace came to her sister one night in great dis-
ress,
_ ‘What shall I do, Mollie? Iara sure he means to do
it, and Lcannot put him off much longer,’? she said.

‘Do what ?? inquired Mollie.

“Why propose... And he likes me, and I like him if he
wouldn't say that.”

‘He will not say it,darling,” said Mollie, assuringly.
“ee will, Iknow. And papa will be anery if I refuse

lim.

And Grace went walking
and pouting a great deal.
wee are still determined to marry Harry?” the widow

ked. 4

“Yes—a thousand times yes,’’ cried Grace.

“Do hot get excited, darling. Let me manage it for
you. Would you object to an elopement, Grace 2”?

“No,’?: said Grace, resolutely; “but I can’t propose it,
and papa would be so angry with us both.

“Go to bed, little Gracie, and do not make your eyes
red. Trust it all to Mollie and she will fix things just
right. Now, kiss me, darling, and good-night.”?

They were sitting on the piazza the next morning all
together. The sun was on the other side of the house,
and the shade and the breeze on this Side, and it was very
cool and nice,
_ The widow led the conversation round to match-mak-
ing. She declared it to be a shameful thingaside from

1e sin.

“They never turn out well,’ she Said; “and even that
wise old statesman, Col. Benton, was obliged to confess
De his daughter was a better judge of men than him-
Self. : ee
“But you will not deny that many love-matches, so-
called, turn out badly enough ?’ said Mr. St. John.

“Certainly not. But that is where the parties are
taken by a face, a manner or a purse; not where the af-
ee is based on judgment anda knowledge of each
other.

‘7 do not bélieve in match-making myself,’? said Mr.
Burton.

‘“‘And if any person had interfered between me and the
one I loved I would have run away,’ pursued the widow.

“So would I,” assented her father, laughing. ‘Ifa
a Joves a woman he willdo more than that to gain
Ler.

“There goes my handkerchief,” cried Mollie. “Go and
get it, Harry.”

Harry started to obey, but the wind took it again and
oe it gently into the hedge at the bottom of the long
walk. :

“I will warrant he'll tear it,’ said Mollie.
myself:?? ° :

ae she drew her scarf over her head and ran down the
walk.

“You heard what papa said?” she remarked, as she came
up to her cousin.

“Yes,” said Harry; “buthe would be so angry with
Gracie, it would break her heart.”

“Not at all, Cousin Harry. You may just go on and I
Will make it all right with him.” :

“Can we go to-night? Will Gracie consent? asked
Harry, eagerly.

‘Tl answer for Gracie, and to-night is the best time
possible,” answered Mollie. ‘Have a carriage under the
big elm’ on the south road at half-past eight precisely.
Do net attract observation by waiting. We will come."

“You are an angel, Mollie,’ Harry exclaimed, fer-
vently.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mollie, laughing.

The widow kept Gracie beside her all day, so that Mr.
St, John had no chance to speak to her privately. After
tea she told the story to her sister, and although Gracie
trembled a little she indorsed the plan heartily. Mollie
dressed her herself, in a white muslin robe and ribbons,
and @ wreath of bridal roses on her hair. Then they put
on their waterproofs and vails and stole quietly down the
stairs and out of the grounds.

Harry was on the spot at the moment, and they sto wed
Gracie away quicker than J can tell of it, and he drove
away.

“Be back by ten if possible,’sald Mollie, and then she
went quickly back, and in half an hour was dressed and
down in the parlor. -

There was a hop, but Mr. St. John, though fond of
dancing, stood leaning idly against the door.

“Where is your sister?’ he asked of Mollie as she came

about the room eryiug a little

“T will go

in. ;
The widow looked at her watch and answered:

“I will tell you in an hour.?!

“Will you dance?”

“Thank you, I had rather walk to-night,’? and she
placed her hand upon his arm and led him out. Up and
down the walk they passed, talking in low voices and
growing confidential,

“Do you think your sister likes me?’ asked Mr. St. John.
“Yam sure of it. She is a sweet, warm-hearted crea-
ture, and likes every one who is likeable, but she will
never love but one.”’

‘“You will miss her when the sea rolls between you,
Will you not?” : 4

‘Indeed J shall, but knowing her to be happy with
Harry, I shall rest contented in your love and protection.
J promised to tell you where she was; she has eloped with
Harry Erwin, but they are coming back to-night?”

Mr, it. John had tried to speak, to withdraw his arm
from the widow’s hold, but she took no notice of it and
now he stopped short.

“Gone where?’ he gasped.

“Gone to be married to Harry Erwin, and you and I
must talk to papa and make him reasonable. She has
loved him always, and he is just suited to make her hap-
py, else, of course, I would not have countenanced the
measure. But I could never have gone off to England
and left Gracie less happy than myself; it would have
Spoiled even our honeymoon, you know,” and the widow
laid her shining, perfumed head against his shoulder and
looked up in his face with humid eyes.

Mr. St, John had not spoken. His companion had not
meant he should, till she had finished. He had collected
his surprised thoughts enough to express no regrets about
Grace, and now, as he looked Gown in the beautiful face
so near his own, a feeling came over him that it was the
widow he loved after all; and he was sure he had pro-
posed and was accepted, and happy. And his arm slipped
round the jimp waist, and he pressed a kiss on the plump,
Walm tips and whispered, as he drew her close:

“Dear Mollie!

And they stood in that delightful position till a carriage
stopped below, and Harry and Grace came slyly up and
caught them. ;

They all went in together and up to the old gentleman’s
room.

There was a scene, and the old gentleman was angry,
but Harry reminded him: :

“You said you would do it, sir, So of course you do not
consider it wrong.”?

And Mollie told him he would be very lonely when she
was gone.

“Where are you going?” he asked, surprised. ©

“To England with me, sir,’? answered Mr. St. John.
“But I meant you for Grace |!

“No, papa, you do not believe in matchmaking,” said
Grace, archly.

And the old gentleman laughed and gave up the point.
And it was the widow whom Mr. St. John married after
ail.

ee
WHAT ENERGY CAN DO!

_ JOHN ROACH, Esq.,
PROPRIETOR OF THE MORGAN IRON WORKS, N. Y.

The career of John Roach, Esq., senior proprietor of the
great Morgan Iron Works, at the foot of Ninth street,New
York, has been characterized by such remarkable freaks
of good and bad fortune thatit is almost like a story of
romance. In his case the trite adage that “truth is
stranger than fiction,” has been most strikingly illustrat-
ed. Heisa plain, unobtrusive man, and you are not
likely to encounter him unless you have iron work to do.
Thinking that his history would prove a source of interest
to the readers of the WEEKLY, we one afternoon made
our way to the office of the Morgan Iron Works. We
found Mr, Roach in the large outer office and stated our
wishes. He smiled and said:

“Sir, ’m one of the few living modest men.
like to talk about myself.”

“But Mr. Roach,” we replied, ‘“‘you are not too modest
te do your duty. Your history is a lesson of moral cour-
age and perseverance to those who are struggling with
adverse circumstances the same as you did. You can put
up a light for those whose feet stumble in the dark places
ofadversity.””

He mused for a moment, and then said:

“Well, come into the private office.”

Here in his graphic, good-natured way he ran through
the story of his life. We wish that space allowed us to
reproduce all his pleasant humor about histrials and ef-
forts, and the people with whom he came in contact, but
we are obliged to confine ourselves to the chief facts.

John Roach was born in the county of Cork, Ireland,
December 25, 1814, and is therefore fifty-four years of age.
His father was a highly respectabie gentleman, engaged
in commercial pursuits. He attended school up to his
thirteenth year, when his circumstances in life were to-
tally changed by the financial ruin of his father by reason
of indorsements. This matter so afflicted his father that
he died shortly afterward. John determined to leave
the sad and unpromising scenes of home, and seek his
fortune in the United States, where he had an uncle. At
sixteen, all alone, he undertook the voyage across the At-
lantic, and landed an almost penniless stranger in New
York. On inquiry he learned to his dismay that his un-

I don’t

 

cle wasin far-off Texas. His money with the greatest

economy could not last more than a couple of days, and
he was a total stranger to every one in tie city. This was
probably the most wretched hour of his fe. He walked
up and down the streets of the strange city,and felt utter-
ly forlorn. But he was not that sort of a spirit which
ever gave up. He bethought him of a man he had heara
of who lived in New Jersey, and he determined to go
there and endeavor to earn sufficient money to take him
back to Ireland.

He went into Monmouth, now Ocean county, New Jer-
sey, where he found the person he sought, but he was too
poor to aid him. Inthe neighborhood was a brickyard,
and here he obtained employment as a hand with the
wheelbarrow. The toil was severe for one so young and
unaccustomed to such labor, and the treatment was even
more terrible. ‘‘My hands were soon blistered.”? said Mr.
Roach, “and my heart ached, but I would not give up.”
He worked a month and received thirteen dollars. He
next went to a place where Mr. James P. Allaire, of New
York, was building the Howell Iron Works. Here he ob-
tained employment as a hod-catrier. Having worked at
this until he had saved fifty dollars, he went to the fore-
man ofthe department, where iron hollow-ware was
made, and wished to pay the money, as a rule of the es-
tablishment required, to learn that trade. The foreman
treated the proposition with laughter and contempt.

“Your head is too thick to learn to work hollow-ware,”’
Said the foreman. ‘Stick to your hod.”

“Ql get into the foundry in spite of yon,” replied young
Roach, ‘‘and my thick head will yet learn you more than
you now know, with all your conceit.”

Applying directly to Mr. Allaire, he was more success:
ful, and was admitted into the foundry. His associates
were ignorant, depraved men, anda barrel of whisky
was kept for general use by means of contributions ex:
acted from each person. Roach made his contributions,
but resolutely refused even to partake of the liquor.
“Those were the days,” said Mr. Roach, “where work-
men were brutes in their habits, and were treated like
slaves.’’ He made great progress in learning the trade
and not only, as he had promised, gave some hew ideas
to the foreman, but married that person’ssister. His first
year showed one thousand dollars due him, and at the
end of the second, two thousand more. :

He now concluded to go to the Far West and purchase,
land. He drew five hundred dollars and left the balance
with Mr. Allaire. Reaching the West he purchased three
hundred acres of land, where the city of Peoria, Illinois,
is now located, on which he paid his five hundred doliars.
Soon after he received intelligence of the failure of Mr.
Allaire, and not being able to make the payments he for-*
feited the money already paid. He was now without
money sufficient to pay his way back to New York. Ue
did not hesitate what to do, but resolved to accomplish it
by working on the canals and railroads. In twenty-four
hours after learning of his loss, he went to work. It was
three or four months after his departure from New Y ork,
with high hopes of establishing himself in the West, that
he, for the second time, walked the streets with scarcely
any money.

He returned to the employment of Mr. Allaire, but did
not get the money which was due him. He worked at
making castings for machinery. Another foreman op-
posed his coming into the machinery, but Mr. Allaire,
who knew and appreciated his qualities of character, in-
sisted that he should be received. He rose rapidly, and
subsequently was offered the situation of this very fore-
man, but refused to take it from him. He worked so
hard and under such circumstances that he became ill,
and for a long time was obliged to give up work entirely.
He finally recovered from a severe attack of lung com-
plaint by something of a miracle, as he thinks from the
free use of water in external application. ‘It was plenty
of Croton water that saved my life,”? said Mr. Roach..

After commencing labor again he saved up one hundred
dollars. He now had a family of children, and he saw
no hope of their being educated on his wages as @ com-
mon mechanic. Hence he aspired to have a place of his
own. He finally bought a small foundry in Goerck street
for four thousand seven hundred dollars, of which one
thousand three hundred were paid in cash. Three other
mechanics, each with one hundred dollars and some other
resources, were associated with him in this undertaking.
At times these parties showed a reluctance to embark in
the enterprise, and Mr. Roach at length purchased the
place on his own responsibility. Said Mr, Roach, “I
watched that place every hour in the day, fearing that
some sharp chap would get it before me. Early one
morning when walking past it, I found that parties were
looking atit. Isaw the owner then and there, and pur-
chased if, and pulling five hundred dollars out of my
pocket, paid it down to bind the bargain. After I had
done it, I was frightened ont of my wits.” For some
days his expected partners refused to go any farther into
the transaction, and it was only after he had been offered
a bonus on his purchase that they concluded to form the
copartnership.

After the place was opened it was difficult to obtain
work. All parties except Mr. Roach were greatly dis-
couraged. “At last,’? he relates, “I determined to go and
seek work myself. I went out in the morning and walked
hearly all day without getting. any. Late in the after-
noon I reached a distillery in Brooklyn, where I obtained
an order for some grate bars. I hurried over to the
foundry, and ‘all hands’ of us went to work and during
the night completed the job. The next morning I took
the bars on my shoulder to the distillery, where they
were found all right, and they paid the bill. That was
the first money I ever earned as the proprietor of a
foundry.”

The firm had neither capital nor credit, and were ja-
boring under the original debt. Mr. Roach, however,
made very frank statements of his condition and expect-
ations to the iron merchants, and these, with his personal
reputation for integrity, obtained a limited credit. On
one occasion he purchased one hundred tons of iron,
which so alarmed his partners that they refased to sanc-
tion the purchase, and he was obliged to take it on his
own account. Soon after the prices rose, and he sold
fifty tons for sufficient to pay for the whole, when: his
partners demanded a share, which he allowed, to save
trouble. :

He had to borrow money to pay the workmen, and his
partners, one after another, withdrew. He had now the
whole establishment, but with little means to carry it en.
Fortunately he obtained a contract for some building ma-
terials, and made eight thousand dollars in ninety days.
He next took a contract which was beyond the capacity
of the works to execute, but he tore down the building,
and in fifty days had a new establishmeni in operation.

In 1856 he was nearly ruined by an explosion -at his
works. To enable him to go on with his contracts. with-
out loss of time, he carried steam through an iron pipe
more than two hundred feet, from a boiler in a neighbor-
ing factory, to his iren steam-engine, which was unin-
jured. ,

Overcoming the most distressing discouragements, he
succeeded in re-establishing the foundry. He subse-
quently made the Etna Works one of the most extensive
establishments in the country. Some of the.tools were
the largest in use in the United States. Fifteen hundred
men were employed. The two immense engines for the
steam ram Dunderberg, and those for the steamboats
Bristol and Providence, were built here.

In 1858 the firm became, as at present, John Roach &
Son.

n 1868 Mr. Roach effected a purchase of the Morgan
lron Works, which had been conducted since 1850 by
George W. Quintard. The works were established in 1838
by T. F. Secor & Co., but in 1850 they passed into the
hands of Charles Morgan, Hsq., and took his name.
They are very extensive in capacity for work, and Mr.
Roach is adapting them to the construction of the hulls
and machines for iron ships.

Mr. Roach is of the average hight, round person, and
erect. He has a large, round head, with a pleasant,
genial face. His manners are courteous and quiet, and
his conversation is very entertaining. He is an earnest,
thorough-going man, and can dispatch more business in
a given space of time than most persons.

The Morgan Iron Works were purchased in a brief in-
terview with Mr. Morgan. The latter marked his price
on a small slip of paper, which he handed to Mr, Reach,
who instantly said:

“I will take the place.”

The fall understanding of his plans and resolute exe-

 

cution of them, combined with a high character for in-
tegrity, have been the sources of his great success,