| /8SQ00W

500

200

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tee

 

 

Vol. XIX,

 

STREET & SMITH,
No. 11 Frankfort St.

"NEW YORK, APRIL 21, 1864

$2 50 PER YEAR,
Invariably in Advance.

No. 22.

 

 

er eee

 

A RETROSPECT.
BY MISS EDITH ELLERY,

Dost remember, sweet wife, the wild rose in the glen
We watched through long midsummer hours?

How I culled the red blossomsand gave them to you—
The bonnie, bright, beautiful flowers?

Dost remember the brook, with its low, mossy bank,
Where we wandered when Cynthia’s pale beam

Gave light to our pathway and smiled on our joy?
Tho bonnie, bright, beautiful stream.

Dost remember the circlet of gold that I gave
One mild, balmy eveningin spring ?
You have worn the fair treasure since then until now—
The bonnie, bright, beautiful ring.
Dost remember the cottage that stood in the dell,
By the forest path, shaded and lone?
Your eye lights with pleasure, your heart answers:
**Yos;””
Our.bonnia, bright, beautiful home.

Dost remember the day when you promised to walk
By my side through the journey of life?

Yloved you—I kissed you—I called you ‘‘my own,”
My bonnie, bright, beautiful wife.

+@rs
THE

SILVER SHIP;

 

The Bloodhound of the Caribbean!

A SPANISH-AMERICAN STORY.

BY LOUIS LEON.

{Back numbers of the “Silver Ship; or, The Blood-
hound of the Caribbean,’’ can be obtained from
every News Agont throughout the United States, }

CHAPTER XIL

A UIVING DEATH."

As Lasso scanned the face of Senor Nerle, a
troubled expression mantled his own.

«You saw the Count?” he stammered.

‘Yes, Come into my own private room.
We must be very cautious.”’

Lasso followed him, with the air of a whipped
dog following its master.

After securing the door, Nerle turned to him
abruptly, and said,

‘-The Count has taken it into his head that
Ruy Leol resembles him, and proposes to
make inquiries about him——”

“Tg it possible!” interrupted Lasso, sinking
into a chair.

“Yes, Itseems that the Count lost a son
and a ward, years ago, and suspected an es-
caped convict of abducting them——”

Lasso uttered astrange sort of cry, and
mumbled something about the closeness of the
room. His usually red face had become
deathly pale, and his every feature had as-
sumed the rigidity of terror.

“Of course, these speculations and resem-
blances are of no account?” pursued Nerle,
taking care not to let Lasso discover how
closely he had been watching the effect of his
words. ‘‘We can dismiss them.”’

*‘Just so,’’ echoed Lasso. ‘Dismiss them.”

“At the same time, the interest the Count
has suddenly taken in his young pilot makes it
desirable for us to prevent them from meet-
ing——’?

“Most assuredly. They must never meet—
never!”

“Because,” continued Nerle, ‘the young
eavesdropper has overheard our confidenees,
and learned that we are intending to take part
in the seizure of the galleon, He has learned
that I have abducted his | foster-sister; and is
aware that we sometimes turn an honest penny
by acting as spies for Callocarras-——”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Lasso, excitedly.
‘Wis knowledge on all these matters renders
it necessary for us to get 1id of him.”

*-But we must note where we stand careful-
ly, and have the fullest confidence in each
other. You saw Iolet, of course, and compre-
hended my affair with her?”

‘*Well, yes; I was too excited to think much
about her presence last evening, but havesince
mused upon it, You love her, and wish to

marry her?” : .

‘The idea exactly. Since you see where I
am, why are youso secret about your so-called
niece? What ifsheis deformed? Love plays
strange pranks, and you need not be ashamed
of loving her. Confess, Pedro, that we are in
the same boat!” - : ee

The confession was reluctantly made, and
Nerls resumed,

“Very good. We can now proceed. Not

" 3 only must Ruy Leol die, but your niece must

learn the fact, and attend his funeral, and so
realize the uselessness of her love for him, and

 

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS BY STREET & SMITH, IN 1964, IN CLERK’S OF FICE OF DISTRICT COURT OF UNITED STATES FOR SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORE.

ons Paleieecmuaoneo me

ys, aA ae
ye

“YOLA SAT ON THE STEPS IN THE VERY ABANDONMENT OF GRIEF.”

 

 

so be placed in a position to transfer her affec-
tion to you.”

‘Impossible !” exclaimed Lasso, ‘‘impos-
sible!—I mean that she should attend the
funeral !’’ :

“Oh, net at all. What if you have been
harsh to her? 'Fhe instant Leol is found dead,
somewhere on the rocks—an easy matter—you
can go to your niece, and ask her forgiveness;
obtain her promise to keep your secrets—if
you have any—and then break the sad news to
her. ‘Thereafter, when a few days of grief
have passed, she willturn from the dead to
the living, and you will obtain her hand in
marriage.”

Lasso’s face brightened.

“This really looks practical,” he declared.
‘‘The only thing in the way——”

He had reflected that Nerle would see Yola
at the funeral, and.so learn the falsity of his
pretension of her deformity, and this prospect
for a moment barred his way. He reflected,
however, that Nerle was occupied with Iolet,
and that he could cause Yola to veil her face,
and these reflections caused him to continue,

“Yes, on the whole, your plan is a good one.
We will not only get rid of Ruy, but we will
make his death a step toward the success of
my suit with my so-called niece.”

There was a quiet gleam in the eyes of Senor
Nerle, as he arose and responded,

‘Tam glad to find you so sensible. It only
remains for me to prepare the chief essential
of the proposed funcral—a job I will soon
have finished. You canremain in possession
hera, and see that no one comes to disturb
me,”’

He exchanged a few more words with Lasso,
and then withdrew, proceeding to his bed-
room. The instant he was alone, an expres-
sion of profound satisfaction lighted up his
face.

“Of course,” he muttered, ‘‘there’s no cer-
tainty in anything that’s uncertain, but I

strongly suspect that this Lasso is the Reve:

Laslin spoken of by Count Regla, and that
Ruy and Yola are the lost sonand ward. How-
ever that may be, there is no mistake about
the future of that girl. Once let her think her
lover dead, and it will be strange if I cannot
soon bring her to a choice between me and
Lasso.”

_ He sank into a chair, and reviewed his re-
lations with the pretended priest.

‘J found him here when I came,’’ he con-
tinued, ‘‘and was not long in penetrating his
pretensions and making him usefal. I am sor-
ry he has attempted this double game on me.
It may lead to disappointment.”

He arose and commenced ransacking a
drawer in an elegant bureau, and soon pro-
duced a small vial filled with a colorless fluid.

“That's the thing for my purpose,” he ejac-
ulated. .‘*Lhe padre need not know the de-
ception.” ©

He lighted a lantern, and went down to
Ruy’s prison, finding him seated on the cold,

 

damp floor, in a state of mind we will not at-
tempt to describe.

‘I come for a purpose that will be best de-
scribed in the execution,” said Nerle, placing
his lantern on a projecting stone. ‘I hope
you will submit to your fate as philosophically
as possible.’’

He produced the vial, advanced to the pris-
oner, seized him in a firm grasp, and finally
succeeded in pouring quite a quantity of the
liquid down Ruy’s throat, the manner in
which our hero was bound preventing him
from offering but a feeble resistance.

‘‘Well, what's to be the result of this meas-
ure?” was Ruy’s inquiry, as soon as his out-
raged feelings permitted him to speak.

“You will soon see.”’

The villain seated himself on a stone, and
grimly waited the effect of the poison. It was

‘not long before Ruy became deathly pale and

sank helplessly on the floor. Nerle then re-
moved the chains and ropes from the insensi-
ble body, and composed the limbs, and again
seated himself and waited. A full half hour
passed, and then, with a quiet smile of satis-
faction, he approached his victim, examined
him attentively, and said:

‘T have given you, Ruy Leol, a poison pro-
cured years ago in India. You are aware of
the luxuriance and profusion of poisonous
herbs and weeds in that quarter of the world,
and will not require a lengthened history of
this extract. I willmerely say that I procured
it of a fanatical fakir, who was represented as a
wholesale poisoner. The effect of this liquid
is unique. A certain dose—about the quan-
tity I have given you—causes the partaker to
fall into a déath-like sleep. The body be-
comes cold and rigid, the limbs ditto, the,
pulse still, and all the signs of death appear,
and yet, strange to say, the mind remains as
active as ever. In a word, this poison has
plunged you into a condition analagous toa
certain kind of trance. You can hear every-
thing going on around you—you are perfectly
conscious of what Iam doing and saying—and
yet you are to all appearance dead, and are in-
capable of the slightest word or movement.”

The declaration was true!

Every one of these statements had fallen
with singular distinctness upon Ruy’s senses,
and yet he lay like one dead, cold and rigid,
and unable to betray that his soul was still in
his body.

He was not much surprised at the effect of
the poison, for he was aware that such effects
are common among the scientific poisoners of
the east, but’ he was surprised that Nerle
should take such a course with him, and after
a desperate effort to break the horrible bonds
holding him, he waited for an explanation of
the proceeding. Nerle seemed to compre-
hend the emotion, for he continued, —

‘Padre Lasso wishes to kill you oytright
for your pursuit of Yola, as he’s determined

 

to marry her himself. I, however, think dif-
ferently. Ihave received a revelation to-day

that causes me to act thus, and I will tell you
briefly my mode of proceeding. I shall take
you out on the cliffs and leave you to be found
by the parties in search of Iolet and yourself.
They will lament over you in the most agon-
izing way, of course, but you will be unable
to utter a sound or betray that life yet re-
mains in your body. Then they’ll bury you.
Pll advise old Leol to put you in the vault,
and in the course of the succeeding night I
will take you out of your coffin and put you
on board the vessel belonging to my good
friend Callocarras! It would be easier, I
grant, to kill you on the spot; but you may
be useful to me yet! If my suspicions are
right, you are somebody, and I may need
you! Have no fears, senor—Yola and Iolet
shall both be taken care of! By the way,’ he
added, with a soft laugh, ‘‘I may make a trade
with the good padre—give him Iolet, of whom
I am tized, and take the bewitching little
Yola!”

The effort that Ruy made to break the hor-
rible spell enchaining his body was terrible.
Hig mind was in a whirl of emotions, but his
body was as cold and rigid, his eyes as fixed
and glassy, as. if he were already dead.

Nerle arose and picked him up, putting
him under his arm and covering his body
with a large cloak, showing a strength that
was astonishing for one of his slight figure.
He carried his victim up stairs, through the
halls, pausing once or twice to rest, out into
his private garden, and thence some distance
to a naked cliff, and here he laid him down,
looked cautiously around him, remoyed the
cloak, and whispered: :

‘‘Au revoir, Ruy Leol, till I meet you o
board the schooner of the Bloodhound. The
wounds you received last night, although not
serious, will account for your death!”

He flung the cloak over his arm and hur-
ried home, locking the wall door and castle-
door behind him, and hastening to the library.

“Welll’? demanded Lasso, eagerly.

‘Well!’’ returned Nerle. ‘He is dead!
Come and see!” ;

He led his delighted confederate up a couple
of flights of stairs to the top of one of the
castle-towers, and they looked cautiously
through an embrasure of the battlement sur-
mounting it, Nerle pointing out the kody of
the victim where he had left it.

The joy of Lasso was satanic,

“There are parties out all the while, look-
ing for him and the girl,” said Nerle, ‘and
they will soon find him. It will be supposed
that he was killed by prowling pirates in the
night, and that his body has been overlooked
in the search to-day. Ah! there comes a
party now!” and he pointed to a group of
men, hunting among the rocks lining the
shore. ‘Old Leol’s amongst them. Now
look!”

The men waited anxiously for the result.

They had not long to wait—a sudden and
startling cry coming to their ears, as the old

2

hammock-maker discovered the body and
sprang towards it, clasping it in his arms.

The wind brought his sobs and. despairing
ejaculations to the ears of villains—brought
also the groans and exclamations of the strong
men who knew and loved Ruy, as though he
were a son and a brother to them all—and
their black hearts were full of delight,

One of the men took from his shoulders a
heavy and large Mexican blanket, and his
comrades placed Ruy carefully upon it. . They
then tenderly lifted the corners of the blanket,

j and started homeward—a sad and solemn pro-

cession.

ee

©» CHAPTER XL

GATHERING DARKNESS.

Senor Nerle and Lasso descended from the
tower, after Ruy was borne away, and returned
to the library.

‘Well, we're rid of him!’’ ejaculated the
pretended priest, with an infernal jey. ‘‘My
‘way is now clear.” : ;

‘“‘And mine also,” replied Nerle. ‘‘He isn’t
here to pilot the count’s vessel, and she won't
be able to get out without him before to-
morrow. It only remains to attend the
funeral.’’

Lasso moved about uneasily, looking thought-
fal. :

‘‘Won’t the count ‘come ashore—that is,
learn of Ruy’s death?’ he asked.

“No. He’s quiet in his cabin—all through
with us—merely waiting for the soa to moder-
ate. Besides, if you don’t wish to see him,
where are your cowls and broad-brims, and
all that sort of thing? You cannot beat home
too soon, a8.old Leol will speedily be seeking
you in your double capacity of priest and
physician.”

Lasso assented, recovering his equanimity,
and Nerle continued,

“Go home, and make your peace with your
ward, Gain her forgiveness and impose silence
upon her, saying you were carried away by a
wicked impulse in any harshness you may
have shone her.”

“T think I can manage it,” said Lasso, put-
ting on his hat, ‘‘When you see me at Leol’s,
come down.” nee

Nerle signified that he would do so, and
Lasso then departed, hastening toward his own
home at a rate of speed astonishing for one of
his bulky form, and soon arrived at his gloomy
dwelling.

He entered the kitchen, almost breathless,
took the keys from the wall and went to the
cell where he had imprisoned Yola.

He heard the sound of a vyoicé within, and
listened.in guilty amazement and hesitation.

*@an anybody have found her here?” he
thought. ‘But no, the door is still locked.”

He listened to hear what she was saying, and
from the rise and fall of her sweet tones, as
well as from the soft cadence of her voice, he
knew that she was reciting a poem in a foreign
language. It was a verse from Childe Harold.

“What language can it be?” he muttered,
“Who taught her? Ah! that Ruy Leol.”

He unlocked the door, opened it, and called
her name, and the girl came at his bidding,

He regarded her half in anger and half in
disappointment—the visit and promises of
Nerle having cheered her. Her sweet face wag
as sunny and bright as ever, as she stepped
out into the hall besidehim. He had expected
to find her inconsolable with grief. He con-
trolled his anger, and said,

‘Well, Yola, Dhave come to release you. TI
acknowledge I was foolish to think you -would
ever marry me. Let us be friends again.”

Yola regarded hima moment earnestly, and
then laid her tiny hand in his fat palm with a
charming frankness that showed how entire
was her forgiveness.

The padre’s hypocritical grief deepened as
he continued,

“You know, Yola, how hard I have labored
with these people, and how highly I am re«
spected by every one at Isla Grande, and I be-
seech you not to hinder my future usefalness,
My treatment of you last night was but a mo-
mentary impulse. Will you keep it a secret?”

Yola was silent a moment, and then an-
swered, :

“T won't tell anybody but Ruy. I tell him
everything.”

A fiendish gleam shot into the eyes of the
pretended priest as he thought,

“Then I am safe! He is dead, sure
enough ?”’ \

He believed that Ruy was really dead, Nerle £ =
not making him a confidant of his plans, for

 

reasons ef his own, and said aloud,

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

= SS Seater = a SEES
“Tul take your word, Yola, that you will tell; How painfully conscious he was of eyery-|ion toher, Her brain reeled, and she could | ting on the steps in the very abandonment of| “Not a great distance from the sceno of my wis-
no onebut Buy. Come, you are free.” thing that was said and done—of the soft, | only murmur egain and again, “‘O, Ruy, dar-| grief. The door opening into the parlor wag | 822 1 saw several conveyances near a large and

is : 2 5 5 : oe well-built farm-house. Wishing some excuse for
Yola bowed quietly, for she would not thank | warm air that lifted his hair, the whispering |ling! O, Buy!” Open, but no one was within. -| Stopping, I rede up toa.man standing near the

him, and then danced through the corridor to | of his old neighbors—the grief of his friends,| Arrived at the church, there was abriefser-| “Yola,”’ ho said sofily, ‘where is Senor | tad and asked if thé master of the house was
the kitchen, singing merrily. Her perfect | his own terrible situation!

 

 

 

innocence and guilelessness prevented herhay-} At his feet, with his head resting on. the
ing a suspicion-that Lasso was playing a dou-| table, sat Senor Leol, sobbing and groaning,
ble game. She beliéved he had obeyed & mo- | and bewailing the fate of his children.
mentary impulse in shutting her up, and now; Suddenly the groups parted, and Yola
repented it, ; EN glided in'like a spirit, advanced to the table,
She ate her breakfast, and then went out to | and laid her head upon the breast of hér prom-
her hammock, from which she looked out up-| ised husband. 2
on the uneasy sea, the gallcon in the bay, and} There was a solemn hush, and there was
murmured, not a person present but wept at the sight of
“I’m going to.sce Ruy this very day, and be-| her despairing face; so angel-like in its pure
married to him. I don’t like the padre any beauty, so anguished in its expression,
more, andif I’m no relation to him at all, I “Ruy, darling!’’ whispered the poor girl,
don’t want to stay in his house. There is no laying her cold cheek against his. «TI love
use in waiting till Ruy ig rich, for I'll help him | you so, Ruy! I cannot, cannot give you up!
earn his money.” You are all I have in the world; I know you'll
She looked dewn upon her tiny, blue-veined | be happier in Heaven, my precious, precious
hands, almost transparent in their delicacy, as Ruy—but, oh! I’m so lonely without you—so
if mentally calculating how much they could | miserable—so heart-broken !”
assist her lover in acquiring a fortune, She moaned in the bitterness of her de-
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, blushing | spair—a low moan, so full of concentrated an-
and sthiling, “I'll tell Ruy that I don’t want guish that it pierced Ruy’s heat like a knife,
to live away from him any more. This place| He strove with frantic energy to break the

coffin, Yola burst into tears, the first she had
shed since the first fearfal shock. Her grief,
now finding vent, was terrible to witness.

Z about. inte of in
vice, a hymn sung, a last long look, and the| Leol?’ forty stan ding with corel Hoe eee

cofiin was closed and deposited in the vault,-

The villagers departed sadly from the. place, | wild and despairing gaze, not appearing to
leaving Yola and Senor Leol, and Nerle and | take in the meaning) of his words,

Lasso, all together,
“Ruy loved you, father Leol,” said Yola, at

length turning to the old hammock-maker. ‘I | answered, repressing her sobs. ‘He had \to
will help you find Iolet, and come and live | put aside his grief to search for his daughter!
withyou. Willydu give me a home?” | Heaven grant that he may find the poor girl.)

Leol regarded Yola as some fairy princess,

and was overjoyed at her proposition, assur- | somewhat effeminate face assuming a look of
ing her how glad and happy he would be to| sympathy and guef.” “You, too, Yola, are
take care ofher, adding, “Ié will almost seem early called to know sorrow. I know how to
as if we had Ruy back, little Yola, for he loved | feel for you. I ha% myself experienced many
afflictions,”

you with all his heart and soul.”
Atthese words, and at the sight of the dreary

& musical tone,

place Ruy in your heart. Iam also aware that
Lasso approached her, after a while, bis | this is not the time to speak of my own per-
face drawn-down in hypocritical grief, his}s

eyes filled with tears, and said, go away on busineas, and itis possible that I

Yola lifted her héad and looked up witha

He repeated the question. Veal JE a
“Senor Leol has gone to look for Tolét,”? ahe

‘He is indeed afflicted!" said Nerle,) hig

He took her hand gently, and continued in

“I am aware, Yola, that no one’ can ever re-

onal feelings toward you, but Iam about to

“Come, Yola, let us go home. We must| shall not return in some months, I know as

ding wit several others on the veran-
dak. Seeing he was the object of rémark, he ap-
proached and asked my pleasure/’ I replied by
(asking the distance and direction £0 Tappanville,
ja little town! which I knew to be on the road to
Springfield, Missouri, to which’ place I intended
to proceed after my inspection of the Indian coun-
Oi is. gave me the desired information and
eee
_“* T notice your clothes are wet, would. you not
like to change ‘them for dry ones? We are hav-
ing a little social party, and would like your com-
pany, and if you will indulge in anything stronger
than water, you shall suit yourself in that way.’
“I thanked him for his invitation and coraplied
with the same, and was shown inito-a-well-fur-
nished room, while a little darkie took my horse
to the stable. I soon made the hecessary changes
in my raiment, and gat down to a supper such as
I bad not tasted since leaving the bounds of civ-
ilization. The host, a, half-bred Cherokee, now
‘introduced me to his two daughters, who could
not be distinguished as of Indian descent except
by their hair and eyes, of that midnigh$ hue o y
to be found among the children of Manitou, and a
tint of olive in the delicately rounded cheek such
as shows itself in that of the descendants of the
Spanish Moors. At nightfall the young people
asserabled, and soon the inspiring notes of the
violin invited the devotees of Terpsichore to ‘trip
the light fantastic toe,’ which I need noe BAY Was
not concluded until the appearance of the rose-

is so gloomy, and I want to be loved all the| spell that enchained him—to clasp her to his | bear our affliction in calmness and patience. | well as you do that padre Lasso is a villain—a- tinted morn. My host came to me, and saying
time, Dear, precious Ruy! - How he loves | breast—to tell her how he loved her, and still | Come!”? hard-hearted and cruel wretch in whose hands | 26 Hked to see native Americans enjoy thom-

Z : selves, and thatI must take part, which advice I
me!” | lived to guard and shield her from all sorrows} Yoda strugeled to calm herself, and soon you would now not be safe a single day.” f y : :

pels ae on pe sey alae af thirty, did not ob»
ho nestled a momen ric ins! ; oa ee ° Wh Oa i & § cD ant ject to. Being lately from the land of such amuse-
8. nestled ent among the ich and pains Z said, “Tam going Rosie with Senor Leo]; you I shall never go back to him, said Yola, |+- ents, Twas able to teach thom somo new fon.
shawls lining her hammock, her eyes shining| But, oh, how powerless he was! need not wait for me, : with a flood of uncontrollable grief. “I shall tures, which gave me more prominence than per-

and eloquent with love and tenderness, and| Not an eyelash quivered, not a muscle] Lasso was angry, but made no opposition, | stay with Senor Leol.” ee I merited, is erg at! she ae
then she sprang up, made her way to the tree, | obeyed his frenzied will! thinking, ‘‘She’ll keep her word and not be-| “But Senor Leo! is poor,” returned Nerle. | +o ee ae et

: with me, so I passed flve or six weeks im the so-
and descended to the ground. Hereshe be-| He heard some one saying: fray my secret. Ina day or two I can bring| ‘He has only the little money he makes on | ciety of his charming family as pleaantly as any

gen to pluck the odorous blossoms, singing| ‘Poor child! If she could only weep, it | her back by force, ifnecessary.” hammocks. It would be hard for him to sup- | f my life. : : :
softly to herself in a dreamy, tender way, that | would do her good! Inever saw any one sut-| Nerle invited Lasso to dinner, and the two port you in addition to Iolet. If he were to ne soil and climate of this country I believe

: : : ee in : to be unsurpassed in the world, I am told by
would have caused Ruy to yearn over her, if| fer so before—so tearless, looking so like a| villains went out together, proceeding to the | die, you would of course be penniless. I don’s | those who have travelled extensively that neither

he could ‘only have heard it, and slowly re-| corpse!” castle: know what may befall you in my absence, and | California nor Italy equel it in climate, and the

turning to the monastery. How his heart bled for her awfal grief to} Yola clung to the coffin containing hex lover, | wish to give you my friendship and sympathy.” ioe

: the way of fruit and grain. Prairies of small ex-
Tn the meantime, Lasso had retreated to his | which tears were denied! but was atlast led away by Senor Leol, who| “I thank you for your kindness,” answered | tent interspersed with gigantic black walnuts and

‘private chamber, removed the robe he had ‘Ruy !’’ she again whispered, nestling closer | took the key with him, and Ruy was left to all Yola, vainly endeavoring to steady her voice. ee erica Bt rials tenscuie: —

“f feel as if I had lost everybody in losing |_ “‘At last, with much regret, on my part atleast,
Ruy.” I took leave of my kind friends, though with
Nevgegee o ee 2 ge ae promises of a speedy return. -
CHAPTER XIV. “Behind my friendship for you,” pursued “Three years since, ag the alarm of war first
Nerle, still holding her hend, “there is a | sounded in our ears, Treturned to claim the dark-
NERLE SEES YOLA AGAIN,

tiently wondering why he had not yet been| from you. Perhaps God will soon let me die : '| warmer fesling, that I could not hide from you Se ee sividca para eae
By the time Netle reached his castle, at-|if1 should try. I love you!” i

sont for by Senor Leol. too!” noble John Ross steod by.the old flag. With a
He wes stending in the outer door when| At that moment, Lasso and the messenger | tended by Lasso, a luxurious dinner was| Yola withdrow her hand, with a pained ex- | f¢W of his nation still loyal, he was forced to leave

; : Ay. Z a é ‘i : his beloved country. -He will soon retarn to re-
Yola came up, radiant in her beauty and| entered. awaiting them, in the large dining hall. The | pression on her sweet, tear-stained face. deem it from the’ domon of secession—child of

grace, _ The pretended priest was greeted in silence | two proceeded to do justice to it, congratula-| “I have told you this, thinking of-your lone-| that monster of monsters, slavery. When the
"You look happy, Yola,” he said, half jeal-| by uncovering the head—the simple inhab- | ting themselves on thesuccess of their schemes. | liness and grief,’ he said. ‘You have'a pe- a fosethien ah iprill taver sea ani
ously, half enviously. ‘I hope you are enjoy- | itants revering him for his office ‘and never | The padre waxed confidential over the wine. | culiarly loving and clinging disposition, Yola, | never forget, ‘my first trip and sojourn among
ing yourself.” thinking he was not all he seemed. “Our relations hayé been a good thing for | and need someone to shield and guard you. | the Cherokees.”
“Indeed I am,” returned the little creature. ‘Is he dead, padre?” asked Senor Leol, | me,” he said. “IT was just thinking of the | Ruy himself would not have you go through
“See how bright and hot the sun is, how dry | arising. ‘Teli mé if he is really gone?” shawls, and silks and jewelry you have given | the world alone, He would have you accept
the ground has become, how fragrantthe flow-} Lasso laid his hand on BRuy’s heart, and an- | me-for my services, such as.giving false infor- | some faithful heart like mine to lean upon.
ers are! Inever knew before what a lovely | swered, with well-simulated sympathy: mation to the merchantmen, ete. If I were to | You can always cherish Ruy as a tender mem-
place Isla Grande is, or: how beautiful the “Yes, he’s dead! Beon dead, too, several | take them to Havana some day, I could get a| ory, and I will delight in talking of him with
- world ig!” hours, I should judge, from his rigidness. But | small fortune for them.” you. Heshall be the guardian-spixit of our] Tney are tough things after all, very improssi- |
The air, so soft and warm, lifted the tendrils | death: comes to all, Senor Leol, and we must| ‘Well, you have served me faithfully,” said | united lives, Yola.” > ble, but not bitter, not in the least likely to break.

 

worn all night, which was cut and rent by the | to him. ‘Youknow I was to be your own | the horrors of a living death,
sword-thrusts of Ruy, and exchanged it for his | little wife! TI shall always feel that I am so
Sunday garment, 3 now, and shall always be true to your memo-

He then came out into the kitchen, impa-| ry: Maybe, darling, I won't be long parted

 

 

mocsocnuammmceetBin} +48) b 4p fpemmemeenee en

HEARTS.

BY CARRIE ¢C. HALLECK,

believe me. She who

 

ae 700. F : ; oT z 2 7 : : he sentimental young lady of sixteen, may not
of her shining hair, lingered lovingly on her] bear our griefs like men and christians!”’ Nerle. ‘Let our netions continue to the} The girl was silent, her face covered with aa : b ihe

‘flushed cheeks, and filled her with asense of} Just then, Lasso caught sight of Senor end. I promise you

buoyancy and exuberant life. . | Nerle’as he stood just outside of the door, and
She was about to turn away, and enter the | he beckoned him to enter. ;

wood again, when aman came up the road, ‘You have considerable knowledge of medi- | moment's pause:

‘with hurried steps, and accosted Lasso. cine, Senor Nerle,” said Lasso. ‘What is

Lasso looked pleased, and replied, after a

at your pay shall not} her hands, Encouraged by her silence, Nerle
grow less!” ? : Ww

ent on:
“You ought not to desolate your own life,

even if you care nothing for mine, Yola. Ruy

“As you are pursuing an affair with Tolet, I himself, if his spirit could look upon you now,

oks every day in the giasg
to see if her cheeks are not growing thin and pale,
from the effects of that untold love which, like a
worm. in thé bud, she hopes will feed on her dam-
ask cheek; but nevertheless the time will come,be-
fore very long too, when she will laugh atall such
nonsense, and awake to the stern realities of life,
when she will find if she let her woman's nature

“Good riorning,” returned the priest. | your opinion concerning the bedy of Don| will tell you my wish about Yola.”’ would forbid it. He would wish you to make | have full vent, that the wasting of time and

gy 3G : ; se ks : ; ; if ‘mauch poeti mereck
“What's gone wrongwith you, Leron? You | Ruy ? “By the way,” interrupted Nerle, dipping | your life as bright as possible here on earth, Maen eee bone Spoor ee
look as if you had lost your best friend!” Nerle put his hand on the face and heart of | his’ fingers carelessly into a finger-glass, | and to think of him as blest above. ‘These | the talents vouchsafed us. Pam a firm beliover in
“Well, so T have!” answered the man, sad- | his victim, and replied, in a low and measured | “didn’t you tell mo she was hideous? Iam considerations have emboldened me to speak | 2¢@tts, good, sound and true; but broken hearts

. . have no place in my creed. Don’tI know a dark
ly. “Ruy Leol, the pride of Isla Grande, the | tone, meant for Ruy’s ears: sure I saw nothing of it to-day.” to you, even in the hour of your bitter grief.” | eyed yonie lady, who, on certain July night
noblest and purest of men, is dedd!’’

“He's dead; and I think, Senor Leol, you} Lasso looked a little chagrined, and re-| He listened eagerly for her reply. heard the words full and clear, “I love you,” from

ina : N t lips. and wh ded, . .
*Dead!” shrieked Yola, her face instantly | had better make up your mind to part with | marked: (To be continued.) ‘ Ba love yO aa Te te eee atte er

MY COMRADE’S STORY.

- BY INDICUS,

4 i ald, I love you so,” with her head layin on his
becoming of 2 deadly whiteness, as she sank | his body to-day. He must have beon dead| *‘All’s fair in love and war, ch? The fact is, rat : co I rey = is apie
upon the door- step. ‘Dead! My Ruy dead!” | several hours; and the weather is so warm I since you're bewitched with Tolet, I'll frankly ae fale ips bad spoken the bridal ies Te
“Dead!” repeated Lasso, in pretended as- | should advise immediate interment!” tell you the reason I deceived you about her, bound him to another dark eyed maiden, she
tonishment, ‘‘Why, I saw him yesterday, full| ‘But I cannot bury him so soon!” gaid the | You are rich and handsome, and might do bw sanele ach aeaesie faa
_ of Yfe and vigor!’’ poor old foster-father, ‘Suppose I find Iolet; | away with any chance I would otherwise have.- the inner depths of = nature, and bubbles ever
“I don’t doubt it,” said the messenger. | she will want to see his face again. It would|I knew if you were once to see the girl, I sor inatitntione” ife ig | im little rivulets of mirth,
eae ; : One of the “peculiar institutions” of camp life is ; ae
**His ‘sister was lost last night, and he went| kill her to have bim buried out of her sight!” | might as well give up all hopes of marrying that of story-telling. In the crowded huts in heey tabs fo ayia
Searching for her. Nothing was seen of him| “We can remedy that,” said Nerle, gently, | her.’’ > ans Aiiee ie aeHiGhe Gee a believed that the war should. be vigorously prose- -
till this morning, and then he was found on “Suppos3 you put him in the church vault,| A smile of satisfaction . at this compliment | favorite amusement to while away the tedium of pared ee oo nhs Dieaty oe ae on = ony
the cliffs, cold and dead, killed by a dagger.|and then when Jolet comes home you can | played about Nerle’s mouth fora moment, a dull ne portend eda iat he should most assuredly enlist, if he could
thrust in his breast. Sener Leol is fainly dis- bury him,”’ = ‘What you have given me,” continued Las- November, that a ember of the brave nee of count with certainty upon promotion to a captain=
tracted with the loss of both hig children. He| Tne villain was sorry he had stolen Iolet-—| so, “will enable me to take her to some other! the —— U. S, Vols. a seated salt the oo ee itfor such a man as this that a woman
won't give up that Ruy is dead, and sent me! tired of her since he had seen the lovelier lit- | place—say Havana—marry her, and live in pany Aro-onjoving a Sok in oe notes aad should spoil her eyes for 2 whole day? Common

for you to come and see if life is really gone.’’ | tle Yola; but resolved that she should never | comfort the remainder of my life. This is my | guard du y, near the sloping banks of Potomac | sense came to the rescue of her imperilled cause,
_ “But who would have killed him?” asked | leave his castle, So he felt safe in making the | wish and intention.” creek, and at no distance from quiet Fredericks- | Irepeat, Iam not a believer in broken hearts,

. bay i é : yee . : burg and its frowning rear-guard, St. Mary’s| though
Lasso, pretending sympathy, “TI didn t know | suggestion to leave Ruy in the vault until her} Nerle merely smiled again, and said he Highte, After a little eine doaversetion Seemed :
there Was @ man on the island that hated | return, should be happy to render him any friendly | to flag, when one of the boys called on Sergeant
him !”’

: : ee See for a story. The sergeant, a tall, deter-
OAs As in many other tropical countries, it was | office in his power. Headded: fines Poke, Sb arad a of Gaul, noth-
“There is not!” replied theman. ‘There is | the custom at Isla Grande to bury the dead} “I can tell you what to do, Lasso, if you'd | ing loth, took v beloved meerchaum ffom his

° suas ° ° ° i i s 9-4 Oh
not a heart to-day on Isla Grande, but will| within twelve hours, on account of the heat, like my advice. I am going to Havana on aR twill you have a fighting story or one of those
mourn'for Ruy Leol. He Was the bravest, the danger of infection, or pestilence; and as the | business in my sloop, and wish to start to- ‘piping times of peace,’ before we ever heard of 7 W I i ] G H T
best, the most generous youth that ever lived. jisland priest now seconded the remark of| day, and shall be absent somé time. I want ena ci ete fone isip through, the Indian :
We think the. pirates must have seized Iolet, Nerle, it. was agreed that Ruy should be|TIolet to be kept safe, and will leave you in| country where you found your, little Madame,” BY M. D.
and killed him. But come, padre; Senor Leol placed in the vault at noon | charge of the castle. You know what my ac- | said two or three of the boys at once. ‘he ser- ——— : :
é : ; : : a his pipe and thus at sweet,holy feelings come surging through
bade me hasten.” ag Two or three of the men then went out to|commodations are for Yola, and it will be Tbe: guarescis eee iene at tite quiet oan hour ! oon easily
Yola sprang to her feet, her countenance | make the coffin, and Yola was left to her voices} your own fault if you do not speedily have a ore se eee foe cre a a ee an emus Voceukn

3 : case 4 7 ‘ Ps . > 5 » that, prompted | soothes, quie e] ;:
white with her dumb anguish, and her soul | less, wordless grief. Lasso and Nerle con-|her in safe keeping. It will be easy to say, tesa oF alate. be a See Ff so lee pa dbrain long for peace and. topose, is
conyulsed with the awfal weight of grief that | versed with Senor Leol, sympathizing with his | after her disappearance, that her grief has myself, one Pieeens oetnins, = the landing at never ope ” ree ae Bee en ue

i 4 \ . Pawar ve ; : ei th, was not long in in, eart pant for more than this world affords—is i
ee ae . * ° » {double lors, and every word-of their EypoeE finde “Ser wild,’ atid that ee easirOyee tat sailor “iife nor sorte: were eto) to ay full of anaatisfied longings— does it yearn for gen-
will go too!’’ she Said, catching up her | cal utterances filled Kuy’s heart with awful | herself.” :

“True it is that clond and mist
Blot the clear blue weather ;

True that lips that once have kissed
Come no more together.”

 

 

nothing of property, which seemed to be gener-| tle, tender sympathy—for that which gatisfieth, it _
SESW, NOt tie : i n finds it when at this hour, so full of awful; sug-
: Titec saci ti gestive stillnes, it allows itselfto reach and “g0ar
tar above this unselfish, unsatisfying world—this
world so full of mystery, sin and crime, and clings
to that which answers the soul’s needs, which we
can not fail to understand. What a real, pure joy,
to sit, while we gaze upon the darkening sky, and
watch the grey shadows creep slowly round every
visible thing, and recall sweet, olden memories,
that bring back, perhaps, a pleasant, familiar
scené,or a bright, happy face of one—oh,s0 dearly
loved! How the heart ae and flutters, and the
smiles play almost unconsciously around your
lips, even while the tear isin your eye—a bright,
joyous, happy tear, that only makes the eye more
full of beaming light, andthe heart more fault. of
sweet, gaddenins teniernoss, because of its pres-
ence there, and overflows the soul with a pure,
deep, quiet joy! How full of happiness is this
same hour to some; but oh, how full of misery to
others! How differently isit greeted ; an hour to
some, filled with holy self-communings; but alas!
it finds many in haunts of shame and degreda--
tion! Yet, to the most callous-hearted, the most
wicked, the most vile, it is a time that instinctive-
ly draws the mind from the low, debasing things
of this life, to that brighter and holier one we ail
hope to lead above. Even they acknowledge,
however unwillingly, the softening, purifying in-
fiuénce this still, quiet reason exerts ever the aay
—a something that, though only partly under-
stood, is felt and acknowledged, It soothes the
uneasy, aching heart, elevates sll our thoughts

Lasso endeavored to induce her to remain at

but she shook her head, saying,

“No; I was to be his wife! My place is by | visible,

him now!”

She started at so rapid a pace that the pre-
tended priest and the messenger could hardly
keep up with her.

‘(How hard she takes it!’ said the man, as
he watched her little slight figure hastening
on before them with a quick but unsteady
. Btep. ‘‘I’d rather see her scream and cry then
to. take it in that silent awful way! Poor
little thing! I hear that Ruy was engaged to
marry her!”

The padre assented and they hurried on to-
gether, soon arriving at Leol’s cottage,

The doors and windows had all been flung

weeping for the supposed dead, or conversing
great learning, his nautical skill, besides his | a

Ii thousand noble qualities and aspirations.
On a large pine table in the centre of the

 

) a neat-fitting dark suit,

Z

ing, lingering tenderness, whispering to him
her great love to him, although she believed
that she kissed only Ruy’s deserted clay, and
breathed her love only to senses that were
dead and dumb forever.

At length she was drawn away by tender | so,’’ said Nerle.
hands, and Senor Leol said,

“Walk with me, Yola. You were the near- | Sweet.dreams,”
open, and the neighbors were crowded around, | est to his heart,” :

cession started for the church.
Yola tottered onwards, just behind the cof-| setting out for the village.
parlor ley Ruy. Hig water-proof over-gar-|fin, clinging to the arm of Senor Leol—the
ments had been removed, and he lay dressed, | bright warm sun; the perfumed air, full of
as he had been when visiting his betrothed, in | melody; the dry and flowery earth under her
feet—all seeming an indistinct and unreal vis.

dignation.

dozen stalwart youths, and the mournful pro-

 

. Lasso was delighted at this scheme, and ex-
Before noon the coftin was brought in, and| pressed his satisfaction in warm terms.
home, and let him bring her the particulars, | Ruy was laid, dressed as he was, within it,{ ‘You can have the full range of the house,”
and the lid nailed down, leaving only the face | said Nerle, drawing a bunch of keys from his
i pocket, and handing them over to his associ-:
As the low moans ‘of Yola.fell on his quick | ate, after detaching several, which he men-
hearing, as he heard the‘sobs around him, a3
the villagers came to take a last look upon his
face, he made a superhuman effort to free
himself—but in vain!

tioned would not be needed.
Wine-vaults, and towers are equally at your
service!”

They conversed sometime longer on the sub-
Yola kissed and caressed him with a yearn- ject, Lasso reiterating his pleasure at being
left in charge of the castle, and finally the
padre withdrew to his favorite room, the li-
brary, and stretched himself on a silken lounge
for a siesta.

“I believe I will follow your example, Las-
‘I will leave you in full pos-
session here, and retire to my private rooms.

“The gardens,

The padre responded by covering his face
3 ; The cofiin, with its precious and sensible | with his pocket handkerchief, and Nerle with-
in low tones, recalling his generous deeds, his | freight, was lifted upon the ahoulders of half! drew.

Instead of going to his room, however, he
took his hat and left the castle and grounds,

1 gee the girl,” he thought; “and he'll
be none the wiser,”
He hastened toward Leol’s cottage, and

ally considered lawful plunder, to be taken by the
stronger at the point of the Bowie or the muzzle
of the revolver. Iwas soon heartily sick of this
‘eternal vigilance,’ which in fact was the only
safeguard. Hearing alarming stories of the In-
dian country, I determined to leave this land,
cursed by a worse than barbarous warfare, and
seek among the aboriginees that peace which
seemed denied me among men of like descent
with myself. So taking my movables in a water-
proof case I mounted my gallant gray, turned my
face southward and bade a glad adieu to blood-
stained Kansas, and set out to try my fortane in
the land of the Cherokees. For some days Irode
leisurely over the prairie, spotted here and there
with little cluraps of phlox or a solitary cotton-
wood, and through the narrow belts of timber
along the shallow streams.

“Sometimes I amused myself by a careless shot
at a sneaking cayoti, or a taore earnest sim at a
prairie hen. At night I tethered my horse at no
great distance from my camp-fire on some clear
stream, meade my cup of coffee and roasted my
game before rolling up in my blanket for a sleep,
not always untroubled by fears of prowling ruf-
fians, on the broad bosom of mother earth.

“Presently I saw signe of civilization, A log
hut near a ‘branch,’ and some houses of more
pretentions. Having a liking for out-Joor life I
still slept with no other canopy than that of the
infinite expanse of blue ether, and no softer couch
than that afforded by the leaves of the forest.
Thus far the weather had been all that could be
desired; but one night there came up a tremen-
dous thunder-storm, such as is only known in the
far west or the tropical climes. My ‘poncho
‘kept me dry, but in attempting to ford what was
commonly an insignificant water-course, but now
swollen to a river, my horse was forced to swim
some distance, and of course I was wet to the

passions, and brings to earth’s tired ones, rest—a
season of peace and contentment. Of ail hours,

sires, and never at any time is mysoul so drawn

 

 

finally came up to the poreb, finding Yola sit-

skin,

hour of twilight!

 

 

 

 

and feelings and purposes, subdues our wildest _

this to meis the pleagantest inspiring me ag it .&
does with the noblest resolutions, and purest de- £

toward my Creator, as at this calm, deepening “f

AP ANTALIS ETE ES my

PARAS REAP AS ee:

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘A TRYST WITH MEMORY.
BY U. D. THOMAS.

Threo tmes has the rose-tree budded and blown
In a spot to my memory dear;

‘And thrice wild winter, with desolate moan,

Has aritted bis snows round the white headstone
At ber grave in the church-yard drear,

Tho skies were weeping that antumn day
When we buried sweet Alice there;
With the glory of summerishe passed away,
Axa ail that I wor from the sad decay
Wan a tress of her auburn hair,

An! then my scrrow was anguish derp,

And Hope, with life’s promise, fled; ©
Liurned from the smiles ofthe world, to weep
O’er the tomb that holds in its solemn keep
| fhe foxm of the loved and dead.

Now her name is hushed to a low-breathed sigh,
When heridaughter climbs my knee,

For F see in thé light of her soulful eye,

Her wavy ringlets and temples high,
‘What Alice used tobe,

Another gits at the homestead hearth—

My bride but & year. ago;
Hor lips are wreaihed with the smiles of mirth;
She sees but the rose-tinted hues of earth;

Her heart never knew my woe,

Ahi fo for her is a golden tide,

That fows in the bright sunshine;
Her days to sweet meledy seem to glide;
She may notfeel for a tempest tried

And darkened soul like mine.

Her slender fingers embrace my hand,

Her brow on my bosom lays,
The wiaileT am wandering'in “Shadow Lend,”
Whore memories cluster a tearful band

At the shrine of by-gone days.

To-nieht, though her voice hath a musical flow,
T heed notits witching tone;

For iho winds are rioting with the snow,

And my sad soul bends with its unnamed woe
At the grave of Alice atone, 3

Rirowsvanmcocomentien ¢ (Dy > 9 —ippomremnarnanewuens

The Neglected Warning ;

THE TRIALS OF A PUBLIC SCHOOL
TEACHER.

By Mary Kyle Dallas,

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

{Back numbers of “The Neglected Warning; or, the
Trigig of a Public School,Tsacher,’? can be obtained
from every News Agent throughout the United
States. ]

CHAPTER X&LIV.

Poor Miss Rock !—her worst enemy might have

itged her at that moment. Such a leaden weight
fell upon her soul—such a black, deadly, horrible
despair! One who had sold his soul to the arch
fiond, and saw him rise before him to claim ful-
Gilment of the bond at some unexpected moment,
might have locked as she looked iben!

She shrunk to the farthest corner of the room.
Her naturally pale cheeks grew whiter still—white
aa thoso,of a corpse! Blue lines settled under her
eyes and abeut her mouth, and her lips were
drawn. back over her set teeta in a horrible man-
ner |

The man laughed, and drawing a chair toward
him seated himself upon it astride, his arms
folded upon the back, his cap cocked over one
eye, ana the knob of a ruffianly looking stick,

which he carried between his lips.

“Sis t? he said, prolongin the exclamation
with, ‘‘you prefer a life of single blessedness, and
don’t like the thoughts of a husband; or, p’raps,
i?s all pretence, and you really would like to be

*married; only you don’t like to say so! Don’t be
bashful! There’s a. good-looking young gentle-
man allready to offer you his hand and heart,
my dedr; and he’s here this blessed minnte, afore
your.eyeal Whatdyesay to me for a husband,
ffises Mehitable, eh?”

Mehitable Rock stared at him, still clenching

_ her'nails until sho.cnt the palms of ‘her fine,

. white hands, but otherwise motionless. She was
terrible to lodk upon, and ‘even the brute who
gazed upon her felt for the moment cowed and
frightened. Only for a moment, however, the
next hia face assumed ita old expression of conf-
dent ingolence.

“When shail it come off?” hoe said.

their hearts.is sot.on! Whew!. What now ?”

ForjMiseg Rock had moved atlast! The whits
face had grown for once crimson, her breath
came. hol and heavy, hor eyes were bloodshot—
two minutes had altered the whole expression of
her face entirely! !

“J have borne .a great deal from you!” she
ganped. “I have given you allI could. I sup-
pose J would have gone on giving ‘and fearing if
it had not come to this! But this is one drop too
mach!~ And when I teil you that I would murder
you before L would marry you, [say whati mean!
{willmourder you if I can! I will evon let you
mourder me rather than so degrade myself! You
my husband! You—the lowest thing that ever
disgraced human nature by calling itself a man!
Lspit at you—I scorn you! Iwish that I were
strong enough to grind you into powder beneath
my teot, you beast—reptile |”

The man looked at Mehitable with nnmoved
countenance, and whistled derisively.

“Do you know that I can hang you?” he esked.
“Do you know that I can swear to everything
about that there murder? that Pve got proof
that’s not to be put down? thatif you play such
games as these with re, [il take more satisfac-
tion in seein’ you strung up.than in marryin’ of
you? and that if I don+ get what I want, Pil have
revenge any way? lor, wouldn't there be a
crowd to see the fins lady with the black car on
her facs, inakin’ her last prayers! and wouldn’t
the newspaper chaps make a fuss over it?—Miss
Mehitable,Rock’s last dying speech and confession
—ha! ba! hal”

Miss Rock spit towards him.

“Be afraid of me!” she cried—“be afraid of
me! Ima devil now—I used to be a woman!
Now--ah! go; take money and go. It will be
better for you.” :

“Money is what I want,” saidtas man; “but I
want to be my own master. My wite’s money be-
longs to me bylaw, and Pll be a gentleman of
course. Idon’t keer for the marriage being pub-
tic—you couldn’t go on teachin’ then; but f want
what they call alegal right to all you havo, and
I'm goin’ to have.it too. Why, *tain’t every man
would have a gal that had committed a murder,
Miss Mchitatls Rock. See here, take your choice
—marry me or swing—marriage noese, Or 2 More
uncomfortable one made out of hemp. There's
your choice: most gals wotldn’t wait long to de-
cide about it. Come now. Or look here, this is
anddon; you haven’t had time to reflect on what's
to your own interest. I'l! be here to-morrow at
six in the evening, and you can makes up your
mind, But look a here, its one of two things—
swing or marry. I shall want a bit of money
*twixt now and then; fork it over—a ten will do.”

Miss Rock put her hand into her pocket, and
¢ plucked irom it a portmounaie, which she flung
43 towards her tormentor with a look of murderous

hate. Whether intentionally or not, if hit him

onthe forehead. as_he bart forward to catch it,
om with sufficient force to drawa cry of pain and

i . ay Tage from him.

: onl pay for this, my lady,” he said. ‘No
Hg matter; we'll notiquarrelin courting times, By-
“i by! Vil be punctual—mind that you are,”

\

“Come, -
now, get the day, and let me have timeto get my
fancy togs! Dont feel bashful! ‘Ladies always
ought t6 have their way in sich matters! Speak
up, my duck o’ diamonds, and don’t stand starin’
like the handsome gals at the theatre, when their
cruel daddics won’t let ’em have the young men

 

 

 

 

A great blue bruise had sprung upon the spob

where the steel binding of the pocket-book had
hit him already.

Miss Rock looked atit from the
corner of her light blue eyes.
“T wish it had beena death blow!” she said,
“Y wish you lay dead there where you stand, upon
my soull do! Beware! you are bad enough and
bold enough for anything; bub when a woman
once falls within the clutches of Satan, she can
bo worse than any man amongst them all! Yes,
L wish [ had killed you—upon my soul I do!”
“I know it, my lady,” said the ruffian. “But I
mean to live to see my wedding yet for all that,
Get your white duds ready, and set the day for
our marriage. Good-bye. P’raps you'd take it
as a liberty if L was to coffer to kiss you now?”
“Touch me if you dare!” muttered Mehitable
between her teeth, and the man, bold as he was,
did not dare to risk a near approach to those
clenched and shining teeth: He shrugged his
shoulders jeeringly, and sidled out of the door,
every glance and movement an ingult in itself, as
hoe meant it to be, >
And she was inthis man’s power! Nothing but
death, his or hers, could free her, and she pon-
dered upon that thought until it gave birth to
others, which arose. muny and dark around her—
thoughts go horrid that [ will not record them
here, but surely in that awful hour the fiend him-
self bent over that woman, and whispered in her
ear, Under ordinary circumstances her nature
would haye merely seemed a cold. and selfish one,
with @ mixture of spitein it; but it had been de-
veloped with something terrible of late, and alto-
gother Mehitable Rock was a dangerous toy to
play with, even-in the hands of auch a man as the
one who bad just left the room,

CHAPTER XLY.

She nover even made a pretence of refiring that
night, but set up, cold and sugperless, before the
grate, in which the ashes of the fire, which had
been allowed to smoulder itself out, lay grey and
cheerless. But she was in school earlier than
usual next day, and had put away her bonnet and
cloak in the wardrobe wher Winnie Hall entered.
Poor Winnie was paler even than Miss Rock that
morning, and had scarcely spirit enough to return
her greeting, or take her place before her class as
usual. Since the confession which Helen Howard
had uttered to her on the previous night her mind
had been on the rack. She knew that Mark Gra-
ham would ssek her presence goon, and ‘the truth
seemed too great to be borne, for now that her
promise was given to Ralph Rothwood, she dared
not even think of drawing back. Rothwood, who
Loved her so tenderly—who had been so earnest
and so constant a friend for so many years. Oh,
no! nol no! Yet she did not love him, ‘and she
loved Mark Graham. Even when she had given
her promise to Ralph it was with the hope thathe
wolud bear her to some foreign clime, where those
hanating eyes might only be seen in dreams, and
where, by earnest striving she might in time even
forget the past, rather than because she felt ten-
cerly toward Ralph bimself. If Helen had but
told her sooner! Sometimes she wondered whether
she could ever forgive Helen Howard, innocent as
she had been inintention. Itcameto this at last,
to break her troth with Rothwooed, and so be made
miserable by remorse and shame, or to marry him
with the heart of a widow rather than that of a
bride. In either way she stung one heart, Roth-
wood’s or Graham’s. These thoughts racked her
mind while she stood before Miss Rock's ‘eyes,
striving to undo a refractory clasp of her glove.

“You don’t look well, Miss Hall?” said Me-
hitablo. ?

“I do not feel well, so itis very likely!” said
Winnie,
And yenTll never undo that clasp that way,”
said Miss Rock. ‘Don’t yeu see?”
But Winnie just then gave the clasp a wrench
which split the kid of the little glove straight
across the palm. She twitched it from her fingers,
and ftung it on the floor, and something fell with
it, and glittered in the morning sunlight. Ii was
the engagement ring, which Rothwood had
slipped upon her finger,
“A ring !” cried Miss Rock. “Oh, what a eare-
less girl you are. Do you know that looks to me
like an engagement ring.”
Winnie blusned. Not the happy, smiling blush
of a girl whose betrothalis a joy to her, but a
painful flush of scarlet, that touched even the
whiteness of her forehead, She could have thrown
herself upon the floor even before those cold, hard
eyes, and wept tears bitter as the waters of the
Salt Sea, and she turned away with throbbing
heart and burning brain, and sought her own class
hie while Miss Rock looking after her, mut-
ered,
“Ah } others have secrets as wellas I. Thore
is something under all this, Winnie Hall!”

Something under itl Aye, it was almost a
broken heart !

How the children’s murmuring voices sonnded
in her eara like the roaring of a distant waterfall
all that morning! Howmeaningless did the very
words she herself uttered seem to her. Every
step upon the stairs startled her! What if it
should be Mark ? i de
At noon, when the school had its usual recess,
there was a ving at the visitors’ bell, and word
was brought her that some one desired to speak
with her.

“A gontleman lt”:

‘No—a lady.”

She thanked Heaven for that at first, bn.in a
moment her heart sank again. Perhaps it was
the woman in black,who bad bannted her'so often
and so long!

“Flow is she dressed? Whatis she like?” she
asked the child who. brought the message, and
the embryo woman replied, with a gigele,

_ SWithoul hoops, Miss Hall, and the funniest
big bonnet, with groon bows, and a shawl like a
rainbow !”

And Winnie knew well enough that only good
Miss Jerusha could answer tothis description.

with a very stiff gingham umbrella, and a very
prim basket with two handles, beside her.

The old maid’s conatenance was sorrowful, and
when Winnie approached she shook her head
and hands together in plaintive unison.

‘Take me where I can talk to you alone,” she
said; “my feelings are irrepressible; if I don’t let
har out J shail certainly burst. Oh, Winnie, Win-
nia .

Winnie prepared for what was coming, led Miss
Jorusha to an empty class-room, andinstalled her
in the teacher’s chair, composing herseif to listen
as calmly as she might.

'. Miss Jerusha, after seeing that the door was
closed, instantly produced a handkerchief, which,
from its proportions, must have belonged to Hi-
ram, and began to shed a copious flood ef tears,
interspersed with litile moans and shakings of
the head. After a fow moments she wiped her
eyes, folded her handkerchiefsquare, put it away
in her basket and looked at Winnieas though she
had put her gricf away withit, and never intend-
ed to cry any more,

‘Tt is ashame,” sho said, “a burning shame!
Iwouldn’t have believed it if any one had sworn
to it. I’ve brought that girl up since she was in
long clothes. I have eddicated her; I have in-
stilled morals and mannersinto her myself, and I
thought she’d do me credit; but of all unac-
countable critters a gal is the unaccountablest by
aicng chalk; and Helen Howard has gone and
turned ont a disgrace to everybody belonging to

Graham! Jilted him for another man, which
makes it wuss. If she’d said ve made up my
mind a single life is the happiest and acted on it,
*twouldn’t hey been so bad; but this goin’ to mar-
ry somebody else, bless yon! that’s the pint that
it hit against. And whether she has lost her
senses or is downright altogether worthiess, I
don’t know. Ifa gal must marry it can’t make
any sensible difference to her who it is so long as
he’s a good provider, and Mark would have been
that. These fancys have no right to come into
the mind of a respectable gal; and if Pd a know’d
how *twas I’d hev choked ’em out of her. Poor
Mark! Iwonder how she dares to look aaybody
- rca face. Set up to be pious, too, both of ’em;
‘How does Mark like it?” asked Winnie, after a
ause.

R ‘Nobly,” said Miss Jerusha: ‘but no doubt he
feels it just as if he gaveway, and worse. Still
waters run deep. Ah, I wish I had my way, that’s
all. Dd have the.polico ont, and take Helen to
church and marry her to the one ake promiaed

 

herself to.”

She went tothe platform and found her there,

her. Winnilred Hall, she’s gone and jilted Mark | 7

Despite her anguish Winnie could noé restrain
& smile.

“Would that make her husband happy, think
you?” she asked. ag

“Happy! Pm not thinking of happiness, but of
duty !” snapped the good maiden lady. “‘According
to my way of thinking, happiness and marriage
arn’t very near akin, anyhow. Though I suppose
you are like most gals, and have set your heart
upon it. Well, Mr. Rothwood’s a nice man, and
Vve nothin’ agin is.”

Again thé scarlet flush mounted to Winnie’s
cheek and Miss Jerusha noted it, :

“You've got the grace to blush, that’s some com-
fort,” she said. ‘‘Helen doesn’t blush a bit, and

'what @’ye spose she said when [ gin her a reg’lar

down right talkin’ to? Ah, I’m ashamed to tell
ont. She said, ‘But Auntie, I love Willie so, and
I only feel friendship for Mark Graham.’ “Dhat’s
all any respectable gal ever feela for any body,’ I
said, and banged the door tu and came away.
She's my own neice, that’s the worst of it, and I've
fetched her up.”

“She has done wrong,” murmured Winnie, al-
most unconsciously. “Oh, why did she not speak
before!’

‘Why did she spoak at all?” said Miss Jerusha.
*She might have held her tongue,” and the bell
ringing just then asa signal for the assembling
of the school, Miss Jorusha took up her basket
and departed,

CHAPTER XLVI.

I am sure that had some hideous spectre arisen
before the eyes of Winnie Hall as she passed over
the smooth flagstones which pave the sidewalk
before Grace Church, it would have been less
dreadful than the face and form which met her
gaze, Standing near the iron railings, evidently
waiting for her, was Mark Graham—so happy, so
blithe, his cheeks aglow, his eyes flashing, both
hands extended as he saw her approach.

“T have been watching for you for an hour,” he
said, ‘and you mustnot scold me. Ihavearight
to watch and wait for you now. Helen has told
you all, Lam sure—she is happy, and I—am very
thankful. Oh! how grave you iook, Smile—say
something. Tellme you aregladtoseeme, You
have heard all, have you not?”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Winnie, for
it was necessary to saysomething. “I saw Helen
a few days ago.”

‘*My innocentlittle sister! She reproaches her-
self, L know, andnever guesses how I thank her!”

“Winnie, darling, are you. ill? You frighten
mo!”

‘Aush!” whispered Winnifred. ‘You must not
look at me as you are looking now! J dare not!
I will not allowit! Leaye mo! Don’t ask me
why, but leave me !”

“Leave you! Never again, if IT conld help it!”
said Mark. ‘I shall be a bold wooer now; and
you shall be kind to me at last. Will you never
recognize me as a free man? Will you never un-

| derstand that Helen has taken everything into

her own hands, and that {am not to blame ? She
has chosen another withont even guessing that
my whole heart was not hers; and now, sha will
be happy in the knowledge that I have not been
driven to despair, There is no obstacle between
us now, my dearest Winnie; and yon let me guess
not long ago, that you did not quite hate me, If
Iwas deceived by my own vanity—if you really
care nothing for me, I deserve this punishment |!
Neverthelessi:i shall try my best to win you; and
whetker you ove me or not I shall love you all
my life! Winnifred; if you knew all that has
peek going on in my heart you would be kinder

Oo me !”

Winnie looked at him sadly.

‘*T'his ig all very dreadful,” she said. “Very ter-
rible tobear! Mark Graham, I think some evil
spell must have been cast upon us both! It is
more like that than anything else ! Do you real-
ly love me so dearly ?” ;

“Love you? As {do my life and soul——” he
began, but she stopped him.

‘if you could only say and think that you cared
nothing for me, I could thank Heaven, aad bear
my own weary lot’as best I might |” ghe moaned.
“IfT could be sure that this feeling you profess
had no strong hold upon your soul, and that you
could forget it in a littie while, [should be almost
happy! Oh, Mark, mustIgive yon pain? I,with
my own lips, utter the words—with my own 6yes
see the change they will bring into your face ?”

“What do you moan?” cried Mark. ‘Do you
then really dislike me? Is there no hope that you
can ever love me ?” :

The words ‘I would thatit were so!” trembled
on her lips, but she restrained them, and only her
weary eyes told of their bitterness. Hven her face
was schooled, of necessity, in that busy thorough-
fare; and as they walked on slowly, side by ‘side,
no stranger would have guessed how earnest their
conversation was, or how wildly either heart
throbbed.

We know very little of the mén and women
whom we pass daily in these city sireets of ours.
That woman who sails by you in her rusiling
silks, with so composed a smile upon her lips,
may fold her gloved hands. over a broken heart.
That man whoseems to have stepped from @ tail-
or’s fashion plate, and have no object in life save
to exhibit his finery to the envious eyes of other
dandies, may be plotting ‘some deed of fraud or
blood, or maddened by misfortunes, may stand
upon the verge of suicide; while under the rags
of the poorest man you pass may lie a contented
soul which your owa might envy.

Probably those who glanced at Winnifred and
Mark saw only a beautiful woman—a little graver
and more subdued than beautiful women gene-
rally are, and a fine looking man somewhat inte-
rested in the subject on which they conversed—
no more.

Again Mark repeated,

‘Can you never love me?” and Winnie felts that
ee ee bad come—that she must speak at
ast.

‘Tf I did, I could never own it now without a
blush,” she said. “L£ have no right to love you,
for I shali be Ralph Rothwood’s wife before a
week is over.” )

‘Ralph Rothwood’s wife!—Raiph Rothwood’s
wifet Ihave gone mad! Iam ina dream! Say
itagain! Nay, I could not bear it! the thought
is enough! Ihave been a fool—a, desperate fool
—all this while! And you have loved him and’
have not cared for me? Isitso? could I deceive
myself so madly ?”

Winnie laid her hand upon his arm,

“Nay,” she said, “truth is after all the best.
Ii was because I felt that even my strong sense
of one woman’s duty to snother could not make
me quite indifferent to Helen Howard’s betrothed
husband, that I determined to put it out of my
own power to meet him again. I promised Ralph
my hand. Imust keep that promise, and I will
be a true and faithiul wife to him, Bat hadI
heard this tale which Helen Howard told me yés-
terday, the words would never have been spoken.
You know allnow: Perhsgy I have done wrong
in speaking thus, but yo ust have guessed it
at last, and Thad rather be sure that you under-
stand it rightly, Wo must never speak of it
again. You must hever seek to meet me again.
The die is cast—fate has worked all this, and I
can but submit. Go—say good bye—say Itorgive
you, Winhifred, and let me hops that soon some
other, better than I, will blot my image from your.
acer It must be so; good bye! God bless
oul’

“T will not let you go,” Mark whispered, husisi-
ly. “Idare not. This must not be. You love
me; I read itin your eyes, and I~itis not love I
feel for you, but adoration.”

He spoke low, but his voice was full of mean-
ing; it went to Winnie’s heart. j

Love him! She loved him as only woman can
love, and she felt it at that moment ag sho had
never felt it before. BE

What she might have said it is impossible to
tell, but at that moment quick steps sounded on
the pavement behind her, and a ringing voice,
well knowa to her gar cried—

*1 have been running after you for ten minutes.
Where are you going, Winnie? Not running
away with Mr. Graham, lhope?” and looking up
she saw Ralph Rothwood at ber side.

CHAPTER XLYVE.
THE WEDDING DAY.

What would happen? What would Mark in his
excitement say or do? Winnie could not tell;

 

she expected some terrible scene, and lookea

‘dead than: become Rothwood’s wife |”

from one to the other in speechless terror. But
to. her amazement, Mark Graham, in that one
moment had altered completely. Hig face, then
jushed and excited, was now pale and stern; his
eyes rested upon her with, a glance akin to con-
tempt. He bowed coldly to them both, turned on
his heel and walked away; and Winnie, much as
she had dreaded some outbreak, felt a pang: at
her heart as she fancied that she read in his ex-
pressive eyés a feeling nover in his heart. before,

‘He despises me,” she thought; ‘tho belioves
me deceitful; he fancies that I have not told hina
the truth,” and though she answered herself, ‘‘it
is better so,” she felt very miserable. ~

“His respect, at least,” she thought, “I might
have retained without committing any erime.”

Rothwood was walking beside her now, and he
startied her from her meditations with a laugh.

‘What is the matter with Graham ?” he asked.
‘He looks as solemnas a ghost! Has he been
making love to you, Winnie? It looks like it.”

Winnie tried to smile in answer, but it was a
feeble attempt, and faded from her lips almost
ere it had formed itself there,

‘*Will you forgive me,” she said, “for being so
wretchedly dull and siupid? and take me home
and leave me there. I donotfeel well, and I need
reat very rauch.”

“Twill do anything you wish me to co, darling,”
said Rothwood. “Idonoét intend to tyranize over
my little bird when I have caged her! Sometimes
Lthink you are half afraid of me! But you shall
net be always. I mean tomake you love ine,
sweetest, betticr than you do now!”

He was very tender of her, and Winnie’s heart
craved tenderness. She drew a little closer to him,
and found comfort and protection in his presence.
If she had never earnestly loved, she would have
belioved at that moment that she loved Ralph
Rothwood; and, as it was, she returned his part-
ing salute with more readiness than she had ever
returned it before.

He turned a few moments in the hall of the
deacon’s house, keeping her hands in his, saying,

“J shall spend all to-morrow evening with you:

if you willlet me, for on the next day I shall
leave this city, and will not return until the day
on which Iam to call you mine, and on which we
are to leave this land, for years, perhaps forever.
Your roses will come back again when we are to-
gether upon the sea. I hope you long for it as I
do. I wish [thought you did !”

He pressed his lips thoughtfully to her forehead
as hespoke, stood silent a moment, then whisper-
ed, “Au revoir /” and the hall door closed behind
him; and Winnie, as she stole up stairs to hide
her aching head in her pillow, thought bitterly of
herself, more bitterly than any one could have
thought of ‘her had they knownall. And no ons
could, no one ever would know the whole truth,
that was perhaps her greatest grief—for she hated
duplicity, and shuddered sat the thought of keep-
ing a secret from her betrothed husband, while
she grieved over the doubts which must fill Mark
Graham’s mind. How week she had been; how
easily made the slave of her own terror; and of
her affection for Mark—wrong once, because he

was betrothed to Helen—wrong now because sho.

was so s00n to be Rothwood’s wife,

“Could I have said, come what may, I will
never do what is wong, Ishould not have acted
as Thave,” she said. --

Bui repentance wis of no avail—the past could
not be blotted out by the tears she shed or the
prayers she uttered! She could not live even a
moment over again, though she might—yes,
might, learn to forget Mark, and to love Roth-
wood entirely. Might /—but should there be any
might about it on the very eve of their nuptials,

dared she utter that vow, ‘To love, honor, and

obey him ?”

She asked herself this question, and tried to
answer it as though she stood before her Maker.

*T love him,” she said.. ‘‘Yes,. no sister could
love him better. I cling to him for protection—I
like to hsvé him near me. He gives me comfort
by a word or smile; yet ii is another sort of love
than that whick Ihave given to Mark. Dared I
cherish’ this, earth would be héaven, Perhaps
God doesnot let us love an earthly being thus.
Perhaps this is why we. are separated. Yes, I

‘will not lio when I say I love Ralph—the quality

and manner of that love is not specified. Honor!
Why should I not honor him? Ido,indeed! And
obey! I willobey bim always. I can take the
oath without committing a crime, and I must
subdue my own feelings, and forget Markif I can.
This seems my duty now. This shall be my de-
sire, and the heroic words died away in a weak,
womanish:flood of tears.

it would have been well for Winnie had she had
one with whom to advise—one to counsel her in
this cruel hour. There was no one, however, and
even this sympathy which she would haye required

of strangers had the coming wedding-day been as

happy to her asit ig to most girls, was denied to
her. Alone she went out on the following after-
noon to make her purchases. A plain outfit only
was required, for they were to start on their
journey in the afternoon, and there were to be no
witnesses to their weding save the old deacon and
his wife. Not evén a bride’s-maid. That soft,
pearl-grey silk, with its lace collar and dainty pin,
and a white roge in her hair, would. be dress
enough, and only her traveling garb needed pre-
paration. “The bonnet and gloves were soon
found—the dress-pattern, with a basque to match
purchased, and sent home, and her fingers were
busy for many hours with woman’s great resenrces

‘in time of anxiety, the needle and thread. ‘Then

when all was finished came the packing of her
traveling trunk; and busy over this there came to
her & gift from her betrothed, an exquisite dress-
ing ease, filled with all the. dainty. nick-nacks of

ithe toilette, and a small traveling-bag, with silver
‘key and clasps, her initials—as they wotild be af-

ter that day—on both. He seen.ed to think of
her perpetually. There was comfort in this too—
great comfort, And then the remombrance that
perhaps Mark thought of her also, and that doubt-
less he was miserable, and angry, and anxious,
arose bitterly from the bottom of the cup, and
spoiled the flavor of happiness. To-morrow! to-
morrow! Itis sucha happy word to most. girls
on the eve of marriage. it was sueh a terrible
one to her, for even with all her arguments with
her own conscience, she felt that she must do
wrong whatever she did, Then, too, a sort of

terror began to creep across her mind—a dread

of some mysterious woe, which was not made
plain to her, but which must surely. come.

“Beware of Rothwood! You had better be
What did
those warnings mean? She could aot think him
bad. She could not believe that he merited the
imputations cast upon him, yet she shuddered
as she recalled them. Had that woman given up
her pursuit, or did she but lay in wait for a proper
moment to consummate her purposes.

All that wedding eve she half expected to see
that gloomy form stalk through the door of her
little room. All the following morning she fan-
cied her step upon the hall floor or upon the
stairs. But the hours rolled by, and it was time
to dress, and at last Rothwood'’s ring was heard
at the door, and soon another, and Mrs. Grant, in
her best black silk, sailed in to see if she was
nicely dressed, and to tell her that all was ready.

Soon he came up for her, and’ had kiszed her &
dozen times, and taken her arm in his and led her
down to the parlor before she fairly comprehend-
ed that the hour had really come, and that she
should be his wife in a fow moments.

And in the parlor the white-headed minister
sat, and the deacon and Mrs, Grant, and all stood
up together, and there was 4 prayer, ana thena—
yes, then—" Wilt thou promise?”

And he had promised with truthin his earnest
eyes and voice, and she had prontised ‘also, and
the words*vere spoken, -

“And those whom God hath joined let no man
put asunder;” and ho kissed her on her lips, and
she was his wife at last.

Bui what did that loud ring mean? What
were those angry voices at the door? Whose
were those heavy steps that came tramp, tramp,
trarap. over the floor of the long hall?

The deacon looked amazed, the deacon’s wife
angry. Bothwood half turned toward the door
with his bride’s hand in his, and Winnie’s heart
beat wildly with that mysterious dread which had
been growing stronger with every moment. .

Bnt there was no time for comment or inquiry,
for the door. was dashed wide open, and a woman
rushed in, followed by three stalwart policemen,
each with his staff in his hand. :

T+ was the woman in black no longer veiled.

 

Her face was uncovered now, and it was @ face

onee looked upon never to be forgotten—beauti-
ful, exceedingly, once, but changed to that of a
demon. Not an oid face nor a young one, but
marked by angry passions, with such lines as age
can never trace on any brow. ae

“That is your man,” she said, pointing to Roth-
wood, who stood straight as an arrow, with com-
pressed lips, looking at her, and still holding
Winnie’s hand, and the foremost policeman. ad-
vanced a step towards him; but in an imstant
Rothwood plunged his hand within his breast and
drew forth a revolver. :

“T aim‘a sure aim,” he said; “keep off as you
value your life, I cannot tell why you come here,
but that woman’s presence is a sure guarantee of
mischief and malice, On what pretext has she
brought you here ?”

the man, “Its hard enough for that lady i
your sida now. I’m sorry for you. Maybe you’

make it all clear; ihopeso. Mr. Ralph Roth-

wood is known by most of us, and it’s ‘a hard

thing for us to come here; but it’s our duty.

There’s the warrant, sir, “Twill give us no

trouble I know.”

‘You are not to blame,” said Rothwood, re-
placing his revolver in his bosom; “but this is in-
comprehensible tome. Of whatam I accused?” |

The officer. shook his head.

**Not before the lady,” he said; “iis a little foo
hard for a bride. Not before her, sir.”

But the woman in black thrust herself before
the men, and with her hands outsiréjched to-
wards Winnie, in a-seeming phren?y, cried aloud,

“Yes; beforé her; I warned her long ago. She
has brought the fate upon herself, Hoe is ac-
cused of murder! Of the murder of Paul Roth-
wood, his brother and my husband. I accuse
him and I have proof; proof that will hang him.”

Rothwood looked at her ag she spoke, every
trace of color fading from hig cheek, With a low
eToan his head sank on his breast, as he muttered,

“Tho punishment has come at last; that wo-
man isa fiend!” and then he turned to Winnie.

‘Do you believe me guilty ?” hosaid, and she for
the first time in her life fiung herself into his
arms and wept upon his bosom.

“No, no—my husband,” she cried. “Oh, no,

no, no !”
(To be Continued.)
UDR DET ROOT SOATEST
TALES ABOUT HEALTH.
BY J. B. I. WALKER, M. Do
Physician to the Cleveland, 0., Hygiente Institute.

Good health, happiness, and a long life, are
things which money cannol buy—neither houses
nor lands, servants nor physicians can give these
unto us, but for them we must work with our owa
hands, and some of us have much hard labor to
perform before the task is accomplished. If we
all become impressed with the necessity of work-
ing for our own physical salvation, it will be a
great point gained, we shall see jfst where we
giand, and if we have: any desire tor a long life
and happiness we shall bestir ourselves to obtain
the blessing. g :

There is a great deal of truth contained in the
phrase, ‘Muscular Christianity,” against which
gome people are disposed to cry out; it is one of
those fossil expressions which hides within it a
whole volume of thought: If the people of this
nation, as a nation, ever attain to that greatness
which the lovers of the truth of human liberty
and progress‘everywhere hope she will attain
unto, they have got to pay more astention to their
physical condition, have better and stronger mus-
cles, sounder livers and sweeter stomachs; they
must know how. to. breathe properly; how, what,
and when to eat and drink; how to sleep and to
walk; how to sit and dress; how to dive as all sen-
sible, immortal: beings should live, obeying the
holy laws of life, and honoring God in_ their
bodies as well as with their souls. This is what

we mean by muscular  christianity—a ‘healthy, — -

sensible christianity, which shall look at truth
with clear heads and unperverted appetites;
where clean hearts shall go hand in hand with
sweet stomachs, perfect. digestion, and sound
lungs. Gluttons, wine-bibbers, drunkards, men
full of Sélfish lusts and sensual passions cannot
inherit the kingdom of Heaven. ©

Dyspepais colors all things blue, makes men
cross and unhappy—unfits them for the duties
and enjoyments of life. Nomanhas aright thus
to destroy his capacity for usefulness and happi-
ness; he has noright to have the dyspepsia; he
should give heed to muscular christianity, and
rid himself of it, or keep it off altogether. -Con-
sumption is desponding, regarding the world as 4
groat cemetery; an unequal circulation makes a
man fault-finding; perhaps he is hot-headed, ner-
vous and excitable, passionate; perhaps there is
alack of surface circulation and an internal con-
gestion, then he is:sluggish, shivering, complain-
ing about the weather, than which no better
weather was ever created! Those people who
find fault with muscular christianity may be re
garded as upholding a dyspeptic theology, which
Se is quite as much to be deplored as the
other, iS

Most peaple are lacking in quantity and: quality
of muscle—either they have not_enough through-
out the entire system, or there is too much, and
of a very poor quality; or it-is unequally dis<
tributed, being largely deyeloped in some por-
tions o? the body and undeveloped in others. The
conditions of ones muscular system are a pretty
sure indeg of the state of health which a person
enjoys, aid a man’s christianity is wonderfally
dependant upon the condition of his health as all
physiological theologicians will admit. = 1 5

And here let me-obserys, that a thorough ac-
quaintance with physiology should form a part of
every clergyman’s education. The course of in-
struction persued in any theological sonainary ig
not complete without it. For how can a clergy-
man preach understandingly-to his congregation
about the sins of their -appotiies and passions
unless he knows of the influence which they ex-
ert upon his christianity, his duty to himself and
to his fellow men?

cnt 4 + + teeesemencencene

OUR NATIONAL CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG
BY MRS, SARAH G. WATSON.

Yes, it ig all our own—the casket, inlaid and
adorned by a nation’s gratitude. It is the spot to
which, in future years, we will make pilgrimages
as to the shrine of saint, and where we will step.
lightly and speak reverently, a8 in the presence of
dead heroes. Some of us, porhaps, have no Kin-
dred there; but’ who among. us has not, in days
gone by, clasped some hand now lying cold and
motionless in that gory bed, or looked into eyes
whose last glance fell:upon the herrors of that
battle scene, or the summer sky smiling serenely
upon the hills of Gettysburg. Blessed are they
who have not cause to-rremember the days of sns-
pense which foowed, when you, poor mourner,
scanned eagerly the celumns of every paper,
dreading to find the name you songht, and which
you read at last. in the list of wounded, white my
brother’s was among the “missing.” He hag
languished for months in the prison dens of Rich-
mond, whilo your beloved died in your arms, and
they made a graye for him in the soil consecrated
by his blood. =

Gettysburg, like Port Hudson, Fort Donelson,
and Manassas, has become a household word,
We hear mon speak it in the street sometimes,
and hurry on with that sore pain burning m the
heart. Fathers, husbands, sons, brothers and
lovers lie there! Nobler men never lived, braver
men never died, and itis but meet that a grate-

fal nation should do honor to their memory. But

while we honor the dead, let us not allow ourselves
to farzet the living. Let us notforget the thresh-
olds all over-this broad land, over which that foot
for whose coming loving ones watched and wait-

babes who will never know the sound of a father’s’
voice, or the mother whose support and staff was
shattered upon that dreadful field, If those dead
heroes could speak they would tell us that by
loving and caring for their dear ones, we should
best honor their memory. Silently they. sleep,-
unmindful that the soil above them ever shook
with the din of battle, or that the red ‘blade of
war ever passed over peacefnl Gettysburg. Yet
the centuries shall look down, ia awe ang wonder
upon them, and generations yet unborn shall tell

will live in the hearts of a grateful nation now &
struggling amid gloom and darkness; but, please

 

God, the light of dawn will gleam again, and’ the
horoes of Gettysburg will not have ee in vain.

 

 

 

“You'd better not ask explanations, sir,” said  —

ed, will never pass again. Let us nobforget the.

 

 

of their sufferings and theif glorious death. They .©
 

 

 

 

salle q

 

ay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

NEW YORK, APRIL 21, 1864.

 

ANOTHER GREAT STOR
BY
MBS. MARY J. HOLMES.
In the course of two or three weeks we

shall commence the publication of another
great story from the pen of the nation’s favo-

. ‘rite
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
The ae is entitled
DR. WEST:
OR,

DOBA’S LOVE. .

We are already in possession of the opening
chapters, and we can assure our readers that
the story fully equals, if it does not excel, the
best of all the talented author’s productions.
It is fall of that absorbing interest which be-
longs to everything which falls from the pen

of Mrs. Holmes, and written in that peculiar
style which so entrances and holds the reader
from beginning to.end. Look out for it.

 

 

SANTA ANNA.

Few heroes of romance have passed through
such exciting scenes as the individual whose
name heads this article, and who has but re-
cently again, been brought into public notice
after a long season of obscurity. He is at
present but about sixty-six years of age, if we
count by years, but counting by experience
he ought to be as old as Methuselah. He
commenced his career when a boy by fighting
for Mexico’s independence. He afterwards
revolted against Iturbide, who proclaimed him-
self emperor. At length, by the force of his
character, he obtained power himself, and
then he exhibited his true nature by playing
the despot. Having been made President of
Mexico, it was not long before he abolished
the State Legislatures, made an end of the
Federal Constitution, and proclaimed himself
Dictator. A year afterward, made a prisoner
by Sam Houston, his dictatorship ceased. Re-
turning to Mexiee in time to be a candidate
for the Presidency, he was badly beaten; but

yet was intrusted with a responsible military

command, and fought the French gallantly
at Vera Cruz. Not long afterward, in the
distraction of the country, he became Pro-
visional President—then Constitutional Pres-
ident—then fell victim to a liberal revolution,
and was banished from the Republic, but only

~ to be recalled when the war with the United

4

   
 
 
 
  

States began, to be made again Provisional
President, or virtually Dictator. Again ban-
ished when that war went against him, again
recalled in the revolution against Arista, ap-
pointed President for one year, then President
for life, with power to appoint his successor;
again a victim to revolution, and again ban-
ished; and now again he makes his appear-
ance on Mexican soil as the friend of Impe-
rialism, and again is driven away in the name
of the very cause he came professedly to pro-
mote. His life has been full of strange events,
but this last seems one of the strangest.

' Having his past history in view, the French
do not care to trust him, and he has conse-
quently been invited to leave Mexico before he
can tamper with the government when Maxi-
milian assumes the reins of power. In all
probability Santa Anna has played his last
card, but he may turn up again. Stranger
things have happened.

THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF THE PEOPLE.

Speaking of the above subject, a correspond-
ent of the N. Y. Times says, all the rebels in
the country, and all the armies of foreign na-
tions, cannot do us half the harm which our
extravagant habits do. In New Jersey and
Connecticut the country people have econo-
mical habits. Butin the great body of the
nation sucha thing as real economy is un-
known. New York city is creating wealth by
commerce; but what becomes of it? I will
tell you. You are building up a city, to the
eye, of elegant palaces, like to the towers and
gardens of Babylon. Underneath these pal-
aces there crawls tens of thousands of human
worms, sometimes hissing (as you saw in the
great riot) against the rich, and oftener per-
ishing in their filth, with putrefying sores.
Ask your Fifth-avenue ladies to leave the ball-
room, where music and dancing leads the rev-
elry, and accompany you to the streets and
alleys where their harlot sisters tremble in the
cold, or enter the embraces of brutality. They
will shudder at the sight, but ask what has my
splendid house and elegant ball to do with

this? Everything. Economy leads to virtue;.

self-denial leads to thought; the sight of money
leads to charity. Begin with the great virtue of
Christian self-denial, and you will find all the
graces and charities of human life springing
up, spontaneously and beautifully, around
your feet. If you do not believe this on the
authority of the Christian apostles, let me re-
fer you to the great Roman moralist, Cicero,
who says that all the virtues have a common
bond. They go together. You cannot revel

S in luxury and extravagance, and balance the
#) account by a large subscription to a Sanitary
Pair, First earn it by self-denial.

SWEET WILLIAMS,

A bunch of faded Sweet Williams are lying
on our table at the present moment. How
many years have passed since they were
gathered! but how well we remember the
time; as well as though it were yesterday.
What sweet and sad memories the flower call
up. I love those old-fashioned flowers for the
name they bear. William! the dearest name
on earth tome. How many hearts that read
this will echo the words, the dearest name on
earth tome? Some of the first memories of
my childhood are of kissing the Sweet Wil-
liams that grow above a little grave. My
only brothez’s grave! a brother whom I never
saw, but who I was thought to love, and was
also taught to believe hovered near me in
spirit, and watched over his little sister as her
guardian angel. oe

Oh “tis a beautiful, a blest belief

That the beloved dead, grown angels watch
The dear ones left behind.”

He died before I was born, and my only
recollection of him is a little suit of clothes
he used to wear, and his toys, the hoarded
of a mother’s heart, and too sacred for the
rough handling of his living sisters. How
often we have kissed some little toy of his;
and how much pleasure it was to be allowed
to look into the trunk that contained his
things. How we loved to visit the little
mound in the churéhyard, (there were only
two there then, where so many are now,) a
pretty little stone was at its head, on the top
of which a little lamb had lain peacefully
down to rest; and underneath, the words,
“Wm, Hamilton W » aged 7 years.”
And this is all we ever knew of our only
brother; but it does not seem so to us, for we
were taught to love him, to think of him as
one of us, and it hardly seems possible that
we did not know him in the flesh.~» How short
was the time, from our first remembrance of
those little graves in the churchyard, that an-
other was made by their side, a large graye,
and a large stone had grown by the side of the
small ones, giving the world to know that
Wun. P. W reposed beneath. And this
was our first great grief\in life! We were
fatherless so young! yet old enough to fully
realize our loss. Many years have passed
since then—long, weary years—but this little
bunch of faded flowers brings the time all
back to us, and we seem to see the dear faces,
and hear the dear voices we were wont to
hear then; that now are forever hushed. Pre-

 

 

Williams of long ago; and yet again for the
William of the present time. God grant a
monument may never be raised up in my
heart to him, ® Liny Limac.
eres camara GB Yt <tlmmocosaereneenn
NOVEL MATCH AGAINST TIME.

Amatch has lately been made in England,
the conditions of which are somewhat novel,
and the bettors of the affirmative side are the
Earl of Westmoreland and Sir Joseph Hawley.
These gentlemen have laid $5,000 that they |

| will transmit a written message by horse and

jockey a distance of thirty miles in one hour.
In the attempted accomplishment of the feat
they are to be at liberty to use as many horses
and ride as light weights as they please. The
match is to come off at one of the October
meetings at Newmarket this year. The mak-
ing of this match has revived the memory of
one in which Oolonel Mellish was. engaged.
He undertook, in that, to convey a written mes-
sage a certain distance in a specified time,
without the aid of horses. It was before the
era of the steam-locomotive, and the circum-
stances were such that carrier-pigeons could
not be used. Colonel Mellish, however, inge-
niously had the message enclosed in a cricket-
ball, and this was thrown from hand to hand
by good players stationed at proper distances
apart all the way. Considering that the rate
of a little better than a milein two minutes
will serve to win this thirty-mile match, if kept
up to the end, we should think Lord West-
moreland and Sir Joseph have the best of it.
Suppose they employ a horse for every two
miles, and run it upon around course, no time
need be lost in passing the paper from hand to
hand; for he who is to receive it and go on
with the running, can take it from the jockey
who has just accomplished his distance, while
both their horses are at a good gallop.
HS
A FEAST FOR THE GODS. |

‘What is one man’s meat is another's
poison.’’ So runs the old adage, and it is un-
questionably true.
low of the Geographical and Anthropological
Societies of London, has just published there
avery amusing and interesting narrative of a
tour on the African continent, in which he

a French trading-post, on the Casemanche
river, in Senegambia. The cookery in this
case was French, but most’ of the delicacies
were indigenous. The first course consisted
of tree oysters; for be it known that on the
western coast of Africa the trees that dip their
branches into the tidal waters are the roosting
places of most delicious bivalves, which are
torn from their coigns of vantage as we should
pull chickens from the perch, and served raw
on the half-shell, or broiled or boiled, as the
taste of the epicure may dictate. After the
semi-sylvan oysters came gazelle cutlets en
papillote, and two small monkeys, served
cross-legged, on toast, with liver sauce—a
dish for anthropophagi, but rather too much
like barbecued babies to be relished by
Christian fathers. Stewed iguana—an exag-
gerated lizard—fianked with roasted croco-
dile eggs followed, and, says our traveler,
‘they were much admired.” The next rarity
was smoked elephant from the interior, which
was not admired, being somewhat tougher
than hammered sole-leather. ©@n the heels’ of

 

the elephant came fried locusts--which are

cious flowers! I will kiss them again for the |

W. Winwood Reade, Fel-|

gives a remarkably rich account of a dinner at | *

said to have the flavor of that parliamentary
fish, the English white-bait—and fattened
land-crabs. What the African land-crabs feed
on we do not know, but everybody who has
been to the West Indies is aware that they
haunt the graveyards in Jamaica and Barba-
does, and generally get very fat in yellow-
fever seasons. It may be prejudice, perhaps,
but we prefer sea-crabs. A very especial
bonne bouche was next in order—the breasts of
the manatus or sea-cow, an amphibious crea-.
ture with hand-like paws, half-human face,
and fishy extremity, which is supposed to
have been the mermaid of the mendacious |
past. Some boiled alligator, which ‘“thad a
taste between pork and cod,” with the addi-
tion of a patchouly flavor, was afterward in-
troduced, and ‘‘hippopotamus-steaks aus pom-
mes de terre” closed the series of substantials,
SINGULAR ACCIDENT TO A HORSE.

Near Brunswick, Maine, the other day, a
collision occurred between a pair of horses in
a sleigh and one in a cutter. Tne shaft of the
cutter entered the shoulder%of a horse called
Snowball, ran up under the blade, and to the
skin at the withers. It went in at least two
feet, was broken off, and then pulled out by
main strength. The horse was laid upon a
sleigh and hauled home, well wrapped up in
blankets. Strange to say, the horse is doing
well. He eats heartily, and is but little lame,
though, as a matter of course, the wound is
not yet healed. i

pec OREO a RET
THE MYSTERIOUS SAILOR.

BY WIRLIAM COMSTOCK.

 

 

I was in a whaleman just from Nantucket.
While the ship was in the gulf stream, I observed,
as I stood at the helm, that much conversation
passed between the captain and mate in regard to
the owner of the vessel. :

‘He looked miserable the last time he came
down to the wharf,” said the mate; “I think his
voyage is pretty near up—won’t hardly weather it
till we get back.”

The captain turned partly round to give me an
order, and then said to his chief officer,

‘Do you know anything about that son of his?”

“T only know, sir, that. he’s just from college;
he’s been off the i:land to school ever since he was
knee-high to a toad, and must be chock full of
larning by this time. Them that’s seen him say
he’s a fine, stout, well-built young man, that locks
more like a granny-dear than a college-bred.”

‘Ti’ likely the business will fall into his hands
very soon,” observed the captain, musingly,

‘*Yes, sir; the old one can’t hold out much lon-
ger. [heard that as soon as he came to the
island he was to have the business.”

“Indeed!” cried the captain.

“But you know, sir,” answered the mate, ‘that
these youngsters are never so strict as the old

ones——

“What's that to me?” interrupted the captain,
in so captious a manner that the mate looked up
as if he thought it was a great deal to the pas-
sionate man.

The mate knew that Captain Johnson had got a
ship with the utmost difficulty. There had been
such reports of his cruelty and violent temper
that it was not easy to ship crews for the vessels
which he ¢Ommanded. But the owner of our
ship was an easy old man, disposed to be lenient
to the captain’s faults, and the latter had, after
repeated efforts, succeeded in getting command
of the ship.

It is not difficult, therefore, to comprehend the
state of the captain’s mind when he contem-
plated the substitution of the son for the father.
The son might discharge him immediately on the
return of the ship to Nantucket. There was noth-
ing agreeable, therefore, to Captain Johnson, in
this change of.owners. :

The mate well understood that he had dis-
turbed the captain’s mind by speaking of the old
man’s withdrawal from business, and he hastened
to change the subject,

“There must be discipline on board o’ the ves-
sel,” said he, ‘‘and [’'m thinking that we’ve got
some pretty tough sticks to handle. There’s
that Alpheus Bailey has alurking devil in the cor-
ner of his eye——”

“A mutinous dog, Mr. Barney—a mutinous dog!
Why don’t you speak out ?”

‘And that’s strange, too, in a green hand,”
added the mate. ‘‘Now, if he was an old man-o’
wars man it would be ag nat’ral as a chaw of pig-
tail.

‘“‘There’s much talk of that kind in the forecas-
tle, Mr. Barney; but give me an old salt in prefer-
ence to these raw jonnies, that don’t know a mar-
linespike from the fly-jibboom, and grumble be-
cause they don’t have their muffins sarved up hot
every morning.” :

‘They mustn’t grumble to me,” said Barney,
nodding his head threateningly. @

‘Well, I think we can keep them from spitting
in our faces,” cried the captain. ‘‘Take a pull on
the lee braces, Mr. Barney. Keep her off a little
—there! steady as she goes.”

This discourse between the captain and mate
sounded to me very much like a declaration of
war against the crew, and where hoatile feelings
exist without cause, a small spark is sufficient to
kindle a great fire,

From that time forward it was easy to perceive
that the young man called Alpheus Bailey was re-
garded suspiciously ‘by the captain and both his
mates; yet it would be difficult to tell why, unless
it was because he was a strapping fellow, and
might be a dangerous customer in case of coming
to blows.

It was not difficult, however, to account for the
fact that the crew generally looked with an evil
eye upon the young novice; for he was not only
ignorant of seamanship, he was also disinclined
to work, and took matters very easy. Even the
reproaches of his shipmates seemed not to move
him. He had little to say to any of us, and yet he
seemed to see and hear everything that passed on
board. Hvery movement, whether of the crew or
of the officers, was watched with the closest scru-

iny.

“Take the slush-bugket and go up. and slush
down all three topmasts,” said the mate to Al-
phetus one morning, just as we hove in sight of
Juan Fernandez,

Alpheus took the bucket and proceeded to work
in the most leisurely manner. It was night be-
fore he had finished the job.

“Now, ain’t you a skulk—a lubberly hound ?”
said the officer, as Alpheus came down from aloft.

Alpheus said nothing, though several of the
crew grinned at him ag if they coincided entirely
with the mate.

Before we had reached the Sandwich Islands,
however, the continued ill-usage on board the
ship had served to combine the crew more closely
together, and even the hauteur and laziness of
Alpheus were forgotten.

Yet a hearty laugh was raised at the expense of
the young man when, one of the crew expecting
punishment, Alpheus promised to use his influence
in favor of his downcast shipmate. We were ly-
ing at Honolulu; a sailor had run away and had
been caught and brought on board the ship by
several natives employed to ferret out deserters
among the mountains.

The poor fellow was in irons, and as the cap-
tain had promised to flog him within an inch of
his life, the prospect was not quite so ambrosial
as a poet’s dream,

“Never mind, Bob,” said Alpheus, consolingly;
“J will do what f can for you.”

There was a generalroar, and even poor Bob
himself could not help smiling, as he knew that
Alpheus was the last man in the ship whose word
would have any value with the captain, or, indeed,

 

Alpheus showed no more emotion than a por.
poise at a camp meeting. Nobody was surprised
at that. We had become accustomed to his pe-
culiarities; but when, on the next morning, the

roared like a bull for the offending Bob, and or-
dered him to be seized up in the rigging and
flogged, we all turned our eyes upon Alpheus,
wondering what his temerity might attempt.

Bob was stripped to the buff and seized up in
the main rigging by the mates. The captain
stepped forward with a piece of rattling in his
hand to commence the flogging.

To our amazement, Alpheus, walked boldly up
to the captain, snatched the rope from hig hand,
and drawing out his sheath-knife, began to cut
the marlings by which Bob’s limbs were bound.

_ Captain Johngon stepped back one pace, and
fairly frothed atthe mouth, while the mates ran
up to collar the audacious: youth.

‘Lay a finger on me if you dare!” cried Alpheus
to the officers, in a tone of haughty defiance, and
agsuming an attitude that would have done credit
to Forrest or Macready in Coriolanus.

The mates hesitated.

‘Seize the mutinous scoundrel !” shouted Cap-
tain Johngon. ‘Knock him down with a cleaver!
Break his skull!”

‘Stand back, you impertinent varlets!” ex-
claimed the youth, and taking a strip of paper.
from his bosom, he handed it to the captain. Thd
latter glanced over it and turned as pale as death.
He glared at Alpheus as if he had seen a ghost.

“I forgive your offences this time,” said Al-
pheus; “but remember !”

The captain looked down, but made a motion to
his. mates to cut down Bob from the rigging.
The mates as well as the crew seemed to be in a
dream. Bob was cut down, but he could not keep
his eyes from,Alpheus, who had suddenly become
‘the observed of af} observers.”

Alpheus descended into the cabin with the cap-
tain, and neither of them appeared on deck dur-
ing the day.

Three days afterward Alpheus went on board a
homeward bound vessel and sailed for the United
States. The conduct of the captain underwent a
change from that hour. The rest of the voyage
was both pleasant and successful, while every one
wondered who was Alpheus Bailey, and how had
he contrived to effect so great a change? We
never heard his real name mentioned, but when
the ship reached home he came on board of us at
the wharf, and shaking hands ‘with the crew,
hailed us as his old shipmates.

As I had overheard the conversation between
the captain and the mate in the Gulf, I found lit-
tle difficulty in recognizing in Alpheus the young
collegian—the son of the owner—who had taken
a romantic notion to ship as a common sailor,
and see for himself how the men were treated by
Captain Johnson. Having learned from us that the
captain had really become an altered man, our
young owner continued him in command of the
ship,

 

4@>

PETS, PETTICOATS, & PANTALOONS.

BY BACHELOR BUTTON.

 

 

 

“See some strange kitten every state attend.”

penned and printed about lonely vestals and their
companionship with cats. The consecrated sis-
ters need no indication from pen of mine, though,
bachelor as Iam, Iregard them all with a love
passionless and pure, such as old Pluto him-
self might heartily sanction without having
amen stick in his throat. Itis of the feline com-
panionI am to treat; in doing which I shall mere-
ly transcribe a few paragraphs from my own auto-
biography.

An unfaltering votary of Vesta made me a pre-
sent of a lively, shining, jet-black kit. It was’ of
no random lineage. The pedigree was distinctly
traceable through a long line of royal ancestry,
without tint and without suspicion. My keepsake
(let cynics snarl if they will,) being heir-apparent
to a catty diadem, was duly christened as the
“Black Prince,”

Dogberry’s ambition was to be written down an
ass; my privilege is to be written down a bachelor;
whilst my province, at this time, is to jot down
the present peculiarities and perspective royalty
of my companionable pet.

The Prince is aware of his kingly derivation.
Not for a moment will he affiliate with any of the
noble race of promiscuous cats. Their attire of
winter furis displayed in vain.
of felines have been fertile in expedients to lure
the heir-apparent from his secluded. home. Cat-
egorical conventions have been held; cat-gutreso-
lutions adopted; catspaw.committees appointed;
caterwaul concerts contrived; cat-bird notes car-
oled; cat-fish chowder cooked; catnip tea tasted;
cat-hole holidays harped upon, and the entire
catalogue of cat-calls sounded; still the con-cat-
inated contrivance failed of the contemplated cat-
astrophy. ;

Recently a young Knight of Malta strolled into
his presence. How the Prince arched his lithe
spine and bushed his sable tail, But the knight
had a keener relish for a feast than a fight, and,
alter foraging with princely permission, retired
brimfull of goodies and gratitude.

The scion of empire excites many a laugh by his
agile capers. Having frolicked to his heart’s con-
tent on the carpet, he bounces onto the tabie
where I am writing, and lays himselt down with a
merry twinkle in his eye, as much ag to say,
“Dont you want to hear me purr?” But the
Prince is wary and cunning. Gracefally rising,
he complacently extenged his paw, as if to indulge
in an artistic shake of the hand, instead of which
he manages to give the pen a dexterous bat, and
leaves a flourish on the chirography that don’t
look at all familiar. Again he lies down with an
air of artless innocence and -imperturbable com-
posure, asif audibly remarking, ‘‘That wan’t a
mouse after all.”

Well, the Black Prince, not the fellow by that
title who figures conspicously on the page of his-
tory, but our Prince, who has a much better record,
and bids fair to be the cat of cats, is already the
most important member of the family.

he already evinces a taste for polité literature,
and has become an occasional student of belles
letters. Let me but open on the table a paper,
magazine, or volume of some author’s valued
work, and the prince in black vesture (blacker
than Hamlet’s inky cloak,) leaps to my back, and
without a3 much as ‘‘by your leave,” steps on to
the volume resplendent with the gems and bril-
liants of ‘the enduring produce of immortal
mind,” and deliberately stretches out, asif ona
regal couch, to dream of intellectual accomplish-
ments. If he don’t astonish the great of earth’s
little ones by spouting Shakspeare and mouthing
Hemer, it won’t be for lack of acquaintance with
them. ‘Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?”
Perhaps itis; but I am fain to believe he cons
Moore’s melodies, for I hear him purring ‘‘Oft in
the stilly night.”

Should the heir-apparent find his. ‘“‘brow en-
circled in a glorious diadem,” beyond peradven-
ture the throne will be established on my shoul-
ders, where he may sit.in all a monarch’s majes-
ty. Even now, in anticipation of the coronation,
he essays the practice. No sooner do I take my
place at meals than he mounts the ideal throne,
and seats himself right royal, as if he were sover-
eign and we his loyal loving subjects.

Cleopatra, the queen of beauty and of Egypt,
boastfully exclaimed,

“Broad-fronted Cesar,
When thou wast here above the greund, I was
A morsel for a monarch!”

Perhaps she was; but had the morsel lasted a
‘‘broad-fronted Cesar” no longer than some of my
morsels” last the Black Prince, she would have
soon gone the way of all beetsteaks.

My protege—thanks to the discriminating donor
—is judiciously appreciated. It proves an amus-
ing companion, despite the brisk raillery of wit-
lings and interminable small talk of scald heads.

*¢ A man must serve his time to every trade,
Save censure—critics are already made.”

For instance: some precocious juvenile of sixteen
winters clandestinely arranges with a luscious
young rose-ripe of fifteen summers to cross the
Rubicon and enter the eternal city. Among Ro-
mans they will do as Romans do. If Young
America ain't old enough to enlist with his par-

 

 

with anybody else on board.

ent’s consent, he is old enough to elope without

captain came on board in a towering passion and | 4d

Much musty wit and mawkish ridicule has been |

Still the fraternity |

In addition to other transcendental qualities, ;

it, and nurture ‘young ideas” of his own before
out of his teens,

The longevity of the wonder outlives the nine
ays. Goody Praul has a sweet morsel to roll
under her tongue, If items of scandal don’t fly
in flocks, she is sure of the stragglers—is good at
asingle shot, and ever loaded with a fly charge.
She has a faculty for stripping the feathers from
the flesh and the flesh from the bones, and then
dangle the anatomy for her own infinite, amuse-
ment. Now, one methodical, cautious gent, who
‘looks before and after,” considerately forbears
joining “the blissful band” until time matures
the prospect. Forthwith Goody Praul and Gaffer
Joe ieel licensed to “devote to scandal their con-
genial minds,” and sneer and jeer at the frosty,
fusty bachelor. Anon some spunky game chick
plunges incontinently, heels over head, splash,
into the great ocean of matrimony, and straight
the whole pack of Goodys and Gafferg “bay loud-
mouthed” wonder at the rambunctious young
blunderbuas for “going off ”-prematurely. Are
all croakers “ugly and venomous?? Do they have
“‘a precious jewelin their heads?” Then again
Norman Nimrod—a married man forsooth—is
professedly a sportsman. He cracks his fowling-
piece among the hills and his jokes among his ac-
quaintances. Birds are popped at for being in
flocks and bachelors for being single. He ram-
bles with dog and gun through bush and brake,
superlatively blessed in the iraaginary fancy of
“starting up” a squirrel for the coveted felicity
of shooting him down. Night returns, and Nim-
rod with it, bearing a poor little solitary tomtit,
hardly a breakfast for a church-mouse. Nothing
daunted, he is up ond off at ‘“‘peep of day” again
to share the exciting chase, and again to return
with even worse luck than before.

I have endeavored to imagine the sensation of
our mighty hunter should a veritable Bengal ti-
ger “‘start up” with a royal growl. Would the
skin of the spotted prowler be converted to a
khunting-jacket? Or would ‘‘the lordly savage
vindicate his prey?” But this is purely imagina-
tive, and the trophy far more likely to he a tite
mouse than a tiger. ;

You should hear the sharp artillery of his wit at
some evening party, when “the day sports are
over and blood circles right.” One might fancy it
wag Sardanapaulus himeelf, holding bright revels
in the ‘halls of Assyria’s empire, forgetting his
wronged queen for the fresher charms of some
Ionian myrrha. His quivers stacked with barbed
shaits, to be shot with good or ill success when-
ever celibate or vestal is “‘started up.” Fain
would he ‘‘crown his red goblet with young Beau-
ty’s kiss;” and, let me add parenthetically, his own
neglected spouse has fain wished ‘ther cake
dough.” But I am getting satirical, and must
turn to frolic with the B. P.

Button’s himself again; and now let folly’s fop
and fashion’s belle, Goody P. and Gaffer Joe, ring
the changes of their jangled jargon on vestal
maid and saintly Benedict;. but neither the lam-
poon ofthe one, nor the gibberish of the other,
can disturb “the peace that reflection never
frowned away,” whilst left to their perennity, their
pancakes, and pets,

 

> > +O (~<a

THE GIFT:

THE SIX-PENNY CALICO,

 

BY ALMEDIA M, BROWN.

‘See here, Susy,” said Mr. Bray, as his wife
entered his well-filled store one morning, “I have
some cheap calico here, and you can have a ne
dress now without its costing much.” :

As he spoke, he threw down upon the counter
several pieces of coarse print, of brilliant colors,
whose glossy appearance would all vanish at the
first acquaintance with the wash-tub.

“I sell them for six-pence a yard; they only cost
me four; so hadn’t you better have a dress cut off,
it will do to wear awhile ?”

For 2 moment a frown gathered on the brow of
Mrs. Bray, and she turned contemptuously away
but a second thought seemed to strike her, and
turning to her husband, she said, :

“You may cut me ten yards of this piece,” hold-
ing up the most showy pattern.

Lhe dress was cut off and rolled up, and Mrs.
Bray took her way up street. She called at a
trim little house, and knocked. The door was
opened by a pale, delicate looking woman.

“Good morning, Mrs. Crogset,” said Mrs, Bray,
with a winning smile,

The lady returned the greeting kindly, and in-
vited her in, :

“No, I thank you, not thismorning. I have just

for you.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” said the grateful
woman, as Mrs. Bray handed her the bundle and
walked away. ;

Mrs. Crosset was the wife of the clergyman un-
der whose ministrations the deacon and his wife
igat each Sabbath. |

She hurried into the study, where her husband
sat reading, as :

“Oh, George, see here, Mrs. Bray has brought
me a new dress! I guess it’s that delaine I ad-

at the store.”

“I am glad of it, dear,” and he went on with his
reading, while the eager little fingers untied the
bundle.

A flush crimsoned the cheek for a moment, the
pleasure died out of the eyes, aud leaning her
head upon her hand, she burst into tears.

“What is the matter, Jane ?” said Mr. C., com-
ing to her side. ;

“See here, George,” responded his wife, hold-
ing up the coarse fabric to the light, “to think
Mrs. Bray should insult me by a gift like this !
Why old Dinah would resent it! Nothing but a
glazed six-penny calico, that will not pay for
making.” :

Mr. Crosset’s face flushed for a moment, then
a pone} smile played around his lips, as be an-
swered,

‘Well, dear, you must wear it, now she has
given it to you. Deacon Bray is a generous, warm-
hearted man, and, I presume, knows nothing of
this gift. Supposing you have the dress made up
in style; here is money to buy trimming; and let
Miss D. cut it for you.”

“Oh, that will be capital, George—I’H do it}
She cannot complain if I wear it!” and quickly
donning bonnet and shawl, she hastened to Miss
D., the mantua-maker, who thought the minis-
ere wife crazy, in ordering such a dress cut in
style.

But Mrs. C. was so demure and lady-like in her
otders, that she began to see some hidden mean~
ing in it all, and readily gave the number of yards
of gimp it would take for a trimming.

Mrs. C. hastened toa fancy store, and pur-
chased the trimming, paying twenty-five cents per
yard for it, and leaving it with Miss D., requested
her to have the dress done intwo days, as she
wanted it to wear to a sewing society.

Jt was done at the time promised, and Mrs. C.
‘put it on, and went to the sewihg society.

There was some staring to see the minister’s
wife, who usually dressed so neatly, with a flaunt-
ing calico dress, trimmed with a profusion of
gimp; but she appeared so self-possessed that no
one ventured to remark upon it.

Mre, Bray’s face crimsoned with mortificat'on as
she noted the elaborate trimming, eosting so
much more than the dress, and knowing why it
was done, and many times that afternoon she
wished the unlucky print safely back upon her
husband’s shelf once more. But she was destined
to see that dress day after day. In the street,

at church, at tea-parties and societies, Mrs. C.
always wore it, and it seemed to Mrs. Bray as if
it would never wear out.

Sometimes some one would mention the dress
to Mrs. C., who would answer, with a pleasant
simile,

‘It was a present from Mrs. Bray; and 1
thought I would have it handsomely made.

colors |”
It was with asigh of relief that the deacon’s

would now be rid of the sight that had haunted

 

gift of a six-penny calico again !

 

  

Can a country failin advance- $F
ment with such vigor developing its resources?

been down to the store, andI had a dress cut off |

} mired so much when I was with her the other day —

 

 

 

 

Don's you think it pretty? It has such bright t

wife at last saw it hung upon the line, stripped of | é
its trimming, and its bright hues all gone, for she Z

her for months, and she resolved never to make a “i

  

:
i

 
st

t—

  

 

 

 
   
   

: >» up his hand.
Noy for unseemly tumult, and
¢) ) like this, when death has =

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE
TALE OF THE ONE-ARMED.

BY W. E. . CREDESLEY.

 

His form was straight as the pine, whose peak
Pierces the Southern clouds.

As children group when their grandsires speak

Ofsome fairy scene, or some goblin’s freak,
We stood in list’ning crowds.

His sleeve hung shrunken and loose by his side,
His forehead was pals and wan;

But he eyed the stump with a warrior’s pride,

. And his narrative began;
And we heard him tell, as our watch-fire bright
_ Throw a smile on the frowning brow of night,

The tale of the one-armed man.

“Where Hudson’s waves, with liquid song
The rocky heights caress,
My native cot the rocks among
O’erhangs their loveliness;
But Freédom’s shriek through the nation rang—
I left my home for the bugle’s clang—
Myself and brothers three;
Left my mother, whose silver hair
Pressed my breast as her farewell prayer
Arose to Heav’n for me,
Her eyes were dim with falling tears;
A mother’s love, a mother’s fears,
"Were swelling in her heart;
But said ‘Good-bye!’ for her will was steel,
Though her heart would show the struggle real
Tosee her boys depart;
Saw the hopes of her years, threescore,
Leave her hearth for the baitle’s din;
Her greatest grief—she had but four
To aid the land their home was in,

“My eldest brother loved to roam
On the breast of the ocean wave;
The navy gave a sailor’s home,
And he sleeps in a sailor’s grave:
Died at his postin Hampton Bay,
Where Cumberland’s thunders were vain;
Deep in the wave her torn hulk lay,
But her flag still’waved o’er the main.

“Three of us pitched our tents on the sand
Skirting Port Royal Bay,

And leaped with glee as we trod the land,
rasping our steel with a freeman’s hand,
While waved our banner gay.

But swamp-winds, heavy with chilly death,

Swept through the air with poisonous breath,
Opening graves by the score, «

Tho youngest one of our little flock.

. Never lived to feel the battle shock;
He sleeps ’neath pine trees ho2ar—

Sleeps till the iast dread trumpet’s blast
Wakes the dead from their silent rest,

As earthquakes, shaking mountains vast,
Disclose the gems that deck their breast.

“Week after week rolled slowly by,
Like clouds athwart the sun.

Our thoughts were stained with a gloomy dye—
We mourned the buried one.

With guard and picket, and midnight scout,

Through the swamps and woods around about,
We waited coming spring,

When we saw the sun, with ruddy glow,

Gieam bright on the shores of Edisto,
Smiling our welcoming,

. “Now waved our banner on James’ isle;
The amorous zephyrs gave
Its silken folds to. the sunbeam’s smile,
Raising them close to Heaven e’erwhile
As the staff would let them wave.
Our soldiers stood in a long dark line—
No bullet was in our guns—
Waiting to hear from our chief the sign
_Of moving the still columns,
The rebel cannon frowned black and grim,
On breastworks high and large,
And Stevens smiled as we heard from him
The shout, ‘Prepare to charge!’
Forward, through Minie and bursting shell,
Cleaving the air with our batile yell,
While shining bayonets
Poured like a wave on the breastwork’s slope,
Giist’ning and sparkling, and Cashing up
O’er earthen parapets.
But, ah! we saw another force
Come hastening on our right;
We looked in vain for fresh supports
To aid us in the fight;
While ceaseless through our thinning ranks
Ran death-shots toand fro;
Back in the steps of our advance
Marched we sullen and slow,
While spurting blood and crashing bones,
With cries of pain and stifled groans,
Rang in that sad retreat.
While marching on by my brother’s side,
I saw him fall, while his life-blood dyed
The grass beneath my feet;
Siw the last of my brothers three
Cross the steam to eternity,
Ifelt a pang at my shoulder, and mem’ry failed me
then,
And many days passed o’er my head ere reason
reigned again,”

Now with his dust-stained blouse he swept
One shining tear away,

That softly on his lids had crept,

' Yo hear the mournful lay;

Then slowly from our eager gaze
His stalwart form he bore,

And ’neath our waich-fire’s cheerful blaze
We saw his face.no more,

 

Nore —At the battle of James Island a battery of the
rebels was actually charged upon. and taken with un-
loaded pieces. From the want of reinforcements, how-
6ver, our troops were eee driven from it.

“ADELINE, THE TEMPTED:
The sudden Marriage.

 

 

[Back numbers of “Adeline, The Tempted” can be ob
tained from every News Agent throughout the United
States. |

 

CHAPTER IV.
WIFE AND WIDOW.

The sanctity of the building in which they
were, subdued what would otherwise have been
aloud expression of dismay and consternation
from the throng of persons who had made
their way into that fashionable West End
church.

As it was, however, there was a sudden im-
pulsivo rush of many feet toward the altar.

There was a strange sound—something be-
tween a sigh and a groan—from many lips, and
then some of the more excited among the fe-
male spectators uttered sharp cries,

‘“‘Peace,’’ said the clergyman, ag he ad-
vanced with a pale and agitate face, and held
“This is no place at any time
isss ata time
among us,”
+e suddenness

 
 
 
  

Stunned and bewildere4 %:

 

| of the event— or let the preparation for it be

‘| of fortune.

what it may, death is always sudden, strange,
and bewildering—Adeline gazed about her for
a few seconds with that dreamy expression
that she had more or less worn since the mo-
ment she was rescued from destitution and
despair by Joseph Julian.

Then, as the old Marquis was gently raised
in the arms of some of the bystanders, she cast
her eyes upon that aged face, which, however
stern its expression might have been to others
on many an occasion, had never looked upen
her except with love and tenderness.

And then; brief as her acquaintance had
been with the man who had elevated her to a
péeeage and a fortune, what a world of gentle-
ness, of. affection, of lavish generosity had
been accumulated in that brief hour.

‘Save him! Save him!” she cried. ‘He
was good and kind tome! Savehim! Save
him! Let him yet live to know that I am
gratefal! Surely—surely this is not death—it
cannot be!”

“It is death!” said the clergyman, gently.

‘‘Marchioness, your arm,” whispered Joseph
Julian.

Adeline heeded him not.

She knelt by the still form of the man who,
for one brief minute, had called her wife.

She looked in the calm, quiet face, from
which all human passion had passed away; but
upon which lingered like a departing sunlight
all the high and noble emotions which had
been called into existence in that last hour of
the life of one who seemed to have garnered
up a world of affection in his heart to make
her great and happy.

“Not this, not this!” she cried, as she wrung
her hands, ‘‘not this; I did not look for this.
He said that he was dying, but words are not
death. Oh, this is too sad, unless it still be
all a dream, and I shall yet awaken to find my-
self the poor, destitute orphan girl, without a

 friend—without a home.”

‘Your arm, Marchioness.’”

Adeline turned abrupily. \

She met the cold, sneering gaze of Joseph
Julian—a gaze that had in it a flush of exulta-
tion. ‘

She shrunk with loathing from hia,

‘‘Marchioness !’?

‘Signy

‘You surely know mo?”

‘T do remember you.’? ©

‘‘As your benefactor. This is my work,
and this is no longer a place for one so favored
Your arm, Marehioness.”

ey: Mr. Julian. Let her ladyship be my
care.”

Adeline hastily turned in the direction of
the new speaker,, and she saw that the words
came from the magnificently attired female
named De Morny, who had officiously ob-
truded her services upon her at’ Bulstrode
House, and likewise accompanied the wedding
party to the church.

‘No, no!” cried Adeline. ‘You are all
the candid eyes of affection upon me is no
more. Oh, what shall Ido? Why am I
what I am? Is this a happy change ?”

She looked down at the glittering apparel
she wore.

She east her eyes confusedly at the rich
gems which: adorned her wedding garments,
and then she thought some person she had not
hitherto seen addressed her; but it was the
clergyman who had taken off his surplice, and
who now spoke calmly and: gently, but with a
tone of sympathetic emotion which accorded

| with the sad feelings of Adeline.

“This is matter, your ladyship, for mueh
grief. Inthe midst of life how truly are we
in death! But let it, madam, be your conso-
lation that the Marquis has lived far beyond
the allotted span of man, and that his last
words and looks were all of gentleness and
kindness; nor shall it fare the worse with him
that he has breathed his-last within these con-

heaven.”

Adeline clung like an affrighted child to the
arm ofthe clergyman.

“With you—with you!” she gaid.
me—save me from myself!”

T will accompany you home, if such be your
wish; 190

‘Home! What home?”

“Surely Bulstrode House.”?

‘Bulstrode House? Who. am I?
am 1?’’

‘Nay, recollect yourself. You are the Mar-
chioness of Bulstrede, and the house of the
late Marquis is your home. Jet me accom-
pany you, since there seems to be some dif-
ference between yourself and those who ap-
peared your friends.”

*Yes—oh, yes, with you; for you speak
kindly, and have no sinister -———”

‘The Marchioness is agitated!’ interrupted
Joseph Julian. ‘Quiet and rest in her own
home wiilrestore her. At the\same time, rev-
erend sir, we shall be charmed with your so-
ciety. Way for the Marchioness—way for the
Marchioness! Keep back, good people! This
pressure igs most intrusive and indelicate!
Keep back—keep back! Way for the Mar-
chioness! Captain Finch, may I beg the favor
of you to call the carriages ?. The Marchioness
of Ba'strode’s carriage.”

The cry was echoed from mouth to mouth.

Leaning heavily upon the arm of the clergy-
man, Adeline reached the door of the church.

There was a rush of people.

Something very like a temporary tumult,
and the young Marchioness of less than an
hour shaded her eyes with her hand to shield
them from the bright April sun.

Then there was a strange cry, and a storm
of exclamations from many voices; but amid
them all the young girl heard that ery re-
peated, and then the name of Adeline,

“Save

What

 

A responsive shrick burst from her lips,

strange to me, and he alone who looked with

secrated wails, and in this temple devoted to |:

.

 

 

&
i:
es
e

 

=

 

She clung almost convulsively to the arm and
breast of the clergyman. Her face was pale
and haggard, her lips quivered with emotion.

‘“Beank! Frank!” she cried. ‘It is Frank!
Frank Anstey! Hoe will see more than he can
know, and will judge me falsely. No, no! it
is I who misjudge kim, for he loves me and
willnot doubt me!”

“Adeline 1”

On the church steps.

On the very verge of its sacred threshold—
his face white as scattered moonbeams—his
hair dishevelled, and his crushed hat lying at
his feet, stood one who, but for that storm of
emotion which swept across his brow, would
have been as goodly a sight to look upon in
his first youth as that fair April sun could have
shone upon in its early freshness.

‘Adeline! Adeline! Isthis possible? Do
I dream, or am Imad? What throng is this?
What equipages? Those wedding garments;
those sparkling jewels! Oh, heavens, is this
my Adeline ?’’

“Frank, hear me! hear mo!”

“‘A bride!”

“Yet hear me!”?

‘A wife!’

‘In mercy, hear nib 13 Tt was for you—all
for you; to make you great; to make yourich.
to scatter the cloud from about your fortunes;
to let you see that you were love past ordinary
love; to accomplish, as if by the touch of the
enchanter, all that your dreams of magnifi-
cence and joy could picture to you!
Frank! for the love of Heaven, do not look at
me with those eyes! I am your Adeline
still!”

‘And married to another ?”

“Yes, and no!”

‘False one!’

“Not that word—not that word! In mercy,
in pity, hear me! Speak to him, all of you,
and you—and you—and you, most of ail,
tempter, that have made me what I am!”

She looked eagerly for Julian.

‘False one!’’ cried Frank Anstey, and he
shook from head to foot. ‘False one, I cannot,
cannot curse thee, for I love thee still!”

With a shriek, Adeline fainted in the arms
of the clergyman; as Frank gueley disappeared.
among the crowd.

‘Way for the Matohibnend of Bulstrode!”’
cried Joseph Julian, coldly and calmly. ‘The
Marchioness of Bulstrode’s carriage stops the
way !"

CHAPTER V.

LOVE LOST AND FOUND.

His hands clasped over his eyes, pressed
with force upon his pale cheeks, to shut out
that daylight that was no longer to him a joy
to look upon.

Vain effort to fly from that April sunshine
which now was a mockery of the sad heart that
under happier auspices, would have welcomed

youth.

Trembling in every limb.

Sobs upheaving from his laboring chest, as

though there they had been imprisoned uniil
that terrible moment, and then must perforce
rush forth in an agony of despair,
. Such ‘was the position and such the feelings
of Frank Anstey, when he left that church
porch at which he had seen the idol of his
heart attired as a, bride.

And not his !

“Lost, lost to me for ever! The one bright
jewel I had picked out from all human kind,
to love and to cherish! Fickle, false, and
lost to me for ever! Adeline, Adeline! you
have cast away a world, to grasp at a mockery
of happiness! The time would have come
when I would have raised you to a height your
young imagination in its loftiest flights could
scarcely dream of !”’

He removed his hands from before his eyes.
He was standing i in the porch of a house os
partially hid him.

Why he had wandered there, he scarcely
knew; but he was aroused by shouts and chears,
that fell heavily upon his grief-stricken. heart.

A tramp of horses’ feet, a rush of carriage
wheels, and the marriage cortege passed him
toward Bulstrode House. —

But he saw not the face of his much-loved
Adeline.

The carriage windows were closed, and, for
the time being, Heaven, in its mercy, had re-
moved her pure, fair spixit from cognizance of
worldly things,

The swoon that had fallen upon her at the
church porch still continued, and the bride of
less than an hour, who had left her bridegroom
in death beneath the roof of the sacred edifice.
was Joleca the pang of looking upon the pale,
distraught face of him whom she had dreamed
of making happy, but, as it would seem, only
condemned in the lowest depths of despair.

And then, as the carriages whirled past him,
Frank Anstey clasped his head, and gazed af-
ter them like some one newly awakened in a
strange land, and who looks upon sights of
novelty that fill him with amazement,

‘No, no!” he cried, ‘it cannot boreal! It
is I who dream, and Adeline is pure and true,
and my own still! This is some delusion of
the senses; and yet I would fain experiment
upon this confusion of the brain.”

Fleet of foot, he darted after the last of the
carriages, and as it drew up, far from the door
of the Bulstrode House, in order that those
who occupied the preceding vehicles; might
have time to alight, he spoke with a ghastly
composure to one of the gaily bedizened ser-
vants who accompanied the cavalcade,

“Tell me—it is not idle curiosity—tell me
the name of this wedded pair ?”

“The Marquis of Bulstrode, sir, ‘was the
bridegroom, and the young lady is named Ade-

Ss

 

Frank!

its beams with all the pleasure and ecstacy of |

 

lino something; but we don’t know her a bit,
sit? °

“You rave!”

“Sir?”

‘“T say, man, you rave! orl or youare mad!
Which is it?”

“Tammus! Tummus! here’s a mad gent!
Tummus! Tummus!”

‘“Hash!\no! Speak to me again! What
Marquis did you say it was, and where are
we?”

“Why, sir, in Buckley Square, to be sure ;
and that’s the Marquis of Bulstrode’s house.”

“Stop! stop! The Marquis of Bulstrode?
No! That is impossible! Fate has not such
an arrow as that in her‘ quiver to launch at
this poor breast. ‘Will you swear it, man?
Will you swear it by yon bright sunshine, and
all you hold dear on earth?” |

“Police!” was the energetic reply of the
footman.

Frank Anstey clutched his arm with an in-
tensity that was too painful for ordinary en-

durance,

Flinging the man from him, then, he has-
tened from the spot, and after taking a second
turning he subsided into a strange, wandering
gait, muttering to himself as he went, and ever
and anon wringing his hands and uttering low
moans of anguish.

“My Adeline—my Adeline married! and to

another! "That other, too, the Marquis of Bul-
strode! How did he know her, and how did
she know him? ‘Though, knowing her, it
might be natural for him to love her. But
she! could shelove him! Oh, this is wild and
unnatural! My Adeline the bride of the Mar-
quis of Bulstrode! She, in all the young fresh-
ness of her girlish beauty, and he, with his
hundred years, scarcely belonging to earth,
and long since an alien to all the affections
and emotions of humanity. It was Adeline——
it was Adeline! Could these eyes deceive me?
f heard her voice, too. Could I mistake that?
What said she? I heard not her words; it was
a voice without meaning, for there was a surg-
ing tide in my heart and brain, which over-
whelmed all other perceptions,’’
' Again he clasped his head with his hands.
He leant his fevered brow against a stone por-
tico, and was only aroused toasense of the
public exhibition he was making of intense
feeling, by the curious throng of persons that
assembled around him,

‘What is it!” he cried, abruptly.

“Why, master,” saida rough man, with a
coarse laught ‘“‘you ought to know that best.”

Frank Anstey shrunk from the rough famili-
arity of the many g2azers about him.

All the natural pride and hauteur of his char-
acter rose up in arms, and the look with which
he regarded the little crowd as he burst from
it was high and haughty. -

A sneering laugh followed him. One voice
yelled out what was intended to be a galling
sarcasm.

‘Mind how you go, mylord. There’sa deep
kennel. Make way for my lord!”

Frank Anstey wasridofhis tormenters. He
paused in an obscure street leading into the
Oxford Road, and dashing the hair from his
brow he drew a long breath, and his pale lips
parted.

“Tt is over,” he said, sadly. ‘It is past and
over, and Tam aman again. She never loved
me. She could not love me; or all the rank,
or all the wealth the great world had to offer

| her would not have turned aside the allegiance
‘of her affection from the heart that was all her

own. She never loved me. Hush!”

The word ‘‘Hush,” was pronounced in his
own heart, the utterance of those words
“she never loved me,” was accompanied by
such a sob of anguish that he was fearful of
himself. :

He strove to smile. What a wintry smile it
was. He strove to walk lightly, and witha
measured cadence to his footsteps.

He tried to look around him and to seem to
take an interest in the great, busy world by
which he was surrounded.

A forlorn, homeless dog crept to his feet.

Frank Anstey stooped to caress the animal,.
as was his wont, but he checked himself.

“No, no; Lam nowmarble! No more affec-
tion—no more of those gushings of the heart
which make the whole world kind! Marble!
marble!”

He struck his breast lightly as he spoke,
and slowly walked on.

The street was one of those faded bygone
thoroughfares of gentility which have a silent,
dreamy aspect.

It was favorable for meditation.

To and fro in it, then, strolled this benight-
ed, blighted one, who felt that he had ven-
tured his all upon a treacherous sea, and made
a wreck of his affections.

‘“T loved her well, and to outward seeming
I was dear to her. Weseemed like two atoms
out of the great mass of humanity, that kind
fortune had brought together for mutual con-
solation, and yet how poor we were! She, an
orphan, subsisting by the labor of her hands,
a labor that my heart ached to think of. Las
poor; clerk to that Flemish money-changer
whose whole soul is in his coffers, and pro-
curing by all my toil the merest subsistence.
But still there was the bright spot in the
clouded heaven of our destiny. The silver
lining shone through the dark vapor above us,
and we were young and hopeful.” _

He wrung his hands. __

‘“Now—now what is she? Rich, titled, a
bride; and the bride of whom? Dare I utter
the word, even here, with no one near me?
Dare I, the discarded son, utter the name of
father! Adeline, Adeline! was there no one
in all the wide world for you to wed to acquire
rank, station, and wealth, but the father of
your own betrothed ?’’

' Again he made those despairing movements
of the hands which seemed involuntary.

“Yes; I am the son of that Marquis of Bul-
strode who, this day, has made ray Adeline
his Marchioness! The son of the man who,
five years since; with words of contumely and
wrath, cast me from him and discarded me for
ever. I tried to place many lands between us,
but the ship was wrecked, and the sea cast
me back again in the direction of my home
and native land. I knew not where he was—
in anger ‘we parted, but it was not in this
great city.”

Again came the despairing movement.

“They know not who and whatIam. I la-
bor and I live. I would not seek the oldman
who cast me forth in the anger of his heart,
for the venial errors of my youth. Alas! alas!

him? He cast me homeless, houseless, into
the great world, where, straying on its high-
ways and by-ways, I found a treasure, my Ade-
line, and that he has wrenched from me, and
left me desolate again. Courage! courage!
Allis past now.’ Frank Bulstrode—Marquis
that is to be—take courage, aud be yet a
man !”

How white he was!

How unnaturally bright his eyes!

How painfully he caught his breath !

He had not lingered by thoge marriage
equipages long enough, nor been sufficiently
precise in his questionings to learn the catas-
trophe that had taken place at the church. He
spoke and thought of his father, the Mazquis,
as still in life.

He did not know, as he mused and medi-
tated in that silent street, that he had in truth
inherited the marquisate, and that an ancient
coronet floated over his brows.

He did not know that the taunt which had
been addressed to him by the man in the crowd

deed.

“Calm, calm!’? he said. “Be oe now,
Francis Buistrode; be calm and courageous,
Recollect your alias, and be Frank Anstey still.
You have lost nothing, for she did not love
you. Thisisa deliverance after all, for she
did not love you.”

With what.a pang he uttered the words !

But now he walked gently on, and his face
settled down to a sadness—a wan expression of
grief, that was painful indeed to see in one so
young.

And still as he went he ever muttered those
words,

me |”

There was a little, old-fashioned shop, high
up in what was still then called the Oxford
Road.

A bulging window, all awry, and having a
crushed appearance, from the heavy projection
of the upper story.

window.

Bundles of ragged, seedy looking notes of
ridiculously small amounts, issued by petty
German principalities.

A strange, medley collection, in one corner,
‘of old battered silver, and shreds of gold lace.

Such was the money-changer’s and gold-re-
finer’s shop, where Frank Anstey, as we must
still call him, held the unenviable situation of
clerk and factotum, for his board and lodging,
and a miserable stipend weekly.

' How grimly the place looked !

He never thought before that shop was so
low, so mean, so dirty!
~ But then the whole world had lost its charm
for him.

The blue sky had faded.

The sunshine was no longer bright, “gic
tious, and beautiful.

The golden prismatic haze of love, through
which, up to that fatal morning, he had seen
all things, had scattered from before his men-
tal vision, leaving every object cold, sterile,
and desolate.:

‘Courage! courage!” he muttered faintly,
as he crossed the money-changer’s threshold.
“Courage, Frank Anstey—it was but a dream,
and you have awakened to your true life.
She did not love you—she could not love
you!”

“Bah! Vat you call diligent? Six shil-
lings von veek, and every veek. Board and
lodging, eat—eat—eat—eat! Mein Got! noth-
ing but eat and six shillings, and vere you
go? Valk avay, valk avay, and come home
like some vat you calls—gentlemans vith
monish in his pocket. I shali notice you to
go, and discharge you von veek. Bah!”

‘Ag you please, sir.”’

“T shall not please!”

Frank Anstey bowed.

A tall narrow door opened at the other end
of the grimy shop. That door communicated
by a flight of steep stairs to the upper floor,

“Dinner, father!”

It was a young girl, fair and petite, and
bringing with her to her English home many
of the markéd peculiarities of her Flemish
origin,

The round, serene face. The fringe of little
curls, such as may be seen in the examples of
Flemish painters on many a canvas in our own
National Gallery. .
The blue, serene eyes, and general appear-
ance of comfortable good nature.

‘Dinner, father—and for you, Mr. Anstey.”
The old money-changer’s look softened.
‘Mein child! mein Margery! Bah! Mr.
Frank Anstey, we will go to von dinner, and I
shall forget that you have said bad things in
in von passion. I shall forget that you prom-
ised me von veek to notice yourself off. Bah!
—bah! I shall forget. Mein beautifal Mar-
gery!”

The old money-changer looked almost hu-
man as he laid his wrinkled, trembling hand
upon the soft blonde locks of his child.

‘Moin beautiful Margery!”

 

And there was a gentle flush upon the peach

   

Thave found him now, and how have FI found \

was a stray truth, end that he was my lozd in,

“She did not love me; ho: could not love

Some bowls of foreign coins graced the

 
 
   
   
   

 

 

 
 

 

ej They lost value when he, whom alone I love,

 

 

MSs Seay Boer 2

ee

 

 

like cheek of the money-changer’s daughter; |

and then the flush passed away, and there was
an unusual paleness, for she had seen the wan
and troubled look upon the face of Frank An.
sley

Did she love him? Shall we sayno? Did
she adore him? Ah, yes! with all her young
heart—with all her young soul.

And he? Alas! what wore his thoughts of
her? Whata pretty doll he thought her! A
charming thing of red and white, and blonde
hair, and preity smiles; a picture to.look at.
But for his heart—do we not know well who
had that in good keeping? Adeline!

But was she not lost to him forever? Oh,
there could be no doubt of that. She could
not love him, you see, Hoe told himself that
over and over again, and so it must be true.

She did not love him, and so in the desola-
tion of his soul, amid the barren waste of all
his best affections, in the frozen regions of his
breast, and amid the icy sky of his forlorn con-
dition, the look of sympathy, and the chang-

jag color of pretty, doll-like Margery, were
something,

‘She loves me!”

What a necessity if was to that young heart
that something should love if,

‘Mein beautiful child! Mein Margery!”

‘Yes, she loves me; and what am I that I

should cast away the heart that clings to me
as the life-buoy ofits hopes? She loves me,
and has ‘not betrayed me, Ihave never prof-
fexed her affection, which has been received
with grateful smiles, and then scattered like
faded flowers to the heedless winds. Margery
loves me. I may not be happy, but I may be
serene, I may be grateful, and I may be con-
tent.”

With a deep sigh Frank Anstey followed the
money-changer and his daughter to the upper
room of that little old dingy dwelling.

The brighter sun of all his hopes had set;
but from the opposite horizon arose a still,
clear, and lambent light. It was but like a
star in comparison with the mid-day glory of
the source of light and heat. But it banished
some of the darkness; and amid its clear,
faint light he saw the fair faca of Margery so
supremely happy that it were but a light sacri-
fice, now that he were so utterly lost and deso-
late, to bid that ray of contentment and joy il-
‘lumine it forever,

comme eat

CHAPTER VL
THE TEMPTER AND HIS VICTIM,

Is it night again?. The lightisdim. Faint-
ly shone forth the brilliant objects which have
‘before met the eyes of Adeline in that gorge-
ously appointed abode of the Marquis of Bul-
strode. a .

‘And yet sho sees those objects dimly and
faintly, as though they were far off, or only
viewed through some misty medium which ob-
scured their outlines. :

And for some minutes Adeline could scareely
be considered conscious that she was notin
the land of dreams.

- Bat she was awake; ond as her full percep-
tions gradually returned to her, she saw about
her the silken hangings, the rich gilding, and

that marvelous Indian coverlet of cloth of
gold.

‘A dream! a dream!” she cried. ‘It is all
adream. Ise¢e that I have been rescued from
want, from pain and misery, but all the rest is
a dream—nothing but a fevered dream, I
have not been wedded to any one. The eyes
that appeared to look kindly on me aye not
quenched in death. Iam not the wife of that
grand and aged man who awakened as much
awe as affection in my tronbled breast, I was
not reproached by Frank Anstey—it cannot be.
A dream—a dream!”

She arose ftom the rich conch on which she
lay, and looked abont her with a shuddering
dread that, after all, there might be something
more of reality in what she would gladly have
persuaded herself were the visions of her slum-
ber than her words indicated.

She knew the apartment. It was the same
in which she had been attired for that wed-
ding, so hastily improvised and so fatally ter-
minated,

The soft light that now pervaded it was from
the setting sun. The window looked to the
glowing west. And then, over the tree tops of
tho aristocratic square, slowly sunk the majes-
tic orb; and encircled by such glorious tints of
gold, emerald, and sapphire, that Adeline
could not but gaze upon the sight, familiar as
it was, with delight.

Then there came a sudden darkness—the
bright tints faded away.

Adsline gazed about her in that appartment,
so full of everything that could delight the
perceptions, and again she murmured to her-
self,

“Yes, yes, this is real, but all the restis a
dream.”

A faint cry then burst from her lips.

Her eyes had wandered to the floor.

There lay one evidence at least of the reality
of the events of that day.

‘Faded and disordered, but still a mute wit-
ness to Adeline of the fact that she had worn
‘it, and spoken at the altar the irrevocable
vows which, for a space which might be count-
ed by the briefest pulsations of her heart, had
made her a bride.

Aud not the bride of Frank Austey.

Carelessly half reposing on 2, chair, and halt-
trailing to ‘the richly carpeted floor, was the
costly mantle of lace in which she had been
enveloped. f

A sickness of the heart came over her.

“Tt wasreal! it was real!’ she evied.. ‘It
was real, and lam wretched. What havel
to do with all these riches, all this luxury?

upbraided me as false, and cast me from him

 

She wing her hands in abject misery.

How like the self-samemovement that was
which Frank Anstey made with his hands, in
the full belief that Adeline had yielded to the
temptations of rank and wealth, and cast him
from her heart.

“Oh, fatal mistake,” shesobbed. ‘Wel-
come poverty again; welcome pain, hunger,
destitution, and the pelting of the pitiless
storm, so thatI be restored to his affections!
Iam not false—I am not false! Ht is cruel to
call me so; and yet, Frank, I will not reproach
you, for I love you still!” s

All unconsciously she parodied his words
when he flew from her at the church porch.

And all unconsciously she still continued to
imitate his despairing gestures as she had last
seen him before insensibility closed her eyes
to external objects,

The sun had now sunk,

Deep shadows began to ereep into the apart-
meni,

The bright gilding blended with the gor-
geous tapestry, and only here and there some
glistening spot shone out of the gathering
gloom, because it was brighter than all around
it.

Adeline started from despair into action.

“T cannot, will not remain here!’’ she
cried. ‘*What is all this to me if he will not
share it? J will fly to him, and tell him that
I renounce the glitter of my new position if it
be distasteful to him; and in that renunciation
he will read the true motive of my consent,
even in name, to be another's.”

Hope, now, once more, found a place in the
breast of Adeline.

She was shaping to herself a definite course
of action.

It would be impossible for Frank Anstey to
refuse his belief that she accepted wealth and
rank for his sake alone, if she cast them from
her but to cling to him.

With quickened emotions, and more life and
energy in her eyes and movements, she turned
to the door of the room.

It was covered by a heavy velvet curtain,
of a deep purple dye, such as a Roman empe-
ror might have coveted for his imperial man-
tle. Her hand was on the massive folds when
she saw the curtain move.

Shestarted back. A chill of fear crept over

jher. And then, in the thickening twilight,

and amid the shadows of that apartment, the

{curtain was dashed aside, and there stepped

two paces into the room a. man so faulilessly
and richly attired, that no modern art, without
descending to the gaudy and meretricious,
could possibly excel his costume.

Diamonds glittered on his breast, a ruby
that caught some wandering ray still of that
setling san glistened from his finger. He
looked the personification of lordly wealth,
and there was something about his air and
manner which well accorded with the richness
of his attire.

‘Adeline, do you not know me?’

She knew the voice. It,was the man who
had announced himself as Joseph Julian by
name, and who now presented himself in so
glittering an aspect before her.

‘Adeline, do you know me?”

“T do know you, tempter!" —

‘‘Benefactor!”

Adeline shuddered.
“Fate—divinity—call me what you will—I
have been to you, Adeline, like one of those
antique gods who have taken delight to lift a
worshipper from the grovelling earth to ra-
diant heaven !”

‘Tempter !”

dulian made a gesture of impatience.

“The word is peurile, and beneath us both.
Think of what you were, and thea of what you
are.’

‘T was——”

“Wretched !"?

“Not quite—for there was one fo love me.”
‘‘Ha, ha, ha! The whole world will love
you; for when has it been that beauty, wealth,
and rank have sighed in vain for adorers ?”

“T am wretched,”

‘Wretched! You, Marchioness of Bulstrode,

‘heiress to properties so immense, that their

computation will dazzle ani confound you, |
and therefore must be left to a cooler and more
indifferent brain!”

“No, nol”

‘No? What means the negative!”

‘J renounce all! Give me back my pover-
ty; give me back my rain-soddened garments;
give me back my destitution, and that which I
thought was despair, but which was not!”
“Ah!”

“Give me them all back and Jet me again
lie helpless, destitute, and friendless, beneath
the warring elements of Heaven; for, low as
that depth was, I have reached a deeper still.”
‘Indeed !” ;

‘Indeed, andin truth, for I have now the
sickness of the heart which knows no remedy.
The spark is nearly extinguished by which
could be read the one word hope, and brain
and gensa are alike desolate,’ :

‘You rave!’’
‘J shéll rave! Heaven! I shall rave!”
‘These are brain-sick fancies. Let me, like
some skilful limner, paint what you were. I
shall need but few and rugged colors; and
then, with radiant tints, which I musé.filch
from all the prismatic hues of earth and air, I
will show you what you may be.”

‘No, no!”

“T say yes! Listen!”

“J will wot hear thee, fiend!”

“You shali hear me!’’

CHAPTER VII.
THE THMPTER DEFIED.

“The heavy’ curtains, which until ‘this mo-
ment had seemed disarranged, and easily to be

 

for evert” Tears rushed to her eyes.

moved, appeared now, to the imagination ef

Adeline, to settle itself behind Joseph Julian,
this man of mystery, in massive folds.

He stood between her and what, to her per-
ceptions, was the only outlet from that cham-
ber.

Dared she pags him?
do so? .

“Listen. A child of toil--a being born to
penury and want; every noble aspiration—
every brightening glow of the intellect--every
flutter of the fancy quenched, destroyed, and
deadened by gaunt poverty and want; sicken-
ing toil, sufficing but for rude nourishment in
some noisome crib, with such coarse compan-
ionship as might well-nigh madden the fine
spirit thatis capable of higher influences.”

‘I deny it! Ideny all!”

‘With your lips, yes; but not with your
heart. A youth destroyed, -lost, cast away,
like some fair young bud, stripped ere it can
bloom from its parent tree, and left to perish;
or, if you like the illustration better, remain-
ing there with a canker in its heart—an undy-
ing worm, which gnaws its vitals, and is called
poverty.”’

‘But still there may be happiness ?’’

‘Pshaw.” :

“The toil is sweet that-——”

_Words—words, girl! You may read such
a sickly novel; but this is a real world welivein,
and he who has wealth may catch some of its
fleeting pleasures, but he who has notis worse
than an atom cast to perish on the way side.”
Adeline spoke moaningly,

‘‘He loved me.”

“He! Who?”

‘He whom you saw. He loved me when he
thought me all his own. I was rich in his af-
fection. The wealth of his love transcended all
~all that——”

‘Ha, ha! All that you see about you, and
all that I have lightly spoken of. Well? this
youth loved you, but there was a gaunt spec-
tral hand divided you. You dared not be his.
He dared not make you his wife. Two pover-
ties mado not one riches—two. destitutions
make not one plenty.”

‘‘Hold—hold!”’ cried Adeline, ‘My senses
forsake me, and my memory is strangely
treacherous, or I should remind you of the al-
leged motive of this marriage of mystery.”

“Say on.”

‘Tt was to make Frank Anstey rich and
happy.”

“But he rejects it.”

‘Yes, in his mistaken anger, his mistaken
grief. But I can fly tohim; and when all is
known, all explained ——”

‘What then ?””

‘‘He will exculpate my heart from all blame,
and either denying or accepting’ the rich gifts
you say I have the power to offer him, I-shall
yet fill my old place in his affections, and the
picture of desolation you have drawn would be
eradicated by a sunshine that, with its golden
beauty, will make all fair and happy.”

“One moment, Can you see me?”

“But faintly.”

“Bat you have heard me,"’

‘TJ have.”

“Tyo I seem, then, the sort of man to give
way tothe puling sentimentality of lifting a

Dared she attempt to

j love-sick girl and boy from their native grime
jto make them millionaires and princes of tho

earth?”

“No, no!” ;
_ “Ah, youdo moe justice, to far. Adeline,
you are mino—my creature—the human means
by which I become the possessor of the regal
woalth of tHe late Marquis of Bulstrode. You
and Tam content to surround with every luznery
that gold can furnish, You may pension your
boy lover, and love him or leave him, I care
not; but the essence of our compact is this—
that the whole wealth of the late Marquis is to
be placed in my hands.”’

“Your hands?”

“Oh, do not fear but I will dispense enough
on your behalf to make your life a glittering
pageant; and that reminds me I promised to
paint to you another picture ih more radiant
eolors than the last.”

‘J want it not; I will not listen.”

You shall listen !”

“J will not be your slave—I will not be your
sacrifice.”

“You shall!

“Or what?”

‘T have made a Marchioness of a. beggar,
and I can unmake that Marchioness again;
and lo! there shall be the beggar with the
superadded misery of having once looked be-
hind that curtain which separates luxury from
destitution,”

“T embrace the offer. Let meagain be what
Iwas, and, for the first time, I shall thank even
Joseph Julian.’’

Thave said it, or——”

quaintance will not be brief. Listen, Adeline,
and I will tel! you what you may be.”

There was a terrible fascination about the
manner of Joseph Julian to the poor trem-
blivg girl who stood before him. It resembled
that‘species of fascination which a many-hued
and brilliant serpent of the tropics might ex-
ercise toward some flattering bird, who feels
all its danger, and yetis unable to escape from
the vicinity of the destroyer.

Fain would Adeline hewe left. that apart-
ment. Fain would she have fown from that
house, with all its luxuries, and ail, its. rich
possessions.

But axelentlesg destiny appeared to chain
her to the spot; and now, with clasped hands,
and face as pale ag monumental marble, she
listened to that man.

spread before you inmany returning. years;
with ample wealth you can rear to. yourself such
a structure'of mortal happiness'that you may
become.an admiration and a wonder. Your
desixes may be humble, and possibly, you may

 

‘| YOU.

‘| her!

‘Tam glad you know my name, for our ac-,

“You are young,’’ he said, ‘and life lies:

 

shrink from many of the gratifoatiens of ihe)

senses and the passions which, with such
means as will be within your grasp, might in-
vite you to never-ending enjoyment.”

Adeline made a gesture of impatience,

“Yes, Tunderstand. You would say you are
simple in your tastes, and pine not for the
gorgeous glitter with which you might sur-
round yeurself; but art has its treasures, and
the whole beautifal world will be spread out
before you, to visit with all the rapture of a
child in some untrodden garden, full of strange
delights,” :

Again Adeline dissented.

“Or, if in a more restricted sphere you
would seek your happiness, yours might be
the mission to dry the tears of distress; to
banish chill poverty, and convert gannt-eyed
despair into cheerfulness and joy. Ak! that
moves you.”

Tt did move her.

Surely it was something to be the minister-
ing angel who, with the means that this world
afforded, might banish many of the distresses
it produced,

“You consent?” cried Julien. ‘You con-
sent to all this. And sinceI shall not play the
niggard, you will find that, to the letter, I will
keep my word.”

“No, no! I reject it! I will not be the
creature of your bounty, even to dispense it to
a thousand others. Iam what I was, or Iam
whatiIam,’’

“A yviddle, Itis easier to give it up than
guess it.”

“I will explain it.”

Adeline was glad to hear ‘herself talk. It
was something to stop the even current of that
low sneering voice, notwithstanding all the
charm of eloquence that pervaded it.

‘J will explain,” shosaid, ‘I am eithera
poor, homeless, friendless girl, or I am the
Marchioness of Bulstrode.”

66 Ah { »

“If the former, I scorn your offers, and
would rather step. forth now, homeless and
friendless as I was, than be the slave of such as
you,”

“Indeed!”

“But if I am the Marchioness of Bul-
strode——”

Adeline paused, and glanced about her.

“TJ anderstand that look,” said Julian, ‘1
understand it well, and I will finish your ‘sen-
tenco for you. If you are the Marchioness of
Balstrode, you would say, why need you be
be beholden to Joseph Julian for the means of
accomplishing all your heart’s desires ?””

‘‘Téis true—it mast be true!” exclaimed Ade-
line.

A sneering laugh burst from the lips of
Julian,

‘‘Despair your charm,” he said. . “I will un-
make the Marchioness that IE have made, since
it will suit me to do so, or I will. keep captive
the means by which wealth shall flow into my
own coffers, and I will force your remaining
here, and playing the part I have laid out for
97

“You cannot—you dare not. We are in the
midst of apopularcity. It is not possible that
Ican be madea prisoner in this house, and
ever now I will fiyfrom it, and claim what
protection I may.”’

‘You dare not,”’

Jalian had stepped into the room, and the
space between Adeline. and that gorgeous cur-
tain which enfolded the doorway was free.

With the speed of light she sprung toward
it, and in the semi-darkness of the room Julian
missed his hold of her as he made an endeavor
to grasp her garments in passing. ‘

“What would you do?” he shouted.
you. mad?”

‘T shall be—I shall be! | There isa delirium
in the atmosphere of this house. Help! help!

stAre

‘| who will help me?.. Who will save me?- Who

will tell me what I am, and rescue me from the
thraldom worse than poverty, and worse than
death 2”

She.dashed aside the velvet curtain. The
door stood opened on to the brilliantly lighted
corzider beyond. Still dashing onward, and
brushing with the rich dress she wore the
leaves of the rare exotics that lined that corri-
dor, Adeline reached the staircase.

“Stop-her! stop her! She is mad! Stop
Where are you, Maud? Stop the gizl,
or she will ruin all!”

Adeline searched the landing below, where
a door suddenly. opened, and the personaga

named Maude de Morny, with whom she al-.

ready had a trifling acquaintance, appeared.
‘Whither would you go? What has hap-

‘| pened?”

‘‘Anywharo but here!” cried Adeline, ‘any-
where but here! Do not stay me, if you be
human. ITLet me fly from this house, and all
its associates, Do not stay me, I implore
you,”

“Hold!” ‘cried Julian, as he rushed down
the staircase. ‘She is my prisoner, and I will
not part with her at the ransom of her life.”

Et was in vain that Adeline strove to shake
off the grasp of Madam deMorny. The strug-
gie was es one between a Gove and a falcon.

‘Help! help!” shrieked Adeline. ‘Is there
noone here, in allthis house, but Joseph
Julian end those who do his bidding?”

The shrieks of Adeline produced a feeling of
alarm in the breast of the female associate of
Julian,

The tensicious hold npon: the young girl’s
wrist was relaxed, and writhing from the grasp
that held her, Adeline, darting across the wide
and an)ple landing, opened another door, not

| with any well-defined idea that it would lead
to freedom, bat that it was. the farthest from | ?

them she recognized Captain Finch and Mx
Spray, who were evidently the creatures of
Joseph Julian.

They rose hastily from a table at. which they
had been seated, playing cards; and then, as
Adeline paused almost vpon the. threshold of
the room, she heard the mocking voice of Julian
behind her.
“The bird flies but from one cage to another.
Adeline, your fate has spoken, and there are
but two words between which to choose—enjoy
or saffer.” f

Then Adeline clasped her hands and looked
about her despairingly. She was hemmed in
by foes. Behind her, at the door of that
apartment, was the mexorable man who had
announced himself as her fate; and she
too well recognized the persons within the
room, who had 60 hastily risen from the card.
table, as the creatures of his will,

Julian saw the hesitation of the young heart,
as once again he tried the persuasive powers of
his voice.

“You hesitate,” he said, ‘but you ere not
lost. We are all friends here, and comprehend
the situation, Act. fo us and. with us, and
every human erjoyment awaits your ready
call.”

. “Anstey—Frank Anstey!”

“No. Thatmast bs a condition. Hereand
alone, leading the life of a sovereign princess,
and I the lord high almoner, you may be some-
thing that your wildest dreams-never pic-
tured.”

“Stop!” cried Adeline. “Why am Iso weak?
Oh! why am I so weak?”

She pressed her hands convulsively to her:
face, and some of the clouds that had obscured
her reason passed away. She seemed to sce
her situation in a different light,

“Why,” she said, ‘be the slave of that
man? Why,” she said, ‘surrender to him
that which her marriage with the Marquis of
Bulstrode had made her own, for if it did ncé
so make it her own, how cowld she possess it
to surrender ?” :

She wes, or she was not, the heiress of the
regal fortune of the late Marquis? What fear,
then, need she have of Joseph Julian? If for
his own purpose he had lifted her to that
dazzling height, had she not the power of ac-
cepting the situation, and disappointing all his
dreams?

She withdrew her hands from. before her
face. The expression was changed. Suffer-
ing was still there, but it was mingled with
resolution,

“F revolt!” she cried. ‘I will no longer be
a weak, yielding, supplicating gir. I revolt;
and since, through all this affliction and heart
bitterness, Thave become Marchioness of Bul-
strode, I will assume the rank, and I will as-
sert my right.” :

“So,” cried Julian, ‘it has come to this.
A new phase in the drama. Our -gentle,
sentimental heroine finds hex . creditor
clamorous, and he who made her what
she is, may “be cast aside like a dull-
edged weapon, or an empty putse of no lon-
ger service,” Y

“What dolowe you?” saidAdeline, ‘What
do I owe to such a man as you?” Itis the in-
tent to give which makes the gift. You have
made me what iam; but was it with the ob-
ject to lift the lowly, or scatter from. the sad-
dened heart the dull clouds of depression and
despair?”

“Forbear and remember. Ihave made you
what you are, but with a breath I can unmake
you.” 5 i

“That may not be,” said Adeline.

Even as she spoke the words of the marriage
came to her recollection.

“Those whom God has joined together, let
no man put assunder.” : oe
“No, Joseph Julian, ig may not be. To do
is easier than to undo, and you. cannot un-
make me Marchioness of Bulstrode.. He for
whose sake Istood at the altar with falsehood _
at my heart—dreaming that its motive might
be looked upon with indulgence by him and
by heaven--may cast me from him, The gel-
den trappings of my new state may hang heay-
ily upon my limbs,..and -the glittering circlet
of my peerage may. rest Upon an aching brow, |
butI amthe Murchioness of Bulstrode, and
having reached the giddy heighth throngh
pain and suffering, I stand ypon the pinnacle,
and dety you, Joseph Julian!”
(To be Continued.)

 

 

Beauty.—Hunts White Liquid |
ENAMEL,

Prepared by Madame Rachel Leverson, the celebrated
Parisian Ladies’ Knameler, It whitens the skin perman-
antly, giving it a soft, satin-like texture, and imparts a
feeshness and transparency to the complexion, which is
quite natural, without injury:to the skin. It is also wér-
ranted toremove Tan, Freckles, Pimples, Sunburn, etc.
Sent by mail free from observation, on’ receipt of | Ha 39
cents. Address, HUNT & CO., Perfumers, 133 South seventh
street, and 41 South Hightn street, Philadelphia, 029 tf.

A MAN OF A-THOUSAND.
A CONSUMPTIVE CURED.

DR. H. JAMES, a Retired Physician of great emiretice,
diseovered, while in the Bast Indies, a certain cure for Con-
sumption, Asthma, Bronehitis, Coughs, Colds, and General
Debility. The remedy was discovered by him when his
only child, a daughter, was given up to die. His child was
sured, andis now alive and well. Desirous of benefiting
his fellow mortals, he wilisend to those who wish it the
receipe, containing fulldirections for making and~“suocess-
fully using this remedy, free, on reeeipt of two stamps to
pay-expenses. ‘here is notasingle case of Consumption
that if does not at once take hold ef and dissipaic. | Night
sweats, peevishness, irritation of the nerves, failure of
memory, difficult expectoration, sharp pains in the lungs,
-sore throat, chilly sensations, nausea at the stomach, in-
action of the bowels, wasting away of the muscles.

‘Address. 5 CRADDOCK & CO.,
718,3m. 225 North Second si., Philadelphia, Pa,

fA, Fine Watch Free
AND $15 PER DAY.

 

agents, Male and Female, in Town, and Soldiers in camp
or discharged, are making easily $15 aul, day gelling our
Great NEW and WONDER#SUL UNION PRIZE AND
STATIONERY PACKAGES, NOVEL and UNEQUALED,
and unlike all the old styles; containing al Now Articles,
and of fine qnality, Writing Materiais, Parlor Games, Uss-
fui and Faacy Articles, Likenesses of Heroes, Camp Com-
nions for the Army, New Fashion Plates for Ladies, rich

of on &c. &¢., altogether worth over $1, for

°C

that through which Madam de Momy. ‘had | 934%?

emerged. ‘

The room into which this door opened was
one of the largest in the mansion, and was
brilliantly illuminated. ‘Two persons only oc-
cupied it; and Adeline’s heart failed her, as in

No famisy should ba without one. Profits immense, sales
rgnick.. Sordters tn camp can act as Agents, and mate money jaz,
aes

and at all prices. Agents wanted all throngh the couniry. ©
Goods'sent by Express to all parts of the Army.
NEW Circulars for 1263, containing RETSA iiucemests.

S. G RIGOKARDS & GO., 162 Nassan Street, New York,

 

inrzest and oldest Prize Package House in the World,
do $3 18s : :

 

3
;

 

 

 

 

AS NDID WATCH, warranted 93 a perioct timeke2per, AS
presented fres to all Agents. Packages in. endloss variety. &

send for Ei

 
 

Wh eine ime eich laa an cae

Grattan iE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

J. H WINSLOW & CO.

CHES, CHAINS, &C., &C,, &C.

—. Wa aE TH $500,000 ee a :

be e6ld for One Dollar each, without regard to value, and
ee patd for tile you know what york are ta get

Peewensesmen efter rmresene eT
Splendid List.

OF ARTICLES TO BE SOLD FOR ONE BOLLAR EACH
1000 Gold Hunting Cased Watches.....cccoooee $115,00 each
100 Gold Watches....... Odeeecseccace cee 70,00 each
200 Ladies’ Gold Watches...... oases eos 43,00 cach
&) Ladies’ and Gents’ Silver Watches.......... 18,00 each
8900 Vest and Neck Chaing.....sccccscccces
8000 Gold Band Bracolets...cccoesccoscecee B
B00. a te ecveeccveccccceens B
8000 Cameo Brooches.......sccccocscccecse

Mosaic and dot Brooches......sesecees

5600 Gents
8000 Watch Keys........ Cvvcevecesevccseres
5009 Fob and Ribbon Slideg....sececcoseeeee
6000 Sots.ef Bosom Studs. ..ccccccscseovseee
BOD Sleeve Buttons...r.ccccccccssscscccces
6009 Plain ae

SSSSSSSSSSsssssgs
8S888S8S8

AAAARAMARAAAR AG

°

WononoRO29BORE RAR
SSSSSSSSSSsseesses

 

2
&
eet

o

6003 Lockets........ eseodees ee :
6008 Sets Ladies’ JEwelry.....ssscscoesseee OW to 10.00 cach.
40009 Gold Pens wilth Silver Mounted Hold-
AOA ed ear gel ARG 4Q0to 600 eack.
) with Silver extension Cases
-— gout Ponels Sovcuseaccmibconmesareees £00 to 600 each,

All of the above list of Goods will be sold for one collar
exch. Ooertifiedtes of all the various articles, stating what
6ack one can heave, are first put into envelopes, sealed up,
and ed; and when ordered, are taken out without re-
gard to choice, and sent by mail, thus giving all a fair
chance. On the receipt of the Certificate, you will see what

ou can have, and then itis at your option to send one dol-

rand take the article or not.

In aH transactions by mail, we shall charge for forward-
ing the Certificates, paying postage, and doing the business,
38 conts each, which must be enclosed when ¢ 6 Certificates
ig gent for. Five Certificates will be sent for $1; eleven
for oa: tirly for $5; sixty-five for $10; and a hundred

‘or S15.)

i

AGERTS.—Those Sy as ante Will be allowed ten cents
On every Cortificate ordered by them, provided their remit-
tance arnounts toons dollar. Agents will collect 25 cents
for every Cortiticate, and remit 15 cents to us, either in cash
Gr postage ‘stamps. Great caution should be used by our
oan ian Te = . iving their correct address,

‘own, County, and Siate. ress

: i. H. WINSLOW & CO,
408 Broadway, New York,

The Working Farmer.
Established in 1848, by Prof. Jauxs J. Maze,

** He who by the plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.”-—BzN. FRANKLIN.

 

PREPARE FOR SPRING WORK!

PREPARE FOR. SPRING WORK!
PREPARE FOR SPRING WORK!
by subscribing for a good, practical Agricultural Journal.

The Working Farmer for 1864,

Will supply
TERE FARMER,

THE HORTICULTURIST,

THE ORCHARDIST and FRUIT GROWER,
THE FLORIST,
THE LANDSCAPE GARDENER,
THE SHEEP RAISER,

And the HOUSEKEEPER in village or country,

with all needful information pertaining to their respec-
tive callings. ..

The WorKING FARMER has for fifteen years enjoyed the
reputation of being what its name imports, the most wide-
ly useful and practical agricultural and household journal
in the United States. To its earnest and persevering labors
is the country indebted in a large degree for its. present
improved methods of Farmi g; and its constant aim is to
become every year ‘more useful and indispensable to the
practical agriculturist. Its Editors gre Working Farmers,
and have demonstrated by their own practice the utility
of their teachings.

the Working Farmer is a large monthly journal, of
twenty-four pages octavo, and forms each year a hand-
some volume of 288 pages, with copious index and illustra-
tions. Among the subjects to be especially treated in its
columns the present year are, the Cultivation of Flax,
Hemp, Tobagco, Sorgho, Indian Gorn, Grain, Grass, Beans,
Cabbages, all the Root Crops, Dwarf and Standard Apples
and Pears, Peachés, Quinces, Plums, Grapes, Strawberries,’
Raspberries, Blackberries, and all the small fruits. In ad-
dition to these interesting matters, it will contain each
month Original Recipes, and five pages of interesting Fam-
ily Reading, with appropriate engravings. Also the eur-
rent Literary, Scientific; Art, and News items, “The Puz-
Bene to amuse the young, and Wholesale Prices of Country

roduce.

TERMS OF THE WORKING FARMER:

$1 PER ANNUM—(IN ADVANCE) SINGLE

NUMBERS 16 CENTS,

New Subscribers for 1864, who send in their erders this
month, will receive their choice of the following Pre-
miums, by enclosing ten cents to pre-pay postage:

1—One Oporto Grape Vine.

2—One of the following fine Parlor Engravings: “Merry
Making in the Olden Time;”. “Sparking.” “Waiting for
the Times;” ‘‘Crucifixion;” “Our. Generals in: the Field;”
Stuart’s “Washington;” or “Niagara Falls.”

kg We call especial attention to: the fact that we will
supply all the leading periodicals published in New York
and Philadelphia, at their Club rates, to our subsyribers.
See our Prospectus for terms.

Club Rates—25 copies for $20; or 80 cents each. Very lib-
eral Premiums given to Club Agents. -Postmasters and
others are solicited to act as such. Canada subscribers
charged Twelve cents extra .for American postage. Send
for aSpecimen copy, enclosing 10 cent senD, i the Pub-

LISON.

disher, WM L, -
ap2l-2t 124 and 126 Nassau St., New York. ©

CHEROESE PILLS!

 

Beh Ll

Compounded from pure vegetable extracts, and coated

- With the best white sugar—as easy and delicious to take as

sugar candy—these “Pills” are intended toremove obstrue-
tions, and to ensure regularity in the occurrence of the

_ monthly periods.

By bringing on and regulating the monthly periods, they
effectually cure all diseases and effects brought on by sup-
pression, or those caused by the deranged female organs.
By regulating they bring the rosy bloom and beauty to the
countenance, and gracefulness and elasticity to the form.
The young, just bursting into womanhood, the miédle-
aged, with all the eares and troubles of life, and the aged,
who are in the sere and yellow leaf—all will find reliefin
this great Indian medicine. ;

ke They cure Neryous and Spinal Affections, Pains in
the Back and lower parts of the body, Heaviness, F atigue
on Slight Exertion, Palpitation of the Heart, Lowness of
Spirits, Hysteria, Sick Headache, Giddiness, etc., etc. “Ina
a word, by removing the irregularity, they remove ‘the
Cause, and with it aun the effects that spring fron: it.

ng Composed of simple vegetable extracts, they con-
tain nothing deleterious to any constitution, however deli-
cate, their fuactions being to substitute strength for weak-
ness, which, when properly used, they never fail to do.

We~ All letters seeking information or advice will be
promptly, freely, and discreetly answered.

#@> Full directions accompany each box,

¥e> Price $1 per box, or six boxes for $5.

k= Sent by mail, free of postage, on receipt of price.

R@~ Sold by all respectable Drugegists. ~

DR. W. RB. MERWIN & CO.,

SOLE PROPRIETORS

ap2l-lt No. 59 Liberty St.. 8. ¥.

 

5 e
Ai.ttention, Compa
CLARE’S ONGUENT, a powerful stimu):

ted to produce a full set of Wh

three months of ty} day ef purche

- sealed and post-paid to. any address op
ca TD
yb O50

ey. Sis A. C. CLARK 0

New York.

ani ae Sows entered

rk Dimes sayy: ag 7 ahe New

Bi“'esarg Steinway’s indorsemea?

aud stronger and more to the
$880 Maker”?

mohatic,
ay Eraro-
3¥2.9m,

 

[TAKE A CHANCE IN THE GREAT GIFT
DISTRIBUTION of
GOLD WATCHES, DIAMOND RINGS,
AND ELEGANT JEWELRY,
WORTE $300,000.

WOOD, HOYT & C@.,
Jewelers, 750 Broadway, New York,

OBRTIFICATES, naming each article and ts value are
placed in SEALED ENVELOPES, and well mixed. One
of these envelopes will be delivered at owr ofiice, or sent
by mailto any address, without regard to choice, on re-
ceipt of 25 cents.

We will send by mail, to any address, the article that
the purchaser may draw, for ONE DOLLAR, or will ex-
change for any other article on our list, of the same talue as the ere

ticke draaon.
NO BLANKS!
You-MAY get a WATCH or DIAMOND RING.
You MUST get the VALUE of your money.
Entire satisfaction guaranteed in all cases,
Five certificates for $1; eleven for $2; thirty for $5.
AGENTS WANTED. Send a stamp for Circular.
ddress WOOD, HOYT & CO.,
ap21-2¢ Box 5298, Post Office, New York.

WHISKERS! WHISKERS!!

My onguent will force them to grow on the smoothest
face in 21 days. Satisfaction given or money refunded,
Price 25 cents, or 6 packages for one dollar. Address, M.
A. JAGGERS, Calhoun, Til. : a21-2t

i MQ? } ~~. Warranted to produce a
SHUL [Ss ONGUENT: full set of Whiskers or
Moustaehes in six weeks, or money refunded. Sent post-
paid for 50 cents, or3 packages for $1. Address

moh24-13¢ C. ¥. SHULTS, 285 River St., Troy, N.Y,

 

 

 

2 a
‘he Excelsior.
The EXCELSIOR LEG, as worn and

approved by Maj. Gen. D. E. Sickles, — |
Also Improved Artificial Hands.
Send for Circular. }
WELLS & WALBER
apil-25 429 Broadway.
THE OLD. ESTABLISHED
and only reliable PURCHASING AGENCY, doing business
since 1849. Parties desiring any goods they see adver-
tised, or any information, can obtain it by enclosing .a 3
peat cesta for circvlar, to Henry Stephens, 85 Nassau St,
ap2l-tf

OSBORN’S

CELEBRATED PREPARED

JiR COPPELL

WARRANTED SUPERIOR TO ANY IN THE MARKET.

Gold at Retail for Twenty-five Cents per pound, hy first
elass Grocers, throughout the United States,
fg" A liberal discount to the trade,
Put up only by :

LEWIS A. OSBORIT,

Wholesale Devot, No. @@ Warren St.. N. ¥.

YOUNG MAIDS AND OLD BACHELORS
Should read the exciting story of ST. ROCH; or, MATRI-
MONY MADE EASY, a curious book (fourth edition) con-
taining plain common-sense directions how all may be
suitably and honorably married, irrespective of age, sex,
or position, good looking or otherwise, with a treatise on
the art of fascinating any person you desire, instantly, a
complete scientific experiment which cannot fail. Sent by
mail for 25 cents. Address T. WILLIAM & CO., Publish-
ers, Philadelphia. hi7

 

 

 

 

is
Yi

Beli erste cia
oer

And Stuttering cured by Bates’s Patent Scientific appli-
ances. For oo Edition of) descriptive Pamphlets and
ra aRES, address H, C. L. MEARS, 277 W. 23d St., N. Y.

r3l-

 

TO CONSUMPTIVES,

A preacher of the Gospel, having cured his son of Con-
sumption in its worst stagés, after being given up to die by
the most celebrated physicians, desires to make known the
mode of cure, which proves successful in every case to
those afflicted with Coughs, Colds, and Consumption, and
he will send it free of charge to all who desire it and. will
forward him their address. :

ap7tf. Address DR. UNCAS BRANT, Box 3531, W. Y.

i PSYCHOMANOX,"—HOW EITHER 8EX MAY FASCI-

: nate and gain the love and affections of any person
they choose instantly. This simple mental acquirement
all can — free, by mail, | cents, together with a

feck, 100,009 copies soid. en a * wittrtaie GO
OK, »VUd COPIES sold. O88, 2. le
Publishers, Philadelphia, tes ot,

CANCER CURED.

Cancers and Tumours cured without pain or the use of
the knife, Circular describing treatment sent free of
charge. Addréss DRS. BABCOCK & TOBIN,

f4-3m 27 Bond St... N. Y.
something New in the

Gard World !
Something New in the Card World.
Something New in the Card World.

Kings, Queens, and Knaves Played Out.
Kings, Queens, and Knaves Played Ont.
Kings, Queens, and Knaves Played Ont.
Kings, Queens, and Knaves Played Out.
Time for a Change,
Time for a Change.
Foreign Emblems Used Long Enough,
Foreign Emblems Used Long Enough.
Nationality Everything.
Nationality Everything,

 

 

 

Union Playing Cards.
National Emblems.
Eagles, Shields, Stars, and Flags.
Colonel in Place of King.
Goddess of Liberty in Place of Queen,
Major in Place of Jack.

SPECIAL NOTICE.

The American Card Company have the exclusive
right t manufacture the Union Playing Cards, bearing
national emblems, and they take pleasure in being
able to announce that the success of the new Union
Playing Cards is unprecedented in the history of any
article ever produced. The reason for this is simple.
The Union Playing Cards meet a long existing want.
They cater to the spirit of nationality everywhere ex-
isting among the people of the American republic. In
addition to the fact that they meet the popular idea,
they are the prettiestplaying cards made. Each pack
is put up in an elegant card case, suitable to keep
them in when not in use, and these, again, in dozen
boxes for the trade.

Nothing to Learn!
‘As the four great national emblems used to represent
the suits in the new Union Playing Cards are as

Familiar as Household Words
everywhere among the American people, the Union
Playing Cards can be used as readily the first occasion:
as cards bearing foreign emblems. All one has to do
is to discard foreign cards from his ymind and call the
cards as they show—Hagles, Shieldg, Stars Flags,

Quite Time,
Let Independence
and Nationality
be the watchword.
Encourage Home Manufacture
and.
American Enterprise.
Cultivate American Genius,
Develop Ametican Resources,
Use the
American Card Company’s
New Union Playing Cards.
For Sale Everywhere.

The trade cannot be without the Union Playing Cards,
Everybody will be running after thems Everybody
wants them that sees them, The new Union Piaying
Cards will be universally adopted as the playing card
of the country.

TWO SAMPLE PACKS, IN CASES, WILL
BE SENT, POST PAID, ON RECEIPT OF $1.

Address

AMERICAN CARD COMPANY,
14 Chambers street, or
165. William street,
New York,

|

THE GREAT ENGLISH REMEDY,
SIR JAMES CLARKE'S

CELEBRATED PILLS!

Prepared from 2 prescription of Sir. J. Clarke, M. B.,
Physician Extraordinary tothe Queen.

This well known medicine is no imposition, buta sure and
safe remedy for Female Difficulties and Obstructions, and
although a powerful remedy, it contains nothing hurtful
aoe coustitution, To married ladies it is peculiarly
sited.

In all cases of Neryous and Spinal Affections, Pain in the
Back and Limbs, Fatigue on slight exertion, Palpitation of
the Heart, Hysterics, etc. these Pills will effect a cure
when all other means have failed; and aithongh a power-
ful remedy, do not contain iron, calomel, antimony, or
anything hurtful to the constitution.

Full directions in the pamphlet ground each package,
which should be carefully preserved.

For full potcemars, get a pamphiet, free, of the agent,

N. B.—$i and 6 postage stamps encioged to any authorized
agent will ensure a bottle containing over 60 pills by return

mea:
Soid by all, Druggists.
. §OB MOSES, No. 27 Courtlandt-st., New-York,
£25. 18t Sole United States Agent.

4a IF ‘YOU WANT TO KNOW
Man and Woman, Inside and Out, what the sexes are made
of, and how drawn together, the cause of disease, and ma-
trimonial and social wretchedness, read revised and en-
larged edition of

“MEDICAL COMMON SENSE,”
acurious book for curious people, and a good book for
every one. Price $1 6. Sent by mail, postage paid, every-
where, onreceipt of price. Contents tables mailed free
toevery applicant.” Address, DR. Ey B. FOOTE, No. 1,130
Broadway, New York. mh3 $m

 

 

WHISKERS! WHISKERS!—M Y ONGUENT
« will foree them to grow on the smocthest face in
twenty-one days.’ Satisfaction given or money refunded.
Price 25 cents p pack ares or five for $1, by mail. address
FRANK JAGGERS, Calhoun, Illinois. ap2l-lt

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS,

— What can be more pleasing to a husband,
upon his return home after the labor of the
day, than to find an inviting and palatable
meal upon the table? At ‘once his counte-
nance beams with gratification, and his lips
smack with eager expectation; the troubles
which may have beset him while pursuing his
business are forgotten, as he hastily prepares
to satisfy the appetite which has been in-
creased by the sight and odor of the tempting
dishes placed before him. After kissing ‘‘ba-
by” affectionately, and giving little Billy an
endesring pat under the chin, his content-
ment is further evinced by @ remark of pleas-
antry addressed to his wife, whose happiness
is also augmented. by the thought that her ef-
forts to please her husband are appreciated.
But should the reverse be the case—that the
wife is neglectfal and indifferent in matters
pertaining to the culinary art—only desiring
to serve up those edibles which require the
least trouble in their preparation, entirely
overlooking the preferences which her hus-
band may have for particular viands. No
wonder, then, that the husband should be
morose, sullen, and captious, and like the gen-
tleman alluded to by a new correspondent,
‘Annie B.,” express his disappointment when,

 

in lieu of 2 favorite dish, he is compelled to

partake of
_ CODFISH AND POTATOES,

“So you have codfish and potatoes again for dinner!
Tam tired of that kind of food, and hate the sight of
it. Lhope you will not give it to me for dinner again
for 2 month at least.” So spoke Jerry Thompson to
his wife, a3 he came in to dinner one day last summer,
Mr. Thompson was a boss carpenter, making a good
living, and all the money he received from his ‘busi-
ness—excepting only a smallamount of pocket-money,
which he reserved—he placed in Mrs. Thompson’s
hands, who managed to let it slip through her fingers
almost as fast as it was received. On the morning of
the above dey. Jerry had received fifty dollars in ad-
vance, for work he had agreed to perform; and he,-as
usual, had given it to his wife to take care of,. His last
words to his wife, on leaving the house in the morning,
were, “Now, Kitty, havea good dinner for me t0-day.”’
As she said she would endeavor to please him, by
placing on the table an excellent noonday meal, he had
let his imagination roam a little in consequence. At
first he wondered what there would be for dinner;
then he hoped it would be chickens. Yes, chickens
would be nice; he had not had any—vwell, he could not
remember when they did have any. Again he thought
green turtle soup would be nicer; and then changing
his ‘mind, he hoped Kitty would think to get some
green peas and lamb, which, with strawberry short-
cake for dessert, would form an excellent dinner. If
there was one thing that Jerry Thompson liked better
than all else, it was strawberry short-cake, with plenty
of cream,

With such thoughts chasing each other through his
mind, and with an appetite much increased by his ex-
pectations, at twelve o’clock he wended his way home;
thinking he scented the odor of a savory dinner while
yet at the gate. Qn opening the door of the dining:
room, however, his disgust at seeing and smelling the
detested codfish can hardly be imagined. He was will-
ing to admit that some codfish is good and whole-
some, and all that; but who wants to feed continually
onit? Jerry did not, at all events, and he. spoke!ac-
cordingly. After he left the house again, to respme
his work, Mrs. Thompson “fixed up’’—that is, put on
her best—and with a friend of hers went-shopping,
She was gone all the afternoon, and, after spending:
all the money her husband had given her, arrived at
home justin time to set the remnant of the codfish
and potatoes on the table for her husband's supper!

Poor Jerry! there are more husbands than you who
are thus treated, and who have to take—figuratively
speaking—‘‘codfish and potatoes” for dinner and sup-
per—and breakfast, too, for that matter—just because
their wives see fit to be extravagant, and put all their
poor husband’s hard-earned money on their: own
backs. It would be well for all husbands if they, un-
like Jerry Thompson, have no‘higher aspirations than
to gratify their appetites. Itis useless for men whose
wives possess dispositions akin to that of Mrs. Thomp-
son to try to attain wealth and position, for their con-
nubialgpartners will prove a nightmare to them as long
as they live.

— Perhaps some of our readers will take
part with Mrs. Thompson, by giving us the
characteristics of the husband who is s0 fas-
tidious in his appetite that he can never be
pleased, but only seeks to find fault with
everything which is placed before him. ‘To
such men, an unvarying dinner of ‘codfish
and potatoes,” fora week or two, would be
but treating them as they deserve...... The
students alluded to by “B. T. Judd,” were
treated as they deserved when they attempted
to play a practical joke upon their teacher,
who

TURNED THE TABLES UPON THE TRICKSTERS.
At Yale Coliege, not many year's ago, there were four
students, named respectively, Tom, Dick, James, and |
William; and such was their reputation as perpetra-
tors of practical jokes, that anything of this nature
about which there wasa doubt as to the performers,
was invariably attributed to them, At the same insti-
tution there was one young man named Henry, whom
they made a butt of a great many of their mischievous
pranks; but Henry had determined, when an opportu.
nity should offer, tobe even with them, The professor
had one of those old-fashioned coaches, in which he
used to ride to church; and the boys thought it would
be a good joke to take the professor’s coach about two
miles out of town on the following Saturday night, and
leave it there, so that he would have to walk to chureh
the following day. Well, the night came, and so did the
boys, and atter much tugging and pulling they got the
vehicle where they wanted it, and sat down to rest.
“Weill,” said Dick, ‘that is the hardest work I ever
did!’ “Wonder what the professor will say when he
finds hig coach ‘gone ?” inquired Tom. ‘Don’t no—
guess he will roll up his eyes when he misses it,” said
James. “Come, boys, I guess we had better make
tracks for home, If anybody should discover us here
it wouldn’t be so funny.” At that instant the coach
door opened, and the bald pate of the professor was
thrust out, as he said, “Thank you, young gentlemen,
for the ride, but:will you be kind enough to draw me
back?’ To say they were astonished would but feebly
express the various emotions visible on their counte-
nances, 4s without one word they drew thejcoach and
the professor slowly back. It was a mystery to them

 

how he came there; but they afterward ascertained that |

Henry had overheard the plan, and told the professor.
It is needless to add, that the students never attempted
to trifle with the professor after that,

— The. professor evidently enjoyed his
journey back, to the sad discousfiture of the
asses that drew him. In attempting to play a
trick upon that gentleman, the students dis-
covered that they had ‘‘saddled the wrong
horse.” ...... An old correspondent, ‘St.
Nick,’ who announces himseif well versed in
the subject he writes about, favors us with

A DISCOURSH ABOUT SHIPS.

There are many kinds of ships beside those which
go by sail or steam. For instance, there is the rela-
tion-ship, friend-ship, penman-ship, hard-ship,:author-
ship, wor-ship, and last, though by no means least, @
pompous craft called court-ship, to which I design
making special allusion. Is unfolding its better quali-
ties to the public, I shall be limited to no particular
merit. It has claims to pre-eminence from thé fact
that it has been longer in existence and more exter
sively patrooized than any other ship mentioned. The
first. of which we.have any account was the one in
which Adam and Hve took passage; butthis mus} have
been 2 ‘scaly affair’? compared to the improved style
of modern court-ships. For want of time, T shall not
atismpt to give a description of the elements which en-
ter into the construction of this notable crait, but
throw out a few brief remarks and leave the reader
who is so unhappy asto be ignorant of this matter, to
obtaia the necessary experience, which is the most ree
liable source of knowledge. This ship has acapacity for
passengers far exceeding that of the Gievt Kastern and
all of her subordinate brethren combined; yet ‘all of
these advantages are as nothing compared with the in-
numerable inducements to take a tripin the court-ship.
The cost of a passage ig invariably at the discretion of
the passengers, | T-do not profess to have made a trip
in this worthy vessel, but speak from personal obger-
vation, The passengers are generally young people,
though there may be.found here and there among
them those whose hairs are silvered with the frostings
of age, and some there bo who have made two, three,
and even five voyager, and should the opportunity oe-
cur, hope to embark still again on the etormy see,
feeling perfectly safe in so sisunch aversel. T have
heard people declare that they would like to remain in
the court-ship all their lives, and sigh to think that the
voyage, however protracted, must at last come to an
end. Considering, then, all these inducements, I
would sincerely advise all who ere uninitiated to apply
for a berth at once, as the ship sails immediately. Ap-
ply to “St, Nick,’ agent, No, 19 Brimstone Row, Pande-
monium. — - :

— What are we to infer ?—that the termina-
tion of “St. Nick’s” courtship has left him in
warm quarters ?,....Speaking of courtship, here
is some advice on the subject, from “N. Fer-
dinand Nickerson,” who tells us

HOW TO COMMENCE A COURTSHIP,

T have read ‘Nettie Vernon’s”’ urgent appeal for “in-
cident on which to found a love story,” and knowing
two infallible modes, which, having seen successfally
tried, I feel confident in recommending them. I will
give them to her ‘‘frce gratis,” I would also willingly
assist her in their compilation, but that, unfortunately,
Tam a Benedict, which. would prevent the charm from
working; however, itis of no material consequence,
2s she can easily procure an assistant. ‘To begin, thez,.
as I remarked, there are two never-falling ways of pro-
moting a courtship; bit as one can only be applied
when winter reigns and the earth is covered with snow
and ice, and as that season is already past, it will be use-
less to give it, as, judging from the tenor of *‘Nattie’s””
language, Ido: not. think she has patience enough to
wait the return of winter, I will confine myseif, there-
fore, to the other, which might, in case of urgent ne-
cossity, be applied immediately, although it will have a
much better effect in the fowery month of June. Let
her, then, when the earth has put on her mantle of
green and perfumed herself with the balm of thous.
ands of flowers, chooge the handsomest, wittiest, and
most Capable one of her male acquaintances for a guide,
and hint to him that she would like to visit some se-
rene and wooded dell, enfficiently distant to require
@ carriage ride to reach it; and having hinted success-
tally, let the gentleman aforesaid dash up to the door,
seated behind his prancing bays or grays, (Wote—
Color of no material consequenca,) Let her step up
and seat herself beside: him; lét the driver crack his
whip; the steeds rear and plunge madly forward; let
the gentleman aforesaid place his arm over the back of
the seat to steady it; let them chat gaily together, and,
for a change, now and then stare into each others eyes,
For fear of transgressing too far on your invaluable
time, I must omit the minor details, confident as Iam
that, ifthey but faithfully observe the outlines I herein
give, they will not fail to discover the whole of the
compound, Then, to finish my suggestions, let me
add—when arrived at the wooded dell aforesaid, let
them wander through its intricate mazes, listening to
the sounds of falling waters and singing birds, all the
time keeping up the chatting and staring, with varia-
tions of climbing embryo precipices, or sitting on
rocky protuberances; and if, after a day spent in this
manner, “Nettie” does not find that which she seeks,
then let her sppeal to me, and I will give a more elabo-
rate description of the modus operandi: However, as
I deem this quite sufficient, I will close with the wish
that we may soon have the pleasure of reading in the
New York WSEKLY one of the most astounding of
love stories, as the result of this trial.

_— ‘Now “Nettie,” what say you to this ad-
vice? You might lose your heart by adopting
it; but you may be willing to make that sacri-
fice, so long as you secure the ‘material on

bachelor who stated himself anxious to lose his
heart to the first female reader who might take
pity on him, receives another pungent letter
from vivacious ‘Jennie,” who gives some

SENSIBLE ADVICE TO OLD BACHELORS.

Dear WEEKLY: Thanking you for your very kind
and flattering invitation to write ‘‘as often as possible,”
[ avail myself of that liberty, to correct & mistaken im-
pression received from my reply to aforlorn “old bach-
elor,”” named Martin Adams. You say I “manifest a
want of sympathy with him in bis cause of grief.’* Far
from that, I am-sure I am penetrated with the most
lively sorrows for his miseries, and took the true
nusionary style of manifesting it. It was all for his
good, you know, as the loving parent castigates the
young rebellious offshoot. The great trouble, I fear,
with him, is a lack of moral courage, to look at his own
short-comings, and to attempt a reform. Behold! in
the fuliness of his heart bates argument’s sake, we will
suppose him possessed of that article,) he comes out
with a pitiful appeal for a wife, it seems, but a Httle
sensible advice drives him into oblivion. Silence reigng—-
where Martin so lately poured fourth his lamentations,
he isnot. What did the boy want? Sugar plums in
place of good wholesome (though may be bitter) tonics
which invigorate the system, and put new life and en-
ergy even in an “old bachelor?’’ (As the daughter of a
physician I must speak « little professionally.) I al-
most fear those ‘‘wet boots” have consigned him to
darkness and still greater solitude, or is he alarmed to
hear the truth once, in the course of those long miser-
able years of general disarrangement with regard to
“coal-scuttles and wash-bowls,” Poor, poor soul! I
seriously think he needs a wife to defend him from the
rough breezes which may visit his devoted head.
Oheer up, friend Martin, nothing ig so bad butit might
be worse, and you know it is said to be darkest just be-
fore the dawn. Who knows what blessings of health
may be in store for you when you have recovered from
the wounds not an enemy buta iwue friend has in-

 

flicted. That your indisposition may be but brief, and
your pardon easily gained, is now the prayer of

JENNIE,
mete

a eres

OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX.

a
A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING,

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANT-
ED,—Quercus wants to know how to make Honry
Soap.—Place two pounds of yellow soap, cut very thin,
in a double saucepan, occasionally stirring it till melted,
which will be but afew minutes if the water is kept
boiling around it; after adding four ounces of palm oil,
and the same amount of honey, with half an ounce of
the oil of cinnamon, let all boil together six or eight
minutes. Pour out and let it stand till next day, when
it is fit for immediate use...... Caroline complains that
the ink corrodes her steel pens. To Prevent TaE Cor-
ROSION OF METALLIC. PENS.—Throw into the inkstand a
few nails, or small pieces of iron not rusted, and the
action of the acid inthe ink will be expended on the
IvON .acc% Mrs. T, R.—Here is,the Franca Mopr. oF
Mawine Corrke.—Put into a coffee-pot as man D
water as you wish to maka cups of coffee; jet t

boil; then put in as many teaspoonfuls of

there are cups of water: stir it in, amd let it =

the head fails; then take it from the fire, p

of cold water, and -let it. stand on thé

minutes, when it will be quite clear.

cofice, added to a cup of boiled milk, ang

cording to taste, will be found a luxury.

To Rerzeve Covens, Cons, As

 

simple remedy for these aitments is mac

 

which to found your love story.’’........ The old:

 

 

&. W. Jewett, of California. He says he has tried it
himself, and, at his recommendation, numerous others
have tested and experienced its beneficial results, Take
into the stomach before retiring at night, a biece of raw
onion, after chewing. This esculent, in an uncooked
state, is very heating, and tends to collect the waters
from the lungs and throat, causing immediate relief to
the patient. Sliced onion, in the raw state, will’collect
poison from the air,-and also from the human system
whon taken internally, or externally applied to the arm

Musica: Fiaures Resvurine From Sounps.—
Cover the mouth of a wide glass, having a footstatk, with
athin sheet of membrane or vegetable paper, over
which scatter alayer of fine sand, The vibrations ex.
cited in the air by the sound of a musical instrument,
held within a few inches of the membrane, will cause
the sand on its surface to form regular lines and fignres
with astonishing celerity, which vary with the sounds
produced, ‘effecting a particular mode of division ac.
cording to the number of vibrations.

PREVENTIVE AGAINST? Motus.—A pleasant per-
fume, and also preventive against moths, may he made

of the following*ingredients: Take of cloves, carraway-

seeds, nuimeg, mace, cinnamon and tonquin-beang,
each one ounce; then add as much Florentine orris.
root as will equal all the other ingredients pat together,
Grind the whole well to powder, and then put it in lit
tle bags among your clothes, etc,

How to Stor Broop.—Take the fine dust of tea,
or the scrapings of the inside of tanned leather, and
bind it close upen the wound, and blood will soon cease
to flow. These articles are at all times accessible, and
easy to be obtained. Aiter the blood has ceased to flow,

| laudanum'may beadvantageously applied to the wound,

Due regard to these instructions will save agitation of
mind and running for the surgeon, who would probae
bly make no better prescription if present,

Crap Ovrsipy Parnt.—Take two parts of water
lime, ground fine, one part efwhite lead, ground in oil,
Mix them thoroughly, by adding best boiled linseed oil,
enough to prepare it to pass through a paint mill, after

which temper with oil till it can be applied with a com.

yon brush. Make any color to snit. It will last three
times as long as lead paint, and costs not one-fourth ag
much. ;

Cure For Srorping Mortirrcation.—A table-
spoonful of pulverized charcoal, one of honey, one of
rye-meal, and one of yeast, made inioa poultice, and
applied over the place.

Song Eves.—-A little alum boiled in a teacupful
ot milk, and the curd used as a poultice, is excellent for
inflammation of the eyes.

ITEMS FOR FARMERS AND GARDENERE,

How To Mare a Barn-Yarp.—The best way to
form a barn-yard for the preservation of manure, with-
outits becoming muddy, where the ground is higher
than some of its surrounding parts, is to plow and
scrape from the centre to the outside, making a gradual
descent from the outside'to the centre. Het the fall be
one-half foot in ten, and falling @ little more ag you
nearthe centre. Dig a drain from the cenive to some
suitable place without the yard, where you can con-
struct & vat toputin leaves, sods, muck, etc, that will
absorb and retain the liquid from the yard. The bots:
tom and sides may bs formed of plank, or may be more
substantially/built of stone and mortar. The top of
the vat shonld be made €o as to guard against rains and
Burface water 2s much a8 possible. The drain should
fall considerably, and should be made of plank eight
inches high and one foot wide inside. Tho head of the
drain should be covered over with a good, strong iron”
grate. The yard ought tobe well paved with cobble
stone, and with a little pains you can aiways have a dry
yard, The water from the barn.and sheds shonid never
be allowed to run into the yard, but should be carried
by good eave troughs toa large cistern forthe purpose
of watering steck,

REMEDY For Bors 1x Horses.—Horaes that are
well kept and ted largely on corn are far more Likely to
be troubled with bots than when their fare is more
coarse, Here is a remedy which a subscriber informs
us has never yet failed. First, bleed the horse in the
mouth and let him eat or swallow the blood for about
halfan hour, Then pour down his throat a mixture of
one pint of good rum anda gill of Scotch snuff. This
is sure, and so effectual, that in less than one hour the
horse will want to eat, ,

FLorau Corrostry.—A floral euriosty may be
produced by taking a stick of elder; boring out the:
pith, filling the cavity with good earth, and sowing in .
it the seeds of several flowers that bloom at the same
time. The seeds will soon germinate and sho plants
grow up together, with their stems, branches. and:
leaves so intermingled that toa common observer they
will appear to grow from the same root,

To Reprt Crows.—The following remedy is an
excellent one to prevent crows from pulling corn.’ Re-.
moye the whites from half a dozen eggs, and insert a :
little strychnine; place these around the cornfield at
crow time. Hang up the dead crows as fast as they are
found. Three have been found lying beside one ‘egg.

To Destroy Wire Worms.—Sow your land with
buckwheat, This will be found a sure method of de-
stroying these pests, ;

ROTENTIFIO NOTHE,

Tae Campnor Srorm-Grass.—Dealers in philo-
kOphical and optical instruments sell Simple storm- -
glasses, which are used for the purpose of indicating
approaching storms, One of ‘these consists of 3 giass-
tube, about ten incheg in length and three-fourths of
aninchin diameter, filled with a liquid “containing
camphor, and having its month covered with a pieca of
bladder perforated with a needle, A. tall pulal will
answer the purpose nearly as well as the ten-inch tube, -
The composition placed within the tubé consists of two.
-drachms of camphor, halfa drachm of pure saltpeter, — .
and halfa drachm ofthe muriate of animozia, pulver.
ized and mixed with about two ounces of ‘proof spirits, ~

;The tube is usually suspended by a thread near s win.

dow, and the functions of its contents are as follows,
If the atmosphere is dry and the weather promises to -
be settled, the solid partsof the camphor in the liquid
contained in the tube will remain atthe bottom,and the .
liquid above will be clear; but on the approach of a .
‘change to rain, the solid matter will gradually rise, and
small crystalline stars will float about in the liquid. On
the approach of high winds, the colidparts of the cam-
phor will risé in the form of leaves, and appear near
the surface in a state resembling fermentation. These
indications are {sometimes manifested twenty-four ~
‘hours before a storm breaks out! After some experi. |
ence in observing the motions of the camphor matier
in the tube, the magnitude of a coming storm may be
estimated; also its direction, inasmuch as the particles
lis closer together on that side of the tube that is oppoe-
site to that fromewhich the coming storm will approach,
The cause of some of these indications is as yet une
known; but the leading principle is the solubility of
camphor in aicohol, and its insolubility in water, com-
bined with the fact that the drier the atmosphere the
more aqueous vapor does it take up, and vice versa,

A Supmarine Vesset of War.—Experiments
were made recently in the port of Rochelle to test the
qualities of a submarine vessel of war, the invention
of a Captain Bourgeois, of the French navy. The vege
sel was stated to be so constructed as to admit of being
almost instantly submerged by compressed air and a
peculiar apparatus with which it was provided. The
only part that remains visible isa small tower, whence
the commander may observe the position and motions
of the ship to be attacked, and direct his mon which
way to steer in order to strike her hull with the for-
midable spur which constitutes the chief means of
attack of the new contrivance. The experiments,
however, were not satisfactory; more than an hour
elapsed before the new vessel got under water, with an
indolent sort of see-saw motion, Sha slowly performed
the whole distance from one end of the port to the
other, and then veered rotind to return, On nearing
the starting point she very nearly ran foul of one of
the vessels in the port, whereby the power of her
spur would have been tested in rather an unexpected
and unwelcome manner,

EXPLosivE GuycmRINE,—Nitric acid possesses
the property of converting many substances containing
carbon into highly explosive agents, It is this acid
which converts common cotton into explosive gun cot-
ton. One of the most singular explosive substances
lately produced is glonoine, which is made by treating
glycerine (a liquid obtained from fats) with a mixture
of nitric and sulphuric acids, This product when
heated explodes with great violence. It has not been
applied to any useful purpose, and perhaps it will al-
waysbe more curious than usefal. Ibis a very power.
fal poison; one drop taken into the human stomach
being sufficient to produce death.

SewiIne anv Currine-our Macutnes.—At the
British government tailoring establishment at Miil-
bank—where tfe army clothing is made, and about
Sixty sewing machines, driven by steam, are,in opera-
tion—the material is cut out by machinery, A‘Eharp,
thin, endless riband of steel revolves Hke a hand-sew
Over pulleys driven by steam, and the cloth, six to
eight inches thick, with the pattern chalked on the
upper layer, is. applied to the revolving knife, which
repidly and smoothly cute it to the required shape, the
hand of the workmap being simply employed to guide
pe cloth, so that the knife follows the chalked pat-

rn.

Bure uar-Proor Vauur.—A bank vault has been

» invented, in which a space between two of the plates
 i8 filled with iron balis about one inch in diameter,
! perfectly loose. The plates cannot be drilled through,

asa drill must strike one of those balls, which would

rotate with the tool, instead of submitting to the per-
forating process. One of these vaults has beer put Op.
in the Chicago Custom-house. ¥

 

 

 

 

 
es

 

 

 

 

C

 

 

(eee

 

SOON WILL SUMMER COME
AGAIN,

BY F. W. POTTER.

 

Soon will summer come again,
O’er the white and frozen hills;
April’s warm and melting rain
Loose the fetters from the rills;
Wander down the meadow land,
Wake to life the sleeping flowers,
Scatier joys on every hand,
Ia the happy goiden hours.

Soon will summer come again,
With its melody and song,
¥choing from hill and plain,
Sweetly the glad notes prolong;
Down beside the silver stream,
Where the daisies thickly grow,
There are murmurs as in dreams,
Heard amid the water’s flow.

Soon will summer come again;
Brighter joys are on the wing;

Winter’ll quit his chilling reign—
Yield his scepter to the spring,

And, descending from the skies,
With a majesty serena,

Comes she ’mid a thousand dyes—
Royal summer—gorgeous queen f

THE OLD WRITING-DESK,

Ry
AUNT MARY’S FORETHOUGHT.

BY LONA LEE,

‘Mina, darling, why do you entertain that
young Brandon evening after evening, when you
must see that it annoys Frederic so much, and
makes him really unhappy ?”

“Well, aunty dear, I do.’not wish to hurt your
feelings; but to tell the truth, I enjoy his society
much better than I do Mr. Raymona’s.*

“Mina, Mina, pause and consider, before you
put beyond your reach one so far superior to
George Brandon;—a truer heart never pulsated ;
2, nobler soul never radiated the brow of man,
than regulates Fredric’s every action—and he
loves you too, Mina, |”

“But, aunt, if I do not love him, you would not
have me wed him, thereby making us both miser-
able? Mr, Raymond is so much older than I am,
and—and so old-fashioned,” said Mina, rather
hesitatingly, for she really. loved her aunt, and
did not like to displease her,

“Thad supposed Mina, that you freely and fully
returned Fredric’s love, until quite recently, and
it pains meto seeone so unworthy assume his
place. I would not have you marry Frederic, if
you do not love him ; but I think justat present
you do not understand yourself ; you are infatua-
ted by Brandon’s flatteries—under a sort of mes-
meric slumber, and I fear it will be a bitter
awakening if you do not look toit, my darling.
In my opinion, darling, itis my duty to advise
you. Mr. Brandon, ag I read his character, ig
a fortune-hunter—has heard of your prospects,
and means to secure your love, in order to reach
your fortune a littlelater. J,as you well know,
will soon leave this world of sorrow, and I had
rested contentedly, thinking I could give my dar-
ling without a fear‘into Fredric’s keeping. But
now——” and Aunt Mary’s voice trembled with the
deep feeling that filled her heart.

“Ot aunt do not be so agitated. I will never.see
him more, dearest and best friend of my life, if
you will become calm,” said Mina, in real alarm
at her aunt’s grief; ‘but aunt, so faras my ac-
quaintance extends, Mr. Brandon is thought well
of, and I think you have a wrong impression in
regard to him ; neverthelogs, I will see him no
more!”

*‘No, Mina, I do not ask you to shun him en-
tirely, only be on your guard—do not form any
engagement with him, for at least four months to
come.’

“O{ dear aunt, most willingly,” and she looked
with a bright smile into the old lady’s face, as
much as to say, ‘thank you for the respite.”

Aunt Mary saw the change in her countenance,
and inwardly murmured,

“Before that time expires, I hope to devise
some means to break the spell that binds her.
If Iwrong George Brandon, may God forgive me,”
said shefaloud: “but he seenisto haveno aim in
life,” and so Aunt Mary hoped her niece would
see in time—while Mina that her aunt would
think better of George, and so time rolled. on.

Fredric Raymond had loved Mina West fora
long time, and had felt secure in her affections,
until George Brandon made his appearance in
their quiet. little village, creating quite a sensa-

_ tion among’ the female part of the community,
with hig ready wit and briliant conversation 3; and
Fred saw with pain, Mina’s infatuation, and was
really alarmed, not only because he loved her and
would posses her, but because he saw-the misery

- into which she would be plunged, united to such
&manas Brandon.

Thoroughly selfish and overbearing outside of

ladies society—artful and deceiving within its lim- |’

its—using every tact he could call to his aid, to
captivate a heart so susceptible as Mina’s—-This
alone would have stimulated Fred to put forth

: evety energy to save her from the toils of such a
villain, ,

George Brandon used the power given him to
the best.of his abilities, and pure-hearted Mina
West bad yet to learn, that the most consummate
villain is often endowed with powers that wins the
hearts of those more penetrating than herself.

Time passed on. “Already one half of Aunt
Mary’s respite had expired, still Mina’s infatua-
tion had not worn off, neither had Aunt Mary’s
dislike for Brandon diminished. Her health was
rapidly declining. Disease, and anxiety for her
darling child had prostrated her. Mina was much
concerned ; for she truly loved her aunt, and
would deprive herself of every pleasure, tosee her
happy. Her aunt appreciated her kindness, and
how to save her froma marriage with Brandon,
without marring her happiness, was now her con-
stant study. Aunt Mary believed in persuasive
reasoning to be the better way—it was not her
nature to command, save through gentleness.
She still felt that Mina was infatuated, and that if
she could be brought to see Brandon’s true char-
acter, her dream would be broken, and Mina
saved. She felt if she could but accomplish this,
she could leave this world ina tranquil state of
mind. She knew her stay was short.

“Ooly a few more days,” she would murmur,
fee Mina will be without a mother a second

ime,’

Mina had been left to her auni’s care—her
father’s sister—at theearly age of five years—who
promised to be to her a parent, and well had she
fulfilled her promise and the trust reposed in her.

A few days before Aunt Mary’s decease, she
asked Mina to bring her writing materials and
place them on a stand by her bed-side—

‘And then, dear, go and tell Mr. Grant that I
Wizh to see him.” zi

oe tearful eyes, Mina complied with her re-
quest.

Mr. Grant wag a clergyman of high respectabil-
ity, and both he and his excellent lady were very
dear friends of Aunt Mary and Mina. He came
88 8001 ag summoned, and was with Aunt Mary a
long time; and Mina saw with pleasure, that her
aunt was more cheerful than she had been for
many days; but shelittle thought that a great
weig kt of anxiety on her account had been at last
removed, leaving her mind free to contemplate
the future with pleasure, while. waiting for the
angels to call her to a higher life. She had not
long to wait. On the third day following the cler-
gyman’s visit, as the last rays of the setting sun
shone on her colorless face, Ler spirit entered the
bright abodes of celestial giory, and Aunt Mary
was with the angels.

Poor Mina! her heart wag oh, so sad—although
she had long expected the sad event, yet, when
it came, it was very hard to bear, Mr. and Mrs.
Grant was very kind to her, trying to soothe her

rief ; and Mrs. Grant took up her abode with her
» for two weeks. Both George and Frederic called
) daily, to inquire after her health—George eager-
ly—Frederic anxiously. Mina was too indisposed
to see them for many days.

Aunt Mary’s relatives were few, and it had been

4 in her imagination.

 

 

 

supposed that her possessions were large,also that
they would mostly fallto Mina. But on the will
being read, it was discovered that her fortune
consisted in all, the house and two acres of land,
with the household possessions—of which Mina
was to keep possession of, for two years, or until

| her marriage. .Atthe end of that time a third

cousin of Aunt Mary’s was tocome in possession

| of the same—with the exception of an old writ-
| ing-desk, and its contents, which was to be Mina’s.

Mina had ever looked upon the old desk with par-
tiality—not only because her father had once
possessed it—but for its antiquity. It had been
transferred from one generation to another in the
Westfamily, untilit had now reached the fifth
generation. Much surprise was manifested by
her friends, but she felt that her aunt had done
what she considered for the best by her darling
child.

‘And now,” thought she, while tears glistened
in her eyes, “I shall have it in my power to show
the world that George is not the money-hunting
man that many have: of late hinted at,” and on
the whole Mina was glad thatit was so. Dear
unselfish girl—her own heart so pure—how could
she suspect others of meanness? Mina was
proud, in her way, not of her own beauty and ac-
complishments, but of an idealshe had built up
One that she could look up
to in sorrow, or suffering, to lean upon as a sup-
pore in her weakness, intelligent and pure in

eart, with brilliant powers that would carry the
evil away while strengthening the good, to seo
the beauty manifested in allthings. Thus had
she looked upon George, and for these supposed
qualities she loved him! He had wormed himself
into her confidence, had built up a character in

4 her mind that the purest in the land might envy

—but now he must needs throw of the mask—
and her ideal is gone ; and in its stead stands a

4 crime-stained villain. Poor Mina, with her aunt’s
} death, her troubles were dated. We leave tho

reader to imagine the feeling of humility, grief,
and indignation, that rent her beart by turns, as
she perused the following note from Brandon,
about a week after the contents of the will had
been freely discussed.

Miss West.—Learning, before it was too late,
that your respected aunt did not favor my suit
with her neice, [now resign all claims, to a more
favored rival, bidding you an eternal farewell. I
am oph ! GEORGE BRANDON,

With her face buried in the soft cushion, Mina
wept long, her form quiveringfwith emotion. O!
howshe had been deceived, and to think how
stubbornly blind she had been to the truth that
Aunt Mary had so often pointed out to her—and
how silly her conduct must appear in the eyes of
Frederic—and Mina wished for a moment that the
earth would open and swallow her up, away from
the sight of every one. But only for a moment
did sheindulge in such thoughts. Gradually a
calmness ¢ame over her like the gentle breath
of spring after the cold, bleak winds of winter—
and Mina slept. In her sleep she saw Aunt
Mary’s sweet, kind face bending over hers, and
she whispered soothing words into her ear.

‘Dear child,” said she, in her sweet, persuasive
voice, ‘it is only your pride that is wounded!
Rather rejoice that you are not bound for life to
that bold bad man! Trials come to earth's chil-
dren, to awaken them to a higher sense of duty,
that each owe both to God and their fellow-crea-
tures. Arise and:wash the tear-stains from your
cheek ; and walk boldly forth in the path of duty
marked out to you. There is aheart yearning to
comfort you—one that possesses all the nobleness
of soul you so much admire. Subdue your pride,
and mingle freely with friends that will never for-
sake you !” ;

As Mina listened, her heart gained courage—
strength was imparted, that put to flight her
wearines—and she awoke with the brightness of an
angel upon her face, Her mind had been in such
a tumult since her aunt’s death that she had not
opened the old desk, to see what it contained.
She would now do so! Sheaccordingly repaired
to the chamber where it stood. On opening it,
she found it to contain a package of old letters,
some trinkets that had once belonged to her
mother, a purse containing two hundred dollars,
marked ‘for Mina’s present use.” Mina closed
the desk, and with the purse in her hand, ascend-
ed the stairs musing as she went:

‘I will take this to Mr. Grant, to keep for me
until a time comes when I can no longer do with-
out it, Ihave enough for my present use, thanks
to Aunt Mary, who has always liberally supplied
me.”

Hight months has now glided away—let us
again lookin upon Mina. Shois reclining listless-
ly upon a sofa—the same where she shed such
bitter tears a fow months ago—her face is lighted
up with happiness—a new happiness—for she is
now the affianeed bride of Frederic Raymond ! He
has visited her all along, as a brother would visit
a sister, keeping back the great waves of love that
sometimes swelled his heart to almost: suffoca-
tion—until to-night he came, finding Mina more
depressed in spirits than usual. He gazed pity-
ingly into her face. She burat- into a passionate
fitof weeping. He was quickly by her side. His
first words were :

“QO! Mina, and did you then love that man go
much? Cannot you putaway his image from your
heart—or must it break for one so unworthy ?”

“Ol! no, no,” said Mina, struggling with her
tears; ‘‘it is not that! Inever loved him! I loved
an ideal that I had built up in my mind—and for
a time I fancied him to be its embodiment—but
the spell has long since been broken,” and Mina
looked into his face almost pleadingly !

“The time was,” continued Fred, ‘‘when I was
presumptuous enough to think that this dear
hand wouid lie passively in mine, and that I
would possess the owner’s heart. O1!. Mina, if
you couldlove me, half as well asI love you, we
could be, oh, so happy |” :

“7 do, Ido!” broke passionately from Mina’s
lips; ‘I have loved you all the time, dear, dear
Frederic, and I have yearueédso much for your lips
to utter some endearing words, for I have been
oh, so lonely, without any one to soothe the pain
of my heart!” ;

‘Darling Mina, say again that you have loved
mé all these long months, it is so sweet coming
from your dear lips!” and he kissed each word
as she repeated them againandagain. ‘‘And you
will now give up your project of turning school
teacher and be my darling litile wife? Are you
sure you can always love me—so much older than
you are ?” °

“One questionat atime! ButI will answer. 1
suppose I shall be obliged to give up teaching
more than one scholar—and I will be your wife—
for [love you better for being older than me!”
and what else was said the reader will soon learn.

A wedding—the news spread like wild-fire,
Mina West was tomarry Frederic Raymond! The
guests were all invited, and Mr. Grant was to
officiate, and give the bride away. The happy
day arrived; and very beautiful was sweet Mina
Weat, standing beside her noble husband to be.
Mr. Grant arose, and after uttering a short
prayer, said the words that united their lives un-
til death should them part.

After the usual congratulations were exchanged,
Mr, Grant again arose, saying,

‘I have in my care a letter, addressed to Mina
West, which I was to present to her at her wedding,
if she was married within ayear from the time it
was placed in my care—if not, I was to put it in
her possession at the end of a year.”

Mina broke the seal with a trembling hand;
but as she glanced her eyes over the sheet, they
filled with tears, and she gave it to Mr. Grant,
telling him to read it aloud as there was none
present but her friends, Theletter ran thus :

‘Dear, darling Mina, ere your eyes rest upon
this, my last act in my labor of love for you—-
mine will be closedin death. ButI feel that my
influence will yet linger with you, shedding a
bright halo over your future life. I also feel that
you will:walk side by side with Frederic, doing
your duties, aided by each other—and these
thoughts strengthen me in my dying hours.
None save God and the angels, know of this pre-
caution, in the form of a ruse that I havetaken
to secure your future happiness. I entrusted this
to the care of Mr. Grant, who will place it in your
hands on your bridal day; and whilé yet the

uests are assembled, bring forth the old writing-
Foak, which will be found to containa false bot-
tom, the contents of which, I wish you to use for
your own comforts, and forthe needy whenever
you may meet them on your journey through life.
Trusting you will forgive me for the anxiety Thad

 

occasioned you, I bid you a long farewell, and
may God rest his blessing upon all, From your
affectionate aunt, Many WEST.’

Ere the letter was finished, Mina lay sobbing
upon the breast of her husband.

“Dear, thoughtful aunt.” she murmured,
“where would have been your darling now, if you
had not saved her? O1 Frederic, dear Frederic, I
am so unworthy to be your wife—you will see
more and more of my unworthiness |”

“Hush, darling, don’t speak of it, as Aunt
Mary said, we will aid one another—there, bright-
en up, andsee with what eagerness our friends
are examining the old writing-desk.” :

The old desk was opened, and found to contain
five thousand dollars in gold, besides an order on
the bank of 8——, for fiiteen thousand more.

‘Now, Mina,” said Fred, playfully, ‘‘don’t you
wish you had waited, and taught school one. quar-
ter ?

“No, Fredric; I am happy to find, for your sake,
that you have not taken a portionless bride !”

Mina wished so much te stay where she had
spent so many happy years with her aunt, that
Fred paid Mrs. Tracy, the rightful owner of the
house, a handsome price for it, and Mina is very
happy in the old home; and the old writing-desk
is looked upon asa aacred thing; and her eyes
often fill with tears as she gazes upon this old
relic through which she had gained somuch hap-

iness.
: Mr. Grant was presented with the “two hun-
dred” as a momento of friendship, by Mrs. Ray-
mond. One incident more, andour story is done!

Nothing had ever been heard of George Bran-
don since his abrupt departure from S—, until
one evening Mrs. Raymond took up @ paper that
her husband had*brought in, wrapped around
some-goods he had purchased—running her eyes
over its pages she saw a name that struck terror

to her heart, and uttering a low cry of pain
would have fallen had not her husband caught
her fainting, in his arms.

‘“What-can be the matter, darling?” said he, as
she slowly opened her eyes.

“O! dear Frederic, shallI never be free from
these harrowing thoughts ?” and her eyes sought
the paper; Fredric picked it up and read,

‘George Brandon convicted and sent to State’s
Prison for a term of seven years for forgery |”

Mina whispered hoarsely,

“Ol! Fredric, how much I owe to my dear aunt’s
forethought! I nevercan forgive myself for my
wilful blindness; and yet, dear husband, I did
not realize that I was go!”

‘You are no longer to blame, my darling; do
not dwell on these scenes too much. Let us only

remember the lesson they ‘teach. We both owe.

much to Aunt Mary—then let us try to imitate
her virtues.”
Amen!” burst from Mina’s lips!

A SOLDIER’S LETTER.
BY M. EDESSA WYNNE.

Don’t start or weep, dear sister, when you hear the
news from me,

For when you get this letter in anothor land I’ll be,

Where no fierce, discordant battles will disturb the
grateful peace,

And God, our Head Commander, has signed my last
release. d

Don’t feel sad or cry, dear Gracie; I’ve grown tired of
the wars;

My blood has flown in streamlets, and I’m covered o’er
with scars; é :

And my living would be useless, for I’ve buried my
right arm,

And at Falmouth I was foremost in the battle’s first
alarm,

And they say I did my duity—dear enough it cost me,
too; :

Stil I'd be proud of it, dear sister, if I didn’t think of
you;

I know you'll be so lonely when your brother’s dead
and gone;

*Tyill be hard for you, dear sister, to battle life alone,

But no human love can save me—if any, yours would
do; :

And I’m glad, sweet sister Gracie, that there’s none to
weep but you; ;

ButI'llthink of you, dear sister, with my very latest
breath;

Your name shall freeze upon my lips beneath the seal
of Death. :

Onc loxg, last good-bye, loved sister—I shall soon en-
joy sweet peace.

 

«@re

LOVE’S SELFISHNESS.

BY AGNES LEONARD (MOLLY MYRTLE).

“You are not happy, Eleanor! What troubles
ou?”

7 An intonation of affectionate solicitude ran

through the speaker’s voice.

‘Happy! Oh,mamma, how can I be?”

The young wife sobbed convulsively. i

‘My poor child, you are so impulsive! Oalm
yourself, and tell me, rationally, what your grief
ig!”

Eleanor Snowdon lifted her head, while the
shadow that lay on her face.and the quiver that
went over her lips, touched the mother’s heart
more than any words could have done.

“Nobody appreciates my feelings; nobody un-
derstands me! I'wish I had never been born !”

‘Hieanor, my child, this is very sinful! God
has given you many blessings; and I tremble for
the consequences of your ingratitude !”

Mrs. Delaney’s voice was full of grave rebuke.

“Oh, mamma, you don’t know anything about
ree Edgar and I ought never to have mar-
ried !”

‘My child! my child! Iam shocked !”

The lady’s voice partook of her daughter’s pas-
sionate want of control.

*Tv’s no use trying to hide it any longer, mam-
ma. DPve struggled against it, and tried to stifle
the convictions of my own heart, but that don’t
alter the fact, Edgar is a Northerner, and I sup-
pose he can’t help being a cold-hearted Yankee
any more than I canhelp being an impulsive
Southerner, and loving him far beyond even ‘the
mightiest of his conceptions!”

“Then you do love him, Hleanor ?”

The young wile’s voice was not quite steady as
she replied, :

‘‘Yos; Lam notso fickle ashois! Ilove him
more now, spite of his coldness and evident dis-
gust than I did the day we were married !”

“Then, Hleanor, why are you unhappy? Can
you not, for love’s sake, forgive his faults, and let
the ardor of your affection compensate for his
co duegs ?”

“Oh, yes, Mamma, I could do it. I could for-
give anything, everything, if he would let me! If
he did not turn with such evident weariness from
me, and only endure my caresses |”

The shadows of the grey siill twilight that
pressed up to the window pane seemed to grow
heavier and blacker by mingling with the gioom
on Mrs. Snowdon’s face, while the mother’s eyes,
reading the darkness thereon, grew dim with
thoughtful pain,

‘Hallo, Bob! Here you are—all ready and
waiting for a ride on papa’s back. Here we go to
Baitimore—one behind and one before |”

The cheery, manly voice rang up into the dark-
ened room from the hall below like a note of re-
joicing through a tfuneral dirge.

“There he is now,” said Hleanor, groping her
way through the mists of the winter twilight to
the door, and meeting her smiling husband and
laughing boy, she exclaimed, with her usual
movr.fal vehemence: “Oh, my dearest love! I'm
so glad you've got home! Do you love me any?”

There is something inexpressibly depressing in
a room full of twilight shadows on a frosty winter
night—even without the irritating concomitant of
ha f-choked sobs'and a voice full of unworded re-

roaches—“‘and all for nothing, too,” as Mr.
Bee an mentally affirmed.

“Say, Edgar, are you tired of me? Don’t you
love me any?”

The persistent, injured cadence of her voice, to
a man of Edgar Snowdon’s cheerful tempera-
ment, was annoying in the extreme, and he @x-
claimed, with only half-concealed impatience,

“Why, certainly I do, Ellie; but why haven't
you lit the gas and kept up the fire? I’m cold
and tired, and the room is cheerless as a sepul-
chre!” Mr. Snowdon stumbled over a chair, at
this juncture, and little Bob commenced erying
from fright. ‘Do take the child a mo nent,” said
Mr. Snowdon, pushing the little three-year-old
into Eleanor’s arms, and fumbling in his pocket
for his box of matches, kept ostensibly-for his
cigars, yet used on many other occasions than
smoking occasions. The gas was lighted, and
then Mr. Snowdon saw his mother-in-law sitting
in an easy-chair, with her head bowed in her
hand. A flush of annoyance crossed his face as
he reflected that she had heard all. Hleanor’s
very audible sobs, too, did not add to his peace of
mind; yet forcing a smile on his face,and holding
out his hand in affected welcome, he said, as
pleasantly as possible:

aie how are you mother? Glad to see
you ?’ :

Mrs. Delaney’s face was damp with recent
tears, yet she pressed the young man’s hand
warmly, and thanked his courtesy almost calmly.

‘J suppose she thinks I’m a brute!” solilo-
quized Mr. Snowdon; “and perhaps I am; but,
Eleanor positively persecutes me with her ca-
resses! ‘Enough of a thing’s enough |’”

Conversation was.dull work for awhile that
evening. Little Bob was sent from the room,
Eleanor moped over her embroidery, and Mr,
Snowdon affected to read the news.

Mrs. Delaney was a woman of keen perceptions;
sheunderstood matt:ra exactly, and knew that
silence was just the very thing to foster ill-fecling
and unpleasantness. Gradually she dreg Mr.
Snowdon out from his moodinéss—talked Soont
the news, the war, and other topics equally inter-
esting to her daughter’s husband.

After a time the shadows were all gone, anda
more happy looking trio never chatted away the
swittly fying momenta than Mr. Snowdon, wife,
and mother-in-law. Yet it was in such alternate
storm and calm that the whole of Mrs. Delaney’s
visit was passed; and when she began packing
Ber pe to return home, Eleanor sobbed out-
right.

“Oh, mamma,” said she, “you see how it is;
and, after you are gone, it will be a great deal
worse. If Edgarever didlove me he has evident-
ly entirely outgrown it. I know you must have
seen during your stay how he repulses me on all
occasions, and Inever do speak cross to him. I
have tried every way to retain his love, but, day
by day, I feel farther from him, and I know he is
perfectly tired of me! He only endures me, and
his disgust is not half concealed |”

The young wife and mother bent her head on
the sunny curls of little, three-year-old Robbie,
and sobbed convulsively.

“Hieanor, my child,” said Mrs. Delaney, grave-
ly, “your whole trouble liesin your own selfish-
ness ! :

Mrs. Snowdon stopped weeping from sheer as-
tonishment, and regarded her mother curiously.

‘Yes, Hleanor, I repeat it. ‘The root and
a of all this trouble. is your own selfish-
ness |”

“Oh, mamma, how can you say that? I’msure
I would sacrifice my very life for Edgar! Don’t
I do everything I can for him? Don’t I read to
him until ’m hoarse with the exertion? Don’t
Tendure his indifference, and repay his coldness
with caresses; and doI ever offer any reproach
harsher than tears ?”

*T admit that, Eleanor, about the tears and ca-
resses; but, in giving them, are you studying his
happiness or your own gratification ?”

Mrs. Snowdon bowed her head, and Mrs, Dela-
ney continued,

“I cannot remember a single instance during
|Iny: visit, where you have sacrificed your own
wishes to your busband’s. If he is interested in
a book, and lifts up a face all aglow with enthusi-
asm to read you a striking passage, you interrupt
his reading to kisshim, and if he chafes beneath
your incessant petting, you bring down his lofti-
est soul-flights with querelous complaints, or a
burst of tears, or @ tirade of silly questions about
whether he isn’t sorry he married you, or if he
doesn’t wish you were dead, or some other such
foolishness 1”

“But, mamma, I don’t always do so. Some-
times I read to him for hours at a time—you know
I do!” said Eleanor, impetuously. :

‘Yes, but you always reai-works of your own
choosing, and when his mind is full of war news
and wants to read or hear something political,
you set aside his wishes and consult your own
taste by boring him with some sentimental novel,
about which he doesn’t care a particle. Then, if
he‘has the headache and begs you to darken the
room and let him sleep, you cry and hang around
him and tell him how often your head aches, and
nobody cares for it, and how happy you'd be if he
wasn’t so indifferent; and se you worry. the poor
man until he is almost frantic with nervous pain,
and then if he grows impatient and wants you to
‘leave him you put on an injured air that makes
him imagine himself a brute, which last reflection

} has not the slightest tendency to make him more

comfortable. I mean it kindly, Hleanor, and I
say it for your benefit; your own selfishness, your
persistent yielding to zmpuise and continued want
of self-sacrifice is the cause of your own and your
husband’s unhappiness. Study his wishes more,
control your wearying demonstrations, and when
he is inclined to spend: an evening from home
don’é tell him he prefers everybody’s society to
yours. Don’t mar his every enjoyment. Study
his happiness if you would insure your own.”

“Oh, mammal! I never knew before that love
could be selfish. My-nature is so demonstrative,
and my affections are so deep that I never looked
upon their gratification as selfishness; but I see
how itis. I have done only what my own feelings
prompted, regardless of the difference betweem
my tastes and Hdgar’s. It never seemed to me
there was any better way of doing than manifest-
ing my love for him, But hereafter I will try to
act differently.” :

‘Do, my child, and in curbing love’s selfishness
you will realize its happiness.” ,

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Sar We are often requested by correspondents to ane
s8wer them by letter. This we should be very happy to
do in all cases, if we could find the time, but as we have
but very little leisure, we can hardly undertake so oner-
ous & task,

Gosste WITH READERS AND CoNTRIBUTORS.—
Grace De La Verite.—We had rather fnot publish any-
thing whica has been published betore, even though it
may not have been extensively read, The articles al-
luded to were received, and the one referring to Bay-
ard Taylor was published last week......dfable South.—
The sketch you send us, although it lacks finish, has
considerable merit. Practice will doubtless make a
writer of you. Write only on one side of your paper
hereafter, and if you address any note to the editor let
it be written on a seperate slip of paper......0C.M.K
Thia correspondent sends us the following note which
explains itself: “DEAR WEEKLY: The poem on. the
first page of No. 19, isas “oldas the hills,’ (if I may
be allowed to say so). Ehave it in a scrap-book at St.
Johnsville; it was quite a favorite of mine. I always
hate to mention such things, unless I can substantiate
them; but I have in this instance. Somebody else may
gay the same too, if they have not already. I imagine
Annie E. is gaining literary fame not her qwn.”’ Since
we received the above, another of our contributors has
called upon us to expose the same plagiarism. The
poem in question is entitled “‘Who Won the Widow’s
Heart?’? Will Annie HE. please take her favors else-
where hereafter? It is astonishing that literary pil-
ferers will persist in their nefarious practices when
they must know that they will sooner or later be ex-
posed......dmy.—A serial should cover from two to
three hundred pages foolscap. ‘‘Marian Grey’ is not
published in paper covers..... - Nemesis.—* Fitzalbin’s
Angel’’ is a gem, and shall have an early insertion. We
do not at all grumble atits length. On the contrary, it
pleases us vastly, and a story of three hundred pages
foolscap, if it kept up the interest ali through, as is the
case with your last,, would be very acceptable.
We shali look with considerable interest for your
next, but we would not have you hurry your-
self. Take time and pains, and we are certain
you can write a romance of which the most gifted
might be proud......Hlza Spear Cook.—We do not
object to the ending of your sketch, because it serves
to point a moral. It is only when a story can be ended

| happily as well as not that we insist on such an end-

ing. Weagree with you that a coquette deserves pun-
ishment, and nothing is more certain than that punish-
ment will follow coquetry sooner or later. We cannot
agree to your proposition. Weare sorry, but we have
certain fixed rules to guide us in our business, and we
cannot in any instance go contrary to them. Any re-

 

marks addressed to the editor should be written on a

 

separate slip of paper...... Jas. B. Moore.—Yours is 3
plain, unvarnished ‘story, containing a good moral,
and ig, therefore, very acceptable...... A, J. S.—Thanks
for your graphic and very interesting sketch. Let us
hear from you again......C. A. Jf.—We cannot publish
the poem you send us. I¢ does not contain sufficient
merit. You may, as your friends tell you, be able to
write well when you have had more practice and expe-
rience, but at present. you are very far from the stand-
ard by which we judge compositions. With regard to
the correspondence concerning which you speak, you
had better reflect seriously before you commence it,
You are young, and judying from your carte de visete,
handsome. You cannot, therefore, be too careful, A
correspondence with any gentleman with whom you
are unacquainted, although commenced in a spirit of
pleasantry, may end very unhappily for you, and is
greatly to be deprecated. Take our advice, therefore,
and avoid it......Cousin John.--Wa deplore the errors
to which you allude, and would, it we could, correct
them, but that is impossible. The obituary notice
shall be published...... Emma, Eggleson.— Your request
shall be complied with...... The following MSS. are re-
ceived and accepted: ‘After the Storm;” “The Sugar
Party; “Ihe Hermit’s Manuscripi;’? “The Enchant-
ed Isle;” “The Light on the Distant Shore;” “Grace
Allen;” ‘‘We May be Happy Yet;” “To His Word,”
“From a Schoolmaster ;” ‘“‘Heart Longings;”’ “Saved ;’*
“The Two Brothers;” ‘A Summer Trip;” “A Tribute;””
“Fitzalbin’s Angel.’’.,....The following are respect.
fnily declined: ‘'Retribution;’’ ‘‘Think of Me;” “Mu.
sic; “I’m Weary; ‘Backbiters;” ‘Another Flower
Hath Faded;’”? “Out of the Depths;’’ ‘‘Lines;’’ -‘The
Soldier’s Bitter Wail;’? ‘“The Scout;” “The Sentinel;
“ToM. E, 8.;’ ‘‘Angelic Effie.’’.

ITEMS OF INTEREST,

4a- A gentloman named Charley Claffey, well
known in New York as one of the votaries of fashion,
and possessing a fastidious appetite, is now on a Visit
to Norfolk, Va., and puts up at the Atlantic Hotel
there. The accommodations of that hotel, in the
opinion of Mr. Claffey, arenot equal to those of our St.
Nicholas. He pronounces the beds hard, the towels
coarse, the heating contrivances bad, and the servants
duil. He never could get his eggs done to suit him,
One morning recently he called Apollo, an old darkey,
and stated his grievances. ‘‘Hera,’’ said he to the ser
vant,, ‘take my watch, and boil my eggs with it just
three minutes.” ‘‘Yes, massa,”’ said Apollo, ‘‘I’ll do
that ar,’’ and so saying he bounded off to the kitchen.
In due time he returned, three eggs on one plate, and
the smoking watch and chain on another plate. ‘My
God, man!” shouted Mr, Claffey, ‘‘what have you
done?” ‘Jus’ what the massa tole me; boil dem eggs
with it jus’ tree minutes, as you said, massa.”’

“a7 An immense number of wild swans and
geese lately made their appearance at Youngstown,
Ohio, during a snow storm. They flew over the town
during the night, and awoke and startled the inhabi-
tants by their shrill cries and clamors. Upon reaching
the vicinity of the great iron foundries of Youngstown,
ihe birds seemed bewildered by the tempest and the
glare of the fires together, and flew wildly about, with
discordant cries. Many of the swans and geese camo
to the ground in the neighborhood of the furnaces, and
some were caught alive bythe hands employed there.
The swans, which have since heen sold at $10 a pair,
are pure white,

x@- It is not always considered an advantage
to have six fingers on eachhand; but alady pianist, who
has lately made her appearance in Holland, and is thus
treated by a hereditary freak of nature, esteems this
deformity of immense benefit to one in her profession.
The additional finger adjoins the little finger, and re-
sembies a thumb, which she makes great use of during
her performances on the piano. Her sis-fingered gloves
are made expressly for her by a Paris manufacturer,
and she seems proud of her peculiar superfluity. The
members of her family who thus have six fingers, are
equally favored by the number of toes.

aa A very large female panther, with cubs,
was lately foundin the Gauley Mountains, West Vir-
ginia, Itappears that this panther. had interfered for
a long time with the sport of the hunters in that vicin-
ity, having Killed great numbers of the deer, and
driven many more away. At last the old panther was
met by Mr. Hambric, who tracked her to her den--a
cave inthe mountains, Lying in wait for her, he shot
her on her appearance, and then, exploring the cave,
found two young ones, which he took. The eid one
was very large, measuring, it is said, no less than twelve
feet from nose to. tip of tail,

aa Atelegram, announcing that his son wa8
*no more,” was received by Dr. Huxley, of Goshen,
Conn., about two weeks since. The son had been lying
sick in one of the military hospitals near Washington,
and the father at once departed to procure the body;
but, on his arrival, found the yeung man alive and re-
covering—the telegraph operators having inadvertent.
ly substituted the words ‘‘no more,’ for “no worse.”
The shock and reaction had such an effect on the dow
tor that he fell sick and died within four days.

&@- Small-pox having broken out in the family
of J. G. Barstow, of Uroqua, Wis., the Board of Health
of that town have ordered that his house shail bea
‘*pest-house,”” and that all new cases of the disease are
to be removed there. All persons except those duly
authorized are moreover prohibited from going nearer
to the house than four rods distant, or commuuicating
with the inmates in any manner. f .

Aa A young man of Earlton, N.8., was recently
taking home a hog, led by a rope, the other end of
which wag in his hand, The animal ran away, dragged
the man downa steep bank, and the rope by some
means became twisted round the poor fellow’s neck,
strangling him. When found, be was dead, with the
hog still fastened to his body.

“a> The inhabitants of Burkersdorf, Austria,
wero astonished recently by a-heavy fall of black snow
in that town. The snow contained an animaculum,
perhaps, but the people were superstitious, and thought
it represented the dead from Italy and Schieswig, ciear-

-ly having no very cheerful view of the issue of politica]

matiers.

kar Two butchers, John Blackburn, of Cincin-
nati, and John Trebelcock, of Chicago, in the employ
ofa beef contractor for the army of the Cumberiand,
at Nashville, have performed the feat of dressing a
bullock, weighing 551 lbs. net, in the incredible short
space of two,minutes and 52 seconds, being the shortest
time on record. :

' a> A generous deed, and one which should be
an example for gentlemen holding similar positions,
has just been pertormed by Governor Buckingham, of
Connecticut, by donating his salary for eighteen
months--amounting to the sum of $1,650—for the bene-
fit of the sick and wounded soldiers of the Siate.

xa Two persons, 2 man and a maiden Jady,
claim the same pew in a church at Saccarappa, Me., and
on a recent Sunday the former, arriving first, woulda’t
let her in, whereupon she went into the next pew and

4 climbed over, tearing her clothes. There was confusion

of tongues and a tussel, but no bones were broken.

xa Aman in Canada was recently convicted
of blasphemy; but during the trial his lawyer coutend-
ed that he should be acquitted because he was putting
up 2 stovepipe atthe time he gave vent to his protani-
ty. A queer place is Canada, where & man is not even
allowed to ourse a troublesome stovepipe.

aa@- They have at last commenced at Chicago
the building of the immense tunnel under Lake Micni-
gan, through which to obtain a supply of pure water
tor that city. Itis proposed to run the tunnel out iwo
miles into the lake, and the work is contracted to be
finished in two years, ata total cost of $400,600.

tae The hotels in Washington are now so
crowded, that. some of the visitors are compelled to
seek board in the lumber yards; and even there, to
obtain what they desire, they are subjected to a deat
of trouble.

ka- A Rebel deserter, who had come within
our lines at Kooxville, was asked if the Confederates
were strict regarding the conscription. ‘'Taunder,
stragger, {should think they were,” he repl ed. “They
take every man who hasn't been dead more than three
days lt”?

aa The Secretary of the Treasury has given
positive orders that no more American coal shail be
shipped to Canada; Large quantities of this coai have,
on arriving at Quebéc or Montreal, been shipped to
Nassau, N, P., aud then sold to Rebel cruisers.

was As the liquor dealers have almost doubled
the price charged tor drinks, the customers have de-
cided to take but halfas many drinks as formerly, and
to double the size of them.

R@- The Rebel guerillas on the bordérs of Kan-
sas have killed and carried off more than 5 008 hogs re-*»

cently—a fact which proves that the sword 1s mightier

than the pen. :

nar An English writer proposes to fire gasses
into a beleagured town, which shall plunge the defend-
ers thereof into @ sleep until the stronghold is captured,
when all the inhabitants will wake up tresh and lively,
only to find themselves prisoners of war.

_ gae C. W. Barber, of Cordova, Chautanqna
County, N. Y., recently lifted 2824 pounds without
straps, Which is said to be 240 pounds more than Dr.
Winship has accomplished.

k@- Spurgeon, who is frequently termed the
Beecner of England, intends visiting this country next
month,

saz “A mulatto woman, with her right breast
cut of,” is advertised in the Raleigh (N, C.) Progress,
as having ran away from her owner.

4s@- The infant gon of the Prince of Wales, it is
said, was born with a deformity, having but three fin-

 

gerson one of his hands.