-L8S0@0W

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1870 BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE-CLERK’S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW: YORK.

Vol XXV.

 

Nase

FRANCIS 8. STREET,) p
FRANCIS 8, SMITH, >} Proprietors.

 

THE CLD AND THE NEW.
BY E. NORMAN GUNNISON.

Withered and cold, hoary and old,
Stretched at length on his wintry bier,
By the last faint ember of December,
Lay the form of the dying year:
His failing breath, with the ice-of death,
Has bound the landscape and chained the streams,
And the embers glow faint and low,
Glimmers, and lights in fitfui gleams; <
old his mantle, smooth out.each line,
Passing away is Sixty-Nine.

Outward the drear and wild winds cheer,

With whisk, and scamper, and whirring shout;
With noise and din, welcoming in :

The glad New Year! whilst the old fades out,
‘Darkly the cloud weaves a shroud

Of-pure white snow for the old year’s fall,
And the north: winds sigh, and passing by

Moan and groan with a doleful callt ,
Straighten his limbs, drop a tear at his shrine,
And a requiem sing fer Sixty-Nine:

. REQUIEM.

Steep, ©! year, sad and sear,
:Centuries open to thee their tomb,
Memories sad, memories:glad, ~
Slumber with theein thy silent gloom; _
Hearts that were young, and with joyous tongue
Welcomed thee in as a festal day;
Prooped and grew cold ere thy days were old,
And wrappediin thy mantle in silence lay—
Dead to the dead hopes to which we repine,
We leave thee in silence, O! Sixty-Nine.

Hark! to the voice of the coming year,
°Tis the footstep of Seventy now draws near!

Thus it is ever, life in déath,
Death in life, G! giad bells ring! -

It has been'the cry since creation’s breath:
“The king is dead—long live the king!”
Hands that have spread the old year’s:pall;

Hear.s that have buried treasures there—
That have heard its solemn voices all,

And die away like the voice of prayer:
Drop funeral wreaths on the silent bier,
Anda garland weave for the glad New Year.

Out of the earth the wild flowers spring.
And the brtght vine climbs from the cheerless mold:
_ From the leafless trees the glad birds sing,’
And the summer comes from the winter's cold;
Hearts grown cold in the old year’s frost,
Souls grown faint with the old year’s gloom,
Byes grown dim for the loved aud lest—
Parkuess and dust in the silent tomb;
Brighter and brighter, take heart of cheer,
Out of the old, comes the glad New Year.

What shall thy record be, year to come?
What shall the pen in the hand of face
Write on thy margin? The old sad sum
Of iiving and sinning—too late, too late f
Or shall the angel, bending down,
In ascintillant glory dip his pen,
And the honest days of the New Year crown
With a record of peace and good-will to ment
Then shail thy brightness indeed appear,
And thy days be the days of a glad New Year.

Useless, oh! useiess, to speculate
On years of glery, or years of sin,
Whatever rests in the realms of fate—
God koids the balance, and drops 1t in:
Only His hand holds the rolling spheres,
Oniy His power giveth sun and showers,
Qnly His eye views the coming years
With their joy or woe for these hearts of ours:
Whether thy gifts be of joy or fear,
Hail to the Seventy—happy New Year!

Ned Buntiline’s Great Story !!

Buffalo Bill.

THE KING OF BORDER MEN!

“The Wildest and Truest Slory I Ever Wrote.”

BY NED BUNTLINE,
(®. Z. GC. JUDSON.)

“Buffalo Bill” was commenced in No. 6. Back numbers may be
obtained irom any News Agent in the United States.

CHAPTER XVIII.

«Where is Frank Stark? Where is the girl prisoner???
shouted Dave Tutt, with an angry voice from inside the
Stockade. “‘Vow who is the traitor—who deserts you
now ? Your famous captain is gone, and thatis what the
row at the corral is about. I hope they’ve got him there.
Yum going to see!”

Aud Dave sprung upon the wall of the stockade.

As he did so a vivid flash of lightning, followed .by an
instantaneous crash of thunder, lighted up the whole
place and he saw at a glance that a bedy of armed men
were on the point of eutering the stockade, while just en-
tering the river‘at the ford was a man mounted on his
Own horse, close followed by a femaie on another animal.

A dozen shots were fired at him at the same instant,
and he fell back wounded into the interior of the stock-
ade, as he shouted:

*Téy’re here, men—they're here. Fight as you never
fought before, or we’re all wiped out.”

There was no further hope for concealment, no use
now in a second of delay, and_ though Buffalo Bill felt
sure that his sister had escaped from that gang, he was
not now the less inclined to punish them.

“Qver the works, boys, and let your revolvers and
knives fell the tale!’ he shouted, and sprung up the lad-
der which was kept for general use by the garrison.

Up and over, as speedily as thought, close followed by
his men, into the darkness, soon to be made light by the
firing of a tent, went Buffalo Bill and hand to. hand, with
revolver and Knife, amid the yells and whoops of white
men and Indians, the fearful work went on.

It could not last long, for with the blaze of the tent the
brave bordermen could see where to shoot and strike,
and now the victorious shouts of Wild Bill and his men,
with the thunder of the stampede, reached the ears of
the terror-stricken defenders of the stockade.

«*Merey—we surrender!’ shouted a huge villain, already
down with a bullet in his brawny breast.

“Take the mercy your gang gave my father!’ shouted
Buffalo Bill, and his heavy knife clove through the vil-
lain’s skull,

A minute more and Wild Bill was over the wall, an-
other minute and, except a few wounded wretches on the
earth, not one of the Indians or robbers was lett.

Tinese would have been at once dispatched, had not
Wiid- Bill sung out with a chivalrous generosity pecu-
liar to men of his class,

“Boys, it’S a Stiame to butcher them that can’t raise a
hand to defend themselves. Let’s hold up—let’s hold
up! We've our own wounded to look to!”?

“It is poor policy, but, excepting old Jake M’Kandlas,
the rest may live for all me,” cried Buffalo Bill. ‘‘As for
him, he shall live until I can hang him over the grave of
my murdered father or roast him to ashes on the greund
stained by his blood. But my sister--she is safe from
here, but is Frank Stark to be trusted ?”

“Yes, just as you could have trusted me, if I had got
her off,” said Dave Tutt, with a feeble voice; for, terribly
hurt, he lay yet living among the wounded. “He is off
fer the Black Hills witn her,”

 

tore my sister away from her mother’s side.”

 

 

 

ana mer

NEW YORK, JANUARY 13, 1870. aunms {ster Dollars Per Toa No. 9.

 

IN AGONY HE WAS FORCED TO LISTEN TO THEIR TAUNTS.

‘That's a lie, for I saw him and her crossing the river
by the light of the same flash which revealed you tous
and us to you, you mean sneak!’ cried Buffalo Bill. “if I)
wasn’t sure you’d suffer more by being let alone, I’d cut
your throat where you are, you infernal spy and deceiy-
ing cus! Look out for him, men, and for old Jake Mc-
Kandlas—I am going across tie river to find my Lillie.”

“You need not cross the river to find her, for :she is
here,’ cried Frank Stark,” coming over the wall, followed
by the fair girl. “We met the guard on the other’side‘of
the river, and I. nearly lost my number, too, for one of
‘em shot my: horse. But we found out vou were here and
knew you'd be all right, too, so here we are.”

Lillie was already in the arms of her noble brother,
while Frank Stark stood looking at the pale, angry face
of Dave Tutt, who gnashed his teeth in impotent rage.

“Oh, curse you, you traitorious dog! If I could only
live to cross knives with you, 1 would ask no more!’
cried the wounded robher.

“Gentlemen, do doctor that poor thief up. I want him
to live till Ican show him how good I am at carving,”
said Frank Stark, in atone of bitter sarcasm. ‘But I
raed I’m a prisoner myself,and have no rignt to

alk.

“You are nota prisoner! Your kindness to my sister
entitles you to my friendship,’ cried Butfalo Bill. “And
if, asshe says, you wish to join the Union men in the
work just commenced, you shall have the best of chances.
Iwas on my way tojoin the Union armyat St. Louis
when Dave Tutt, like a black-hearted scoundrel as he is,

“T will go wherever you lead, and aght to death for the
dear old flag I was born under,’ cried Frank.

“Good on your head! There's my hand, and my heart
ig as free as it for one of the right sort,’ cried Wild Bill.

‘sHeap up a bonfire—there’s no danger now—and let:us
have light,’ cried the happy brother. ‘‘When day comes
we'll be on the back-track, for my poor mother will sleep
little untill she hears from Lillie. Hallo! where the duse
have you come from? You look as white as a ghost, man!
Speak out—what is the matter in Corinne?”

“Matter, Bill??? gasped the new-comer, as he sank ex-
hausted to,the earth. ‘“There’s matter enough to drive
us all mad. There’s not a house left standing in town—
all are in ashes. Worse yet, every man but myself, I
think, is killed, with some of the women, too—and_ the
youngest and fairest carried off. I crept away, ran miles
on foot, then caugtt a loose horse, got on your trail, and
am here. I’ve neithereaten nordrank since the mas-
sacre.’?

The man was well known to them all. He had been
one of those left to take care of the settiement.

“Who did this?” asked Buffalo Bill, hoarsely.

“One Alf Coye, at the head of a hundred bush-whack-
ers from Missouri.”

“My mother and Lottie?” gasped Bill.

“7 saw them in a wagon under guard as I erept away,”'
said the man. ‘For mercy’s sake give me some food
and drink—I am almost dead.”

“Attend to him, some of you,”’ said Buffalo Bill. ‘And
now, men, we have work todo. Frank Stark, for the
good heart you have shown, I am going to trust you as
I'd trust no other manon such short acquaintance. I
shall take all but five of my men and the best horses, and
make after the party that have carried off my mother
and sister, and we know not how many more... With
those five and this man here, guard my dear sister Lillie
and get herto St. Louis just as quickly as youcan. I
will meet you there if I live. Not a word, my dear sister.
You never could stand the mad riding that me and Wild
Bill must do now. I feel thatIcan trust you with this
man, for he risked his like to get you out of the clutches
of Dave Tutt. Heaven bless you, darling—trust him and
be my own brave sister until we meet. Come men, all
but the five who have no families in Corinne. Come; we
must over the river and to horse like kinked lightning
on a tear.”

One brief embrace between brother and sister and our
hero was off on his new course to endeavor to rescue his

mother and Lottie.
CHAPTER XIX.

By the time Buffalo Billand hismen had made their
hasty preparations for starting in chase of Alf Ceye and
lis gang, the storm fairly broke over them. The rain
eame down in torrents, while the rolling thunder and
the flashing lightning added wild grandeur to its weird
effect in the midnight darkness,

This forced a delay until the dawn of day, for’in the
wind, rain and utter gloem the keenest scout and most

 

accomplished guide could not have keptatrue course
over the plains,

The time flew swiftly by, for the brother and sister had
a brief. opportunity. for conversation, and tae messenger
from the settlement revived by food@and drink, was able
to give a partial account of the fearful outrage which
had left most of his hearers homeless, and even worse
off, if: their fears were verified as to the loss of loved
ones,

* When the dawn came, though the storm had nof abat-
ed, a course could be laid and the young leader at once
called his. men to herse.

The animals had all been bronght over, and now the
men mounting, the cavalcade was put in motion, the two
bordermen leading the way at a gait which only the lit-
erally tireless steeds of the prairie can keep up, swept
over the stream and far away toward tie southeast. .

Lillie not heeding the pouring rain or chilling wind,
stood by the side of Frank Stark on the parapet of the
little stockade, and watched her dear brother, as he rode
away with his companions, sad that he must leave her,
but feeling that 1t was his duty to fly to the rescue of-her
mother and sister, and hers tobe brave and_ hopeful,
trusting in Him, who is strength to the weak, for herown
safe delivery from impending perils.

She watched her handsome, noble brother, wntil his
form was out of sight, beyond the grassy hills, and then
with asigh she turned and asked her companion how
soon they could start upon their journey.

“Were it only ourselves to go on, we could start at
once,’’ said Frank Stark. “But your brother wished me
to carry Jake M’Kandlas and Dave Tutt in as prisoners,
that they may swing from the gallows tree in the pres-
ence of a multitude, as they should, for to die as men
who are soldiers or brave frontiersmen die, will be no
punisimont to them. To carry ont his desire and to keep
them alive until the proper hour of ‘doom arrives, they
must be moved with care. I shall have litters made, and
when we are ready move on.

“You surely will not fatigue brave men by carrying the
worthless bodies of such men?” said Lillie, iu surprise.

*-Oh no—we will collect the aninyvals that were stampe-
ded, for they have not gone far, and will swing each lit-
ter between two mules. It will be rough travel for the
wounded wretches, but as they never knew mercy for
any one else, I think they have no right to expect it from
others. Go beneath the shelter of the roof now, please,
Miss Lillie, out of the storm and rest, for we will be
ready in. alittle while to travel. Ido not wish to stay
here a.moment longer than can be helped, for the Sioux
and the Cheyenne hant along this. stream, and tne force
left by your brother is too small to resist a large party of
them with any hope of success. I will have a talk with
Jake M’Kandlas and Dave Tutt while the rest are getting
the litters ready.

Lillie at once went into her little room and began to
make preparations for her journey, while Stark went into
the place where M’Kandlas and Dave Tutt were lying.

Both men eyed him with a bitterness of expression far
more speaking than words. They were powerless to do
more than look their hate, bnt if looks could kul, his life
had not been worth a thought.

“Traitort? hissed M’Kandlas at last.

«Treason to the devil is duty to God,” said Stark, quiet-
ly. “There is no use for either of you men to put on airs
—you are down, and you'll never get up in this world un-
til you are lifted up by a rope.”

“Dog! down or up, we’re higher than you are!” cried
Dave Tutt.

“That is a matter of opinion,” said Stark, smiling. “But
I've no words to waste. I came into see how you looked,
and if you required any fixing up before we started.”

“Started? What do you mean?” asked M’Kundlas.

“That we start in a little while for the settlements. I
am having mule-litters fixed for youand Dave. It willbe
rather rough, but I reckon you can stand it. Itis only a
short delay, for you'll swing when Buffalo Bill gets back
from punishing Alf. Coye.””

“Hell never get back from that bit of business,’ said
Dave Tutt, scornfully. ‘Alf Cove is not the man to get
away from, and Buffalo Bill will learn that if he crosses
his path. Ah! your new sweetheart is in trouble, Mr.
Frank Stark—and so are youl Hereis Raven Feather—
the Ogallala, and my frirend.”’

Even as these last words passed the lips of Dave Tutt,
caused as they were by a wild scream from Lillie, the
opening in the brush house that served as a door was
darkened bv y the presence of several Indians, hideous in
their war paint.

 

Foremost of these was.a tall warrior of most ferocious
look, with a cap composed of black raven. feathers on his
head. The silver crescents, three in number, on his
breast proclaimed his. rank as a great-chief, even had not
his haughty, commanding look done so,

“What is the matter with my brother, the Eagle-Eye of
the Black Hills?’ asked the Ogailalla chief, as he looked
on the reclining form of Tutt.

“My body has eaten too much. lead. A false friend.
brought the enemies of the red man and of the Eagle-Kye
upon him, and. he is weak from many wounds,’’ replied
Tutt.

“It shall be well with Eagle-Eye. Raven Feather will
bind up his wounds and punish his enemies,’ said the
chief. .

“There is one—the worst of all. Let him be bound!’?
said Dave, pointing to Frank Stark, who had stood till
now almost paralyzed with surprise at this sudden ap-
pearance of an enemy which had stolen in unseen by his
sentinels, or at least without an alarm reaching his. ears.

But now, life and liberty both endangered, his native
courage came back, and quicker than thought his revol-
ver was drawn from his belt.

Twice had he discharged it, a death among his.dusky
foes following each report, when with a. bound Raven
Feather sprang to his rear, and hurled him to the ground
before he could turn his weapon on.him.

In a second his arms and. feet were secured with hide
lariats, and then in agony he was forced to listen to the
taunts of Jake M’Kandlas and Dave Tutt.,

But even this was not his deepest trial.

Poor Lillie was brought in, her white arms clutched on
elther side by a grim and hideous warrior, while with
reeking scalps uplitted, others pressed forward to tell
Raven Feather thatthe rest of the pale-faces had been
slain.

“Ugh! A pale-face sqguaw. Heap handsome, like the
wild rose of the valley. Raven Feather wiil make her
his wife! Sheshall bead his moccasias.and cook his meat.
His other squaws are old’ and uglyin ‘his eyes since he
looks upon the face of the prisoner!” said the chief, as his
eye rested eagerly on Lillie. ‘

“Will Raven Feather listen to the words of his brother,
the Eagle-Eye of the black hills?’ asked Tutt, anxiously.

He did not wish to lose the prize for whose possession
he had risked much and suffered also.

“The ears of Raven Feather are always open when his
brother speaks. Let the Hagle-Eye talk.”

‘The pale-face squaw betongs to me. I brought her
from among the pale-faces. In trying to get her kack
they wounded me—made me their prisoner. My red
brother will not be unjust. He will not take from Eagle
Eye his property which has cost him these wounds ?””

Dave Tutt Knew who he had to deal with in talking thus
to Raven Feather. Justice in. an Indian is less a name
ven B fact. Would we Christian pale-faces could say as
much.

And to render impartial and strict justice in a chief, is
held as the highest virtue. To cender justice the chief of.
a red tribe will order the death of his nearest friend, his
own son, father, or brother. Claim from him a faver, he
will deny it, without his inclination is for it. Claim from
him justice in the name of right, and he will yield it.

His wild, fierce eyes looked lovingly on the beautiful,
trembling girl, but he said:

“Raven Feather will not rob his brother. The Pale
Rose is very beautiful. The eyes of the chief feed upon
her loveliness, but he willshutthem up. He will not look
at her again. She shall be Kept safely for my brother un-
til he is strong and able to take care of her himself. and

my brother, the Eagle-Eye, and the old chief of the pale-
faced warriors of the bills shall be lifted up and carried

back to the village of the Ogallalas, where the swift river
that is red* with the golden earth, runs its race toward
the great-waters in which the sun sleeps. But this pale-
face who has slain two of my warriors must now die!”

And drawing his hatchet from his belt he turned to-
ward Frank Stark, his face gleaming with fiendish fero-
citv.

“Let Raven Feather hold his hand fill be hears the word
of Hagle-Kye,” said Dave Tutt, who now sat upright on
the ground, so much had the change in affairs strength-
ened him. ‘There is no pain when by a single blow the
spirit of a warrior is set free. The pale-faced prisoner 18
not a warrior, that he shoukt die a warriors death. He
is a Cog who tried to steal the squaw of BHagie-Kye from
his arins. Keep him bound, so that Eagte-Bye may pun-

*The Colorado river.

ish him, when he gets strong, and after Eagle-Kye has
had-his fill of vengeance, then let the warriors of the
Ogallala dance around the fire which shall drink.up his
blood’and reduce his bones to ashes!’

The chief returned his tomahawk to his belt.

“The words of Eagle-eye are wise. The Raven Feather
will wait; his ‘warriors will keep the prisoner until it is
time to sing his death-song.”

Ali this time poor Lillie stood: silent, her eyes dry from
excess of terror, her cheeks white and cold with fear.
Frank Stark, fearless for himself, careless of his own fate,
thinking of her whom he hed so quickly learned to love
with a love which made him hate his past wickedness
and his vileassociates, stood also still as a marble statue

| trying to hope against hope—fer there was no light now

for either of them.

Buffalo Buland his comrades were already far away,
each minute increasing the distance between them—and
it surely would be long. before he could hear: ofi their fate
—indeed it might be never.

Poor Lillie, silent. with her lips, even speechiess-in the
stony gaze of eyes that oft had spoken in their swift
glances, was so hopeless that she even forgot to: pray.

Dave Tutt, with malignant joy. in his voice and look,
said:

Let the Red warriors put the pale-laced squaiw here on
‘the ground beside Kagle-eye—he will watch her himself.
And let the dog of a white man be taken.out where the
rain will wash the dirt from his coward face and show
how white fear makes him.?’

“It is not fear of you—no, nor, of them which will ever
blanch my face, Dave Tutt,’? said Frank, proudly. ‘I
hate and defy youand them. You fear me and that poor
ra girl, and must keep us bound because you fear
us

“IT donot ask to be unbound,’? said. Lillie; “but take
‘me where I.cannot have his serpent-eyes burning into my
very soul, for loathe and hate the sight-of the dastard
wretch who fed at my mother’s board, drank, from my
brother’s cup, and then forgot even what am Arab would
remember, the due that. the receiver of. hospitality owes
to the giver. Chief of. the brigands, I. would rather die
than live among you, or belong even in thought to the
enemiesof.my people. But the man whom vou calt_Eagle-
Eye, like the other wounded wretch beside him, is-a thief
and a murderer. Their hands are red with the blood of
my father and his people.. I would rather. be your slave
than his.. Take me from his sight!"

Lillie uttered these words with a wild vehemence of
tone, a look of fierce hate, an expression of utter abhor-
rence of Tutt, which fairly maddened the latter.

“@irl,’’? he cried, ‘1 will soon be strong, and for every.
word you now have uttered you shall suifey. Raven
Feather will not interfere between you and me. You are
mine—mine as'1 will, and no fiend from the shades
below will rejoice as I in my , 9wer, and no one could use
it more mercilessly than will « Iloved you once—nowlI
hate you; but 1 own you, body and soul, and you shali—
as the fawn in’the hands of the panther, be toyed with,
that in the end: you may perish miserably. Let the pale-
faced dog of a man be cast.out in the rain, and there
watched over; but place the squaw here by my side |"!

Tbe Indians, aftera glance from thetr chief indicating
obedience, took Frank Stark away, white poor Hillie, with
hands’and feet both bound, was placed ina sitting pos-
ture on the ground near Tutt. and M’Kandlas,

Vhe iting rain, the bleak.wind, told how the stovm
yet raged without, but it was not heeded—nor augiit else
now—by poor Lillie’ Tears had come to her eyes at last,
and :prayer to her lips... ’

CHAPTER XX...

For four days after having struck it, across-the Missouri
border, Buffalo Bill, with a force increased by volunteers
to about fifty men, haa followed the trail-of Alf Coye, and
he was again in Kansas, the route of pursued and pur-
suers tending toward the Rocky Mountaing, or that part
of them known as the Black, Hills.

His force was small in. numbers, but iswas composed of
men whose hearts. were filled with hate of the fiends who
had. burned their houses, insulted and outrag~ed—and in
some cases Slain—their friends.and relatives. The strength
of such a force need never. be judged by its numbers.

Men fighting for vengeance or, justice, and armed with
right, are a hundred. times. stronger:than those who,
oe in villainy, have nothing bunt, villainy behind
them.

It was not a@ company.with gay uniforms, burnished
arms and bright guidons, riding Over those grassy plains.
No—with plain, dust-covered ciothes, arnis ready for
service but not for. show, stern faces. and forms that
scorned te show fatigue, those men. rede.on, determined
to die or to sweep from the face of the earth the wretches
they were after, and to rescue the helpless one whom
they were dragging off to a fate worse than death.

Erect in his saddle, his eyes 48 bright, clear and devilish
.as those in the head.of his wild. prairia steed, Powder
Face, Buffalo Bill led the way, while here aud there, with
many a Wd jest-on his lip and fun enough im his compo-
sition for all hands, rode Wild Bill—sometimes in front
and then in the rear, with his Black Nell fall as playfulas
himself, though for days neither he nor.she had had mere
than four hours rest out of twenty-four.

The horses of most of the men were those. clean-limbed,
wiry mustangs, Which will tire a. rider far sooner than
they tire themselves, but with. few exceptions the most
had been going steadily for the eight days which had
elapsed since the party left the stockade on the South
Platte, with only about four hours in a day and night tor
feed and rest, and they began to. show it.

Of all the cavalcade there were only.two. horses which
seemed, like their riders, to be literally, proof against fa-
tigue. Biack Nell and’ Powder.-Face were the two.

It was late in the afternoon and the trail was freshen-
ing, though at least two days and;perhaps three of them
had elapsed since Coye had gone along. But trees, the
sure sign of water, were in sight not.far ahead, and Bill;
frequently lifted his glass and scanned: the country ahead:
for he did not know when, his enemy would halt te.
give his party rest.

He knew well that Coye must, be confident of pursuit,
for he had done too much damage net to merit it and
the most, deadly punishment.

All that the borderman feared was that he would not
halt until he got fairly intethe mountain range, where
defense would not only be more easy, but he would be
among the Indians who asallies:would fearfully strength-
en him.against attack,

The distant mouttains;. snew-crowned, in whieh the
Platte and Republican find their, souree were in sight,and
well known peaks whose base was.washed by the swift
Colorado were within reach ef his, eye. -

‘Vd give all the-gold IL ever:had or ever expect to have
for.’a fresh mount of horses,” said Buffalo Bill, as his
-mate.rode up by his.side.. “You and lare the only two
well.mounted men, if we had a race for life before us. Our
men sre game- yet, but L.can.see their horses begin to flag.
, We'll have to rest all night when we get to water. If we
? don’t we'll net be able te gharge out of a walk when we
overtake that black muzzled wretch, Alf Coye.?'

“What is that glass of yours good for, Bill ?” asked his
mate, with a quiet smile on, his face.

“Good for a great deal, Bill. I can see the trunks of
trees ahead through it, while with the‘naked eye we can
just detect that timber is. there,” replied Ball. “My father
used. to own.it and & wish I had known its.value sooner.’

“Thunder ! I can. see mere with my naked eyes than
you.can through it.”

“Well, think so, if that will do you any good.**

“I can prove it... You are wishing for fresh horses, and
yet can’t see ’em. thougu they are clase under your nose,
for all you are peeking around with your old tell-lie-
scepe.,”

“Vhere’s your horses ?? exclaimed:the leader, looking
around eagerly.

“Over there to the. southward—den't you see ’em in
that hollow plain, this side the rise?’

‘I see buffalo! said Bill. “There’s no sign of horse
flesh among them black humps.”

“Well shoot your eyes at ’em through the glass,” said
Wild Bill, laughing. ‘Maybe youvll change your tune.
ve been looking at ’em this ten, minutes.”

Buffalo Bill carelessly raised: his glass, more to satisfy
his friend)than in a belief there. was anything more than
game to look at.

But onee there he held it, whilea fivsh came over his
face, an exelamation of surprise broke from his lips.

“They are horses,” he said, “and we are not yet in the
range for wild horses. I don't understand it.”

“LC dol’ said Wild Bil, “The Cheyennes or OgaHala
Sioux have been dows to the. Texas range or somewhere
over the border for a drave and there they are. Those
are not wild horses. They're too quiet and too mugh to-
gether.”

“You're right Bitl, and. we must have em, or at least a
fresh horse for every man, and we've got tebe tricky to

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' possibilty is in the way of travel.

. Cause she has @ warrior’s heart in her bosom, and knows

her eyes large and expressive.

So they can’t be very strong.”
“You are right there, mate. But it isn*t likely ther
‘ve run their stock very hard this far from the settlement,
gandit we-triec

  

Vy Way iS 't
them befor

  
 
      

   

  
 

 
  

   
  

the party were m
snails gatefor th i tive Tou a
Asthe moon did not rise till Mate, Bll} 1
chance for getting back unobserved with his party, and
they were materially. assisted as well as encouraged in
their movement by the light of camp fires.

For the Indians supposing the passing party had not
observed them, but had gone on where they could get
water and good feed, had camped quietly for the night in
the bow!ders among the lowW»hills,

By a cautions approach, dismounting.his menand only

’ leaving @ small guard withshis tired horses, Bill was en:
abled after a couple of hours or more of maneuvering, to
completely surround the horses and the: Indians taking
care of them. :

There were only about adozen of these, if beinga
mere thieving expedition and net a war party. ;

Slowly and still as the panther creeps before it springs,

they Kept on until at last without even a yell they: bound-

ed upon the astonished red men, slaying all, without the
loss of @ man themselves, or giving scarce: any alarm,
The surprise was complete, dt did not» evemhave the
effect of stampeding the horses, and now without difil-
enlty a fresh horse was secured forevery: man ofthe
party.. .
? The brandy on most of them told that they had been
Stolen, and old saddie galls marked with white hair en-
abled them to pick those which had already been broken
for ridings. CY

With their fresh. horses and.a led horse for each man,
when the day dawned again, the party dashed forward
at full speed. i ;

lt was such & sight as clty men never see, can scarcely
realize—that close column of stern, Ssup-browned men
speeding over the plains and rid i

  

     

ges, halting for nothing,
but sweeping forward with the hot breath of vengeance
steaming from their lips, :

JHAPTER. XXI.

_ ‘A Wid, a gprand, a -beautiful scene. Mountains, great
ragged peaks, covered with stunted foliage, like battered
and war-torn giants breathing angry defiance to Heaven,
lift their heads up among the clouds—heads whitened
with snows which never disappear beneath the genial
touch of summer’s hand.’ :

Winding down through deep guiches, bounding in rea-
dish foam over huge bowlders, whirling and circling in
shadowed eddies, rushes a mighty river—the Colorado,
the great Red River of the west.

And close beside it, approached from the east by one
of those long, winding canyons, or natural roadways,
which seemito have been made only as approaches to the

, dittle Edens few and far between to which they reach,

was 4 plain of perhaps amile in length by half= that
breadth, and level as a floor, covered with short, blue-
grass interspersed with myriads of brilliant Nowers, ‘

A fringe of trees, mostly willow and cottonwood, gréw
along the river bank, and up the mountain sides the nut-
pine and cedar predominated. :

Scattered over this lovely plain wasa large herd: of:
horses with a few cattle, while close along: the river
Stretched the lodges of a large Indian village.

Around these there were many squaws and children,
and a few warriors. The numerical disproportion of the
jatter could be accounted forin but one way. A gréat
War party was absent on some foray. Only a guard for
the stock and hunters. to keep the village in ‘meat, had

been left behind.

'_ The valley was completely shut in by the mountains,
which seemed to be almost if not utterly impassable,

though mountain-men who know how to creep along the
dark ravine or scale the rugged steep know not what im-

The one narrow passage-way in. and out could be de-
fended by a few against the approach of thousands,

_And for this reason had Raven-Feather, the great wax
chief of the Ogallala Sioux, chosen it for the Chief village
of his tribe. For thither their ever-enemies, the brave
and warlike Pawnees, would never dare to come. “The
Apaches of the South, or the Snakes and Shoshones of
the North, nor the Utes and Piutes of the West, wonld
never risk their Warriors in an attack on such a defensive
spot as this.

His own lodge, conspicuous for its size, was in the front
center of the line, with a tall pole in front of it to desig.
hate the circle where the great councils should be held
when the braves met to celebrate a victory or decide upon

_ taking the war-path.

In front of this lodge was seated Ma-no-tee, the Turtle
Dove-—his favorite wife, to whom ail the rest were sub-
servient, and around her at a distance were five other
squaws, each of whom called the Rayen-Featier hus-
bad. :

But to Ma-no-tee alone did the passing warriors speak.
or show-respect, aud she, full as haughty as the proudest
of them, received their respect as 1f, it was her due, and.
not amere compliment. , ;

Shadows began to lengthen in the valley, for the sun
was swiltly moving toward its western cradle, when two
Indian warriors were seen coming at fall speed up ‘ee
canyon toward the village, _ :

Ma-no-tee, Keen-eyed and vigilant was the first to sce
and to recognize that they came from the sentinel-post
at the further end of the long canyon. |

With a wild cry she summoned every warrior In hear-
ing to her. side, : i

Rushing to the chief lodge with thelr arms in hand they
waited to know the cause of alarm. ° ;

“If the encinies of our tribe are near there are not
many of the warriors of Ogalfaia'to Meet them; but they
must not be weak because they are few. Ma-no-tce isa
woman, but a mian’s heart beats in her breast. She has
arifie anda hatchet, a knife and war club, and she
knows how to use them. We will die, if we must, but
We will not turn our backs.” bt :

The warriors gave & wild yell of. approval and turned
to hear what the messengers had to say who were com-
ing so fast across the plain. ends
. Halting their horses, white with foam, at the very feet
of Ma-no-tee, one of tle Indians spoke.

“There is a friend to Raven Feather
the Little Elk?”

+ “Fe is—he is a friend to Eagle-Eye, the great brave of
the Black Hills,’ replied the warrior, Little Elk, “His

- name is Captain Alf.’

i “Phen bid him welcome and let him pass the jaw of
the canyon, where the braves of Raven Feather keep
their watch. Tell the pale-faced chief that Raven Feath-
eris out on the. war-path, but he trusts Ma-no-tee,:be-

? Ishe known to

no fear. She will build fires to cook meat for his people;
lef. them come. , If they are the friends of Raven Feather
they may come and go as they will. If they are his ene-
mies thereisroom for theminthe deep watersof the:
esreat river. Ma-no-tee, the .Turtle-Doye, has spoken.
Bear her words tothe chief of the pale-faces, and tell
him to come.?? : ‘ :

. The warrior messengers mounted their horses again,
and swept back through the canyon as fast as they had
come.

The warriors who had gathered at the call of Ma-no-tee,
mow by her orders built great. camp-fires and slew several
fat cattle, which in someof his forays had been taken

front emigrant trains passing the plains, and kept fora
time when they had not leisure or mclination to hunt the |,
duffalo. . ‘ ;

Thesun was fast sinking behind the hills, but the great
blazing fires sent ont the red light far and near, making
the grand old hills and rocks look weird and picturesque
in their bold outlines and dense shadows.

CHAPTER XXII,

Ma-no-tee, to set off her tall form to the best advantage,
that the guests of Raven Feather might see in’ his queen
something of his own-dignity, donned a_ dress made al-

-ynost entirely of feathers of the pink flamingo. Upon her

‘head she wore a coronet of gold, rich with rough rabies

“and opals, brilliant even though uncut. ;

» Over it a single black feather drooped, to show to whom
she owed allegiance. She was, for an Indian woman, very
handsome, Her teatures were classical, her’ form fine,

 

In age she was about thirty, but having never been ex-
posed to that drudgery which breaks down Indian wo-
men while they are yet young, She did. not’ seem near so
old.

Her warriors and attendant women were also ordered
to put on their best apparel, and make the welcome as
imposing as possible when the main strength of the vil-
Jage was absent. :

The sun was down, and the shadows of night were black
in the ravines, and the gray robe of passing twilight rest-
ed on the peaks, when Alf Coye, handsome in his half In-
dian garb, rode into the valley at the head of his weary
‘column. *.

It was a long cavalcade, for beside his men, one hun-
dred in number, he had nearly as many poor, unhappy
women, mostly young and beautiful, who had been
dragged from desolated homes by the wretches whom he
commanded. :

it was a sad sight to see those pale, drooping captives
ynourning over their own dreaded fate, weary with long,
forced marches, hopeless of rescue, terrified as they look-
ed at the mountain gorges through which they were led,
uncertain of the doom before them. Oh! it was sad, very
sad! : 5
Handsomely mounted, splendidly armed, Captain Alf
Goye made a splendid appearance as he dashed forward
ahead of his command to make his obeisance to the fa-
vorite wife of the great Raven Feather. For he had heard
often of her power over that chief and with the tribe, and
knew that it was policy to impress her at first sight in his
favor.

He addressed her in her own language, which he spoke
fluently, but for fear my readers may not be able to read
Sioux, 1 will be their medium to anglicize the conversa-
tion. :

“The chief of the pale-faces from the river that is
muddy, thanks Ma-no-tee, the beautiful wife of the great
Raven-Feather, for her welcome. He is glad that she has
lighted fires, for he had heard of the great Queen of the
OGgallalas. and wished to look upon her face and form!”

“The brave chief of pale-faces speaks pleasant words
and the ear of Ma-no-tee drinks them, even as the notes

 

 
  
    

ye

 
 
 
   
 

} the neck of the Indian woman.

    
    

: ound of happy waters. Let the
great chief choose a camping ground ford
himself and his wives, Ma-no-tee hus Nad
up near her own.”?

  

 

And-she, pointed. tova-large circular tent

gaudily-painted tanned hides of buflalo, with

    

   

tufted ‘han, bright-colored, waving from the baze poles.
»| “Ma-hOrtee has @ big heart.’ ‘The pale-fage ehief hopes
to hold @ little corner in it, for he lovés to se6 a woman

7 a slave, butiis brave and free and proud and
Wulthe wife-of Raven-Feather wear @ gift
1 and of her ‘liusband’s friend, which will tell her
what albothers may see, that she is very, very beautiful!’

Alf Coxe, as he: said this, took from his own neck a
golden Ghain to which was suspended a small, @ircular
irror, framed in gold, and threw the massive chain over

   

   

 

 

Her proud eyes flashed as she raised the mirror and
looked init. And she threw on himva,@lanceswhiéh told
him that from thence on she would be his friend, if not
indeed more affectionate than mere friendship would
evince. en : :

The partyof Coye, had now allicome up, and-waited his
orders in regard to caniping:

These were speedily fiven. They were to piteh their
tents, or the few tents theythad, directly in front-of: his
ownledge and but a hunared yards *away. The camp-
fires already built were to ‘serve for their céoking, and
meat In abundance already hung around them on poles
set by the warriors of Ma-no-tec.

“Where are the wives of the great captain, whom I
‘shall'Call “SilverV6iee from’ this time: forward 2” asked
Ma-no-tee, addressing OCoyes

“Silver-Voice, as you kindly call him, has never
a.Wile,’? replied Coye,

The eyes of Ma-no-tee gleamed pleasantly as she heard
those words. But a cloud came over their brightness. as
headded:

“But he has some fair prisoners, and among ther there
is one Whom he means to make his bride. He has had
no time to woo her since she hag been ‘in his power, and
itis not likely he will stand om much.ceremony now.
Here is his choice.” :

And he pointed to poor Lottie, who clinging to her
mother, stood where both lad dismounted from their
horses. .

Kitty Muldoon, looking as ifshe would tke to do some
scratching and biting, stood just behind her. ‘

“Thereis your home for the preseiit. Take your child
in there aud remain until I make a change, if you would
not suifermore than you have already,” said Coye, ad-
dressing Lottie’s mother, and pointing to-the new lodge.

Without a reply, the latter moved toward the lodge.
Kitty Muldoon also followed. 3

“Stop girl! You belong tomy lieutenant, Hubert Stan-
ley, and he must find quarters lor you,” cried Ooye,
roaghly to Kitty.

_ “May the divil take wings and fly away wid you and
your liftenant, you big blavenard. it's nob mesélf that
will be parted from me mistress, an’? now ye hear it!”

And Kitty bravely strode on after those whom she loved
so faithfully.

“Walt! When I-bid-you, or it will be the worse for
you!” said Coye, anerily,and he clutched her by the
shoulder and jerked her fairly around facing him.

“Is that ye game ye big coward? I tould ye once he-
fore not to lay, the weight of yer dirty fist on me. Take
that—and that, you mane spalpeen!”

And Kitty with a strength that seemed wonderful,
sfrack him two fearful. blows directly between the eyes.
She first staggered him, the second sont hint reeling and
senseless to the ground. * : set ?

The eyes of Ma-no-tee flashed with anger, as well as
surprise, ;

“The white squaw Shall lose her life, for she has struck
the face of Silver-Voicel”? 5 f es

And she’ called‘to’a warrior near by tostep forward
and carry out her wil | | : rigses

But as the Indian, but too willingly sprung toward the
poor girl, Hubert'Stanley interfered and hurling the war-
rior back, cried out:
oe Thegirlis mine, and no one shall harm her. Captain
Coye had no business tolay handson her, and if he wants

mutinyda camp, just let him try to interfere with the
lits of others.” Eos
tanley was angry, for he had yeally become attached
fo.the girl, though he had been but little in her company
gince.they had been on the march, and had learned to
look upon her ag his own, or to be so whenever the party
came to a resting place. at oe

“Sure, sir, if ye value the life ye’d save, the worth of a
bawbee, let ine go wid the mistress!” pleaded poor Kitty,
looking at Stanley with streaming eyes.

2*Go with herforthe present. I have no fitting place
fixed up to take you to at any rate, just now,” said the
lieutenant, : ee See

And as the three females passed out of sight into the,
lodge, the licutenant turned and lifted nis captain to his
feet. ‘ :

The eyes of the latter, fearfully swelling, were already
‘dn mourning” for no pagilist hitting straight from the
shoulder could have done the work better than Kitty in
her. fierce indignation had done it.

“Silver-Voice has been struck in the

taken

  

-the camp of Ma-no-
‘The squaw who struck him should have died. © But
end of Silver-Voice put back the warrior when

   

fi

the frie: E
Ma-no-iee told him to take vengeance for the blow?
. Alf Coye heard the words of Ma-no-teo, but he could
" is vision was closed. ~ Focal oe
If wasnot necessary that she should die. Death is
for'men,’” said hes “There is a harder fate-than death
forher to meet. Iie whom you call Silver-Voice-neéver
forgives, Nor does he ever forget. Let not Ma-no-tee feel
bad because Ihave met this insulé in her camp, for it did
not come from her. people. -Ilubert, take me intothe
lodge, get some raw meat. and put over my-eyes, and I
wilt soon have my sight back..again. That girl of yours.
needs taming, and if.you don’t tame her I will.” rere

“Vd advise you to keep yourhands off from her in the
trial,’ said Hubert, quietly, as he led’ Coye into the lodge
and showed hima pile of baifalo robes on which to re-
cline; “for she handles herself about as well as the best
man lever saw. Two blows laid you on the grass, and
if [had been within ten feet instead of three rods off,
they were given so quick, Icould never have stopped
heres

“Well, she shall pay for it yet.” Now go and sze to the
camp, ’ There isno need of posting sentinels here. The
out-post at the mouth of the great canyon through which
We Caine is enough. Let the men eat and drink and
rest. Ishallnot move out of here fora month. Tam
going to rest and to enjoy a honey-moon, and you can do
the samre.’?

‘Suppose our trail is followed? We have done enough
workin the settlements to rouse the whole section along
the borders.’

“Let them follow. We are herein the very heart of
the Rocky Mountains. The passes through which we
came are known to few of the best scouts on the plains,
and with twenty-men we can hold these passes against a
thousand. . Our Indian allies are.on the alert, and no foe
can approach without our being made aware of it long
before’they are near. Let nothing trouble your mind,
Hubert. Here we are safe, and here I mean'to revel as I
have never done before. Itis a grand old place, this
nest among the eternal hills and deep gorges, What
music in the rush of mad Waters as they sweep through
the wild gléns and over the great cliffs: With that and
the gentler tones of fair women, whom we will soon tame
down to quiet obedience, we can enjoy ourselves as the
free lords of forests and plains, and of hills and yalleys,
should. Whereis your flask, Hubert? Lam hot and
thirsty.’

_ Water, cool from the rushing river, is far better for you
now, captain, than a draught from my flask.”

“Fury, man;, do you think i] need water now? No—
give me something stronger than that to feed instead of,
cooling the fire that runs. through every yein as I think
of the future. Water will-do when I can’t get anything
else.??

The lieutenant handed him his flask and left the lodge.

{To be Continued.}  .

> o<—______
MAGGIE MAYSON
ae oe Bor se o
CHAPTER XXXVI,"
JUDGE BENHAM YIVNLDS “‘HIS SECRET’? AND BIS LIFE,

Judge Benham remained alone in his private office long after
Harry left jor Boston, and seriously pondered over the extraor-
dinary interview he had a. had. s

It worried him exceedingly. He remembered that he had
easually stated, both to Harry and to Pearl Blane, that he had
the schedule of old Hackett’s personal property—in the now dead
man’s own handwriting—in his possession. But as this was
merely a memoranda, the fact was of no earthly consequence
merely by itself. Yet Harry knew that t/)is document: would
furnish the readiest mode by which to arrive at the truthful re-
cord of what Mr. Hackett was possessed at the time of his
death,

As to Pearl Blane’s will, neither Harry \or Maggie had ever
heard of this at all, and they knew nothing of this woman:
Judge Benham thought they did, however, and he supposed
that Harry’s allusion to a certain “‘woman’s aid,” which he said
he could command, to prove his assertions, meant. Miss Pearl
Blanc, who had. evidently communicated with Maitland, and
had “peached” on him! But Harry. was entirely innocent of
all this; he had simply alluded to Maggie in his conversation
with Judge Benham, and only by way of threat at that. He
hadn’t the slightest idea that his words had been thus fortunately
inisconstrued by the lively-faucied judge! Harry had no know!-
edge ot Mrs. Blanc’s existence even.

The judge reflected, and mused, and pondered. He concluded
that Mr. Maitland was too well-informed to permit him to gain
anything now from his nominal guardianship, and that uniess
the schedule were in hishands within the specified time, he
would fulfill his threat, and expose him to disgrace and ruiu.
At: last he began to realize that his game was nearly. played

ta

   

    
 
  

i

 

  

 

 

out,

On the second morning after his interview with Judge Ben-
ham, at Lowell, Harry Maitland, Esq., of Boston, received by
mailan envelope, post-marked Concord, Mass., the shire town
of Middlesex county, where céurts were held It was addressed
in a handwriting he had never seen before. Upon opening this,
he found inclosed therein a shect of old-style, water dined Ting-
lish post-paper, Upon which was written ina plain, though ra-
ther cramred hand, a brief but valuable inventory, headed,
“SCHEDULE of my personal assets, this eighth day of September, A. D.
18-——, set down in my own proper handwriting by me, A. Hand
which was signed Clearly und plainly, ““Anonzo Hacxurr, Gent,
Boston, Hass.”

Harry never knew who or where it came from; but he thought
a certain Lowell lawyer knew. how and why this imporvant
schedule had thus mysteriously found its way, by mail, into his
hands! flarry was content. He never saw, ot heard from, or
communicated: with eitaer Cneetum, Notary,” or ‘Benham,
Judge,” from that hour, {

Pearle Blanc and her husband had alsappeared from the
neighborhood, altogother, and left this country, and Judge Ben-
ham had long since ceased to think of her, or to be annoyed
with her visits and proposals, to permit her to get a hold upon
old Hackett’s property ander her will, and pay’ himself largely
for his services. But he dare not trust this woman, and he dare
not move himself, while the will was possibly somewhere in ex-
istence.

Now, all hope of his reallzing a dolar out of the splendid es-

   

  
  
   

    
 

 
 

trol of had vanished. The legatee would in a few weeks reach

wer majority. Wisown health was very seriously impaired:,
+ Everybody whosaw him latterly, said the judge had worked}

  
 

too hard, had studied too laboriousiy, had brooded upon his:
businesstoo earnestly, and. so he had. And ie was really break-
ing. down. This last blow finished him!

  

   
  

    
  
  

At very term of the court being heldat Concordy Massy at
the'time ceived the sehedule; @e post marked), Judge
Benham He wasengaged Inan important and ing

   

 

re Wasa good.deal of singularly ear
flicting evidence. He had just concluded his plea for defend
ants, and was im the act of being. scated after his lengthy arg

ment, whem blood suddenly burst 6ut of his nostrilsand mouth,”
and he fell upon the floor in am apopleetic fit, or from rush of
blood tothe head, — : aes ses e;

Judge Benham was quickly removed from the heated roof
to the tavern below, a surgeon Was summoned, the cottrt at one
adjourned, and, Henry Beuham, as judge or attorney, never |
agaiwientered arcourt-rooin im Massuchusetts. - |)

He was Conve} his home in Teavell. For three or four
months, he was utterly prostmated. Then ensued -another seri-
ous attack of hemor@imeedamieercd by dementation and subse-
quent entire imbecility..ed@ was piaced in a lunatic hospital
finally, and died a loncly miserable, unconscious death—the vic-
tim of his own avaricious cupidily, anc his eternal study to
compass a colossal fortune through treachery, deceit, and
villainy. 5

And age Mayson gradually recovered her health and
Strength at Harry Maitland’s residence; and at length she was)

s
tricate V Case

 

  

 

 

 
    
  

able to be taken abroad into the sunshine and reviving ain,
among the Blue Hillsef Milton, and about the drives of Dor-
chester and vicinity.

Harry never wearied oftaking his beautiful afflanced out to
ride, all threugh the glorious days of the Indian Summer, that
occurs in the later months of the year, in New England, in his
genoa new rockaway, bchind the now stabie and sobered

ess

 

 

ey frequently passed the old boarding-house, where still dwelt
hinevirtuous célibacy the wondrously-precise and. prudish Misses
Crotchett, butthey never halied there. Maggie explained to
Harry whyaand wherefore she disdained to recognize these ter-
rible old maids, and he, in turn, detailed his briei expericnee
With those two female siints: =e :

Old farmer Barker had been called upon occasionally, as
they moved bout upon their almost daily exeursions, and the
moment he setieyes on her again he remembered the “almity
handsome gal he had carried, bag and baggage, into Boston
years berore.

The bloom returned once more to her naturally rosy cheeks.
The doctor, long since ceased to make his daily call as he had
done for months alter her return. trom Lawreénce., Matty was
happy indeed to see how splendidly her charge improved, for

 

she knew how it rejoiced her excellent brother's heart. ’

Vinally, wiicn Maggie had come to look, and.act, and be quile
like her former..glorious and beautitul self, Harry one day sat.
down and recapitulated all the details of is experience With:
Mr. Cheetuni, up to the last interview in Lowell:

faggie was nota little amused and miterested in this bit of
private history, the resalis of which so nearly concerned
herself : 2

“And did you ever hear from the judge, or whoever he was?”
inquired Maggie, “after you threatened him thus with expo-
sure, and attempted impeachment, Harry?" :

“Never, dear Mageie—not ons word or sy Mable.”

“Then you merely had the satisfaction of giving this redoubt-
able lawyer a plain talking, afterall?” said Maggie, laughing
outright. “Well, that was something, tobe sure. Vm glad t
never went near him.” : }

“So'ain I, Maggie; but as tothe result—two. days after 1 left
this legal sharper in Lowell, 2 received through the mail, with-
Out Mote oF conlinent, from the han’s of somebody, who knew
my address very accurately a docuirent that will- be of'service
fo you, probably, in the future, and which I beg you will now
take charge of, “aktere it is.22 :

And Harry banded Maggie Mayson. the schedule of her late
uncle Tiackett’s property. The moment she unfolded it she
joyfully exclainied:

“Why, Harry, this is my dear old uncle's own handwriting;
thls is hissignature, and every line ishis. Ihave halt) a dozen
ot hisletiers in the chest up stairs, from which. by comparisoi
you will bé Gonvinced at once of this... The writing is perfectly
familiar toame, Harry.” : af "

“Tam @igd to hear you say so, darling. Now, continued
Harry, earnestly, “all we lack ds the missing will, and we nist
continue eur search forit. This schedule represents atleast
one hundred thousand dollars, gold in value, darling ‘ihis js
worth hating for, I thinks, domwt you 22, 5 i

‘Ves, Harty, by all means. Jt may be hidden somewhere.
Why notinv¢he old housein Middle strect, Harry? Did this
ever occunte you?” a :
“No, darling, | never thought much about it, any way,’ said
Thaury,; méditautingly. x pas) ; 5
*Wliere do you propose tolunt for it, Harry
1 “Tgeally do tot Know, Maggie," said. her lover.
now know where to comimeiee.?

And the tivo lovers sat in’ silenee fora time,.cach thinking
their dwn thoenghts and building castles in the air. oe
i ee Se RE Sin Reh sae

CUAPTERARXVIT: a6
HE BRASSBOUND CHEST AND CONTENTS. :

It was Maggie Mayson’s eighteenth birth-day, and she
looked mare loycly thun en this bright, cheerful auniverss
the day. of ‘Hemlegal Jreedom. The ‘clouds that so }
lowered over her were now: dispelled at last.

She had inthe brass-bound chest a litthe old Oxford Bib!
had betonged to her mother-—4vhom. she never knew—in whi
was duly recorded the date of her birth, and whieh her Unele
Hackett had given her when she was quite a child. This she
had care(ully preserved through all her wanderings and the sad |
vicissitudes to which she hadsbeen subjected, 5 ese

She had no knowledge of her parents. The words in the litte

ge her bury. And her unele had

  

  

 

 

"7 do not

   

 

  
 
    

 

   
 

 
     
 

 

  

Bible simply garg the recgrd
informed her that her notes :
16 hadenttained ber majority,
age,” and tee to“act tor he
wnat, sh@bhad Geet obliged £0 “a
previoushe td had 1a ther fob :
he had the mventory of her uncle's esiat
in the old chest he had beqheathed to her, and now allthey de-
sired to.consplete theired
against the Chaices of forth
-o the lest o hidden will

     
  
   
 

 

$ Was “a woman of lawt

hough, for tac matter:

for herself for eee [
~ a

 

    

     

us iu the future, was to find-and:
ut this was not fortheoming,.~
mere Mi 5

 

  
 
   
   

 
    
     

   

   

aud learned, to his surprise lad ghase
ivef one Pearl Blane some time previously and after the death:
of Hackett. For the first time he thus learned that the old man
had made a willin faver of this woman, whom hé wiever knew;
und that the old house was among the prepery she had had be-"
queathed to her, and which she had sold to Benhatin, according
to the deed duly recorded. - ‘ SMotiisemnactoe

‘ Marry toek immediate steps (after thoroughly seaching the
oid-house, and finding nething there in the shape of a will) to
look up the custodians and depositaries of the person:

ty, all of whom wereinamed upon Lhogenatne
md, to bis great. satistaction, he found th
g est even had not. been called for in” is
part of this propetty had ever been disturbed or inquired for.
fhe holders of these securities were all*good, responsible men

  
 

     

   

     
  

  
 

 
         

authority to pay over tothe representatives of Hackett both”
principal and interest.

Harry hunted the eld house through three times, and was
laughed at for his pains, But it was an immense estate for
these days, and the will was worth finding if it existed and could
be discovered.

Even cool, quiet Ben Oatland, the excellent partner of Harry
Maitland, admitted that the search was worth the while, and he
urged his friend.to “keep up the shake.’?

“TUll come up somewbere, at some time, in somebody’s hands,
no, doubt, Harry,’? he would say. “The property is all safe, and
has remained undisturbed since old Hackett died. The willis
unquestionably concealed somewhere. Where have you looked
for it, Harry?” 3 :

“Hy ae where there is any likelihood that 1t might be
hidden or laid by,” said Harry. :

“And no trace of it anywhere?”

“No; and Vim about tired of the chase.
ried next,’ concluded Harry.

“And so am, Harry,” replicd his: partner. “Whon did you
decide upon this move t”’

“Tast week, Ben.”

“So did I, my boy. Did Matty tell you about it?”

“yes; she tells me everything, Ben, as you know. She’s a
dear, good girl, too, if she is my sister, and you're to get a noble
woman for your wife in her. She told me you had named the
day last week, and upon this hint I spoke to my little jewel
Maggie upon this very subject, and she agreed at once that we
would give up the search for the old wiH that had given us all

I’m going to get mar-

1€
so much trouble and heart-burning, and get married all togeth-
er—you and Matty and Maggie and I—on the same day, and ail
go on our wedding-tour in one party.”

“A very sensible arrangement, Harry,rejoined Ben.

Thus it was arranged between the partners, and they all four
at once proceeded to the final adjusiment of matters pertaining
to the wedding outfits and the plans for the tour, which was very
shortly to ensue. :

Ben Oatiand, on the eve of this important undertaking, natu-
raily found himself atthe old piace where ‘the Maitlands lived.
Ue came out daily from Boston, with Harry, and passed his
evenings and nights with him. The conversation. frequently
turned upon Maggie’s prospective fortune, and Ben congratu-
lated her upon her approaching wnion with his tred friend
Harry, and upon the fact, also, that she “was an: liciresy~—al-
most.’’

“Well put in, Ben,” said Harry, ‘smiling... ‘Almost; bnt not
quite—you might have added. However, we’ve allagreed here
to say no more about the will for the present, Ben.”

“You've given up the search, eh ?”’

“Yes, for now,” said Wurry.

“All right, ladies,’ Contmued Ben, “how did you lke the
traveling trunks we sent you out to-day ?? !

“They were very nice and very convenient inside.”

“We had them made to order,” said Ben, ‘‘ou purpose to ac-
commodate all the little trifles, and gew-gaws, and finery you
young brides want to display om your travels.”

“ Well, Ineeded something of the sort, badly enough,” said
Maggie, laughing. “All the trunk Lownisthat blundering old
brass-bound chest that Pve toted round with me, tor two or
three years, and which my dear old uncle Hackett left me with
its contents, when he died, so they toid me. But it’s used up,
now. Played out, a8 Harry says,” she added.

“Yes; Pve heard about that old chest, Miss Maggie.
it ?”? enquired Ben Gatland.

“Up stairs,’ said Maggie, indifferently,

“Hinpty ?? asked Ben. ‘

“Ves. cleared it, to-day, when the newone came.” ;

“Wave you ever examined that chest ? or have you, Harry?”
asked Ben, soberly.

“Examined it? Why 2?) What for?”

“It was. old Hackett’s, wasn’t it 2?’

“IL telk you,” said Ben. ‘None of you seem to have thought
about'this‘ol@ chestin your search for the missing wil! Th
trunk belonged to Hackett. was left especially to Maggie, and
would be a very likely place in my opinion, ior the dying man
to secrete or deposit the will in while he was, sick, calculating
perhaps t6 withdraw it if he found he was going to die.” -

“Let's have a look at the old chest,”’ cried Harry, laughing.

The old brass-bound chest was forthwith tumbled down over
the stairs, and Uarry and Ben went at it very methodically,and
with an apparent display of mechanical science, as if they had
seen this sort of. thing before, and knew exactaly where :to
strike for hidden wills. :

Ben dissected the interior, sounded the back and sides, and
bottom; drew out the two tills, and examined thein and .their
grooves, but nothing appeared to gratify anybody.

The front and back and floor.of the old ehest were then sep-
arated, and the whole ancient fabric was taken apart. Then
Ben suddenly discovered that the bottom was double, and hollow
between the two dry, hardwood boards forming this portron of
the ehest. Itavas-carefully split epen; the eavity was neara
quarter of an inch deep entirely across it and lengthwise; but
Ui Was empty. 5

The cits HO yelled with delight at the chop-fallen expres-
sion of the faces of Ben and Harry.. But they were not to be
driven from their task now, until they had gone tnrther in: this
direction. The front Was examined and broken up. It was
solid. The top was served in the same way. The splinters flew
about the room, the old br elamps gave way before the vig-
F ovous blows of Harry's hammer, and the general wreck of the
old chest scattered over the floor.

Every part of the old brass-bound chest had now been spilt
into shreds, except the two end-pieces, which had not yet been
broken much-—the jront and back and bottem having been
knocked away irom these ends, Jeaving them whole yet.

Harry took one of these and deliberately beat it into splinters
with his hammer, when he discovered in the inside of. this also
a similar thin cavity, sank into, or cutoutot the solid hard-
wood end, which had been afterward put together in two parts,
flatwise. But this also was empty. |

“One more—and this the last!’ cried. Harry, raising his ham:
mer over the remaining end-piece of the old chest which was
still intact; and down came the blows upon this fragmenttof the
ruins thick and fast, while Ben and Maggie and Matty stood
with the hghts in hand, roaring with laughter at the energy
which Harry exhibited in hiselosing efforts of strength upon
the unoffending “last remains” of old Hackett’s chest; when, as
the wood split apart, there tumbled out upon the carpet » elean
white packet, that had been concealed in the thin, flat cavity ot

 

 

 

Where is

S
*

oe

   

   
 

 

tate, which, for over three vears, he fancied he had virtual con-

4‘

this portion of the chest, and which was quickly Caught up by

  

4 leave la

 
   
 

DU.
when she was an infant. Now ;

  
     
 
  

(eehilanthrop, :
{ with self-inteut, forthe sake of-poor men’? generally, for the
p of happiness and secure themall }:

  

  
  

| ly to provide for,;those tinder his care, and how could Ido it

and institutions, an@all they wanted to see was the proper legnly,

  

 

Harry and torn open. ‘This packet contained the hidden will! |

bhere was joy in tiisdoving houschold that night. The genu-
ine, Io 2 Missing codices! Was in this packet, and there were also
sixteén tive hundred pounds Bank of Engiand notes inside the
wills and a brie Ucr, too, in, Hagketts hand i

    
 

    
   

  
 

     
 

 

      

 

  

knownto Maggiesthouw as WMore-¢ran}
than Usmal, whieh read ast6llows: 9 i
“My Diovan MAGGI aus. fannot this night out.
s8—sudden, Well

I do no® know the c unaccountable
yesterday; siek to-day; dead to-night. — i
this. You, ic, my only relative, an
and. my S8inve Your mother Jong
Norah ¥ mm: The ring—initia
Hy chest and cont

tomer eWweli

My Will is hereywith

any soic heir. Take ally.

3 8hLUee dead—her- name

cannot Write mores TL wall

I ene this in
+

    
  
     
   
   
   

  
 
 
  

  

  
  
 

 

chest—adik

The willy
nall explants
well-knoy
tee, Miss

S proven and recor
ns.being afforded :
ndia street merchant, who réprescnted thedegs
gie Mayson. And fair Mageié séon atter came im

4
elay or di

      

s weddings of this happy quartette came off, aecording to
appomimecntyand the bridal tour was undertaken under brill
unt auspices.

Upon theirsreturn, Ben Oatland took his bride “to Boston,
where they afterward resided,in ease and comfort. Harry
and Maggie took possessiol off@ne old Maitland estate, which
was completely renovated, ay inodernized to suit the tastewor
the'young people;-who Now owned.and oceapiedit. _ re

And here we leave our fri¢nds aiid our heroine, happy in
the enjoyment of all the comforts of life, in! the society of the
only.man she ever loved. Magvie’s fortune. including the notes
found with the codicil in the old chest, reached near a hundred
and fifty thousand dollars, which proved to be the happy re-
cee at last, in discovering the hidden wil! the poor factory
girl. d

eee ‘ s con TOK END,

Oat oe.

- DOESTICKS' LHTTERS,

DOESTICKS GOES INTO PARTNERSHIP WITH AN ITAL.
TAN NOBLEMAN, IN THE PLLICL DISTILLING -BUSI-

Ess.

Thave resigned my position under Goyernment—not, as some

personal enemies of mine have not hesitated to insinuate, been
iznominiously kicked out. The facts are simply these the
man who has the examination of my accounts, and who is
courting a young lady who has severai times smiled on me, re-
ported that-hefound a decrepancy in my cash account,—that,
in fact, he thougnt lowed the Government about three thous-
and dollars more than I had paid over—of course; Iindignantly
‘tareatened to torow up my situation, and demanded an inves-
ligation, intending privately to put off said investigation, as
loug as possible, and thea, if Ifouud it was going against me,
to resign in carnest, atter drawing my salary asiong im ad-
vance as | could get the cashier to trust me. This last trick,by the
way, is one 1 learned trom ¢cer'ain Government ¢fficials a 2ood
deal higher in rank than ever Iwas. Well asto the investiga-
ion, the Government appointed three fellows totho!ld it, every
one of whom I had borrowed money from and Had not found
iz convenient to pay, and they would necessarily: call for their
chief witness, the chap that said he had discovered the error
inmy account. Of course, there was no h: ping for justice from
such a courtas that, sol wrote an indignant, ano, in fact, a
scathing letter to: Washington, resigning my position, but de-
cining to resign my three months’ salary which I had carefully
gotin advance trom ihe cashier under the excuse that I want-
cd anew sui of clothes to goto. the funeral cf my grandfather
Both my grandfathers have been detunetfor fifteen years. but as
I didwe have any new’clothes to £0 to ci:her of their funerals, 1
thoughtit but right to paytsem that tribute of respecteven at
this late day. :

Having retired from the service of an ungrateful Govern-
ment, Tnaturallywasmuch rejoiced when an employment
Was suggested to Me Which combined three great advantages
—thatit woud’ spite said Government; it’ would enrich me,
and it ae beielit “the poor man.' Need I say that I was
happy a ase As? «

Itshall be no secret what it was.

Twas to set up a distillery on asmall scale. Now the tyran:
nical government so taxes every distiller that he can’t afford to
make ‘the poor man’s’ Necessary whisky, save at anexorbiiant
price. Notv we al know that whisky is “the poor man’s”
triend—it stimulates him to tremendous exertivns: it gives him
happiness aad bliss, whieh, if only temporary in their
enduranee, need but arepetition.of the whisky dose te restore
the glorious visions ofthe former drank; and whoever knew a
richcy man than thé anaividual who isthree quarters past half
seas uver. Even it his financial possessions fade with the
fumegof the dram, isit not better for a manto enjoy for six
hours a day the delights ofowning the 8t. Nichoias Hotel, the
As o¢ House, all the theaters in town, all the shipping in the
docksy having a two-thirds interest in alfthe real estate in the
POUL adjoining ies, besides being president of half the
banks in thécity, cashier of all the orhers and director-in-chief
of every paying Tatroad that runs out of New York. Isit not
better, Tsay, tora Manto enjoy the ineffable bliss of these
chormoug possessions TOP even a quarter of his time, than al-
vays to feel himselfise poor that he doesn’t know where his
next pair of buots i$ to come from, and even to have some seri-
ous doubts as to whether he can afford ever codfish balls tor to-
morrow’s breakfast ?)";.. 2 js

Very well, then, doeswt the man, or combination of men
who makeithis enriching neetar so dear that ‘‘tne poor man’!
cen enjoy its benéfits but selaom, merit the condemnation of
socicty & Ofcourse they do. ong !

Salk about the worid’s. owing so mtich tothe man who makes
the b'ades of grass grow where butone grew bcfore, what, I

s d sociely give to the mau who enables “ihe poor
drink five glasses of whisky wherehe could afford but
, and thereby enables him to think himseifa hun-
sas rich ag he is, even $0 many times oftener than he
the present state ot things.
hropy in are cose. evidently went hand-in-hand

     
   
  
 

 

 

 

 

   
  

od of sceiety, and turthe mifor object of puiting money in
y own pocket, [determined togo intothe whisky distilling
Husiness.” Morcover, to show my contempt for the Govern-
Ment that had so wronged and ‘outraged mic. I wouldn’t pay
C Olitary doliar of their absurd .taxes. I would con-

   
 

  
  
   

 
   

duct my business quietiy—nobody need Know—'ihe poor man”?
would be benefited, the Government would be spited, and I
would beenriched. Whatdid Ieare-if ks did-calt it “‘Illict
Distilling %? two names don’t amonn uch, the cash is the
real thing. f : $

 

 

 

uty, a philanthrop ; ristian and the head of a
family, was plain-—-to- promote hay Hnéss and loving-kindness
among men isthe aut -ciminently of the Christian and phi-

 

 

Janthropist,and wi éneare mensv Happy individually, or so
lovin toward others, as when they are outside as much whis.
ky asthe stomach craves. Iti: the daty of the head of a faimi-
half’so weil as in the way I proposed 7
—it only remained to do it. j

ITentered iato partnership with an eminent Italian gentle-
man, named Phoiim Dennis O’Siaughter, who was noted for his!

Oficicency in chemistry, more especial y for his perfect know!-
ge ofthe sublime art of distilling rum and wrisky and the
lfndred Elysian cordials. The quarter’s salary that the detest-
ed Government had so unwilling'y advanced ine, together with
some little money lL had saved trom my perquisites, served as
my haltofthe capital. Phelim, by virtue ot his experience,
was to purchase the apparatus and the grain, and get every-
thing ready. Phelim was intrasted with ali my;money. Phe-
lim told me he Knew of a splendid cellar, and a fine still in good
working order for sale, inorder that the owner, a2 countryman
of his, Who had made his fortune in this very place, might go
tospend the remainder of his days, with his sister, Miss Juay
Gallagher, in their native sunny-Italy.

Of course, I tolu Phelim to go ahead—Phelim told me that I
had better not be scen much about the place for fear of attract
ing the attention.of the police. Tkept out of the way. Ina
weck,Phelim took mo by night to see our new purchases. There
were sundry big tabs and tanks, arid “‘worms,’? as he called
somé ereat coils of copper pipe, and ’some other things, which
looked to me dear at two hundred dollars, but which he assnred
me ow his solemn word had cost him seventeen hundred> dol-
lays ana sixty-nine cents.

He asked me, somewhat indignantly, if [doubted the word of
an Italian nobleman—he is six feet high and he had a piece. of
two inch lead pipe in his hand, six feet long, s0 I to.d hink that I
did not doubtthe word of an Italian nob.

We got our still into working order at once, and we rolled ont
the whisky at the rate of torty barrels a night. (At the ena of
a week we had made so much that atter deductiag expenses
my dividend was two hundred dollars. :

Next day, fhe noble Phelim told me that I had! better not be
seen about the place asthe police were getting’ suspicious, and
he’ could run the work just as well without me. Itocok the hint
and toolkemyselt off,

Next week my expected dividend had dwindled to forty one
dollars, whieh I thought strange, forl knew we had made six-
ty-cight’ more barrels of “the poor man’s’ nectar than the
week before. Phelim explained this by saying that he had dis-
covered a revenue oilicer becoming nuopleasently suspicious,
and that he had been compeiled to. “square” him with tour
hundred deliars or he wontd have ‘dropped on us. Phelim
said the thing was ailright now, to whicn replied thatI hoped
it was.

Fiereely demanding to know if I doubted the word of an
Italian nobleman. he walked. toward the) six-foot bit of lead
pipe, while I, shouting all the time that I did) not donbt the
word of any Italian mobkeman, precepitately moved toward
the. door. :

Next week, instead of ad{ividend there was an assessment.
Phelim said that owing to a rise in the price of cern, and also
in theprice of revenue detectives, he had run behind that week;
he only wanted $25, however, and said be had an order for two
hundred barrels of nectar ata good price, und. thatthe divi-
dend next time would be “big.”

E demurred slightly about paying the
ated a @esire to see the books. t

With his eye flushing, his fist clenched, and the little trifle of
lead pipe just within hisreach, he demanaed in thunder whis-
:pers (tor in our place of business we didn’t .dare to speak loud)
if I doubted the word of an Italian nobleman ?

I had only time to assure him that, whatever might be the
appearances, I did not doubt the word of an Malian noblemau,
and tacn ruv to save mv life, :

In the middle of the following week, before the next divi-
dend day came round, I was arrested in the street, and berne
in-disgrace and a very dirty hack, (for which I had to pay four-
reeu dollars and a half) to our cellar, which I found in possess-
ion of the revenue officers. They had already dismantléd the
place and were busily engaged in carting off the property. _

When I went in, my partner was very jollily taking a drink
with the head man of the revenue officers, who looked so much
like Paelim that I could havesworn them tobe twins without
any further evidence. Isaw Phelim hand over to this man
the company purse, which contained $6,478, after which he
turned toward another officer, who also looked enough like
him to make the twain triplets, and gave himall the loose
money he had, amounting to $183,41. Then assuming a tragic
air, doubtless for my especial benefit, he cried to the officers:

“There, ye’ve robbed me of ine last penny, what'll become ot
me poor wife and childher?”? .

Ireplied, that it was a great deal more to the purpose to
know whathad become of my money. Whereupon he de-
manded with a yellif I “dared to doubt the word of an Italian
nobleman?” Whereupon, maddened by my losses, and em-
boldened by the presence of so many offtlzers, 1 wildly replied,
that I ‘not only doubted the wo:d of an Itatin nobleman, but
thatl doubted if 1’d ever seen an Italian. nobleman.”’

Searcely hag these rash words left my lips, before I went on
asudden and éntirely unexpecied excursion; whether my head
struck the curb-stone before my heels landed inthe middle of.
the road, I have never bzen able exactly to determine, buat
whenlaweke in the 77th ward station house, with my nose
split like a peach and both eyes in mourning by the single blow
my late partner had bestowed as & parting evidence of his af.
fection, Ifound that I was there confined on the charge of
making a murderous assault on the fragile person of a wWell-
known Italisn nobleman.

When I got outl learned that my late partner had regularity
paid over all the money made by the concern to the two de.
tecife oflicers, his brotaers, who held it in trust for him. Then
when hefound the thing couldn’t go on any longer: withont de-
tection, he himself, through his red haired brother, became in.
tormer tothe Government, and so completed the gobbling-u
of my little savings. .

What to de next Idon't know. Does anybody want a trust-
worthy cashicr in some establishment where there isa great
deal of money to handle? 1fso, apoly to yours, out-of-nckity,

Q. K. Puinanper Doxsticks, P. B.
><

my duty lay before me

  
 

 

 

2

$25, and mildly insinu-

peu,

INTERESTING TO LADIES.—After having the Grover &
Baker and the Wheeler & Wilson Sewing Machines fairly
tried, by two of the best operators In the country, in my.
honse, I have concluded to buy the Grover ‘& Baker; it
proving, in mine and my family's mind, to. be the best
machine for general family use.—James Armor, near

 

 

Wilmington, Det

 

 

 

 

   
   
   
 

ph TRIBUNE
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Preparatory Medication.

The human system, the most delicate and sensitive of
all created things, should be duly prepared to meet the
shock occasioned by a sudden change in the temperature.
of the air. Even the solid metals contract and expand

A under cold and heat—so that if man were composed of

, &

shave lived down, competition and to be the standard

Jee

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wits ui

 

  

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LOW
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| FOR CASH, DURING TUK HOLIDAYS, Or Will tuke from $5 to $20

 

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or

 

 

 

 

 

  

Ze

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

by
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peer

2, public.

gmionthly until paid; the sume to let, and rent money applied if

 

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INED IN. DIFFER-
Yo publicity.
Nassau st,

 

 

  

     

 

ist

 

 

    

 

TRE H TA

TST POLE AME

 BRAUTIFUL JESSIE.
A WUNATEC’S STORY.
BY MARY GRAY.

 

 

We were betrothed lovers, beautiful Jessie and I, and
all expectation for the future lay, not in the direction of
a home of luxury and wealth, but in a neat little cottage
of our own, With a vine-covered porch and plenty of good
victuals to cat, and warm clothes to wear. oe

“Sp will not be lope before I shall have one, Jessie dear,”
I would say, as I twined my arms around her waist and
pressed her to my heart, and then gazing down into her
star-lit eyes, L would tell her how much money I had
managed to save in the week.

Stingy and miserly the lads and the lasses in the village
called. me, but I heeded them not. _ All day long I toiled
with a happy heart, and when night cast its mantle over
the earth and the work of the day was done, and the
other lads would take the ladies of their hearts to. some
dance or family gathering, I would shut myself up in my
little room and work, not with my hands, but with my
brain, for I was inventing a new machine for our mill,
and | knew that, if it succeeded, I should be rich, that is
rich in comparison with my companions; so all day long
IT would work in the mill, and half of the night with my
pattern, for the sake of my pecriess Jessie, my idol and
my love, :

Worshiping her asI did, Ihave no doul* that you are
surprised that I should enjoy her society so Tittle, but it
was not for long, for Jessie was only a poor orphan girl,
and we werkedin the same mill together.
joined each other; and when I lifted my eyes from my
work, they encountered those of Jessie, and when my
safety demanded the whole of my. attention, her sweet
voice, like the warble of the nightingale, floated through
the room and sent a strange thrill through my whole
frame, as she kept time with her shuttle as it moved to
end fro in the loum. i Teak

There was not.a man for miles arouhd who would not
have laid down his life to have served my Jessie, and no
wonder, for their eyes or mine had never gazed on a more
beautiful creature. Her hair was like webs of pure open
gold, while her cheeks and cherry lips were a beautiful
contrast to her pearly skin, :

Every one in our village knew that we were betrothed,
for we took no pains to concealit, for Iwas proud of Jes-
sie, and Jessie loved, honored and respected me.

All things went on’ well, and our wedding day was at
last appointed. It was to be the tenth of August, Jessie’s
birthday, and Thad purchased:a littie cottage, and for a
time I laid my pattern aside, and every evening I went up
to repair aud fit the house that was to receive my bride.

If was about this time that our mill changed owners.
Shall l ever forgét the repugnance and conteinpt that en-
tered my heart when Lifirst beheld. Victor Avnold,- our
new boss, just the nia to win every girl's tove, aud just
the man that rdined my Jessie: .

 

I knew from the first glance that We bestowed upon her [

that he admired her. For hours he would stand beside
her loom and watch her busy fingers as she plied her
shuttle. Had they been on the same level I should have
looked on and said nothing, but as it was, a strange fore
boding took possession of my heart. Once when his hand
rested on her head, and he t-vined her ringlet in his 4n-
gers, the demon jealousy raged within me. I clenched
my hands and ground my teeth in rage. ;

ay by day I noted the smile die out on Jessie’s lips, 1
saw her turn her face away from my'giance, I felt. her
tremble in my embrace, but still I spoke not. In a few
more days she would be mine to protect; and until then
TI would show her that [had confidence and trusted her.
O day, how long you tarried | At last it came, and the
bridesmaids with their white dresses and gay ribbons hdd
arrived. Old men and women who had known. Jessie’s
father and mother spoke highly of their virtues and in-
tegrity, and every one congratulated me on my prize.

Aflast the bridesmaids went out for the bride. We
waited patiently for a while, and as the sound of re-
turning footsteps reached my ear, I sprang forward to
meet my bride, but only the pale affrighted faces of the
bridesmaids met my gaze.

“Jessie, Jessie 1 Icried; ‘where is she gone?

“Ido not know. Here is a letter that we found on the
table in her room."?

Almost maddened, I grasped it. “Yo Jack Wilson.)
It was in Jessie’s handwriting, and addressed to me. 1
tore open the envelope and read. Oh, how the words
stung me! I read that Jessie, my betrothed wife; my
peerless, beautiful Jessie, had been betrayed, ruined'and
abandoned.

“There is nothing left me but the grave. Farewell,
Jack, my wronged one; and believe me, when I say his
face and fine manners flattered me. But I love you, and
you only.”

Grasping a pistol that was near at hand, I sprang
forward, crying:

‘“T shall avenge her wrong!) And before a hand could
pe me, I rushed down toward the mill and entered the
oliee. <t

Now @ sight met my eyes. In the center of the room
stood Victor Arnold; at his feet Knelt. Jessie, pleading to
him to remedy the wrong. Springing forward, and grasp-
ing his-throat. with an iron grip, I cried: Lert

“Choose which shall be your bride—Jessie Clare, or
death |?

He tried to shake himself loose.

“Wave mercy,’ ke:cried.

“Jam in earnest,” I answered.
count ‘ten’ tomake up your niind,
tlie other, Isarear lt? ; i ioe

The villagers had followed mé, dnd $6 had the clergy-
man. They stood speechless, looking on. fe

“Qne, two, three, fouy, five, six, seven, eight. Click
went the pistol. “Nine, te-~23
i Molde? cried the frightened wretch; “it shal be
Jessie.’ :

I motioned to the clergyman to step forward. Tle had
known Jessie from the cradie, and readily complied with
Iny request. Jessie rose to her feet, and took her place
by his side. ;

“Retract!” Lieried, still holding on to his throat and
pomting the pistol to his forelicad, ‘and you are a dead
man.’

“The minister proceeded with the services.

“Take that ring off,” said J, pointing to a large, brilliant
diamond on his forefinger.

He did ‘so, and placed it on Jessie's finger, and then
the minister said, 1n a loud, clear voice: 5

“Whomsoever the Lord joineth together let no man put
asunder,” and then I remember no more.

It inust have been years ago that this happened, for my
hair is white as snow and my eyes have Prown dim. I
never finished my pattern, for Jessie is rich now aud has
no need of the money, ;

My head pains me so when TI think of the Past, and peo-
ple say I am crazy, and have shut me up in a large
roomy house with @ high wall surrounding it; but the
beautiful lady witha black dress and widow's eap, that
comes to see ne every day. and brings nice things to eat,
and smooths my hair, and kisses muy lips, and cools my
forehead with her tears, says I am not crazy, and 1 be-
lieve her, because she looks so much like niy Jessie.
PQ

That “truth is stranger than fiction’’ is powerfully ex-
emplified in the wild adventures of “BurFALO Bru,”
whose real life surpasses in romantic interest aught that
the brain of the most fertile romancist has imagined. His
Story as told in the columns of the New. YorK WEEKLY
by “Ned Buntiine,”’ is made up of daring’ deeds, hair-
breadth escapes, and heroic acts. Don’t neglect to read
“BUFFALO Brun,’? and if you are pleased with it call: the
attention of your acquaintances to this wild, Stirring, and
fue narrative of a living frontiersrman, All News Agents
will supply back numbers,

—  - OO t re ee

“T give: 5

you until I
It shall be ene or

 

Hox. W. EveELyN Asnugy has been engaged to write ex-_

clusively for the New YORK WEEKLY during the year

 

1870.

Author of “The Witch Pir

Our looms ad-

 

 

DEPARTED SUMMER.

 

BY EUGENI CASE,

 

The golden summer, with its wealth of flowers,
Alas! is.o’er;

The birds grow restless In thoir leafy bowers,
And sing-no more.

A pensive murniur haunts each bosky dell,
And in each vale

The way ward streamlet’s fickle waters tell
A mournful tale.

O, let us drop a tear for the departed,
Bright summer time,

Then journey onward, gay and happy hearted,
Through autunin’s elime!

 

 

The Bey Whaler:

YOUNG. ROVERS.
A BOY'S AND GIRL’S VOVAGE,
BY LEON LEWIS,

 

 

‘Pinder,”:-WatersWolf,’) “Boy Magician;Y
“Silver Ship,’’ ‘Hed Iaurte,” ete., ete.

 

{“The Boy Whaler”? was commenced in No. 49. Baek numbers
ean be had from News Agents throughout the United States.)

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE CONSUL’S PARTY.

AJL unconscious of the presence and machingtions .of
their enemy,Lily and Richard enjoyed their stay at Hono-
luiu, never tiring of sitting on deck and watebing the
scenes in the harbor andon shore, or of wandering up
and down the streets of the strange city.

The morning after their arrival they made inquiries of
a waterman; discovering that the Annie Colton had been
into port, neplaced some damaged spars, and. secured
provisions, and that she had resumed her voyage to the
North Pacific only the day previous to their arrival.

It may be imagined what a disappointment the discov-
ery brought-toe tie young adventurers.

“One thing is certain,’ said Luy, when she had given
expression to, her regrets. If the Annie Colton has pass-
ed, So-has the Dolphia,although the waterman dosen’t re-
member Captain Stock’s ship.” ‘

“The Annie Colton is the faster sailer,’?. said. Richard,
“bab she would have been hindered by the damages she

received, and soit is quite possible that the Dolphin over--
took her.

We Shall see neither. vessel again, lily, until
we see themin the port of Sag Harbor. Captain Wexley.
will find ouv letters here, though, when he returns from
his cruise.?? | " : :
Their minds thus setat ease concerning the: Dolphin,

neither thought of looking for her among the forest of,

masts, or inquiring if she were in port. Lheydhad so
many pleasanter subjects to occupy them, so many in-
quiries to make, so many interesting speculations to dis-
cuss about the volcanic origin of the islands, their respec-
tive sizes, and the wonderiul volcano of tawail, Manna
Loa, that they forgot all that was unpleasant in their ad-
ventures—tor nearly everything but the happy present
and the blissful fact that they should soon be en their
way home. i

The General and Mrs. Beverley devoted themselves. to
the young pair, generally accompanying them on..fheir
excursions. The captain treated them with the most af-
tectionate kindness, The doctor, the purser, the super-
cargo, and the missionary, all were kind and attentive to
the young adventurers, delighting in their joy, and: al-
ways ready to assist them in their efforts to acquire infor-
mation, if

Three days were thus happily passed. :

The freight had béen mostly taken on board -the Ocean
Waive, the’ stock of live provisions had been gathered
into their pens, and fresh stores had been putinte store-
room and pantry. They were to passbut one night more
‘in port, and all was bustling and confusion on beard the
ship. Much remained to be done bofore the vessel should
leave at nine o’clock the next morning. Smalls boats
swarmed around the merchant ship, shrill Kanaka voices
challenged sailors to unusual bargains, their tones drown-
ed in the cries that resounded on the deck.

On the morning subsequent to their arrival, the Gene-
ral and Mrs. Beverley, accompanied by Lily and Richard,
hadcalled upon the American consul and his wile at
their residence. Thé presence offtie distinguished ex-
embassador from China had created quite a stit among
the American residents, andthe result- of the Gallas
that thesparty had,scarcely returned to the ship when an
invitation. caine from the cousul’s lady to herJlate visitors

bidding them te a party at her house on the next Gyeaing
—the one preceding their mtended dearture. < “sos

The mvitation was accepted by all concerned as ¥pleas-
ant break in the menotony of sealife.

As soon as the bustle of freighting had died outat the
close of. the day, the busueé of getting ready forthe Mari y
began. Mr... Beverley dresser Himself cathy in gat *evea-
ing suit, looking every inch the stately and distinewished
gentleman, and withdrew into the cabin, leaving his
suite of rooms to thesoecupancy of Mrs. Beverley and
Lily, as ‘

The little maiden‘was in a flurry of joyful excitement.
Ii seemed to her that the flossy hair had suddenly be-
come refractory, every separate hair having a tendency to
curl upon its own account, but at last comb and brush
had reduced it to subjection, and if fell around her like a
vall of pale, burnished gold, rippling in tiny waves over
her shoulders, 1 a ¢

 

“Life is full of changes,’ she’ said, reflectively, ag she:

continued to brush the curl tendrils away from her
white forehead. “A few weekS ‘ago we were afraid of
being eaten up by cannibais, and to-day we are dressing
for a party.” Y

“Yes, life is full of changes, my little’ philosopher,”

‘said Mrs. Beverley, patting the round, snowy shoulder

peeping out from @ nest of lace ruffles. ‘You have
learned the lesson early, dear.”

“Y wonder,” mused Lily, “what the next change will be
in Dick’s lite and mine?” : :

_ It was well she could not read the future: ”

The toilets were at last all‘made. General Beverley
Was Sitting at a newspaper in the lightest cabin, when
Richard, neatly dressed in black, with a boy of seariet
ribbon confining his wide linen collar, came out from his
state-room.

Then the missionary, in'a ministerial suit, with white
lawn neck-cloth, made his appearance. 4

Then came the captain, the purser, the supercargo,
and the doctor, all in suitable evening dress, their gloves
in their hands, or pockets, ready to be put on atter reach-
ing the scene of the evening’s gayeties.,

The doctor was settling his neck-tie before the mirror;
the dandy-like purser was slyly peering over the doctor's
shoulder; and General Beverley was in the act of putting
away his Honolulu newspaper, when Mrs. Beverly swept
out into the cabin, radiant in her glowing beauty and
elegant attire.

Richard almost held his breath as he looked at her.

She wore a dress of amber satin, whose soft foids, glos-
sy sheen and sweeping train gave her, the air offan em-
press. Folds of rich lace fell after some bewildering
fashion about her corsage, ‘half concealing, half reveai-
ing,” the contoury of her graceful neck and shoulders.
Her dark hair, glossy, and with a purple bloom upon it,
was gathered low at the back of her neck into a heavy
coil, and ornamented with a diamond spray that trembled
at every movement of the wearer. Diamonds elittered on
her neck and arms, flashing out their glorious wealth of
prismatic hues, emitting showers of sparks, and almost
blinding'the observer.

_ Her Rusbana’s face lighted up with a joyful pride ag he
beheld lit. 7 oe a :

kK was évident énotigh that this fair and heantsnl

woman held compléte sway over his heart and soul—and}

she was worthy of her grand empire. Her brown eyes
glowed with an answering light, and she took her place
atthe general’s side with an air of wifely deference in-
expressibly charming,

After Mrs. Beverley came Lily, little fairy Lily, with
her pure, dainty face and its frame cf floating hair. Her
dress was Simplo and child-like. A blue muslin, tucked
and rufiled, low in the neck and short in the sleeves,
She was all excitemnent and animation. Her eyes fairly
danced with the prospect of pleasure, and her délicate
little figure seemed to partake of the characteristics of
the will 0’ the wisp—she was here, there, and every-
where. ‘

“Tam ready, captain, if you are waiting for. me,"’ she
sald, gayly. :

“Then we'll be off,’ said the captain, smiling. *T fancy
this must be your first party, Miss Lily. J wish I cour
getup such enthusiasm as yours. But it’s an old story
with me... Instead of the fairy-land you seetn to expect,
Tlook fora crush and jam, alot of Senseless gossin, and
2 dull time generally, tim only oasis in the desert belng a
good supper. That our respecicd consul, as am Ameri-
can, Will be sure to have.”

There was a general iaugh. ‘The ladies threw on their
shaws, fhe gentlemen donned their hats, all proceeded
ashore, going oh foot to the consul’s residence.

The night was bright and pleasant, full of a dreamy
languor, With alight, delicious haze over land and sea
The stars beamed softly down, the breezes blew softly,
and the skies promised continuous fine weather.

Lily danced along at Ricnard’s side, unable to compre-
jiend the depth of passivnate love jor her that surged in
his manly soul.

He was a boy no longer. Events had conspired to
awaken him rudely from the carelessness and thought-
lessness common to his years. Despite his youtht he was
aman in heart and mind and soul—eariy and suddenly
matured, but none the less prompt, energetic, manly and
resolute. He knew that his love for Lily was tlie love of
his: life. Itwas pure and passionate, watciiful and vigi-
lant, giving everything and exacting nothing, until Lily
should be old'enough to comprehend the full and sublime
meaning of love and existence. 1a

Unconscious of the change in her foster-brother, Lily
chattered aifter her childlike fashion, gay and full of a
quaint wisGem that set her apart from other children,
making her a species by herseif. i

In due time the party arrived at the consular residence,
anample dwelling surrounded by a wide veranda, and
setinagreat, pleasant garden, !ull of pleasant, leaty
nooks, The garden sloped down to the sea, terminating

   

 

 

“ita coral beach, and the house commanded a superb

 

Beg. et 2. : : ae

Sa

view of the harbor, the barrier, reef, and the chafing,
restless sea. j .

There were guests already assembled—American mer-
chants, captains and visiters, foreign consuls and some
Hawaiian dignitaries. The rooms were brilliantly lighted
and adorned with flowers. To Lily’s astonishment the
furniture very much resembled that to which she was
accustomed at home. There were two or three young
people present, and with them Lily fraternized at once,
‘greful, however, not to»neglect Richard, nor to prefer
the attendance of any other to his. :

It would be impossible to give a detailed account of the
events of the evening—how General and Mrs. Beveriy
were greeted and honored—how the young adventureis
were wondered atand admired—how Lily was called a
score of times a “lovely little creature,” ‘‘a perfeet little
darling,” and other appropriate names—how dancing
was dispensed with out of respect to the missionaries,
and how delicious music by amateur performers vibrated
on the delighted ear.

The windows were all Aung open to admit the air. The
consul and his lady had the vare and desirable faculty of
setting their guests all at ease, and the stream of conver-
sation Was soon set flowing in pleasant channels.

In due course of time, the supper was served, It was
found to fully equal the expectations of the Gon-vivant
captain of the “Ocean Wave... Richard proudly escorted
Lily to the sepper-room, and helped her to such a varie-
ty of dainties that the little aaitien fancied his senses
had departed,

The long. table sparkled with crystal and silver, and
was loaded with cakes, cold. meats, oysters’ and the thou-
sand dclicacies suited to the time, the place, and the
season. Flowers abounded amid the feast, so exquisite-
ly arranged in bouquets 2s to elevate the art of eating
into something far above vuigar necessity. For the
young people there were-coffee and lemonade, for the
non-temperance guests wines of high price with high-
sounding names,

All tastes were consulted.

After supper Richard made the discovery that the gar-
den had been lighted by chinese lanterns, and the young
people passed out Into the fairy-like region at once, Mrs.
Beverley thoughtfully insisting that Lily should wear he
shawl.

“The air is damp, darling,” she said, with a motherly
tenderness. “You imuat not get.ill on the very eve of our
departure.’?

She kissed Lily fondly, and watched her from an open
window tor.a few moments as she flew down the garden-
walk to join her gay companions, and then the lady
' turned away with a heavy sigh.

“Let’s have a dance out here,” said Nelly Williams, the
hoidenish daughter. of one of the, wholesale merchants,
“It would be so pleasant under the trees. .There are just
enough of us.’? —

The proposition was agreed to, and the dance was in-
augurated. The’ dancers formed @ pretty sight, in the
strange light of the Chinese lanterns, their gay figures
swaying to and fro to the sound of a cracked fiddle, Nel-
ly Williams. having coaxed a.servant from the house to
perform upon that instrument for them.

Lily entered into the spirit of the gayety With a wild
enjoyment that might have been the reaction of her late
depression. oe

After dancing the. young people told. stories, riddles,
and,conundrunis, their merry suouts.of laughter ringing
fay out over the water.

They were so absorbed in their diversions that none of
the group heard the grating of a beat’s keel against the
oral reef at the footof the garden, ner the cautious. ap-
proach ef stealthy steps to the scene of mirth.

_ Not one felt the burning gaze ofa pair of évil eyes that
peered out from a rose-thicket. :

“{ shall always love Honolulu,” said Lily, when the
conversation had begun to flag. “It’s sach an odd, pret-.
ty place, and there are such nice people here. 1 shall
taink of you all a theusand times wheu 1 am safe in my
ely Island home, and so will Dick, too. Won’t you,

ick?

“Indeed I will,” said Richard, earnestly.

“You ought to see the beach,’’:said Nelly Williams.
“Phe harbor is: perfectly splendid by moonHght. But
first, before we take you down there, let's have a game

 

 

 

| of hide-and-seek. There are lots of placcs to hice in in

this garden.” _

The game was resolved on at once, Nelly offering to be
the first:“‘seeker.’? In a moment the party had scattered,
Lily and Richard hurrying through the soft. shadows
down toward the beach,

“Lets hide together, Lily,’? said her foster-brother. ‘I
have resolved never to leave you alone when I can help
it again. . Here’s a splendid place to hide, under, a great
rock that must have’ been thrown up, Just.as itis, by a
volcano many years ago. Come.”? ore

He drew her in the deep shade of the little bluff.

‘They'll look for us’a good while without finding us, i
fancy,” laughed Lily, resting close in Richard’s arms.

The owner of the evil eyes had followed their fiying
steps, and was so near them at that instant that he heard
their words. ‘

He uttered alow, shrill whistle, and came under the
shadow of the bluiy. i :

“ve found you again, have 1?) he said, and his voice
betrayed him to be Captain Stocks.  ‘“There’s no Zickley
to lheip you this thne. No screaming nor fighting, young
nian. You are fairly trapped.’ ;

3efore he had done speaking his first mate, his cook,
and his steward, were at his side,

Af a signal from him, they sprang at the dumbfounded
fugitives, clapped their hands over their mouths, and
bore them, gasping and struggling, to a,Sall-boat that
rocked in the shade of an adjacent blatY. :

A moment later, the sail-boat went, daneing over the
waters, the cook and the steward still holding the: young
couple, the mate and the captain attending,to the boat.

In a Short time, they had left behind them the scene of
the evening's festivities. ee ‘
© “The Dolphin lies outside the harbor, waiting for us!’
saidStocks, with a gleam of inferhal joy on his sinister
face. -‘*We_-sailed out after you,all went ashore. . In halt-
an-honur, before, you are even missed..at the consul’s,
thanks to your game of hide and seek, you'll be on board
the Dolphin, sailing toward the whaling grounds.”

The beat fiew on, manned by nervous hands that sought
to-extract fron, her every incl. of speed. of which she was
capable. In half-an-hour’s time, as Stoeks had said, the
poor young fugitives were again on the Dolphin, and saul-
ing away trom friends and safety. , a

CHAPTER XXVIII.
CAPT. STOCKS UNVAILS HIS PLANS,
Ly and Richard, in their gala dress, with pale and
startled faces, satin the, dingy cabin of the Dolphin, gaz-
ing at each other in Wordless grief. The dim. ght flick-
cred on the wall, blinding their tear-swollem eyes. The
rush of.the waves against the vessel, the rocking motion
of the ship, the old smell of bilge-water, all were oppres-
sive and sickening to their troubled senses,

Richard felt keenly humiliated that his strength had
not been suflicient to.cope with his sturdy assailant—that
he had not been able to shriek out for help, that, in short,
ne had not been amore eflicient protector to his idolized
foster-sister.. Too noble and unselfish to even think of
himselfin that moment, his heart bled for Lily.

Lily, in turn, thought more of others than herself,
though she was keenly alive to the perils.of her position.
She thougnt of General and Mrs. Beverly, and wondered
what they wonld think when they discovered her’s and
Richard’s absence. She thought of the kind captain, and
all her friends on board the Ocean Wave, and, more
heart-brokenly than all, of the interrupted voyage home.

There was a. long silence between the young couple, and
Lily was the first, to break the silence.

tichard expected reproaches, complaints, and tearful
repining. He was not prepared to hear her exclaim:

“Well, it’s fortunate, as its turned out, Richard, that we
wrote home from Honolulu. Papa and mamma will be
sure to receive the letter, and it will comfort them.”

Richard breathed more freely at the tone, So much more
cheerful than he had expected.

‘Why, Lily,” he replied, ‘‘you are not hopeless and de-
spairing as i feared.’’

‘No, Dick,” said Lily, “Iam not hopeless and despair-
ing #0 long as you remain tome, I know you'll get us
out of our trouble somehow.

And you don't blame iné, Lily, for allowing us to be
taken captive so easily?! inguired the lad, earnestly. _

“Of course not,” answered Lily, in surprise. “How,
could I blame you, Dick, for not. overcoming four great
stout men? And if-you had called for help, the boys and
girls would have thought it a part ofthe play. You were
not at all to blame, -Dick.” :

“Thank you, darling. I feared you blamed: me—I fear-
ed I deserved if. And you won't give up to despair?”

“Not 1? declared Lily, emphatically. “T-wouldn't give
Captain Stocks such a chance to crow over me. The only
Way to deal With such people, Dick, is to pretend you
don’tcare what they do. That’s my philosophy.”

“Tt is the best,” said Richard, recovering his spirits,
and feeling once more that all was not lost.. “You area
true comforter, Lily. You give me courage in spite of

myself. How fortunate that we ‘hid together on the
beach! If Captain Stocks had taken you alone, I should

have died of grief 1”?

“What do you suppose Mrs. Beverley
come of us??? inquired Lily, after a pause, ‘

“Im sure I don’t knew. She may think us drowned.
Uniéss our friends learn that the Dolphin bas been in port
and left to-night, our disappearance wil forever remain a
mystery to them.”

Lily looked sober over this declaration, and lapsed into
silence again, asilence which Richard did not disturb,

For some time they sat thus, hand in hand, their minds
busy. At length butn started at the scund of a familiar
step on the companion-way, and clung yet closer together
as Captain Stocks entered their presence.

“Sulking, eh!’ he said, looking at them with a jubilant
face. “I’ve good news for you. We've aspanking wind
under our quarter, and are bowling over the Pacific at a
great rate. Honolulu is all out of sight, and we are
stretching away from the island.”

“If the wind is so good for you, if’s just-as good for our
friends,”* cried Lily, umlauntedly, “They may come out
after us. They Know all about you, you old thing, and
they hate you as much as I do!

“Do they?” inquired the whaler, not at all overcome
by this assurance. “I’m dreadfully sorry. But you
shouldn’t hate me, Lily. I am your unecle—your dear,
rich papa’s wicked brother. You should deal gently with
the prodigal. How nice it would be if you could only
make me repent my evil ways!” é

He sat down, with an expression of mock penitence
that quite enraged the spirited Lily.

Hie turned her back upon him, too angry to speak to.
lim. i

“Softly, my sweet niece,” said Captain Stocks, in a tone
of gentle remonstrance. “You remind me of a canary or
humming-bird, pecking at a hawk in a fit of puny rage.

will think has be-

 

 

So all those fine people on the Ocean Wave know about
me, do they ?”

“IMmdeed ‘they do,’ answered Lily, unable to keep si-
lence under his taunting manner. ‘“‘And that isn’t all. We
sent letters home from Tristan d’Acunha and from Hono-
Inlu, and told all about your miserable, wicked actions.”

The captain’s face clouded, but he did not lay aside his
careless air, or appear materially disturbed.

‘7 rather expected you would do so,’’ he said.
pose these Ocean Wave people will carry home
romantic story, and it’lL-be wm all the papers.” os egy

“Of course,” declared Richard, in a self-possessed,
manly tone that made the captain open his eyes. .“‘Did
you éxpect anything different? Let me tell you, Captain
Stocks, that you are laying up a harvest of wrath against
yourself. Your name will ring from one end of America
to the other. It will not be safe for you to go home un-
less you send us first.” ge ea

The ae shifted in his seat uneasily, and replied,
still confidently: :

“You needn’t think to scare me into sending you home,
young man. I have begun this thing, and I mean to go’
through with if. 1t is true that it has turned out consid-
erably different to my first intentions, but. think I can
remedy all’ my mishaps. You’ve told and Written your
story often enough, but you haven’t used me up,”?’,

“What can you do?’ asked Richard, | ves

“1i) tell you,’? replied Stocks, “After I metyou at
Tristan d’Acunha, I vowed: to getihold of you: and Lily
again, if it cost me my ships ol sailed to the southward
and came back to 'lristan d’Acyunha, within twelve hours
after the Colton left, thinking Wexley might have left
youon the island to be taken over to the Cape, from
which point you could easy get'a passage home. I found
myself mistaken, and would have immediately clapped
on all sail and started for the Sandwich Islands to inter-
cept you here, but that we fell in with sperm-whales, and
the crew would not. have beelm satisfied to pass them.
When I did set sail, however, “I made the utmost speed,
and believed on entering the harbor of Honolulu thatthe
Colton was‘behind me. The first thing 1 ingnired after
was the Colton, and I learned she-had sailed out of port
the day before we entered. I thought then that you
must still be in port!” be ;

“It was easy to discover where we were,’! said Richard,
wondering that he had not, made more careful inquiries.
respecting the Doiphin’s presence in port. :

“Before I had a chance to inquire, I saw you two in
the street, in company with the China Embassador and
his wife. Isaw you go on board the Ocean Wave, and
Mr. Striker and I put our heads together to get up a plan
to entice you on our ship. The whole town. was ringing
with the news of the consul’s party the very next day,
and We saw our way clear to the kidnapping business.”

“But, said Richard, calmly, “all this does not explain
What you are to gain by Stealing us.”’

“Prue, but if paves the way to. such an explanation,”’
said Stocks, blandly.
olulu, 1 formed ali my plans. I foresaw the letter busi- ,
ness, and the complete exposure, etc. But my heroic
soul arose undismayed above even such appalling pull-
backs. Asin the first place, Mr. Richard Nameless, I in-
tend to bottle you two up till wanted. lam going to put
you where you will remain untill come foryou.”

“You mean to. shut Lily and me up, while you go to
our facher and exact a ransom for us?” said’ Richard.

“Tf fear the credit of that remark -belongs to me,.else I,
should be inclined to wonder at the keenness of your per-~
ceptive faculties,’? said Stocks, ironically. ‘I oelieve I
told you last year that such was my plan, did I not??? «4 4.

“And you have not changed it??? ;

“Not a particle.” ee:

“But you will be arrested on landing.”* »

“Not SO, my young friend,” Said the captain, coolly. “I
have formed the lea of landing at one of the West India
Islands on my return, and sending ‘the ship heme in the

“E sup-

HE

care of the mate while I disguise myself and goto New .

York by steamer. Ishall then run down to Shelter Isl-
and, tell my rich, geod brother that Lhave you safely
hived, and that Limust have.the larger half of his fortune
cash down, or he'll never see you again. Of course, he’ll
come down with the money, forgive me in the delight of
seeing you again, and ll retire to some foreign land to
enjoy my well-earned fortune.’!

Richard’s heart sank as he saw how weill-conceived
was the villain’s vlan for extortipge money.

“Why do you go further on your whaling cruise?’ he
asked. ‘Why not go directly home??? ,

“To answer tnat, [must let you into alittle secret. T

i

“Of course, on our voyage to Hon- —~

own half tho Dolphin—the mate one-fourth, anda party -

in Sag Harbor the remaining fourth. The mate is my
friend all through. I wantto finish the whaling voyage,
partly for the inoney I shall make by having a full cargo,
and partly because my mate insists upon it. For his’
share in my personal business, Dlet him have my half the |
Dolphin aog-cheap. He will see that lhave my dues

from the cargo and vessel, if I hang on for a full cargo.” °

‘Your plan seems very well arranged,’’ said Richard,
quietly. ‘Where do you intend to leave us ?”’

your very... -

“On an island up in these waters, considerably to the

eastward, and out.of our course,”’ was the reply. “Ifthe
Ocean Wave should come after ts} she could not tell our »

froute. Imean to make crooks: enough so that even my.
‘own men could never.find the island again, if they were

offered a fortue to do it,” ‘
“18 the island uninhabited? asked Lily. 94 ©
be
and degraded. They willnotharm you, but they will
keep &@ keen watch on you. They speak a langnage it

ing driven out-of my course, and it so happened that I
wen the good-will of their chief through presents of trin- |
kets and whisky. A little whisky would make him my
slave.”?

“Your master seems to help you in yourschemes+’ said
Richard, bitterly. ‘“fake care that he dces not desert
you one of these days, and-leave you to the tate you rich-
ly deserve. The wicked do not always thrive, Captain
Stocks. The right mustsome day triamph.,?? :

“Tam willing. Therightmay triumph as soon as it
pleases, after 1 have pocketed the half of my brother’s
fortune. You two won’t be harmed. At best a year or
two of exile—that is all.” :

“That is all 1? repeated Lily, indignantly... “itis noth-
ing that my mother weeps in vain for her lost children,
that my father thinks us dead. . Captain Stocks, your vil-
lainy. 18s prospering now, but a day of repentance is com-
ing.’ :

She spoke so solemnly as almost to startle her enemy.

“T have taken you into my confidence,’’ he said, recov-
ering himself, “and it only remains to say that you will
have no opportunity to escapeagain. My boats are too
well Secured to be easily lowered. My second mate and
all the men friendly to you are watched. Iam a desper-
ate man, and not likely to be outwitted or thwarted. You
nay resign yourselves to whatis inevitable.”

Lily shuddered at the prospect before them. Richard
grew pale and stern, and his brown-eyes held in them a
steady and awful rebuke to their villainous enemy, bus,
the lad could not trust himself to speak.

What would speech avail? ‘The villain was alike. in-
sensible to tears, prayers and entreaties, to threatening
and scorn. Richard would not expose to Stock’s mock-
ing gaze his own bleeding heart. :

“Do with us as you will,”’ he said, at length, solemnly.
“There is One over all—One whose arms have been about .
us till now, and who will not forsake us while we need
as protection.” ;

“Oh, if you are going to talk piety, Pll go on deck,??
said Stocks, arising. *tYowll find your rooms ready—
clean sheets and all. You’d better tum in pretty soon.
Um going to blow out the cabin light m half an hour.”

He .went on deck, and Lily and: Richard went to the
maiden’s room, and there in the darkness, knelt by Lily’s
trunk to pray. They arose, strengthened and comforted,
and sat on the trunk, for a long time talking, but separa-

‘ted at last, both soon faHing asicep im their respective

berths. : ‘

And while they slept, the winds blew the Dolphin on-
ward to her destination—that destination of Which th
mate and the captain alone knew the secrets! ,

(To be continued.) i

BURNETT'S COCOAINE is the best hair-dressing.

, a

Our Knowledge Box.
A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING,

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—)
J. C.. Wickliffe.—Corying Ink.—A correspondent recommends
the following recipes: “Put Aleppo galls, well bruised, four
and a half ounces, and logwood chipped, one ounce; with three’
pints of soft water, into a stoneware mug; boil slowly until.one
quart remains; add, well powdered, the pure green crystals of”
sulphate of iron, two anda half ounces; blue vitriol or verdi-
gris, (i think the latter better) one-half ounce; gum arabic, two
ounces; and brown sugar, two ounces; shake it occasionally for
a week alter making; then, after standing a day, decant and
cork, Toprevent molding, add a little brandy or alcohol. The
above may be used for-eommon purposes as well as for copy-
ing. A copying ink thatis more easily made is prepared by
adding a little sugar ‘to ordinary black ink. Writing executed
with this ink may. be copied within. the space of five or ‘six
hours, by passing it through a press in contact with thin un-
sized paper, when a reversed copy will be obtained, but which
will read in proper order by holding the back of . the copy to-
ward you, with a light behind it. Writing executed with this
ink, may be copied after any lapse of time, by employing damp
copying paper. A warm dat-iron passed over the fatter, laid
upon the writing, may be substituted for the use of the copying-
press...... . H. W.—You will find your answer inNo. 6
Lock Port.—You require medical advice...... Hew Haven.—There
are two recipes for Brackine.—l. Molasses, one pound; ivory
black, one pound anda quarter; sweet oil, two ounces; mix
well, and tien add a little lemon juice or strong vinegar. 2.
ivory black, one ounce anda half; molasses, one ounce and a
half; sperm oil, three, drachmms, strong oil of vitriol, three
drachms; vinegar, halfa pint; mix the ivory black, molasses
and vinegar together, then mix the sperm oil and oil of vitriol
separately, ana add themtothe other mixture...,B. J. W.—
First apply kerosene oil to your skates to softeir “the rust, and
after twenty-four hours you may polish them! with, prmice
Stone ssciy Moilie.—Melt the spermaceti, then add it gradually to
the tincture in a porcelain mortar, stirring the mass continual
Ieee Scurf.i—Washing the face with lemon juice is effectual in
removing scurfy exbalations...).... St. Louis.—i. A foot-race of
halfa mile every morning, aftera very light breakfast, will
strengthen your lungs. At firstdo not run rapidly, but wait
until you become accustomed to the exercise. 2. Lo remove
pimples, skin erupticns and boils, see No.8. 3. AS a substitute
for tobacco, chew gentian root., It improves the appetite, in-
vigorates the digestive organs, and benefits the nerves. 4. To
expand the chest, procure a pair of Indian clubs, weighing
about six pounds each, and swing them in the most approved
siyle. “As you become stronger you may exercise with weight-
ier clubs. 5. See’ No. 8......2 Angelo.—A. practical photographer
will furnish the desired information if courteously requested to
do s0....Jéerusha.—l. To remove warts, see No. 4. 2. To remove *
moles, touch them with a stickof nitrate of silver, first moistening
the stick with a drop of spittle. “After the application of the
nitrate of silver the mole will turn biack, dry up and fall off in
afew days, If the first application be unsuccessful, or if the
mole does not come off completely, a second trial will be effeo-
tual. Two or three of our subscribers have tried this remedy,
and with the best results. : :

 

 

 

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4 Se oarmmaie THE NEW YORE WEEKLY. #3— —

   
  

  
   

    

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CORA AR RD RB OOOO Oe PAP
New York, January 13, 1870.
The Terms to Subscribers:
One Year-—single copy .............. See. .Three Dollars.
& “ Four copies ($2 50 each)..............Ten Dollars.
“ “ ‘Hight copies ........ SEE Co coe ses Twenty Dollars.

Those sending $2) for a clubof Eight, all sent at one time,
will be entitled to acopy rrem. Getters-up of clubs can after-
ward add singie copies at $2 50 each.

All Letters musé be directed: to
STREET & SMITH,

Office 55 Fulton Street. Box 4896, N.Y.

 

Ramon the Outlaw--Next Week.

 

“The exciting story of “RAMON THE OUTLAW} OR, THE
VICTIM OF FAavE,”’ by FRANcIS A. DURIVAGE, will be
commenced in the next issue of the New YORK WEEKLY.
It is the jirst story which: the’ experienced author has
‘written for us, ‘and we are-certain that it will be pro-
nounced fully equal to any that we have published. ‘‘Ra-
MON THE OUTLAW” is mysterious in plot, and the inci-
dents are numerous, following each otherin rapid succes-
-sion, and keeping the: reader’s curiosity continually on

‘the tiptoe of expectation. "

Remember !—it will be commenced NEXT WEEK.

“A DUEL BY Lor; OR, A WOMAN’S VENGEANCE” is &
beautiful story, with an original plot, strange characters,
and extraordinary: incidents. We pity the woman or
man who has missed reading this delightful story. It is
not too Jate to commence its perusal, as the News Agents
everywhere can furnish the back numbers.

——_—_———_- > 0-1 ___—_—-
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Before another issue of the NEw YORK WEEKLY is given
to the world, the old year, with all its joys and sorrows,
failures, triumphs and tribulations, will have passed
away, and the New Year, holly-crowned and radiant with
mirth, will have dawned upon us.

How «dear to the hearts of all Christians are those
‘blessed seasons, ‘‘The.Merry Christmas” and “The Happy
‘New. Year!? How cordially can we sing:

‘4A: health, then, a health to old..gray-haired December,

With bis holly-crowned brow and his caroling lip—
‘No fire half so bright as the yule faggots ember,

Ne nectar so sweet.as the wassail bowl flip!”

And obdurate indeed must the heart of that man be
who cannot, while the chimes of ‘Happy New Year!’ are
sYinging.in his ears, grasp the outstretched hand of his fel-
Jow. man, and agree to forgive.and forget all past offenses.

-But while to the great mass of humanity these God-.

:given holidays are seasons of rejoicing there are, alas.
-Bome households in which there may be heard weeping
-instead of rejoicing.

‘In one home, perhaps, the shadow of the Death Angel's
-wing mayibe seen. <A loving wife, husband, father,
-mother, brother or sister, may have been called away, and
sthe overchargeu heart will pour: forth its grief. In an-
-Other, the subdued whisper and the muffled tread give
evidence that some loved one may. be stretched upon a
‘bed of suffering. And in yet another the hand of misfor-
stune may be visible. The merchant or tradesman hereto-
fore rich in this world’s. goods, ‘may-see ruin staring him
dn the face, or may already-have fallen. We fear there are
too many of this latter class, forthe past year has been a
trying one for business men, But. let.all remember that

“When the wind blows, the leaves fall,
Yet a good- God reigns over.all.?

iFor those who are bereaved of loved ones there can be
only ene source.of consolation and that lies Heavenward.
But for the invalid there is hope.of. renewed health, and
the ruined tradesman should remember that “Though
sorrow abideth with.us at night joy cometh in the morn-
ing.’ To the man who is determined to succeed and who
is guided by rectitude and integrity, “there is no such
word as fail,’? and what they. have, lest in ’69 they may
regain in ’70.

For ourselves we have every reason to feel thankful—
and we ao feel devoutly thankful—for the success which
has crowned our efforts not only during the past year but
ever since we first assumed the control of the New York
WEEKLY. Our prospects at the start. were, Heaven
knows, gloomy enough. We had but. little money and, as
a consequence, very few friends among business men;
on the contrary we had enemies in plenty; but by dint of
hard work, gredt perseverance and rigid economy, we,
little by dittie, increased our business till it grew at last
to be ‘‘a power in the land,” and to-day we claim for the
NEw YORK :WEEKLY a2. position ‘‘second to none.” Our
business may, without exaggeration, be said to be colos-
sal. We employ at least forty first-class regular contriou-
tors to whom we pay a greater amount of money, in the
aggregate, than is expended by any other similar estab-
lishment for contributions—our circulation is approach-
ing three hundred thousand ‘copies, and is constantly in-
creasing, and for some years past we have expended, on
the average, one hundred thousand dollars per annum for
advertising. The cost of our white paper alone reaches
the cnormous sum of $5,000 per week, or two hundred
and july thousand dollars per annum, while we do not

exaggerate when we assert that. our establishment gives |
gonstant employment to one hundred persons, to say |

nothing of news. agents, bill posters and advertisers. It
4s safe to say that eur total yearly expenses will reach the
handsome figure of half a million doliars.

The best evidence of the popularity of the NEw YORK

WEEKLY is its immense circulation and the scores of
commendatory letters which we are receiving daily, all
of which stimulate uws.constantly to renewed exertions
to make our journal ai} and .more than al that the most
fastidious and captious .could desire. Our paper, in its
entirety, has stood the test of the most rigid criticism as
to its morals. Our stones are indorsed net only by the
heads of church-going families and their pastors, but
orthodox ministers and yainisters’ wives write for it.
We dely ay one to. point to a single line inthe New
YorK WEBKLY calculated-to bring a biush to the cheek
of modesty or to teach an unwholesome lesson,
‘Nor do we ever lose sight of tne fact that we-publish a
paper for the million—a paper:to amuse and instract, not
to vex and annoy. Hence we carefully exclude from our
columns every ‘Subject calculated to arouse either reli-
gious or political bickering. We-have our own individual
opinions concerzing such matters and are entirely will-
ing that our readers should have theirs, and so we keep
closely to our own Business and leave the daily press and
other political and relgious journals to take care of
chureh and state.

In our career thus far we have brought forward and
developed the talents.of more than.ene great writer, but

there is many a great writer as yet undeveloped and we |
1 good-by, he won’t go without it—and see, here’s a purse

hope to add constantly to our list. The eld is open to all,
and we shall see to it that our readers shall have all the
talent that money can buy. If we do not Keep up a sup-
ply of first-class stories during the year 1870, it will not
be through lack of exertion to find writers and liberality
to secure them.
present is our patrons well know—what our future will
be they may readily guess,” and so with ‘with malice to-
ward none and charity for all’’—with a feeling of sincere
pity for our enemies, and deep gratitude to our friends,
we wish one and all “A merry Christmas and & happy
New Year.”
We call the attention of our readers to the stories now
running through the columns of the NEw YORK WEEKLY.
Just look at the list: “‘Baffalo Bill, the King of Border-
men; “The Boy Whaler; or, the Young Rover;” ‘Duel
py Lot; er, a Woman’s Vengeance;” *Cecile’s Marriage;”’
“The Faise Heir;?? and “The Lady of Grand Court.” If
there is not a story among these to suit the taste of any
reader of fiction—then' he or she is very difficult to suit.

What our past has been and what our,

 

ON THE HIGHWAY.

A TEMPERANCE SKETCH.

‘BY NED BUNTLINE.

 

“Stop!?

‘I never, from a boy, liked to yield to coercion. I was
Whipped cruelly at school, once, because the master want-
ed to make me. kiss a girl for punishment, before all the
school, because I slipped a little boy’s love-letter into her
hand, and I wouldn’t obey him. :

But when, just en the outskirts of the city, a harsh
voice uttered the word which heads this story, and in the
cold, wintry starlight I saw something very like a pistol
raised on a dead level with my breast very brief refiec-
tion echoed the word within me, and I stopped!

“— dowt want your life, sir, but I must have money,”
said a man, unshaven, and unshorn, hair and beard mat-
ted, and literally in rags, wita fierce glaring eyes looking
wildly on me. :

“Sir,”? said I, “if you had only been a little sooner, you
could have had some money. I have only car-fare left
now, to get down to Lovejoy’s, for nearly all I had in my
pockets | gave to help a, poor family that was brought to
my notice.”

“You wear gold on your breast. Give me that. Come,
no trifling.” :

“These are the emblems of Temperance orders to which
I belong. I dislike to part with them, for they are gifts
that T value.”

“Temperance? Are you 2 Temperance man?”

“T am.’

“What will temperance dofor me? Will it keep me
from starving? .Willit. keep me out of jail?”

“Yes, if you will try it. You do not seem all bad, or
you would have used your pistol instead of your tongue.
Now come duwn town with me, and let me seeif I can’t
help you.”’ : :

“Yes—you'll give me up to the. first policeman you
meet !”? :

“On my honor as 2 man—no! I will give you food,
and reason with you, and seeif you cannot find some bet-
ter life yet. If you will let me—I will be your friend.”

“Friend! Oh, Heaven! a friend! I who have ruined
myself, brought my family to starvation—and’ at last
taken to the highway. JZhave a friend !? and he laughed
like a maniac. :

‘Yes,’ said I “there.is no one with life yes in him that
has not a triend in Him who died for us all. And should
we erring mortals be less than He in readiness to be-
friend the needy? Come—you are safe. I have tried to
do one good act to-night—let me try to add another to the
list ??

“Take that.”?

He handed me his pistol, and I saw tears in his eyes.

“Take that. I would not have used it, at any rate.
Thisis my first attempt at such work. After a three
weeks’ spree I went there and looked in. It was when
darkness was just shutting down on day-light; and I
Saw that they were starving. Irushed away, went where
I had spent my last cent for drink, took tins pistol from
behind the bar, and made up my mind to rob !””

He pointed as he spoke to a hovel on a vavant lot but a
little way off.

“What!”? I cried, “is your name Elbert Moncton ?’*

“Yes? : ,

“Then itis from your family that I came. There is
food and fuelin, your home now, and to-morrow kind
people will visit your wife and little ones with more sub-
stantial relief. Comeback with me and see them, for
they know nothing of this, and shall not.”

“Merciful Heaven! And Twas about to rob you! Oh,
do not let my poor wife: know how low I had falena—what
I was about to do!” :

“7 will not.”

We went back, anda the drunkard—the almost madman
—entered the hovel-home to which his family had been
brought from affluence by his own mad folly and the use
of strong drink. His wile ana children, gaunt and -pale
bing long suffering, were eating by the light of a blazing

re.

“Husband—father!??

These glad words came even from those whom he had
neglected, abused. :

é He rushed forward, weeping like a child, and embraced
them.

It was a scene I cannot picture. I will not try. I stood
and cried, too—I was:so-happy.» - :

That man has not tasted strong drink since. His
name is.at ihe bottom of a pledge never to do so. He
works daily, with returning ‘strength in his arms and
hope in his heart. The principles of Faitn, Hope and
Charity have been exemplified in his case and ‘tone
more unfortunate,” lifts-up his-voice in thankfulness to
God that he is saved froma drunkard’s shame and a
drunkard’s death.

Readér—thousands are on the verge—reach out your
hand to save and Heaven will bless anid help you! There
is work all around’you !’’Do ito it!

 

* Of course the name is fictitious, and for obvious reasons the
real one must remain unknown.

‘NO HEART.”
A CHRISTMAS TALE,

BY ANNIE ASHMORE.

 

 

 

“You are losing your way, sir. My advice to you is to
stop, and never again, never again do you hear ? scale so
slippery a hight.”

“Losing our way ? My dear Miss Chassreau what are
you thinking of ? There are our guides just beyond, with
your father and the mules. Are you getting uneasy of
this long climb, and will you give me that alpenstock,
and lean upon my arm ? or shall we Call a halt?”

She turned to him her scorning face—beautiful as the
eternal glacier above them, sunlit with smiles too cold to
thaw its splendor into softness; eyes royal blue, as the
gentian blossoms which her cavalier had scaled the im-
minent precipice for, and fastened in her hair; instinct
with indignation, trembling with pride.

“Yes, we shall calla halt, and you shall go your way
while 1 go mine. You have been telling me of my virtues
sir, and beneath the flattering cataloque I have read your
credulous foolishness. Before you say another word, Mr.
Delamere, it is no; and how dare you so far forget the—
the difference between us ??

“As how, empress ???

‘s] am an heiress and a beauty,” broke out the lady
with a hot, ard flush, and a stamp-on the crisping moss
of the mountain pass; ‘my father has amassed a splendid
fortune—has raised himself from a tradesman to be the
tit companion of peers of the realm—has exhausted the
resources of luxury and accomplishment upon me, and
all that I, his only child, may ally him to the nobility by—
by marriage. Do you see no difference between me and
a person who is traveling about the Alps not even for
pleasure, but as paid correspondent of some petty Lon-
don paper—the Art Journal 2”

‘A vast difference, Miss Chassreau; and yet 1 think a
brave heart—nay, even a timid, womanly heart—wonold
soon throw a bridge over the dreadful chasm and cross
the fissure in safety.”

“But I have no heart, sir—no. heart whatever. And
therefore I turn from the future you offer me with utter
indignation. If you had not persistently blinded your-
self,’? she continued, ina hurried and imperative voice,
“vou would see that I am the last woman on earth whom
you should have toved. 1 have not even gratitude to give
you in return for the hundred dangers from which you
‘have saved me these past weeks among the Alpine passes,
nor even have Iso muchas thanked you for the great
service you rendered ns in saving my father’s life when
he had fallen, at Jungirau, down the glacier but for your
prompt bravery. I would care but little if [saw you lying
dead on the shore of vonder yelling cataract. Tobe sure
I would care very little were I swept after you—so litile
have I of freshness or youth’s joy in living. But life, such
as it is, must be gorgeous before it is to me worth having.
Why should you waste one thought upon a woman who
worships only a yellow-faced Pluto? You and 1 are at
opposite ends of the ladder, so farewell, Paul Delamere.”’

The young voice rang through the clear mountain air
both resolutely and haugntily—perhaps too resolutely and
too hanghtily, considering the vast difference between.
them. But this young man seemed neitoer afraid ef her
scorn nor ker anger, and was hard to convince. And go,
mayhap, was some one else.

But the little wrinkled old man on the bridge which
spanned a yawning chasm, far in advance, was beckon-
ing them to come on, and the guides were shouting, so
she gladly left her wooer behind her and mounted her
mule at her father’s side.

In the peaceful meadow of Andermath, where they
stopped at a hospice for the night, Egeolia Chassreau was
called from her musings at her casement, which faced a
world of painted mist and snow-peaks crowned with
moonbeams, to bid Paul Delamere farewell.

“Hehas fallen in with a man whom he says is his
friend,” said old Chassreau, peevishly, “and who writes
poetry for his journal, and he is going away with him to
explore the lura Chain, leaving us alone in this wretched
place with these harpies of guides. They’re all alike, my
dear, these ungrateful dogs to whom we condescend—
toady us to-day, forsake us to-morrow. I think he had
designs en you, my dear—the presumptuous dog. But |
gave him a hint of his place. Come and bid the fellow

forme. Give him that—he was of use to us.’

Miss Chassreau took the purse and went down to the
importunate suitor with a scarlet flush on both cheeks
this time which perhaps the delicate acknowledgment
she held in her hand for past kindnesses, helped to deep-
en, *Twas a vulgar recompense—an insult for honors,be-
stowed.

“Diamonds they say are very hard,” said Paul Dela-
mere with alow bow, “and 1 have come to the conclu-
sion that a poor man could not warm his hands at their
brilliance, so—I lay my apologies and farewells at the
feet of the woman who tells me she has *‘no heart,”?
and beg her to muse on the presumption of Paul Dela-
mere until these Alpine blossoms have withered, when
she may cast them and his memory away.’’

A wreath of scented flowers fell on her head; @ crown
of gentians and purple rhododendron and other
blossoms, for which he must have scaled the Cliffs
where the cbamois-hunter scarce would dare; and the
man whose mocking, searching eyes had ever the power
to set the worldly heart of the woman wildly beating,
bowed lower than before and raised her hand, still grasp-
ing the golden value of his friendship. =

“What? a penny tothe penniless??? he jibed; “how
you must prize my services when you reward them by
that which you prize more than yourself! Thanks fair
maiden.”

 

“I had no purpose of offering it,’? said Miss Chassreau,
flinging it from her with an angry-hand; ‘‘you do me in-
justice sir, if you think this wretched compensation——”’

“Nay, but what is so dear to you must also be dear to
me!”’ cried this eccentric suitor, picking up the purse
and placing it in his bosom.

And with & last look into her flushing, frowning face,
he laughed and strode away.

It was Christmas-eve, A thousand wax candles rese up
like show wreaths from their garlands of mistletoe, and
illuminated the saloons of Koland Chassreau, the rich
goldsmith, whose only daughter was to become this night
the bride of the Right Honorable Dudly Lottus Jerning-
ham, Lord Elcho, 16th baron of the house of Eicho, whose
heraldry had out-heralded all other suitors for the hand
of the brightest diamond in the old goldsmith’s stock.

In selecting a daughter of the people the English lord
had looked well that she should have a generous dower
both of wealth and beauty, to counterbalance the draw-
back of. being a commoner whose father was little, and
yellow, and grubbing as the fabled dwarf who digs for
gold beneath the Danish mountains.

As for love, or any of that nonsense, his lordship had
neither given nor asked for it, and it was quite an under-
stood thing that each party had given as much as they
got in this transaction.

Therefore, Egeolia Chasseau marched on her way to the
pinnacle of her life’s ambition without attempting any
love-smiles, such as brides bestow upon the husbands of
their hearts. : Be,

They entered the gorgeous rooms. passed through the
hushed and respectiul throng; stood beneath a great
arch of mistletoe Which had been hung in pious com-
memoration of the night, and, like a dream, came the
words of the marriage service to the ears of the bride.

“Keeolia Florence, wilt thou have this man to be thy
wedded husband, to live together after Heaven’s ordin-
ance in the holy estate of matrimony?—wilt thou obey
him, and serve him—love, honor, and keep him in sick-
ness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep ye only
unto him so long as ye both shall live?”

The bride awoke from her trance, started back, and
gazed with eyes full of flashing scorn upon her bride-
groom. at

“No!? she cried, “I cannot do this thing!”

“Heeolia!” muttered her father, attempting to prevent
her from leaving her place, ‘what do you mean ?”?

“No!” she cried, still more vehemently, ‘I cannot
promise a lie, so I thréwup-the contract!”

“But you are half-wedded!? whispered Lord Elcho, with
a heavy frown. “What can you mean, madam? You
cannot possibly draw back now!’?

“Tam free yet, am I not?” demanded the bride-elect,
Sweeping up to the astonished clergyman.

“Yes, but my dear young: v

“Then thank Heaven, I shall remain so)?

She burst into tears, clasped her hands with a motion of
deep gratitude, and vanished from the room.

The guests were speechless with dismay—the father of
the fickle bride speechless with rage and mortification.
My lord became white with passion—swore it should be
all right, and withdrew from the gaze of the assembly.
The bridesmaids wept and hurried after the bride to see
what effect their tears would have upon her; the grooms-
inen stared at each other, winked, and strove to look
amused. ‘

There was very little feod for jocularity, however, when
an hour passed and still the bride remained obdurately
locked within her chamber.

At ten o’clock the little old man, as yellow as one of his
own guineas, presented himself, and communicated to
his dear friends who had done him the honor of becom-
ing his guests, that there would be no wedding ceremony
that night, owing to his daughter’s indisposition, but
that he hoped to meet them all on some iuture occasion,
not far distant, when Miss Chassreau should be better
fitted 'to fulfill her part as bride and hostess.

Quietly the guests departed, and soou the luckless gold-
smith was left alone, save for the furious bridegroom,
who now appeared to demand an explanation.

Even then Eyeolia refused to be seen by any save her
father, and he was fain to ehter her chamber, leaving my
lord striding about the deserted saloons, and cursing,
while yet he admired, the capriciousness of his bride.

“] hope you are going to explain yourself now, Egeolia,”
said old Chassreau,; slamming the door and turning upon
his daughter witn a glare of paternal severity. ‘What is
the meaning of this outrageons insult which you have
passed upon your affianced, your father, and the guests
who were gathered beneath this roof?”

Miss Chassreau had yas Se ha exquisite bridal array

 

and was Clad as simply asvif she had been the daughter of
a peasant, and yet she lad never seemed quite so lovely
before.

“Dear father do not be angry,” she said gently clasping
his hang; ‘I did a very bold thing, iknow, but oh, 1 am
so thank?al thar] had the courage. I could not take these
vows upon me—”’ she closed her eyes and shuddered,
‘when it was in reality but a barter of myself for what
he could give me.) # phi

“You should havetaaght of alihat before! By. Hea-
ven, youshall marry Lbrd Eicho, or you are na daughter
of mine. Vll have no body here defying me and frustra-
ting my life-long struggie for astation im life.’

“On dear dear father, don’t turn me away, ordon’t try
to force me back iuto tins wickeed.worldliness in which I
have veen steeped so long. “ou would not have your
Egeolia the wife ofa man whom she could not love? Let
her have her own way in this, and ifshe is not a great
woman at Jeast she maf be a good one.”

“You shall carry your plans out elsewhere or submit
yourself fo your father’s authority, madam.”’

Egeolia rose with a mournful sigh, and brought a cas-
ket, which she placed beside her father.

“There are bis lordship’s diamonds,” she said, display-
ing the magnificent set of jewels which had played upon
her lovely person an hour before; ‘and the other gifts
which he did me the honor to present me, I return with
my humble duty and regrets that his lordship should
have had any trouble about his matrimonial purchase.
The best reparation I can offer him is, his freedom from
the claims of a greedy adventuress who would have
grasped his gilded bait, but whose courage failed.”

She looked so noble and generous in her fearless peni-
tence, thay any father with: a spark of the divine within
him might have clasped her in his arms and forgiven her
for very pride and joy; but the man before her was un-
moved !

The beauteous flower had opened into bloom, and
proved, not a gaudy parasite of earth, but a divinely-
nurtured blossom breathing Heaven’s perfumes—bending
meekly for his fostering care.

And with a furious hand he tore it up and cast 1t from
him!

Again it was Christmas-eve, —

The veriest. garlands of feathery snow-flakes had
lightly-draped the trees, and the gray old rocks and the
leaf-strewn paths in and about the Black Forest; and they
had decked the thatch of a tiny cottage, deep hidden
under the trees, with a pure garment, whiter than royal
ermine. ;

Quiet enough was the scene about the cottage. . You
may be sure no children were there, for not one solitary
footprint had skipped the snow which covered the path up
to the door-step. : ae

One might scarcely believe that anything living was
there, but that a faint, blue curl of smoke sailed up from
the chimney and dissolved in the air; the neat white
blind, too, was half drawn, tuough no face had looked
trom the window the long day.

Far away froma world which had been to her but
mammon, the goldsmith’s daughter had taken refuge
from the carping reproaches of her friends, that she
might, undisturved, pursue the sudden object of her life.

She lived so quietly that few of the rough Cornish fish-
ermen in the village, two miles distant, Knew anything
about her, but that she played the organ for them on
Sundays, and kept a class of Sunday-scholars. She drop-
ped as completely out of their sight when her Sunday
duties were ended, as if she went back to London, where
tradition said she had belonged, and they never thought
of her again, until they heard the matin hymn on the
next Sunday morning. :

Except her meager pay as organist, Miss Chassreau’s
means were invisible, and she had no friends whatever,
except, perhaps, the curate, who lived ten miles off, on
the Cornish coasts, and who had twice paid hera pas-
toral visit, but. found it well not to go again, as the mys-
terious lady was very lovely and his fiancee was not.

It is not to be wondered then that Egeolia lay back in
her wide old chair, with folded hands, fully expecting
that death should:come upon her unseen by humun eye.

For weeks past she had been failing in healthy a frugal
life and loneliness, and longing fora father’s love, who
had ever worshiped her—had been tov much for the
child of luxury. Kach Sunday she had felt that she was
weaker, and that the walk was longer to the village
church, and she thought that she would ask one of the
village women to come and stay with her for a while, in
case .

Butshe had putit off, and now she feared it was too
late. The boy who brought her weekly supplies from the
village, had forgotten her, as indeed he had often done
before, wnen she was able to help herseli, but now she
was chained to her chair by weakness, and want was Sap-
ping her vitals. Yes, want: the darling of the old mu-
lionaire had tasted nothing for two days, and was per-
ishing of hunger.

The villagers would gather in their church to-morrow
to hear of Christ’s nativity; and they would wait in vain
for the Christmas matin from the organ; and, mstead of
“Glory to God !””? there would be silence.

Perhaps the organist would be harping it In Heaven.

Slowly the shadows of an unseen world gathered round
the lovely girl. Memory flitted back and forth, charged
with phantoms, and filled the little chamber with scenes
of days gone by.

But not of the glitter and gold which she had lost; not
of the pageantry which was to have been hers.

A fragment of a Tyrolese carol stole to her ears, and she
seemed again to feel the ecstatic ether of the Alpine
mountains, and to be bounding up the narrow passes
with a birdlike lightness, :

And then she seemed to see a form filling the chair
opposite her, and looking at her with a smile as of for-
giveness and pity; and a glow stole ever the girl’s white
face, and she stretched forth her arms with a cry of

  

 

joy.

But the phantom was gone, and aruby hght from the
setting sun was in its place. 5

“{ shall never see him again,” whispered Egeolia Chas-
sreau, weeping.

Egeolia’s phantoms gathered thick around her, as long
want and weakness fevered her brain. Ss

For the second time that figure, which was filling ail her
thoughts, seemed to come in from the outer silver night,
and to stand before her, filling the murky room with light
as from another world.

And with a smile, as if they had but parted gayly a day

ago, he took a golden purse from his bosom any offered |

 

it to her. The moon-beams silvered his countenance, and
touched it with a heavenly love and radiancy. Those
deep, unutterable eyes wliose kingly might had snared
the heart from her keeping and made her what she was.
beamed upon her as of old. :

She stretched out her hands in joy, but, mindful that
it was but a phantom, forbore to break the spell by
speech:

i “I have come to repay the gold you gave me at part-
ing.

What was this !

Her cold hands were caught in a warm pressure;
laughing, joyous lips were pressed to hers as never spirit
greeted mortal.

She was raised to his breast, and held a half-loosed
Spirit, truly, but toa heart which owned to no ethereal
pulse in its full and lusty beating.

“My brave girl, you havi; borne the trial nobly.”

“Paul,’? whispered she, clinging close to him, “is this a
blessed vision ?”” :

“No vision, my darling. I have found you at last, and
you have-a heart, and Paul Delamere has won it.”?

An hour later a fire was blazing in the little cottage,
and the table covered with aright royal feast,and Egeolia,
woak as an infant,was taking the first food that had
crossed her lips for forty-eight hours from the tenderest
hand in all the world; though she never told a human
soul oi that long and terrible past,) and Paul Delamere
explaining to her his presence there.

“I knew you loved me,” he said with that quiet, genial
smile which had never quailed before her even in her
days of haughty scorn, “long before I made my proposal,
and I knew your true and unselfish heart 80 much better
than you knew. it yourself, my darling, that | was sure
you would triamph over the evil influences of your life, so
when I bade you farewell at the hospice of Andermath, it
was with the inward assurance that I should win you in
the end. I watched your career in secret, and saw (with
what pride and joy my Hgeolia !) how you rose up in your
noble scorn of the life to which they were drawing you
and rebelled against the unholy sacrifice. I wonld have
claimed you then, as my own Heaven-appointed bride,
but you had disappeared. I have been searching for you

these months, until beginning to despair, lapplied. to,

your father. He told meI might claim youif I chose—
gave me your address, and a note which you had written
three weeks ago, in which I saw for myself how sweetly
my love was changed, and sent me here charged with his
full forgiveness and assurance that you will be immediat-
ly restored to his favor—that is if you accept me.”

“What? my father?” exclaimed Egeolia, joy breaking
over every feature; ‘has he changed ???

“Not much, I fear,” said the lover,.smiling. ‘But you
will humor his present caprice, will you not, and take a
poor man to please -+him when you would not have a
lord?” “With my whole heart, Paul !’

“You said you had ‘No heart.’ ”

——— [had. You had taken it from me, you cruel
man!

“Then when you chose to be mine you will mar
love,’ do you say?”

‘*Yes indeed, Paul.”

“And not a bit tor rank or station???

‘I bade farewell to these a year ago.??

‘People won’t say 80”?

“Why, Paul?

“Don’t jilt me at the altar, love. I was very anxious to
win the finest woman in the world for pure love, and I
dissembled a little. I am not wholly dependent upon the
bounty of the Art Journal; that is, I have ceased my con-
nection with that respectable paper, 80 that the diamond
will not be thrown upon so ignoble a bed as an ash-heap.
I have another name besides Paul Delamere, which is—
Earl of Vinesne, and you shall bea duchess. Forgive
Me.” “Oh, Paul???

“Forgive me, darling, will you not?”

‘Tl would rather you had been poor!
much of the pomp and vanity-———”’

“But you have been disciplined, my noble girl, and so
have i. Wealth and rank need not shut us out of Heaven’s
smile; rather take them as an additional blessing where-
with to be useful. You are going to forgive me?”

She wound her arms about him, and raised her fond,
sweet eyes, starry with tenderness and joy.

“King or beggar, you are the dearest object on earth to
me, aud I kiss you in forgiveness!”

The placid moon silvered the stately forest until its
Winding path was bright as day, and a procession of vil-
lage carolers, With flambeans, alit and holly branches
borne alot, came up to the cottage door, with perhaps 2
correct perception of affairs within; and they sang with
clear young voices a carol which is dearer to the Duchess
of Viuesne pow than noblest strains by world-famed
Jenny Lind, for it pointed her on a Christmas eve far
gone tothe path which leads to Heaven!

OS
A new story of thrilling interest entitled “THE Monx’s
PROPHESY; OR, THE MYSTERY OF THE BLACK Dia-
MOND,” will.soon be commenced. “The story ‘is, by Mrs.
Helen Gerwin Fisher, and exceeds in all the elenients of
interest anything which her versatile pen has yet given
to the public.

‘for

Ihave seen so

 

To Correspondents.

Gossre with RrapErs anp CONTRIBUTORS. —

J. H. ., a private of Co. D, Battalion Engineers, now stationed
at Yerba Buena. Island, Cal., writes the following neatly ex-
pressed and decidedly appreciative commendation of our course
in adding “‘Ned Buntline” to the New York WxEKLY’s large and
talented corps of contributors: ‘With pleasure I noticed your
announcement of having secured the versatile pen of Col. E. Z.
. Judson. Since my boyishaays I have been an admirer of
Ned Bunitline’s’ writings. Years have sped since I first read his
effusions in the Flag of Our Union, the then Jeading paper of the
day, and the famous ‘Black Avenger’ still retains a bright spot
in my memory. Without knowing the why, I have ever ‘kept
track’ of Ned Buntline—ever having glorified in his successes,
and sympathized with him in his reverses and errors (of the head,
but not ot the heart); and te know that he has dashed to the
earth the poisoned chalice, that but holds close prisoner one’s
better being, is indeed glorious intelligence. And trom the many
temptations thst may assail him with their siren-like inflences,
I sincerely wish from my heart of hearts that an All-wise Provi-
dence will protect and. enable him to maintain his manly re-
solve. That 1t isnone of my business to intrude in another’s at-
fairs, Lireely admit, but having trod the fiery paths that lead
but to the dread portals of the Valley of Shadows, I cannot but
leel proud that another has stayed his downward steps. The
present and the juture are, Wisely, God’s precious boons to man-
kind, given to eradicate the dark past by bright fulfillment of
the coming time.”...... Delphi.—lst. Scylla (“sil-la”) is a promon-
tory and current of the Mediterranean, in the Straits of Messina,
which separates Sicily from the Neapolitan territory. Charyb-
dis (‘‘ka-rib-dis’’) is a dangerous whirlpool on the coast of Sicily,
opposite that of Scylla. Tne difficulty of escaping both these
whirlpoois gave rise to the proverb of “avoiding Scylla and tall-
ing into Charybdis;” meaning, that in our eagerness to fly from
one evil we may fall into anuther equally great. 2d. It is out-
side of our province to present the different forms of religious
belief; besides, our space would not permit of our stating the
bélief entertained by any Christia1. denomination so as to do it
justice and give the reader a comprehensive view of the differ-
erences existing between it and other sects of Christians. 3d.
The expression “so long,” often used by men when bidding each
other “yood-by,” merely means ‘for a short time,” or ‘until we
meet ina short time.” 4th. The inhalation of any dust is.injuri-
ous to the lungs, and means should be taken to keep it from mix-
ing with theair which youbreathe. 5th. There are twenty-four
ribs in both the man and the woman. 6th. Glycerm is one of
the best applications that can be made to the skin for cutaneous
Giseases, but it will inno way affect the natural color of the
skin. A brunette cannot become fair by using glycerin as a
wash, nor can a tair woman gain a darker hue trom its use.....
J B.—The phrase “I had rather eat none than eat a bad one,”
though in commen use, is neither elegant nor correct. The word
“would” should. be used instead of “had.” ‘Wouid” denotes
will or resoiution, while “had” denotes possession..... Greany.—
You should allow the lady to wait in the general sitting-room...
.... Lotia Firefly.—ist. The lady is not married, we have been
given to understand. 2d. Itis ridiculous to-think of buying a
six-chambered revolver for $150. You could not buy a good
pop-gun tor that sum. 3d. You can buy a violin box at any store
where musical instruments are sold. 4th. A mixture of lemon
juice and salt or a litle spirit of ammonia will remove wainut
sais trom the skin 5th. Ushers in theatres are not well paid,
and the positions are not easily secured........ Constant Reader.—
You cannot get fair board in New York city under $8 a week...
... Littl Nell and the Jlarchioness.—To all your questions we can
only say, we have no knowledge of the tuture movements of the
persons named...... W. Loraine.—See answer to “Lotta Firefly.”
re Foreman.—lt is always in bad taste for an employee to
make presents to an employer. It has the appearance, although
springing from nothing but kind and pure motives, of the “crook-
ing of the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may fellow
tawning.” A giit trom an employer toan employee is an ac-
knowledgement of the latter’s faithful services—from an em-
plyee to an employer, a bid for future tavors...... i. Price.—
Youean tind the articie at ahnost any optician’s, at prices to
suit your pusyse........ J. Henry Rogers.—ist. We can furnish all
the numbers you want but No. 49. ‘The cost for postage and pa-
pers will be 58 cents. 2d. Hereaiter when writing do not neglect
to give the name of the State in which you reside. There are
nineteen Cantons in the United States. How is it possible for us
to tell in whien of them you live?...... C. A. Thyme.—ist. It isa
somewhat early age to commence writing, but itis in no way in-
jurions to begin waiting carly; indeed, it has a good effect in
teaching the young to think, and givesthem the command of
good words in which to express their thoughts. 2d. It 1s not
castomary for an editor to publish articles from an anonymous
writer. ‘he writer can use an assumed name, and the editor is
bound in honor. not to let the real name be known against the
wish of the writer. 3d. Of course, writers known to fame get
the preference to unknown writers. 4th. Authorship is profit-
able employment when the author succeeds in catching the ear
of the public, an honor which some writers far above mediocrity
never attain. 5th. Whether the writer shall use his or her own
name, or an assumed one, is altogether a matter of taste. It is
not the name attached to writings which insures them readers,
but the excellence of the writings. 6th. Yes, you have some
talenr, which by care may be en arged. Remember this bit of
advice; Offer nothing for publication until you are satisfied that
you cannot improve it—careless and rapid writing are not beau-
ties but faults in a young writer. 7th. Your penmanship would
be improved by making your characters rounder than those in
Do not write a back-hand style, it 1s the worst of

 

the specimen. J S
all styles of peumanship...... Albert Robbins. —We wi l commence
the story in the course of a couple of months...... Buffalo Bill.—

Ist. A man cannot be compelled to give a receipt for money paid
tohim. 2d. You write a good hand, but it is not quite up to the
bookkeeper’s standard...... San Francisco.—1st. Tobacco was un-
known to Europeans until the discovery of America by Colum-
bus, when it was first noticed by sailors sent ashore by Columbus
at Cuba. They found the natives, to their astonishment, puffing
smoke from their mouths and noses, which they afterward
learned was derived trom the combustion of the dried leaves of
the tobacco plant. The name is supposed to be derived from
the Indian “tabacos,” the name the Caribs gaveto the pipesin
which they smoked the plant. Others derive it from Tabasco
a province of Mexico; others from the island of Tobago, one of
the Caribbees; and others trom Tobasco in the Gult of Mexico.
2d. Read the reports of the Indian Bureau. 3d. Kit Carson died
at Fort Lynn, Colorado, of a rupture of an artery of the neck,
May 23,1868 4th. You write a careless hand...... Cyrus Deane.—
“The Witch of the Ocean; or, The Lady of the Silver Spray”
will certainly be commenced inside of two months........ enry
Halsheimer.—We cannot furnish the pictures...... D. L. B.—We
cannot give you any information about the panorama...... A, N.
H.—I\st. At the conclusion of the late war the United States had
the largest navy of all the nations; but it has been so greatly re-
duced since peace was declared that both England and France
have larger navies. 2d. The Ironsides could have crossed the
ocean if necessary without danger of being wrecked. The ves-
sel saw as rough weather in rounding Cape Hatteras as it would
haveencountered in crossing the Atlantic. 3d, Yes, there was

-of his great tortune......d

 

one convicted in New York within the last five or six years.
4th. No., 5th. It has been universally acknowledged that Amer-
ican ship builders have surpassed the world in building wooden
oa and they claim that American iron is better suited toship
building than any other iron in the world. Owing to the high
price of labor in this country we canot enter into compecition
with the European builders of iron ships.....-.. Viola.—The New
York WEEKLY was first published under its present name on-the
20th of March, 1858. Previous to that time ir was known as the
New York Weekly Dispatch...... Rokewocd.—An alien cannot hold,
inherit, or devise real estate in this State..... BC. FD. st.
We expect that matter for publication shall be readably written,
and otherwise prepared for putting in the hands of the printer.
We.do not intend to pay for stories, and be atthe expense of
having them rewritten. 2d. Foolscap is the best paper tor writ-
ing lengthy contributions on. 3d. We have various prices......
G. W.—list. Get light dumb bells and use them for half an hour
each morning before breakfast, and watk five or six miles every
day. 2d. Your friends are rightand you are wrong. You are
altogether too young to think of marrying or making an en-
gagement. Like most boys, you have fallen in love with a lady
older than yourself. Did you marry, the chances are that in
four or five years you would be sincerely sorry that you were
in such haste. Wait for three years, and then begin to think of
marriage. 3d. Chicago is undoubtedly the most busy city of the
West. Which of the three cities named is the largest In popula
tidn at the present time it is hard to say...... Ignorunt.—ist. The
only situation you could get in the navy would be that of lands-
man. 2d. The Brooklyn navy-yard is on the Lony Island side of
the East river, immediately opposite New York....... G. O.—Ist.
The best thing to clean the teeth with is a brush, common soap,
and plenty of clean water; or soft water in which salt has been
dissolved. 2d. We cannot furnish the entire numbers inciuded
in Vol. XXIV. A volume of the New York WEEKLY Costs $3.....
Luny Witliams.—\1st. The State of Virginia. 2d. Wedo not know.
Sie Sperm Oil.—All the persons named are quacks, and. their
medicines dangerous nostrums....... Old Reader.—Quacks. :.....
Omega.—I\st. The instinct which renders the €arrier Pigeon so
valuable is its very strong love of home, which is, in some de- .
gree, common to all the varieties of domesticated pigeons. The
mode of training them in Turkey, where the art is supposed to
be carried to the greatest periection, is this: The person who has
charge of rearing and training them watches tor the arrival of
the young pigeons at the full strength of wing, and then takes
them in a covered basket to a distance of about half a mile trom
home; they are then set atliberty, and if any of then. fail in
returning home from this short distance, they are considered
useless and are rejected as valueless. Those that. return home
are then taken to greater distances, progressively increased from
2 to 1000 miles, and they will then return trom alniost any dis-
tance; 2d. It would be considered polite for a gentleman to do
SOE ae An Old Reader.—lst. You can learn to-play the aecordeon
either from written or oral instruction. 2d. The best time to
practice with dumb bells isin the morning belore breakfast.
3d. Miss Catharine Beecher’s book on “Calisthenics” is a most
excellent work....4. Roche.—We dosend the New YORK WzEKLY¥Y
to toreign countries. The postage differs in price to the differ-
ent countries. To England itis but two cents a copy, but to
Germany it issixcents...... Charlesiown.—It is strange that a man
of education and character. should toist upon us the writings of
another as his own, and expect to escape detection. Strange as
this may appear it sometimes occurs. The plagiarism to which
you call our attention is acase in point: A few week ago we
published a clever sketch entitled ‘‘Within the Vail.” In three
days from the publica‘ion of the paper in which it appeared we |
received your letter with an extract from an article credited to
George D. Prentice. We compared the extract with the first
five paragraphs of “Within the Vail,” and found them almost
word for word the same. You justly say: ‘I suppose 1 must
have escaped your attention, as gentlemen of your intelligence
cannot regard literary theft in any other light than as a disgrace
to any man who makes the slightest pretense to originality.’
We regard such bold plagiarisms as the author of ‘‘Within the
Vail” has been guilty of as not only criminal but eminently fool-
ish, because they cannot escape etection, and the perpetrator
of the petty crime is presented to the public in a most unenviable
light. Wethank “Charlestown” and all other readers of the
New YorK WEEK y that take sufficient interest in it to take the
trouble to expose impositions which may be practiced upon us,
and they can rest assured that no second attempt by the same
person will be successtul...... Lord Rosendury.—ist. You should
write to the young lady, requesting her_toreturn the pin. 2d.
See “Knowledge Box.”........8. 6. C—We have no sympathy
with doctrines of “affinity,” nor withany paltermg with the
simple rule laid down by the Savior. Wright and wrong are not
matters of sentiment, but of fact; and aH attempts to gloss the
betrayal of right by fine spun theories shoutd be condemned with
greater severity than the actual commissiomof: crime; for the
tirst tends to warps the judgment of the ignorant, while the last
only injures those 1m mediately affected. We may have forgive-
ness and sympathy for those who weakly succumb to tempta-
tion; but we have nothing but condemnation tor the crime......
Navy Boy.—Iist. The President hus the appointmentof ten naval
cadets each. The cadets are those whom the President sees fit
to choose, and the sous of naval officers have no more claims
than the sons of civilians. 2d. To gain admission tothe Naval
Academy the candidate must between 14 and 18 years of age.
3d. Each Congressional district is entitled to ove appointment to
the Naval Acaiemy once in four years. 4th. Apprentices are
now taken in the navy...... Woeter Wolf.—George Peabody was
born at Danvers, Mass., p
he went to work in a grocery where he remained till he was fif-
teen, and atter spending a year with his grandfather, at Thet-
tord, Vt., he went to Newburyport as clerk for his brother, who
opened a dry goods store there. The shop being consumed by
fire, he next went with an uncleto Georgetown, D. C., where
the following two years the business was conducted in his name,
though a mmor, Finding’ himself m- danger of being held re-
sponsible for debts he had not contracted, he withdrew from the
business in 1814, and became a partner of Elisha Riggs in the dry
goods trade. ‘the next year the house was removed to Balti-
more, whereit soon had a large business, and in 1822 branch
bouses were established in New York and Philadelphia. In 1829
Mr. Peabody crossed’the Atlantic for the first time to buy goods.
In 1829, by the retirement of Mr. Riggs, he became senior part-
ner of the house. Early in 1837 he took up his residence perma-
nently in England. 1n 1843 he withdrew _ from the firm of Pea-
body, Riggs & Co., and established himself in’ London asa mer-
chant and banker, in which business he accumulated the mass
Thompson.—We cannot tell........
Scho. Girl —1st. if the hour is pot toe late it would be pertec ly
proper. 2d. If you wish the gentleman to cal) again you:
should ask him to do so, otherwise he may think his company
not agreeable. 30. You should commence with ‘dear. sir.”
esas Grace.—We have but a poor opinion of flirts, either
male orfemaie. And do not think that a marred manor
Woman Who indulges in flirting has proper idcas of right and
wrong. Aman whorespects and loves his wife, will not hurt
her feelings by flirting with other women.. Artic.—Ist. A revolver
which could be sold at $1 50, would be more dangerous to the
person who held it than the object at which it was pointed. A
good pop-gun can not be purchased at that sum, 2d. By going
into any toy store you can buy as good pins for ten cous" oe
Pitshurg.—The gentelman is about 70 years of age..........
Working Boy writes asfuilows: “Having read the New York
WEKKLY tor some time I think it my duty tolet you know what I
think of it. Some time ago I used to read a vumber ofstory papers,
when I took a notion to buy a cooy of the New York WEEKLY,
and I was at once so charmed with itsstories that I have taken
it every week since, and I cxn hardly wait ior it with patience
from one week to another, When Isawthe announcement of
‘Buffalo bill, tne King of Bordermen’ I told all my friends to
read this great story, for if they didn’t they would missa rich
treat. I told about fifteen of them, all bovs, and they in turn
tolo their friends, so thut the. New YorK WrErEKLY has at least
sixty more readers—all thr uzh the great story called ‘Buffalo
Bui? At night time when going home frem work we talk of
‘Buffalo Bil? and nothing else.. Tbe New York boss are up on
‘Buffalo Bill’—tney think he’sa bully boy.” We like to receive
this kind of letters from our boy friencs and hope that we may
be able to publish a number of letters from boys who have sid-
ed inner. asing the widespread popularity of “Buffalo Bill”
with the same generous .en husiasm that tbis ‘‘Working |
boy” has shown......-......- C. J.—See next week....... ....
J. C.8.—We cannot furnish all the numbers containing the
story, assome of them-are out of priut........ Hammond Dan-
vers.—The reason why Gen. Washington was not inaugurated
President till tbe 30tn of April, instead of the 4th of a: ch, was
that a bare quorum of the House of Representatives did not
ass-mble until the Ist of April, por of the Senate until the 6th,
and tnen the debates on what titles should be_ given the newly
elected President occupied the time up to the 30th of April......
Hard Times.—You write a very & QNngsi2: a4. 3 The tollow-
ing MSS. bave be«n accepted and will be published in the New
York Weekiy. “Toe ay, of the World,’ ‘Farewell once
Loved Joys,” “Women of Venemous Tongues,” “Fate; or Bid
to a Christmas Dinner,” “The Old andthe New,” “I Cannot
Write to Night,” “A Rosary” and “‘Winter’s Birth and Autur n’s
Death ”....... The fo lowing will be published in the Literary.
~LauM: “Bacchanalian Song,” “Katrina,” “Peace be with
Thee,” “My Bonvy Jean,” ‘Trinity Bells,” “The Realms of the
Keautiful,” “A Faithful Dog.” “Anita,” “Magdalene,” ‘At the
Pines,” “The Fate of the Sky Leapers.” “The Doetor’s Decision,”
‘Julie’s Escape,” New Enviand,” “You and I,” “Shadows of
Leaves,” and “To a Friend......... The following are respeet-
fully declined: ‘fo H. S. C.,” “The .kov’s Revenge.” “Silas
Scrab’s Letter,” “Fame’s Whisper,” ‘“Fate’s Prophesy,’ ‘‘Ame-
lioration,” “The Betrayed,” ‘Clifford Dodlew’s Wire,” “Kate
Chinton’s Sacrifice,” “I Shall be With You Again To-morrow,
“ihe Kiss,” ‘To Gussie,” “Let Me Kiss You, Beil,” ‘-A Memento,’
“The Lake” and “Tribute aud Aeros ic.” $ .

 

 

HOLIDAY READING!

Amusement for Everybody!

 

If any affectionate parent, who has the happiness of his
children at heart, is desirous of observing them when
laughter illuminates their youthful faces, he should place
in their hands a copy of that mirth-inspiring publication,

~ Phumy Phellow!

The loving wife, who desires to put her husband in the
best possible humor, that her appeal for ‘a new silk
dress,’? may be granted, will certainly be successful if she
calls to her aid the good offices of the

PHUNNY PHELLOW,

who is most efficient in melting the hardest heart, and
knows just how to

Tickle Old and Young!

The PHUNNY PHELLOW for the current month has
been subjected to asevere test, to ascertain its mirth-
arousing qualities. An advance copy of the present issue
was placed before the stone conundrum which for the
past two months has puzzled the scientific world, and in. -
an instant the

GYPSUM GIANT GRINNED!

AND

 

Pp. T. BARNUM TREMBLED,

fearing that the man of stone, suddenly gifted with the
power of speech, was about to disclose the particulars of
the great showman’s connection with the

LAST GREAT HOAX.

The current number of the PHUNNY PES LLOW teems
with Ludicrous Stories, Comical Anecdotes, Witty Jokes,
Quaint Sayings, Conundrums, Hits at Prevailing Follies,
and @ great number of the most laughable designs.

 

Price, Ten Cents Per Copy.

Every News Agent sells the PHUNNY PHE LLOW, and
every wise man reads it,

vo

AD

 

 

 

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Feb. 18, 1795. At the age of eleven years *

 

 

 

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@
— ee a — — —— —= ————————
MY PEN AND INK. papers and valuables. For the.rest of the baggage, let it} me tie them to one of the oars—it will make a signal, He pressed her hand silently. The next moment the } Croft’s son, you know. Comein this mstant—or stay—
g0; it matters little what becomes of 16. : when she's near enough.” huge, black bulk of the isaura seemed to sweep between | perhaps you’d like to go up Stairs a minute first to brush
BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. Wylder Leslie looked at-his companion in surprise; his They watched and waited with the breathless eagerness | them and the late light of the fading day like a gigantic | out your hair.”

 

Your slightest deeds, ’twixt you and I,
May be of deepest, darkest dye—

My pen and ink.
Yet we've been friends from earliest sight,
For you, to aid me in the right,
Have made your mark in black and white,
Both day and night,

My pen and ink.

If we in story, verse or song,
Should thoughtlessly uphold the wrong,
My pen and ink!
‘Then quick we’ll make amends and trace
Upon the paper's virgin face
Some good advice—some word of grace 9
To meet the case,
My pen and ink.

"The pen is mightier than the sword,”

The strife gives way before the word— .
My pen and ink!

Though man may: aim the glittering dart,

To stop the beating of the heart!

Be ours a truer, nobler part,

In this our vrt—-
My pen and ink.

Yea! let us liftthe needy up,
And sweeten sorrow’s bitter cap-—

My pen and ink! :
Assist the weak—uphold the strong—
Encourage right, denounce the wrong,
And help the cause of truth along—
“Thus ends my song! we

My pen and ink.

CECILE’S MARRIAGE:

OR, THE

HEIRESS OF EARNSCLIFF.
BY LUCY RANDALL COMPORT,
Author of “Amy Raynor; or, The Tangled Path; “Agnes
Crotton; or, The Daughter’s Revenge; ‘“fhe Belle of Sara-

toga; or, The Heart of the St. Severns,”’ ete.

 

 

. “Cecile’s Marriage” was commenced in No. 3. Back numbers

can be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United
States. ———t
CHAPTER XIV.
THE BURNING STEAMER,

The night that gathered in such starlight softness over
the ocean track of the “Huntress Diana,” was not destined
to end eventlessly. E =

At eleven o’clock, just before he was in the habit of re-
tiring for the night, Guy Bellairs went upon deck. The
whole aspect of the night was changed—heavy clouds
scudded from the northeast across the firmament above,
a restless wind moaned drearily round the boat, and ever
and anon a sharp flash of lightning seemed to rend asun-
der the whole black curtain of the sky, revealing the piti-
less glory that blazed behind!

“Are we going to have a storm, Captain Trueland ?”
asked Guy, carelessly balancing himself against the rail
of the hatchway, as he caughta glimpse of the old man’s
weather-bronzed countenance.

“Ji looks like it, sir, and ’m sorry too—not that I mind
the actual state of the weather glass, but I don’t exéctly
feel sale about our pilot.”

“What's the matter with him?”

‘What is the matter with half the werld now-a-days,
drink—nothing but drink. I thought Thad put it out of
his way, but it seems I wasn’ quite careful enough.”

“Why don’t you take the helin yourself ?”*

“J am going to, sir—please to stand aside. I beg your
pardon for my abruptness, but thereis no time for cere-
mony just now.”’

“Do you think there is any danger, Mr. Bellairs?? ?

It was tne frightened'voice of a pretty little Scotch
damsel, Jeanie Maclise, who was guing out to be mar-
ried to her fiancee, a brave-hearted young engineer who
had been preparing a home for her, in the thriving young
city of Davenport, for the last three or four years. She
had crept up the stairway and caught the captain’s last
words, a8 he passed. : ,

“No danger at all, Miss Maclise,”? said Guy,kindly. ‘Let
me help you down staire—the ‘Huntress Diana* is rolling
and pitching in a way quite disgraceful to her classical
namesake, and you liave been too brave a little sailor all
the way to run the risks of sea-sickness now.”

“But the wind howls so dreadfully and—did you see
that awful flash of ligutning ?”’

She caught convulsively at Guy’s arm,

“Wind and liglitoing are certainly not very pieasant in
themselves,’”’ he said, reassuringly, “but you don’t refiect,
Miss Maclise that we are on asteamer. It may necessi-
tate a little delay, but most probably that will be all.”

‘Do you really think so, Mr, Bellairs 2?’ ?

‘7 yeally do think so. Come—let us go down stairs.’?

' Jeanie allowed herself to be persuaded,but she trembled
very much, and when Guy canght sight of her face under
the glimmer of one of the saloon lamps, he could see that
it was very pale. | :

Most of the passengers apprehending no danger, had
calmiy retire to their berths and state-rooms, and Jeanie
Maclise, unconsciously influenced by their confidence,
sought her own apartment. Guy, however, did not feel
sleepy, or at all. inclined to rest, and after one or two
turns up and down the room, sat down by the eentral ta-
ble to read.

The time passed slowly on—the few late sitters who had
shared Mr. Bellairs’ solitude dropped away. one by one,
until he alone occupied the long, magnificent apartment,
iNuminated down its full length by chandeliers, whose
lights gleamed softly through globes of ground glass.
The steward came in, glancing doubtfully around; he had
imtended 1o put out all the lights but one cluster, but at
seeing Mr. Bellaurs, he hesitated,

“pon’t mind me, Trisbee,’? said the young man, yawn-
ing, ‘I'm just going to bed. Howisthe weather out-
‘side ?”? : ;

' “Very strong sir—we’re not making much headway
just now. I hope you and the other passengers haven’t
been much disturbed, sir ???

“Disturbed by what ??

“Well sir, 1t’s the pilot, Mr. Dawson—a reg’lar case of
delirium tremens. The captain’s locked him up 1n his
own cabin, and there he is screamin’ and holerin’ fit to
raise the dead, Guess he?il kill us all, sir—murder us in
our beds.”

“In that case, perhaps, it’s just as well that he is locked
up in the Gaptain’s cabin. Who is with him???

“Nobody, sir—little Smythe was there, the captain's
clerk, you Know, sir, but Dawson took it in his. head
Smythe was a detective police officer, and wouldn’t tole-
rate the’sight of him. It’s better than the theater to hear
him go on, sir.”

And Trisbee, with a low, chuckling laugh, went out of

~ the saloon, treading softly, as he always did, like a gi-

gantic cat.

Bellairs had jast opened the door of his state-room, an
elegantly furnished little nook, which communicated by
a door with that of his secretary and traveling compan-
ion, Wylder Leshe, when something like a distant cry
iseitagly on his ears. He stopped suddenly and lis-
tened.

“Wylder—Wylder Leslie, wakei Rouse yourself, man!
Some one is calung! There, don’t you hear itagain? As
1 live, it is ‘fire? ”?

Wylder Leslie sprang to nis feet with something be-
tween an oath and an exclamation.

‘Fire—and we caged up here nkesomany trapped
rats? :

Guy Bellairs stepped back ito tne saloon—from va.
cancy and solitude it had snuddeniy been transformed
into a thronged bedlam. Passengers, men, women and
children, had rushed in from their sleeping places, some
dressed hurriedly, others but half attired and most ot
them with nothing more than @ shawl or a blanket torn
hastily from their beds, huddled round their shivering
forms. Some screamed, others asked incoherent ques
tions over and over again, without so much as waiting
for the answers, some ran backwards and forwards as if
trying their best to lose what little wits the sudden fright
had ielt them.

And through it all sounded the awful cry, booming
nearer, and nearer, like the Knell of tate:

“Wirel Fire! Firel” ;

There wasamad, hurrying rush for the door—its
carved panels of white and gold resisted the onslaught.

‘The door is locked!’

A deep voice shouted it over all the tumult of. hysteri-
cal screams, sobbing female voices and confused utter-
ances—and then came another cry:

“Stave it in—beat it down! Are we to perish here?’

“Gently, gently—hold ona minute. Hear reason, my
friends,”? said Captain Trueland’s voice from the stained
glass skylight above, where he had opened one of the
ventilating panes. ‘There is too much confusion on
deck already—I cannot have any more. ‘The fire is noth-
Jng more serions than a blaze of papers in my cabin --we
Shall have it under directly. The life-boats are being
got ready in case of danger—you shall all be cared for.’’

That was ail he said, retreating instantly, although a
oe of questions in various keys and voices assailed
lim,

“fis own cahin,’? thought Guy Bellairs to himself.
“The cabin where the half insane devotee of whisky was
shutup. Ah, I see how it is now.?? °

He said nothing, however, but quietly returned to his
State-room, where, with acheek scarce a shade paler
than usual, and hands that never trembled, he busied
himself in consummating the various preparations for
their sudden flight, that Wylder Leslie had already com-
menceds

Leslie looked up once at his calm, determined face.

“You think there is real danger ?”

“I think the steamer is on fire, and that we shall all be
obliged to save ourseives as best we may. Hush!. What
an unearthly yell that was—they have succeeded in
bursting open the door. Well, one can hardly blame
them, people don’t like to be caged up in that sort of
Way, although the captain was uadoubtedly right about

~ the discipline of the thing. The mistake was in not

  

sending down some responsible person to quiet their
fears, and reason with them. Will you oblige me by
taking charge of this litue desk, Leslie? It contains my

 

countenance was calm and unruiiied as a May morning.

“By Jovel”? he thought, “‘these republican levelers are
all wrong, and there is something in blood! Compare
him with these velling, shrieking maniacs around us.”?

The reflection passed almost unconsciously through his
mind, as he hurried up on deck where the confusion had
become something absolutely terrific. All attempts to
subdue the violence of the flames had proved futile—dark
clouds of rolling smoke, barred here and there with lurid
streaks of red, forming a background to the hurrying
throng—the storm, nothing abated in its fury, still made
trightful the face of the deep, and the blinding glares of
lightning added their terrors to the general tumult. in
vain were Captain Trueland’s endeavors to preserve ‘a
semblance of order—there was an insane rush for the life-
boats, a selfish strife to be foremost, that defied his every
effort.

As he stood, trying to superintend the embarkation of
boat toad after boat load, Bellairs touched his arm.

“Captain, are we near land???

“1 don’t know—lI can’t tell—we may be somewhere off
the little desolate islands that skirt the Azores, but else-
where | don’t know of land within miles and miles of us.”

“But what are these half-maddened creatures to depend
upon m case they escape the horrors of this burning
wreck ??!

“Chance!’? answered the captain, in a low, husky tone,
as he hurried away. ‘Nothing but chance!” ,

Bellairs was silent. Leslie drew him away.

“Come—do you want to miss our only opportunity?
the boats are being overcrowded now, and here you stand,
as if you were in a trance! Have you no respect for your
life, man???

“Yes, but I have more for my manhood.’

“What do you mean ??

“Do you suppose I shall crowd forward to save myself,
while these weak. women and helpless children are still
unprovided for??? ‘

“I do-believe you are @ liitle insane, Guy Bellairs!’

Bellairs sprang forward—Wylder followed him—but it
was iiot te enter the boat now rocking alongside the black
sides of the vessel, but to help down @ decrepit old man
whom terror seemed to have deprived of the little nerve
and anuscie he originally possessed. Leslie uttered a
smothered oath, and flung himself forward before Jeanie
Maclise who, had just advanced.

“If you prefer to be a Quixotic idiot, there’s no reason
J should share your fate,” he said, savagely, but Bellairs
caught him by the arm, and jerked him backward with a
strength that he was utterly powerless to resist. |

“Back, 1 say!?? he thundered. ‘Selfish brute! would
you save yourself at the expense of a delicate girl? Is

| there no one impulse of honor or chivalry mm your base

nature??? : :

Wylder turned on him jike an infuriated wild beast,
and, unable to loosen himself from Bellairs’ iron grasp,
clenched his white, sharp teeth on his companion’s arms.
Bellairs shook him off, as he might have shaken 2 cling-
ing viper.

“Go,” he said, disdainfully, “but mind this—if I see you
attempt to enter a boat until the women and little ones
are all safe, I will fling youinto the sea! By Heavens, I
will)? :

Leslie shrank from the stern resolve in his tone and the
lightning in his eye, and crept stealthily away.

“Ill be revenged!? he muttered. “Yes, I’ll be re-
venged, a thousand times over, for the aristocratic inso-
lence that has culminated this night!’

The ‘Huntress. Diana’? was. never an over-crowded
steamer—tne great tide of travelers preferred moré mod-
ern appointments and greater speed, consequently the
supply of boats was very adequate to the needs of the oc-
casion. The life-boats, only a few in number, had been
launched first—the others had rapidly flied up, and the
last of all now lay below.» .

“Come, Mr. Bellairs,” cried Captain Trueland, as he
stepped himself, **come,. Mr. Leslie-—I believe we may
safely leave the old ‘‘Huntress” to her fate now—she can’t
hold together very long, ‘between the fire and the storm!”

Leslie advanced with a defiant look at Bellairs.

“IT suppose I may save myself, now without outraging
any of your fine-spua ideas?”

“Have you got the desk with you?”

“Ves,?? ; ;

“Go, then |? :

He was aljout to swing himself into the last place, when
acry from behind reached his ears.

“Help! save us! For Heaven’s sake don’t leave us
here alone to perish by an awful death.”

It was Maurice Trevelyan, half supporting, half carrying
the almost lifeless form of his invalid wife.

“Merciful Heaven !” ejaculated Bellairs; ‘‘why are you
so late? Here men, Truéland, can you make room for
two more ???

“No !”? shouted a chorus of voices in which Wylde
Leslie’s was loudest and most merciless. ‘We are full al-
ready. ltis madness to ask ug to risk the whole boat-
load for two strangers. Put off!” :

“Yes!” roared Captain Trueland, standing up in the

‘\.boat and checking by a Savage shout the sailors who

were. about to obey ,Wylder’s order. “Hold on—wait
half a second |”? i : \
Once more he sprang on deck, lithe as a panther,

| “Now madam—steady here !”?

. He took one of Mrs. Trévelyan’s armms—Bellairs sup-
ported the other.

“Maurice, don’t leave him behind,’ she cried, faintly
resisting their efforts. :

“No, no, dearest. Iam close behind you,’ he said re-
assuringly. A :

“Don't be alarmed, madam,” said Bellairs, ‘“‘you shall
not be separated two seconds from him. Believe me,
there is no danger,”? he added, southingly as she seemed
to shrink in nervous terror from tne boiling abyss be-
low.

Reassured by the firm steadiness of his manner, she
allowed herself to be lifted inte the boat, Leslie himself
received her into his arms, and seated her on a seat.

But just as Trevelyan was himself about to follow, a
sudden peal of thunder crashed with terrific violence
overhead; a tremendous wave, gleaming in the lightning,
like a huge mountain of chrysolite, broke against the side
of the burning gteamer, driving her hundreds of feet
away. The rope which connected her with the boat
snapped like silken threads, and the next moment the

little craft was rocking utterly alone on tue face of the

deep.

Mrs. Trevelyan, springing to her feet, uttered ascream
that seemed to pierce the very vault of heaven.

‘My husband, my husband !?? sne cried; “oh follow
them-—-help them???

The sailors bent to their oars with resolute strength.
Every second gamed over the storm was a new lease of
life to them. ;

“Turn round !? wailed the poor lady, helplessly clasp-
ing her hands in wild entreaty. ‘Surely—surely you will
not leave them there to perish? I will reward you—l
will reward you—I will make you all rich—only rescue
him |?

“Madam,” spoke an old sailor, graffly, “it would be
nothing short of madness. We can only save ourselves—
they have gone, long ago—and may they Lord have mercy
on their souls.”?

“Peorthing, she has fainted,” said Lesiie, who, selfish
and hollow-hearted though he was, was not utterly with-
out feeling. ‘It’s just. as well—she might have proved
troublesome else.”? .

“Then we’d have keeled her overboard,” savagely ut-
tered @ dark-faced sailor who sat just beyond. ‘A wo-
man’s whims are not to be humored at such a time as
this, when all of our lives arein jeopardy. She has cost
the captain dear already.”

. “Do you think there 18 no hope of their escape ?”? eager-
ly demanded Wylder.

“Hope,” sneered the other—“‘didn’t you hear the tim.
bers crack and shiver like the breaking of am egg-shell?
Ive been 10 storms at sea before now, and I Know what
that sound means. Jt means death.”

Leslie shuddered in spite of himself,

Dead ! Guy Bellairs dead, in all the prime and glory of
his youth—in all the flush and bloom of his opening life.
Captain Trueland was a white-baired old man. Mr.
Trevelyan was past the meridian of life. It seemed more
material and appropriate that they should be taken—but
Behairs }

Wylder Leslie did not believe in a God, but in this case
chance seemed to him to have ordained matters very
strangely.

He looked round him on the boat’s crew, faintly visible
by the light of the one lantern that gleamed murkily at
the end. It was the smallest boat, and could have held
but eight persons—not more. At present, however, there
were only six on board—Mrs. ‘Trevelyan, himself, and
four common sailors. He shuddered as he began to real-
oe a narrow had been his own escape from certain

eath.

The storm was now beginning to abate somewhat of its
fury—a darkness lay upon the sea that seemed almost
palpable in its thick density of blackness. Leslie, sitting
there in adreamy state that approached semi-uncon-
sciousness, with the fainting lady’s head upon his arm,
heard the sailors say one to-another that morning would
break soon. Yet to him it seemed as if they were floating
on,on, for hours and hours.

“Where are we going ?”? he asked, feebly.

No one answered. Could it be possible. that they had
but escaped the horrors of one death torush upon the
jaws of another, more frightful and lingering still? To
starve—to waste away -to perish miserably—would it not
have been better to have gone-down, once and _ forever,
with the ill-fated wreek of the “Huntress Diana ?”?

 

CHAPTER XV
WYLDER LESLIE CHANGES HIS IDENTITY.

A faint thread of silvery gray, drawn athwart the east-
‘ro horizon, was beginning to herald the gradual ap-
proach of day; the wearied oarsmen, now that the first
feverish impulse of danger was over, were flagging at
their places, and that vague sense of doubt and despair
which two oftea accompanies the reaction of a great peril
was slowly stealing over every one when a cry broke
from the man at the helm—an eager, smothered cry, that
was almost a shriek.

“Help! help!? he ejaculated. ‘Look to the gouthward!??

Every eye was directed toward the point indicated—a
thrill of rapture mounted to every heart, as the castaways
saw, plainly visible against tho gray sky, the outlines of
a far-off vessel.

She cannot see us,’? muttered Leslie, once more sink-
ing back into apathetic despair.

“But she will see us—she is bearing down upon us
steadily,» answered the steersman, who had not taken
his eye irom the joyously-welcomed apparition.

“Give me your handkerchiefs, men—I will venture to
take this poor woman’s without leave,” cried Leslie. “Let

 

of those whosé lives hang on the merest thread of hope
for thé nearer coming of the distant vessel. Sometimes
it almost seemed to their strained eyes that she grew
dimmer in outline ana less distinct, as if she had headed
in another direction—and then their hearts sank like lead.
Again a new hope sprang up within them—a hope that at
length became certainty.

Fortunately, Mrs. Trevelyan, folded in the blessed
trance of unconsciousness, was spared these racking al-
ternations of hope and despair. It was not until the ves-
sel had been signaled and approached that she returned
to a sense of What was passing around her in the outer
world. She looked vaguely about her with wild, an-
guished eyes of search; it was not for aminute or two
that the whole agonizing truth broke upon her.

“What is that?’ she demanded, incoherently, as the
trim little sailing vessel, with its white sails slanting be-
fore the wind like the snowy plumes of some joyous bird,
caught her eye. :

‘it is life!’ laconically answered Leslie.
saved, madam.”

“Saved!? she echoed, clasping both hands over her
eyes. “‘Saved—and for what? Oh, if I had only perisned
With him! Oh, Father in Heaven! what have | ever aone
that Thy hand should be laid so heavily on me?”

All Leslie’s endeavors to soothe her were in vain, Sne
listened to him as though she heard him not—she made
no apswer to his words, and sat as M.she were uncon-
scious of all that passed around her.

“If was the Juanita, a little sailing vessel bound to the
port of New York trom Guadaloup, which had come to
their assistance—and Mrs. Trevelyan allowed herself
without remonstrance, to be lifted on board and carried
down into the cabin where a dark-faced stewardess with
huge gold ear-rings and a brilliant turban twisted ftanci-
fully round her head attended her.

Late in the afternoon, Leslie knocked at the cabin door

“We are

‘and in very passable Spanish, inquired as to the health of

the signora. From the sofa within, lie could hear Mrs,
Trevelyan answer in the same languages

“Tell Mr. Bellairs,”» she said, bitterly, “that I am as
well pS ever shall be. Ihave only one wish new—for
death.

“Mr. Bellairs !’ Leslie bit his lip. So she had mistaken
him all along for hiscompanion. Well, it was not such a
very strange mistake, after all. They had been introduc-
edm the dusk of gathering night—they had not met
since, until the tumultuous meeting where life and death
were in the balance. How was she to know that he was
only the poor traveling companion, the salaried secre-
tary ? '

He went back to the comfortable little cabin which the
captain, a polite, foreign-faced man, had invited him to
share with himself, and sat down in an arm-chair. Be-
fore him, on the table, lay the desk he had preserved
through all the perils through which he had passed—a lit-
tle rosewood affair, bound and clasped with brass. As he
sat gazing mechanically on it, a thought, sudden and
Startling, flashed acress his brain. g

“Mr. Bellairs ?’? he repeated slowly, ‘‘Mr. Beilairs, not
a bad idea.” .

He rose, and began striding up and down the room,
ever and anon pausing to look down upon the desk.

*sWithous the assistance which his own hands furnished
me, it would have been impossible,’? he muttered. ‘It.
was fate ! it wasdestiny ! li 1let the tide of good for.
tune slip by me, [shall be a mad fool. He is dead,
poor boy, may ine rest*peacefully*in his ocean grave.
f am the inheritor to his name, his rank, and his
chances ! Aye, his chances—there in the golden harvest
nodding ready to my sickle. The rest will be torn from
me in time, the false rank wrested away—the spurious
name stripped from me—but 1f 1 woo and win the heiress
what power can. take her away from my everlasting pos-
session? Tiere is no time to hesitate—whatil do must
be done quicky. GreatJupiter ! what a brilliant prize
has the wheel of Fortune thrown into my very grasp.
Mr. Bellairs. Thanks, a thousand times thanks for that
unconscious suggestion, Mrs.-Trevelyan ! it Was not in
vain that [helped to save you from perishing as your
husband perished.”’

Wylder Leslie’s whole face was radiant with the’ dawn
of his coming greatness. Sitting there in the silence and
quietude of the cosy little cabin. he gradually reviewed
ail the circumstances of the case,arranged them methodi
caily in-his mind, surveyed the various complications
and difficulties, and grasped the advantages with almost
judicial clearness.

“Let me see,’, he pondered. “if the Juanita shifts us off
upon the first steamer that overtakes us we Shall reach
New York very nearly aS promptly aS we should have
done upon that leisurely old rattlebox the ‘Huntress Di-
ana.’’ I shall have lost but littletime. Now supposing [
look over my credentials while [have both | leisure and
opportunity.”

Seating himself before the table, he coolly drew the}.

desk toward him, and unlocked it by means of a smail
key which, witn various others, hung on a ring he took
from his breast pocket. :

“Poor Guy's Keys,’? he thought “fe will have little
enougn use for them, now, I may as well make them
serve my turn.” Se

The desk was small and eleganily.made, with a lining
of deep diue satin, and tiny compartments filled with
various papers, letters, reeeipts, etc. These Wylder Les
we Carefully Looked over, possessing mimself of their con-
tents with a quick and practiced e§e. >

“Sir Croft’s last letter to bis som, received the night
we sailed from Southampton,” he soliloquized, opening
a clesely-written document, penned in a refined and
scholarly but somewhat Ulegible hand. «This will bea
great help, and Sir Croft’s introductory note to the Redes.
dales, of Earnscliffe—this will be still more useful, Hum
—ha—a note from my secretary, Wylder Leslie, concern-
ing the particulars of his engagement—a letter from
Boyce Carboyce, my college triend—bah. I may as well
destroy ail these, 1 do not believe in too great a weight of
evidence, it’s rather apt to stifle one at times.”

Leaning torward, he threw a handful of letters upon
the blaze in the Franklin stove, for the air was chill and
foggy, and Il Capitano Toyoni liked a snug cabin. They
blazed cheeriiy upward, und Wylder Leslie, watched
their consuming ashes with a lazy sort of satisfaction,

“That’s done and over,’’? he thought; “and now let’s
see what else there isin this handy little desk. There
should be money~..”. and. jewels, unless he has been
idiot enough toremse, ..2 to his trunks.”

The very idea made wii. Leslie's’ cheek involuntarily
blanch; but a very brief examination convinced him of
the folly of any such unwelcome fears. There was mon.
ey, both in gold and bills of exchange—there were a lew
rare jewels, the old seal ring, cut in onyx, that was an
neir-loom im the Bellairs family, one or two antique
coins, and a small, white, velvet case, carefully tied up
in siiver paper.

“Aha,” mused Mr. Wylder Leslie; *‘what can this be?’

He openedit—the cover revealed a brooch and ear-
ring of opal, surrounded with very large diamonds, the
rich jewels gleaming like limpid tears caught and con-
fined in circlets of light.

“An offering to the fair princess of the enchanted cas-
tle,” thought Wylder, surveying them with a sort of
ecstatic languor; “and an offering too wortby of her
royal state. Only I don’t like my iriend’s taste. Opals—
opals—they are an unlucky stone. I seem to have heard
old wivés’ stories about an evil fate following those who
wear ifs odd, flashing splendor. However, that’s neither
here nor there. Now that I have come into possession
ee I shall take care they reach their destination
safely.

He replaced the velvet case carefully in the exact spot
where he had found it, folded and rearranged the letters
and papers which he haa deemed it advisable and fitting
to retain, and finally relocked the desk.

This task over, he sat staring intently into the
fire as 1f every upward leap of the cannel-coal blaze pos-
sessed the deepest ot interest in his eyes.

“Phe first thing to do when we touch the soilof the
new world,” he internally cogitated, ‘will be to fit my-
self out with an entirely new, wardrobe, and make effect-
ually away with the old.. Not even a pocket-handkKer-
chief must remain to establish my identity with the poor
devil, Wylder Leslie, who was drowned when the ‘Hunt-
ress Diana’ went down. Like the snake, | must slip en-
tirely out of my old skin, and appearin new trappings.
I begin to feel already as if | were somebody else. Wyl-
der Leslie seems atar off and dim, like the shadowy re-
membrance ofa dream. {am identifying myself more
and more with the son ana heirof Sir Croft Bellairs. “At
this rate,” he added, to himsel!, with a sardonic smile,
“IT shall get to believe implicitly in myself, and if that
don’t induce other people to believe in me, I. don’t know
what will.”

The cannel-coal fire was shining redly through the
dusk of the apartment, when Captain Toyoni came hur-
riedly in to tell his compnisory guest that the Isaura,
from Liverpool to New York had been signaled, and that
pee were running alongside of her with all possible
speed.

With true foreign courtesy Captain Toyoni signified
that although he should be desolated to lose the
signor and signora and all the brave Britannic mari-
ners, still that they “had no time to lose in making their
various preparations. Francesco was already in attend-
ance on my lady, and things would ‘speedily be in readi-
ness as far as regarded her excellency.

Wylder Leslie’s heart leaped up within him, The
‘“Jsaura”? was notoriously the fastest steamer on all the
fast *‘Morris and Deckerway” line—it seemed asif Fate
itself were playing into his hand.

“IT will be ready,” he said, ‘“‘and in the meantime Cap-
tain Toyoni will allow me not to forget how generously
he has treated an English gentieman.’?

In vain Toyoni protested; his guest persisted in re-
warding him in true princely style for the kindness ren-
dered in his godrest strait.

“And Fransesca tells me that la signora has rained of
the money upon her also,’? pondered the brisk little Span-
iard, as he withdrew. . “Ah, what it is to meet these rich
Jords and ladies ef English!”

Fifteen minutes afterward, Mrs. Trevelyan, leaning on
Francesco’s arm, apneared on deck, looking like some
wap ghost who scarcely cared what might be in store for
ler yet.

“T hope Mrs. Trevelyan is better?’ a soft voice said at
her elbow.

“Better? Yes—no—I can hardly tell, Mr. Beliairs,” she
said, in a strange, bewildered sort of way. “lam glad
you are here, for my head feels dizzy and strange.”

“You may depend upon me, madam, for any service
that I can render,’ said Leslie, really feeling the words
that he uttered for the time being, for his was far from
being an unimpressible nature.

“Thank you,” she said, extending a thin, shadow-like
hand. ‘Weseem to be thrown together by some strange
destiny, and you are the last connecting-link that binds
Ine to his memory.’?

 

eclipse. There was ringing of bells, revolving of wheels,
a score of confused noises mingled with the cries of the
foreign sailors and very intelligible oaths and growlings
from the American tars. above, who scarcely relished be-
ing thus stopped 1n mid-career to accomodate half a doz-
en wrecked people.

Ten minutes afterward they were steaming swiltly on-
ward once more on the Isaura. The captain, a short,
stout man with a good-humored countenance, had come
promptly to greet his new passengers, first giving orders
that, the invalid lady should receive every attention.

“May lask whom Ihave the pleasure of receiving in
this unceremonious sort of manner?’ he asked, as he
courteously advanced. “Hitherto LI have only heard of
you as the here of a romantic adventure.”

“My name, sir,’’? replied the young man, slowly, ‘is
Guy Bellairs, of Byington.’

 

CHAPTER XVI.
CECILE’S ENGLISH LOVER.

it was @ Clear, brilliant morning in mid-July. The long
shadows of the superb Norway spruces that fringed the
park road at Earnsciitl were moving softly over the ciosely
cut grass, from which the sparkling drops of due were as
yet scarcely dried, and the sky, jusi visible in clefis here
and there between the interwoven branches, was blue
and dazzling as if Heaven’s dome had_ been carved from
the blue hearts of innumerable sapphires.

Into this private road, Cecile Redesdale was just guid-
ing her little white ponies from the thoroughfare beyond,
as spirited @ little “whip” as the whole country con-
tained. :

Her attire was like herself—dashing, piquante,,and
tasteful, aS she sat there on the biue velvet cushions of
the low pony-phaeton, not unlike a good sized toy. A
pure white dress, with a heavy vine olf embroidery above
the hem and the entire skirt edged with fluted Valene-
‘Jenues lace fine as a crystallized cobweb, alight scarf of
white grenadine, with rose-colored ribbon run through
the hem, a tiny round hat of exquisite white straw, with
a branch of sweetbrier fullof half open crimson buds
fastened gracefully across the front, from which fluttered
a white vail, and a pair of cream-colored buckskin driv-
ing gloves completed her toilet, and the vivid roses of
health and exercise glowed softly on either cheek, while
her eyes sparkled like stars beneath their long lashes.

For Cecile adored her ponies, and was passionately
fond of driving, aud she had careered over many a long
mue that morning, having risen before sunrise to reach
a distant hili from which the view was more than usually
extensive and picturesque.

“Fight o’clock,”? she said, glancing at her watch; “and
{ haven’t made such very bad time either, have I? And
Miss Ferrars said so coolly last night, that hereafter she
was going to be up to drive with me in the ‘mornings.
She didn’t think 1t proper for young ladies to be racing
aii over the country by themselves in the manner 1 seemed
to have adopted.”

Miss Redesdale elevated her pretty little nose in the
air with a grimace that seemed to twist if all on one side
as she recalled her governess’ formal words.

«How she was snoring when I stole through her room
on tip-toe,”’ thought Cecile, touching a fly off the ear of
the near pony with a dexterous flick of her coral-handled
whip; *‘and what a lecture [ shall get this morning.
Whoa, now Cupid, whoa! What is there to be afraid of
in @ marble statue, you silly pony your Oh dear, there
sheis waiting fer me now, and in $0 very plain sight that
J can’t even have the pleasure of pretending not to see
ner,2 5

True enough, Miss Ferrars’ tall gaunt form turned
into the road.

“Dear me, Miss Ferrars,’? cried Cecile reining up her
ponies with @ sort of jerk which she haa learned from ex-
perience was most eflicacious ia rendering Miss Ferrars
nervous. “What can possibly have brought you into the
avenue 80 early this morning ?”

‘Why, my dear, I came out because——. Take care,
Cecile; are you sure you’ve got the reins safe? itis very
careless to allow them to trail down on the carriage-floor
that way; and although Flora is safe enough, I never did
think Cupid a steady horse.”

“On, he’s aS steady as a Cennecticut clock, aren’t you,
Cupid, my pet?’ and Cecile leaned out to pat Cupid’s
milk-white sides, 5
_ “My dear—suppose they should start ?”” meas

“Suppose they should begin to talk Greek grammar !
Will you jump in, or not, Miss Ferrars? I can’t keep ’em
standing here all day; and I shall drive off without you

if you don’t come to a decision pretty quickly.”

She gathered up the reins. Miss Ferrars’ apprehen-
sive of being left behind, gave a long, rabbit-like jump
into the phaeton. The springs creaked ominously; but
fortunately they were strong enough to bear the strain.

Cecile touched Cupid lightly with her whip, and tapped
Flora’s back with the reins, and away they went, Miss

Ferrars holding on to the carriage-side with one hand and

her bonnet-strings with the other.

“Some day you'll certainly be brought home with your
neck broken, Cecile,”’ croaked the governess, catching
her breath with difficulty, as they whirled round the cor-
ner in rather a jockey-like fashion. i i

“And what a relief that will be to you, won’t it?”
laughed Cetile. : :

“Mave you been driving far 2?

“Only to Mauristen Hill.””

“Why child, that‘is six miles away.”’

“Suppose it is? Cupid and Flora don’t mind it, and the
morning is so fresh and bright. I thought some,’ added
Miss Redesdale, mischievously, “of waking you to ac-
cumpany me. I knew you were tenderly careful of your
complexion, and you know the old story of dew gathered
before breakfast, bemg so good for the skin.”

Miss Ferrars 100ked: eagerly up. :

“But,’? went on Cecile, “you were snoring so happily
that I hadn’t the heart to disturb you.” ‘

“Now, Cecile, that’s an eXaggeration—you know per.
fectly well that 1 never snore!’ exclaimed the aggrieved
goveiness. 7 :

“It: must have been the brook downin the hollow,
then,’’? observed Cecile, dryly. :

“Vs it really true that dew gathered before breakfast on
Mauriston Hill,is good for the complexion ?”’ queried
Miss Ferrars, mechanically passing her hand over the yel
iow and shriveled texture of her cheek. :

‘Ask old Granny Millber—she told me so, and he
Phebe has got the prettiest complexion in the country.”

Miss Ferrars glanced doubtflly at Cecile—perhaps this
was tne secret of the young lady’s frequent early drives
to Mauriston Hil Perhaps this explained the satin
smoothness of her Skin and the brilliancy of her color.

“You might have brought mea little in an ola camphor
bottle, I should think,” she said, grumblingly.

“Never once thought of it, upon my word. Aud, be-
sides, lve a sort of idea that old Granny Millber told me
Oue must gather it for one’s Self, or it lost all its charm.”

“Is that so? And when are you going again?”

.“Oh, ’m tired of the Mauriston Hill route, l’ve been
there-so often. But if you would care to go 2

*]T should,’’ interrupted Miss Ferrars, eagerly.”? The
experiment is so simple that it is certainly worth trying.”

*Yes—exactily so,’” answered Cecile. ‘As 1 was saying
if you care to go you might drive Flora and Cupid any
morning. You’re quite welcome to them.”?

Miss Ferrars recoiled, horror stricken at the bare idea.

‘Me dvive Flora and Cupid! Wd as soon drive a couple
of wild alligators! Cecile, Cecile, do have a little regard
for my neck, if yon havn’t any for your own. I believe
those horrid beasts are running away.”

“No, they are not, Miss Ferrars—they are only a little
fresh; anu you know Lreally inust hurry to get home in
time for breakfast.”

“Breakfasi—that reminds me I had nearly forgotten,’
eried Miss Ferrars. with the triumphant manner of one
who has a piece of news to communicate... “Who do you
suppose arrived at Earnascliff this morning ?”’

“The Prince of Wales, perhaps—or the Khan of Tar-
tary.”

“Cecile, will you never be in earnest?’

“lam guessing too high up, perhaps,” said Cecile, with
gravity. “Well, then, it was the milkman, or the man
with the new lightning-rods that were ordered last
weeKk.”?

“1£ was Mr. Bellairs.*

The rosy color faded out of Cecile Redesdale’s cheek,
only to return the next instant in a redder tide still; her
hands involuntarily tightened on the reims, and an ex-
pression, cola and hard as marble, came over her face,
that impressed even the unimpressible Miss Ferrars.

“Cecile, what is the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“He was on the “Huntress Diana,’’that vessel, you know,
that was burned—we read the account in the papers—
and he was saved, and two or three saiicrs and Mrs,
Trevelyan. Mr. Trevelyan was lost!”?

Cecile turned suddenly round, still holding her reins
with a grasp 80 tight that the finger-nails pressed pain-
fully against her hand—even through the buckskin glove
that she wore.

ptt ae Trevelyan on board that ill-fated steamer ?”’

“Yes,

Cecile’s lip. quivered, aud an involuntary chill seemed
to creep over her heart. So he was gone, the kind friend
whom she had always called by the loving title of ‘“‘uncle’”’
—Wwho had spoiled her in childhood and petted herasa
young maiden—who. had always had some excuse to
plead for her willful moods, and some charm to soothe
ber temper when it was at its most ungovernable hignt.
Why could he not have been the fortunate one to escape
from the wreck of the burning vessel and Bellairs have
been doomed to his fate ? And then Cecile could not help
feeling a tinge of compuaction at her nbeart—was not Guy
Bellairs the only child of the genial old baronet who had
been her father’s friead. No, she did not exactly want
Guy Bellairs to be drowned, but she did wish he could
have had the sense and discrimination to stay at home
and choose himself a wife from-ameng the fair English
girls of his own land instead of coming to torment her
with his unwelcome suit.

Full of these unpleasant meditations, and utterly un-
conscious of the steady stream of talk which flowed from
Miss Ferrars’ lips at her side, Cecile drove past the bril-
liant flowerborders up to the front door, and flinging the
reins to a servant who came respectfuliy down tne steps
to receive them, Stepped out of the low pony phaeton,and
went into the house, followed by her governess.

There wasthe confused sound of voices from the break-
fast-room, a large cneerful apartment with a bay wiadow
opening on the south end of the lawn.

Mrs. Redesdaie, forgetting the many infirmities under
which she chronically labored. hurried to the door to ar-
rest her daughter’s footsteps, while her lusterless yellow
hair beneath its costly lace coiffure, acd ner dim blue eyes
seemed to have suddenly acquired new lite ana brillancy
In the proximity of a live sprig of English aristocracy.

“Cecile | Cecy, my love, Mr. Bellairs is here! Sir

e

 

 

The rack itself could not have forced Cecile Redesdale
to go to her own room now.

“My hair is well enough,” she said with a sort of de-
fiant hauteur, as she walked boldly into the breakfast.
room, with her shining jetty curls sligtitly disheveled ana
her hat swinging from her hand with its rosebuds ai
tangled in the white lace vail. And as she entered, Mr.
Redesdale felt, with athrill of proud delight, that never
in all her life had his unmanageable tittle daughter took-
ed so lovely.

“Cecile, my love,” he said blandly, ‘‘this is Mr. Bellairs,
the son of my old friend Sir Creft Bellairs ef Byington.’

Guy Bellairs—for so, for the present we shall term the
young man whom we formerly knew as Wylder Leslie—
bowed low, with an expression of gratified surprise, for,
although he had expected to see a very pretty girl, he was
scarcely prepared for the piquant, sparkling loveliness of
this fair apparition.

“By the shrine of Venus herself,’? he quoth within his
own mind. “I never saw so beautiful a creature in my
life. A man might peril his soul to win her, if she had
not a penny in the world.” :

Cecile inciined hér head with the merest semblance of
a bow, as the words of introduction were spoken, and
walked haughtily past him, and Mrs. Redesdale rang whe
bell, and asked the servant impatiently “why breakfast
was not brought in ?”’

During the meal Mr. Redesdale sustained the corversa-_

tion, politely asking his guest various questions concern:
ing his journey, and alluding several times to the melan-
choly tragedy of the ‘“‘Huntress Diana.’

Mrs. Redesdale was all smiles and simpers. Miss Fer.
rars ate her breakfast diligently, secretly thinking of her
neglected quarters, and Cecile was quite silent, only an-
swering by monosyllables, when she was addressed.

“Mute as a mouse,’”’ thought Bellairs, as. he furtively
glanced at her now ana then, ‘but after all, a creature
mn beautiful as she is only needs to Sit stil! and be .ooked
at

“And so you met my poor friend Trevelyan,” said Mr.
Redesdale. “Poor Maurice—a nobler nature never dwelt
upon this earth. We have known one another from boys
—a brother could scarcely have been dearer to’ me. His
wife remains in New York, you tell me? Poor creature:
Fate has laid a heavy hand upon her, all her life long.
The story of her life would make the fit foundation for a
romance.” : :

“Indeed ?” saidjBellairs, rather absently—he was watch-
ing the curve of the long lashes that drooped upon Ce-
cile’s damask-pink cheek and secretly wishing she would
lift the white lids and give him another glance into the
bewildering depths of her liquid Spanish eyes. And Mr,

Redesdale, abandoning a subject that seemed to possess _

ee interest for his guest, speedily chose anoth-
er topie.

‘Sir Croft’s letter—the one I received iast week—in-
forms me that you were accompanied by a very worthy
young man in the capacity of confidential secretary and
traveling companion. You must regret his loss very
much 2???

“Yes, poor Leslie,”? answered Mr. Bellairs, with an odd
sensation tingling through his veins, at the idea o! speak-
ing of his own self as of one dead and gone. *‘He was a
very companionable sort of person.?!

“Did he leave any friends to mourn his untimely fate ?”

“I don’t know much about him, but 1 believe he was
entirely without friends or relations; guite a self-made
man.” :

“TI suppose you miss him very much?!

“Well, hardly. I might have doneso had my acquaint-
ance with him been a little less recent, as he was quite an
estimable young man.’’ :

And thus the subject of Wyider Leslie was dropped,
rather to the relief of Mr. Redesdale’s young English
guest than otherwise. ;

Mr. Redesdale’s brow was gathering a weight of anger
as from time to time he glanced at Cecile, who sat idty
tapping her spoon against the broad gold band which
edged her chocolate cup of sea-green China, utterly set-
ting at naught his maneuvers to.lead her into the eddy-
ing current of their conversation. When the meal was
over and Sir Croft’s son and heir had gone to his own
apartment to regain the hours of rest which he had lost
hy night traveling, the tempest broke, and he upbraided
her for her impolite treatment of their honored visitor.

(To be continued.)

 

AN EXCITING STORY FOR EVERYBODY

A DUEL BY LOT;

A WOMAN'S VENGNANCE,

By A New Contributor.

 

“A Duel by Lot” wascommenced in No 6. Back numbers

ae obtained from any News Agent throughout the United
ates, ——
CHAPTER VII.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, 1ts bloom 41s shed |
Or like the snow-fall in the river, :
A moment white—then melts forever;
Or like the borealis race,

That flits ere you can point theie place;
Or hke the rainbow’s lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm.

It was with the utmost difficulty that Sir Charlies Evan-
der could believe in the reality of what had befallen hum.
He thought himself in a dream, but before long he came
to the conclusion that Mr. Mordaunt had determined to
avenge the wrongs of Miss St. Aubyn, and had not scru-
pled to use the means to effect the end which had sug.
gested themselves to him.

Not one atom of remorse penetrated tothe young man’s
heart. He was filled with rage, and a strong desire to
live in order to be revenged upon Frederick Mordaunt
and Lily, who was, he suspected, the joint cause ef the
suffering he was undergoing.

Thinking that he had escaped all danger by complying
with Mordaunt’s request that he would marry Miss St.
Aubyn, Sir Charles ate some bread, drank some water,
and went to sleep upon the sofa, indulging visions of
power in a few days, when he would be able to do as he
liked with Lily, and tyrannize over her to the fuli content
of a wicked and malicious heart.

He woke up aftera refreshing sleep and pbreakfasted
upon the bread and water; he had scarcely finished when

one of the masked men entered the vault and requested .

that he would fellow him, which he did with ease, as his
bonds had been cut the night before and he had no ban.
age over his eyes.

After traversing several passages and ascending and.

descending flights of steps, he was introduced into a
dressing-room, where there was every convenience for
making bis toilet. Mere he prepared himself forthe ap-
proaching marriage,

When he signified to his attendant that he was ready,
the man touched a bell, which was evidently a signal, as
Mr. Mordaunt almost immediately made his appearance,
holding in his hand tne fatal box, which he extended to
Evander, who, bowing with frigid politeness, having
more of mock than real courtesy in it, took the poisoned
pastilles and swallowed them one by one.

“You are now completely at my mercy,’ exclaimed

Mordannt, “and Lam not afraid that you will refuse to.

do anything that I tell you. Come at once with me toa

carriage Which 1s to convey you to the church, distant.

about half a mile, for which Miss St. Aubyn and her
mother will follow us directly.” : :

“Ts the wedding to be a grand one?’ asked Evander.

“On the contrary, no one has been invited, as we have
told everybody that itis your wish that the marriage
should be as private as possible, though the event has
been noised about, and there will be a good collection of
the villugers.and farmers round about at the chureh.”?

Evander bit his tip, drew on his gloves, and preceded
oy Frederick Mordaunt, walked to the front door, got
into a carriage and was driven quickly away.

He had not long to wait at the church before Miss St.
Aubyn and her mother arrived. Lily looked paler than
usual, but @ strange brilliancy burned in her eyes. She
did not favor Sir Charles with a smile, and her hand rest-
a in his like a lump of lead as they steod before the
altar.

Tne little village church was full of people, who took a

great deal more interest in the proceedings than did the

bride and bridegroom themselves,

As the ceremony proceeded, the spirits of Evander be-
gan to rise. He felt that he had escaped a great danger,
and Miss St. Aubyn was sufficiently lovely to be a desira-
ble wife; beside which, Evander flattered bimseif thata
husband could always break the heart of a wife by pur-
suing a systematic course of cruelty and neglect, and
that he could kill Lily St. Aubyn in jess than six months,
if be wished to. :

They both uttered the responses in a firm voice, and
when the ceremony was over, returned to the castle,
which Evander was anxious to reach as soon as possible,
as he fancied the poison he had swallowed was veginning
to take effect upon his system, and he wanted the antidote
which Mordaunt had promised him.

The journey was performed in silence. When the castle
was reached, Mrs. St. Awbyn left Sir Charles, Mr. Mor-
dannt, and Lily together, and Evander, drawme himself
up to his full hight, exclaimed, insolently:

“1 have complied with your orders, sir.
antidote without any further delay.”

For the first time the newly-ynude Lady Evander raised
her eyes to her husband, and her regard was so cold, so
menacing, so haughty, that he did not doubt hatred and
contempt had taken the place of the love of former days,
boundless as that love had once been.

“Sir Charles,’’ she exclaimed, “IL am about to send an
account to the London papers of our marriage. Perhaps
you would like to read it before it goes. if so, itis at
your bervice, or my friend Mr. Mordaunt will read 1b te
you. ‘

_ She laid a stress upon my friend, and Evander bit bis
lips as he extended his hand, took the paper, and read
Spowine paragraph which had been written by Lily
nerself :

“An event, touching in its simplicity, took place yester-
day at the little village of Silver Pines, which takes its
name from the ancestral domain of the ancient family of
St. Aubyn, the occasion being the marriage of Miss Lily
St. Aubyn to the well known Sir Charles Evander. No
gnests were invited, and everything connected with the
ceremony was conducted with the utmost quietude. The
happy pair will pass a few days in the lovely solitude of
Spl Se before departing for a tour on the Conti-
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“‘nouncement?” asked Lily, as she took the paper trom

 

» your identity is mergé@ ia Leopold Barclay. You are in’

 

empty iv dl its contents, murinurie:

 

 

 

_sunagain. We could fancy himself in Bond street in open

-Willainy of which he wasithe subject.

 

-gueh things take place in England during the latter half

 

 

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acaieacoenacaaeioneeserinencens SS germ a aN RN ET OER
Bvander hinded back the paper, while a smile showed
itself upon his face.

“Doe yOu WISh any al

 
 

to be made in the an-

 

him.

“Y think T ean suggest a modification of the concluding
portion of the paragraph,’ he replied. “Because 1, Jor
one,have not the remetest intention of either staying here
er going on the Continent when the enjoyment of our des
lightful solitude is completed.” ;

“Nort. We are both in accord there,’ said Lily.

Sir Charles stared at herin astenishinent and suddenly
placed his hand to bis chest. He experienced a sensation
of burning there, and he could not doubt that.the poison
he had taken was working actively. Frederick Mordaunt
looked at his watch and said: :

“It is now an hour anda half since you took the poi-
son, an hour more and the antidote will come too late.”

“I beg that you will give it) me at once,” humbly ex-
claimed Evander. “I have complied with your instruc-
tions, you will not have me perish like a dog.

“Certainly not,’? rejoined Mr. Merdaunt.. “But there
are some other things for you to do» before I can release
you from your present state of doubt and uncertainty.
You can trust to. my honor. I have noe Wish that you
should die, Itis my—our object that you shall live.

“Yes,” interposed Lily. ‘You Mave given me your
name Slr Charies;. which Lintend to retain, but I have
conceived §o Vislont a dislike to you .thatsd cannot rest
until I make myself a widew.” s

Evander was) unable to comprehend ithe meaning of
these words. ‘They. had assured: him that he shouldaive
and yet be cureds but he could not understand: how Tiily
could become a widow unless he ceased to exist, This
probieni was soon explained to him.

Mr. Mordaunt. placed a seat) ata table, and exclaimed:

“You will oblige me first of all by making your will.
There i9/a draft before you which you must execute. Put
your name at the foot, if you please,’

Stupetied, Sir Cuarles Evander read the draft of a will,
which had been prepared for him in the following terms:

“This is my last wili and testament. 1 leave: my wid-
ow, Lady livander, all my property, real and personal, of
which Lam possessed, charging her to pay to Leopold Bar-
clay, Who once saved my Hie in the East, an annual pen-
sion of twelve hundred pounds. J have a secret grich
which makes my life a misery and a burdento ine. Lam
the victim of remorse, and | prefer to kill myself rather
than drag on & weary existores., I regret leaving my
young wife, but my death will relieve her trom much
misery.” ;

“Sizo that! exclaimed. Evander, angrily, casting the
pen away fromhim. “Never. ‘Do you think lam mad?
A will not be made the toel of yeur vie machinations.
Your pilot is deeply laid, but you should not have reckon-
ed upon my tee casy compliance.”

Mr. Mordaunt produced the black box which contained
the antidote to the virulent poison which was already
burning in the veins of the young baronet, and advancing
to the grate, in which @ fire Was burning, eld the box
‘over the flames.

“Beware,” said he. “I give yeu one minute for refiec-
tion. If you refuse te do our bidding, we shall consider
ourselves justified im leaving you to your fate... Do not be
rash—refiect.”” ‘ ' ;

“What is the meaning of it-all?? asked. Nvander, Jook-
ing aboat him like ene in a dreain; ‘“whatis to.kecomeot
me, when I have complica with all your singular re-
‘qnests ?)? adding, aS, his passion once more mastered
hing: “Oh, sir, 10.is very brave of you to-dictate- terms to
me and treat ine as a child, but ifever I mect you in the
world again, T swear to you on my honor inatyeu shall
‘bitterly repont yer share in this transaction.”

The excitement to. wiichhe gave way brought.on.a
fresh paroxysm, ‘and his features were contracted ‘with,
the horrible pain he:suifered.

“Water, water,’ he eried; “I am-on fire.” i

And he looked round for something, with which 'to
‘quench hisithirst, butSaw nothing, nor did his, condition
extractlany sympathy -elther from this wife or Frederick
Mordaubt. Sinking back into the chair from which -he,
had risen while Speaking, he gasped, faintly:

“T shall die’? ~ a ;

“Sten” exclaimed Lily, sternly; “‘you-have yet time to
write. Do not be obstinate and condemn yourselfto
death whea life is withia your grasp.”?

He motioned her to: give him the pea, which she placed
én his hand, and wrote his vame inthe required, piace.
Lady ivanaer took, the jpaper. and folding it in half,.
placed ib inner bosom, at.the same time siguing to Mr.
Mordauat to bring,the antidote. | ,

He instantly emptied the six yellow. pastilles into.a
glass of water which he had placed-on the mantel-shelf.
for that purpose; they becaine quickly ‘dissolved, -giving
the liquid the appearance of-gold.

Volding this within -a foos of .theouvtstretehed hand -of
Hvander, who kept his-eyes intently fixed upon him, Mr.
Jiordaunt exclaimed: :

“T forgot to tell you, Sir Charles, that from Nenceforth,

i

futare to be known 4o0.all men as. Leopold Barelay.. Let
mie eXplains We have with some diiiculty possessed a:
death body, the face of which is disfigured by a.pistol shot
andwvendered unrecognizable, but this body isaressedin
your clethes and. the willgust signed by you will be found
i a pocket-book in the ‘breast of the coat. No one will
doubt that you have emmitted suicide. The income
menuoned in the will shall be reguiarly paidte you. The
remainder will go-to the moor,”

“Lot me drink,” cried iavander, whese pallor increased |
Inolrentarily. ‘Por Lleaven’s sake let me drink!”

Lady Evander rose wand qnitted the apartment, while
Mordaungeave Sir Charles the glass and Watched him:

     

 

“Tt savas time,

Ava Intern azninutés mere ‘he «would ‘have:
been dead. .

 

. CUAPTER VIL
Not Etlen’s spell had lulled towrest
‘Bhat feverwi his troubled breast,
In. broke dreams the mnage rose
-OF£ varied perils, pains and svoes}
His steed new flounders in the brake,
Now sinksdus barge mpon the Jake;
Now'leader of a broken host,
His Standaré falls, lis onor’silost.—Scorr.

The draught, as if by magic, cured ‘the violent: pains:
which tormented. him, and Sir Chames..vander in. ten,
minutes found himself another man., He was still some-
what faint, it is true, and-his head acked, i

Mr. Mordaunt, withthe utmost coolness, whistled an
air from an operd, and appeared to hold Iimself. atthe
baronet’s disposal. |. vy t :

‘Vill you kindty inform moe,” the latter exclaimed, ‘if
ft have anything more 40 iear from the drug. you com-
pelled me to take.” :

.“Nothing whatever. You are now perfectly safe, but 1
cannot pernut you to leave the castle yet,’? replied Mr.
Mordanut. :

“T presume,’ said Eyarder, in a toneof raillery, “that
you Wisk to concoot some paragraph for.the papers, Simi-
Jar to these you-Nave already read to me, With this differ-
ence, that this last will speak of my death.”

“Do nes trouble yourself about that,” Mr. Mordaunt an-
swered. “Your suicide will be made @ further cvent.and
fully reperted in every journal, An account is already
Written’ s | e 5 :

“You seem to forget,” exclaimed Evander, “‘that I shalt
have no difficulty in establishing my identity before. the
court-of jastice. My willtlcan set aside in the’ probate:
court, and nly marriage-shall also be declared null and
veid. Oh, believe me, youchave reckoned without your;
hest, and I will have both you and your accomplice, se- ;
verely punished for this day*s work.”

‘Jn fifteen days you shall-be'at liberty to-:quit the coun-
tury,” exclaimed Brederick Merdaunt, who was notin the
least. con¢erned at the threatening language employed to
him. “And at the ond of that time you may.do whatyou
please; but 1 may ‘tell you that when you quit ‘this house,
you will be so altered that no ene will bo able to recog-
nizeyou. Your mother and your dearest friends will turn
away from you, and if you represent yourself as other
than Leopold Barelay, you willbe laughed .at for a knave
ora lunatic.) At present this is a mystery, ‘but you will
fully understand it at.the'end ef fifteen days.’ :

Again Evander trembled’ and turned pale. Mr.’ Mor-
daunt was a terrible eneniy, and he feared that he should
net be able to turh the tables upon him and Lily as he had
imagined, Again he gaye way to that species of stupe-
faction which had overcome him before, and he sank
pack inte the’ chair, covering his face with his hands, a
prey to conflicting emotions. p

Adl at once he heard a slight noise, and was conscious
of an easy motion. The floor seemed to be ascending to
a level with his faee, and before he had time to spring
out of the chair, ie feun@ that he was actually descend-
Ing througka brickwork shaftat a rapid pace. By the
aid of some hidden machinery he was being hurried into
the unknown depths of a dungeon! ’ 4

His uncertainty did not dst long.’ The darkness in
which he had been enveloped ceased,’ and the chair
toucned the floor of a square vaulted apartment, just be- |
low that he had been in with his wife and Mr. Mordaunt.
He arose from the chair, which immediately re-ascended |
when released ef his weight, and he was alone in a fresh
prison, which was comfortably furnished and lighted by
two lamps, placed on brackets affixed to the walls... It
had 2 solid door of oak, bound with iron, which no doubt
cominunicated wigh a subterranean passage.

A thousand thowghts flashed through the brain of Sir
Charlies Evander.’ fe fancied that he was the victim of
sone Lew treavhery on the part of Mordaunt, and that he
Was doomed to a life-long imprisonment. . It did not seem.
probabic to hin that his wite, after advertising his sui-
cide and making him sign such a will as she had in ‘her
possession, would ever allow him to see the light of the

 

day, talking to his friedds and explaining to them the
But Mordaunt’s last
words, in¢omprehensible as they were, had a new terror
for hin, all the more intense because indefinite and un-
known. —

He was furiously indignant at. being so easily conquer-
ed by Mordaunt, who had treated him with acalm and
provoking insolence:) Mvander could scarcely believe
that all which had happened to°him was’ real. Could

of the nineteenth century? He fancied himself carried
back to the days of feudalism, or at least to the middle
aes,

“Alcor @ lapse of some hours the door of ocak opened,-and
an armed man, wearing a mask of silk and bearing a tray
of provisions and two bottles of yellow wine, entered, and
jaying a cloth upon a table, informed the baronet that he
wis to be his attendant for fifteen days, at the end of
which time he would be free, and during which period he
would keep him informed of ali that went on in the out-
side world which concerned him,

 

 

} dasting.

‘that henwoula pe attacked by total paralysis:

him,

| Miss St. Aubyn.

panic

 

horse in the-castie, and anything else that you choose to
order.”?

“Po you assure me solemnly?’ said Sir Charlies, “that
in fifteen days can quit this prison and go where I
like?”

“Certainly, sir.) For a shert: distance. I shall accom:
pany you in a carriage, but having cleared a certain
point, you will befree to go Where you please.”

“Does not your mistress fear that 1 shall claim the res-
titution of my rights? asked Evander, with a puzzled
expression,

‘The attendant-took up his tray, after having spread the
dra on the table, and went away without making any
reply.

Sir Charles was very faint from the effects of the
‘sess, and from a prolonged abstinence from nourishing

rd.

Although he feared being poisoned a second time, he
ate heartily and drank a bottle and a half of wine, whith
had the effect of @ narcotic upon him, for lhe slept pro-
foundly for many hours after drinking it.

tow long he slept he did not kuow, for his watch had
stopped; but soon after he woke up his attendant again
visited him with a fresh supply of provisions.

“So you think it possible, ny good fellow,”? exclaimed
Sir Charles, “that any one could age or alter so wonder-
tullyin fifteen days, in a dungeom like this, that his
friends would not know him again when he emerged from
his:continement??

The man did not reply, buf a peculiar smile glided
round his lips. and Evander snuddered with a dread for
which hescould uot account.

“You have slept many hours,’ exclaimed the man,
“and Lhavenews for you. Your body was discovered
this: morning in a wood, by a farm-keeper, and & paper
in Which you announced your intention of killing your-
seif, found in your pocket, was broughtto Lady Bvander,
lier ladyship was much concerned. She has. fainted
twice, ands very poorly. Mrs. St. Aubyn is nearly mad
with grief.’

“Dhe hypocrites!’ said Evander,
L will punish them some day.”

**Your body is to be embalmed, and youn will in three
weeks time be buried with great pomp and ceremony in
the cemetery of Kensal Green,’? continued the man. ‘Mr.
Erederick Mordaunt will be chief mourner.”

“This is too much,’ exclaimed Sir Chales Eyander,
who was ata loss te understand the ultimate Object’ of
his enemies,

He was desirous of putting some additional question to
his attendant, but the latter arranged the. provisions as
before, bowed, and left hum alone ones more.

A week elapsed, and Sir Charles was. regularly supplied
with the best food. Heremarked that the wine changed
its color. At first it was yellow, then gray, and latterly'<
ruby. tint. “About this time he became inconvenienced
witha slight swelling of the tongue, and he fancied that
when speaking to his attendant ne did not talk with as
much ease as formerty. i

“Bring me a looking-glass,” he exelaimed, on the morn-
Ing of the seventh day. “There is something the matter
with my tongue, aad the skin of my face seems hard and
ary.?? ’ A

‘The man shook his head, saying:

“Mr. Mordaunt has especially forbidden me te give you
@ looking-glass!)? i :
“Why 2)? ejaculated Sir Charles.

“That's his Dusiness.’?

“Can you oxplain why the color of my wine is chang-
edi"!

“Tammotasie to give youany information on that
point, sir ?? answered the attendant.

Tnis reticence on the part of his jailer terribly alarmed
livander, who became more and more convinced that he
was destined to again feel the effects of the vengeance .of
Mr. Mordaunt and Lily, and that this time they would. be
But no feeling of regret entered his breast. He
was not’sorry for his heartlessness. Jio was only angry
ibecause he was rendered powerless, and could not re-
vonge himself upon his enemies.

OHAPTER IX.
‘Theiday-spring brings not joy to me,
The moon it whispers not of peace; |
But; ohl. what darkness robes tho heayns,
My woes are nuxed with joy. HITE.
Theaneasy feeling which had-taken possession of his
tongue, and which ‘had caused) Six Charles: Rvander so
much uneasiness, increased: day by: day, until! he feared
He spoke

 

 

in a hoarse voice; but

 

 

with-diflicuity and sutfered some pain.

Itawvasewith intense relief that he ‘hailed the fifteenth
day. Toward the evening his attendant came to him
and told him that a-carriage would be at his service inan
hour’s time to take him some distance in any-direction he
wished to go. | }

“Whatlarge town is there near this spot?” inquired
Sir Charles.” | ‘

*Carligle,”? replied the attendant.

“Very well, drive me in. that:direction. QE ill.take the
train theré-and proceed to Lenden.”? ;

The attendant ibewed and went away. When: he're-
parned he handed a pecket-hanakerchiel to Siri Charles
which was mMarkediin one:corner Lepola. Barclay; anaile
imfermed him thatian outfit “which. he had procured for
him.and placed in ¢woportmanteanus was entively marked
in the saine manner. Indeed, Sir Charles on reaching
the carriage foun@ the name: printed onihis luggage, and
seven on the handle of an umbrella.

If was evidently, determined that he shonld be known
as Leopold. Barclay, ‘but the smiled te Jhimiself asthe
thought that he should be able to turn the tables avken hie
arrived in London, and had an interview with his so-
licitor. ;

“Everything is réady, Mr. Barclay said thea
, ‘Why do-youcali me by that namey’’? asked svander,
aperily. j

“Because that is how you will be addressed in future.
Ihave a check for yourfirst year’s Income to give you.
It is made payable to Mr. Leepold Barclay.

Kivander sniied.and, said nothing... He was indulging
visions ofvevenge in the fature and he was content to
undergo a few more humiliations in the present. His

| jailer.conducted him through .an. underground passage |

toa gate which allowed them to emerge into. the garden
of the Castle, this taey traversed. and ata door opening
upon the high road, they found :a carriage waiting for
them. Jtavas quite dark. Sir Charles -entered first, and
his companion took a seat by his side.

Evander tried to smoke a cigar, but his tongue pained
He endeavored to talk, but he could not converse
with any pleasure, and eventually he fell asleep.

Wheu he awoke it was broad daylight, and the car-

riage was still travelling rapidly toward. the railroad

Station. He tried to speak to his attendant, but only
succeeded in.a stammering way, and he ventured to in-

quire the cause of the peculiar sensation of which he was

the subject.

*. “In a week's time you willnot beable to speak at all,”
returned the attendant. ‘The different colored wines
which you have been taking have had the effect of alter-
ing you in mere respects than one.?? ;

“But my friends will know me again.’?

“T-very much doubt it. Judge for yourself,” said the
attendant.

As he:spoke he produced 2 looking-elass whick he had
concealed under the seat, and wiiteh he gave to Sir
Charles Evander, who held it up and ‘gazed into it. ;

His face indicated the mest profound amazement, and
with @ cry of horror he allowed the glass to fall to
the floor of the.cairiage, while the -attendant dooked on
with a smile of combined satisfaction and pity.

lr Charies Evander perceived in the glass the face of a

{man who was yellow as amber, whose skin was dry and’

shriveled like that-of one who had been long under an
eastern sun. Here and there were blue spots. ‘The cyes
had lost theircolor, and were heavy and bloodshot.

“This face was his own.

Overwhelmed with stupefaction he endeavored to speak,
‘ut his voice was more hoarse than before.

“Mr. Barclay,’ said the attendant, who was once more
pitiless as a remorseless fate: ‘you are effectually changed,
and I think you willagree with me that your dearest
friends will not recognize you. Your malady is-one well

| known among the Malays, which has been produced by a

skillful adinixture and administration of vegetable pois-
ons given to you inthe wines you have lately imbibed.
You will suffer noe pain, and you can if you like live te be
an oldman. You are no longer theseductive Sir Charles
Evander. No one will recognize in the hideous Leopold
Barclay the handsome young man who broke the heart of
The tongue that knew so well how to tie
will ®e dumb forever. But we are now near Carlisle, and
it is time for us to part.’

The attendanl handed Sir Charles a check for twelve
hundred pounds, as well as some ready money, and stop-
ping the carriage alighted; and before the vehicle had
proceeded onits wayagain he removed his mask aad
bowed with mock humility.

“Mordaunt !’ ejaculated Evander.

His jailer had been none other than Frederiek Mor-
daunt, who, by concealing his face and disguising his
voice, had contrived to pass ‘undiscovered.

Sir Charlies was nearly maddened’ at the thought of the
triumph ef his enemy, and that he should have from day
to day gloated over his misery and enjoyed his ever-in-
creasing distress,

The next moment the carriage was flying along the
road, and Sir Charles was hurried on toward the great
metropolis. :

At Carlisle he took the train to London, and trembied
with vexation when he saw people turn from his disfig-
ured countenance with disgust, and look at lim as if he
had been leprous and unclean.

“What would he dot’?

Frederick Mordaunt had, with fiendish malignity and
devilish ingenuity, succeeded in rendering him so alter-
ed and so hideous that assuredly no one who had known
him before could recognize him again.

He determined, after long consideration, to assume the
name which had been given him and take up his abode
at the Clarendon Hotel, where he could represent him-
selfasan Anglo-Indian, and have recourse to all the
cleverest doctors in London, some one of whom might
perhaps cure him of his malady.

At the hotel in Bond ‘street, he, on tis arrival, gave the
name of Mr. Leopold Barclay, and after dinner, enscon-
cing himself In an arm-chair, reflected upon the disad-.
vantages of his position. He would much rather be not
known as_Sir Charles Evander until he was restored to
his former condition. Now he was an object of loathing
and aversion, but he believed it within the power of medi-
eal science to overcome the alteration which had been
eifected in his appearance.

Tie consulted all the doctors in London of any celebrity,
and with one result. They. were divided in opinion as to
the cause of this malady, but not one of them was able to
suggest any means of curing him. The general expres-

 

 

 

“Lady Evander,’ continued the man with the silk

sion of opinion was that he was a Hindoo and that his

 

imy old friend, Sir Charles Evander.

Wines,

= staple Sa neato ci UR acne ncoranereanien

' Disappointed with the general apathy with which his
ease was Teceived, Sir Charles Evander bethought him-
self of Dr, Roy, who he knew had been much abroad, and
who Was an extraordinary man in jore ways than one.
He inquired lor him/at the hotel af which he knew he
stopped and was informed that he had gone on the Con-
tinent, but where he had gone and when he would return
was more'than they could inform hin.

On receiving this intelligence he was in Cesnair, and for |
several days he did not venture out of lus apartments.
One day on the staircase of the hotel, he met an East In-
dian, who regarded him curiously. The next day they
met again, as well as on the one following.’ This time the |
Indian addressed Sir Charles, sayings

“You have been in India?”

“Never,” replied Evander.

The Mmdian jaughed and continued: oe:

‘(Vill you tell me how long your skin has been in the
condition in which I se@ it.”?

“About a week.”

The Indian shrugged his shoulders and
noyed, buthe answered,

“You cannot deceive me. Tam convinced that you
have been in India, and that the thugs have made you a
prisonér and poisoned you with an infusion made from
the leafof the Tuba. You should have remained: in dn-
dia, for no one will cure you in London, ifl except one
man.’?

“Evander’s heart leaped in his breast.

“itis nanie ?? he cried, eagerly. 5 be

“Dr, Roy is his name,’ answered the Indian. I knew
him very Well at! Madras, and he has the secres of the an-
tidote to most of our vegetable poisons. Good-day, Sir,
take my advice, either ask Dr. Roy or return’ to India. ]
Good-day.”” eWies

Evander thanked the Indian forhis sommunication and
determined to find Dr. Roy without any further delay.

The newspapers ‘informed hin¥ that he: himseif was
dead, and that lis body’ would be interred with great
splendor in London in a week’s tine.

He resolved to attend his own. funeral, but as he had a
few day8'to spare’ he started for Dover, intending to go
to Paris in order to make inquiries respecting Dr. Roy
Who was his only hope.

Yo his surprise, as he was entering the Lord Warden
Hotel at Dover, he encountered in the vestibule the very
inan of whom he was In search.

He made a great effort to speak. It was with difficulty
that he had made the Indian comprehend him, and their
conversation had been painful and slow, but he contrived
to exclaim:

“Do you not know me?"

The doetor shrugged his shoulders, and looked at him
as if he were a pertéct stranger,

“My good Doctor Roy,” continued Evander, “I am in
search of you, Tam the man you took such an interest
in—Sir Charles Kvander. Do not turn away and refuse
to believe me because I can scarcely articulate and my
face is hideously altered.”

Dr. Roy again looked at him steadily, and said:

“Your face bas the features of Sir Charles, but I see by
the papers that he Is dead, and your yoice is not’ that of
lami afraid you are

seemed an-:

some impostor.”

“Mr. Leopold Barclay’s luggage,’ said ‘a porter at the
deor. f

“This is the gentleman,’’ said a waiter; ‘that is the
name he has given.” ,

Drs Roy ‘looked still more suspiciously at Evander,
whose stammering was 80 constant and his agitation so
great that he could scarcely make himself understood.

: : (To be continued.)

‘GRANDFATHER NYE.

BY TMELENA, DIXON.

 

He was a quiet,unobtrusive old man, with hair bleached
by the snows of seventy winters, and a beard that fell
over his feeble chest in long, wavy masses of white. min-
gied with gray. Noone in the quiet, far-away village of
Rosedale, could téll from whence he came or why he had.
taken up his abode .among them. He had purchased a
little cottage quite outof the village proper, and directly
opposite the wide, rambling old stracture where lived
Morton Evarts, the village doctor, Fe 0} )

Grandfather Nye was all the name he bore ih Rosedale,
and this is how everybody came to call him that. When

his little cot with such siople furniture as hadjbeen
brought with him, he used to sit for hours in tif sonny
porch before his door wistfully, watching his neighbor's
windows until atlength Tony Blake, a little waif whom
the doctor had picked up ata charity hospital spied him
and, quickly set about making the lonely old man’s ac-
quaintanee é :

She caine to him first with her arms full of field-flowers
as a childish plea for her boldness, and leaning jaer curly
pate Bea his chair she told hint her name and asked
Lim Ris... , :

“Call me grandfather—Grandfather Nye,” he had said,
and Tony noticed that a glittering tear fel from. his
faded eye, ashe, ran. bis trembling fugers through her
hair apd repéated, ‘‘Tony,.call me Grandfather Nye.
Come over.again, Tony. Come every day,’ the old man
had called-after her, as well satisfied. with her eiforta at
making an acqhaintance the child had bounded away.

' ARG So €very day, and sometinges, many tithes a day,
Tony Sat by the sideof Grandfather Nye. All the inno-
cent Secrets of her heart were giutidcd to. his keeping,
and mot a childish g@rief or joy did she haya, bub was
shared hy her aged triend» She broneit her pooks and
he taught herte master tuany & @ailropis lesson, tor Tony
being only a poor dependent, was: nee Sent to. scuool as
the <toctor’s more favored children were.

But strange to say—and yet not so strange either—con-
sidering how wise her aged instructor was, Tony: sooa
outstripped the doctor’s daughters in substantial knowl-
edge. More beautiful and graceful in manner. slie had
always been, and Lucy and Sara Lvarts, as the three girls
ripened into womanhood, came to regard the pretty wait
With the bitterest envy and hatred,

Jé was Well, forthe poor girl that she had one friend
Still, aS in childhoost, iu the person of Grandfather Nye,

One day the old ian, sitting as usual before his door
Saw Tony coming sicwly up the walk her usually bright
face clouded over with seme new sorrow.

“Twonuder what ails’ my little pet now 2?” thought
Grandfather Nye.

“‘O, grandfather 1’m so miserable,” and Tony dropped
into the little rustic seat under the lilac and shaded her
face with her hands. ;

“Well, child, tell the old man what it is, and grand-
father's creaking tones had in them something of tender-
ness as he spoke, :

Then it all.came out. James Evarts loved Teny, poor
and friendiess as she was and wanted her for his wile,
and Tony had loved him ever since he came home fron
school. Jamies? sisters had founda ont their secret and
abused her shamefully, calling her & “beggar and one of
the off-scourings of the earth,’? and besides they had told
James something about her mether, Tony didn’t know
What, but sie was sure it was something bad for she had
heard James ‘tell Shem never to breathe it again, for he
would never believe it, and Teny wondered how they
could know anything about her mother since she did not

 

 

that she:could die and that she diad never beem born.
What made Grandfather Nye's head droop over his

| breast and jis poor old chin, quiver when Wony talked

aboat her mother? :
The old iman was certainly much .aficcted and Tony saw
it, and told him how sorry she was that she iad come to

adn.
: There was something still on Tony’s mind avout which
she ‘had meant to ask her aged triend’s advice, but
how she resdlved toe spare him the new pane she knew it
would give his affectionate heart and returned home
with tle words unspoken.

The next morning Tony’s bed was found uwaedisturbed
aud Tony was no where to be found.

Grandtather Nye remembered how she had wished her-
self dead. and went almost wild about it He took straight
to his-bed and never left it again.

James Hyarts, though his own’ heart ached wofully,
went over to say a word of comilort to the stricken old
man. |

He would not believe her dead, “He would find and
marry her, despite all his sisters could sav, On hearing
this the old man ¢lasped the lover's hand and motioned
toward a curtained portrait which hung at the feot of the
bed. James raised the curtain and beheld Tony gazing
at him. from the-canyas. At leasthe thought so at the
first glance, but as he eoked more closely he Saw that
the hair was darker; the eyes of a.deeper nue, the brow
svoader and higher than Tony's,

Calling the wondering and perplexed ‘young maan to
his bedside Grandfather Nye told the old story, how his
daughter—she whose porirait hung befere them—had for-
suken the puternalvoor to inarty @ prodigal miscreant
who squandered his means and finally left her te dice
among strangers. And then the old man begged him
piteously to'seck for Tony that she mighit receive her
grandfather’s” blessing andi. know thatsuch he wag in
reality before his eyes shoul close forever.

Tony's place.of refuge was not So far away or so Secure
but James found her, and joyfully restered her to her
aged relative.

Then James and Tony—though no longer Tony Blake,
but: Miriam Waters,were married in the little inner room
of the cottage with the portrait of Miriam’s mother seem-
ing to look with blessing upon them and grandfather Nye
smiling contentedly from his pillow.

tTwo'days after the quiet wedding, a funeral passed
fromthe cottage and the coffined face wore in death the
seréne smile Which had been called up With ‘the prayers
for thediappiness of his children.

Then they found a will bequeathing preperty of great
value, which no one had supposed the:poor seeming old
man had possessed, to his grandchild, Miriam Waters.
But though it placed Miriam:far beyond. the imputation
of being a “beggar” it needed not the will to make her
one of the happiest Of wives,

; wa Be te a

“BUFFALO BILL, THE KING OF BORDERMEN’) is the
most thrilling real narrative of border life that has ever
been published. Itis not the offspring of the brain of a
romanceist, but the true history of a daring adventurer,
told in graphic language by ene who knows. him. well.
Read a few of the first chapters, and you'll agree with us,
that it is a thoroughly exciting story. Speak a word in
commendation of ‘Buffalo Bul’ to your friends. The
News Agents will procure the back numbers if you order

 

 

 

 

them.

aoe ene

 

the old man first caine among them, and had furnished. |

knew herself, and finally the poor girl ended by wishing.

grieve him with her petty troubles since it gave him such

 

 

BY SYLVIE A. SPERRY.

Never can we quite forget
One who once to us was dear;
Oft the sigh of fond regret
Oft the silent, falling tear,
Even though weary ycars have passed,
Warn us love wilhalways lasit

    

There's a glossy tress-of hair,
Carling into rings of jet,
Onee around a forehead fai
That I never can fo
fhough ten years have come between,
Since her coffined face I’ve seen.
There’s a little candy-heart,
(Silly thing toguard so well!
Do you wonder why I start,
; Andowith tears my eyelids swell?
Aht there “hangs a tale)’<in part,
Round that tiny candy-heart!
Here f find a broken ring—
Two hearts joined with Cupid's dart;
I recall that happy epring; © <
When I thought I found my heartes
When I thought I lost it, too, ae
Here’s the motto: “Tender, true tl?
Het k of silver-gray, /
That scgalls 2 mother’s love; %
Mother! sleeping far away :
Under mounds of snow to-day!”
O, my mother! nought will move
True hearts from a fervent love t
OUR CHRISTIEAS STORY:

   

 

5
}

 
 

  

 

‘

THE MIDNIGHT MISTAKE
A CHRISTMAS EVE,

BY WX. HENRY PECK.

 

\ w

 

 

CHAPTER It.
THE DAGGER-THRUST OF THE BANKER.

Simon ‘Archer started with surprise. The Spaniard, De
Leon, a.tall and heavy man, with a dark face—dark-red
from deep drinking, had glided in like an evil spirit.
lis touch upon the door had been as noiseless asia
breath. :

Peter, the janitor, had found him drinking’ in @ cafe,
and bade him hasten to. see Colonel Archer. Loth -to
leave his wine and boon ‘companions, the Spaniard had
been slow in leaving them, but had come before mid-
night.

He closed the.door after him from cautious habit; and
said: : ; i
‘““Sose de Leon, at your service, Colonel Archer.)

“Ha,-in good time, Captain Jose,’ said Archer, quickly.
“We have no time to lose in beating about the’ bush.. T
have work for yeu Baad

“Good, senor—and gold.”?

“You have been! drinking—deeply,” said Archer

“Deeply? Pest! asmall. matter of three bottles
head and hand are good had-L finished flve.” f

The Spaniard smiled grimly, his splendid white teeth
gleaming under his jet-black mustache, and his magunifi-
cent eyes flashing'from his dark-red face.

“Tt is well.) Yes; I have gold—you. love it,??!

“Ay, senor, for what it gets—the glory ofisparkling
wine, the joy ofothe gaming-table, and the smiles:of
beautiful women. Bravo for gold! I do. abything for

My

gokl.. Remember, Senor,Carlos Acton—ha.??
“Death. Speak not his name now. His. ghost is
abroad.”

“So, on Christmas eve.
Leon fears no dead men.”

“Good. You know by sight my late!cashier?!?

‘Ferbert? certainly.” af i iv

“He has’ a trace of the Acton. business.) Take care.?

The Spaniard swelled his nostrils, and s¢emed to scent
danger. A ‘scowl grew heavy of! his: dark forehead.
Where it had been red it became black with deep
frowns. j

“We has courage, DeLeon.) 67) ¢

“Bah—pest! and 17? ;

“He will fight if insulted. He isno boy. Fix a quarrel
upon him, and—end him! I witli see you defended by
the law. You are shrewd, Make the affair a matter of
self-defense.”

Show me the. ghost.. Jose de

“Good. When?)
“Within an hour. He visits every night at John Sican’s
cottage. Iam sure he is there to-night—a Christmas-eve

time they are having. Ele will leave probably, at er just
alter midnight. (Insulfhim on his way home. Say sote-
thing stinging against the reputation @f his’ lady-love,
Miss Evaline Sloan. He will strike yous were youa
giant at the head of an army, he would strike youm the
mouth for that. If you fail to meet ham to-night; why
meet iim in the morning. Tie must: die te Save your
neck, andmine. See, Guy hasrobbed my safe. Herbert
has a pocket full of papers-=proois that can hang us. He
carries them jn his bRast-pocket ~secarethenn?? |

“He dies: befere«the: sun ’Shall rise, on Ohristmas-day,
senor, and the papers shall be Gurs.to destroy. Devil
take this keeping of dangerous papers. If [fail toslay
him in the streets, Iwill stab him in his bed. I know
where he sleeps. I) must! so. Be easy—this is aismall
affair, “Come, we will exchange Christinas gifts in the
morning. You will countmeout five thousand in old;
L will give you the stolen packet; and ah, hang up your
eronkipe sat your. door. there; colonel. I know the way
in. 7

“And why ??

“i will not put the packet init, but the heart of. this
Herbert, the cashier.. Pest! how you starel .No matter—
igo to kill him.’ :

Aad twisting his mustache this trucalent: rufiian de-
parted, 3

‘Come, that Spaniard gives me courage. A bold fel-
low, and somehow heand L are devoted friends, «and
have mever, quarreled.. A merry  Christmas)to: Madam
Herbert in the morning.” : 9-1

Ife waited. there in, nis library. until {the clock struck
twelve, ;, Time dragged. as he ; waited, and he became
more and mere restless, Athalf-past twelve he sprang
to his feet, saying: :

“f cannot bear this. I must be doing something.
Sleep! I cannot ciose my eyes to-night, when my very
lite 1s in the balance. JI must beim the open air.’

He went out hastily and by stealth. He left both hat
and cloak behind him in-his fever of anxiety. He was
soon hovering near the cottage ef John Sloan. —~

The house was closed and dark, except at.one window,
where the soft light of a lamp gleamed through an azure
curtain.

“Ibis. Evaline’s room,?? he muttered, and. drawing
nearer and nearer tothe low picket-ferice which sur-
rounded the modest little dwelling.

A shadow.of Some one passing between the lamp and
the curtain Mashed to and fro over tne latter, Sometimes
this shadow of an exquisitely shaped lead, profile, bust
and shoulders would remain for an instant clearly drawn
and stationary upon the faint.azure of the almost trans-
parent curtain. Then agaimit would vanish to crogs
and recross, and be stillagain, likea fairy shape danc-
ing.and floating in a cloud of laminated azure.

whe outline was superb, ravishingly beautiful at times,
and then allaway. Whenever this shadow stood-still it
was divine in its perfect outline.

“It is Evaline,’” gasped Simon Archer. “Only her glo-

rious form could cast such angelic shadows. And am I
tolose her—the divine substance of this maddening
shadow.
. He was as insensible as a firebrand to the keen wintry
aix of the night. His blood danced in lava-like torrents
through every vein. He griped the picket with his hot
palms. He giued his gaze upon that azure curtain, that
panorama .of angelic shadows—shadow ef apure and
lovely maiden disrobing for the night.

“A glimpse of ‘the Heaven J may lose,’ he muttered,
and tearing away a handful of his hair. “She said she
would be my wife. She consented—ha!l ha! she con-
sented. Sheisin my heart, in my brain, in my soul I
shall go mad if she becomes the wife of Herber{—curse
Herbertt.or of any man—curse every man! i wouldthere
were but one man im the world—myself—and but one
woman—Eyaline,. Cursed damp! she has put it out.
Cruel Kyaline—is 1t with shadows I am to be rewarded ?!

The cottage, dark and silent now, seemed to glare scorn
unutterable at him, and he turned away, and put his
cautious feet upon the course he judged Herbert had
taken to return to his home,

“What joy would be mine,?? he thought,” were 1 to
stumble over his body—deid and freezing. I would
dance on it, De Leon is after him—perhaps already he
has slain him,??

ie moved on for several minutes, over the hard, crispy
snow, until when midway across a public square he came
upon the bedy of a man, face down in the saow, the ba iy
wrapped in a Cloak. :

Till then the moon had been hidden behind dark clouds.
As Archer drew near this motionless form the moon shone
out suddenly, like a huge globe of molten sliver, radiant
almost as the sun.

“A dead man,’? said Archer, as he swept his hands over
the down turned face of the body. ‘Good lifel it igs Jose
de Leon! De Leon! dead! I can find no wound? there
should be blood! not a drop anywhere on the snow.
Dead! how? Ah, FT remember, he used to have fits,
spasms, convulsions—but there he would have struggled
some—there has been no struggling here. -Dead? cold—
stiff! What‘is this? a golden chain ?—yes, and a packet,
a something sewed up in sharkskin. Good, I will take
this to examine at my leisure—it may give me a, élue to
something of his life or origin. I must leave him. Ihave
no time tocharge myself with the trouble of such mat-
ters as inquest and all that. Since he is dead, I must try
to play the part he spoke of—the deed to be done in Her-
bert’s room. Imust try to secure the papers.”

Helett thé body and’ hurried on, never halting nor
turning his head, until he halted before Herbert’s house.

“ know where he sleeps,”’ he muttered, as he gazed up
at the brick edifice before him. “I know every crack and
cranny inthe house. He sleeps therein. the room just
over that trellis work. I might climb that—but perlaps
I can effect an entrance below and go up the stairs. Good
—the front doorisnot locked. Ha, Christmas Eve is ever
a careless time. They keep two servants only—doubtless
good cheer makes all sleep heavily... It is fortunate J
have rubbers on—I'tread as softly as a cat,’

 

      

 

 

 

 

| other hall—at

(in the guise of a friend, of a bene
; Now he comes as an ass

| low and not wake bim.

} curtain.

In the house, through the lrall, up the stairs, along an-
1 last he stands within the bed-room. of
William Herbert.

lic has made no noise.
opened noiselessly.

Madam Herbert sleeps in a room on.the other side of
the hall. Archer knows that well. Weis.familar with
all the habits of this house. Por years he. bas visited ic
factor, efa protector.

He touched the doorand it had

  

assin.

Iie stands jast within Herberi’s room, near the door.
ilisvight hand glides into hig bosom and unsheathes a
broad-bladed dagger. He can seenothing. The curtains
ofthe windows are drawn, and the interior of the room
is as dark, as Silentasatomb. His thoughts crowd thick
and fast upon him.

“Poudtless Herbert has that accursed packet. under his
pillow. Itis his habit to sleep with his valuables under
his pillow—for he boasts that no man can touch his pil-
It isnot probable that he has lefts
the papers with John Slean, though he may have spoken
of them to the old coward. Anh, is that not his breathing
T hear, oris it my own.. How my heart beats.?

Ne sinks slowly upon Iishands and knecs. We fears
the floor may crack or creak under the weight of nis feet
aione. ‘He scatters his weight by lying flat upon the floor,
as aserpent.crawis. And how like a serpent he crawls!
Inch by inch, until his head touches the fringe of the bed
coverning. Lacs

He rises to his fect, cautiously. .Ashadew could not.be
less noiseless. He sweeps liis left hand gently over the
surface of the bed. The flutter of a bat’s wing would be
heavier than is the soft toneh of his hand@as his palm
glides about to find the position of hig intended victim—
while the fingers of his right hand are like bands of steel
upon the hilt of his knife. :

The bedis vacant! His blood seems to turn toice as he
recognizes this fact. The ded is vacant!

And then, on the instant, his Mesh creeps, his heart he-
comes like lead—heavy, cold as a@clod hardened by frost
—-for his ears thunder to bis brain. ; :

“Bewarel Some one isin thisToom! A man has‘just
enfered—as you entercd—to killa man! Vo kill you )*

Nothing can be seen. The darkness is as impenetrable
to the eye asa rock of black marble toa linger, -Bus
something can be heard, and the ears of Simon Archer
are sharpened by his peril of detection.

Hie hears something creeping toward the bed.
breathing he knows a man is hear, is approaching.

A crash! What? The night wind has clashed.a. shutter
against the window. A pane is shattered by the concns-
sion, the wind streams in and fintters the curtains. The
moonlight peeps in by fits and Starts as the curtain rises.
and falls,

For one instant only Simon Archer sees a pair of fierce
eyes gleam, as a mooibeam, slender as.a@ sword blade,
cuts across them. :

“Ftis Herbert |
on his side.” ;

He retreats. He crawls under.the bed. .The unseen
man follows him even there. He emerges near the wall
pehind the bed. He bounds upon the bed and overit. A
strong hand grasps his foot, and a keen, angry pain darts
through his breast. He is sligutly stabbed, buthe stabs

  

    

 

 
   

By the

He intends to killme. The law is all

the wound its blade has made.

A+ deep groan from the unseen mian, "and Archer flies
from the room. He is triumphant, fomhe knows that luis
knife has severed the great artery of the man’s throat.

Phat man is dead. ° There'is no’ hepe Tor him. Heis
dead in a great pool of blood. : :

The deed was done and Simon Archer fled, never think-

in his own bed-room.

“Ah! why did [forget the papers! Butt does not mat-

ter. Heis dead, and I shall hasten to’claim them in the
morning. -He saidhe had not exposed ie to his mother.

She, therefore, still believes me to be’ her best and only
friend. She will place everything in my hands—doh?T for-
getthat uncle of whom Herbert spoke! But TI think he
| said his uncle had gone’ away again—yes he dids (Oh) kr
can readily secure the stolen packet in the motning.
What a Christmas present I have left for Madam Hubert?
And this Yeather-covered packet of De Leon—what’ is
in it.”? ° ie

Tie cut open the pocket. A golden locket containing’ a
‘miniature on ivory fell out. Then a letter—old and
faded, : i

He stared at the miniature.
Tfe gasped: ;

“My mother’s portraiti’?

He flew to a desk, and, taking from it another minia-
ture, compared the two side by side.

They were exactly alike. They were undoubtedly
painted by the same artist from the same face—a dans
and beautiful Spanish face. [iis mother was Spanish.

Tfe snatched up‘ the old letter and opened it with shak-
ing hands. His eyes glared wildly as he stared at the
writing.

marriage certificate in my father’s own hand}?

Hie sat now, weak and faint, ag a man who for the first
time-feels the waves of the sea, heaving lis heart to his
throat. He was assi¢k as death, and the siveat that
sprang to his hot fuce was as cold as frozen rain.

‘Good Heaven!’ he muttered, and staring at the flame
of his lamp, but seeing only the face of Jose de Leon in
that jetof yellow fire. ‘‘De Leon was my brother! My
dead parents used to tell nie thatawwhen Band my tiyin

were infants, @ year or so old, the ship that was to bear
us from Malta to England was wrecked ou the Spanisir
coust—that Hector was lost-—that he had with hima min-
lature portrait of my mother, and this first love-letter of
mny father, and this ‘copy of their marriage certificate—
and that on Hectoy’s left breast, just under the nipple,
was a mole shaped like @ cross—-ah, 1 remember all the
told mel And how some strange sentiment of strong
aifection—stronger than mere liking of man for nian, has
ever been between ns—me and De Leon.” He himself has
often spoken of it. . Nay, we have even jested of the sim-
larity of our profiles, And we were brothers! And lie is
dead! Dead out there in the snow where I found him. I
Wish he had lived longer—long enough to kpow that I
was his brother. But what now! Who comes???

There was a violent rapping at his bedroom door, and
as le started to his feet, tne door sprang open violently,
burst in by a squad of police—and With them came John
Sloan and William Herbert. ;

William Herbert, unhurt, and with an angry light
blazing in his powerful eyes,

“Good Heaven!’ cried Archer, recoiling and staring at
his late cashier. ‘Alive! unhurt! Then who was he ??

“Theman you stabbed—the man you assassinated,’’
replied Herbert, in a terrible voice, “was the accomplice
of your crimes—Jose de Leon!’

Simon Archer uttered ashrick and fellon his knees,
covering his face with his hands.

Herbert continued in an unpitying tone:

“Speak to him, John Sloan. Let this miserable man
hear the truth from yourlips, Let him tremble at the
sound of your voice as We has made you tremble for years
of crushed innocence at the sounded of his,

_Joln Sloan—you could not have recognized him but for
his white hairand his well-worn garb, he was so erect
and grand in his attitude, and there was such a ring and

 

Ahi @ noble thing is aman to see, when he stands forth
proud in his proved innocence of a crime that has
shackled his manhood for years! John Sloan, with eyes
bright as stars and flashing as lightning, said:

eA ferry shristmas to you, Simon Archer! You were

this house, uncloaked and bareheaded. You were-seen
as you glared, beast of lust! at the shadows on Eyaline's
4 You were seen as you exainined the body’ of ‘a’
manin the square. The man was not dead, as you doubt-
less imagined. He had been in a fit—he was subject to
fits in which his body assumed the appearance and cold-
ness of a corpse. De Leon was not dead. - Hesoon arose,
and hastened to do the deed you had’ doubtless’ bribed
him to do. He entered Madam’ Herbert's fouse as you
did, and not many minutes after. You soon after cdmé
out in a tlight of terror. We then went in, and there we
found Jose de Leon—dead.”? 3

“Take me to him!’ screamed Archer, wildly. “Bo 'me
this last favor! Let me see him ere you thrust me into
prison.”

‘He is dead.”? ;

‘Yes; but let me see his body I implore this last favor
—itis not much!”

Wondering, they complied. They led him to Madam
Herbert’s, into the grim presence of the dead man.

“Bare his bosoml” cried Archer, glaring at the corpse.
“Over the heart—so—let me wipe this stain away. Oh,

ieaven! it is no stain! Me was born’ with this mark! My
thrust went straight through it! My brother! He was
my brother! I have slain my brother! and with: a wild
cry, the miserable man sank forward’ upon the body,
moaning Saintly then: “My dagger’s thrust was your
Christmas gift—my dead brother Hector!”

When the officers of the law removed him, he continued
to murmur those words alone, and Christmas day dawned
on him in his dungeon’as still-he muttered them in stony
tearless grief. ;

in aweek he wasamadman. Butere his brain ‘was
Seized by the serpent-tipped fingers of life-long insanity,
his confessions had made all clear to these his boundless
avarice had injured.

From that Christmas eve John Sloan became.?. new
man. Years of suffering had forever eradicated in his
nature the thirst for strong drink that had in his young
and promising manhood given him into the power’of the
merciless Simon Archer. His bent forn became erect;
his wrinkles fled one by one from a face ever joyous and
smiling!

The Christmas gift Heaven gave John Sloan on that
eventful night was the most lorious and precious that
you or I—that man, woman, or child can wear on feart
and brow—recognized innocence,

May Heaven on each Christmas eve of our lives place
this beauty in our faces to be our joy and the joy’ of our
finesides on every Christmas morn. ’

Hvaline’s long bereaved father and mother, being :
informed of all that had passed, were in Tinie’ to etabiaks
their dearly beloved and long lost daughter as 2 most
precious and lasting New Year’s gift: and as they learn-
ed the noble character of William Herbert, they gladly
consented to his immediate union with their beauteous
and gentle Evaline. i
One word more.

One year after the death of Jose De Leon, it was Christ-
mas eve again, and Heaven sent to the sappy homé of
Wiliam and Evaline this Christmas eiftr—

“A. BOUNCING BABY-BOY 1”?

And so, my friends, a Merry Christmas t r you
J : Jhristmas to a ou
and many returns of the same. ai OheKONs

 

 

 

 

 

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back, and the hilt of his knife thumps against: the lips‘ of -

ing of the packet of papers until he sat pale and panting ©:

He grew paler than ever...

“My father’s first letter to my mother! A copy of their

brother—Hector, they said his naine was—that when we ”

clash in his words, like the sound of steel striking stee?. °

watched and dogged from the moment you hurried from °

 

 

 

 

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= excited student of medieine. hitn( May dholmes)(o calledinds takeaiehiss ¢ Sill house. Stay on the sloop, father, with Jack, while I go

EY MEDIE BROWN.

“Twasat the glorious sunset,
When on the silvery sea,
The sunlight kissed the waters,
So boundless -and:so free;
So sacred seemed the stiliness
As we leaned the railing o'er,
That we thought we heard the angels
Chaunt praises evermore.

Not with the solemn cadence
Of martial musie’s strain,
Were theré mingled any voices
In sorrowing refrain;
Nor was murmured any prayer,
As wo lifted*up tite dead
To-buryin the waters—
No farewells Were there said:
Noflowers may bloom in beauty
Where we gave him to his rest,
¥or tho blue waves always claim him
For evermore their guest.
But that mother ll. love the ocean,
Though the billows loudly roar,
Tor they tell her of the lost onc
she Shall see here noyermore.
oe > Ot

ae Te Fy

“LADY OF GRAND COURT;

OR,
THE SECRE TARY'S. PLOT
“By the! Author of Beécrléess Cathleen,
CHAPTER. XL,

Within the hall, where torches’ ray
Supplies the excluded beams of days,
Lies Duncan.on his lowly bier,

‘And o'er him streams his widow's tear.

Ruthven was possessed ofa muscular and vigorous

streneth. He struggied violently,, desperately, witn his

nknown assailant..Ina few moments he had him at
ais mercy, kneeling with all his weight ae the man’s
road chest, and grasping’ his throz at w ith his ponds

“Now, who'are you, and what dd you seek 7’ demand-
ed tuthven, hotly.

The man gaspea out-in accents of terror: i

“Tet mediree, let me free... Itis as | dreamed:
be taken if the night and inthe dark, 1———)

And here’ he paused, as though he wished to recall his
words.

“This is possibly an escaped lunacic,’? mused Pi hilip.

AS hé thought thus his hands -velaxed théir angry ten-
sion on ‘tle other's throat, and pity usurped ‘the place of
passion.

“Pell fae what you seck,’? demanded Ruthven, in a
gentler-tone.

“scape, 2, answered the man,
mentory of what I have done.”

erre 1s decidedly an escaped madman,’ said Philip, to
himself; ‘sand I must do the best I can either to sceure
him, if he as dangerous, orto aid him.in escaping, if he
has been unjustly incarcerated.”

Then Phillpspoke again to the man.
ov herehave you! escaped from ?” he inquired.

Tue man ansiveréa only by. frantic struggles
himself from Ruthven’s grasp,

 

Scorr.

I should

from! myself and the

to free
But.Philip, young, slight,

/ andactive, held him down with a determined force,

 

in the’street in Edinburgh, was picked up by me,

the house.” |

- thelamp.eXtinguished om the ground, aud the two.

“Now, said he, *d shall!call theokousehold if you Go
~hot teh me what you seek.”?

“There is a‘treasure buricd ini this chamber, said .the
man. ‘A letter which fell from’ the pocket éf a woman
yester-
"day. Tread its’ contents, A Sreat secret lies hidden in
this chamber—a secret which I desire to find and to sell.
It is a-secret wortha dakedom,and acertain Scotch duke
would give some thousands to anybody to bura the proof
of this secret. ‘Tentered*here by a doorin the wine-cel-
lat, Which commu hicates with tae yard. I am. quick at
dotiges of this sort.” Whoever YOu . ie if you seex to

rade upon what have told ‘you, ‘unless you, go shares, I
Will publish the secret to the “world, and you will lose
what the Scotch duke would ait siven to buy your’ si-
fence. Let me go free; lef us séck for the papers and
parchinents, and you shall share this secret anid the pro-
fils; only don’t alarm the house; only don’t give me into
eustody. Indeed, I can make your fortune, it you will
trust me.

.fhere was no tone in the man’s voice which Ruthven
secognized; the two had never met before, and yet a chill

yan throagh Philip while he listewed: to “the’ creature's
Worse: ‘There was-a horrible croaking sound in the tone;
‘such a Sound as one fancies. Marat, the Apleod-stained te-
volutionary miscreant, must have titered,. There was
nervous fear, brutal ferocity, guilt in the voice.

“Share your secret with you 1!’ burstforth, Ruthven, in
contempt; “share your profits 1 No, you.;are, a ropber,
who has entered this house that you ma ay, stew! the b inth-
right.ofan innoecat, man,. 4 shall secu re | d shal Leal

ype which We
sound WERE

       
 
    
 

And here Ruthven erasped the log”
Knew was within his reach, and” i ‘pe ag
through the house. :

Then the prostrate man vonewred fis? str ugeles, strove
to take Ruthven unawares, to hit his face, in vain. The
old man-servant, a gardeners) boy W lyo ‘slept in the house
the cook, and, lastly, Mfrs: MoNeil herself heard the noise
of the bell, and in. a ‘few minutes) finve the room with the
red hearthstone was filled bytheuservants and the. old
Jady housekeeper. The latter was wrapped in a large
blue flannel dressing-gown, and wore an enormous night-
eap. She carried besides a lighted lamp.

A scream of consternation burst from her lips when she
perceived tne stones torn up, the rug Kick into the corner,
men

engaged in Ww hat appeared like a very deadly struggte.

WRcenye: him! help me to bind him hand and foot,”
cried Kutliven. :

_ This was not jong in being effected. The man knew not

‘how complete a stranger Ruthven was in that house, oz

he might lave turned the tables» by telling some tales
} against: nim.

“in a few seconds the ruffian lay bound hand and foot
atthe merey of un alarmed: household, The prisoner was
a pale, stout man ot forty, with a bald forehead,. scanty
red hat anda.gleam of mingle d ferocity and fear in, his
gray-eyesscohhe poinica to the ae hearthstone,

‘See there)? he cricd out, in an excited tone, “te has
been beférchand with me. na las found the parch-
ments,’? . oes

Wiat parchments ¢ 2) demanded old Mrs. MeNeil, in a

tone of anger.’ “Is that the reason, then, Mr, Ruthven,
that you have chtered this house; that you might seck
for hidden documents touching the honor of a grea’ fanmii-
Ay 99) ,
“LaRuieh ren ere w white as death with nervous fear. The
parctime igieeeaiene precious parehients—his by every
right, lasyy human or divine, since, they. gstaplished thre
fact-of lis legithuacy, and cleared the name of his mother
—was he to be forced to yield them up. to. these depend-
ents. of the proud house of Renfrew, in order that its
mighty pride might meet with no rebuke? Nay, nay; his.
life ‘first »cfore those parchments.
the breast-pocket of his coat. Lis eyes flashed as he
turned them npor Mrs. McNeil

“J confess, madam, that £ came here to search for
parchments, not inorder that I might sell. a secret to a
great duke, but that L might discover whether or not that
great duke. had committed an act of crying injustice, and
if so, Tmizht bring him to book.”

Albtaeclannish “aevotion:to the great family of which
she was cp humble offshoot shone up in the eyes of the cid
scotch Wont.

“Sir, sir,??. she said; “twenty boys like you, twenty lives
as... ovthi ne » twenty faces as be ardiess, are nothing
weighed ag net: the honor, the stately repose, of the fam-
ily of Renfrew. Give me up those parchments, or [, will
have-them:’ by force.’

Philip,folded his arms across his chest.

“Only with my life do T yield up those parchments,”’ he
said. ‘Your old Doors of Wylderstone’??—and he spurned
the oaken boards. contemptuously with .his heel-as -he
spoke—
yield up these proofs of my birth, my honor, my title.”

« She stood back aghast.

“You speak wildly, young man.’

Ruthven laughed a contemptuous laugh. ‘

Doubtless I “speak very wildly, he ‘replied, “for Tam
perhaps somewhat excited at the prospect.of the great
prize which has just come within my grasp. You shall
only wrench it froay me, madam, with my lfe.”?

His. grace: mustbe apprised of this annoyance; his
grace must be prepared;.and: that wretched man, your
victim, or your accomplice, he'shall be sent to prison for
burglary—you for entering the house under false pre-
tenses.”

Ruthven felt that the remorseless old Scotch lady, in
her blind devotion to the great Highland family, would
not scruple to destroy the precious parchments should
they establish the fact of a mesalliance in the duke’s time
of youth.

lie looked abont him an instant, then suddenly dash-
ing out of the open door, and down. the Stairs, he made
for a certain back staircase which he had taken note of
during the time when he had been ee ey perambulating
the house.

Gn that staircase was a-low,. large lattice window,
which opened on the flat leads of an outhouse, To dash
upon. the flats, and thence from a considerable hight. to
the lawn peneat sh, was only the work of a few moments
vetth, Ruthven, Afterward ne crossed the garden, climbed
54 Wall with the skill. and agility of a cat, leaped down
into the road beneath, and finally found himself pacing
along the high road toward Edinburgh, under: a frosty
moon, with the parchments safely buttoned in the breast-

ocket of his waistcoat,

His heart beat high with a strange and sudden hope.
Never in all the years that were cone had such a singular
feéling of elation—such a comforting, strong. conviction
of assured success—taken possession of his mind and
soul.

He walked on confidentty, he did ‘not even hasten his
steps in the fear of pursuit. He went on throngh the cold
of the wintry night, hatlcess, without’ an over-coat, but
with no fear—no consciéusness of weather or tempera-
ture.

On he paced—ten miles, ten weary miles, to Edinburgh |

 

 

 

 

They were secured in

“must be reddened with my blood before I will}

At last he entered the picturesque streets, just as the
winter dawn was breaking and the sun was getting UP;
rylood-red, in: theveast. He came on; and ente reda colrec-
house which was just opened, called Jor. fire, breakfast,
and 4 private room.

There, with his’ feet on the fenc der, and’his plentifal
real fast spread outiat’ his side, he opened his’ pareh-
nents, and.read: words which ‘astonished him.

Jolun, Duke of Renfrew, was a minor when he married
the daug hter of Mark Ingoldsby, surgeon, in the little
kirk of Wylderstone village. From thence hes had! pro-
ceeded abroad with his wife. Eighteen months after. his
# hlarriage he-had taken-up-his abode tor a short while in
Wylderstone House, the property of his cousin, James
Staunton. In that house had been born a son, called
John, Marquis of Aberidal.

How it was that the certificates of marriage, birth, and
baptism had been hidden under the .red hearths stone, in
lieu of being kept in the church, Ruthven. was at a ereat
1088 to understand, but he resolved to lose no timein pres
senting the documents to’ the higtiest® firm of lawers in

 

forcing: his claim to ‘the y duke’s noti
ae te mysteriously’ éxcited, yet. Ww onderfully self-pos-

ad, woman Whom Ne believed to be his mother+she
Ta st bé Sought out, and explanations demanded.

It only gtrack hin after reading the marriabe between
Jon Buchanan, Duke of Renfrew, and Jane, only daugh-
ter of Mark Ingoldsby; that itheve would »be a difliculty, |
not so muelh in establishing the fact thatia dharriage had
taken place, as in proving his‘own identity with the elild
born at Wylderstone House,

Then he bethought,, himself of his rough, appearance.
Ie had left all his: baggage -at-the inm inthe village. Af-
‘tera good breakfast; however, he asked to be shiown'to.a
chamber, where ie W vashéd, arranged his hair and then
sent out his measure for a tourist's cap, a warm overcoat
gloves, and so.on, and having, equipped hinaselfy he
ceeded to the oltice of the Messrs; Goldwerthy, ‘‘the first
in the city,’*as: the landlord: toidchim.

We was show n up stairs into’a. splendid office, and wa
received most courteously by a tall, dark, intelle sual:
faced man, Who was the younger Mr. Gold lworthy.

Philip spoke in a voice tremulous with emotion.

“Sir, Tam a near relation of his grace the Duke of Ren-
frew. Iwishto know if you will consider the proofs
which f bring, and aid me to establish myself beyond all
questioning as the son ef that nobleman.”

r. Goldworthy looked at the young man in a mild as-
tonishment.

“His legitimate son, sir??? he asked politely.
“Most decidedly,’’ replied Philip, reddening.
no wish to esta wblish a claim to a stained name.”

“If is a curious coincidence,”’ observed the lawyer, with
a peculiar smule, ‘‘but we are the duke’s solicitors. Nay,
do not start up so angrily. Weare honorable men. We
would not act against his grace, but if our advice were
worth taking, we would urge upon him the necessity of
allowing your claim, i it bea just one and he should be
aware of it. Dot understand you that you complain of
injustice at his hands???

“Tnjustice of the deepest,’’ returned Ruthven, “since he
has all along treated me as a childor shame, and ignored
my just claims”?

At this moment a loud,
office door.

“Come in,” said the lawyers

A young clerk entered. :

“Telegram, sit,’ said he; ‘from Loch Levar Castle.’?

Hastily the lawy er tore: open- the se@al; then Ne ‘grew
pale, an looked up at Ruthven with an excited Hight in his
Cyc.

 

   

hes

 

 

 

 

“T have

   
 

imperative knock came at the

“Did you Know ofthis when you came to me,
jgéentieman 2?

“Of what?” asked Ruthven. His thoughts were revert-
ing now-to Viola, to all the interests connected with the
Count Ludovico Merhei and Rokewood. ‘Teli me,’? he
added, growing pale in his turn, “has anything happened
tomy 4 ‘friends? But how should they send you & fegram ?

young

 

 

 

 

#: ‘ie the lawyer, “nis.Grace of Renfrew died Iast
nist ina fib at Loci, Levar Castile, his seat in the High=
laids. His wife has sent me this telegram, she is in muehe
perplexity and distress of mind.’”

The sarprise upon Ruthven’s face was evidently genu-
ine, there was NO seTrow—how sbeuld there be for a man
who was ‘unknown to hun, and who had always treated
hit, unjustly ?—but he was: Shocked at the sudden news,
dc someting like tears Or a mist of tears gathered in his

 
  

“ «Does! not this complicate matters te he asked, = & low.
voice.

“No,’’ replied the solicitor, “if you anes ce or Evil
examine it.” Lwillgive you-a fair, ampar tial opinion. But |
do you say your mother is ative gr :
“f pelieve she is;?? replied Ruthven, with a paz led
look. ‘am quite ‘at @loss at. the same time to. acc
for her conduct.”
Then berelated to Mr. Goladworthy, i
proud face he somehow felt confidence, the history of his
childhood, of his mysterious guardian, of the hospital
nurse, of ‘the hidden documents—all the reader already
kivows
fhe lawyer listened very gravely:
“jeis singular,’ he said; “there is a distant eousin of
the duke’s, who will, I suppose, dispute your claim. ~ bet
me see the certificates, or a copy efthem.”
Ruthyen showed them to the lawyer.
“Tey are autlentic, said the gentleman; whew he had
read them.! “The only question is, why did Jane Duchess
of Renfrew, permit her husband to commit bigamy ? If
she be alive now, the present duchess is no duchess, and
you—why did she negicet you 2”
“This must remain a “mystery until we can gain an in-
terview with the woman,” observed Ruthven, a little bit-
Lerly.
His heart was still hardened against the hospital nurse,
whom he believed to be his mother.
“] will do my best for you,” said Mr. Goldworthy,
gravely, “Hut you must bear m mind, young gentleman,
that the case is 4 difficult one, one that will present ob-
stacies at every turn. You must have patience.”
“Lowill have patience, sir,’ responded the. young man;
“Twill be incek and qnict as: you ocan desire, but I must
be firm, energetic, and fearless also. 1f this great name
and inheritance be mine straly it behooves me to look after}
them.??
The iawver agreed to this. Gravely he eopied down
the certificates of the marriage, the birth, and the bap:
tism, ‘Then, tooking at Ruthven:
“You must communicate with” your guardian, whom
you have called your mysterious Guardian; you must tell
him that law proceedings are about to be undertaken in
order. to prove, your succession to the dukedom, ane i.you
must tell him that im-the interests of honor and probity it
is his Guty to-assist you as far as lies inthis power”?
Philip put up Nis parchments, wrung ‘the hand of the
solicitor, and walked out. of. the office, feeling strangely
bewild red, yet with that.odd sensation of elation swell-
ing at his heart. We: turned into the street and took his
way teward th cofiee -house where he had breakfasted.
AS Ne was Crosst street he stood aghast imastonish
iment, for tzere, clone’ to Hiihi, brushing his Garments-with
hey long, sweeping cloak, Was the hospital. nurse, paie,
tall, sad, beautiful even in,the very fuding of her bright
ness and youth
She looked at him wi
which tears eloq:

  

 

   
  

 
    
  

thelarge, mournful ey eg-aeyes into
tof -the impassioned: ‘féelings which

 

  

swelled at her br Started at the sight of the: young
man.
lie removed his cay courteously, fer “Philip was a gen-

tlenian by every instinct.aud every impulse of his nature,
The two joined silently, and by common consent-meoved
of toward a quiet by-stvect.

“Ipods long, sir. sald the woman, im-cher calm, lofty,
soft tones, “itis very long since Lhad the--the happiness
of speaking with you. Ithen sent you ‘charged with an
important mission; re heart has grown Weary in waiting
for a reply. Tell me, have, you thought it worth while to
search for the parchments #7

‘T géarched only last night,” responded Ruthven, *fand
tT found them; they are inthe pocket of my Waistcoat.
have left copies with Mr. Goldworthy, the duke's lawyer.
I. mea to set to work at once to assert what I believe to
be the truth, for I have only utter strangers to contend
with. ‘The duke is dead.”

He announced the news 4 little hastily.
duke was only @ name. No voice that he had listened to
was hushed, no face that he had loved was hidden, be-
cause John, “Duke of Renfrew, had breathed his last; ‘and
Ruthven had not calculated on the sh ock which this intel-
ligence might give his companion..
“The duke dead” she gasped out.
an, dead}?

Ana her face grew:ashen.. Philip had to support her
with his strong arm, or she would have sunk upon the

 

To lim the

“Ie, John Buchan-

pavement. ‘The young man hastily called for a carriage,
and, placing the half-fainting woman in, he tookhis

place by her side.
. “Drive me to the Lamb Coffee House,” said he.

Tnen he began to chafe hfs companion’s ‘hands. A
strange feeling of tenderness and yearning usurped his
heart while he was thus employed.

“Oli! $0 kind, so noble!” murmured the pale, beautiful
woman “Philip—but your name is not Philip?’
A» moment she restrained herself.. Then suddenly
she locked him in her arms in a fond and passionate em-
brace.
“My son, my son!? she murmured; “my child, whom I
mourned as dead! Will you listen With patience to the
sad story of Jane Ingoldsby ??
Ue returned her caresses sadly, yet affectionately.
“Say on, mother; he said, mournfully. ‘“L will forgive
your desertion of my helpless infancy; but yet; oh! if you
could have seen me, # tiny child, reared among cold; harc
strangers—if you could have seen me knecling wp in my
little bed, and praying God to send me.a niother from
Heaven, you wonld have pitied me!”
“And J,’ she said, breaking into such convulsive sob-
| bing a8 snook her whole frame—*I mourned you as dead
wt that time! I sat upon a little grave in 2 country
cburchbyard, which they told: me was yours; I wetted the
green grass and the winte daisies with: my scalding tears!
Oh! cruel, cruel ?"!

(To be continued.)

PO

“NED BUNTLINE’S”’ truthful narrative of the wild ad-
ventures of “BUFFALO BiIny,” which Is now running
through the columns of the NEw York WEEKLY, seizes
upon the attention of the reader at the outset and holds
it unchained till the very close. We recommend no one
to commence reading this true story who does not wish
to follow the fortunes of the daring advent
close, as once begun it aust

 

 

 

 

be read to the end.

Wdinbargh, and urging upon them | the necessity of:erm: jie”
The hospitalnurse |:

  

 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 

‘A lok of ordinary. anterest only, Was the fixed expression of
‘nis countenance.

jostled against him carelessly just as he w
jostled against him, in fact, so heavily that he reeled. His

Parisian bend,

        

Who sits by the wit
And Dnéver befor
Who led s

new. amaid ore aw wie,
such an casy and indolent Tie,

 

“AVho is she?) What is shé2¥ oD oftew hare sa ids

Who gives her her clothes, and Who #i¥és ker her bread:
~ Pray what kind of food does she slow ly devour

From thé books.she is gazing at hour by hour?”

   
  

If one from ker duly is ready to shirk,
There's always another quite, walling to wor kt.
And this Ihave found is the rulo‘of the day,
Tn that quiet establishment over theway.

He goes to the store forthe butter and bread, -
SDL. He kindles the fire, and inakes up the bed,
Hfe.washes the dishes, and sets them away,
And works like a beaver the whole of the day

Oh, better than any invention I've seen,

ts this beautiful, dutiful, houschold niachine-
Thatis never disturbed by a-tear or a frown,

And is never wound up, sitee it never runsdown:

She sits by the window, this fair little wife,

And seems'toenjoy-allthe good things of 11Le ;

And if aiiy cite asked me, I surely should say

That a Woman’s Rights woman Hyéd-over the way?

Et ee

ONLY SKIN: DEEP,”

Mio cs OF A CORONER'S
DEP,

BY FRANCIS GERRY FAIRFIELD.

FROM THE

     

 

It 1s now five years since, or nearly that. The date was
October 19; 1864. Lhe time of day was thirty-five minutes
past three by tne City Hall ¢hdc

Word came that Fitznugh Villeroy was dead. Had fal-
len dead suddenly on Broadway, between Broome and
Prince streets.

Fitzhugh Villeroy was & promising young man, had
risen wonderfully in polities, and was, ut the time, the
third candidate tor Congress in one of the oily. di
Of uh fee ene + ae tes

 

 

 

   
 

inees ol their + ete, ehouete Boosie Gre mlighe ops.
The latter had started out with the prospect of an casy
canvass, but was ly—S0 gossiped the wise-acres of the
district, Who were supposed to be best posted as to the
ins and ‘Bae -40 bedcicated by Fitzhugh Villeroy,

The sensation on Bro< away was very great as the word
went rou ‘e Fitzhugh Villeroy was dead, and: the
police conveyed the remainsof the deeeascd to. his resi-
dence in West Twelfth street. Notification of . the event
was handed in at the coroner's oilice in Center street, fife |
teen minutes after. ei t
lam Dr. Salvator €: WiLCOX, 1
of course | repaired immec
per in West Twelfth stree
post-mortem, on the W

assistants,

I found” the body: still wa
odor, whieh, as Villeroy ha
did not impress me as on
system was perfectly heabthy
with the possible exceptioz
flingly enlarged. .
The inquest develo
indicated that Villeroy
than the incipient ai
tem. Only feur witné
concourse of people who ;
ping down ef the deceased; and the
contained all that seemed to me of i
Francis D. Colwell testified that he
ceased when he fell; was positive th
tap deceased on the left shoulder an, instant pr
his dropping down. Saw deceased start suddenly
stranger’s left hand tapped hisshonlider. Depon 4
jon of the gentleman - who.
tapped Villeroy on the shoulder.and nodded, wut remem-
bered that he was a tall, slender man, of rather’ easy Car
age, and ee pefore tapping the deccased on the Shou: |
der ‘ to ht auiiliarly.. Did not see any one
ho Vaeaden him of that person.
ed at Vaviland Holmes us the witness uttered
rds—f @ “which took place at the

Cs or Was adjoi thither after the jury
viewed the body, had attracted humerous spectators.

    

  
 

   
  
   
  
    
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  

fen deputy coroner, and
to the designated num-
tend to the preliminary
ummoning a couple of

  

 

 

 
 
  

 

 

  

In tact his Ree was scarcely indicative
of that eager curio whieh isthe prevailing mood of
spectators at an in tee ee the Wronys Boent; 2 gaia
internally, by way of comment upon a vague suspicion
already awakened im ing mimay aml went on questioning
the witness but elicited nothitig. further from him ef the
least importance.

The examination having ended, the minutes of the post
mortenW ere.read-—the opinion expressed therein was. to-
the effect that the deceased had eome. to his death from
disease of the heart—and the jury, without the ceremony
of a consultation, gave & Verdict in accordance With the
medical opinions.

i glanced at Holmes: as the verdict wag prom mulgated, and
fancied that. | detected just a shade of something ike an
expression of relief on his face—sSomething not unlike a
look of rest after mental tension of unatial § severity, As J
gathered.up. my minutes of the case, Holmes took up his
hat and moved past me toward the door, putting it on his
headas he went... ,

Impelled somehow, as if by & volition not niy own. J

  

7aS passing nie-—

hat-fell from his head with the suddenness of the.collision.
With singular agility, even before lhe recovered his bal-
ance, tolmes caught the descending hat with Nis tert Rand,
and replaced iton his head, —
“Bee your pardon, sir,’? I smiled with my most graceful
“Altogether unintentional, 1 assure you,
but soawkward.”
“Not: necessary-—not mecessary at. all,’* laughed |
Haviland Holmes, with the utmost pe sible suavity.
cide Ns Will happen, eSpecianly in. a crowd.

A mereslip of the tongue if must have been—th at, last
remark of his—but he started confusedly as if a scorpion
bad stung him; then stammered:
‘Bee pardon i nreturn, sir. Dseem to be quite as awk:
ard with the tongue as you With your locomotion,’

ere quits, sir,’? d returned carelessly, looking the cand:
date for, Congr Ci py in the face tk sy. the Way, .Ville-
roy’s suddén decease secures your election, t fax acy. Very

Mr.

AC

  
 
      
  

               

The candidate smiled grimly, but his eye glittered with
something akin to hatred.

“Villeroy would scarcely have polled fifty votes,’! re-
turned Holmes carel

“Mead, however, the
pose.”

“The deputy coroner is unfortunate with his tongue,
also,’! ans Wered Holmes Sardonically; and without wait-
ing foranswer of apology, he turned ahd walked out of
the office.

Lwas alone In the coroner’s office in Oentral~ street,
stillin the ruminative moo with a lighted cigar between
my.teeth—the subject of my rumination being the identity
of the Individual “w ng Mees Villeroy’ on “the shoulder
justan instant. before that’ genticnian dropped down
dead. Oile thing was cork tin: Whoever he was, the indi-
vidual that accosted deceased must have been left. hand-
ed. And this was my only clae. :
IL felt.an irresistlble desire to yiew the body once more,

and. an hour afterward I fottha myself for’ the third
time in’ the very room where the post-mortem had
taken place. linsisted without reason of my own—that the
body. ofthe deceased should be taken from the coffin, and
placed at full length on an adjacent table. Tnen, as if by
instinct, Eremoved the clothing gently from the left shoul.
der. Again, as ‘if: by a strange stinct, T-drew a micro-
scope from my pocket and ex amined the naked shoulder
With the dnstfument. But 1 found=-a clue at last.
It was a small puncture that might have been made
with the point of a No.6 needle, It had penetrated, per-
he aps, a distance equal to four times the thickness of skin;

and, on one side of the circular wall of the piincture 1
noticed certain shining and peculiar erystallizations anat-
osous to sulphates. These salt-erystals were mostly dis-
posed in an oval blister on a Single side of the puncture,

and appeared nowhere else in any profusion. I identifi-
ed, or thought I identified those crystals. I knew, also,
by. Wihiat instrument they had been dispesed in that pe-
culiar order. At that moment I was in possession of the
key with which to unlock the mystery. : Fitzhugh Ville-
roy had been murdered—murdered with a subtle poison;

and to my mind, Haviland Holmes knew every detail of
the matter.

Time wore on, and atleast four weeks had passed since
the death of Fitshugh Villeroy. I procured’ photographs
of both the murdered man and the Suspectec d murderer.
This was easy, as both were gentlemen of consider-
able celebrity. An artis6, friend at my instance made

 

 

ys
poor fellow will poll none, I sup:

 

 

  

 

  

  
 

a drawing of a certain scene which [I febled to have
occurred on Broadway, between Broome and Prince
streets. The scene was simply that of one gentle-

tnan’ with the Jeft land, as stated by the witness,
with fingers in a certain position, tapping another gen-
tleman light y on the left shoulder. Lhe photograph of
Holmes ahowree for the faceoff the former; that-of Vil-
leroy for the face ot the latter: Asecond seene, in which
the latter was represented: in the act of dropping upon
the walk, with the former a few paces ahead, completed
the little artistic or spectacular drama. These I had-cut
in glass, and so fix ai in the ordinary pasteboard cylinder
of alarge kaleidoscope that they et fall alternately
with the turning of the cylinder. A powerful magnity-
ing glass at the ey e-endof the cylinder completed the con-
trivance. ‘If was done: Phad tested it and felt tolerably
certain of the issue. The two views under the powerful
gla’ s$-were projected forward in perfectly, startlin; aly life-
like proportions. The engraving of the glass at the fur-
ther end of the kaleidoscope with the particular build-!
ing, in front of which Villeroy fell, completed the hfe-
likeness of the devilish Mlusion; and:I was ready.

The day of month was the fifteenth. Tue month was
December, 1864. The time was seven o'clock by the City
Hall clock. Mr. Haviland Holmes -wasin receipt of 2

  

 

 

 

urer to the | mon had ca
t tender an

note from the deputy coroner, stating that that gentle-

   

+ detailn quite foreign te the deputy eerener when sober,

| four times avith—~>
4 (i Baholys

‘hour sinee, with the horrible sense ofa noose about my

sive whispers.

“every muscle of his emaciated frame; @ orrible upturn-

het stare—and Haviland Holmes was dead.

 

forgetiuings 8 ofihe watorbanate NIstaAke. bog +
laviland Holnies calied that veryces Vening.! i
¢ would rf get Ijane lay idheall the MEoMature.of an old
friend, beggea hin s8cepersonabtay ortoeke no further
notice. of my quifortunete perversity)of tongue, end broke
the : neekof the first: bottle, Holmes vargaye me with
naction tehegin .withandjasi glasy ati¢agglass of the
carbonic avas: guzazded,: kept ferg ving me more abd more,
Two bottles had been emptied, cigarss lad pbeen lighted)
ane tleeaest wasmow-n that, state wilielt, bg the we ight
of arfeather,-may ibe slufted: from theograi diioqueatly
poetical tosthe anost wairdly and terrible superstitions.
Story-telling sueceeded;/and, With angiaventiveness. of

t knew he

 

 
 

 
  

i related incident after incidents concecting: Strange de-
tails of murders detected byoceultragencies: —

His staring@eyes and palep trembling dipsindicated that,
my weird revelations were not agreeable;toyhim.

“Ry thew ay, Tleimes; Ai laughed, byaray et shifting
the.current, ofothe conversation,» apparently; ‘Lhave just
invested ina Kaleidoscope; a mere) boy's toys, 1 bought it
ata toy- “store on Sixily avenue, barb ihedargest one le have
ever happened to. come « across: 1 Benga: man of famuly,
and having. an heir in the form of aryoung gentleman of
ten, L invest in these trifles occasionallyfor the mere sake
of'peace:. »J shallpassitoverto MastemNed ib the morn-
ing—-haven’h yet J00 ked into it myself «

“ULtake the first look,?? laughed Haviland Holmes,
nervously. “Keur wild, ghost. steries:+haye fairly wn-
gtrung me.?? :

Heed of the man’ 5 oppealing hands put the end.of },
the cylinder tomy eyenoThe illusion by the dim gas- aecht ¢
of the:single bracket. inanyelittle. office was per fectly
startling-in ifs hideous-and gigamtic «details.of scene. I
ihre w; doway the instr yunent, having: turned it three or

 

 

1st Uke. the-rost of them—a mere. baby toy!
Holmes picked up the cylinder and put if to His eves
Apparently, lavas sipping a giass: of Sillery; veally owas
eyeing him vigilantly. A deadly, opaque pallor whitened
the man’s face. Huge beads of perspiray ‘yon started out
upon his forehead, and his under-jaw dropped nerveless-
ly upon his shirt-front. With astrong etlort; his hand
shaking aS if in palsy, the man turned the instriiment
once, twice, thrice, four times. The ghastlinéss’of jis’
face was terrible, Theeyes stared stark open, and pro-
jected outward, as if some inward something like atmos:
nheric pressure had been about to cause them to shoot,
suddenly from their sockets. ‘The wnader jaw was now.
drawh up with a fierce effort,-but the teeth rattled as if

 

 

their owner had been stricken with sudden ague. Havi-
land Holmes swallowed semeshing in his throat. ;
“Take it away—take. it away py he shirieked, with: a

convulsive shudder, “I did it—yes, 1 did it! ‘kkiled
him! The man was if my way;I had to kill him)?
“Killed who? J queried, as if I had just noticed his
agitation ang was quite astounded. eWhy, flolmes,
what in Heaven's name is the matter with you?”
‘“Pitghogh Villeroy!’ shvieked, Haviland UWolmes, as if
the words | had been jerked ‘troiy Ais. tongue, and after a
long, nervous, semi-spasiodic gasp for breath, “it was E
who tapped him on the-shoulder, ve scarcely slept an

neck, tightening day and night everiastingly.”

Haviland Holmes poured out his-gonfession in convul-
The fourth witness had really told the}
whole story. One gentleman had simply tapped another
gentleman on the shoulder, and the latter hac died of the |
familiar recognition. This “fact involved all ne details: of
the confession, which, with self-tormenting minuteness:
and punctuated with spasms of agony, Havilaud Holmes
recounted, even to the devilish enumeration of his hours
of practice with the instrument used.

_ “And this,” he added, taking a small instrument of the
appearance of an® ordinary case-pencil from his» vest-
pocket with that dexterous left hand. ef his, “and this
S what I did it with, and this is the way I held it,, and
this-i ‘is the way I tapped him on the shoulder, and this is
ray he dropped!”

: jumped from. seat to arrest his hand—that left
ancdof lis which had@-caught the hat with an agility so
secular upon @ former occasion. ‘The man: hadrisen to
feet as he wttéred the sentence precéding the last.

Witlt the last Word he-droppéd, limpand helpless, to the
floor. A faint gurgle in his throat; a quick quiver in

 

ing of the eyeballs -wponm my face;in a long, glittering
The instrument
rolled trom his neryeless fingers as he fell. Ié was-sim-
ply a& comnvon hypodermic syringe.
“ : a ae ae

If you would learn to what lengths a scorned beauty’s
passion will carry her, read “THE DounL By Lor; on, A
WOMAN'S: VENGEANCES?, The heartless villain ‘and: ‘the
wronged, but not patiently suffering Woman are strong
and powerfully portrayed eharacters. The author of this.
deeply interesting stery has opened up a new field in ro-
mantic literature. Don’t. fail to read “The Duel by ‘Lot,”

 

 

 

_ 4 Gholy temp
Peustom to”

to the house and, inquire the way to the nearest post-
office. When I gall to you from the beach, you can come
for me in “the little boat.
hours.”? 5
Loraine was almost. afraid to trust him out of his sight,
lest he should not’ return,’ and> exacted another pr omise
that he would ‘not proveett to" "London otherwise than by
the sloop.
Walter then , proceeded ‘Inland toward the farm -house
that had attraetéd’ his’ ‘attention, and the two mea re-
turned to the Pretty P6ny.”
Ow reaching te dwelling the artist encountered its]
prietor, who “jniformed: hime that the nearest post-
was thiee miles distant, at Borleyford, and thata str
road condacted to that village. * Thanking him for tl
formation, Waiter proceeded’ to walk the distance
Tt wasea pleasatit country déad, bordered with gt
hedges aud iragrantiwith Mowers that grew along ifs s
and P with a cousiderable colony of birds through its en
lengthymaknig’ their musica The music ‘and the fra-
grance Seemed o Mingle withsthoughts of Geraldine im
the: artist’s,minds—he was 80; used to ‘associating all things
beautifal with her—and. a happy swile curved his
“Poor little darting!” he nit rmured, tenderly, his
Whig eversdex.! “She has beou alarmed abou
Perhaps She has. induced;Lady Rosenbury to
io AQ, inquire after ime, and poor frightened
Par kins he clared sis belief that lThave got killed some-
how. Parkins always fancied that I had come to, grit :
Ehappened toremain-out an-hour longer than I inten
Igbo uld like to.go bytall instead of sevding m 1 1
but wy duty lies ‘nist With my nis souided, ul Pe
“tether. :

 

 
   
   
 
 

 

 
   

 

 

  

for: a few momen nts; bat le C
PaO, and soon. Maieg a
ok always Upon ppb Ae. of lif
count the biessings, gid ignore as much as poss
Bre ae am his lot, ‘and “he' Was specdily ‘eoberatnlati
iimseM tit He was: possessed’ Of the love “07 tile
Geraldme dnd Lady Rosebbury, a ane that He aes 8
a drawbiuck upon his it appine ag Me
father. 4
His foyons, vouthfet spirit showea ‘téself in tis ve
steps, whigh pre tre erodnd so hghtly, speedi
the surface as 1! i 4 wager.
The three miles were’ soon passed, and he fo
way to the post-onice, a pretentious litve bats where
he posted his letter atid idatned that Within an hour it

   
   
 
 
  

   

 

  
  

 
  

rive too late for delivery that night.
‘Tf not, she} get it the first thing in the morning,” he
thought, as hé turned away.
Ashe passéd out'again, he paused a moment on the
broad steps’ to rest bimself, and overlieard ascrap rs ae
yersation between two men Who had just met. \

“You don’t say !? ejaculated ‘one, in a tone of shrprise
not unnuxed with fear. "A maniac escaped trom anasy-

Why, we shall be murdered in our beast What’ sthel
tie’s name P? Had

ae Smith. He's very cairierotia? as nef h as
appearing quite sane until touched on his weal
He thinks he's some gréat man or another-some
/ prince, I suppose. They otter a big inhale for
wish I could finger it.’

“Where did he escapefrent 2”?

“Mure Hall, I thins the’ asylum is énitets He escap
last night, and is suppesed to be in the coulpany ofa 2
cally Keeper, whoih he has deceived into thinkit

ana-

 

‘sane, or else Who Lopes to make his relativés pay some-

thing to ransom him. <A Mr. Mure, a brother of the doc-
tor w vho keeps the asyluim, passed through Burleyford)
morning on the lookout for the fugitive, and to warh us
to be on our guard. He said the ‘Tunatic’s reiati nse are
quite wealthy tradesmen. 1 hope they'll find him bel ore
he can do any injury.”

“So do I,” responded the other. “But the} fellow
couldn’t deceive me into thinking him sane
tell that he wasn’t quite right. the: minute Eset ey
him.”
As he uttered this declatation he caught sight i

 

 

    

ter, who was listening attentively, and the idea evid t
seized the provincial that he was at that. moment re ; Bd-
ing the maniac in question. 2
Nudgiug his companion torlook at the stranger, he. eX
citedly whispered:

“Did this Mure describe the! chap? J wouldn't wonder
if we had him here. | We'll divide the reward.”

Walter could not. avoid smiling at the idea of being taken
‘for a demented individual, and his smile increased to

lagers § surveyed him.

His tawny hair, his violet eyes, his. careless mevtenire
every feature of his noble: countenance was pondered
over by the provincials.

Bat at length one of them said, in a tone of aisappoint-
ment:

“This ain’t the man. He's: an elderly chap, with ¢ ray
‘hair, a complexion as pale as death, ‘lines around: his

 

and themrecommiend it to” your acquaintances, for we
know that you cannot bat admircit. Don’t fear to ask
your News Agent for the back numbers, as he is always
anxious to accommodate his customers and fill all their '
orders.

FALSE HELRS

THE BELLE OF THR SEASON.

RY IRS. WALRIET LEWYS.

 

“Tho False Ieir’ was commenced in No. 41. Baek “numbers
can be obtained from any News Agent in‘the U mee States]

cH APTER 3 XERVIE. hg
As Walter pppeared on deck, Loraine hastened forward
to méct hum, expressing lis delight at fmding tim so far
kes sd to his usual be: ith, and implore hima HOE to be-
ray Nim to Jack Marlow, who now entertained great re-
cate for him. Walter readily acceded to this’ request,
‘and took Loraine’s arm, determined to treat him with
the utmost kindness, im order to give his future address
double weight.
This kindness- —80 gener ous and undeserver 1—pr oduced
a great impression upon Loraine, who was considerably
sobéred. He had been little used "to gentleness or tender-
ness. throughout his erripg life. He trad alwaiyg received
what he deserved in the’ way of harsh words, and was
used to them, His ‘late wife, obsequiously; der as sh
had been of her supposed son, the Victim of suclhi terrible
wrong, had found keen, sharp words for her husband
whenever he had entered his cottage, the” more so’as he
was the cause of the remorse she had endured. Others
were not kinderthan she had been, and when he had
come in contact wish the world, he had found things no
better. Sines his return from Australia head had bitter
experience with his ungrateful son, and Walter's kind-
ness to him was like rato upon & pareh ved soi,
“Jack’s headed sloop infor land, Waler,” he remarked,
condneting the artist toward the ‘seaman. “You ean go
‘shore 7fore dark, an’ post letter, can’t he, Jack?”
The seaman replied in the affirmat ive, adding that they
were going at a remarkable rate of speed.
Jn the fresh air Walter’s strength and spirits retttmeda
to him, and he walked back and forth on the deck, lean-
ing on Loraine’s arm, which it was’ impessible to refuse,
it peing offered With sucha pleading look and deprecat-
ing manner.
“afus? be hungry, Waler,”’ said the ‘sloop-owner, after
he had exhausted himselr with ‘his ‘efforts to walk steadi-
ly. ‘Plenty in ‘cupboard. Commie, have ‘something—you
can trus’ me.’
Walter felt surethat he could) and feeling hungry, led
the way to the cabin, where’ Loraine proceeded to set out
his most tempting edibles. To these he added a bottle of
wine and another of brandy.
“Needn’t be afraid drink out these hottles, ns aller, he
remarked, as he took his seat-at the table. show all
Yyight, ta: ste ? ‘em self first.’
He was about to pour ont a dram for his: use, when
aes witha gentle firmness, took the bottle from. his
hand, and remoyed both liquors to the cupboard; which
he Woody putting the key in his pocket.
“You've had. enough “already, 2 he said, explainingly,
“too much Jor your own good. You know I don’t like you
to drink liquor at all”
Loraine would have remonstrated or rebelled against
this act, but he dared not raise his will against the mild '
authority of the young artist. He tried then to look sul-
len, but having had no dinner his appetite got the better
of his vesolution, and he ate heartily.and was soon talk-
ing as busily as ever.
rr ‘If, instead ef buying all that poisonous stuf,” sa aah
Walter, after.a long slence, “you had bought a spirit
lamp and some cotlee, you would have-done better,”
“Pye got the lamp and the coffee too,’? cried Lor. aine,
eagerly. “They are in the cupboard. ran get them.”
Walter motioned. him to keep his seat, while he got
them out, lighted the lamp, and put some coffee in the
little tin pot.
“Now, where's the water?’ he asked.
“Wa’r 2” exclaimed Loraine. S’pose forget wa'r. “Not
a drop on board. Coffee} made with wa’r always ’sipid
stuff Gouldn’t you make it with wine? .That would’be
something like, eh???
“There must be water on board,’ replied the artist, un-
able to repress a.smile.. “Pll ask your sailor.’
He put the key of the cupboard back in his ae
then went in search of water.
Jack informed him that there was a cask of it on board,
which he had got fresh in London the previous; day, and
he offered to draw a pailof it.
With this Walter returned to the cabin; made his hey-
erage, and, with Sugar, it was found. very: palatable.
Jack was givena liberal’ supply it, much to his satisfac-
tion.
When the .meal was over. they returned to the deck,
and Loraine seated himself atthe helm, in order that his
seaman might have an opportunity of eating g his supper.
This did not take long, Mr. Marlow having paid more fre-
quent visits to the larder during the day than tt -its sup-
plies had been paia for out of hig own pocket.
The remainder of the afternoon was spenf in watching
the sails, the rapidly nearing coasts, and conversing upon
the topies already disc ussed,
Before the evening came on they ran into alittle cove,
and landed upon a y strip of beach by means of the small |

 

‘Tos

and

 

 

 

lied upon Mr. Holmes several times mere

: : ely to
anology for his unlucky slip of the tengue at

 

Leics A a jai NU li Nk a

boat.

“I see no village here’! observed. Walter, looxing up

‘eyes, and looks about ‘used up.’ The evazy man looks
sick, too.’ ‘ee

“You are sure this ait “the person? 3

“Sure,’? was the reluctant response?’ ‘At least,
answer the description. An old party couldn't
‘guisedto look like this young one, of course.”

The villagers having reluctantly decided:that he was not
the person “For whom 1 the reward was offered, Waiter re-
sumed his course toward the coast, where the Pretty
Polly awaited him.

His amusement having subsided, his graver tloubnts
recurred to the conversation be had overheard, and was
irresistibly reminded of the fugitive: he had encountered
on the shores of Rock Land.

How singular that two. fugitives from such an asylum
shouid have érossed his path “within a short time Pr each
other.

As he thus mused the idea was suggested: why were
not these fugitives one and the same “persony bsg

r dis-

seem probable that the one he had seen carried away in

je mysterious yacht coukl have so soonetlected another
escape, yet it was quite pessible that he had done so.
The description, particularly that: referring. to. the per-
son, sea ogee to that of the man he had aided a Bock

Land.

The more Waiter thought upon the subject, the more
he became convinced that the fugitive.of whom he had
just heard was the one in whom he. was so much inter-
ested.

“The poor gentleman very likely suceceded in seer eting
the money I gave him,’ he thought, “aud used a part of
it to bribe the keeper Who departed With him. He will
want to hide from his enemies, and Edare say he [ook the
first train to London, and sought me at my lodgings, In
that ease, Parkins. either took him in as my “friend - to
await my return, which was. expected every moment, of
course, or else he sent him to a good hotel, and told him
to call again. But he might not have money to pay his
way at a hotel, and his appearance, - own, Was sus-
piciously wild. Perhaps at this moment he is again in
the hands of his enemies.”

Hie quickened his pace at the thought.

It was twilight when Walter stood upon..the post- -office
steps, and the « evening deepened. rapidly as me traversed
the lonely road at amuch slower pace than before.

The drug he had taken had not entirely lost its effects
yet, for. he felt tired and as if needing sleep. He did not
pause by the roadside. to. rest, bub ~his Hageing © ateps
showed that he needed to.do SO. l

“If I only knew for, certain that they were talking of my
fugitive,” his thonghts cont inued, “And yet I am wite
certain of the fact... T wish had inquired farther of those
Villagers. | know the poor gentleman would seek Ine—
Ae seemed so grateful for the assistance Il was able to ren-
der-him.: 1 fear Par kins wouldn’t put him into my rooms
and tell him to stay till t come——Parkins ig so suspicious
of everybody, Perhaps the fugitive. is wandering about
the streets of London—perhaps waiting for meat my
door. I ought to return.to town by the next train, and [
must! In order, to do, my duty by ever ‘ybody, father in-
chaded, I will return, to.the sloop, fell my father my inten-
tions, send Jack with the vessel to London, and take
father to town with mysélf by rail, so that I éan look“alter
the fate of my unknown friend.”

Having made up lis mind as to his course of action, ae
way seemed unusually long in returning to the vess@

His way was lighted by the brilliant ‘starlight; b he
noticed neither fragrance nor music now, Tis. thor ghis
being intent on his benevolent schemes. in thie course of
time | he arrived at the farmhouse from whose proprietor
he had learned the way to the post- -ofiice, and from this
point he saw the sloop in the little cove. Quickéning his
stevs he hastened te the. little cove, and called loudly to
Loraine and Jack to come ashore for him.

“JT need not. go aboard at all,” he’ thought, paeing mp
and down the sands as He. awaited ‘them. “1 wilkse1
Jack off immediately, and turn ‘back, with father, it
Burleyford. He will hardly dare dbject; but if ‘he Koes,
his objections will do no good.’ 3

‘At this moment his attention was attracted toward the
sloop, Where the seaman Was engaged “in assistilg his
employer into the little boat; and’ from Lotaine’s appar-
ent helplessness, Walter concluded: that hé h ad not yet
entirely recovered from the efiects of his day’s potations.

“Ob, Heaven!?. he said, with bitter emphasis. ‘And

that man is my. father—the author A my. being! Teould
find it.in my heart to doubt: the Heaven) | bity the

man who has a father whom he can ‘helther love por re-
spect!”

He turned away his head, ‘that she might avoid the sight
of Loraine, and as he did so, his: eye rested upon a black
spot upon the sands at some little distance.

“What's that?” he said, involuntarily.
human figure. ‘TI must see.”

He hastened toward it, and as he approached if he saw
that the object was. Indeed aman, who was lying upon
the beach, fever-stricken and delirious. ‘A closer scr utiny

caused him to recognize the flushed, up-turned face and
the wild voice.

“Tt is my fugitive!’ he ejaculated.
have found him!”

ile stooped and raised the poor gentleman in his arms,
staggering with his burden along the beach, at the same
time calling to the seaman and Loraine, w iio lad landed,
for assistance,

 

“fe looks like &

“Thank Weaven, I

(To be continued.)
9 Ot
BALDWIN the Clothier sells more Ready-Made Clothing at
retail than any other house in the United States.
Oa
A SEWIXG MACHINE FOR Fiviryspopy.—The Wilson
Sewing Machine,Company of Cleveland, Ohio, are selling
their best class of sewing machines now at forty dollars,
which makes if comparatively easy for every family in
want of a sewing machine to ect one

 

 

 

Imay be gone a couple of

would be on #3 Way 16 Tondon, and that it mightnot ar-—

luni somewhere, and may be wandering in this direction t .

the art ,

positive laughter as: Lie noticed HON bie the tw o vile

ic don’t

 

 

 

oe

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LITTLE FEET.

BY ANGIE WILD.

Patter, patter, little feet,

Patter, patter, music sweet,

Loving, doting ears to greet
The‘darling little feet!

Patter, patter, little feet,

Patter, patter, through the street,

Hunger, cold and want to meet
The friendless little feet!

Patter, patter, kindest care

‘Follows baby everywhere,

Safely keeps from every snare
The heedless little feet.

Patter, patter, on they go,

Naked through the drifting snow,

Where the bleak winds fiercely blow,
The wand'ring little feet.

Curled in mamma's lap to rest,

Elfin head on loving breast, :

Little feet have sought their rest
God bless the little teet.

To foul cellar dark and drear,

Where vile curses fill the ear,

Little feet are drawing near—
God help the little feet.

SUSIE'S AWKWARD LOVER.

BY HANNAH HOPPER.

Pm tired of living such a hum-drum, monotonous life.
Dear me, I’m disgusted with it. It's cook and wash
dishes, sweep and dust, right over and over, frem one
week’s end to another. Sometimes I almost wish the
house would get afire, so there would be some excite-
ment. And now, to make the matter worse, mother
Wants me to marry Amos and go right to keeping house,
as though I were not tired to death of doing housework.
Well, 1 declare, I haven’t a friend in the world that un-
derstands me,’’ and with these words Susie List’s face
grew as red as a rose, and finally she covered it with her
hands and burst out crying.

“Now, Susie, Ido think you are very foolish to take on
80,’? said matter-of-fact Kate. “Just think how kind
father and mother are, and what a good man Amos is,
and

“Dou't for mercy’s sake, commence praising Amos.
You have enumerated his good qualities over to me so
ofton already that I know them.-all by heart. I don’t
think he’s so much better than every body else, and if you
do you’d better marry him yourself. In the first place he
can’t step without making a blunder, either treading o”
the cat, knocking a.chair over or tearing somebody 5
adress ali to pieces.. I say there’s something in appezc-
ance, and | Know there are as good men as Amos in the
world whoare not greenhorns either.”

These twosisters, Kate and Susie, were out under the
old apple-tree by the spring, when the above conversa-
tion touk place. Kate was avery Commonplace looking
girl, and Sut on a stone near the brook, with her knitting-
work in her hand. Susie had a very pretty face, and
graceful form, and sat on the other side of the brook from
Kate, picking a wild rose to pieces. :

Their conversation had been overheard, but they were
wsconscious Of it at the time. Amos Knight, the subject
of their remarks, was passing along a few feet from them,
behind a clump of bushes, and hearing his name men-
tioned he stopped and listened. As.the words concern-
ing himself fell from the red lips of the girl he loved, his
broad face blunched ashen white, and waiting to hear no
more he fied as if pursued, and never slackened his pace
until he stovd at the door of his own little cottage.

“Dear me, what is the matter, Amos?’ said his good
mother, coming to the door in a tremor of excitement.

“Don't ask me, mother,” said Amos, passing by her
and going up into his room. ‘“What-a fool | have been,’?
he continued, after he had closed the door. “I might
ave known she wouldn’t like such an awkward booby
aslam. I was binded by love. But she shall never set
eyes on me again, if 1 can help it, until can walk with-
out stepping on cats and tearing dresses to pieces.’?

Hé went down stairs to his anxious mother.

“What in the world has sot you to actin’ so queer,
Amos ?’ said she, anxiously. :

“Mother,” said Amos, not answering her. question.
“Pin geilng away. lam going to accept Uncle Amos’s
offer to be a clerk in his store.’

“Why. what on airth has changed yer mind so suddint?
only last evening ye said you shouldn’t go for no money,
how here ye be all so fnrce. 1 can’t understand it.’?

“J know lve changed my mind very suddenly, mother,
but you see | want to go out inte the world. I’ve always
staid riglit here and worked on the farm, and I want a
change.,’ ,

“Wal that ain’t oncommon strange at all, Anjos, that
you should want to look round abit afore ye git married,
but Whatwill Susie say? maybe she. won't like it. guite
50 well.”

The young man’s face colored to the roots of his hair, |

and he turned away to hide the painful expression that
hovered about his mouth.

“J puess she won’t object to it,” answered Amos, and
his geod mother bustled around, preparing Supper, ask-
ing a great many questions, and saying over and over
how very tonesome she should be when he was gone.

The next day, dressed in his Sunday best, Amos, with
a large vatise in his hand, walked to the little depot,
which was about two miles distant from his home, and
soon was whirling away toward the city of Boston, He
had traveled very little in his life, and everything looked
new and strange to him. On entering the car, which was
pearly full, he had unceremoniously sat in the seat with
a young lady, not noticing the little black spaniel whicn,
lay on the seat near her, but the fact was very soon made
known to him, tor the dog yelped with such force that
every One iv the car started from their seats with terror,
and the young lady herself gave an affected scream, and
calied hima country boor, and poor Amos tried. to apolo-
gize, but he only made the matter worse and so he slunk
away into a seat in the corner, and hung down his head,
inwardly calling himself a fool, and saying he didn’t won-
der Susie didn't like him.

Me did very many strange things when he got to the
city, such as shaking hands with the girl who came to
the door, and callivg her Cousin Mary, and stumbling
over an ottoman when he met his aunt in the parlor, and
Ralf falling on the carpet. ;

Jn fact ne was so disheartened by his awkwardness
that he fairly cursed himself; but his uncle, who had
himself peen a green country lad ouce, was very kind,
and considerate, and Amos wus So anxious to learn that
he was an apt pupil both in business and in society.

it was several days before Susie List knew that Amos
‘had gone away.

In spite of the strong language she had used to her
sister in reference to him, she loved him, and was his
promised wife. They had been engaged since early
spring, and so entirely was the great warm heart of her
Jover her uwn that she did not realize how great was the
prize she had won.

There was a great dealof sentiment and romance in
her warm girl-heart, and the natural refinement in her
nature rebelled at the awkwardness and tnpolished man-
ners of her affianced husband. Yet in spite of this she
could not lielp loving him, for with all bis boorishness he
possessed a fascination which to her was irresistible,
and when he asked her to marry him he grew reatly elo-
nent in relating his love, his hopes and fears, and in his
eutnusiasm and anxiety he forgot all, everything but the
sweet girl before him, and Susie had promised to be his
wife and for a while felt very happy, but it was not long
before she began to feel ashamed of his awkwardness,
and grew tired of dving housework every day of the
year, and ina fit of despondency, she had uttered the
words which pad sent her lover far away from her with-
Out a parting word.

When the news cametoher she was overwhelmed
with remorse and sorrow. Then she thought he would
gurely write to her; but no, days and weeks. passed by,
and no letter came, and Susie began to grow despondent
and disheartened. She tried to be brave, but whena
pleasant movoniight evening came around, such a loneli-
hess crept over her that she could not avoid a hearty
flow of tears. "S

When the antumn came Amos returned to his home for
@ few days, but he didn't go near to Susie List’s dwell-
ing though she watched for him every. evening of
his stay, sitting in the farm-house door, and looking anx-
jiously down the lane imagining often times that she saw
his ferm approaching, or heard his step, out it was alla
delusion whieh left her more sorrowiul and heart-weary
than before.

When he went away again he took his old mother with
him, and then Susie gave up all hope of ever being re-
conciicd to him. She cared no more for apple-bees and
quilting parties, bat remained quietly at home, the very
personification of patience and gentleness.

Kate was married when Christmas came around, and
went to keeping house not far distant, and poor Susie
was left alone with her aged parents.

Five years passed by, but in allthose weary years
Susie had never once seen Amos Knight, though she had
heard often of the high place he had gained, of his in-
creasing wealth, and at last came arumor that he was
about to marry the fair-haired daughter of a wealthy
banker.

Ste tried hard to forget him, to make herself believe
that sie did not love him, bnt such attempts were use-
less, siie thought of him and loved him still.

Wirhin these five years the parents of Susie found rest
qn the grave, and she lived alune in the farm-house with
Betty, tie maid of all work. She made few calls and re-
ceived few callers, and grew to love her great black horse
aud her dog Rover better than anything around her. She
had grown slender.and pale, and looked nut much like
the rosy-cheeked, impulsive Susie of five years before.

One day in early November, the neignbors noticed a stir
about the little cottage where Amos Knight and his moth-
er used to live, and-by considerable prying and watching,
they found that Amos and two other young men had come
out tnto the country to hunt, and were to put up at the
cottage.

One day, while riding through a woodland path on her
bluck horse, Susie saw the three huntsmen, and very
quickly recogiized Amos. Her heart beat quick and
seemed to rise to her month, and, fearing she might be
seen und recognized, she rode rapidly home, having only
east a glance at the man she loved.

The next Sunday she saw him enter the church, and

‘but could not, and Amos whispered in her ear:

 

 

take a seat that long ago he used to occupy. How hand-
some and manly he had grown! There was no awkward-
ness about his form now—in every motion there was ease
and grace. In his eye there was that same tender and
faseinating light which had won her heart years before;
but a glossy dark beard rippled away from his full and
red lips, and the soft:locks of. his hair waved over a brow
broad and white.

After services were closed, and the good people were
shaking hands with each other, and talking pleasantly to-
gether, Amos Knight stopped to give them all a pleasant
word and a friendly clasp of the hand. He came to Susie
at last, who had shrunk away in the corner, feeling as
diffident and awkward as ever Amos had acted in the
days gone by.

He was a gentleman from the city now. His hands
once so brown and hard, were soft and white; he was
dressed with the most fastidious neatness, and carried an
elegant gold watch in his pocket.

He greeted Susie very cordially and with great polite-
hess, and she stammered, and, in stepping forward to
greet him, actually stepped on a lady’s dress and tore it
badly, while Amos smiled amusedly, and she eould hard-
ly keep the tears from springing to her eyes.

Then, as if delighting in her embarrassment and con-
fusion, Amos presented his two friends to her, displaying
the greatest ease and composure; and she, her face red
to the roots of her hair, called one of them Amos in her
confusion, and then attempting an apology, she made the
matter worse, and finally turned about and said good-day
and left them.

She went home “cross lots,’? and cried all the after-
noon, and declared she wouldn't go to meeting again
While they remained, if she never went again in the
world; and she remained steadily in the house, not dar-
ing to go out, through fear of meeting one or all those
three young men.

But one day, looking out of her chamber window about
Sunset, she saw the dreaded trio coming leisurely up the

lane, In a fit of desperation she fastened the door, and
determined not to see them if it could possibly be avoid-
ed. Inafew minutes Betty came trembling up stairs.
She — and’ pounded on the door, but Susie didn’t
speak.

eee now, if this don’t beat all!’ said Betty to her-

SALES EERIE

“T want my dress,’’ said Adelaide, shortly.

Madam Charlecote was ‘in despair.” The lovely Nile-
green silk was in the hands of her best workwoman, who,
most unfortunately-———

But Adelaide was too impatient to wait to hear details,

“Where is it?”

Madam Charlecote referred to her books.

“Miss Carter resides at No. —— Ray street, but——”’

Adelaide had rustled out, however, before madam could
finish her sentence. :

“Drive to No. —— Ray street!’! she cried, imperiously,
to the coachman.

Isabel Carter lay on a sofa in her scantily-furnished lit-
tle room, a damp cloth bound round her throbbing tem-
ples while her mother, a feeble old lady, was moving soft-
ly round, so as not to distarb the invalid.

Isabel was a. tall, slender girl, with a pure face like a
Madonna, deep blue eyes, and shining brown hair, but
her complexion had the pallid tint commen to those who
dwell much witkin doors, and take but little exercise in
the open air, and just at this moment there was a settled
expression of pain in her eyes.

She started nervously as a loud, abrupt knock sounded
on the panel of the door. 5

“Mamma, who can that be???

Mrs. Carter opened the door, and Adelaide Everett con-
fronted her.

“Where is the sewing—woman ?”’ she asked, insolently.
Isabel sat up, pressing one hand to her burning brow.

“Did you want me?’ she asked.

“T want my dress—the Nile-green silk that was to have
been finished by six to-night.’

“My daughter has such a headaghe,’? began Mrs. Car-
ter, “that 2

“Sewing girls have no business with headaches,” inter-
rupted Adelaide, heartlessly. ‘The agreement was that
I was to have the dress for New Year’s day, and the dress
I will have, or I shall sue you fordamages. And you need
not expect to have. any more employment from Madam
Charlecote, if. 1

Mrs. Carter had recoiled a step or two, as 1f Adelaide’s
high, shrill voice were an actual blow—but Isabel rose
and advanced.

“You need say no more, Miss Everett, the dress shall

be sent home on New Year’s evel”?

“Without fail?!

 

Then she shook the door again, and raised her voice to

such a high key that Susie feit sure they heard her down —
in the parlor, which was exactly beneath them.

“Susie!” she screamed, ‘be ye'sleep or what’s the mat-
ter? Three gentlemen’s in the parlor, and they’ve sent
me arter you; and you'd better come down right away, |
for they’re waitin’, and 1 can’t tend tew um for my apple
sass’ll bile over, or burn, or .suthin’.. I. told um ye’s up
here, and would be down in @ minit.””

“For pity’s sake, Betty,” said Susie, unfastening the
door—‘‘for pity’s sake don’t make such a racket. Do you
think I’m deaf, or what?”

“La! I thought p’raps ye’s bed and sleep,” said Betty,
humbly, as she went down Stairs.

At first Susie thought she would change her dress, and
fix her hair.

“But what’s the use?’ she said, at last. ‘I shall act
like a fool anyhow, and Amos will think I ‘fixed up’ for
him, and (ll go down just as Iam.”

So she went down trembling in every limb, inwardly
calling herself a@ green country girl, But this meeting
was not quite as unfortunate as the first had been, and
she was partially regaining her composure when her white
kitten came in, and Amos, who had risen from his seat
and was standing by the window, said, with a very long
face and a twinkle in his eye:

“That cat had better leave the room.
step on it.’?

To the two young men, who did not understand it, this
was a very absurd speech; but to Susie and Amos it had
@ meaning—a meaning that only they could appreciate;
and Susie’s face grew rosy red, and, not knowing what
else to do, she arose and put the kitten out of the room.

After about an hour’s stay, her visitors departed, and
Susie had another long cry.

“He is more than repaying me,” she said, ‘and I hope
I never shall set eyes on him again,”

But this was a ‘white falsehood,” for she was in love
with Amos over again, and would have given everything
she possessed for his love in return.

A few evenings after this, she saw Amos again coming
up the lane; but this time he was alone, and she did not
hesitate about changing her somber dress for a blue mus-
lin (blue used to be his favorite color), and with blue rib-
bons binding her brown hair, and a Cluster of harebells
at her throat, she met him.

There was a little flush on her cheeks, and she looked
so much like the Susie of five years before that Amos
thought ita reality; for he didn’t formally clasp her hand
as he bad done before, but just put both of his arms
around her, and drew her close to him, and gave her a
kiss, which was the first sbe had received from other than
her relatives and girl-friends since he kissed her last.

Covered with confusion, she tried to disengage herself,

I’m afraid I shall

“Our engagement hasn’t been broken yet, Susie, and I
claim you as my betrothed, for I love you as I did five
years ago; andif Iam not too awkward and green, will
you promise again to be my wile?”

Susie promised, and I shall need to say. no more, for
any one can guess the rest,

nn
_ CECILE'S MARRIAGE is acharming story of domestic
life. Everybody is delighted with it. Those whe have
failed to peruse the opening installments should procure
the back numbers and satisfy themselves of its merits

THE NEW YEAR'S DRESS.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

“7 must have the dress to wear on New Year's day,’
said Adelaide Everett, contracting her beautiful trow
and tapping her slender foot impatiently on the carpet.

“But, durling,’? soothed her mother, “why not wear
your pink-coral satin ??’

“I have worn that twice.’

“White is very becoming to you, and your white meire-
antique Bs

“Nonsense,”? interrupted the undutiful damsel. ‘I
bought the Nile-green silk to wear on New Year’s day,
and | Gan tell you I mean to wear it, aud nothing else—
and if Madam Charlecote can’t make it up for me by that
time, why I must find some one tnat will!”

Madam Charlecote, with smiling eagerness, protested
that she “would do her best,” and Adelaide swept out of
the modiste's parlor with a self-satisfied air on her hand-
some but haughty face.

“The Nile-green will be perfectly lovely,’? she said, a3
she seated herself among the sleigh-robes, “and if that
doesn’t bring Percival Leigh to the proposing point, why
nothing will!”

But to Miss Everett's dismay, a note arrived from

! into the room after her usual frolicsome fashion.

 

Madam Charlecote’s the day but one before New Year’s
containing the alarming statement that, owing to the @l- |
ness of one of madam’s best hands, the dress could not
possibly be finished in time.

Adelaide threw Gown the bits
started to her feet.

“1 won't be cheated sol’? said the spoiled beauty, and }
Madam Charlecote was considerably surprised, about |

of scented paper and |

 

half an hour later, to see Miss. Everett enter with com- |
pressed lip, and a shadow on her brow.

‘Without fail!’

sSee that you do not disappoint -me, then,’ and Ade-
laide left the room, holding up her dainty skirts, as if the
very touch of their hem on the cleanly scoured floor were
pollution.

“My daughter,’ said poor Mrs. Carter, piteously, “you
are not able to sew.”

“T must, mamma dear; if we lose Madam Charlecote’s
custom, what is to become of us?”

And she sat down by the lamp to commence her weari-
some labors. No matter how piercingly the little pains
darted through her temples—no matter how the lustrous
folds of the silk seemed to swim before her burning eyes
—there was no time to think of that now. The evening
was far spent, when there was a soft rustling on the
stairway, and Georgie Leigh camc in—a dimpled, bloom-
ing fairy, who looked in her blue velvet hat and blue
robes like a violet newly blossomed.

“A happy New Year, Isabel,’ cried Georgie, ening
se ou
pardon my bringing Percy along—it was so dark I hardiy
liked to come alone. Percy, this is Miss Carter. Isabel,
dear, this is my brother.”

And Isabel inclined her head in reply to the chivalrous
bow of a tall, fine-looking young man, who; had followed
Miss Georgie into the room.

“Why Isabel, you are not sewing,’’ cried Georgie, ‘and
you so pale and weary-looking! Put up yeur work,
child, unless you want to kill yourself.” _

And she tried to draw away the shining breadths of
of the Nile-green silk.

“Nay, Georgie,” said Isabel, ‘it is no matter of choice,
but rather of necessity with me. I must work, or we
must starve.” :

“But. I am sure the young lady to whom this dress be-
longs, would not wish you to toil to finish it, when: ”

Mrs. Carter interrupted Georgie.

“She was here this afternoon— Miss Everett, of Genisto
square—and if you could have beard her talk, Georgie?
She threatens to sue us for damages. She told us Madam
Charlecote could give us no more work, unless we were
punctual with her order. I believe she would have tram-
pled us under her haughty feet if she could.”

“Mamina.”? Isabel had colored and looked toward Mr.
Leigh, in painful embarrassment.

“IT declare,’ said good Mrs. Carter, “I had forgotten
that your brother was preset, Georgie.”

“If matters: not,’? said Percival Leigh, courteously. “I
am only shocked that one woman could be so merciless
toward another, Georgie, perhaps we had better net stay;
Miss Carter’s work must not be interrupted!’? :

And Georgie with many kisses and regrets took her
leave. :

“Didn't I tei you she was pretty |” she said, eagerly, as
soon as they had reachea the street, and she slipped her
arm into his.

“She is certainly very lovely.” E

“But you cannot tell how she looks when she is so ill
and over-worked.  Isn’t it ashame, Percy, that she, who
was born and bred a lady, should thus become the victim
of the arrogant whims and caprices of others!"

“Cannot you help her in some way?’ questioned Mr,.
Leigh. i

“She is too sensitive to accept aught like alms—too in-.
dependent te lean on arother’s aid. Whata tyrant this
Miss Everett must be!” .

“J think there must bea mistake,” said Mr. Leigh, some-
what confused. “f{ have the pleasure of an acquaintance
with Miss Everett, and sheis apparently amiable in the
highest degree 3

“But,” he added to himself in an unspoken aside, “1
will know at once whether I have been allowing myself
to get perilously interested in a beautifal demon or a true
high-souled woman. Can a fairy wear the mask of an
angel? And is thisa warning sent to me just in time to
save me from a fate that I shudder to think of?” |

And when Percival Leigh closed his eves that night, he
dreamed ofa Nile-green silk dress, with satin folds of white
barring its emerald richness; and the wearer, instead of
a beautiful woman, was a serpent, small-eyed and loath-
some! ‘

For you see our hero had a strong imagination; and
fancy plays at times strange freaks with her votaries!

The first place at which he called on New Year’s day
was in Genisto square | :

Mrs. Everett's drawing-rooms were closed and lighted
with gas; and there, in an atmosphere of hot-house flow-
ers, Satin draperies, and glittering gilt and bronze, Miss
Adelaide stood receiving her guests after the most ortho-
dox fashion of a nineteenth century belle.

Very lovely she looked in the Nile-green silk, with chry-
solite ornaments in her earsand at her throat, while a
few green sprays of fern were arranged tastefully in her
shining blonde hair; but Percival Leigh could see only the
serpent’s head of his dream, and Adelaide’s soft voice
sounded in his ear like a hiss.

The spell which had bound him so long and so nearly
wrought his ruin was broken at last.

“Youll come round and spend the evening, Mr. Leigh,”

i she said sweetly to him, as he was taking his leave.

“Thank you,” he said, fixing his eyes full on her smil-
ing countenance. “I have another engagement. :

And three months afterward Miss Everett met him
again ata fashionable pieture gallery, witha beautiful
girl leaning on his arm, dressed in piain black silk.

She greeted him courteously, but stared at Isabel, as
only one woman can stave at anether.

“My dressmaker !” she said, haughtily.

“Yes,” Percival Leigh answered, with a smile whose
scornful coldness queHed the ingolence of her tone and
manner, ‘‘and my promised wife!’’

The Nile-green silk dress hadnot been so good an in-
vestment as Miss Everett had fondly hoped.

———_——_>-@<______

NEw READERS are informed that back numbers of the
NEw YORK WEEKLY containing all the stories now in
course of publication may be procured through any news
agent. It is the duty of news agents to supply them. If
they fail to do so, back numbers may be obtained by send-
ing direct to this office.

Pleasant Paragraphs.

{Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing
toward making this column an attractive feature of the New
York WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for
general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be
penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy and likely to
create amusement, minor defects will be remedied. |

RUGG DOCUMENTS.—No. 12.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

I’ve spoke in public on the stage!

I’ve made my daybut as a public lecturer!

I've lived to hear myself called an old fool, and a lunatick,
and a disgrace to my sect, which is about as much as a reason-
able woman canexpect. A hefty lot of show bills was printed
for me, statin’ in letters a foot long that Jerusha Rugg was agoin’
to speak a lectur’ on woman’s rights at the old red meetin’-
house—admittance, twelve cents: children and colored individ.
uals half price. On the evenin’ of my Jeeture the meetin’-house
was crammed—actually bilin’? over with compressed human
nature. Ientered the house leanin' on the arm of Judge Bug-
lee, who is a very strong women’s righter. He can’t very well
help bein’ so, for his wife isa third the biggest, and he has the
doctrine that woman is the superior sect, drilled into him daily
at the point of the broomstick. gi

Isot down among a good deal of cheering, and. clapping of
hands, and after the meetin’-house quire had sung the Star
Spangled Banner to the tune of Old Hundred, E. riz and begun.
I'd got my lectur’ all writdown, and 1’d larned: some of it by

 

heart, but only the fust part of it. Iheld the mannerscript inmy

hand, and with a flurrish of both arms, jest as ve seen Parson
Ponne! when delivering hisself of the malediction, I begun:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, and Feller Citizens of Pigeon Holler,
Squashville, Buck Ridge, Jerusalem Lane, Strickland’s Mills,
and towns adjoining—Greeting: Know all men by these pre-
sents that I come before you, armed and equipped as the law
directs, to defend the cause of woman, and to advercate her
right to do feat as the men folks doin every respect! Yes, my
friends, i claim that she has a right to go to the ballit box, and
yote—yes, and cheat in voting, and cheat in counting the votes—
jest as other chaps do. And moreover, she has a right to git
drunk and be kerried home on a shutter election days jest like
the rest of our best men!

“My. friends, I claim tor woman the right to do asshe’s a mind
to, and no aiest ine asked. If she wants to go into the grocery
bizness, and sand her sugar, salt her starch, water her fish, and
sell old tea grounds for best Japaneze, she shall do so—jest like
any other man. If she wants to smoke, she shall smoke, and if
she wants to swear, she shall have the privilege, without being
called fast for it. And she shall chaw terbacker in public
places, and spit all over everybody’s trowserloons that’s handy
—jest as the gentlemen spit over the skirts of our gounds. And
she shall stay out late nights, and she shall look sour if there
hain’t some lady setting up for her with a good fire and astrong
cup of tea; and she shall upset cheers, and kick cats, and slam
doors, and swear at the lady jest like any gentleman. She shall
jine the Free Masons, and ride the goat, and go to horse races,
and kiss the good-looking man-servant behind the door, jest as
her husband kisses the pretty mazd servant. All these rights
and privileges shall be hurn! No man shall step in and sav yea
nor nay. Somebody sez that Sceripter is ag’in this doctrine.
That’s jest as you understand it. It hain’t to be expected that
IT or any other Woman’s Righter can find brains for all the world
to understand. what we say with. Eve tempted Adam fo sin,
did she? Wall, if she hadn’t. been the smurtest of the two, he
wouldn’t have got took in and sold as he was, would he? That’s
jest as plain as the noses on yer faces, my friends, and some of
you fe got very prominent handles to yer countenances, or I'm
no judge.

“Everybody that lecters ag'in Women's Rights allers brings up
old Saint Paul as wonderful authority. Now, I dou't think
Paul knowed anything about it. He wasa dried up old bache-
lor, and how could he? It’s proberble that along about the time
he was starting a mustache, some gal'give him the mitten, and
turned his nulk of human kindness sour. I don’t think his opin-
ion is of any more consequence than Parson Powell's, or any
other good Christian .minister’s. He didn’t belong to the tem-
perance society, and he used to be a rather fast young man one
while, but I don't hold no hardness ag’in him. It ain’t in the
nater of Jerushy Rugg to hold hardness ag’inst any human crit-
ter that has repented and detarmined to walk straight. But sez
Saint Paul, sez he: wal

“ ‘Take two pints of turpentine, half an ounce of castor ile,
ten cents’ worth of beeswax——’ ” ; :

There I stopped short, and, gracious airth! come to ixamine
my mannerscript, I’d left the heft of it to home, and had brun
along the leaves of an old resare book instid. A little more an
I should have read that resate fer varnish rite out in my lectur’,

“Go it, old lady!” yelled a freckled face young sinner in the
ordinance; “let’s have the rest of it! I never heard of Paul be-
fore, but I guess from his resate that he wasa chilblain doctor.
Turpentine and beeswax is a good thing for ’em.”

“My friends,” sez I, “I’ve _madea leetie mistake in my man-
nerscript. It appears that I’ve left some of my lectur’ to hum.
This meeting stands adjurned till next Monday evening at six
o'clock. I shall then deliver the rest of my lectur’. I thank you
for your kind attention—for your sympathy—for your smiles—
and bid you adew.”

They all cheered me, and somebody'shied a bag of peanuts at
my head, which hit old Deacon Giles‘instid, and busted all over
his devoted cranium, and wert rattling onto the floor like haile’
stones. :

1 will write agin soon,

set Yourn,
A CHRISTMAS BENDER. ‘
wite early on the morning of Dec. 25th, my friend, Hiram
Ridgely, called for me to go up town and jollify. After arriving
at his house he put forth a bottle of brandy, and we immediate-
ly commenced the scientific process of causing fluid to rise from
a giass bortleinloa human throatand thence pass down the
narrow road that leads tostomachic bliss. Soon after, in at-
tempting to leave the room,I struck my bump of progress
against the mantel. When we reached the street, the pavement
appeared to be on rockers; and my companion, who had hold
ot my arm, in order to test my equilibrium, released his grasp.
My head felta gravitating tendency toward’ the center of a
brick, and down I fell. Got up, with my friend's assistance, and
told Hiram I was subject to the laws of gravity. Shrieked torth
three cheers for Sir lsaac Newton and hisgravitation discovery,
and leaning on my chum’s arm, we both proceeded to the tele-
Rraph office to see our electrical friends, Charley and Woerner.
‘he former received -us very cordially and set out several de-
canters of stimulants. Woerner called on one for a- toast.
Drank one to “Telegraphers—the greatest wire-workers of the
age, whose business extends frome pole to pole.” After ridding
myself of the toast, I dispesed of three large goblets of cham-
paghe, repeated the draught, and felt like a small distillery.
Began to have uprisings in my interior department. Stomach
began to rejoice that Christmas had come, and could not contain
itself, “Upward and onward” was its motto, and upward and
onward itcame. After leaving the telegraph office, we called
on a butcher, whom we asked if he curled his swine’s tails with
pig iron? He didn’t like the joke, and threatened to curl our
hair with his cleaver. We quickly got out of his reach and
made our way homeward. Arrived at.my mansion, was met at
the door by my wife, who gave me savage looks and flashed
daggers from her eyes. Told better-half I wasas popular as Old
Hundred, down the street, and wanted to_be treated more cor-
dially at home. Wife told_ me she had no cordial for me.
Dropped on the lounge, and noticing some bottles on a stand
near by, I poured out a goblet half full of brandy and filled the
remainder with something from another bottle which I sup-
osed to contain whisky, but which in fact was seai-oil, tor
yheumatism, etc. I drank the muxture, feeling a nausea inde-
scribable, and shortly sleep overcame me. Dreamed I was
sleeping on the banks of an-Aretic stream, when a large seal
spread a non-combustible blanket over me and built a fire on
my stomach. Calling up a companion, they both mounted me
and began todancea jig around the flames. Two more ap-
proached, astraddle a jug of egg-noge drawn by a polar bear
gnawing a mince pie. These were succeeded by a dozen more,
earrying champagne and whisky bottles. All assembled around
me, gave three cheers for seal-onl, three more tor Isaac Newtoa,

J. Ruad.

‘we have examined.

hot brick on my stomach,

and discovered th:
poured water over me. cot ana | ave

i 3 Thought of a “wet sheet ¢ ri
sea,” jumped weiter | from bed, went down wets ater foe
ing, and found I h slept till December 26, from’ 3 o'clock on
Christmas day. Ate breakfast very quietly, said nothing about
my “tear,” but inwardly vowed I would no more be
Yours on gravitation, Tommy Hawx.
A deen sar nt ae ERRORS.
1g-minded lady of thirty-five was in the habi iri
her opinions in a Western paper, and had won nck Rotdviens
in consequence. Being unmarried, and anxious to secure a hus-
band whom she might hold in subjection by practicing the ty-
ranny taught by clamorers for “Women’s Rights,” she was
rather vain of her personal appearance, and endeavored to.con- i
ceal with art the ravages which time had marked on her face
and crown. This will account for the indignation whi:h man-
tled her brassy front on learning that the village paper had
-Made a serious blunder in one of her ccmmunications. In her
letter she had written, “People think me bold. 1 will not con-
ceal it, I am pretty bold.” Judge of her amazement when she
discovered that the types made her say that ‘people thought

oi "ue and thatshe would not conceal it; she was pretty

In the same issue of the paper, the editor, speaking of the bad
condition of the windows of the Methodist Creech in that vil-
lage, by the omission of a letter, was made to say that ‘the
widows of the M. E. Church presented a filthy appearance, and
were in need of a good rubbing down with plenty of soap and.
hot water! PuEeUx PHENTON, PH.

SAGE LEAVES,

Pride and vanity are not as near relatives as many suppose.
Pride is of noble parentage, vanity is of plebeian origin. Pride is
often cold and cruel; vanity is ever weak and foolish. Pride
makes men great; vanity causes them to think themselvesso. A
man without pride is like a balloon without gas; a woman with-
out vanity is ike—we don’t know what, tor we have never seen
one. The most appropriate emblem of pride is a blood-stain;
the proper symbol for vanity isa pink ribbon. The most effec-
tual way to rid yourseltof pride is to work it off at the ends of
your fingers; the only way to cure vanity 1s to cut off the head
of its ovwner. i

You cannot make a man, by putting a boy upon stilts, and you
pases dignify a feeble thought by propping it up with long
words.

The man who fed his horse upon shoe-pegs under the impres-
sion that he was stealing a fellow traveler’s oats, is out-done by
those who plagiarize trom modern literature with the hope of
rendering their names immortal. .

You cannot make gold of base metals; the alchemists of old
supposed that it could be done, and spent much time in the vain
endeavor. You cannot make truth of a lie; many people seem
to think it possible and waste much breath in iruitless trials,

The happiest man lives much in the juture; the wisest man
dwells mostly in the past; the most foolish man exists only m
and for the present.

if I were to try.a man's disposition, I would set him to milkin
a kicking cow; if he didn’t kick back I should advise the devi
not to waste much time on him.

Imperfect window-glass will wrinkle the smoothest face; the
ee through which we look often disturbs the fairest

lings.

The worst season of the year is when the last dregs of autumn
mingle with the trosts of winter.

It1s a big thing to have a bvil break, but ft is a bigger thing to
have a boiler burst.

Good is the boon of evil; were it not for strong drink there
would never have been any “Good Templars,”

Scripture cammands you to love your neighbor, but you are
under no obligations to tell her husbund of i.

PPOFESSOR FIZzLr,
UNMANNERLY FELLOWS.

A party of men in Manchester, England, were engaged re-
pairing an old boiler, when an Irishinan’ who happened to be
passing by, and not knowing the name of the arnele on which
they were working, stepped up tothem andsaid: ‘“Fwatis it
yer a making there?” One ot the men wishing to pass a joke
at Pat’s expense, replied: “It is a dog house.” ‘tA dog house,
is it?” said Pat, seeing the joke; “begorra I should have known
that when I saw so many unmannerly pups around it.”

T. Cassipy.
AN IRISHMAN'S HINT.

The head bookkeeper in our store, who had just purchased a
new overcoat, was anxious to learn the porter’s , opinion of it,
and accosting Pat with that intent, asked him what he thought
of it. ‘Its araal.purty one,” answered Pat, “but where’s the
owld one?” Wii. BENSON.

A “HEALTHY” SICK MAN.

An Irishman suffering from a contageous disease, was at the
pointof death. The mimister visited him, but not wishing to
enter the house, fearing that he might take the disease, prayed
to the dying man through the window, and finally passed the
wine into the room on a shovel. Pat drank it down, smacked
his lips, and then turning round, said to the divine: ‘Blast ye,
is that all ye brought me?”

BREVITIES.

“Can you fell me,” said a wag to a gentleman, “why it is
unsate to ride on the rear platform ota car during a thunder
storm?” “No, I cannot,” answered the gentleman, greatly puz-
zled at the question. “Why,” rejoined the wit, “because there
is a conductor on it.” Whether he referred to a lightning con-
ductor or not is enveloped in doubt.

“Your coat,’ said a loquacious individual to a'seedy friends
“4s like lite—it is too short.” “Your coat,’ was the reply, “i,
like your tongue—it is too long.”

Cowper must have been a freemason, and also of a rustic
turn ot mind, for it was he who wrote, “Oh, for a lodge in 506
vast wilderness.” HAL WAy CHEEBEEDEE.

—_—__>-9@~<____

Items of Interest.

4as~ Red hair among ladies has for a long time been
the fashion; but its days seem to be numbered. It is said,
indeed, that the fair ladies who rule in the realms of
fashior. have resolved to suppress it forthwith, and to
enact that brown hair, which tias been banished for some
time, is to resumeits legitimate sway. i

&a~ Some of the proprietors of the illicit distilleries re-
cently seized in Brooklyn have given up the use of whisky
as a oeverage. ~ Having learned how the poisen is made,
and afterward flavored with dangerous chemicals to imi-
tate the various brands, they are afraid to swallow the
stuff which they have been munufacturing..

4a- Aman named Richard H. Roxey, playing the role
of w Baptist preacher, was lately driven trom Truxton,
Mo,, for attempting to marry his ninth wife, the eight for-
mer ones being all living. He is advised to go to Utah,
collect the scattered remains of his family’and - live in
peace.

4a The dwelling of a Tallahassee (Fla.) editor was
subjected to a severe shock the other day. In preparing
for a hunting expedition he provided a three-pound can
of powder, which ‘a little negro’ boy. thougnt was some-
thing to eat and put on the stove to warm. The bey was
kilied. The other inmates escaped unhurt.

aa A female barber in Chicago is doing a thriving
business. Most of her customers are young men; and ag
she is pretty and unmarried, it is not strange that they
find her hands so soft that they like to be shaved by her
every day.

aay To preserve the Girl of the Period from extinc-
tion, principals of sundry boarding schools announce as
an inducement to parents and guurdians that stated eve-
ning ‘receptions?’ will be tieid at their establishments, in
order to familiarize their pupils with “society.”

kas A family residence, to cost seven millions of dol-
lars, is to be erected by Herr Krupp, the great cannon
manufacturer of Prussia. Its muguificence will surpass
that of any palace in Kurope. This Krupp must be one
of the “big guns’’ of Berlin society.

ka A ‘telescopic umbrella” has been invented by a
man ‘in Indianapolis. Jt closes like a telescope, and is
only six inches in length and onein diameter when
shut up.

ses The Legislature of Natal, Africa, has fixed the
price of a wile at twenty cows, established a registry and
fixed the marriage fee. Formerly the man wno could
give the most cows took the laay.

kos A murderer at Terre Haute, Ind., sentenced to be
hanged, and not catching the date, coolly asked: *‘When
did you say, your honor, that the occurrence is to tuke
Place ??

4a During the twelve months ending Oct. 30, 1869,
there were 102 persons killed, and 621 wounded. by rail-
road accidents in the United States.

4a A “hotel train” runs through from New York to
San Francisco. The passengers are fed on the train; and
the extra charge therefor is $25.

4a The ‘‘Half-Breed Republic,’ is the unpleasant des-
ignation applied to the Winnepeg region by the Canadian
papers.

4a A pair of twins.were recently born ona Pennsyl-
vania railroad tram. Their mother said it always made
her sick to ride in the cars.

kas~ Two Parisian females lately made themselves no-
torious by fighting a duel with stale eggs,

> 64.
OBITUARY---MRS. F. A. DURIVAGE.

The friends of our contributor, Francis A. Durivage,
have been deeply pained to learn the death of his wife,
fi this city, on the sixth day of December, of heart-
disease, from Which she had long been suffering, the fatal
termination of whioh was Hastened by an attack of acute
pheumonia. ;

The life of this lady—a life of usefulness, of charity, of
self-sacrifice—was entirely private, but within the domes-
tic circle she was the light of her household, and beloved
by all who knew her, as wife, mother and friend. The
trials of this troubled world she bore with fortitude and
resignation, and sank to rest af last, with no duty unful-
filled, leaving a bright example to be followed. A daugh-
ter survives her. ‘T'wo other children, young men of bril-
liant promise, just arrived at manhood, died during the
war, one of them, Captain Henry A. Durivage, command-
ing a company of light cavalry in the department of the
Gulf. Mrs. Durivage was a native of this city.

—_— Ot

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and concluded by throwing several buckets of water over me
and poking my ribs with the north pole. 1 awoke and found a

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