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Vol. XIX.

STREET & SMITH, AT ia

V¥ YOR 86

 

No. 11 Frankfort St.

 

No. 39.

 

 

 

 

TRIBUTE TO A FRIEND.
BY VICKIE SPENCER.

Thy much loved face can I forget?
Can I forget that we have met?

Ah, no! within this heart you dweil,
*Mid ev’ry scene we loved so well;
We may not wander hand in hand
Again, or in sweet converse stand—
We may not meet beneath the sun,
But yet I know our aims are one.

Though doomed to struggle on apart,

Life’s changes make us one in heart;

So that though miles between us roll,

We hold communion soul with soul.
legsed privilege itis to be

Remembered by a friend like thee;

The world has no more sacred tie

Than that which binds my friend and IL

Indissoluble, until death

Shall rob us of our latest breath,

Till all our cherished dreams are o’er,
And time itself shall be no more.
Through all the years of light and shade
Of which life’s changing dream is made,
Sweet memories of thee outspoken

Wiil soothe when cther links are broken.

The friendship of the world, ’tis true,

Is false and transient as the dew;

But there are hearts that, like the vine,
Will cling through life, and such is mine.
rue friends we are, true friends will be,
‘Through time and through eternity ;
‘Years can but serve a charm to lend—
God bless the holy name of Friend!

ALC THE SWAMP WAP:

OR, THE

Wild Scout of Valley Forge.

BY AUGUSTUS COMSTOCK.

Author of ‘“Sporus the Greek, or the Chain of Gold;”
“The Captain’s Wite;” ‘““The Red Davils;”’
*‘Grace Courtney,’’ etc.

CHAPTER I.
THE SCOUIT—THE RESCUE.

Night upon the Schuylkill; a night in 1777!
The sharp, spiteful crack of a rifle—the rush of
a bullet through the air—a half-stifled groan—
and tossing his arms on high, the British sen-

tinel fell dead upon his post! A tall, comely |

dragoon was he, and a moment before he had
merrily walked his beat in front of the lonely
farm-house where slept his comrades dream-
ing not of the danger that menaced those who
watched over their slumber.

‘To arms! to arms!”

Shrilly rang the alarm from the lips of the
startled sentinels; while from the ghastly
corpse in their path their eyes wandered about
them in avain search for the death-dealing
rifleman. A light volume of smoke curling in
the beams of a full moon, rested upon the side
of a steep hill that rose to the left of the farm-
house, but no person was to be seen.

Suddenly, however, the eye of one of the
sentinels fell upon the old stump of a tree on
the summit of the hill, and clutching the arm
of acomrade, he directed his attention to the
same quarter. The barrel of a long rifle glis-
tened athwart the projection.

Involuntarily both soldiers raised their car-
bixes but ere they could fire, a spear-like flame
darted from the deadly tube, followed by an-
other sharp, ringing peal, and this was the
death-knell of one of the soldiers, who fell to
the earth as a bullet passed through his brain.

“By George!’’ exclaimed the other dragoon,
“there goes poor Tom Gray! Take that, you
skulking rascal!” he added, as he discharged
his carbine.

But the report was answered by a loud
shout of defiance from the hill; and the next
moment a figure of herculean proportions rose
upright from behind the stump; and as the
whole company of dragoons rushed from the
building he raised his rifle to his shoulder and
leveledit upon them. The crash of the weapon
again rang through the air, and another man
tumbled to the earth.

‘To horse!” shouted the captain of the dra-
goons. ‘To horse! and follow me!”

‘Ha! ha! ha!” was wafted in tones of de-
fiant laughter to the ears of the soldiers, and
the next moment the fatal marksman had dis-
appeared on the other side of the hill.

In the meantime the dragoons had vaulted
into their saddles, their horses being close at
liand under a shed near the farm-house, and

_ putting spurs to the flanks of the animals, they

<i now followed their leader in a direction which

would lead them to the other side of the hill,
by which maneuver the captain hoped to cut

“9 off the retreat of the rifleman. A swamp in-

tervening, however, they were compelled to

a zi make a wide detour to avoid it; so that by the

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS BY STREET & SMITH, IN 1864, IN CLERK’S OFFICE OF DISTRICE COURT OF UNITED STATES FOR SOUTHERN DISTRIOT OF NEW YORE.

“TORIES ! TORIES!” SHOUTED NED, AS HE STRUCK De MAN WHO HELD CHE BRIDLE.

 

 

 

time they arrived on the other side, they be-
held the fagitive a short distance ahead, run-
ning swiftly across a field with a speed whicb
must soon carry him into the depths ofa thick
wood, toward which his footsteps were di-
rected.

“Tig he! ’tis the Bearskin—the Scout of

the Valley!” shouted the captain of the dra-
goons, waving his sword above his head. ‘On,
on, my brave fellows! We must capture him,
dead or alive!”
This declaration seemed to add fuel to the
burning desire for revenge which animated the
bosoms of the soldiers, and pluhging their
spurs deep into the sides of their steeds, they
dashed on ait a furious gallop.

They were now so close to the object of pur-
suit, that they could easily distinguish the pe-
culiarity of his dress, which consisted of a cap
of bearskin, a brown hunting frock and leggins
of buskin. The frock was confined at the
waist with a leathern belt, from which depend-
ed a long knife, and as he turned every now
and then to look at his pursuers they could
perceive that he was also provided with pistols.
The rifle which he carried was of ponderous
calibre, but he seemed to bear it as easily as
an ordinary man might have carried a light
fowling-piece.

The eyes of the dragoons now fairly blazed
with fury as they rested upon the fugitive, and
the eager hands laid upon carbines and broad-
swords, told of the murderous passions that
animated their bosoms.

The ‘‘Bearskin,” as he had been termed by
the leader of the party, had now reached the
skirt of the wood, and anticipating the difficul-
ties attendant upon a pursuit conducted amid
the mazes of the thicket, the captain ordered
his party to fire.

The fifteen carbines were leveled simulta-
neously, and the volley rolled in wild echoes
through the woods.

But ere the weapons were discharged, the
Bearskin had succeeded in gaining the shelter
of a tree, and now his scornful laugh tantal-
ized the ears of his pursuers.

The next moment, and while the dragoons
were dashing toward the spot, his long rifle
was seen to protrude from behind the shelter-
ing trunk, and a second afterward the clear,
peculiar ring of the piece was heard as its un-
erring contents were sent forth. There was a
wild cry of agony as one of the soldiers leap-
ed from his saddle and fell to the ground.

“Draw, draw your sabres!” shouted the
British captain, gnashing his teeth with rage,
‘and cut the rebel rascal into a thousand
pieces !”

The sabres of the dragoons flashed out in the
moonlight as they came dashing on like a
whirlwind. Butat that moment, and while
not more than twenty yards intervened be-
tween themselves and the object of their pur-
suit, a vivid flame suddenly gleamed along the
skirt of the wood, followed by a deafening
crash of musketry.

 

 

 

 

Then there rose a wild shout as a nuuber of
stout forms in the worn uniform of the Conti-
nental army sprang from behind the trees,
which had hitherto, concealed them, and charg-
ed upon the few remaining dragoons, who had
come to an abrupt halt, apparently stupified by
the suddenness of the assault. Seven of their
number had fallen, and their riderless steeds
were now galloping wildly about the field.

The captain of the dragoons was the first to
recover his presence of mind, and ordexing a
retreat he put spurs to his horse, and dashed
away with a speed that bafiled pursuit. His
men were not slow to obey, andin less time
than it takes to relate the fact, the sound of the
receding hoofs was heard far in the distance.

The leader of the Continental soldiers, a
young. man of handsome and prepossessing
appearance, now advanced and held out his
hand to the herculean rifleman, who accepted
it quietly but without speaking.

The light of a full moon falling upon the
face of the latter, revealed a grim-looking coun-
tenance, with deep-set eyes, an aquiline nose,
asquare chin, and sternly compressed lips.
He wore no beard, if we except an iron-gray
mustache, which added to the fierce and al-
most savage character of his countenance. The
round but massive proportions of his chest and
limbs, seemed to indicate an unusual degree of
strength, combined with great activity. He
was evidently about forty years of age, al-
though the stern lines upon his forehead and
about his mouth might have made him seem
older to a casual observer.

‘Our thanks are due to you for this victory,”
said the young man.

“You are welcome,” replied the other, ina
deep voice, ‘‘and Ned Bearskin hopes that
other opportunities for serving his country,
and assisting the gallant boys at Valley Forge,
may not be wanting. Good-night.”

“Stay a moment,” cried the captain as some
of his men were leading the captured horses
to the spot. ‘You will accept of one these
animals ?”

‘No,’’ replied Bearskin, promptly. The
horses are needed badly enough in your
camp,” and turning upon his heel he walked
away.

‘‘A noble fellow,’’ muttered the officer, as he
looked after him, ‘‘and yet a singular man.
He has refused Washington’s offer of a com-
mand in the army, preferring to wander about
in his own wild way, and fight upon his ‘own
hook’ as he calls it. After all, I don’t know
that he is not of more service to the cause in.
this way than if he should join our ranks, The
fame of ‘Ned Bearskin’ as an unerring rifle-
man. and a daring scout is widespread, and his
name is a terror to the British, whose foraging
parties, like the one of to-night, have good
reason to dread his unerring rifle. Washington?
will be well pleased when he hears of our suc-
cess, and the daring manner in which Ned
Bearskin led the party into our ambush.”

The horses having all been secured, the

 

young captain now formed his party and gave
the command to march, when they moved in
single file over a narrow path that wound along
the skirts of the wood. Leaving them to pur-
sue their route to the camp at Valley Forge, we
will follow the footsteps of Ned Bearskin who
walked in an opposite direction.

“There is one thing that puzzles me,” he
muttered, as he moved on with rapid steps.
‘The foraging party, when it left Philadelphia,
I have good reason to believe, numbered
twenty-six men in all. ‘My friend ‘Long Dick,’”
and here he laid his hand upon his rifle, ‘put
an end to four of them which should have left
twenty-two. But Iam sure thatI counted but
fourteen men to-night after my last shot.”

The scout reflected a moment and then con-
tinued in the same muttering tone,

‘T think the captain must have detailed six
of the dragoons to scour the country in some
other direction, so as to divide the work of
plunder and devastation. Oh! the rascally
fiends!” he added, in a louder tone, while he
gnashed his teeth and an ominous frown gath-
ered upon his brow, ‘‘would that I might fall
in with them also. Long Dick is ever ready.”

The frown upon his brow deepened, he re-
lapsed into silence, and thoughts of a savage
nature compressed his lip and sent fierce glances
to his eyes.

In this manner he continued his way until he
had walked a distance of about four miles,
when he turned into another path which led
into a small grove, :

As he emerged once more into the clear
beams of the moon, a light burst upon his
vision a short distance ahead. In a moment
the frown left his brow and a soft gleam shone
in his eye.

‘‘Alice,” he murmured, while a gentle smile
flitted over his iron visage, ‘‘gentle Alice
watches for my coming.”’

But even as he spoke, a sound broke upon
his ear that sent the blood coursing wildly
through every vein. The noise which had thus
startled him, was a woman’s shriek ringing out
clear and distinct upon the wintry air.

‘Alice! ’tis Alice!”’ he shouted, as he rushed
forward like an infuriated tiger.

In a fow moments the outlines of a small
farm-house, half hidden by a thick growth of
trees, became visible, and he soon beheld a
sight which caused his brow to heave with
fierce anger, and his eyes to glitter like ‘those
of a panther, :

By the light of a lantern which was held in
the hands of a dragoon whe stood with his
back turned toward him, he could distinguish
the figures of two fierce-looking tories, with
maiden was struggling violently to release
the form of a young girl between them. The
herself from one of them, who had thrown his
arm around her waist, evidently with the in-
tention of carrying her off, while the other
held his hand over her mouth to stifle her
cries, :

‘‘A thousand curses upon the gal!’’ Bear.

Skin heard the dragoon exclaim as he ap-
proached. ‘‘A thousand curses! Can’t you
manage her? I should think——halloa!” he
interrupted, as the footsteps of the scout fell
upon his ear, and he turned around, ‘‘halloa!
who comes here ?”

These were his last words. With a bound
like that of a tiger, Bearskin reached his side,
and whirling his ponderous rifle about his
head, brought the stock upon the skull of the
soldier with a force that sent him reeling to the
earth like a log.

‘“Ho! comrades, ho! 'Tothe rescue! tothe
rescue!” shouted one of the tories as he let go
his hold of the girl, and drawing a pistol from
his belt, pointed it at the head of the scout.
But before the weapon could be discharged
the long rifle of the latter rang upon the air,
and sent a bullet crashing through the brain of
the villain.

In the meantime the other tory, also releas-
ing his hold of the young girl, had drawn the
long knife with which he was armed, and he
now sprang forward to assist his companion.

As the scout discharged his rifle, this man
raised his keen-edged weapon, and made a
furious blow at the heart of hisenemy. But
at the moment when the point of the descend-
ing knife was within afew inches of Bearskin’s
breast, the white hand of the young girl pushed

} aside the murderous arm with sufficient force

to cause the blade to pass through that part of
the hunting-frock that covered the:side of the
scout’s breast. The consequence was that the .
steel inflicted a mere scratch upon the flesh.
The next moment the butt of his ponderous
rifis fell with crushing foree upon the skull of
tho tory, stretcuing him upon the earth by the
side of the dragoon.

The excitement of the young girl had been
too great for her to endure, and after saving
the life of Bearskin, in the manner already al-
luded to, she had fallen senseless at his feet.

“Brave girl! noble Alice!” muttered the
scout, as he bent over her and gazed upon the
pale features revealed by the light of the lan-
tern, which was now lying upon the ground.
‘She has saved my life, and I——”

He paused suddenly and listened. The tramp
of horse’s roofs was heard approaching from
the left, atno great distance. The tory’s com-
rades had evidently heard his shout, and were
flying to the spot. The scout beheld the fore-
most horseman as he emerged from a group of
trees beyond.

‘‘Alice! I will save thee or perish !’’ he ex-
claimed, and slinging his rifle across his back,
he stooped and lifted the young girl as he might
have raised an infant.

Then mounting the steed of the lifeless dra-
goon, he bounded away like an arrow with his
fair burden, taking a wide path, which led him
into the woods. A loud shout behind him an-
nounced that he had been discovered; then
there was a Crash of musketry, and a number
of rifle bullets whistled about his head and
rattled against the sides of the trees.

CHAPTER II.
TRE PO Rs Ut S

Ned Bearskin urged his steed through the
dark mazes of the woods with 2 rapidity which
soon carried him many hundreds of yards
from his pursuers. Excitement had rendered
his fair charge insensible, and the stout rifle-
man every now and then threw glanees of deep
concern upon the marble face that rested
against his shoulder. That face he could only
see occasionally, when slight openings among
the trees would allow the rays of the moon to
struggle among the shadows of the branches.
It was the fair sweet countenance of a maiden
of seventeen, with features of angelic purity,
shadowed. by long thick tresses of golden
brown hair. More than once were the bearded
lips of Ned Bearskin pressed upon the droop-
ing lashes of the unconscious girl while he
murmured,

‘Poor brave Alice! This night's work has
been too much for her. By heavens! the ras-
cals shall rue this!—especially that traitor,
Randal Robinson!”

When the scout had increased the distanca
between his pursuers and himself, so that the
voices of the former fell in a confused murmur
upon his ears, he halted, and proceeded to re-
load his rifle.
je,‘‘Long Dick must ever be ready,” he mut-
tered, grinding his teeth and frowning darkly;
“ever ready for vengeance,” sie

He clenched his hands as he spoke, while an
expression of fierce hatered flagltéd from his
deep set eyes, :

 

Having prepared his weapon to his satisfac-
tion, he continued his way. *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

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He had not gone far, however, when the
sound of horse’s hoof approaching at a rapid
pace, fell upon his ear.

The scout halted and looked: eagerly about
him for some place of concealment, but per-
ceived, to his disappointment, that the trees
in this part of the woods were too wide apart
and too narrow around the trunks to serve his
purpose. Besides, the ground on each side of
him was covered with thin sheets of ice, indi-
cating the swampy nature of the soil, and he
perceived that by taking either direction he
would plunge his horse to his flanks in mud

and water,

There being no other alternative, Ned Bear-
skin unslung his piece from his back, and
cocking it, awaited with perfect coolness the
approach of his enemy; for he doubted not
that the advancing horseman was one of the
pursuing party, who had made a wide detour
tointercept him,

He had not waited more than a few minutes
when the outlines of the horse and rider broke
upon his view.

“Halt! Whogoes there !” shouted Ned, as he
pointed his rifle. ©

He was standing in a position which reveaied
his whole person, for here the moonlight had full
scope among the wide openings of the trecs.

His challenge was answered by the report of a
carbine, and a bullet whistled within an inch of
‘his temple. At the same moment the voice of
the horseman rang through the forest as he shout-
ed the alarm.

That shout was his last, for the next instant
the long rifle of Bearskin crashed upon the air
and the dragoon fell from his horse. A secon
aiterward the riderless steed dashed furiously past
the scout.

‘Thou hast had a hard night of it!” muttered
Bearskin, as he fixed his eyes upon his smoking
weapon, “a hard night of it, Long Dick; and me-
thinks there'll be yet more work for thee ere we
get through |”

With these words he slung his rifle over his
back; and then mounting his horse’ he
dashed forward at a furious pace, while the loud
shouting of voices and trampling of hoofs behind
oping tay that his foes were still upon his

ack,

Presently Alice opened her eyes,and raising her
head from the arm of the scout looked about her
with a bewildered gaze.

“Where am I?” she exclaimed, in a tone of
alarm, and then as her glance fell upon the face of
her preserver, she uttered a cry of joy, and threw
one of her arms about his neck.

“You are safe, Alice |” cried Bearskin. ‘Thank
Heayen that I was near to save you, and to pun-
nish the villains who were aboutto carry you off!”

Oh, yes, I remember now,” said the young
girl, raising her hand to her forehead as though
to collect her thoughts. ‘I remember now! The
tories! Oh, my God! They murdered my aunt!”

“Did they ?” hissed the scout through his teeth;
and his eyes flashed fiercely as he epoke. ‘By
Heayen !” he added, clenching his fist, ‘‘the whole
band shall pay dearly for that !”

Perceiving that Alice was terribly agitated, he
now exerted himself to soothe her, and in a few
minutes she was calm enough to proceed to ex-
planations.

She stated that the tories and their companion,
the dragoon, rushed into the house while she was
engaged in reading to her aunt. Two of them
seized Alice, and the third silenced the cries of
her aunt by plunging 2 knifein her bosom. Then

_they dragged the young girl from the building,

notwithstanding her shrieks and ontreaties,swear-
ing that they would carry her off to the rendez-
yous of Randal Robinson.”

‘Aye, aye,” muttered the scout through his set
teeth. “Itisas I supposed. The;tory-leader was
atthe botiom of it all. Calm yoursels, Alico,” ho#
added fiercely, ‘your aunt shall be avenged !”

“Oh!” murmured the young girl, throwing both
arms around her companion’s neck, ‘if you would
only forego this wild, dangerous lifo! I beseech
you, I beg of you todoso! You are constantly

erilling yourself, and your fate———” here Alice
Pabied her face in her hands, and spoke in a
voice tremulous with grief, ‘“‘your fate may some
day be similar to that of my poor aunt |”

“And am I the only man who stakes his life in
our glorious cause ? Do you forget the brave men
who——”

“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Alice, “that I
should forget them! But, alas, isit patriotism
alone that sends the bullet of your fearful rifle up-
on its deadly mission ? Ah, no, there is a less
noble passion in your heart, a——”

*‘Bnough, Alice, enough!” interrupted the scout,
while a dark frown gathered upon his brow. ‘You
would say that I am also prompted by a desire to
avenge my private wrongs. I grant that such is
the case. But they were fearful wrongs—well de-
serving to be avenged. And now, Alice, hear me.
While this arm can carry rifle and I have feet to
bear me upon my way, I shall continue to hunt
my foes to the death, solong as my foes remain in
the land! Not even your prayers or entreaties
can shake my resolution! Blood for blood\”

The rifleman spoke in a calm, deep voice, and
as he ceased, he could feel the shudder that agi-
tated the frame of Alice.

Alas!” replied the young girl, ‘‘this wolf-like
thirst for blood. It is fearful in one so dear to
meas youare. I would that it were not so, and
that actuated alone by the lofty spirit of true
patriotism, you were among the ranks of our brave
soldiers!”

“Aye,” replied Bearskin, with a grim smile,
as he laid his hand upon his rifle, “but Long Dick
and his master find that they can do much more
gervice as they are——”

“But the motive—the motive!” murmured the
young girl, sadly.

‘Enough! We will speak no more upon the
subject,” interrupted the scout, ina tone of au-
thority.

As he uttered these words he turned his horse
into a narrow road which suddenly opened upon
their left, and after they had proceeded a short
distance, he remarked,

“This road, if we should follow its whole length,
would lead us to Valley Forge. But half way be-
tween this point and the camp of Washington is
the farm-house of old Harold, which, you know,
is my principal rendezvous, and not far from
which is stationed the advance picket of the army.
There, Alice, you will be able to obtain rest unfil
daylight, when you shall be escorted to Philadel-
phia.” ;

Alice was about to reply, when suddenly from
the heap of withered brushwood that skirted the
road emerged the forms of four savage-looking
men, armed with muskets and pistols. One of
these persons grasped the bridal of the horse and
attempted to stop the animal, while another seized
the leg of Bearskin with the intention of pulling
him from the saddle,

‘Tories, by ——!’, shouted Ned, as he leaned

- from his steed and struck the man who held the

bridle a tremendous blow upon the temple with
his huge fist—a blow which felled him to the earth
like a log.

Atthe same moment the frightened horse darted
forward ere any of the rest of the party could take
the place of their fallen eompesion, and the man
who had grasped Bearskin’s leg, still maintaining
his hold, the rifleman was pulled from the saddle
into the road,

CHAPTER III.
THE SCOUT’S DANGER—THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.

Alice shricked with terror as she glanced behind
her and perceived that the whole party had pros-
trated themselves upon the fallen man.

Tn vain did she attempt to check the maddened
ateed which still continued to dash on with the
speed of a whirlwind, and it was only by the ut-
most exertion of her skill as a rider that she con-
trived to maintain her seat in the saddle.

On! on! still onward dasked the frightened ani-
mal, and a turnin the road soon prevented her
from seeing the party when she essayed to look
behind her, Trees and hedges flew by her vision

—

with the speed of winged arrows, She beheld the
ruined farm-house of which Bearskin had spoken,
far in the distance, and a minute afterward she
had passed it. And now the horse seemed to
gradually acknowledge the power of his rider’s
soothing tones, for he slackened his pace, and
Alice felt that he had been brought once more
under control,

One soul-absorbing thought now animated her
bosom, which was to keep on until she should
reach the lines of the army, and then procure a
party of soldiers to rescue Bearskin, for she
nourished the faint hope that the scout had not
yet fallen a victim to the tories, and that they
would delay his execution long enough to enable
her to carry out this intention.

With an anxious heart she urged her steed for-
ward at a pace equal to that the animal had at-
tained in his mad career; but she had not gone
more than a mile further when a file of men sud-
denly broke upon her view, as they emerged from
a deep thicket which skirted the road about a
hundred yards in advance. A few of these men
were on horseback and the rest on foot.

Involuntarily the young girl drew the rein of
her bounding steed and checked his career; but
the next moment a glad cry escaped her lips as
the light of the moon fell full upon the uniforms
of these men, for she perceived that they belonged
to the army of Washington.

In iact, as the reader hag already surmised,
this party was the same which had routed the
dragoons, whom Ned Bearskin had so skilfully
led into the trap prepared for them. After part-
ing from Ned, the ‘‘Continentals” had taken a
route to their camp which, owing to the subse-
quent maneuvers of Bearskin, had thus enabled
Alice to encounterthem at this point.

Scarcely had the young girl made her joyful
discovery, when the word “Halt!” rang from the
leader of the party, whose eagle glance had dis-
covered the fair rider in a moment. She rode
quickly forward to meet him, and as the horse-
man bounded to her side a cry of surprise burst
from his lips, while a vivid color mantled the
cheek of the young girl.

‘Alice | is it possible!”

‘Harry Westervelt! oh, Harry |”

And the cheek of the young girl paled again as
in tones of breathless haste she communicated
the situation of Bearskin. .

“Bearskin!” exclaimed Harry, when she had
concluded; ‘‘Bearskin in the hands of tories! He
must be rescued. Forward! this way all of you
who are mounted !” he shouted in a loud voice.

Then as the horsemen were dashing towards
them, he turned to the young girl, saying, in a
slightly troubled voice,

‘Alice, how happened it that you were in the
company of this rifeman? You seem to take a
strange interest——”

‘Harry,’ interrupted the young girl, quickly,
‘this ig no time for explanations, Suffice it to
say that he saved my life nobly and bravely this
very night from a party of dragoons and tories.
He must be rescued.”

‘‘He shall be if it is in my power to do it,” an-
swered the young captain. ‘I would go through
fire and water to assist this man.”

The brown eyes of Alice beamed gratefully upon
the young officer as he uttered these worde; and
the horsemen, to the number of eight, having now
arrived, the captain placed himself at their head,
and bidding Alice remain where she was until
i return, he gave the order to move for-
ward,

Away dashed the party, while with tearful eyes
and beating heart the young girl watched them
until they were out of sight.

We will now return to Ned Baarskin, whom we
left in the hands of the tories.

After the latter had thrown themselves upon
the fallen man and secured his hands and feet,
they walked a few paces from the spot and held a
consulation.

“We've done a lucky thing to-night,” said one,
‘in capturing this Ned Bearskin, He’s fallen in-
to the trap at. last.”

‘What d’ye propose we do with him?” asked
another of the tories. “If we take him to Randal
Robinson we're sure of securin’ a reward, and if
we kill him at once we mey miss it; for you know
the captain was anxious to deal the fellow’s death-
blow with his own hands.”

“We'd better take him to the captain, then, by
all means,” said the third, The speaker was the
man whom the scout had struck to the earth and
wee had since recovered from the effects of tho
blow. < :

‘We'll have to carry him between us, then,”
said the other tory, “for it won’t do to unfasten
the cords trom his wrists, and legs, and trust to
his allowing us to lead him quietly along. I know
the man too well for that. Heis a —— powerful
fellow, and would give us some trouble. But itis
a long way to therendezvous, and even after we
got there we'd have to wait for Randal’s return,
who has gone out to-night on some expedition,
which will keep him away for many hours.”

“Did you see that gal who was with him ?” said
the fourth tory. ‘‘Shouldn’t wonder if she’d give
the alarm to the rebels !”

“The deuce—I didn’t think of that!” cried the
first speaker, with astart. “‘We must decide the
matter atonce, boys. We’ve got no time to de-

lay.

‘‘He’s a heavy load,” said the fourth tory, ‘and
for my part I’m in favor of putting an end to the
man’s life, and getting rid of him at once. Randal
is a sort of a miser, you know, and may not give
us as much as he promised afier all our trouble;
and when it’s divided it'll be a small matter
enough.”

The coneultation was continued for about téh
minutes longer, when it was ended by the unani-
oe resolve to execute the prisoner upon the
spot.

While the conversation between the tories had
been going on, Bearskin had been engaged in 2
fruitless attempt to free himself from the cord
which was fastened about his limbs.

The tories now advanced to his side, and one of
them addressed him, a

‘Ned Bearskin, yon can shy your prayers if
you've got any to say, for in 2 few seconds you're
a dead man |’

“Proceed with your work, cowards,” answered
the rifleman, coolly, ‘Iam never unprepared for
death, although it would please me much better
to receive it from the hands of brave men than
from such skulking rascals as you are !”

At that moment the sound of horses’ hoofs in
the distance broke upon the ears of the party,
and the tories stood in a listening attitude.

‘They seem to come from both ways,” said one
of them to his companions, “from our front and
from behind us.”

The Spr ceating
moment—those in
than those behind.

Presently, the forms of a number of dragoons
appeared coming rapidly toward them.

“But the

hoofs sounded louder every
‘ont, however, seeming nearer

“Friends 1” cried one of the tories.
others may be enemies. We had better finish
our work a8 soon as possible.”

With these words he pointed his rifle at the head
of the prostrate man and pulled the trigger. The
piece missed fire, and at the same moment the
Geagoons rode to the spot, and pulled in their
smoking animals.

‘Ah! ha! my gallant fellow, you didn’t escape
after all!” exclaimed one of them, “I’m glad of
it, for that was a beggarly tiick you served us!”
and here the dragoons proceeded to explain those
facts with which our readers are already acquaint-
ed, while in their turn the tories related the man-
nerin which they had captured the prisoner, and
their intention of executing him upon the spot.

While they were thus occupied the sound of the
horsemen approaching from the other direction
had been growing more distinct every moment,
and just as the tories had concluded their re-
marks, Westervelt and his party emerged from
promi the turn in the road, and dashed toward

em,

_ “Rebels!” exclaimed the dragoons and tories
in a breath, and the British soldiers struck their
spurs into their horses’: flanks and dashed off.
Tree of the tories disappeared in the brush wood,
but the fourth seemingly determined to make sure
of Bearskin’s death before he retreated, leveled
his musket at the prisoner’s head, and was about
to pull the trigger, when a shot from the pistol of
Captain Westervelt, who was far in advance of his
companions, passed through his brain, and laid
him dead in the road. :

Leaping from his horse, the young officer then
advanced to the scout and unfastened the cords

 

th» ‘bound him.

“Thanks! a thousand thanks!” cried Bearskin,
as he sprang to his feet and grasped the hand of
his preserver. ‘You have done me a great favor;
I can never repay you sufficiently for saving me
oes hands of those cowardly, skulking ras-
cala.

“Nay, nay,” answered Harry; “‘you are under
no obligations to me. Your thanks are mainly
due to Alice, who——”

‘Alice! Alice! Thank God! she then is safe!”
interrupted the scout. ‘I feared that she might
have been thrown from the runaway steed. Where
is she? Not hurt—not injured in any way, I
hope?”

‘Alice is safe and well,” replied Harry, and he
Pees to speak of his meeting with the young

irl.

‘‘Thank Heaven for that!” cried the latter, with
a deep sigh of relief,

The foung officer fixed his eyes steadily upon
the face of Bearskin; :

‘The interest which you take in this girl’s wel-
fare seems to be great,” he said. ‘She is proba-
bly a—a—friend.”

‘More than that, sir—she is everything to me.”

**You love her?” said Harry, quiekly.

A slight smile wreathed the bearded lip of the
scout, but he remained silent.

“You love her?” repeated the young officer,
sternly.

‘Aye, more than all else in the world.”

Harry bit his lip with vexation, for the rest of
the party had now drawn so near the two men,
that he was obliged to change the subject.

“You will accompany us to the camp, I sup-
pose ?” he said, as he mounted his horse. ‘You
will not be safe after——”

‘Lead me to Alice,” interrupted Bearskin. ‘I
musi conduct her to an old friend who will escort
her to Philadelphia in the morning.”

‘But perhaps Alice would prefer to go to the
camp, from which we can find meats to send her
safely to the city to-morrow. In caseshe should
prefer this measure to that which you propose, I
shell consider it_my duty to see that her wish is
attended to.”

‘She will not,” replied Bearskin, ina decided
tone. ‘She will prefer to place herself under my
protection.”

‘No, sir, you will find yourself mistaken!” an-
swered the captain, haughtily. “I am no stranger
to Alice.”

“How ? what?” exclaimed the scout, in a tone of
surprise; ‘‘did I hear you say you are acquainted
with this girl?”

‘Your ears have not deceived you, sir,” replied
the young officer; “‘I did say I was acquainted with
the lady. Imay add that I am well acquainted
with her, and that she is more than a friend to me.
Her father, the rifle-maker, Benjamin Raymond,
is also well known to me, for it was at his house
that I first saw Miss Raymond. I shall consider
that these circumstances give me theright of pro-
tection over——”

‘Enough, enough,” interrupted the scout—
‘Alice shall decide for herself. Let us proceed.
But hark!” he added, as the sound of horse’s hoofs
was heard approaching. ‘*Who comes there?”

The steed was evidently fiying along at a rapid
pace, and in a few minutes the form of horse and
rider emerged around the turn in the road.

“Alice |”

In fact the young girl had adopted this course
in order to relieve her mind at once of the terrible
feelings ef anxiety and suspense that had tortured
her. Now, however, the sight of Ned Bearskin’s
herculean proportions, standing safe and unhurt
near the group of his rescuers, seemed to thrill
her whole being with the deepest joy; and lightly
springing to the earth as she reined in her steed
near the spot, she advanced towards the scout
with outstretched arms,

“Saved! saved! Oh, Heaven be praised!” and
she seemed about to throw herself upon his bos-
om, when, as though suddenly recollecting her-

self, she drew back, glanced towards Westervelt,

and colored deeply.

The steady eye of the young officer rested upon
her face, with a lookin which surprise, reproach,
and even sco@p were strangely blended, Never-
theless ‘the’ presence of tho other spectators forced
upon him the necessity of controlling his reclings,
though not sufficiently to prevent him from bend-
ing low from his steed, and whispering in the ear
of Alice,

‘I will see you alone at some future time. Thia
matter must be explained.”

The young girlturned pale, while an expression
of pain and reproach flitted for an instant over her
lovely countenance. This was her only reply; but
Harry could see that she trembled and seemed
powerfully affected.

At this juncture the voice of the scout saluted

the ears of the party.
' “Men,” he said, “‘you will all accept the thanks
of Ned Bearskin and this young lacy for the ser-
vice you have rendered us to-night—a service
which I can assure you we shall never forget.”

Hore Alice, who by a powerful effort seemed to
have recovered herself; added her own thanks to
those of Bearskin, and when she had concluded
the former spoke again,

‘The tories and. dragoons, Imay safely assure
you, my friends, will offer us no more trouble to-
night. The cowardly rascals who have just been
dispersed will exaggerate our numbers to their
comrades, who for that reason will keep at a safe
distance, Therefore thereis no necessity that we
should detain you longer, This lady I shall con-
duct to a friend who has the power to escort her
safely to the city.’*

“No! nol” exclaimed the captain. ‘After the
many perils to which Miss Raymond has been ex-
posed to-night, we cannot think of deserting her
in this manner. I have no doubt that she will
consent to accompany us to the camp, where she
shall be made comfortable and——”

‘*Why, my poor fellows,” interrupted the scout,
with a smile, addressing himself to Harry’s com-
panions, “here is your leader talking of comfort
at Valley Forge, when I doubt if any of you have
seen a good blanket or full ration since you en-
camped there |”

“Nevertheless,” cried the young officer, impa-
tient at the interruption, “I will pledge that Miss
Raymond shall be made comfortable. There
is a small building near the camp which we use
for a store-room—that is,” he added, with a little
confusion, ‘‘when we have anything to put into it;
and one of the rooms is provided with a large fire-
place, where we can soon build «a good fire; and
then as to supper—” here he came to a full stop,
and really looked puzzled, while before he could
conclude the sentence Alice laid her hand upon his
arm, and said with a gentle smile,

‘I have no doubt, Harry, that you would do
everythiug in your power tomake mecomfortable,
but, for certain reasons, I am obliged to decline
your offer and accept the protection of the scout,
who will conduct me to the old friend of whom he
has already spoken, and——”

*Hnough,” interrupted the young officer, bitter-
ly, ‘‘if you prefer that man’s protection to mine
IT have no more to say on the subject.”

Alice turned pale, and was about to reply, when
the scout advanced, and taking her hand led her
to the horse which one of the party was now hold-
ing by the bridle,

“Mount, Alice, mount,” he said, quietly; “it is
time we were 0n our way.”

The young girl obeyed.

‘*We will go with you as far as the farm-house,”
said Bearskin, turning to the young captain, “and
there we will take our leave of you.”

then added,

_ “It is well,” answered Harry, and
significantly, ‘““We shall meet again.”

“Doubtless,” replied the scout, with a slight
smile, and seizing the bridle of Alice’s horse, he
urged the animal forward at a swift walk, keeping
pace with it as they proceeded.

In this way the party arrived in front of the
farm-house, when Westervelt and his men took
leave of the scout and his fair charge.. There was
now a gloom upon the face of the young captain,
which the soldiers had never before observed un-
der the most trying circumstances, while his or-
ders to them were short and abrupt. When they
were about half a mile from the farm-houge, he
commanded a halt, and posted a squad of men
upon the spot under the command of a corporal.
These men were instructed to keep a good watch
upon the house, and to repair at once to the as-
sistance of Mies Raymond and the scout, should
the appearance of the enemy render it necessary.
Having thus made an arrangement for the secur-

 

ity of Alice, the young captain again moved for-
ward with the rest of his party in the direction of

the camp at Valley Forge.

In the meantime Alice had dismounted from
her horse, and after he had conducted the animal
to a stable on the left of the building, the scout
rejoined his fair companion, when both ascended
the steps of the house. :

A succession of raps from Bearskin’s knuckles
caused the door to be opened, after the lapse of a
few minutes, by an old man, whose age could not
have been less than sixty years, and who evinced
no surprise upon beholding the scout at that late
hour of the night, although the sight of Alice
seemed to excite his astonishment.

“Tl arouse the old woman,” he said; ‘‘she will
know how to attend to our Alice.”

“Oh, no,” replied the latter, ‘‘do not disturb my
grandmother if she is asleep. I can get along
very well.”

“A good girl—a very good girl,” muttered the
old man, as he ushered them into a back room,
and striking a light, proceeded at once to make a
fire in a huge fire-place that was now revealed to
their gaze.

In a few minutes the flames were roaring up the
chimney, and a cheerful warmth was diffused
through the apartment.

Then the old man disappeared, and in a few
moments returned, accompanied by an old lady,
wearing a night-cap and a clean apron.

The old lady greeted the young girl with an af-
fectionate kisa, and then proceeded to prepare a
frugal repast for the guests.

While the latter were partaking of the meal the
scout proceeded to relate the adventures of the
night to which both the old people listened with
great interest.

At length, Bearskin having concluded his story
the old lady conducted Alice to her sleeping apart-
ment, where she sank into a restless and feverish
slumber. The events of the night had evidently
filed her mind with painful thoughts, which
flitted like phantoms through her dreams,

The slumber of the scout, on the contrary, was
deep and refreshing, although the lightest step in
his chamber or the softest touch upon his shoulder
would have aroused him in a moment, so strong is
the force of habit.

The beams of the morning sun were throwing a

olden radiance over sky and earth, when Captain

estervelt rode to the spot where he kad posted
the squad of men to watch the farm-house,

The corporal saluted him as he appeared,

*“Well,” said the young captain, ‘was there any
disturbance last night.”

‘None at all, captain,” returned the corporal.

“You will get ready to return to the camp at
once,” continued Harry. ‘“‘By the way, have you
seen the young lady leave the house yet?”

“Yes, sir; she went away about a quarter of an
hour ago in company with an old man.”

“An old man? Theone who livesin that house,
probably ?” :

‘Yes sir, I think it was, although it’s so far off
I couldn’t see very well. They were both
mounted.” :

‘Tt was old Harold,’, muttered Harry to him-
self. “She is perfectiy safe in the charge of this
pretended spy ef the British, for he has contrived
to delude them so that they have the greatest
faith in his loyalty. His passport will secure him
from interruption. And so she has taken leave of
that Bearskin, and he is still in the house. You
did not see anybody else leave the house, did you,
corporal?” he added aloud.

‘No sir.”

‘Then he is there, I would give much for a
private interview with this strange man,” he mut-
tered in the same low tone as before, “but my
orders are peremptory to return to the camp at
once.

With these words the young officer dashed off,
and a few moments afterwards the corporal, hav-
ing formed his men into four ranks, followed in
the same direction.

(To be Continued.)

I HAVE A LITTLE WORLD AT
HOME.

BY BELLA FRENCH.

In morning walks, I often pass
A cottage by. a plat of grass,
Where perfumed flowers love to bloom;
A very neat and cheery place,
Where is not found one shade of gloom—
Though there, they say,
One hides away,
Ag if it surely were a tomb.

And as the sun, this bright May morn,
Arose to tell a day was born,
I stopped a moment by the gate
To talk with her who never minds
The wide world’s love, or frowns, or hate,
But sits before
Her cottage door,
And is as happy as the great.

Said I terher, ‘* The world is wide—
Have you no wish to see outside—
To taste its pleasures as you réam ?”?
She answered, with her sweetest smile,
*T have a little world athome!}
Outside are jars,
And strife and wars,
But here they never, never come.

** Outside the hearts are often stung
By poisoned words from slander’s tongue;
And tiny barks upon life’s sea
Are often wrecked amid the gloom;
From ills like these I now am free.
I have a child,
A husband mild—
These are a little world to me!”

O, happy heart! what though in scorn
They say that you were lowly born,
And may notin their circles come?
If joy dwells not beneath your roof,
It dwelleth not ’neath palace dome.
Of rich and gay,
How few can say,
"JT have a little world at home!’’

 

<-> « D> «

REUBE, THE RANGER:
The Imprisoned Bride.

BY FRANCIS § SMITH.—(Harry Hamirton.)

CHAPTER VI.
‘THE CAPTIVES—THE RESCUE—THE RECOGNITION, ,

Right on rode the Ranger and his faithful slay.
till they came to a small stream, which they fordt
ed at their leisure, and when they had arrived a
the opposite side, they again put their horses to a

allop. After riding over a level prairie for some
istgnee, they entered a sloping ravine, which led
to the summit of a mountain, and when they had
gained the top, a dead level expanse of country
lay stretched out before them as far as the eye
could reach, After having ridden some twenty
miles, they stopped, dismounted, and allowed
their horses to crop the tall prairie grass, while
they indulged in a half-hour’s reat, and then
mounting again, they started onward.

‘How far am de Injun *campment, Mas’r Reu-
be ?” asked the negro.

‘A matter of some thirty miles yet, Doc,” an-
swered the Ranger; “but we shall reach it easily
enough before nightfall. In the meantime our
enemies will hardly overtake us, even if they dis-
covered my escape, and started after us at once.”

Yah, yab,” chuckled the negro, as he display-
ed his ivory, “I can’t help lafiin’ to tink how I
fooled dat Mexican soger feller! I don’t b’liebe
he’d eber drink wid dis nig agin widout scrutin-
izin’ de licker fus’! He sucked dat ar argemdent
and laudlum down like a baby would it’s moder’s
milk, but I don’t tink it set quite as well on he

 

“So you drugged him, did you ?” returned hig
master, “It was a shrewd mancuvre, Doc, and
you deserve great credit for it.”

“But Mas’r Reube,” said the negro, ‘how you
s’pose I found out dat you was in prison, eh ?”

*T don’t know, Doc, I’m sure,” replied the
Ranger, ‘Sunless you disobeyed my orders again,
and followed me when I started out,”

“No, dat wasn’t it’ replied de negro, “de Lord
knows I wanted to foller yer, but I was afraid
ee jaw Doc, and I’d rader take a kick from eny

ody else dan a cross look from you. No, dis is
de way it was. Dat Osage Injin gal dat’s always
follerin’ you around, she was dodgin’ yer when
dey rested yer, and she fic w to me wid de news,
and she showed me whar de prison was. It was
her, too, dat got me de laudlum and argemdent
and den she staid by, ringin’ her hands an
moanin’ till she ssed you about creepin’ frough de
hole wot. we made, and den she guya kind o’
aiegky laff, and darted off to de woods like a

eer.”

“Poor girl!” ejaculated Reube, in a melancholy
tone, ‘she has followed me around like my shad-
ow ever ‘since I first met her and saved her from
death at the hands of a brutal Apache. A num-
ber of times, when danger threatened me, I have
been saved miraculously, and I know it was
through her agency, although I did notsee her.”

*T tell yer wot itis, Mas’r Reube,” said the ne-
gro, after a moment’s reflection, ‘‘I b’liebe dat
gal’s in lub wid you !”

The Ranger sighed deeply, but made no reply
to this remark, and shortly changed the conver-
sation to something of a more cheerful character.

Thus they enlivened their journey as they rode
along, and asthe sun was about sinking in the
west, they descended, by a gentle declivity, from
the table-land upon which they had all day rid-
den, and took their way through a wide valley of
the most beautiful description. Groves of ever-
green oaks, and pecan, and cottonwond trees were
scattered here and there, the rich foliage of a
thousand different plants simmered in the: bril-
liant hues of the descending sun, and frequent
streams meandered in sweet tranquility through
the diversified landscape.

“Golly, Mas’r Reube!” exclaimed the negro,
“dis yeram a nice piece of country! It am al-
most as pooty as ole Kentuck, amn’tit? Hi, yah!
golly ! Ee yander, Mas’r Reube, jis’ above de
tree tops around dat bend! Smoke! wot does

dat mean ?”

“That isthe camp of my Indian friends, the
Osages,” replied the Ranger. ‘‘Thank Heaven,
our journey is nearits end. If Ican getthem to
assist me now, and I think I can, I will bear my
Inez away in spite of my enemies !”

Ashe spoke they reached the bend to which the
negro had alluded, and just beyond them lay a
thick grove, from the bosom of which the smoke
which had been seen ascended.

Penetrating the grove, they proceeded till their
farther progress was stopped by a thick growth of
timber and interlaced underbrush, which not only
pore them from going farther, but shut out

rom their view everything beyond. Stopping
here, they tied their horses, and made their way
on foot through the dense thicket.

After toiling along in this way for about half an
hour, the sound of voices just ahead of them at-
tracted their observation, and calling upon the
negro to halt, the Ranger parted the thick foliage
as noiselessly as possible, and looked through,
when a somewhat startling scene presented itseif,
Ina large clearing was fixed the Indian encamp-
ment, and in the centre of it, bound fast to sap-
lings, surrounded by brushwood, were three-cap-
tives. The foremost figure in the group was a
herculean Kentuckian, dressed in hunting-shirt,
deerskin leggins, and coon-skin rap—the next was
a spare-built but muscular and fine-looking young
man, about twenty-five years of age, with raven-
black eyes and hair and classical ‘Teatures—and
the third was a beautiful maiden of twenty-three
or thereabouts, who was happily unconscious of
the scene around her, for she had fainted.

The painted demons who surrounded them were
taunting the unhappy captives previous to apply-
ing the torch to the faggots which were intended
to consume them, and while the youne man men-
tioned treated their attempts to provoks him with
proud disdain, the Kentuckian seemed fairly be-
side himself with rage, and gave vent to his in-
dignation in language more emphatic than polite,

“Git out, you pizing sarpint!” he cried, as a
painted savage danced around him, and oceasion-
ally pricked him with a scalping knife, ‘Yer
meaner nor @ catamount, and that’s the meanest
varmint in creation, for it jumps upon a feller
when he ain’t thinkin’, But you, yer sneak, you
tie a feller hand and foot, and then come at him |!
Oh, if Ion’y had one paw loose—jist one, yer cop-
per-colored skunk-—wouldn’t I make a long reach
for you? That’s right, prick away, yer red nig-
ger! Is’pose yer’d like to have me ax yer par-
don, wouldn’t yer? Icouldn’t afford to do it, al-
though prehaps it wouldn’t be morn’n fair, seein’
the liberty [ve tuk with yer brothers afo’ to-day !
I’ve made more’n one of ’em send up his death-
yell! D’ye hear that in both yer ears, old salmon
skin? Sarch under my huntin’-shirt afo’ yer
roast me, and you'll find a dozen of the pootiest
red-skin scalps yer greasy eyes ever looked on!
Human critters ain’t all made alike—leastwise if
a Injin is a human—for I’ve got what you ain’t !
On the left side of the upper part of this old car-
case there’s a heart that never yet fluttered befo’
a red-skin, and although you’ve got me as fast as
a wolf in a trap, yer afear1 o’ that same heart
now! Yer darsent pass yer kni’e into it and let
out the life gravy, for a drop of it ’ud be pizin to
yer grasshopper-fed system! Oh, howl like: to
hug yer jist wunst! Mind, old greasy, if there’s
any sich thing as gainin’ admittance to the happy
huntin’ grounds you tork about, arter we’re both
wiped out, we'll settle this little difficulty, nice
and easy! When are you gwine to set fire to thig
light stuff, say, you nut-headed, snake-eyed, long-
jawed, dirty colored, baby-hearted cross between
a skunk and a cayote!” And as he ended his ti-
rade, he spat ahuge quid of tobacco full into the
eye of the savage |

With a howl of pain, the Indian seized a burn-
ing brand from the camp-fire, and applied it to

ile of faggots which surrounded the Kentuckian
justas the Ranger and his negro’ companion
rushed upon the scene, and began to pull away
the pile and stamp out the fire, which already
blazed far above the head of the victim.

Instantly the fearful war-whoop arose from a
hundred dusky throats, and as many tomahawks
were wielded aloft, but ere a blow was struck the
chief of the band, in a voi:e of thunder, bade his
braves lower their weapons. He had recognized
the Ranger, and walking towards him ag the last
brand was plucked from the burning pile, he said,

The pale-face brave is a great warrior! His
rifle is sure, his knife is sharp, his heart is brave,
his arm is strong, he sleeps not on the war-path,
he speaks not with a forked tongae, He is the
friend of the Osages—his knife has been red with
the blood of their enemies, and QOs-can-te wel-
comes him to the Indian’s camp, but he must not
step between Os-can-te and his anger. Os-can-te
has spoken. Whatsays the pale-face brave?”

“The Ranger is Og-can-te’s friend,” said Reube,
as he faced the chief. ‘‘Og-can-te is both gener-
ous and wise. He will not injure his tribe by an
act of hasty oe eee will not close his ears
against the pleading of his friend. When Os-can-
te and many of his braves were in the hands of
their enemies, the Ranger and his troop rushed
down upon them, and set the captives free. Os-
can-te now can repay this act. He has the Ran-
ger’s friends in his power. He will not forget the
past. He will release them.”

A whispered conversation was held among the
Indians, at the conclusion of which the chief said,

“The pale-face brave has spoken truly. Os-
can-te will be just. The white wolves are free,
but the Ranger will muffle their claws.” And as
he spoke he glanced towards the huge Kentuck-
ian, who, still bound, stood looking on in stupid
astonishment,

In another moment the captives were free, and
the Kentuckian rushed towards Glenroy to thank
him. He stopped short in utter astonishment as
their eyes met, however, and then, as he gave a
prolonged whistle, he seized the Ranger in his
arms, hugged him till the breath was well-nigh
squeezed out of his body, and exclaimed,

‘*‘Whoop-ee! Cock-a-doodle-doo! Hurray for
old Kentuck; If it ain’t Oapt’in Reube, Dave Ozk- ,
heart’s a nigger! Hyar, Col. Merton! Come 2;

hyar, straight! Hyar’s Capt’in Reube, as large

as life, and not a feather ruffled! And old Doc, 7

 

stumjack! Yah! yah!”

too,” he continued as his eyes fell upon the negro,

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

it in the hands of

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Fil yer black inseck, give us your fo’ paw! Yer
the ony nigger in all Keniuck that could ever
beat me buttin’, and I'll have one crack at yer old
cocoanut now, jist for old acquaintance sake!
And as he finished speaking he took off his cap
and butted the negro full in the head.

“Hi, golly, Mas’r Dave!” exclaimed the negro,
as he rubbed the assaulted spot, “‘eider you head
am growed harder or mine am growed softer since
we seed each oder last time, I don’t know which !”

Leaving Dave Oakheart and Doe to talk over
old times, the Ranger started towards the person
whom Oakheart had addreased as Col. Merton,
and who now stood with the ingensibleform of the
young lady in his arms, chafing her tenaples and
endeavoring to call her back to life.

‘Well met, Harry!” exclaimed the Ranger,
heartily—‘“‘f little dreamed of falling in with you
at such a time as this, and under such circum-
stances. But who is this fair young creature, if
it’s a fair question?”

“One whom you will not regret having snatched
from a horrid death,” rejoined the youth. ‘Look
at her. Do you not recognise her?”

The Ranger looked long and earnestly at the
maiden, and as he gazed the recollection of a girl-
ish form which he aaa not seen for years came
pee to him, and with choking utterance he ejacu-

ated, d

“Tt is Isabel—it is my sister!”

It was indeed his sister, who, t00 proud to eat
the bread of dependence longer, and unwilling to
marry Merton till she had madesome endeavor to
find the wandering brother whom she loved dearer
than her own life, had, after much persua-
sion, prevailed upon her affianced to start in
asearch after him, and take her along. Dave
Oakheart, at his earnest request, had been allowed
to accompany the party, but he proved a danger-
ous companion, for his recklessness was always
leading them into trouble, and but for him they
would not have fallen into the hands of the sava-
ges. This, however, they regarded as fortunate,
since it brought them into company with the ob-
ject of their search,

CHAPTER VII,

THE ABDUCTION,

The rescued party and the Ranger had spent a
week at the Indian encampment, and yet they
were not enabled to get away. Reuben Glenroy
had entertained the hope that he would be able to
secure the assistance of Os-can-te to gain posses-
sion of his bride, but in this he was disappointed.
The chief was on the war-trail with his braves,
and could not be induced to give up the pursuit of
his enemies, although he promised the Ranger
that he would assist bim on his return.

Thus was the ranger left a prey to the most
agonizing reflections. He thought of Inez in the
daytime, and dreamed of her at night. Sne was
never absent from his thoughts, and his heart
sank within him as he reflected that, deprived en-
tirely of his society, she might sink and die be-
neath the tyranny of her father and the detestible
Antonio Caselles.

He had good reason for this state of feeling, as
the reader will readily believe after being made
acquainted with what transpired subsequent to
his flight.

After becoming thoroughly satisfied that he had
nothing to hope for from the father of Inez, An-
tonio Caselles set about forming some plan for the
furtherance of his designs upon Inez, whose silly
pea the specious Pedro had succeeded in taking
captive.

Accordingly the three were closeted together on
the evening subsequent to the Ranger’s escape,
ana. as Caselles looked patronisingly at the girl, he
sai

‘Now, Marie, my dear little Marie, Pedro and I
Wish you to do us a favor—a very great favor—and
as it will cost you but slight trouble, I’m sure you
will oblige us.”

‘Certainly, senor,” replied the flattered girl, °I
am always willing to oblige you.”

“Well, then,” said Caselles, ‘your mistress has
received letters from time to time from her here-
tic lover, has she not ?”

‘Yes, senor,” replied Marie.

*‘Has she preserved any of them, and if so, do
you know where she keeps them ?”

‘Yes, senor,” again replied the girl,

“T wish you to steal one of those letters—no
matter which one—and bring it to me.”

‘You do not mean to use the letter to my mis-
tress’s disadvantage, do you?” asked the girl, in
@ tone of hesitation. :

“Agsuredly not,” was the ready reply—‘‘on the
contrary, my desire is to benefit her.”

Oh, then, I will ask her for the letter,” said
Marie, artlessly, ‘‘she will give it me, I know.”

*’Sdeath, girl, what are you thinking of?” ex-
claimed Antonio, ina tone of alarm. ‘You must
do nothing of the kind. Such an act would ruin
everything. I wish to benefit her, but it would
be impossible to make her believe it. So you are
to steal the letter and bring it tome. Should she
miss it, you must pretend to know nothing about
it. Do you hear?”

**Yes, senor, I hear,” replied the girl, “‘but—”

“Come, Marie,” broke in Pedro, “let us have no
hesitation—no buts, or ifs and ands about so sim-
plea matter. Of course you will steal the letter,
and keep very quiet and secret about it let what
will happen. I should not have to ask Jeannotte
twice to do me soslight a favor. She would be
only too glad to oblige me,”

Be it known to the reader that Jeannette was a
rival of Marie’s, and Pedro had only to mention
her name to bring the silly girl to terms at once,
Accordingly, she replied readily,

“Of course I will do it, Pedro, but don’t be so
impatient. Allow a body a moment or two to
think, can’t you?”

‘Leave her to me,” said Pedro, nodding signifi-
cantly at his patron—“'she is not at all unreasona-
ble. Come, Marie, let me see you home, and we
will talk over this little matter on the way.”

Accordingly they departed, and as they walked
along, Pedro used his persuasive tongue with all
the eloquence of which he was master to mould
the love-sick girl to his wishes.

‘*You know how much I love you, Marie,” he
said. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for
you—those bright eyes of yours have played the
devil with my soft heart, but I can’t help it—who
could? You're as beautiful as an angel—and so
kind, too. You will get the letter for us as soon
as possible, won’t you? And if anything unusual
should happen—no matter what—you will keep
silent, won’t you?—you won't go to snivelling
and babbling, willyou? You wouldn’t make so
ig a return for my great love. You wouldn't

o anything calculated to get your Pedro in
trouble—that would be too heartless—Jeanotte
wouldn’t do it, not if she was cut up piece-meal.”

“I willdo anything you wish, dear Pedro,” re-
turned the fond girl, readily, ‘but don’t talk so

“much about Joannette—it makes me feel bad.”

‘Well, I won’t, love,” replied the wily Padro.
“Only transact this business properly, and I will
never mention her name again.”

By this time they had reached Don Alfonso’s
mansion, where, with a kiss, Pedro left her.

The next day Antonio Caselles was placed in
possession of the letter which he so much covet-
ed, and he applied himself at once to the task of
imitating the chirography. After severe practice,
he succeeded in penning the following letier ina
close imitation of the handwriting of the Ranger:

‘Dearest Inez: Of course we cannot meet as
of old, but I long to place you in possession of a
secret of great importance to us both, and I dare
not entrustit to paper. Iwill therefore send my
servant, Doc, to our old trysting place in the gar-
den to-morrow evening, where I beseech thee to
meet him, and to receive from his lips that which
Thave to impart, Do not fail me, darling.

“Your ever loving husband, REUBEN.”

Caselles knew that Inez had pledged herself not
to meet the Ranger, and she was certain she
would keep her pledge, but he also knew that she
would do anything in honor to hear what her hus-
band had to say, and for that reason he worded
the letter as above given, He reasoned correctly,
as the seqizel will show.

Folding and superscribing the letter, he placed

arie, with directions to hand it
to Inez, and to state to her that it had been

li handed to her at the gate by the negro,

Sey}3

y

With much trepidation the poor girl performed
the errand. She could not help apes that she
was playing false to her mistress, and her heart
revolted at the idea, but she was so completely in

; the toils of the base Pedro and his master, that

 

she found it impossible to yield to her better na-
ture. The consequence of her indecision ang
weakness was that Inez was on the next night
seized upon, gagged before she could give an alarm
hurried to a boat at the foot of the garden, rowe
to the other side of the stream, and carried to an
old untenated prison which had been formerly
used by the government, and placed in the care of
Pedro and an unscrupulous Mexican hag.

Great was the consternation and grief of Don
Alfonso when he learned, from the ie of Marie,
that his daughter had disappeared. In great
dismay he rushed to the house of Padre Angelo,
and with swimming eyes imparted the dread in-
formation. : :

The padre heard him with a troubled counten-

ance.
‘Tt is strange,” he said, “very strange. I can-
not think that Inez has voluntarily absonted her-
self, and yet it seems impossible that she could
have been abducted. Has nothing occured within
a few days past to awaken thy suspicions?”

“Nothing,” returned the distressed father, “ex-
cept that for the last two or three days, a wander-
ing Osage Indian girl has been discovered by the
servants lurking around the premises.”

“Ha! that isindeed suspicious!” rejoined the
padre, “did you make an effort to detain ber?”

Yes,” replied De Castro, “I gave the servants
instructions to apprehend her, and on two differ-
ent occasions they made the attempt, but she was
too quick for them, and escaped.”

“then I fear that she is indeed in the power of
the savages,” said the padre; “nevertheless, let
us hopeforthe best. Wemay be mistaken. Your
best plan is to apprise the alcalde of what hath
happened, and invoke his aid to assist you in mak-
ing a thorough search. She may be rescued,
though the chances are but small.”

With a despairing heart, the old man took his
way homeward. He met Antonio Caselles on his
way, and in broken accents told him what had
happened.

“Did I not warn thee that snch would be the
result of thy foolish leniency ?” asked the villain,
who had but that moment left the weeping Inez
in a prison cell. “I knew that she would deceive
thee.”

‘Slanderer!” exclaimed the old man, wrath-
fully, ‘‘I will not believe that she hath deceived
me. I believe that she hath been foully abducted.
She never would have broken her ledge—she
never would have so distressed her father!”

For a moment Caselles was dreadfully agitated,
for he imagined, from the tone of old De Castro’s
voice, that he was suspected. He mastered his
emotions with an effort, however, and asked,

“Tf she hath not voluntarily absented herself,
how could she have disappeared? Who could
have abducted her?”

“T have reason to think,” returned the old man,
‘that she hath been carried off by the Indians.
O-r2-wis-e, a wandering Indian girl, has, for two
or three days past, been seen skulking around my
house, and I believe she hath been instrumental
in carrying of my daughter.”

‘Very likely—very likely, Don Alfonso,” replied
Caselles, “‘butif you had taken my advice, that
would not have happened. Good evening.”

For some days De Castro, at the head of a party
of police and friends, scoured the plains in every
direction, in search of the missing girl, but, of
course, without avail, and her father at length
gave up in despair, and regarded her as lcst to
him forever.

In the meantime Antonio Caselles kept the
strictest watch over his unhappy prisoner, whom
he daily persecuted with threats, implorations,
and protestations of love, but who steadily treated
him with cold disdain.

One day, as he wag about leaving the prison, af-
ter an interview with Inez, the Indian girl, O-ra-
wis-e, suddenly blocked his path.

‘Stand aside, thou devil’s bird!” exclaimed
Caselles, angrily; “Show durat thou place thyself
in the way of a Mexican? Stand aside, I say!”

*Q-ra-wis-e would speak with the Mexican,” re-
plied the girl, without changing her position.

‘Q-ra-wis-e, sayst thou?” replied Caselles,
thou art the Indian who was discovered lurk-
ing about the mansion of Don Alfonso? And what
wouldst thon ask of me ?”

“Revenge !” was the laconic answer.

‘Revenge ?” echoed Antonio, with some sur-
prise. ‘How? In what manner ?”

“The pale flower which thou guardest stands in
the light of O-ra-wis-e,” answered the girl. ‘‘The
old squaw who watches her is sleepy with age—
she fis not vigilant—she isnot strong—the pale
flower will escape from her—O-ra-wis-e is young
—she never sleeps, her eye is like the hawk’s—the
pale flower cannot escape her—she will watch as
the panther watches, and will rejoice to see the

ale flower wedded tothe white brave who claims
er as his bride. Let QO-ra-wis-e take the old
squaw’s place.” :

“By Heaven!” mentally exclaimed Antonio,
“this is fortunate! This red devil is in love with
the Ranger, and she will lend all the powers of
her cunning nature to assist me in securing Inez.
I will employ her at once.” Then aloud to the
Indian girl, ‘‘O-ra-wis-*, I accept thy offered ser-
vices With gratitude. Be faithful to me, and thou
shalt not regretit. Follow me!” And leading
her aside, he installed her as the attendant of
Inez, much to the discomfiture of the superanu-
ated hag whose position shetook.

CHAPTER VIII.
O-RA-WIS-E.

After remaining for a week inactive, the Ranger
could bear the terrible suspense as to the fate of
Inez no longer, and he determined, happen what
might, to set out at once alone for San Antonio.

He was making preparations for his journey one
morning, when his faithful servant Doc broke in
upon him and said,

“Mas’r Reube, de Injin gal, Orrywissy, or wot
eber her name am, want to see yer right away, on
‘tickler bizziness she says.”

The Ranger’s heart beat high with hops, for the
idea at once took possession of him that O-rawise,
having remained behind at San Antonio after he
left, might have something to communicate con-
cerning his bride.

“T.et her come in, Doc,” he gaid.

*¢The negro disappeared, and in a moment after-
ward the Indian maiden presented herself. She
was apparently about eighteen years of age, and

ogsessed 2 larger share of beauty than generally

alls tothe lot of girls belonging to the Osage
tribe. She was gracefully built, her eyes were
large, black, and peculiarly expressive, and there
was something spirituelle in her striking counte-
nance,

With arms crossed upon her bosom and head
bent down, she stood before the Ranger as though
waiting for him to open the conversation.

Q-ra-wis-e has something to communicate ?”
the Ranger said at length.

The maiden started at the sound of his voice,
but quickly recovering herself, she said in a voice
musically sweet,

“The pale-face warrior would seek his bride in
San Antonio?”

“Such was my intention, beautiful O-ra-wis-e,”
replied the Ranger, not a little surprised to find
that tha Indian girl was aware of his marriage.

‘He will not find her there,” replied the girl.

‘Hal sayst thou so?” questioned the Ranger,
with sudden alarm, ‘‘How knowest thou this,
O-ra-wis-e ?”

*‘O-ra-wis-6 has seen the pale bride,” returned
the girl, in a mournful tone; “her face is the
milky way, her eyes are the stars, her hair is like
the night cloud, her breath is sweeter than the
flowers, her voice is more musical than the run-
ning waters, and her step is lighter than the
fawn’s, O-ra-wis-e looked in the brook before she
saw tho pale bride, and thought she was notugly.
Q-ra-wis-e looks not in the brook now. She knows
that she is ugly!”

“But where didst thou see Inez?” questioned
the Ranger, who, in his anxiety, did not notice
the tears that shone in the dark orbs of the In-
dian girl,

‘In prison!” abruptly answered O-ra-wis-e.

‘In prison!” echoed the Ranger, as he groaned
aloud and pressed his brow in agony, “and who
has put her there?”

‘A Mexican,” replied the girl; ‘this step is like
the panther’s—his spirit is like the cowardly coy-
ote’s—he has no heart—they call him Antonio!’

“Just heaven!” exclaimed the Ranger, in an
agony of fear, ‘‘can this be true? Say on, O-ra-
wis-e. How didst thou gain this knowledge?”

 

‘Q-ra-wis-e wanted speech with the pale bride,”
answered the Indian girl, while a flush passed
over her dark cheeks, ‘‘and so she became the
white man’s servant and the pale bride’s attend-
ant. The Mexican wolf.had no suspicion of O-ra-
wis-6, who had much talk with the pale bride.
The Mexican wolf eaughh the pale bride in a trap
bore her from her father’s wigwam, and placed
her in his prison. O-ra-wis-e promised the pale
bride she would lead herchief to her. O-ra-wis-e
will keep her word. Come!” :

“But how is this prison of which you speak sit-
uated?” asked the Ranger; “who guards it?
Shall we require much help ?”

‘Not much,” replied the girl, ‘you will see only
Antonio, Pedro, and a white squaw. Come!”

The Ranger needed no urging. Instantly sum-
moning his friends, Merton and Oakheart, they
set out with O-ra-wis-e for a guide, leaving Doc to
take care of Isabel Glenroy.

CHAPTER IX.
THE PRISON.

On the night following the morning when the
Ranger and his friends set out from the Indian
encampment, Antonio Caselles, as had been his
habit daily from the time he had captured Inez,
called at her prison to work upon her fears,with a
view of eventually moulding her to his wishes. He
was somewhat heated with wine, a fact which
Inez noticed with a feeling of groat trepidation,
for it was af such times that he was boldest.

“Well, my birdling,” he commenced, as he seat-
ed himself opposite her, ‘‘art thou still stubborn,
or dost thou feel disposed to act reasonably ?
Thou knowest that a man’s patience will not al-
ways hold, especially when he loves as I love !”

he brave girl felt her flesh creep with horror
as she listened to the monster, but she concealed
her feelings, and answered with as much calm-
ness as possible,

“Thou shouldst blush to mention the word love,
Senor Antonio. None but the brave can truly
love, and thy bravery is more than questionable.
By trickery, thou hast entrapped a helpless girl,
whom, coward-like, thou wouldst destroy |”

‘Now, by the Virgin, fair Inez, thou dost me
wrong!” returned the villain, with well-affected
displeasure, ‘Ido not wish to destroy thee. Far
fromit. I wish to advantage thee. I wish thee
to agree to the cancelling of a marriage which can
bring no honor to thee, and to accept as thy lord
& man of mark and station, according tothe wish-
es of thy sire and the public voice. Callest thou
this destruction 7 Come, swest, be reasonable |”

“Tt thou dost wait till I consent to thy wishes in
this regard,” replied Inez, aeelAD “thou wilt
weary of it. I have told thee often before, and I
tell thee now again that I would rather link my-
self with the meanest beggar in San Antonio than
with thee, even though I had never seen my
brave, my noble, my generous Reuben! my life,
my love, my own true husband !”

‘It is a thousand pities, sweet Inez,” returned
Antonio, in a mocking voice, ‘‘that thou wilt nev-
er see this paragon of a managain! But such is
the fact. Thou shalt never again behold him, for
by the arch-fiend, Iswear that thou shaltrot in
this prison if thou dost not become my bride !”

‘Thy bride, foul monster!” exclaimed Inez,
with a sensation of disgust, ‘‘a thousand deaths
were preferable to that !”

“Nay, then,” returned the monster, with a look
of terrible meaning, “I havea way to make thee
mine, whether thou wilt or not! These prison
walls are thick, the position is an isolated one,and
shouldst thou scream ever so loudly, no human
ear could hear thee! Ihave trifled with thee long
enough! Come, my birdling, come!”

“Back! back! inhuman monster !” cried Inez,
in a tone of alarm, ‘‘thon darest not pollute me
with thy touch !”

*‘Sayest thou so, fair one ?” returned Antonio,
as he cme pore’. toward her, ‘‘nay, then, let this
convinee thee |”

“Oh, Mother of God, assist mo!” exclaimed
the terrified girl, ‘Reuben! husband! father!
is there no help ?” a
_ tu another moment the villain had grasped her
in his arms, but even as he. did so, the door flew
open, she wag torn from his embrace; and he was
sent headlong to the earth by a blow from the
atcck of a pistol!

“Secnre that ruffian, Dave, while I attend to my
wife!” exclaimed the Ranger—for he it was who
had prostrated the villain—and ashe spoke he
gazed with affectionate solicitude upon the beau-
tiful girl who lay sensoless in his arms, and im-
printed a warm kiss upon her bloodless lips.

“All right, Capting Reube!” exclaimed the Ken-
tuckian, as he threw himself upon Antonio, and
proceeded to tie his arms with a cord which he
held in his hands. ‘Easy, now, easy, you garlic-
eating reptile!” be continued, as the Mexican,
now completely sobered, struggled desperately to
free himself, ‘tor I'll beat the devil’s tattoo on yer
rotten gourd! I’ve tied a grizzly afo’ now, so you
see it ain’t in the natur of things for a skunk to
escapeme! There yer are!” And as he finished
speaking, he threw the Mexican—now bound hand
Be foot—from him, and spurned him with his

oot.

Just at this time voices were heard approach-
ing, and in another moment Harry Merton en-
tered, leading Pedro, whose arms were securely
bound behind him, by the collar. He was followed
by the negro, Doc, who had a yellow-skinned,
desperate-looking old hag in custody, while O-ra-
wis-e brought up the rear.

Under the skillful treatment of the Indian girl,
Inez was soon restored to consciousness, and
while the friends are congratulating each other,
let us turn our attention to the wretches who lay
bound upon the floor, and who were whispering
in an under tone.

**Pedro, good fellow,” whispered Antonio, **thou
wilt keep silent, wilt thou not? Thou wilt not let
them wring our secret from thee? Promise me
that thou wilt not.”

“f don’t know,” replied Pedro, in a voice the
tremulousness of which showed how great his
fear was—“‘I don’t know, Senor Antonio. These
Americans are desperate fellows. They have us
in their power, and wili not, Iam certain, scruple
tohangus. Life is sweet, and I can’t say what
effect the sight of a rope, with a noose on the end,
dangling from the limb of w tree, may have upon
m %

8.
“Coward !” ejaculated Antonio, savagely, ‘‘thou
wilt not sacrifice me to save thy worthless life!
Beast that thou art, thou durst not!”

‘Well, since thou art inclined to be complimen-
tary,” rejoined Pedro, “I will inform thee that I
have already made half terms with Colonel Mer-

ton, the American, who bonnd me. To be plain
with thee, if they will spare my life, I think I
shall allow my tongue to wag freely !”

“Curses on thee!” growled Antonio, savagely.
“Oh, that I were free but for one moment, to be
revenged upon thee!”

As he gave utterance to this wish, the Mexican
hag, whom it had not been thought necessary to
bind, stooped as though to adjust her shoe-lace,
but something glittered in her skinny fingers as
they reached the floor, and the next moment An-
tonio was free, and hada knife in his hand. With
@ spring like that of a panther, he buried the
weapon to the handle in the body of Pedro, and
then with the suddenness of thought, seizing a
pistol from the hand of Doe, levelled it full at the
heart of the Ranger and fired. The ball sped on
its errand, but it entered not the heart of Glen-
roy. The Indian girl had witnessed the mové-
ment of the Mexican, and throwing herself be-
tween him and his intended victim, she received
the contents of the pistol, and sank to the floor
mortally wounded.

While Dave Oakheart grappled with and again
secured the Mexican, the Ranger flew to the as-
sistance of O-ra-wis-e. Raising her gently in his
arms, he placed his hand upon her side, and as
he took it away he shuddered to perceive that it
was red with his preserver’s blood.

“Thou art wounded, O-ra-wis-e,” he said, in a
tone of deep pathos.

The gaze of the dying girl rested upon his en-
sanguined hand, and while a quiet smile stole
over her face, she murmured,

‘Itis my blood, pale warrior, and it flows for
thee! O-ra-wis-e could not live for the Ranger,
but she can die for him, and the pale bride can do
no more. O-ra-wis-e feels not the bullet of the
Mexican—it lets out the pain which filled her
heart before. When the season of flowers comes,
and the pale chief ishappy with his Inez, let them
sometimes visit the mound that covers the body

of O-ra-wis-e, Her spirit will not feel trouble then
—it will smile upon them and be glad. O-ra-wis-e
bids the Ranger farewell !”

Raising her eyes to those of Reuben Glenroy,
the dying girl changed her position till both arms
were around his neck, then raising herself with a
last effort, she imprinted a kiss upon his lips and
fell dead in hig arms. Her soul had passed away
upon her lips in that chaste salute,

Placing the body of his peak gently upon a
couch, the Ranger turned hig attention to the
wretch Pedro, who lay writhing in pain, and who
had expressed a desire to speak with him speedily.

“‘Yos, tell him all thou knowest now, friend Pe-
dro!” exclaimed Antonio, with a savage laugh,
“but much I fear me the confession will not save
thy life now. I am not apt to fail when I havea
fair chance to strike! Ha! ha! ha!”

‘Peace, monster !” exclaimed the Ranger, ashe
regarded the deuble murderer with a look of hor-
ror; “thy turn, will come. speedily, and thou
shouldst turn thy thoughts in another and a high-
er direction.”

“Curses on theo, vile American! Despicable
vagabond! Curses on thee! I defy and spitupon
thee!” cried Autonio, savagely. And then he
added, as a diabolical expression rested upon his
face, “I wish thee joy of thy dainty bride, and
hope thou wilt find her as unsullied as she was
when last thou didst embrace her!”

A pang shot through the breast of the Ranger,
but it passed quickly away as Inez ejaculated,
while the red blood mounted to her cheeks:

“Heed him not, Reuben! Hisimpotent malice
suggested the vile thought, and he gave it utter-
ance only to pain thee! As heaven hears me, I
am unspotted!”

“Remove that vicious monster, and see that he
is carefully guarded!” said the Ranger, quietly.
Then turning to Pedro, he continued, after Anto-
nio had been dragged away, “and now, miserable
man, if thou hast aught to say that it concerns
me to hear, speak 1t speedily, for I can perceive
that thy life is fast ebbing away.”

“IT know that I shall die,” returned Pedro, with
@ groan, “‘but I feel that I shall live long enough
to revenge myself. Listen then. Many years
ago I wag a domestic in the family of Don Alfonso
de Castro, who at thattime was a comparatively
poor man —a lapidary by profession. He was hon-
est, but he possessed a spice of vanity, which in
the end led him to be dishonest. Antonio Caselles
was always a Villain and a spendthrift, but he was
of distinguished birth, and this, in the eyes of
De Castro, covered a multitude of sins, and hé
was only too happy to perform gratuitously any
service in the line of his business for one of higher
extraction than himself. I had long known Ca-
selles, and had performed many an act of villainy
for him previous to entering the service of De
Castro,

‘One day there arrived in San Antonio a dia-
mond merchant. He was a stranger in the place,
and as De Castro was the only resident of all in
his line of business, the stranger took up his
abode beneath the lapidary’s roof. He had with
him a large store of precious ston¢s—a fact which
was not long kept from my knowledge, and I was
not long in imparting the information to Caselles,
whose greedy eyes sparkled with eagerness as he
listened to me. Soon he made the acquaintance
of the diamond merchant, and it was not long
atter that the latter was taken sick with fever.
Then it was that Caselles first began to sound De
Castro, touching the sick man’s possible demise.
‘Should he die,’ argued Caselles, ‘he has no friends
here to look after his property, and what is to
prevent you from appropriating it?’

‘To do De Castro justice, he was at first indig-
nant at the monstrous suggestion, but as Caselles
day after day appealed to his cupidity and his
pride, he soon began to listen to him without dis-
pleasure, and at length he began to wish that the
stranger would die. It was at this stage of events
that my services were called into requisition by
Caselles. Curses on him, I have not had a mo-
ment’s quiet since! Even now I see the ghost of
that unfortunate man glaring upon me, and beck-
oning me to the bar of justice!”

Large beads of sweat stood upon the brow of
the dying man, and he paused for some moments
to gain breath. At length, he continued:

“Feigning to feel great compassion for the sick
man, I requested to be permitted to wait upon
him, and not suspecting my terrible design, De
Castro consented. Three days later and the dia-
mond merchant was a corpse. I poisoned him at
the instigation of Caselles, but De Castro sup-
posed that he died a natural death. He never
would have consented to his murder. He even
refused for a long time to appropriate his wealth,
but he succumbed at last to the specious tongue
of Cagelles, and the property was divided be-
tween them.”

A horrid suspicion had crept into the mind of
the Ranger, and as Pedro again stopped to gain
breath, the former said, excitedly,

‘And this diamond merchant—who was he?
His name! Speak!”

‘‘Krnest Glenroy, of Kentucky—thy father!”
exclaimed the dying villain. “I saw his minia-
ture but a few days since in the possession of
Caselles. He picked it up when thou didst drop it
on the night of thy arrest.”

‘My father! My poor murdered father!” ex-
claimed the Ranger, covering his face with his
hands, and weeping freely—and then suddenly
rage mingled with his grief, and turning upon
Pedro, he grasped his hunting knife, and wielding
it above hig head, exclaimed with flashing eyes,
‘‘Wretch, doth the earth still hold thee?”

“Strike not,” exclaimed the villain, feebly,
‘thou canst but.shorten my life but a few brief
moments, and I have something yet to say.”

“Proceed, then,” returned the Ranger, allowing
his better feelings to prevail.

“Thy father was buried in the village church-
yard, near the cathedral,” continued Pedro. ‘‘Pa-
dre Angelo will point out to thee the spot. He
was with him in his last moments. He is also
familiar with this history of crime. A year after
thy fathor’s death Iwas taken desperately sick,
and supposing that I was about to die, I made a
full confession to him. It was this fact doubtless
which induced him to perform the marriage cere-
mony between thee and Inez against the wishes of
Don Alfonso, he haviug probably discovered the
resemblance between thyself and the murdered
man as soon as he heard thy true name.

‘The portion of thy father’s wealth which fell to
the share of Caselles and myself did not last us
long. Ina very short time we squandered it in
riotous living. But De Castro invested his portion
profitably, and is now the richest man in San An-
tonio. It was this fact which led Caselles to covet
the hand of Inez, whose father he threatened to
destroy should he refuse. to bestow upon him her
handin marriage. My story is ended, and in good
time, for the death damp is gathering on my brow.
The light is fading from me—I die! Idie! God
have mercy onme!” And in another moment the
villain had gone to his account.

But little now remains to betold. Summery
vengeance was executed upon the perfidious Cas-
elles, who was hung from the limb of a tree near
the jail, and who died cursing with his latest
breath those whom he had so terribly injured.
Tho bodies of the Indian girl and Pedro were de-
cently interred, and the old woman was handed
over to the Mexican authorities, to be dealt with
as they might deem fit.

The meeting between Don Alfonso de Castro,
his daughter, son-in-law, and their friends, which
speedily followed, was a sorrowful one. With
many tears the.old man acknowledged his crime,
but when he learned that the guest whose proper-
ty he had appropriated was murdered beneath
his roof, his remorse was so great that for a long
time it was feared that his reason would be de-
stroyed. Under the skillful spiritual ministrations
of Padre Angelo, however, he was eventually
calmed, but he was never happy afterwards, and
died in a fow years, truly repentant.

Taking leave of his friends for a short time,
Harry Merton returned to the Indian encamp-
ment, where he found his affianced safe in the
care of the faithful Doc. Gently he broke to her
the sad news concerning the fate of her father,
and then conveyed her with all speed to the side
of her brother and new found sister-in-law. In a
short time Isabel Glenroy became Mrs. Harry
Merton, and then the whole party, Don Alfonso—
who had settled up his business for the purpose—
included, set out for the United States, and ar-
rived safely in Kentucky, where they and their
children are now residing.

 

THE END.

OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.
QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANT-

ED.--Thos. J. Crowe.— You had better have your decayed
teeth filled by a dentist. We know of no way by whieh
you might do ityourself. Butas you desire to remove
the disorder from your masticators, here is a receipe
To MakE THE TEETH WHITE. Take of ground pumice-
stone, two drachms; gum tragacanth, one ounce; gum
arabic, half an ounce, and crystals of tartar, finely pow-
dered, halfan ounce. Dissolve the gums‘in rosewaier,
and then add to it the powders. Apply with a stiff
brush three times a day...... Joseph asks for a PREPaR-
ATION TO REMOVE FRECKLES.-—-The folowing recipe hag
been tried by many and pronounced successful: Take
of Venice soap an ounce, dissolve it in half an ounce of
lemon-juice, to which add of oil of bitter almonds, and
deliquated oil of tartar, each a quarter of an ounce, Let
the mixture be placed in the sun till it acquires the con-
siatence of ointment. When in this state add three
drops of the oil of rhodium, and keep itfor use. Apply
it in the following manner :— Wash the face at night with
elderflower water, then anoint it with the above unc-
tion. In the morning, cleanse the sk-n from its oily
adhesion by washing it copiously in rose-water.......«
A Constant Reader,—As we are unable to give you the
information you desire we publish your letter, hoping
that some of our readers will furnish you with the ad-
vice you seek: “GENTLEMEN: Having for a long time
been amused and much edified in perusing your ‘en-
tertaing and instructive hebdomadal,’ Iam exceedingly
anxious to know if you can tell me how to get rid of the
intolerable pests,’ the common house-fily? I am en-
gaged in enamelling glass, and am £0 excossively an-
noyed by them that sometimes they cause nie to ‘spoil
ajob.’ I have tried traps, fly paper, &c., and it seems
that like the fox in the table, ‘another more hungry
swarm wi'l succeed, and I shall be robbed of every drop
of blood in my veins.’ In giving me, if possible, the
greatly desired information, you will confer on me a
lasting favor.”’

To Maze Ick Cavam WirnouT A PREEZER.—I6 ig
not.generally known that the best ice cream ean be
made without a costly freezer, in any family where, ice
and milk are at hand. To make itproceed thus: Take
two quarts of fresh milk—if a litile cream be added, all
the better, though ice cream as ordinarily made is in-
nocent of cream. Scald the milk, stirring in. three
tablespoonfuls of corn starch or arrow roet. to give it
body. These may be omitted ifnotathand. Stir well to
keep from burning. Beat up from four to eight eggs,
according to convenience, or as arich dish is wanted,
and pour the scalding milk on the eggs, stirring well.
When cold add sugar and essence of lemon, or extract
of vanilla, to suit the taste. A very little salt also im-
provesit, Pour the cooled contents into a deep tin pail
or can, holding, say three quarts ;¥put on the cover, and
set in an ordinary wooden water pail. Pound up ice to
the size of small hens’ eggs and less—some of course
will be quite fine—pack itin around the tin can, mixing
in about one pint of either medium or fine salt. Pack
this till it reaches nearly to the top of the can contain-
ing the mixture to be frozen, but be careful none enters
it. ‘Now move the tin can or pail around by means of
its bail, lifting the cover occasionally to scrape off the
frozen cream on the inside, so that other portions may
come in contact with the freezing surface. From fif-
teen to twenty minutes will be sufficient, and the dish
may either be served up at once or set away, without
removing from the wooden pail, in a cool place for sev-
eral hours, covering with flannel cloth. Try it, and
see if you need hereafter forego the ice cream because
no freezer is at hand.

¢
A BEAUTIFUL ORNAMENT.—If an acorn be sus

pended by a piece of thread to within half an inch of
some water, in a glass, and so permitted to remain
without being disturbed, it will, in a few months, burst
and throw out aroot down into the water, and shoot
upward its tapering stem, with beautiful little green
leaves. A smaail oak tree, growing in this way on a man-
tel-shelf is an interesting object.

SoatpED GINGER CAKE.—Put one pint of mo-
lasses and two spoonfuls of butter in a pan, heat to
boiling, then pour it on to one quart of flour. Stir it
welland when cool add two eggs well beaten, one table-
spoonful of soda dissolved in two large spoonfuls of
brandy, and one of ginger. Add enough flour to make
it thick enough to roll; work it out thin, and bake in
square tins.

To Remove STAIns From S1iK.—A lady who had
stained a violet silk dress by acid juice, restored the
original color by the following means: She brushed
the stained portion of fabric with tincture of iodine;
then, after a few seconds, saturated the spot with a
solution of hyposulphate of soda, and dried it gradually;
in a short time the color was perfectly restored,

How To Ger Rrp oF ‘Anrs.—Take sage and strew
smelt quantities where they frequent. @ have never
yet failed of getting rid of them, not for a day or two
only, but for the entire summer.

ITEMS FOR FARMERS AND GARDENERS,

A SuccEssIon oF VEGETABLES.—There are many
who make a job of planting the garden in the spring,
and content themselves with the different vegetables as
they come along, without taking pains to have them
any earlier or later than a single out-of-door sowing will
furnish. Those who manage their garden in this way
do not get half the enjoyment it is capable of yielding.
It is too late now to think of getting extra early crops,
but itis just the time to do something to get late ones
of many things which last but a short time in perfec-
tion, Though most of our readers do not enjoy the
climate of California, which allows choice vegetables to
grow nine or ten months in the year,they can by means
of hot-beds and late planting do much toward length-
ening the season at both ends. Early Valentine and
other snap beans, and any of the early sorts of sweet
corn, planted now, will givein all ordinary seasons a
plentiful supply until frost comes. Early peas, if plant-
ed quite deep, will often do well, and give a late yield.
Cucumbers, radishes, lettuce, spinach, and many other
things may be put in as a succession crop, and even
okra and nasturtiums will probably pay for the trouble,

CuraP MoprE oF Frepina Horses.—J. Fisk, of
Baldwinsville, N. Y.,\says that he has a horse, five years
old, used as a family carriage horse, which is frequent-
ly let to his neighbors, His labor is considerable. In
the morning he feeds a bushel basket of cut oat straw,
moistens it with water, throws in four quarts of shorts,
mixes thoroughly and feeds. At noon gives straw
again, and two or four quarts of shorts clear, At night
mixes hay and straw, equal parts of each, cuts.a basket-
ful, and mixes shorts again as in the morning. Feeds
also all the potato and apple parings, cabbage leaves,
etc., to him. His horse is free from cough, lively, fat,
and healthy; and this practice he is confident saves him
50 per cent. the cost of keeping a horse in the usual
way—costs about three minutes’ time per day. This is
an important item in the days of high feed.

Txstinc Seep Conn.—Keep the corn in a mod-
erately warm, dry place in the winter; in the spring roll
or wrap teach ear in paper; twist the little end, and
shear off the paper at the big end down even with the
ear. Then draw out the ear carefully and shellit. If
the shelled corn of any ear does not fill the paper, re-
ject it. Inthis way sort out the heavy kerneled and
small cob grades and it will improve your crep.

CrupE PetroLevmM For Froir Trees.—Crude
petroleum applied as a wash to the bark of fruit trees,
destroys all kinds of vermin which infests them, and
the oil instead of injuring the tree causes it to grow
with great vigor. Itis one of the best, if not the very
best, fertilizer which can be applied to fruit trees.

SCIENTIFIC NOTES.

An Ampnisious Stzamer.—Experiments have
recently been made at Toulon with a new kind of iron-
clad gun-boat, with improvements which enable it to
move at a rapid rate on jand as well as on water. These
small vessels sit very low in the water, and have on the
deck an iron-clad shelter, pierced with six port holeg
and eighteen embrasures. As they can be taken to
pieces in a few hours, and divided into eighteen blocks,
including the engine, these gun-boats, if required. en-
gage in a naval combat off the coast of Provence with a
speed of eight knots; then be taken to pieces, and hav-
ing been carried away by railway, be ready to fight
again off the coasts of the Atlantic in thirty-six hours,
after crossing the whole of France.

Fire From Icz.—Make a hole in a thick piece of
ice, dry it out with some cotton, and place a bit of
potassium in the hole; the metal will immediately take
fire, and sometimes it will be discharged with great
violence, especially if the potassium has been held some
time between the fingers and becomes warm. Care
must always be taken not to lean over the ice or water
during experiments with potassium; and it should be
rembered that this metal very nearly explodas when-
ever held long in the hands or otherwise warmed be-
fore use.

Parservine Meat.—Mr. W. C. Marshall, of this
city, is the originator of a new system for preserving
meat. The meatis subjected to a heavy pressure, in
such a manner that nearly all the water not chemically
combined with the meat, and a large quantity of aiz
contained between the various pieces and in the pores
of the same, is expelled before the meat is put up in
the packages, and by these means the principal agents
of putrefaction are removed, and its bulk is copsidera-
bly reduced. a

BLONDE ArRtTiriciaL Frowrrs.—One of the laat
novelties which the ingenious Paris artificers of the
modes have introduced is artificial flowers made of
blonde. A process has been discovered for dyeivg
light silky tissues in imitation of the petais of flowers,
aud when used to decorate ball toilettes of light mate-
rial the effect is very charming; for the costume of a

 

bride the blonde flowers are very appropriate.

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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NEW YORK, AUGUST 18, 1864.

 

 

 

OUR TERMS.

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY is sold by all respecta-
ble News Agents throughout the United States. The
price is Srx Orents, but in some cases, where Agenis
have to pay extra freight or postage, a higher price is
necesarily charged. When there is a News Agent in the
town, we desire our friends to get the WEEKLY through
him. We do not wish to mail the paper except to places
where there is no other means of getting it. When sent
by mail, the price will invariably be $2 50 year, in ad-
vance Subscriptions taken for three months. The
bills of all solvent banks taken at par for subscriptions.
Oanada subscribers must send one dollar and four
cents extra with every subscription to pre-pay the
American postage.

 

“THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,” 121 Nas-
sau Street, New York, are our General Agents for
supplying dealers with the WEEKLY.

 

 

THE PRESIDENT’S PROCLAMATION.

This is the day set apart by our President
asa day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer,
and we call upon our readers everywhere to
observe it religioasly. Not in any spirit of
despondency should this be done, for as we
view the matter, our prospects were never so
bright since this bloody ard unjust war was
first forced upon us. Look back at the begin-
ning, and see what we have gained in the mat-
ter of territory since rebellious hands poured
iron hail upon Fort Sumter! Kentucky and
Missouri are ours, Tennessee is imploring a
restoration to her old rights, West Virginia is
represented in Congress, Louisiana and Arkan-
828 are anxious to be numbered among the
loyal States, and the stars and stripes are
floating over portions of Virginia, North Caro-
lina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Mississippi.
More than this, Sherman will in all probabili-
ty have possession of Atlanta before this
reaches the view of our readers, and General
Grant, ‘that stubborn man,” has his hercu-
lean gripe upon the throat of Richmond, and
will never let go his hold till she is strangled
into submission. So, then, as we said before,
we have cause rather for rejoicing than for de-
spondency, but even in the hour of triumph it
is fitting that we humble ourselves before the
Most High, asking His forgiveness for our
sins aS a nation and praying for His guidance
to carry us safely through our trials. Let us,
then,.meekly prostrate ourselves before the
Throne of Grace, penitently acknowledge our
manifold offences, and beg for strength to
carry this contest on till the last vestige of re-
bellion is crushed out and our country is re-
stored to blessed peace, and the flag of the
free shall float over a land all the purer for
having been so severely tried—a land of liber-
. ty and equal rights indeed.

mecca etme 4 EY > ¢- ntact earceteceenieneens
THE CONTRABAND’S PRAYER.

A number of freedmen were invited to spend
the Fourth of July at Davis’ Bend, Miss., on
the farm formerly owned by Jeff Davis. The
- party had quite a pleasant time, but the prayer
which inaugurated the proceedings deserves
particular mention. Taking his place so that
all could see him, an aged negro, who is
known as old Isaac, thus spoke, while his eyes
kept rolling around at every word:

“Oh, Massa Jesus, mighty God, save Massa Jeff ’fore
it am eberlastingly too late. Oh, Lord, take him by
de nap of de neck and shake him ober de fiery furnace
till he squeel like a pig in de bars. But don’t let him
drop; oh, Massa Jesus, don’t let him drop, but fetch
him to repentance, and save him sowlin de eberlast-
ing kingdom ‘fore dem Yankees make him dry bones
in a box.’

 

; 4) > ee
f@ A significant paragraph appeared in a
late issue of the Richmond Hxaminer, to the
following effect: ‘For the first time in our
varied experience we saw on Tuesday a barrel
of flour hauled up Governeur street in a hearse!
The public stared but the driver drove on.
When we came to recollect that flour was five
and six hundred dollars per barrel, and that
the struggle for bread was one for life and
death, we better appreciated the connection
between the hearse and the barrel of flour.”
a
{@ A new plan for the capture of Richmond
\has been suggested. It is to seize the exten-
sive coal mines which are situated on both
sides of the James river, a few. miles above
Richmond. These coal fields are about twenty
miles in extent, and as they supply the rebels
with most of the coal they use, the capture of this
region, it is claimed, would freeze the hot-
headed rebels into submission ere the termina-
tion of the coming winter.
——+4@> +—______—
fs On the last call of the President for
troops, the quota of New York State is an-
nounced to be 89,318. Thisis about 2,000 to
each Congressional District, taking the aver-
age.. It is onein seven and six tenths of the
total vote for President in 1860, nearly one in
forty-four of the entire population.
<@>
{2 The exorbitant prices of pork, beef, &c.,
have caused consumers to use sparingly of
these provisions, and consequently the amount
of sales have recently declined. It is needless
to say that this decline was not caused by their
consumption.

 

 

 

ign

{S The father of Jos. Howard Jr., of the
forged Presidential proclamation, accompanied
by Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, Have had in-
terviews with the President, to procure the of-
fender from Fort Lafayette.

«<@>
wv

«& The last draft on the people, drawn by
M> President Lincoln, although a very heavy one,
y and may meet with a protest from some quar-
ters, we hope will be rapidly liqaidated; and

not allowed to be dishonored,

 

TOWN AND COUNTRY.

There is nothing like making the best of a
situation. To be contented with one’s lot,
whatever that lot may be, is the highth of
philosophy. If one cannot escape from the
heat and dross and smoke of a city to the pure
and uncontaminated air of the country during
the dog-days, he is to be commended for put-
ting the best face on the matter, and we have
no fault to find with the fox for pronouncing
the grapes sour when he could not reach them.
Surely such a course was better than snapping
and snarling, and working himself into a per-
spiration about a matter that could not be
helped. And these few remarks pave the way
for what a philosophical newspaper scribe has
to say aboutthe country. Listen tohim. He
says: ‘“‘Ofrural edibles, theless said (and we
may add the less eaten) the better. It would
be a libel on the india-rubber tree to call farm-
house beef caoutchouc. And then the gravy!
But ‘no more o’ that’—there are some things
over which it is as well to draw a vail. The
veal and lamb area little better, naturally, than
the beef, but the untutored Phyllis of the hus-
bandman’s kitchen misuseth them to that de-
gree one wonders where she learned the trick
of spoiling the gifts of Providence. Always
ask a blessing on country meals. They need
it! ‘But,’ says some unsophisticated member
of the Can’t-get-away Club, ‘the vegetables
and fruit are so nice and fresh where they grow
—and fruit and vegetables are pretty much all
one wants in the way of eatables in hot wea-
ther.’ Sir, permit us to say that you labor
under a mistake. If you have ever been ten
miles beyond the bricks, you ought to know
that in farmhouses they always serve their
peas gray. They like their pulse mealy and
not succulent. May heaven pardon the per-
verseness of their taste, for it is more than we
can do. Au contraire, they despise mealy po-
tatoes, and feed the esculent out to you in sod-
den state. They call their French beans,
‘string beans,’ and very properly, for they
never peel of the stringy part, so that they
stick in your teeth like skeins of thread. Cu-
cumbers, as a rule, they gather at high noon,
and serve the warm slices up in warm vinegar.
We are not sure that they don’t heat the plate
they macerate them in. They havea parboiled
flavor that we shudder to recall, and are very
deadly. If you escape with a mild attack of
cholic after a dose of them, think yourself well
off. Asto farm fruits, they are almost invaria-
bly worthless. No care is bestowed on their
culture, and, as the small birds are frightened
away from the premises with scare-crows, the
insects have it all their own way with the cher-
ties, plums, and peaches. Rusticus insists
that the finches and sparrows devour his crops
and his fruit, and so he makes war upon the
best protectors of both, and thus gives counten-
ance and support to the grubs and caterpillars.
You may think you could teach him better,
man of science; but you couldn’t. We have
tried the. experiment, and know whereof we
write.”

crore QE bearer

ARTIFICIAL CULTURE OF FISH.
It has long been the opinion of persons
conversant with our streams that they ‘might
easily be re-stocked with the salmon which
once abounded in almost all the rivers: of the
North. This opinion, since the results ob-
tained in England, Scotland and France, has
become a settled conviction, and many regrets
have been heard that some means for this de-
sirable object have not been undertaken.

Those conversant with the matter are of
opinion that nearly all our rivers could be re-
stocked at comparatively small cost, and we
need not rely on great rivers like the Hudson,
as ifthey only were capable of attracting and
breeding salmon. The smaller rivers of this
part of the country, including those of Long,
Island, mostly called creeks, may be so im-
proved as tofurnish a largesupply of the finest
and most delicious fish that Ocean and his
tributary waters have. Fresh salmon is now
from sixty cents to adollar per pound in our
markets; why are not fortunes madé richer
than those of Mariposa or Washoe, by turning
the living silver stream into our riversfrom sea
every summer?

Apropos of this subject, a writer laments
that this magnificent fish is fast disappearing
from the Atlantic States. Even in Nova Sco-
tia and New Brunswick, salmon fishing is not
what it was, and you must visit the rivers that
debouch into the Pacific to enjoy it in perfec-
tion. And this reminds us that there are
now two famous English pisciculturists in this
country, who offer to repopnlate ourrivers with
salmon if the state legislatures will pass and
enforce the proper laws for the protection of
the fish. The truth is, we Americans are a
very unsportmanslike people. We destroy
both our fish and game by all sorts of unworthy
devices, in season and ont of season. Our
sportsman’s clubs do what they can to bring to
justice the transgressors of such game laws as
we have, but proseutions and convictions
are but in small proportion to the offenses,
Our insectivorous birds are slain with-
out mercy by miserable ‘‘pot-hunters,” and
the consequence is that our fruit crops are
devoured by grubs and caterpillars, our shade
trees denuded of their foliage by crawling leat-
dissectors, and our groves, that once rang with
the songs of winged choristers, comparatively

{silent and deserted, Multitudes ot game-birds

are made away with almost before they can fly,
deer are shot while in ‘‘the red,” and, in short,
all our edible wild birds and quadrupeds seem
in a fair way to be exterminated.

As it is with these, so is it also with the
game-fish of ourrivers, brooks, and ponds.
They are entrapped in fykes, caught in seines
and scoopenets,aud, worse than all, ‘“‘hocussed”
with paralyzing drugs. In streams that we
remember twenty-five years ago as abounding

 

in trout, perch, and pike, you may angle now

 

for a whole day without gatting a single rise.
It is too bad. The other day there was a
Sportsman’s Convention in this city, at which
many excellent resolutions were passed, and
vigorous measure for the suppression of poach-
ing determined upon, but whether they ‘will
ever be carried out remains to be seen. One
thing is certain, however, viz., that if the
brutal and whoiesale destruction of our game-
fish be not arrested, and proper means taken
to re-stock the streams and lakelets that have
been ‘‘fished out” in this way, every angler re-
siding within sixty miles inland of the city of
New York may as well burn his book of flies
and give away his rod and line.
>4@r
AN ADROIT RUSE.

A soldier attached to one of the regiments
of the Sixth Corps, attracted the attention of
his officers by the singularity of his movements.
He had been but a short time in the service,
and during that period had frequently absent-
ed himself, but re-appearing after slight inter-
vals. The thought occured to the officers that
he might be in communication with the Rebels.
Nothing could be proved against him, howev-
er, until he was arrested the other day, and a
Union soldier, dressed in a rebel uniform,
was thrown into the same guard-house, pre-
tending to be a rebel prisoner. Finding him-
self iu the company of a rebel, as he supposed,
the rascally spy opened his mouth and heart,
and revealed his guilt so clearly that he will
be hung without unnecessary delay.

“INFANT”-RY VS. THE INDIANS ;

OR,
MY GRANDMOTHER’S STORY.

 

 

 

 

BY HANK, THE HUNTER.

 

“T was @ mere child,’’ said my grandmother,
repeating a story we children were often’en-
treating her to tell, ‘I was the youngest of
six, and the oldest was only thirteen—the old-
est of us who were left at home that day, I
mean. Our brother was twenty-four, a great,
tall, strong man, who had filled the vacant
place of parent to us as much as brother pos-
sibly could.

“Our father had been killed by the Indians
when I was only three years old, and the shock
of the sudden news had killed my mcther, who
was in very feeble health at the time. ;

“Geoffrey took their place, and put off his
marriage with the girl he loved, that he might
do his duty by us. He had. fastidious and
,over-nice notions, perhaps, but he said he
couldn’t turn us adrift in the world, and he
couldn’t ask any woman to burthen herself
with out care.

‘‘Rowena—that was the girl he was to marry
——was willing enough, but he was not. He was
a great deal too proud, in my opinion, and so
they waited on, though what they looked for
ward to I don’t know. ;

“But, as I was saying, Geoffrey had gone to
a distance upon an errand of importance, and
Rowena Teft had come over to stay with us
while he was gone.

‘The country had been pretty full of Indians
for a while back, but the men had mustered in
force and driven them out. No more danger
was apprehended from them at present, or else
Geoffrey would never have left us as he did.

*“T& was a bright afternoon. Naomi—that
was our eldest sister-—had gone a little way
with Geoffrey, and Rowena sat looking from
the window, and occasionally wiping her eyes.

“Young as I was, I knew she was crying, and
what it was about; or, if I did not know then,
I have heard of it so many times since that it
seems to me I knew it then.

“The poor girl had never been very hand-
some, and she had taken up a fancy that Ge-
offrey wanted to get off from marrying her for
that reason. They had some pretty sharp
words about it before he started, for he was
proud, and he resented her suspecting him of
such pettiness.

“We children played about the room, and
Rowena sat by the window till it began to
grow dark, and still Naomi did not come back.

“To the questioning of us children, Rowena
answered that she must have stopped at a
neighbor’s, perhaps to wait for Geoffrey’s re-
turn, or it was possible she had concluded to
goon with him.

“But as it grew darker, and she did not
come, Rowena looked anxious. She got us
our suppers, however, and while we were eat-
ing it, she barred the great wooden shutters,
that Geoffrey had put up as a protection
against the Indians, if they should attack the
house. They were of thick plank, and very
strong. While she was doing this, Naomi came
in, flashed with running.

‘* ‘T stopped at Mr. Wiley’s,’ she said, ‘and
it got dark before I knew it, and then as I was
coming through the woodsI got frightened,
and so I ran.’

‘¢ ‘What frightened you?’ asked Rowena.

‘¢ «J saw the print of a moccasin in thesnow,’
said Naomi, laughing. ‘A single moccasin—
and I had to get scared out of my senses about
pit!”

‘*<A moccasin ?’ exclaimed Rowena, glancing
at the shutter she had just finished barring,
and fastening the door while she spoke.

‘Why, you don’t think their’s any danger?’
questioned Naomi, while we children stared
open-mouthed,

‘* ‘Moccasins and danger go pretty near to-
gether, so far as I have seen,’ Rowena said.
‘Maybe there’s danger and maybe there's not.
It don’t do any hurt to fasten up.’

“She turned as she spoke, and ran up the
ladder into the loft. We knew what she had
gone for, and we waited in hushed awe for her
to come back.

‘She wasn’t long, and her eyes shone with

 

excitement when she came back,

 

‘+ Tt?s just as [ suspected,’ she said in a low
voice to Naomi. ‘The villains are skulking
about in the edge of the woods yonder. Thoy
must have got wind of Geoffrey’s going away.
Maybe they saw him go.’

“She spoke very low, but we children heard
her, and knew what she meant. Children now-
a-days would scream like loons, but we only
huddled closer together upon the hearth, and
whispered to each other that we wished Geof-
frey would come. Somehow we were never
much afraid when Geoffrey was home.

“Rowena gave us a strange look.

‘“‘*They shan’t touch a hair of you, girls,
more than if Geoffrey was here,’ she said, and

| then to Naomi, who was wringing her hands

together, and moaning with terror, she was
more scared even than we, ‘Stop that,’ Ro-
wena said, sharply, ‘its no time to cry, help
me with the guns, child!’

‘‘We lived in a rather lonesome part of the
settlement, and Geoffrey kept the house sup-
plied with arms as though it had been a fort
almost. There were ten guns then in the
house, good, bad and indifferent, some of them
rather crazy affairs, but they would shoot, and
with Naomi’s lamely rendered and trembling
assistance, Rowena brought them all to the
light, and carefully examined them. They
were mostly loaded and primed. Geoffrey
kept them so, and those which were not she
put in firing trim—girls would do such things
in those days—then standing the guns against
the wall, she ran up in the loft again. She was
back almost instantly.

‘¢ «The cowards,’ she said, ‘they think there’s
only a parcel of children here, and they’re
sneaking up without hardly any pretense of
caution. They don’t dream of the reception
they'll get.’

‘All the while she was putting us children
in her rapid, energetic way, one here, and
another there-—-each, even the smallest, beside
a gun.

‘‘We yielded to her, because it was of no use
to resist, if we had wished. But when she
placed each muzzle in the small apperture
Geoffrey had made for them in the logs, Jessi-
ca, who was two years older than I, began to
cry, and Naomi drew back, and said,

6‘ ‘Oh, I never can, Rowena. Let me hide
away in the cellar, or else give up at once—
they'll only carry us off prisoners then, and
that’s not so bad as being killed.’

‘Rowena had very black eyes—they fairly
snapped then, and she looked at poor Jessica
and at Naomi, as though she would devour
them.

“Geoffrey's great hickory ox-gad stood in
the corner.

‘Seizing if, she turned upon us as though
she was mad.

‘¢ See here!’ she said, ‘I’m not going to see
you all murdered! For Geoffrey’s sake, as
much as your own, I won't haveit! Now you
--every soul of you—stand and do as I tell
you, or I'll strike you with this!’

‘She spoke very low, but we all heard, and
knew she meantit. We didn’t one of us doubt
that, and between the two terrors, the nearest
one, which was Rowena’s ox-gad, carried the
day. Quaking, but afraid to shrink, we held
the gunsin their places, and put our little
hands just as she bade us upon the triggers.
Bidding us stand so, and not to stir for our
lives, she ran up in the loft again, and pre-
sently she called down to us softly,

‘‘ ‘When I give the word, pull, every one of
you, or you'll get a taste of this; and don’t you
make a loud noise either. Jessica, if you cry,
I shall beat you.’

‘*We couldn't see what was going on outside,
and fortunately for our quivering child-senses
we could hear nothing, save our own suppress-
ed breathing. Fortunately, too, we had not
long to wait, though we were too afraid of Ro-
wena to quit our posts if the time had been
longer.

‘‘Presently came Rowena’s voice again—

‘*-Pall now, every one of you!’

‘A queer enough command, perhaps, but it
was the must intelligible one she could have
given us. Six little hands pulled as she bade
us, and from the six muzzles burst an explo-
sion, while behind us came an added crash as
loud almost as the report of the guns.

“Geoffrey's plow was up in the loft, and
there were various odd accumulations of tin
and iron also up there, which Rowena had
piled up just at the edge of the opening into
the room below. When she gave us the word,
she gave that a push, and that din added to
the report of the guns and mingled with it,
was enough to frighten braver hearts than
those of the cowardly pack outside. We stood
still as death when it was done, scared our-
selves at the noise we had made, Rowena
was with us as soon as she had ascertained
from her lookout what was the result outside.

“The Indians, not a very large band of
them, seemed taken completely by surprise,
and though none of them were even wounded
by our random discharges, they had skulked
off at once in the direction of the woods, and
as noiselessly as they had come.

‘In the recent encounters with the settlers
they had suffered very much, and they hac
doubtless no desire to risk another meeting
with them. They had supposed Geoffrey’s
house untenanted by any one save us children,
and calculated upon an easy conquest and rich
booty. :

“Rowena’s strategem completely deceived
them. They must have concluded the house
well defended, for after a short councilling in
the woods, they silently defiled among its sha-
dows, and we heard and saw no more of them.

‘Rowena proceeded at once to reload the
guns, and all night she sat, wakeful, expecting
them to return.

‘We children—were but children, and after
some hours, we fell asleep, but Rowena and
Naomi staid awake watching all night.

 

the next day, and he could scarce believe us °
when we told him what had occurred in his ab-
Sence. Rowena had cried over us, when it
was all over, and she had cried often through
the day. When she saw Geoffrey coming, she
slipped out at the back way, and went home.

‘‘He barely heard us through before he wag
after her. He overtook her before she got
home, and brought her back,

‘‘And then, there before us all, he said—oh,
T couldn’t tell you all he said, but he was grate-
ful as a man ought to be to such a woman, and
the end of it was, that they agreed between
them, to be married right away the next day.
And they were married, and I guess neither of
them was ever sorry.

‘Rowena had a temper of her own, but she
quite did her duty by us children, on the whole,
and we were never sorry either that she mar-
ried our brother.”’

tment LD

A MIDNIGHT REVERIE,

BY JULIA A. B. DAVIS,

 

 

It is the midnight hour. I am alone—all
alone, for not only are the inmates of the
household wrapped in slumber now, but even
in their waking hours we have scarcely a
thought in common. I am.-alone in the great
world also--no companion, no friends—all, all
are gone!

My mind reverts to the green wildwood, the
early spring flowers, merry birds, and the
bright band of playmates who rambled with
me upon the lake-shore, gathering smooth
pebbles and planning for the bright future,
which we looked forward to.

That band of playmates- alas! where are
they? Gone; all sleeping in the silent tomb,
save three! One of these, doomed toa com-
monplace life of toil and care, with ambition
coveting a higher sphere, plods his weary way.
a bitter cynic! The other two, shipwrecked
upon life’s ocean, with their journey just be-
gun, have forgot to hope, and in the apathy of
despair, drift aimless down the river of Time.

Carrie, Lottie, and Ellen perished in their
childhood, ere they had tasted the bitterness
of life. Anna and Mary lingered until woman-
hood had placed its impress upon their brows,
then faded like fair, sweet flowerets crushed
by a sudden blast. But I mourn them not
when I recall the firm trust and bright hopes
in which they sweetly fell asleep, for better far
an early grave than the lot which might have
been theirs, And Frank, too—gay, laughing
Frank, the light of every circle—but a few
short months ago I saw him, with health upon
his brow and in his buoyant step; now he is
sleeping in the silent tomb, cut down by the
same fell disease which has blighted all the
rest. But for him Death had no terrors; as an
infant lays 1ts head upon its mother’s bosom
and sinks to rest, so he, resting in his moth-
er’s arms, sweetly fell asleep.

Not so the proud, beautiful Laura, the ad-
mired of every one; her beauty proved her
curse. After years of absence she came back
to those she had injured—came back to die;
and with a cry for mercy on her lips, a wailing
prayer for a little more time, she, too, went
down the dark river of death.

The past has faded; the stern, dark present, |
with its hard realities is before me; Llook —
away from it to the future, but I see no bright-
ness; yet I will hope, beyond the dark river,
if not before, the cloud shall lift.

—__——_—___+$4@>¢—____—__—

A THOUGHT.

BY LUTIE VERNON.

 

\

 

“We brought nothing into this world, and’ we can
carry nothing out,’’

“Brought nothing!” May be not True
the shriveled miser’s glittering eyes could see
no gain to the yellow dust clutched with those
long, eager fingers, True, philosophers may
have perceived no added link in their chain of
sophistry. True, that one animate being, in
its advent upon this vast sphere brought nei-
ther wealth, fame, knowledge, nor science.
But, ah! to some home, however humble, was
brought a flood of sunshine and happiness.
To some hearts arose the dawn of a new love, °
which shall last while lifelasts. "Twas but a
frail, tiny existence, with so slénder a hold
upon the thread of life that a mere breath
might snap itin twain, yet that very weakness
and helplessness unsealed the fountain of a
mother’s love, and from full hearts went up
strains of gratitude for Heaven’s precious gift.
‘We brought nothing into this world, and we
can carry nothing out.’’ Is it nothing when
happy homes are darkened and fond hearts
broken? Was it nothing when the only one
that had power to vibrate the chords of affec-
tion in your soul, was stricken down in his
glorious manhood and the mantle of mourning
floated over you like a pall?

Ah! you remember when his, the only heart
that answered the throbbings of your own, was
stilled, how, with hushed breath, you listened
for one more whispered, parting word of love;
and the anguish that pierced your soul when
you knew at last he was gone forever! Oh! the
very sun seemed shrouded in darkness, and
words of consolation were but mockery in your
ears, so they brought not back the life you had
lost!

Then when you parted the soft hair upon
his white forehead, for the last time, and took
the last, long look at the beloved features,
heart and brain failed, and blessed oblivion
came to your relief.

“Can carry nothing ou.” Nothing but the
day-spring of your existence; nothing but the
shrine which your love has hallowed; nothing
to the cold, heartless world, but everything to A
you, when yonder grave in its snowy gleam- £
ing, covers every vestige of the cherished hopes
of years.

 

 

 

“Geoffrey did not get home till near night fis f

  
  
 
 
   

   
 

: A te ee mt ag Aca agg oe

 
ce gn POT oleh

   

 

  
 
   
 
 
   

 

 

ed now for sartin.

 

 

2

 

 

 

54
AEE eRe

 

 

“TWO YEARS 4 AGO TO-DAY." ‘

BY A. ALPHONSE DAYTON.

 

We buried him in the winter,
When the snow was on the ground,
And the wind went whistling through the trees
With 2 low and mournful sound;
And the god of light was overcast
With clouds of somber gray,
For we buried him in the winter,
Two years ago to-day.

The world looked dark and gloomy

* On the day that Elbert died,

And we laid him in the cold dark grave,
Our darling and our pride;

Where his lovely form and features
Should moulder into clay,

For we buried him in the winter
Two years ago to-day.

We had no flowers to deck his grave
With garlands, white and blue,

For down beneath the cold, white snow,
They all were buried too;

No zephyrs light, no sunbeams bright,
To chase our tears away, :

For we buried him in the winter,
Two years ago to-day.

4
Though two long years have stretched away,
His memory still is dear
To the hearts of those who loved him best
When he was with us here;
And we gaze on the spot, with tearful eyes,
Wh roa we laid our pet away,
In his cold, and dark, and wintry grave,
Two years ago to-day.

 

# Written on the 19th of February 1864.
; ‘es

THE

Step-Daughter’s Portion;

THE CHAIN OF DESTINY.

 

 

A TALE OF CITY AND COUNTRY LIFE.

 

BY LOUIS LEON,
AUTHOR OF *' THE SILVER SHIP.”

 

[Back Nos. of ‘‘The Step-Daughter’s Portion’ can be ob-
tained from every News Agent throughout the United
States. ]

 

CHAPTER XXVIIL
RUSSEL HAS SOME STRANGE EXPERIENCES,

Pierre Russel returned to his aunt’s house,
where he still made his ostensible residence,
and gave himself admittance. The light was
turned down in the parlor, and no one visible,
from which indications he concluded that his
relatives had not yet feturned from the thea-
tre, or had already retired.

He went immediately to his own room, turn-
ed on a full light, and sat awhile, absorbed in
a pleasant reverie. His thoughts lingered on
the beauty of Esther, and her elegant appear-
ance, and he mentally calculated how much
longer time it would require to win her con-
sent to a marriage with him. And then he
imagined what he should do with the money
he should gain through her, how astonished
his relatives would be on his bringing forth
the will, how he would dispossess them, and
rejoice over their anger and distress.

“Ab, well,” he yawned, at length, arising
and reducing the gas-light to a sort of twi-
light, ‘‘I will rest after my labors of to-day.
My plan to-night succeeded admirably, and it
only remains for me to follow it up to-morrow
with my usual address.”

He locked his door, and was about to remove
his coat, preparatory to retiring, when the door
of a large closet opening off his chamber noise-
lessly opened, and he was instantly assailed by
Jerry Stropes, Mrs. Willis, and Elinor. The
explanation of this measure will instantly ap-
peur. and the occasion for it had arisen through
the absence of Harry for the night, he having
gone, en returning from the theatre, to pass
the night with a young business acquaintance,

Russel instinctively straggled, even before
he comprehended the assault, but his desper-
ate movements were of no avail. Hehad been
taken at a great disadvantage, and was soon
secured and bound.

“Ab, my fine nevy,” said Jerry, tauntingly,
as his wife turned ona full light, and they con-
templated their prisoner. ‘‘The tables is turn-
Last week you was ahead,
an’ now it’s me!’’

‘You needn’t bawl for help, Pierre,” chimed
in Mrs. Willis, in a tone of subdued fury.
“There isn’t a soul but usin the house; be-
sides, we have a gag handy!”

Russel had recovered his self-possession,
and bis active brain had solved the mystery
of the sudden assault upon him, but he quietly
said,

‘*Be kind enough, ladies, to let me know the
reason of your singular conduct!’’

‘‘We want the will,” said his aunt, “Weare
convinced that itis on your person, and we
mezn to have it!’’

‘“‘fudeed !” exclaimed Pierre. ‘Then youdo
not intend to pay me the fifty thousand, as
promised?”

“Not as we knows on,”’ said Jerry, grufily.

Russel smiled derisively.

' “Eninor, love,” said Mrs. Willis, “Iam afraid
this scene will be too much for your nerves —
you had better retire. You know we must keep
the roses in your cheeks bright, on Moreland’s
account!”

Ebnor gave one glance at the calm face of
her prostrate cousin, and then left the room
without a word.

“Search him now, Jerry,” said Mrs. Willis,
her fuce lighting up with anticipated triumph.

“I’m sure he’s got it on him!”

Russel’s coat was examined thoroughly, the
padding being all taken out, and the fact was
ascertained beyond doubt that the desired doc-
ument was not there,

“Try his vest,” whispered Mrs. Willis,
hoarsely, her face alternately expressing hope
and fear. ‘‘Perhaps he wears a belt,”

‘her path, if she wished to do so.

 

 

The vest was fickly Eg in the front,
and Mrs. Willis, in her eagerness to examine it,
goon reduced it to pieces. No belt was found,
and the remaining garments of the prisoner af-
forded no trace of the will.

‘Tt’s no go!” growled Jerry.

Most of the time during the search, Mrs.
Willis had watched the countenance of her
nephew, but it was too calm and unmoved to
afford her any hope that the will was concealed
about him, and she now said,

“Take off his boots, Jerry. If it isn’t in one
of them, we may as well give up!”

It was evident that there was nothing be-
tween the stockings and foot of their prisoner,
and they examined the boots, with waning
hopes, cutting the soles and legs, and finding
nothing.

“Tt’s too bad!” exclaimed Mrs. Willis, an-
grily. ‘‘What shall we do, Jerry?”

“T think,” responded her husband, ‘‘that he
keeps it in his house where he lammed me! I
kin hunt through it, an’ rip it ter pistes ef it’s
thar!”

Russel smiled.

“Then we must have him in safe keeping,”
said Mrs. Willis. ‘‘We can put him in our
sub-cellar and lock him up until you have ex-
amined his house. Can you carry him down
while I bear the light?”

Jerry assented, and shouldered Russel, while
Mrs. Willis went to the closet that had served
them as a hiding-place, and brought forth a

 

stairs, followed by Jerry and his burden, to
the sub-cellar, a damp and unwholesome cell,
where Russel was thrown on the ground. Mrs.
Willis then held alight to his face, and its

| quiet expression struck terror to her heart.

“If the will was jin his house,’’ she whis-
pered to Jerry, ‘‘he would show some emotion.
We are on the wroug track altogether. Oh,
what if he has married that girl and given it to
her! What if he has placed it in some bank
as he told you!’’

Jerry shared his wife’s fears.

‘Oh, Pierre,’ said his aunt, ‘‘tell me where
the willis! You shall have your money—in-
deed you shall! I only wanted to prevent
your marrying Esther and claiming the whole.
Tell me——”’

Russel laughed aloud—a low, mocking laugh,
but made no other answer.

‘Tf you don’t own where it is,’’ threatened
Mrs. Willis, her eyes blazing menacingly upon
him, ‘Tl starve you to death. You. shall
have nothing to eat or drink until you tell me
where you have hidden the will. None of the
servants ever come near this cellar, and the
walls are too thick for your voice to be heard
by any one but yourself. So you know your
fate!”

Pierre Russel saw that this was no idle threat,
and he knew his aunt well enough to be certain
that she would have no compunction in killing
him outright. Her early life had made her
familiar with scenes of violence, and he knew
she would not hesitate to remove any one from
Knowing
this, however, he made no sign of fear.

Jerry and his wife threatened and raved a
long time, but to no effect. The quiet count-
enance of their prisoner never changed, and
his few words were full of a bitter scorn. ,
‘Pierre Russel,” finally exclaimed Mrs. Wil-
lis, bounding forward like a fury, and shaking
him soundly in her wild rage, ‘‘tell me where
that thar will is, or you shall never leave this
dungeon alive!”

‘‘My dear aunt,” said Pierre, “allow me to
suggest that ‘that thar’ is ungrammatical, and
that you are slipping to your old habits of
speech !’’

Mrs. Willis uttered a subdued howl, renewed
her threatenings, shaking her clenched hand
at him, and soon retreated from the cellar with
her husbaud, locking the door behind them.

The utter darkness that succeeded their with-
drawal, the slimy earth on which he lay, and
the chilly closeness of the air, all were horri-
ble. But Pierre knew that screaming would
be of no use, that he could do nothing to effect
his release. He tested his bonds, but they
could not be broken. Before coming down to
the cellar, Jerry had carelessly drawn an extra
coat around the prisoner, but his clothes were
iusufficient to shield him from the cold and
dampness.

“At any rate,” he muttered, grimly, “if they
starve me they won’t get the will. I may es-
cape them yet, though,” he added, with a sud-
den hope. ‘I saw the chambermaid in the
hall, crouching close to the wall, and I don’t
doubt she heard every word that was said.
Likely as not she'll release me, for I’ve paid
her as much as fifty dollars for her services as
listener at the doors of those two lovely wo-
men,’’ and he sneered. ‘If there is gratitude
in any human breast, there ought to be in hers.
And if she should release me, there’s so much

“in favor of my theory of always making friends

in one’s servants,”

He waited quietly awhile, half expecting to
hear her, and then began to curse his relatives,
as well as his own dullness in trusting himself
in their power. | He fancied he felt all kinds of
hideous creeping things on his person, and he
shrank from the slime that was sinking into
his garments. He rolled over and over, tug-
ging and tearing at the cords confining him,
but at length the peculiar stoicism of his char-
acter triumphed, and he lay in fimmovably
quiet,

Hours seemed to have passed, when he heard
a faint sound at the door—so faint that he
feared it was but the movement of some prowl-
ing rat. It was followed by the sound of keys
being tried in the lock. Ag he so interpreted
it, a grim smile appeared on his face.

The noise continued some time, and Russel
began to despair of the door being opened,
when it suddenly swung on its hinges, and a

 

red-faced Irish girl entered, bearing a lamp in

lighted lantern. She then led the way down’

her hand.

‘Oh, murther!” she cried, in a shrill whis-
per, holding the lamp over her head and peer-
ing nervously into the gloom. ‘‘Is it here ye
are, Misther Rushel?’’

“Yes, Bridget,” returned Russel, in a low
tone, ‘Come here and untie me.”

‘‘An’ is it tied ye are?’ asked Bridget, has-
tening to him and setting the lamp by his side.
‘The murtherin’ spalpeens they are, intirely.
I was jist listenin’ a little, whin I heerd all was
goin’ on. To tell the truth, Mfsther Rushel,
I seed the ould haythen of all—I mane Mis-
thress Willis—a-takin’ her darthor to yer
room, along wid that ould blackguard she
called Jerry—an’ too good a name is it for
him intirely. Faith, I know a jewel of a boy
named Jerry, that wouldn’t demane himself to
the likes of him! I seed ’em hide theirselves
in yer room, an’ so jist mint to know all was
goin’ on.”

While thus speaking, Bridget undid the
bonds confining Russel and helped him to his
feet.

“Sure, an’ it’s a burnin’ shame to trate the
likes of you so,” she added, producing a bottle
of wine from her pocket; ‘‘an’ here’s a dhrop
for you, that I shtole from the misthress.”

Russel drank heartily from the bottle and
thanked her for releasing him.

“You're a good girl, Bridget,” he said, ‘and
you shall have something against your mar-
riage with your Jerry. Take this.”

He took some pieces of gold from his pocket
and gave it to her, adding,

“I'll wait here till you have time to get to
bed, Bridget, so that you will not besuspected
of aiding me. By the way, where did you get
the keys to unlock this door ?’’

The girl explained that she had got the
bunch of cellar keys from the kitchen, where
they usually hung, and had found one of them
to fit the sub-cellar. She then thanked Rus-
sel for his gift, and taking her light and keys,
went back to her room, blessing herself and all
the saints that she had acquired so much mon-
ey, all in gold.

Russel waited a few moments, and then
stole up stairs quiety and made his way to the
front door. The house was wrappedin silence,
its inmates all having sunk to sleep. The key
was in the lock, and Russel turned it, letting
himself out into the street.

He paused outside, looking back at the
dwelling, with a terrible expression on his
countenance, and shaking his fist, as if de-
nouncing its occupants to some horrible doom.

‘“‘You shallrepent this,’’ he muttered through
his closed teeth in a hissing whisper, as he
fixed his eyes on the windows of Mrs. Willis’
chamber. ‘I know the crimes Jerry Stropes
is in hiding for. I can humble you, Mrs, Wil-
lis, to the dust. I can reduce you and your
daughter to the misery and poverty from which
your ambition raised you, and I will do it. I
swear it!”

Resuming his quietness of manner, he but-
toned his coat and hastened up town to his
own dwelling. On rewthing itand letting him-
self in, he found his colored boy nearly wild
with fright, and learned that somebody had
been ringing the bell an hour, and trying to
get into the lower windows.

“That’s Jerry, of course,’’ commented Rus-
sel. ‘But you kept still, Rose-Water, and said
nothing, as instructed to do in my absence?
Well, the rascal’s bafiled then, and everything
is as it should be.”

CHAPTER XXIx,
THE MARRIAGES ARRANGED.

The darkness that fell upon the Stropes the
following morning, on discovering Russel’s es-
cape can scarcely be imagined. The servant
girl who had released him kept her secret well,
and many and wild were the speculations re-
garding his whereabouts. As soon as Elinor
had realized his absence, she gave up all hope
of the Willis estate, and turned her thoughts
more resolutely than ever toward a marriage
with Moreland.

She mused all day on her projects, and when
Harry had come home from business and eaten
his supper, drew him into the parlor, deter-
mined to bring him to a proposal of marriage.
To this end, she had donned a robe of crimson
velvet, trimmed with black lace, and decorated
her satin smooth hair with a profusion of
sparkling jewels. She knew she was looking
unusually handsome, and hoped much from
the fact.

“Harry,” she said, in a whisper, with her
eyes downcast, and her manner expressive of
timidity, ‘“I—I am going away.”’

“Going away ?” ejaculated Moreland. ‘Why,
Elinor, where are you going ?”

“I don’t know,” was the hesitating response
—‘anywhere. Your constant sadness is wear-
ing my life out. The humiliation I have ex-
perienced since—since that evening, is most
galling. I must go away, and bury my grief
in some at spot, where I can soon die and
be forgotten.”

‘“Itis I who had better go,” returned More-
land. ‘I will excuse the step to your mother,
and remove to-morrow.”

“Oh, no, no!” cried Elinor, in real alarm,
clasping his hand, ‘Please don’t go. Mother
wants you to remain. I can bear with my own
desolate life——”

She sobbed aloud.

Moreland was himself too noble and genu-
ine to suspect that her grief was but pretended,
and his pity for her prompted him to say,

‘Elinor, I will be frank with you. I shall
never love any woman besides Esther. But if
I had a heart to offer, if my life were not ut-
terly wrecked as it is, if I could ever feel even
a quiet affection for any woman, I would offer
you my hand in marriage.”

He did not say what he well enough knew,

 

that between him and Elinor there never could

/

a

exist any of those higher sympathies, any of
that mingling of souls, that had characterized
his intercourse with Esther. He did not say
that Elinor fell far below his idea of what a
true wife should be to him, and below what
Esther would have been, and that there never
could be a true mental and spiritual marriage
between them. ;

“IT could make your home happy,” said Hli-
nor, with hesitation; ‘“‘E could brighten it up
for you and be a good wife, only ———”

She again sobbed.

Moreland began pacing to and fro, full of
agitation, but suddenly stopped short in his
walk, and said, in a tone thrilling with pain,

‘Elinor, your love for me is unfortunate. I
wish I could restore to you your freshness of
heart, but what I can do I will. Esther has
thrown me aside, discarded me utterly. I
doubt if I can ever love you, notwithstanding
your affectionfor me. But——” and he hesi-
tated, while a spasm of pain passed over his
face, ‘I offer myself to.you. Will you marry
me?”

Elinor seized his hand in a transport of joy,
and clasped it in her own. Moreland pressed
no betrothal kiss upon her lips, whispered no
sweet words of love in her ears, but schooled
himself to accept his destiny calmly, since by
doing so he thought he should make one heart
joyful!

And Elinor accepted the unwilling sacrifice,
and exulted in the success of her schemes.

A corresponding movement was made by
Russel on that same day.

With the coming of morning, he went to Es-

ther’s boarding-place, and was admitted to her
parlor. He told her the story of his wrongs,
showed his wound, and told her he had re-
ceived them on her account.
“My relatives were jealous of me, fearing
that I should win you,” he said, bitterly. ‘‘I
never felt till now how lonely I am in the
world—unloved and uncared for. If I were to
die no heart would mourn for me, no tear be
shed for me——”

“Do not say so, Pierre,’’ interrupted Es-
ther. ‘I would mourn for you. You have
been a true friend to me, andI cannot hear
youtalk go.’’

“Yes, you are desolate as well as I,” re-
sponded Russel. ‘Butif you would, you could
make my life an Eden.”

He went on with the most impassioned ut-
terances, pouring forth the love he really felt
for her, and using the utmost tact and art in
exciting her sympathy. He detailed his mis-
ery and loneliness, moving her to tears, and
entreated her to become his wife.

. “Moreland is soon to be married to Elinor,’’
he urged. ‘‘Do not let him think that you are
heart-broken by his desertion. Give me the
right to cheer your life and sweep away the
shadows that encompass you.”

Esther looked thoughtful on hearing this ap-
peal. She had no love for Pierre, but the
thought that he loved her was inexpressibly
soothing to her wounded heart. She did not
feel so utterly forsaken and alone while he
cared for her, and the thought now obtruded
itself, why should she waste her own life in
useless repinings, when she might bless the
life of one who truly loved her.

Pierre noticed with joy the impression he
had made upon her, and drew her hand in his,
and continued his pleadings with renewed fer-
vor.

“Pierre,” at length said Esther, her face
whiter than before, ‘‘I have no heart to offer
you. I think it is dead within me. I can
never love as I have loved Harry. My heart
can never leap up to the sound of any footstep
as it has always leaped up at the sound of Har-
ry’s. It can-never thrill to any smile but his.
But Iam still capable of a true and lasting
friendship, and I like you better than any one
I know.”’ .

“That is all I ask,” said Russel. ‘‘The rest
will come, Give me your hand, dear Esther,
and I will win your heart.”

A strange and longing look came into Es-
ther’s eyes, and her thoughts went back to her
first betrothal, as she said,

“T respect you, Pierre, and: esteem you
highly, I will be your wife!”

There was no happy tremor in her voice, no
loye-light sparkling in her eye, no blush of
happiness on her cheeks; but her promise was
given, and the villain exulted in his success,

His game was almost trapped.

“And we will not long defer the day of our
union?” he whispered. ‘‘Elinor and Harry
are to be married immediately, and it will
please me, in view of my late persecutions, if
you will name an early day, dear Esther!”

The heart of Esther seemed to stand still in
her bosom, buta glance at the earnest and
handsome face of Russel, uuder the interpre-
tation she gave to his conduct, enabled her to
reply,

‘‘All days are alike to me, Pierre,
consult only your views and wishes!”

Russel embraced her warmly, in a transpori
of joy.

‘‘Perhaps four weeks will not seem too soon,”
he declared. ‘I havea neat little house up
town, all ready for you, and there is really no
reason why you should condemn yourself to
the dull isolation of a boarding-house much
longer. Let us say four weeks from this morn-
ing, dear Esther!”

With her hand in Russel’s, Esther whispered
her consent to his proposition, and the tri-
umphant villain was happy:

CHAPTER XXX.

RUSSEL MARRIES AND EXPLAINS,

We will

The time appointed for the marriage of Rus-
sel and Esther arrived. The goodimpressions
the crafty villain had implanted in his victim’s
mind had strengthened each day, and she had

 

learned to look upon her marriage as a duty

-the ceremony was then performed, concluding

fear.

she owed to him, if ane as he declared, to her-

self, They had mutually agreed to go toa °| 4

clergyman’s, accompauied by Mrs. Jones and
the ungraceful Sarepta, and in this simple
manner enter upon there new relation.

‘“‘And so the day of days has come,” said
Russel, overflowing with joy, as he came down
from his house and met Esther in her cosey par-
lor on that eventfulmorning, How bright the
world is to-day! Iam half-wild with my joy.”

Esther responded to these lover-like greet-
ings with the gravity characteristic of her, but
with sufficient interest to render Pierre entire-
ly contented with her. His triumph was now
assured in many ways. Not only would he se-
cure a lovely wife and a large fortune, but he
revenged upon his relatives for what he termed
their outrages upon him.

Esther had dressed in a blue moire, of in-
finite richness, that had been given her by her
father shortly before his death, but had re-
mained unmade until the preceding week.
She wore a ruffle of point lace of exceeding
value, and a string of pearls was woven in her
soft fair hair. She looked winningly beautiful,
her eyes luminous with excitement, and her
delicate cheeks tinged with a faint crimson,
from the same cause.

“Your dress is far more appropriate to the’
season than white would be,’’ said Russel, re-
garding her with lingering admiration. “You
look like a Peri; and what exquisite taste you
have, Esther! That filmy, cloudy lace sets off
your delicate throat to perfection.”

Esther blushed at his compliments, and
asked,

‘‘Are you sure that there is not a single
cloud on your sky, Pierre? Have you no re-
grets—no fears for the step you propose to take
this morning ?”

His answer can be imagined. It was so
hearty and earnest that it heigthened the color
in the cheeks of his listener.

‘Then I am your's, Pierre,” she declared.
‘‘And I pray that I may be a blessing to you,
and prove worthy of the disinterested affection
you have shown me.”

“Thanks, Esther, for all your noble and
generous aspirations. We will be married this
morning, as arranged—indeed, this very hour,
since you are ready. We will have no bridal
tour, but take quiet possession of our little
home immediately. I will bring a carriage to
the door, and we w’ll proceed to the Rev. Dr. .
Sutton’s. Ihave engaged him beforehand to be
at home, you know, and in an hour our hearts
and hands will be united, never to be separ-
ated!”

He embraced his betrothed fervently, kissing
her rosey cheeks and lips, and then hurried
away for the carriage, preferring to give his
own attention to everything, and so get through
his. schemes with all possible quietness. By
the time he came back, Esther was all ready
for the ride, wrapped in her velvet cloak and
ermine furs, receiving the congratulations of her
landlady and Miss Sarepta, who were dressed
in rustling silks, and looking their very best.
He escorted them all down to the carriage,
took a seat beside Esther, and they drove away.

‘We shall go to our house in Forty-fifth
street, Mrs. Jones,” said Russel. ‘‘Here i8
my card,” and he handed her one with the ad-
dress written upon it. ‘I have already ox-
dered Miss Willis’ trunks to be removed to her
new home, and they will be there before we
are. I believe your bills are all settled ?”

“All settled,” returned the motherly land-
lady; ‘‘and real generous you are too, Mr. Rus-
sel, to give me such a handsome sum of money
besides. Yov’ve gota good, generous man,
Miss Willis,” she added, addressing the blush-
ing maiden. ‘‘You'll find him a good provider,
ITknow!”’

Esther made no reply, and the carriage soon
stooped at the house of the clergyman men-
tioned by Russel, where they found that their
coming was expected. Esther was assisted in-
to the parlor, where she found a bald-headed
old gentleman, of pleasing features and man-
ners, who greeted her with an almost fatherly ©
kindness, and hastened to bring his wife and
daughter to her. A fewremarks followed, and

 

with a feeling benediction and greeting.

Mrs. Jones and Sarepta then took a feeling
leave of the bride and. groom, and went home
on foot, having business they wished to attend
to on the way.

Russel took his newly-made wife to the car-
riage, and gave the order for home,

“You.are now clear of all your old associa- ~
tions, my dear little wife,” said Pierre, as the
carriage rolled away. ‘‘Henceforth, we walk
in a new sphere together. Itshall be my high-
est aim to make your life all bright and sunny.
I shall try to make amends to you for the suf-
ferings that others have caused you, and we
shall be happy as is possible for mortals !”’

His voice was low and sweet, his manner
tender and soothing, and Esther leaned her
head on his shoulder with a feeling of security,
inwardly rejoicing that her destiny was decided,
and that now she had nothing more to hope or

They reached Russel’s house in ashort time,
and he led her into the dwelling, joyfully wel-
coming her as its mistress, and showing her
the various apartments.

“Tt looks beautifully!’’ said Esther. ‘How
kind it is of you, Pierre, to have such a pleas-
ant surprise for me—such a cosey and charm-
ing little home.”

Russel laughed lightly, and playfally untied
her bonnet and removed her eloak, saying,

‘“‘Wedding-breakfasts are (aclibaaENe, so I
have one in waiting. We must be our own
guests.’’ \

He drew her arm in his and led her (rough
the spacious parlors to the breakfast-room. 4

Despite his villainy, Russel tenderly loved &
Esther, and it was now the happiest moment

 

ef his life when he led her through his house,

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

mi et

calling her by the endearing name of wife.

The breakfast-room was a square apart-
ment provided with bay windows on one
side, and & conservatory on another. The
room was filled with the fragrance of the
flowering exotics, was farnished with a
profusion of green and oak, and in the
center of it stood a large oval table, loaded
with delicacies. A bridal eake stood in the
centre, and was surrounded by quivering jel-
lies, cakes, tarts, foreign fruits, delicate broiled
birds, and everything that an educated palate
can create or wealth purchase,

After they had finished the sumptuous re-
past, Russel touched a small silver bell, say-
ing,

‘Now, little wife, let me introduce to you
your servants. You will have no care of them,
unless you choose.”’

The summons was answered by the entrance
of several persons, whom Russel introduced as
follows:

“Mrs. Russel, this is Mrg. Brown, an expe-
rienced housekeeper; that is Hannah, the
cook; that is Susan, the chambermaid; that is
Mary, the waiter; and this one,” indicating the
negro lad, ‘is Rose-Water, my valet, boot-
black, errand boy, bell tender, etc. And,” he
added, addressing the servants, ‘this lady is
my wife and your mistress. You may go.”

They quietly left the room, and he conduct-
ed Esther to his pretty little library up stairs,
where he seated her in an easy chair, taking a
cushion at her feet,

“You have seen everything the house con-
tains, my dear wife,” he then said. ‘But one
thing more remains to be told. Can you bear
a little pleasant news ?”

“Try me,” said Esther, smiling.

‘Tt seems,” he went on, keeping his gaze
fixed upon her countenance, with the intention
of marking its changing expressions, ‘‘that
your father mndo two wills, as you supposed.
My aunt in some way obtained possession of
the will, and concealed it. I found it out by
accident, and secured it.”

‘Is it possible?” exclaimed Esther, in aston-
ishment. ‘You have it?”

“Yes, I have it.”

As he spoke he went to the little safe in the
corner, unlocked it, and produced the will,
handing it to her. :

Esther read it with surprise and pleasure.
“Tell me all about it, Pierre,” she said.

“You remember how I was wounded a
month ago?” he asked. ‘My aunt and her
former husband were trying then to rob me of
the will.’’

He went on, making up a plausible story of
how it came into his possession and the care
he had taken of it.

‘Why didn’t you bring it directly to me?”
inquired Esther. ‘Why keep it from me un-
til now ?”

“T took it with me once to give to you,’’ an-

Swered her husband, “‘but it then occurred to |-

me to try Moreland a little furher. Had he
proved repentant and returned to you, Ishould
have immediately placed the will in your hands.
I knew that the very moment he should hear
of your good fortune, he would hasten to you,
and I desired to save you from being the wife
of afortune-hunter. He left you because you
were poor. He would probably return to you
if he heard you were rich. I accordingly wait-'
ed. Have I done wrong ?”’

No suspicion entered the mind of Esther.
Instead, she felt the most genuine admiration
for him.

No?’ he went on, pleasantly. ‘I'll give
you another reason. I feared if I took the will
to you, and told you the danger I had incurred
in getting and keeping it, you might marry me
out of gratitude or some such feeling, and I
wanted you to marry me for the little I am my-
self,’’

‘You were right, quite right, Pierre,” said
Esther, with an affectionate tone in her voice.
‘T am glad you have done just as you have. I

*believe,”? she added, smiling, ‘‘you will make
me love you in spite of myself.”

She bent forward, blushing andsmiling, and
bestowed her first kiss upon his lips, while his
every pulse thrilled with joy that his very vil-
lainy should be accounted noble and good.

‘Then, dear little wife,’’ he said, his tones
sweeter than ever and full of happiness. ‘I
had better go immediately and engage a law-
yer to restore to you your rights. This will
places you in possession of all your father’s
property. I have kept an exact account of
everything, all aunt has expended and so forth,
and will take measures to prevent her from us-
ing another dollar. After I have engaged a
lawyer, I will call upon aunt and give her warn-
ing of her approaching fate.”
* He p aced the will in her keeping, enjoining
her to keep it safely, told her that her trunks
were already in her chamber adjoining the li-
brary, and then, after a fond embrace, he hur-
ried away.

(To be Continued.)

ADELINE, THE TEMPTED:

The Sudden Marriage.

Back numbers of ‘‘Adeline, The Tempted’’ can be ob-
eee ro every News Agent throughout the United
eS. \

CHAPTER XLIX.
THE FATAL POTION.

_ Every ear was strained to listen to this narra-
tive from the counsel for the defence—each word
of which seemed to bear the impress of truth.

‘My lord, and gentlemen of the jury,” he con-
tinued, “‘this Joseph Julian thought he would be
able to enjoy the vast properties of Bulstrode
more securely, and without question, if he receiv-

: 3% ed them at second-hand. No doubt a knowledge

y of his own antecedents went a great way in the
production of this idea. If he could induco the
old Marquis to marry some penniless girl, who,

her wealth and dignity to him, Julian,

\

would act merely as his slave, and be the conduit,

so to speak, through which should fiow to him all
the income of the marquisate, all would be well.
He did pick up go desolate and poor a creature.
He did play upon her intellect and imagination,
elating her with the hope of making another hap-
y, until she consented to become the wife of the
arquis. And the plot proceeded. The murder-
ed nobleman lay in his tomb. Joseph Julian only
appeared as the trustee of the widowed Marchio-
ness. And then he met with a great disappoint-
ment. That poor girl, who, by his arts, had been
elevated to 80 proud & pone was not the pli-
ant tool he had supposed her to be. Upon the
Giscovery of the existence of the Marquis’s son,
she at once proposed a surrender of all the prop-
erties of Bulstrode in that son’s favor. This was
3 Geath-blow to all the hopes of Joseph Julian.
Allthat he had striven for. All that he had
planned, plotted, and contrived, All that he had
sinned and soiled his soul for was at‘stake. The
will left him the reversion of the whole of the Bul-
strode property on the death of the Dowager Mar-
chioness. It was necessary that she should die.
Hence this charge of murder, And if ever there
could be a dangerous person atill left in life to
har:ss the exis‘'ence of Joseph Julian, that per-
gon would be the son of the late Marquis. Hence
his implication in the charge of murder. —

“Now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, you
know the motives. Find these two innocent per-
sons guilty, and Joseph Julian, alias Lichfield the
convict, alias the bush-ranger of Australia, ac-
complishes all his desires, and over the lifeless
body of four victims steps on in triumph, But
you will not do so.” >

‘And now to the proof.”

The counsel paused,

“Call John Yapp!”

“Vapp?” exclaimed the Attorney-Géneral,

‘Yes; John Yapp!”

But, my lord, “ learned friend has only re-
cently stated that this John Yapp was implicated
with Joseph Julian in the numerous offences my
learned friend has laid to his charge.

“Certainly” ee the counsel for the de-
fence; ‘‘but the Crown has been advised to grant
a free pardon to John Yapp, and therefore he is a
ss ea witness in this Court to-day.”

sé, 2

The Attorney-General leant Back. A look of
mortification came over his face.

It was quite evident to him now, that some-
thing must have been going on between the high-
est authorities of the realm and the persons en-
gaged for the defence of the prisoners at the bar,
of which he was in entire ignorance.

‘John Yapp!” cried the usher.

There was a slight movement among the crowd,
near the witness-box.

Pale, ghastly, and damp-looking, Mr. Spray
made his appearance. Heseemed completely en-
ervated. Once, indeed, ina dreamy kind of way
he turned round as if prepared to fly. Thena
quiet-looking man, who stood close to him, touch-
ed him with the handle of an umbrella,

“Go on!” was all he said. :

Spray, with a groan, ascended to the witness-
box: He had recognized the one man, who, of all
others, held him in thraldom. Smith, the detec-
tive. Ina moist, clammy-like way, Spray took
the book in his hand, and was sworn. Then his
examination began.

“What.is your name ?”

‘John Yapp.”

‘“Were you ever convicted of felony ?”

“T was.”

And transperted ?”

“Trans—transported.”

Mr. Spray spoke with difficulty, and looked long-
ingly at the decanter of water on the barristers
table.

You

ST wai

“You escaped from a settlement, called Deer-
ing Creek; and, as it is technically called there,
had taken to the bush?”

T_T think I did.”

*You think you did!
for an answer, since it
very likely to forget.”

Mr. Spray looked up at the ceiling of the Court.

‘Come, sir, look at me! Had you for an asso-
ciate in the bush one Charles Goldsby ?”

“J had—the Blood-ranger.”

That was his name, then, in the bush ?”

“Tt was.”

‘Had you another asseciate, or, rather, aleader,
named Lichfield, whose bush name was Rouge ?”

“Tt was 80.”

. “Have you seen that man since—I mean since
leaving Australia?”

J have.”

**Where ?”

‘Here, in London.”

‘‘What name does he go by ?”

Spray drew along breath. He licked his lips
with a clammy motion of his tongue.

“Water!” he said.

A cia of water was handed up to him,
drank at it eagerly.

“Now tell us,” added the counsel, ‘what name
does this man go by in London?”

“Joseph Julian!”

There was a sensation in the Court, and every-
body made a movement.

‘When did you see him last ?”

**Here.”

In this Court ?”

Yes, in this Court.”

‘And before that, where did you see him ?”

At Bulstrode House.”

“Well, now, Mr. Yapp, tell us how it was that
you and this Lichfield, after being separated in
the bush of Australia, came to join your fortunes
again together in this. great city ?”

‘We all three agreed to meet in London when
we could, and we did meet,”

®*When ?”

About a year anda halfago. Julian was then
in high feather, and secretary to the old Marquis
of Bulstrode. We were poor, and hiding about,
80 he got us cheap.”

“What do you mean by getting you cheap ?”

‘T aliude to myself and Goldsby. He made us
his creatures and humble servants, for food,
clothes, and pocket-money; but we helped him up
the ladder of prosperity, and then——”

“Stop {?

Spray was silent.

‘Please to look at the female
bar.”

Spray held up his arm as though it were neces-
sary to look under it in order to get a good glance
at Adeline, or as if he expected she was about to
fling something at him there and then the mo-
ment he cast his eyes upon her.

“T gee her.”

‘Now, upon your oath, tell us when, and under
what circumstances you firat saw that lady ?”

“The wind was howling, and the rain came
spattering down in fitful gusts; the clouds ran a
wild race in the murky sky, and scarcely a crea-
ture ventured abroad who had a hovel to crawl to;
but Goldsby, Lichfield, and I were used to wild
weather in the bush and on the grass plains of
Australia, so we were abroad,”

“Well?”

On a doorstep—drenched, ragged, and with a
look of famine on her face—we saw that lady.”

‘What then?”

*Jalian spoke to her—I call him Julian.”

“Call him go, if you please.”

‘Julian then spoke to her, and called upon us
both to see/that she was beautiful. We thought
that he had taken a fancy to the girl, but she
seemed to shrink from him with a kind of hor-
ror.”

‘What then?”

‘He was adroit and rapid, and knew a thing or
two. He passed ‘a handkerchief, steeped in chlo-
roform, across her face. We thought she was
dead, but we helped him to take her to Bulstrode
House, and she was given into the care of Mad-
ame de Morny.” .

Stop !”

‘Vos, sir.”

‘*Who was she—I mean, Madame de Morny ?”

*T never knew much of her. She came home
from over there, though.”

*Over where ?”

“Australia. An escaped convict—an old friend
of Julian’s.”

**Proceed.”

“Then we found out—that is, Goldsby and I—
that Julian had a different game to play than
making a fool of himself for the bright eyes of a

were conveyed, then, to Australia ?”
8.”

Well, we will take that
is not a matter you are

He

prisoner at the

 

pretty girl whom he had found upon 4 doorstep.’

Goon I”

“The marriage came off——”

“Stop! Now, tell me, and, by telling me, you
tell his lordship and the gentlemen of the jury,
did you ever see this phial before 2” _

Spray again held up his hand, as though ward-
ing off a biow.

“Ves; Julian showed it us.”

‘When ?”

“A few we:ks before we found the girl upon the
doorstep.
net of the Marquis, and that it contained such a
poison as the world could not match.”

‘*Were you in the house on the morning of the
marriage ?”

sey was.”

“Did anything remarkable happen ?”

_ Spray evidently wanted some more water, and
it was handed to him.

“I will tell you,” he said, ‘I was in one of the
smaller rooms of Bulstrode House, the same in
which the Indiam cabinet was placed, whea I
heard the hasty footstep of Joseph Julian ap-
proaching. I didnot want him to find me there,
80 [ stepped behind the cabinet, between it and
the wall, where there was just space enough to
hide me,”

“What then ?”

“He came into the room, and closed the door
behind. It was a sort of dressing-room, and I
saw him go up to & marble table, where there was
a decanter of water and several glasses. He took
from his pocket, then, that same phial you have
in your hand, and carefully dropped one solitary
drop of it into the bottom of a glass.”

‘You saw him, well?”

‘I did; and heard him speak, 600.”

“What did he say ?”

One!”

‘What did he allude to by that ?”

He filled up that glass, then, entirely with water,
and then into another glags he dropped but one
drop of that mixture.”

“What next ?”

‘He repeated that process three times, by which
the poison was so largely diluted that I could not
conceive it to be hurtful in the slightest degree,
in the last glass of water he poured some sal vola-

‘ive.

‘What makes you know that?”

“The odor was quite perceptible in the room,
which he then left, and t saw no more of that
transaction.”

‘At what hour was that ?”

“It was exactly one quarter of an hour before
the party left the house to proceed to St. George’s

| Church.”

‘And on your solemn oath you depose to these
facts ?”

oy do.”

‘‘What further conversation had you with Jo-
seph Julian after this?”

“T was constantly at Bulstrode House along
with Goldsby. It was rather dull, for the Dowa-
ger Marchioness was quite determined upon a
year of solitude and seclusion.”

“Can you tell us anything further of this Mad-
ame de Morny?”

“Not much, for I was out of that.”

“Out of what?”

Spray hesitated,

‘What do you mean that yeu were out of ?”

““T may as well say it; her murder, I mean,”

‘Then she was murdered ?”

“J feel assured of it.”

‘And by whom?”

“By Joseph Julian, There had been many dis-
putes between them—for although she was as bad
as could be, and seemed at first willing enough to
assist him in all his enterprises, she took some
strange fancy to the young Marchioness of Bul-
strode, and told Julian more than once in my
hearing that he should not dispossess her of her
property. She threatened she would disclose who
and what he was, and so he began to think her
dangerous.”

“You heard all this?”

“I did; and L was going to add that when Jo-
seph Julian thought any one dangerous they were
in 'a bad way.”

‘In what way ?”

‘They were not likely to live long.” :

“But what reason have you to believe that this
woman was murdered ?”

‘Her sudden disappearance, and a hundred
little things I heard and saw.”

“Now, Mr. Yapp, have the goodness to tell us if
you know anything of this liqueur-frame and its
glasses that you see now before you on the table
of the Court ?”

“Nothing but what hag arisen in the course of
the trial, and at the police office.”

‘Then I have nothing further to ask ef you.”

Spray drew a long breath of relief, and was
about to descend from the witness-box. But not-
withstanding the overwhelming evidence that was
being produced against Joseph Julian, the coun-
sel for the prosecution was by no means disposed
to yield the case without a struggle. He rose to
cross-examine Spray, alias Yapp.

CHAPTER XLX.
STANDING ON AN ABYSS.

‘ oN om, sir,” said the Attorney-General, “attend
ome!’

Spray immediately felt that he was in hostile
hands. He tried to nerve himself for what was to
come, and put on some show of determination. It
was quite involuntary that odd attitude that he
assumed of holding up one arm as if to shield
himself from a blow. But during almost the
whole of the short cross-examination of the At-
torney-General he assumed that attitude.

“You state that you were transported ?”

‘T was.”

‘What for?”

“Forgery.”

And for life ?”

‘Yes, it was for life; but it is very unhand-
some—now that Ihave a free pardon from the
Crown—to say anything about it.”

There was a slight ugh in the Court. The
Attorney-General looked a little irritated,

“My lord, and gentleman of the jury,” he said,
‘my learned friend who acts for the defence of
the prisoners at the bar is seeking to invalidate
the evidence of Mr. Joseph Julian on account of
his previous bad character; and if that supposi-
tion be correct, what becomes then of the evi-
nence of this man—by his own account a convict-
ed felon and bush-ranger ?” \

No one was tempted to make any reply to this
appeal. The Attorney-General then turned al-
most fiercely to Spray, as he added: ‘‘Now, sir,
you say that you acted entirely in the service of
Joseph Julian, and that you and Goldsby were his
humble creatures, helping him to the attainment
of the immense estates and income of the Mar-
quis of Bulstrode,—pray tell us, since you are 80
candid, about other particulars. What was your
reward ?”

‘Very slight.”

“But how much?” »

“It is difficult to say. Small sums doled out at
times.”

‘But were you content to perform such service
tar an scanty remuneration ?”

Oe

“Then you were at issue with him about your
reward ?”

“J certainly was.”

‘And Goldsby likewise ?”

‘Yes, and Goldsby likewise.”

‘Did you make any specific demand upon him
waloh, upon his refusal, engendered a quarrel ?”

**Yes.

‘How much ?”

“We wanted twenty thousand pounds each.”
‘and he refused ?”

‘He did.”

“Then, naturally
him that you would
your power ?”

Spray shook his head.

“It’s of no use,” he said; “I know what you are
driving at. You will have Goldsby here soon, and
he means to make a clean breast of it, as I am.
Why we come here to teil the truth in the matter,
and we tell it, and what effect it may have npon
Joseph Julian or the prisoner at the bar is not our
look-out.”

“But still it comes to this: that you wanted to
extort a large sum of money from Joseph Julian
under the threat of exposing his antecedents—

e
you and Goldsby threatened
do him all the mischief in

 

viz., that he had been a convict, like yourselves,
and of accusing him of the murder of the Marquis

He gaid he had found it in an old cabi-.|

 

 

of Bulstrode.”

“Not exactly.”

‘How do you mean, not exactly? You have al--
ready sworn to such facts.”

‘We did not say we would accuse him of such
things if ne did not give us a Jarge sum of money;
but knowing them, we said we would no longer
keep his guilty secrets withous an adequate mo-
tive so to do.”

“A nice distinction, truly !”

“But the real one,” said the counsel for the de-
fence. The Attorney-General sat down, for there
was nothing further to be gained by prolonging
the crogs-examination of Mr.. Spray.

It was quite evident, however, that the case as
against the prisoners, which had been set up by
Joseph Julian, was irretrievably damaged.

“Call Charles Goldsby,” said the counsel forthe
defence.

“Charles Goldsby!” shouted the crier.

Finch made his appearance. There was a flush
upon his face, and he trembled violently.

If Joseph Julian, from the solitude of Bulstrede
House, could but, by some necromancy, have cast
his eyes into that court of justice how appalled he
would have been to see hig old associates in crime
making themselves so candid and particular in
the detail of facta which made his life a mere
passing vapor. But, strange to say, he had never
thought himself so secure. He fancied he had
only now to wait the course of events, and that
the enjoyment of all he had striven for, and com-
mitted such terrible crimes to attain, would come
as ® thing of course. Strange delusion lt

It would seem as if at that period, so near as it
was to the termination of his career, that the brain
of Julian had become confused, and he had lost
his usual accurate powers of perception and rea-
soning.

Finch was sworn. The counsel for the defence
commenced his examination,

‘Your name ?”

“Charles Goldsby.”

aun admit that you wore transported for life ?”

0.

“What for? Task you the question to save my
learned friend the trouble.”

‘Highway robbery.”

‘And you escaped from the penal settlement,
and took to the bush; there you joined the gang
under the leadership of the well-known Rouge?”

‘Just so—that is all true.”

“Very well—having cleared the ground so far,
Inow ask you who Rouge really is, or was?”

“Rouge was & convict life myself—his name was
Lichfield.”

‘When did you seo him last?”

Tn this court.”

‘And before that?”

‘At Bulstrode House.”

“By what name did he go then?”

‘Joseph Julian.”

‘And how leng have you known him by that
name?”

“Something more than a year and a half, and
all the time in London.”
sien was the nature of your connexion with

im 92

**Yapp and I came across him in London, and
he promised us large results, in the way of re-
ward, if we would join our fortunes to his, and
assist him.”

‘‘How were you to assist him?” -

“By secrecy as to who and what he was in re-
pee and by such acts as he might call upon us

0 do.” af
‘And you got your reward ?”
No.”

“Did you demand it of him ?”

**Yes—but he refused it.”

“And therefore you considered your compact
at an end, and come here to tell the truth?”

‘*I do,”

I ask these questions to save my learned friend
for the prosecution a great deal of trouble in his
cross-examination. And now, Charles Goldsby,
were you at Bulstrode House on the morning of
the marriage of the late Marquis?”

“T was.”

‘In which part of it?”

‘There were two rooms, one opening into the
other by folding doors; the Marquis was in one,
and I was in the next.”

‘What time was that?”

“About a quarter of an hour before the party
started for the church.”

“Did anything particular then happen ?”

‘Just this. I saw Joseph Julian then come
into the room in which the Marquis was.
spoke in a low, respectful tone of voice, saying,
‘Here, my lord, is a slight stimulant—it is but
some sal volatile in pure water, and Will, no doubt,
take away the faintness which oppresses you. I
could see them both through the half-opened
door, and the old Marquis took the glass in his
shaking hand. He looked at Julian for a moment
or two before he drank the contents, and he
spoke.”

“What did he say?” .

‘‘Joseph,” he said, “you are much kinder, and
have more affectionate sentiment in your disposi-
tion than I gave you credit for.”

‘Did Julian reply ?”

‘Fa only bowed slightly.”

‘What next?”

“The Marquis then drank the contents of the
glass, and declared himself better.”

“Now attend to me, for I will not conceal from
you that Iam about to ask an important ques-
tion,

“T attend, sir.”

‘When did you next see the Marquis after that
occurrence ?”

‘Next see him ?”
church.”

‘And when, then, did you lose sight of him after
he had partaken of the contents of the glass Jo-
seph Julian handed to him ?”

‘As he stepped into the carriage, at the door of
Bulstrode House.”

On your oath, will you tell us that you never
lost sight of the Marquis of Bulstrode from the
moment Joseph Julian handed to him that stimu-
lant to that at which he stepped into his car-
riage?”

“T swear that.”

‘Was the interval long?”

“No; very brief.”
fe pee you easily recollect what happened in
i Bhd

‘Moat easily.”

‘Just tell us.” :

“The Marquis was in full dress, in the regimen-
tals of a general officer, He paced the room
twice or thrice, and spoke in tones of excitement;
he then went out into the corridor, exclaiming
that there was no time to lose, and called aloud
for the bride. The lady now at the bar then de-
ascended from the upper floor, and she and the
Marquis met in the corridor.”

‘Stop! Where were you?”

‘TJ stood just within the threshold of one of the
doors opening into that corridor.”

“And you could easily see and hear all that
passed ?”

“Most easily.” :

“Go on.”

‘The old Marquis was exceedingly tender and
affectionate in his manner; he folded his arms
about the lady, and, as he was much taller than
she was, he kissed her on the forehead, and then,
passing his hand tremblingly over her head, he
made some remark about the color of her hair,
saying that it should have been fair, to resemble
that of one Bellamy.” ¢

‘Did she reply to him ?”

‘No; she seemed greatly agitated, but looked
up in his face with an air of great confusion and
perplexity.”

As if she did not understand him ?”

“Hxactly 20.” ;

‘‘Now, answer this question. Did the Marquis
then complain of any faintness?”

“Certainly not.”

‘Did the female prisoner at the bar leave him
after they had thus met, under any pretence what-
ever, in that corridor?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then no such incident happened as that which
has been detailed before in this Court, that the
Marquis complained of indisposition, and the
bride ran up-stairs to procure tor him some re-
storative, which she brought down to him in a
small liqueur-glass ?”

“Certainly not; no such incident happened.” —
‘“‘And you never lost sight of the Marquis, until
he stepped into his carriage ?”

‘He was lying dead in the

 

“Never, for a moment.”

He | 8

Sani will do.”

© counsel gat down abruptly. Finch lin

for ® moment, but the Attorney-General aoe
cast his eyes upon him, and it was evident he had
no intention whatever of cross-examining thig
witness, who had deposed to such terrible facts
as against Joseph Julian,

With a look of great relief, Finch descended
from the witness-box, and mingled with the
crowd. But the people shrank from both him
and Spray, and they slowly made their way to-
wards the doors of the Court, so as to take-the
first opportunity of leaving when they shouid be
opened, But Mr. Smith had his eye upon them,
Pe sonened each of them slightly with his.um-

rella,

“Not yet,” he saic.
again.”

If those touches had been inflicted with a red-
hot branding iron, they could scarcely have pro-
duced greater effect upon the two convicts,

The counsel for the defence then spoke again,

‘*My lord, and cenlemen of the jury,” ke said,
‘T have redeemed one portion of my promise, [
have shown you who and what this Joseph Julian
is, and I have showa you both negatively and
positively that it was he, and none Oat he, who
administered the poison that destroyed the life of
the late Marquis of Bulstrode. I have brought
before you a witness who saw him mingle the
fatal draught. I have brought before you another
witness who saw him administer it. This latter
witness has likewise sworn that no such incident
happened, although it might have happened quite
innocently, as the offer of a restorative to the
Marquis upon the landing-place or corridor of
Bulstrode Houge by the female prisoner at the
bar. What I have now to show you is of equal
importance. I have to disconnect both the pris-
oners with that terrible liqueur-frame and its
glasses, which have playéd so prominent « part in
this protracted investigation. I have to substan-
tiate my statement that Joseph Julian, and Joseph
Julian alone, was the possessor and concoctor of
that piece of evidence.”

The Attorney-General looked up surprised.

‘Do that,” he said, “and I will throw down my
brief for the Crown.”

‘My learned friend shall be perfectly satisfied.
Call John Gregson.”

‘John Gregson! John Gregson !”

There was no reply. Taen Mr. Smith, the de
tective, glanced up into the gallety of the Court,
and pointed with his umbrella at an old cadavor-
ous-looking man, who was trying to hide his face
with his hat,

‘John Gregson,” he said, ‘fyou are wanted.”

‘Yes, Mr. Smith—yes !”

‘*Hand him down, Peters.”

The old man, from the gallery, was brought
through the crowd, being half carried by the stal-
wart officer, Peters, and safely placed in the wit-
ness-box. Finch and Spray looked at this new
witness with evident curiosity. And the witness
himself cowered down before the judge and the
jury, as though, small as he naturally was, hig
greatest effort was to reduce himself to still
more insignificant dimensions. He was sworn.
He made quite a feature of kissing the book, as
though he meant to imply that he would tell the |
truth in a more satisfactory manner than it was
usually told even in a court of justice.

“Now, sir, what is your name ?”

‘John Gregson, if your worship pleases.”

a have no pleasure in the matter. What are
you?”

: Meteo dealer, in the Commercial Road,
ast.”

‘You may be wanted

“What do you mean by a general dealer.”

“Bless you, sir, I deal in everything; that is to
say, I—I sell everything, and am not—not very
particular about what'l buy.”

on fact, Mr. Gregson, you purchase stolen

‘oods.

‘J, sir? Bless you, sir, what puts that into
your worship’s head ?”

“On your oath, is it so, or is it not?”

“T don’t know—I ask no questions.”

‘*You have a bad character with the police ?”

‘The police never do think well of anybody.”

‘You have been in what people like you call
trouble ?”

“Tt was alla mistake.”

*You had six months’ imprisonment ?”

Mr. Gregson coughed. '

“T staid six months in Newgate to olear the
matter up about some spoons; and ag everybody
was satistied, they said I needn’t stay any lon-
er. ‘

“Very well; I ask these questions that his lord-
ship and the jury should know thoroughly who
and what you are.”

Mr. Gregson coughed again. 34

“Now, sir, look at this plated liqueur-frame and
its glasses*”

“Yes, your worship.”

‘Do you know it?”

Mr. Gregson very carefully got a pair of spec-
tacles, and, with extreme deliberation, fitted them
on. The liqueur-frame was put into bis hands,
and he held it up above the level of his eyes so
that he could see beneath it.”

‘Well, sir, do you know it?”

oy do.”

“Was it ever in your possession ?”

“Tt was. I boughtit atasale at Acton, along
with a lot of other rubbish, and never thought to
get a customer for it.”

‘How do you know it?”

“Tt has my private mark upon it.”

“But you did find a customer for it ?”

‘Er did.”

‘Tell his lordship and the jury how, when, and
where ?”

(To be continued.)

 

 

 

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PUBLISHED THIS DAY.
BRADY'S “MERCURY” STORIES, No. 51,”

SAD LA,
A HEROINE OF THE REBELLION.

A Tale of this War, founded on facts, with real characters.
i

BY NED BUNTLINE.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY DARLEY,
Price 25 cents.

This story more accurately and truthfully depicts the
stirring scenes and incidents of the present war than
any tale of the Rebellion that has yet been published.

Mailed free of postage on receipt of price.
FREDERIC A. BRADY, Publisher,
39 1t. No. 22 Ann street, N. Y.

251 SETES DAY EE

 

*Ig IT
MOTHER’S GENTLE TOUCH?
BY THEO. D. 0. MILLER.*

Oh, how like my gentle mother’s
Is that touch so soft and warm!
And my couch seems strewn with roses—
Flowers kissed by refreshing storms;
Oh, how blessed is this moment!
Happy heart feels naught of fear;
For ’tis mother bending o’er me—
She will dry each flowing tear,
Cuorus—Darling mother, I am going
With the angel band on high;
For our Liberty I’ve fallen,
And am not afraid to die,

Brothers! lighten up my chamber,
For'the night is dark and drear;
I would see my gentle mother—
Hear her words of love and cheer;
Oh, how fondly I remember
Happy childhood’s sunny hours,
And those fairy gleams of beauty
Seen from dear New England’s bowers.
CHORUS,

What dear form is this beside me?
What hand is this on my brow?
It reminds me of my childhood |
Darling mother! is it thou?
Oh, that touch of pure affection
None but mother’s hand can give—
It ¢s mother !—darling mother!
For thee only would I live.
CHORUS.

Yearful friends are round my pillow,

For stern Death ig drawing nigh;
Calmly tell them, gentle mother,

Iam not afraid to die!
Press your hand upon my forehead—

Let me feel my mother’s kiss;
Soon I'll taste sweet joys immortal

In that world of perfect bliss.

CHORUS.

* A brave New England boy was wounded in one of
our late engagements, and sent to the hospital His
anxious mother left her New England home, and has-
tened to see her boy. She reached the hospital at mid-
night, and after a touching entreaty was permitted to
enter. She went to the couch and took the hand of her
suffering son. Not knowing who was present he slow-
ly opened his eyes and said, ‘‘That feels like my mo-
ther’s hand; who is this beside me? It 7s my mother;
turn up the gas and let me see my mother.’’ When told
that he must die, he replied, ‘‘I have looked Death in
the face too often to be afraid now,” and died as gal-
lantly as did the men of the Cumberland,

«Qe

NOTES FROM THE DIARY OF

AN INTELLIGENCE OFFICE-KEEPER.

BY GLENDOWER,

 

NuMBER ONE.

Ax intelligence office, the rendezvous of servant
girls seeking employment, is a capital place for
one to study physiognomy. The cheerful and the
demure, the talkative and the taciturn, the
grumbling and the contented, are here seated
side by side, awaiting the arrival of those in need
of the services of cooks, chambermaids, laun-
dresses, or general houseworkers. From about
nine o’clock in the morning until four in the after-
noon, the intelligence office generally has a pretty
fair attendance of females representing the above
branches of doméstic labor. To make these
Weary hours pass as pleasantly as possible, the
y) females amuse each other by relating their expe-
(<q riences in their last situations, and thug the girls

, pe nnee ao as < the peculia¥ manner

some of our first families have i i
domestio affair of conducting their
The writer lately became acquainted with the

a

 

 

keeper of an intelligence office in this city, and
to this gentleman he is indebted for the sugges-
tion which prompted the writing of these articles.
He stated that his associations with domestica,
and their recitals to him of the troubles they en-
countered in the situations he had obtained for
them, gave him excellent opportunities to secure
data for the publication of sucha series. He also
informed me that several of these individual cases
were so interesting thathe had entered them
in a note-book, which he kept at his office, and
that if I desired to refer to his memoranda, he
would willingly allow me the privilege, on calling
at his office.

Availing myself of his invitation, I called at his
office on the first opportunity. The office is on
the first floor, and was formerly occupied as a
store, and has a large window in front. The room
is divided in the centre by a small wooden railing,
about four feet high, and in the rear of this are
about a dozen benches, on which the females seat
themselves. The desk of the proprietor is in the
front part of the room, near the window, while a
few arm-chairs, for the accommodation of those
applying for domestics, are ranged just in front of
the railing which separates the servants waiting-
room from the office.

I found the proprietor engaged in reading a
newspaper, which he instantly threw aside on my
entrance, and after a few commonplace remarks,
he drew forth a key for the purpose of opening his
desk, and taking therefrom his note-book.

Ere he had time to do so, however, a lady en-
tered, whom he greeted as Mrs. Leveridge; and
from their conversation I inferred that this lady
was a regular customer.

‘You don’t say that the servant I sent you last
month has left you already ?” queried the intelli-
gence office-keeper,

‘Indeed she has, Mr. Hazelton; but not of her
own accord, for I was compelled to dismiss her
for her impertinence.”

By this timeI had moved away from the desk,
and had taken a seat in one of the arm-chairs,
near therailing. Inside of the railing there were
about thirty females, a few of them engaged
in knitting, or hemming pocket-handkerchiefs;
and I afterwards learned that they followed this
practice for the purpose of showing off to the em-
ployers their industrious habits. I was seated
within two feet of the firat bench, and could dis-
tinctly hear the conversation of the servants. The
first sentence which greeted my ear, after taking
my seat, made me aware that Mra. Leveridge was
well known in that quarter.

“Oh, gerls, will ye look at owld Leveridge !
There she is—back agen for another gerl |”
“What! Is that the woman that was Mag Doo-
ley’s missis, up in Hudson street ?”

“Mag Dooley’s missis, is it?” answered the first
speaker. ‘“‘She was my missis, too, for a spell;
and faix I believe if she lives long enough she’ll
be everybody’s missis. Didn’t Moll Brannigan,
and Mary Kehoe, and Bessy Rigney, and Nancy
Jarvis, all give her’ month aich, and thin left her.
She fights wid every gerl; nobody kin put up wid
her timper. And her husband—dacint man that
he is—knows her fightin’ perpensities; and wan
mornin’, whin she flew at me as if sho ait me wid-
out salt, didn’t Mr. Leveridge take me part, and
call her a gladdy aiter, bekase he thought she
wanted to ait me wid her spite ?” r

“Oh, the Tarjer /” exclaimed another. ‘Look
at her now, wid her flounces and feathers. Isn’t
she the polite crathur, though ?”

“Begorra, ye wouldn’t think she was polite if ye
seen her in her slippersiv a mornin’, whin she
comes down to give her ordhers. And as for
maneness, she’s more savin’ than a beggin’ friar.
Didn’t I live next to her whin Mary Kehoe was her
gerl?—and didn’t Mary tell me that she used
thrown hot wather upon ould tay-leaves, and give
it to her for a3. dhrink iy a washin’ day ?”

Soon the conversation between the girls became
general, and so many were talking at once that I
found it impossible to understand what they were
saying; only I knew that they were expressing
their opinions of Mrs. Leveridge in very uncom-
plimentary terms.

While the above conversation was taking place,
Mrs. Leveridge was talking with Mr. Hazelton,
unmindful of the discussion she had occasioned.
At length I heard Mr. Hazelton say to her, ¢
‘This time I think I can suit you better. There
is a girl here just out of place, who is competent
in every respect. I will call her.” Then looking
over @ list of names written in a book before him,
he stopped suddenly and said, ‘“‘Elizabeth Daly is
her name—a splendid worker, with the best re-
commendations.”

“T am glad to hear it,” remarked Mrs. Lever-
idge; ‘‘and yet I don’t know as recommendations
are any evidence of merit, for every girl you sent
was wellrecommended. But let me see her, and
perhaps I may be able to judge.”

“Klizabeth Daly,” called out Mr. Hazelton,
“step this way.”

‘Vis, sir,” that female answered, endeavoring

4 to rise.

‘Be quick, Miss Daly, if you please,” said Mr.
Hazelton.

“Shure I can’t be any quicker, whin the lower
rib o’ my hoops is caught in the ind iv the binch.”

‘Rip it off, Lizzy,” said the girl who sat beside
her, ‘‘and lave it behind; it’ll do to mark yer sate
till ye come back. Ye can call it Lizzy Daly’s
cage.

‘“Mebbe yer owld father ud like it for his grand-
mother of a poll-parrot,” retorted Miss Daly, as
she released her crinoline. ‘‘Both it and you ud
do wellin a cage together, yer both so fond iv
chatterin.”

Miss Daly hurried along between the benches,
and opening the little gate in the centre of the
railing, walked up to the desk.”

“This is Mrs. Leveridge, Miss Daly,” said Mr.
Hazelton, ‘‘and she desires a girl to do general
housework.”

‘How d’ye do, ma’am ?” returned Miss Daly;, “I
a yer family’s well. What wages @ye pay ?”

he salary sppeared to be of the greatest im-
portance to Miss Daly.

“I am willing to pay eight dollars a month, and
if you are worthy of it I will promise an increase.
Do you understand general housework ?”

“T ought to, ma’am, for I’ve had great expari-
ence in four places widin the last: twelve-month.
But have ye many in family, and is the hot and
cowld wather in the kitehen?”

“Six in family, and the Crotonis in the kitchen.
Oan you bake?”

“Is itbake? Look at thim finger-nails,” show-
ing her fingers to Mrs. Leveridge. “D’ye see
thim ?—as nately thrimmed as a nut, and as clane
as a knittin-needle. I always keep thim that way
jist for bakin’, so that whin I mix the dough the
laist scrap won’t sthick undher me nails. I bake
bread that ud give ye an appetite to look at it,”

‘Do you bake pastry ?”

‘What's pastry? Iniver heerd o’ thim afore.”

“Then you don’t understand making pies, é&c.?”

"Oh, yis, I can make illegant pies—an’ I make
the edges 0’ thim look beautiful by proddin’ thim
with the kay iv me thrunk. Oh, ma’am yer
teeth ll wather whin ye look at thim. Shure in
the last place I lived out, the family that lived
noxt dure got a taste iv one iv me pies from Biddy
Doran—her ger], that come from the same town
wid meself—an' she was so plazed wid it that a
week or 80 afther, whin she was givin a party, she
axed me mistress if she wouldn’t let her borry the
lind 0’ me, jist to make the pies for the party.
But to tell the thruth, ma’am, the woman had bad
flour, an’ I couldn’t rowl out the paste thin
enough; an’ whin the pies were baked the paste
looked for awl the world jist like a horse blanket.”
__After a few other questions from Mrs. Leyer-
idge, as to the capabilities of Miss Daly, and an
examination of her recommendations, which ap-
peared satisfactory to the former, Miss Daly
was engaged to do the general housework of the
family of Mrs. Leveridge. As the latter was
about leaving the office, having first understood
that Elizabeth was to commence her duties on
the following morning, her departure was inter-
rupted by Miss Daly asking,

“Stop a bit, ma’am; P’ve another question to
ask ye. How many ‘Sundays out’ will ye allow
me, ma'am? Id like to have three cae out’
in the month—ye can make it the afternoon of
aich if ye like.”

*T cannot permit you to
each alternate Sunday.”

‘And whin does that Sunday come? [ niver
heerd o° that kind iv a Sunday.” :

“Every second Sunday, I mean,” explained Mrs.

go out oftener than

 

Leveridge,
“Very well, ma’am, Ill be contint. Hudson

street, near Amity, I think you sed? All right;
T'll be there in the mornin’ in time to get acquaint-
ed wid yer milkman.” :

Mrs. Leveridge then left the office, while Mr.
Hazelton handed to Elizabeth a small piece of
paper on which he had written the address of her
new employer. Miss Daly then gave an invita-
tion to some of her acquaintances to call and see
her as soon as convenient; and as she was bidding
them good-bye, one of them gaid to her,

‘Tf I gee. Jimmy, Will I tell him where yer stop-

in’ o2
P ‘Vig, if ye see him before I do; but tell him to
rap dacint at the basement dure, and to come wid
a clane shirt en.” : :

After making this very important suggestion,
Miss Daly left the office, while I walked over to
the desk, to resume my conversation with Mr.
Hazelton, and receive from that gentleman the
note-book he had promised me, some extracts
from which will be given in the next number.

A YOUNG HERO.

BY EDWARD S. ELLIS..

Onan antumn day in 1780, an elderly man, ac-
companied by his grandson, a boy some twelve
years of age, was making his was through a forest
in southern Ohio, He had been on a visit to one
of the forta, where he had remained the preced-
ing night, and had left early in the morning for
hishome. The latter being far in the wilderness,
itthus happened that he was at a considerable
distance from both. It was near the middle of
the afternoon, but the toughened old man, whose
lite had been one of vicissitude and labor, kept
step with the bounding boy at his side. He had
halted but a few moments, when the sun was in
the meridian, to partake. of acold lunch with his
young companion; for, being old, he had that
childish affection for home and its comforts that
made him put forth every exertion to reach it be-
fore the shades of evening set in. Along, polish-
ed rifle,was slung over his shoulder, ready charg-
ed for an emergency, while the boy carried a much
lighter, one with as much pride and grace as Dan-
iel Boone ever handled his favorite weapon.
Young as was this boy, his exploits had already
shown that his eye was keen and true, and his
diminutive arms brave and steady.

As he walked beside his aged relative, one hand
reposing trustingly in his and his bright eyes
turned npward, as he asked some questions nat-
ural to his years, the old man smiled upon him,
and, pressing his warm hand, ho instinctively
hastened his steps, as if fearful of trusting such
a precious charge to the dangers of the wilder-
ness. They were following a sort of path through
the woods, which was well known to both, so that
no time was lost in searching the way.
“Grandfather,” said the boy, “how much far-
ther have we to go before we reach home ?”’

“Ten miles or so. I thought you were getting
tired.”

“Mo tired? Nota bit,” said the boy proudly, in-
creasing his gait, “I can stand as much as any
other man !”

The old man smiled, for he saw, in spite of the
lad’s efforts to conceal it, that he was much wear-
ied, and he knew his strength would be sorely tax-
ed ere he reached his home. But he chose to hu-
mor the boy.

“You area brave little follow,” saidhe, ‘Ef you

are not aman, you have got the spirit of one.
God bless you! the qualities you posses will be
needed by the time you can use them; shan’t I
carry your gun for you ?”
“Grandfather,” said the lad reprovingly, “I wish
you wouldn’ttalk so. If you would only believe it,
I could carry both our rifles, with you onmy back,
all the way home.”

‘T will believe that you would be willing to try
itifnecessary, but there is no danger of your
atrength being put to such a test ag that.”

‘Did you hear that owl hoot ?” asked the boy,
after a moments pause.

*Yos,” answered the old man, his chesk blanch-
ing. as he quickened his pace,almost to arun.
“Tan’t it queer that an owl should hoot in the
day time? but thenitis getting well on toward
night, and I suppose he thinks he might as well
commence. What makes you walk so fast ?”

“There is need of it!”

The grandfather glanced fartively behind as he
spoke, as if he half expected the appearance of
some dreadful danger. Indomitable as was the,
spirit of the boy, after going a half mile or so, he
was compelled to cry out,

io cannot go any further unless you walk very
slow.’

The old man stepped short and cast a despair-
ing look down upon the child,

‘Have you heard the noise of that owl again ?”
he asked.

‘There must be two or three of them, from the
penne Ihave heard, and they seem to keep close

O Us.

‘Those noises, my dear child, that you sup-
posed were made by owls, were the signals of In-
dians that are pursuing us.”

acne stop and fight them,” said the boy, res-
olutely.

‘Ah! it cannot be done. We should both be
shot in an instant. I musthide you, if possible,
and keep up the flight, alone,”

‘But we have two rifles, and I know I can hit

me.”
“Don’t talk ofit. Here is the very thing for
which I have been hoping all along.”
As he spoke he pointed to a small sapling
with a dense, bushy tor, a few rods ahead, and to
&

one side of his path. stening to this, he as-
sisted the boy to ascend it, when, seeing him safe-
ly ensconced, he said, :

‘Remain there until dark, and then make all
haste to yourhome, Take good care to remain
out of sight.”

The boy promised obedience, and his grandfa-
ther hurried away. A few minutes later, the lad
saw two Indians pass along the path, on a run,
and his heart leaped at the certainty he felt of his
aged friend being overtaken before he could go
much further.

Meanwhile, the old man made all haste, for
none knew better than he thai a merciless enemy
was upon his track. For a time his speed was
such that his pursuers gained nothing; but, after
going a mile or so, he was seized with an excess-
ive tremor, and became so exhausted that he set-
tled downto an ordinary walk,satisfied that it was
useless to expend his strength in attempting
to leave such fleet-footed pursuers behind. All
thistime he kept up an unremitting watch for
thera, andthe moment they appeared, he sprang
behind a tree while they did the same.

And now commenced a series of maneuvres
that would have excited the admiration of any ob-
server.

The old man understood Indian tactics so thor-
oughly, that he successfully held his enemies at
bay for over an hour. About this time, one of
the savages, in carrying out his design of getting
in the rear of the white man, leaped behind a
tree, the trunk of which was so small that it
failed to conceal his entire body. The redskin
saw his blunder instantly, and attempted to rem-
edy it by springing te another; but the eagle eye
of his foe was quicker than his own, and he drop-

ed, mortally wounded, while in the very act of

eaping.

The white man’s gun now being unloaded, he
was compelled again to resort to flight to escape
the savage, whose weapon was stillcharged. The
rest which he had gained was sufficient for him
to recover his strength, and by dodging, ‘flitting
in and out among the trees, and running at the
top of his speed, he eluded his enemy for a time.
He tried hard to load his gun while running, but,
as he also kept glancing behind him to the savage,
his attention was so distracted that he struck the
ramrod against a tree and broke it. Atthe same
time he saw the Indian bring his rifie to his
shoulder. As quick as lightning, he sprang aside,
and the bullet sped harmlessly past, within a few
inches of his face.

The Indian and white man now met in the hand
to hand struggle of dexzth. As the former came
up, the latter made a sweeping blow with his
clubbed rifle at his head; but the savage, striking
with his tomahawk at the same time, the two
weapons encountered each other, and curiously
enough both flew from the hand of their owners.
The Indian still had a knife remaining in his belt,
while his opponent was entirely mmarmed, but the
brave old man, without a second’s hesitation,

 

grappled his adversary, threw and fell heavily up-

onhim. In wrestling, the whiteman was much
the superior; Lut his old age was no match for
the youth and endurance of the Indian, For a
few moments he held the latter with an iron grip,
and made strong efforts to throttle him; but the
agile savage struggled with such persistency that
he rolled the old man off, and cane uppermost.
Be had now his infirm opponent entirely at his
mercy, and with his hideous face all agleam with
deadly ferocity, he placed his hand upon the
buck-horn handle of his knife to draw it forth
and despatch him.

The weapon was half drawn from his girdie,
when the charp crack of a rifle broke the stillness
of the woods, and the Inc ian rolled, limp andidead
from the body of his foe. A round crimson spot
on one side of the forehead, and another on the
corresponding side, showed the track of the bul-
let which had so summarily arrested hisarm. Ag
the old man eaw the savage fall sideways from
him and heard the report of the rifle, he eee
to his feet and looked around in quest of his deliv-
erer. Instead of observing some strong hunter,
as he expected, he saw his grandson running to-
me him, his face expressing the most intense
alarm. :

“Grandfather, are you killed ? are you killed ?”

“No, thank God; Iam notinjured. You have
been the means ofsaying my hfe, Let us hurry
homeward.”

The shades of night were already settling over
the forest, and, clasped hand in hand, the friends
sped forward, not halting again, until they were
safely housed in theirown cheerfulhome. Here
the boy told howit was that he had come up at
the opportune moment, and shot the savage as
he was about to take the life of his old friend.
Shortly after he had seen the two Indians pass
along the path, his anxiety became so great that
he disregarded the commands given him, slid
down the tree and hurried on after them. The
reports of the rifles lent wings to his feet, and he
hurried on, determined either to save his grand-
father or to avenge his death. We have shown
how he did the former.

seormnnrscacome=i) ¢ (2) > (fi peemanemcmastn sg
THE DIAMOND SLEEVE BUTTON.

BY HELEN FORREST G&BAVES,

Well, Edith ?”

Mrs. Montressor was sitting on a low chair,
where the wine-colored velvet curtains were drawn
away. to admire the last faint glow of the May sun-
set. It waaa curiously arranged room, yet ex-
quisitely elegant—a mixture of drawing-room con-
servatory and boudoir, for the piano was half
hidden in a thicket of blcssoming heliotrope and
roses, and books were carelessly piled around the
brackets, from which leaned statuettes of glist-
ening marble. But Hdith Montressor’s tastes
were peculiar, and moreover, she was a young
lady who liked her own way.

She had come into the room, with her long
black curls escaping carelessly from the clasp of a
pearl comb, and a curious, restless light in the
magnificant violet-black eyes that were partially
veiled by her long, almond-shaped lids. Mrs.
Montressor knew by one glance that something
had stirred the depths of the young beauty’s
mind, and so she laid dowu her books, with the
questioning look, and the softly uttered,

“Well, Edith ?” .

‘He has asked me to be his wife, mamma.”

She sat down, giving thecurls a defiant back-
ward toss, and looked dreamily at the sunset,

And you told him——”

“Ttold him nothing, He comes for hig final
answer to-morrow.”

“But my dearest, if you love him——”

‘T dowt love him, mamma. There’s where it
is 1” almost passionately cried Hdith. ‘‘There is
a singular kind of fascination about the man—and
when I am in his presence, I fancy that I like him;
but—mamma, did you ever hear any one speak
evil of him?”

‘Never, Edith; I believe him to be a model
young man.”

‘Do you believe in instinct, mamma?”

‘My love, what a strange question !”

‘Well, it may be strange—it is, T suppose; and
yet the subtle forewarning, deeper than wisdom,
quicker than logic, which I call instinct, tells me
that Ralph Pole is a bad, heartless man!”

“Fidith |”

“Oh, mamma; If I only knew—if I only could
be certain that I was wronging him by the thought,
L would cheerfally devote my life to atoning for
the unjust suspicion !”

She laid her headon Mre. Montressor’s shoul-
der, as she spoke,

*‘What shallyou tell him to morrow, Hdith ?”
said the mother, after a moment’s silence,

“IT shall promise to marry him, I suppose. He
expects it—the world expects it, and1l am buta
toy in his hands, and the world’s !”

She spoke bitterly, as she rose up.

‘Stay with me, dearest,” pleaded the mother,
tenderly. ‘Surely you are not going out again
to-night.”

“T must, mamma; but I shall not be long away
from you. I promised to take some wine and
oranges to Bessie’s little girl.”

‘Bessie the washerwoman ?”

‘Yes; don’t you remember how illthe child is ?
And these poor people cannot afford little luxuries
to tempt the failing appetite of invalids.”

“But itis such a locality Edith—you must take
one of the servants with you!”

“Oh, no, mamma; I shall not be gone ten min-
Bie it isn’t worth while, and I would rather be

one.

She had her own way, of course—and the sun
was just dipping below the horizon, as her light
foot ascended the ruinous wooden steps of Bessie
Ryan’s domicile.

“Why, Bessie! what’s the matter?”

For Bessie was sitting, or rather cowering ina
corner, with her head on a chair, rocking herself
to and fro, with a sort of moaning cry.

Edith came forward and laid her hand softly on
the woman’s shoulder,

‘Ts Rosy worse?”

“No, Miss Edith; it’s better she is, but——”

‘Then. what are you grieving about ?”

“Oh, Miss Edith; to think what the children’ll
do, and me in prison!”

“In prison, Bessie? You have sat up nights with
Rosy until you're light-headed, and don’t know
what you're saying.” : :

“Deed then I do, Miss, and it’s gospil trath,
worse luck, avick |” moaned Bessie, breaking into
fresh sobs, andlamentations. “It’s a fine gintle-
man that I’m washin’ for, Miss Edith, and he says
the diamond button wasinthe shirt-sleeve when
it was sent here; sure it wasn’t, or wouldn’t I see
it? And if Idon’t bring it back this night, me
that never set eyes on it—he says he'll put me in
the jail, and—and——_”

Once more the words were drowned in wild, pas-
sionate sobs.

‘‘Begsie,” said Edith, after a moment of pitying
silence, ‘‘go to this gentleman—tell him of your
little ones, and of sick Rosy. Assure him once
again that you never saw the button.”

‘‘And it’s that I’ve done, miss, and he won’t be-
lave me; and he swears at me till if makes the
blood run cowld,”

‘Nonsense, Bessie; you always were a timorous
little thing! Don’t you remember the days when
you were my nurse, and I could rule you at three
years old, with a frown, ora stamp of my tiny
foot? Get up, child—J will go with you, and
we'll inake this tyrant hear reason.”

“You, Miss Edith?”

“T! Make hasteand get your bonnet on—we
have no time to lose before it grows dark.”

And almost before Bessie Ryan knew what she
was about, Edith had drawn her into the street,
and they were speeding swiftly on their twilight

way.

“It’s here, Miss—jist round this corner, a law-
yer’s office!” said Bessie, in a subdued tone.

She tapped at the door, hesitatingiy.
_ “Come in,” cried an impatient yoice from with-
in, and the next minute they found themseives
in a narrow office, where a young man lounged
carelessly before the coal fire, apparently quite
heedless of the tape-tied papers thatwere heaped
on the table underneath the flaming gas-light.

How thanktul Edith Montressor was for the am-
ple water-proof cloak that concealed her dress,
and the thick lace veil she wore, when she knew
Es she was standing in the presence of Ralph

ole.

‘Well, woman,” he said, carelessly knocking the

 

ashes from his cigar—which, by the way, he never

offered to lay aside—“have you brought the
sleeve-button, or its equivalent in money ?”

“Sir,” wailed the womaa, bitterly, “I never saw
the button. Sure ye wouldn’t be hard upon the
poor widow with three little ones, that'll starye if
their mother’s gone ?”

He curled his lip haughtily,

‘What are your ragged brats to me ?”

“Listen to me, sir!” said Bessie, earnestly. “TI
never set eyes on the diamond you've been after
losin’, but if yell only wait, Pll work my fingers to
the bone, but Til give ye the valley of it, For
onct I get the name o’ thief I’m a iost woman, sir,
Nobody would ever give me work again!”

“This is all nonsense,” said Ralph Pole com-
pee ‘You have not brought the sleeve but-

on ?

‘‘No, sir; how would I?”

“Nor the fifty dollars ?”

“T haven’t fifty cents in the world, sir.”

‘Very well—I will call a policeman and give
you. in charge at once,”

‘‘Miss Edith, speak for me!” shrieked Bessie,
throwing herself on the ground at Miss Mon-
tressor’s feet. Ralph Pole, who had risen, stop-
ped abruptly.

“You will do nothing of the sort, Mr. Pole,”
said Edith, quietly. “What is that glittering so
brilliantly in the corner ?” z

For, in a confused pile of crumpled papers
orange peel, broken inkstands and condemne
sandboxes, she had caught sight of a faded bou-
quet, in the depths of whose dried stems and
shrivelled leaves, something sparkled like fiery
dew. She atepped forward and disengaged a dia-
mond sleeve-button from the stem where it had,
caught on falling.

“It's the slecve-bution—it’s the diamond!”
shrieked Bessie, hysterically. ‘Sure I told youl
never gaw it.”

Edith threw back her veil calmly, and looked at
Ralph Pole. He quailed beneath her contemptuous
gaze.

‘Miss Montressor, this is aux awkward mistake.
Believe me——”

‘A very awkward mistake, Mr. Pole. I believed
you an honorable gentleman—I find you a petty
tyrant, who could oppress a poor widow with the
iron hand of power—a man devoid of mercy, and
ignorant of charity!”

‘But Miss Montressor——*

“Our acquaintance is at an end, Mr. Pole. Do
not trouble yourself with any further excuses, or
palliations. Come, Bessie!”

And she swept out of the room with the air of
an empress,

Ralph Pole had found his diamond sleeve-button
—but he had lost his rich wife.

[TEMS OF INTEREST.

sa A lady not long married, and who was dis-
satisfied with her partner, recently entered a plea for
divorce, alleging as a reason that “her husband was a
confounded fool.’’ Although the magistrate, on look- ©
ing at the fair one, decided that in marrying her he
had proved himself to be all she represented him, yet
as such a ples, if sustained, would probably entitle half
the married women in the city to a legal separation, he
would not entertain the petition. The lady left the
court quite relieved, as the idea suggested that there
were many others in a precisely similar predicament.

aa A heavy blow at the sutlers has been ad-
ministered by Gen. Sherman, in his instructions rela-
tive to the payment of troops. The money is not to be
brought to the field, as the men can only spend it in
sutler’s trash at enormous prices. In place of paying
the soldiers, therefore, on the field, the pay rolls are to
be made out, receipted, and sent to Nashville, when the
department will send the amount designated by the
soldiers to their families, at such places as they shall
name; or, if the soldier pleases, the amount can re-
main on deposit with the Government.

ya An odd way of securing a “marriage por-
tion’? was adopted by a youth named Morse. He was
keeping company with, and was shortly to be married
to the daughter of a gentleman named Appleton, of
Boston, whose house has freauently, within a few
months past, been robbed. It was discovered the
other day that the thievings were done by young
Morse. Morse confessed, and says he did the deed in
order to get money enough to be married with.

a@- A week or two since we alluded to a musi-
cal chicken; but this prodigy is offset by a greater won-
der, which is attracting attention in Abbeville, France.
A clothier in that city is in possession of a beautiful
drake, which by perseverance, for two years, with a
bird organ, he has taught to sing several different airs,
His success in this instance has determined him to try
the La experiment on a turkey, and he: éxpects to
succeed, 5

xa A domestic rebellion is about to take place
in Rebeldom. The Governors of Alabama, Mississippi, —
North Carolina and Georgia, have united in a protest —
against the enforcement of an act of the rebel Con-
gress requiring all vessels engaged in blockade-run-
ning commerce to surrender half their space to the use
of the Confederate government as a condition of their
clearance.

4ar- A prominent citizen of New Durhaw, N.H.,
named Miles Chesley, Jr., was gored to death by a bull ~
the otherday. He went into, his barn to yoke some
cattle, and was found there several hours after, by his
wife, sitting on the floor, gored in six places, and his
body terribly mangled. He lived a few hours, but was
unable to tell about the affair.

aa A California paper relates the story of a
woman whose husband was killed after she had been
married four weeks; in three weeks more she married
again; that husband lived two weeks; in two weeks
after he died, she married his brother; and six months
after her last marriage, she gave birth to a child by her
first husband,

ag A maid, wife, and widow within three days!
All these phases of female existence were experienced
by a young lady of Providence, who married Thomas
Wansiley at Willimantic, on the 2d inst. The husband
took sick on the same day, as he was about to take the
cars for home, with his bride, and he died on the 4th,

ea A woman residing near Terre Haute, to
save her son from the draft, blinded both his eyes by
holding a burning coal to one of them while he slept,
Two other sons had been in the army—one having lost
aleg and the other his life; and sorrow had deranged
her mind.

xa “Three at a birth”—two girls and one boy
—were the last addition to the family of Michael Blue,
residing at Pulaski, Pa. The mother is joyfal; but the
high price of provisions and calico, Michael thinks,
will make his limited purse suffer for this unexpected
attack of the Blues.

aa The high price of paper has caused the
Chicago dailies to advance their subscription price to
twelve dollars a year. The citizens for a long time ex-
pected the advance, and their continued support of the
ee show that they appreciate the justice of the
eman

k@- Sheet iron so thin that nine hundred sheets
laid together would measure but an inch in thickness,
was on exhibition at the St. Louis Sanitary Fair. These
sheets were much thinner than the finest bank note
paper.

ra A young and titled beauty of England has
married a commoner, after she had rejected the pro-
posal of a popular marquis, who is now broken-hearted
because the lady may have preferred worth to wealth or
station.

ka Twenty-three citizens of the town of Wash-
ington, N. H., made the past season 63,136 pounds of
maple sugar, worth $10,000. The largest amount made
by one individual was 4,533 pounds.

a@- The yellow fever is prevalent in Ports-
mouth, N. H. It was brought there by a2 government
vessel, which had about thirty of the crew afflicted, and
the disease has since rapidly increased.

e@- Vultures and eagles abound at present in
the vicinity of the French Pyrenees, and carry off sheep
in great numbers. Recently seven vultures attacked a
stout ram, and in a few minutes he was torn to pieces,

na At one haul of = seine, which was placed in
a pond at the mouth of the Connecticut river, for the
purpose of catching white fish, twenty-one sharks were
captured. ;

aa Near the little Ossipee, in Maine, is an el
thirty feet in circumference, containing a cavity in
which 13 men have stood at one time. It is the largest
in the State.

4a Women dressed as soldiers are said to com-
mit daring robberies in Louisville. They escape de-
tection by resuming their petticoats, .

aa A woman in Ithica, New York, has beer
arrested for poisoning her two daughters by giving
¢hem arsenic,

aa A rattlesnake, six feet nine inches long,
and with twelve rattles, was recently killed in Barling-
ton county, Vermont. ‘ ;

EME SELATAN ISIN RISES CH ST

“War Lerrers oF A DispaNDED VOLUNTEER.”— Bu /\

This is the title of a volume just issued by Freder-
ick A. Brady, of 22 Ann street. It is jus

 

thing to kill time during this hot weather.

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

5X5 ares xo
Sas «

 

 

 

 

 

 

So

RAISE ALOFT THE STARRY
BANNEB!

ANONYMOUS.

 

Raise aloft the starry banner!
Let it still defy the world,

As it hassince Freedom’s children
From our shores their foomen hurled.

Bear it in the front of battle,
Where the bravest ones are seen;

Wo will guard it from our foemen,
Till our life blood dyes the green.

Raise aloft the starry banner,
Which, of old, our fathers bore,

For we’ve hearts as true and loyal
As the nobie men of yore.

Raise aloft the starry banner,
‘Mid the battle’s surging smoke |
Let us see it when we stagger
’Neaih the bloody sabre’s stroke;
Li will cheer ue, as it often
Cheered our fathers in the fight,
When they fought for home and Freedom,
And the cause of Truth and Right.

Raiso aloft the starry banner!

Swear to keep its folds unstained,
And to battle for it proudly,

Till the Union is regained—
Tillits starry folds shall flutter

Proudly on the air once moro,
Over every State it sheltered

In the happy days of yore.

>.4 Gpr a

WINONA:

THE PICTURED ROCKS.
AN INDIAN STORY.

EDITH ELLERY.

 

BY 1178'S

Geology has always been my favorite study,and
hunting my most peasant recreation. I excel in
neither, but both I love. I have conquered the
grizzly bear in his Rocky Mountain fastnesses,and
yoy unerring rifle has slain the buffalo in his West-
ern home, But the timid deer, for whose approach
I was waiting, has often bounded harmlessly by
my side, and disappeared again in the forest, while
{i was too absorbed with some new “‘specimen” to
notice his presence.

No more pleasurable associations live in my
memory than those which cluster around the
“Pictured Rocks of Michigan.” The summer of
183- I passed in this picturesque spot. Game in
abundance and of all kinds filied the forest; while
to the geologist no richer field for exploration
could be offered.

These rocks consist of a series of sandstone
bluffs, extending about five miles along the south-
ern shore of Lake Superior, and are brilliantly
colored, in many different hues, in such a manner
as to represent bands passing around them. The
watersof the lake, which for centuries have dash-
ed their ocean-like surf against their base, have
worn away Many excavations among the rocks,
which at first made me ply my oar vigorously as I
passed the dreaded wall in my frail canoe,

"Twas early in spring, when my love for science
* and adventure combined, brought me hither. It
would be impossible for me to convey to the mind
of the reader any idea of the all-absorbing gran-
deur and beauty of the place, and I will not at-
temptit, At thattime, dread of meeting the hos-
tile Indian had prevented the white man from vis-
iting that region, and but little, consequently, was
known ofthe place. But relying on the superior-
ity of numbers, the whites had erected forts at dif-
ferent points along the shore of the lake; and, as
the Indians might be considered one degree nearer
civilized than they were a hundred years ago, I
apprehended no danger from them if f kept ont of
their sight a3 much as possible, and was carefulto
do nothing to excite their hatred.

So successfully did I accomplish this, that when
four months had passed I had not been seen, to
my knowledge, by a single Indian. Large war-
parties frequently passed the rocks, and some-
time encamped for a few days at its base, but not
knowing a white man was near them they took no
notice of my half-obliterated tracks; and though,
from some place of concealment I frequently
watched their movements, that I might learn
what their intentions were, I was so fortunate ag
not to be observed by them, or it would probably
have cost me my life.

Upon my first arrival at the Pictured Rocks, I
was sadly at a loss to know what sort of a tene-
ment Icould find or build for a shelter from the
rain, It would not doto erect acabin such as
hunters generally occupy, for no spot was ao re-
tired but ihe wily red man would be as apt to find
itasI. The first few nights I slept undera ledge
of rocks, but on the fifth day I chanced to discover
a large hollow tree, nearly eight feet in diameter,
with an opening about three feet high and two
wide near its roots, which I immediately: moved
into, and christened with the name of ‘‘house.”
There [spent day after day wandering through
the woods, and each night returned to my friend-
ly tree,laden with venison or other meat, sufficient
for a sumptuous supper or breakfast.

A detailed account of my life in this region
would be too monotonous to interest the reader,
since every day passed pretty much alike.

I have said that about four months passed
pleasantly away, and no demonstration on the
part of the savages had given me the least cause
for alarm. But this tranquil state of things was
not to continue through the season. One day,
while secreted behind a thick undergrowth of
bushes, three Indians passed me, with their eyes
bent upon the ground. They had not proceeded
but a few rods, when they turned, came back
again, and slowly passed as before,

Their tanguage was, of course, unintelligible to
me, but from their gestures and angry exclama-
tions T understood that my trail had been discov-
ered and followed, but lost sight of near my place
of concealment.

Cautiously examining the priming of my rifle,
and getting my revolvers in readiness, I deter-
mined to sell my life as dearly as possible. But
no occasion for using my weapons presented itself
at the time, for the Indians, failing to discover
any signs of my presence, soon left, muttering
their displeasure in loud, gutteral tones, I waited.
some time after they had disappeared, and then
returned to my tree at the foot of the rocks, keep-
ing my eyes open as I did so, and taking care to
cover my trail as I went.

For a week or two afterwards I only ventured
forth from my hiding-place when it was necessary
to procure game for my subsistence. During
that time I had managed to watch the Indians
sometimes as before, and had come to the con-
clusion that they had abandoned the idea that a
white man was in their vicinity, or else thought
the trail they saw belonged to some chance tray-
eler, who had passed through that locality at the
time.

This conclusion emboldened me to venture forth
oftener and more fearlessly, and but a short time
elapsed ere I had resumed my old habit of wan-
dering through the day in the woods for game, or
climbing the steep and rugged rocks in search of
geologic specimens.

One warm, sultry day in August, I had wan-
dered farther than usual from my “roof tree,”
and so grand was the scenery around me that I
had strolled on mile after mile without noticing
the approach of night, until the sun, bursting
forth from under a, cloud, just before disappear-
ing behind the trees, warned me that the day was
at a close. It was too late to think of returning

that night, and as the sunset was magnificent, I
climbed the highest accessible peak of the rocks,
to have a better view ofits eublimity. And never
was scene more grand! At myright hand lay
the broad, beautiful waters of Lake Superior, re-
flecting the blue sky above, and smooth as a pol-
ished mirror. On my left 1 could gaze for miles
upon an extensive forest, whose broad green tops

£> bore a striking resemblance to an undulating

S} prairie, opulent with verdure. Below and around
me the towering summits of the Pictured Rocks
reared their craggy heads, reflecting a thousand
brilliant hues in the setting sun, while those in

 

 

the shade assumed the appearance of a hundred
grim sentinels, guarding its fortress-like avenues.
Lasked myself, ‘‘What are all the kingdoms of
the world and the glory of them compared with
such a scene as this? When man hag reared pal-
atial dwellings, and sought by art to beautify a

| city, God’s hand but touches the crudest matter

and it becomes infinitely more grand!”

My mind was so engaged by the sublime pano-
rama before me that I bad forgotten my usual
caution. The loud report of a rifle rang sharply
out on the air, and at the same time 1 felt a sting-
ing sensation in my left arm, as I lost my balance
and fell over the side of the rock upon which I was
standing, rolling about twenty feet down its steep
side. I heard the exultant whoop of the savages
as I fell, and comprehended my critical situation
in 2 moment.

The barren rocks offered. no place of conceal-
ment, and wounded and bruised by my fall I
could make no defence, and was about resigning
myself to the fate which threatened me, when a
shelving rock arrested my attention, and upon
closer inspection I found under it a cavity large
enough to cover me while lying down. In the
day time it would have afforded me no protection,
but in the deepening twilight I hoped to escape
observation. The fiendish yell of the savages

| was every moment growing nearer, and throwing

my hat into the lake near which I had fallen,
hoping they might see it and believe that I, too,
had found a watery grave, I crept into my place
of concealment. My heart almost ceased to beat
as a Cozen grim warriors leaped into the depres-
sion of rocks where I lay, and sent up a howl of
mingled rage and disappointment at not finding
their victim as they expected. ‘The moon, burst-
ing forth from a cloud overhead, illumined the

| place, rendering my situation more precarious;

but as I hardly dared to hope, my hat, floating on
the waters attracted their attention, and with an-
other fiendish yell they left the place. My strata-
gem had been successful. My arm bled profuse-
ty, but fortunately no bones were broken. I re-
mained where I was during the night, and the
next morning crawled forth from my hiding place
to search for food. I had gone but a few steps
when I sank down faint and weary among the
rocks. Thelow sound of an Indian ditty, sung
by asweet melodious voice, came borne upon the
morning air. I listened a few moments, the sweet
songstress was coming nearer, but I was too ex-
hausted to rise. Presently she came in sight,
leaping lightly as a gazelle from rock to rock, and
still warbling her sweet, wild song. Her dress
was of some scarlet material, trimmed with the
softestfur. Among her dark heavy braids was
entwined a wreath of wild flowers. She paused
with a halt-suppressed scream, when she saw me
and turned to flee, but checked her steps and
came to my side.

“The white man is wounded,” she said, “and
Winona would be his friend. Her father, the
great ehief, was very cruel, to seek to slay him as
he would a deer. The Indian’s thirst for blood is
great, and they will slay him if they find him.
Will he trust himself to Winona’s care, and she
ee him to her care, and bring him food to
e2 PP)

Knowing as I did that if she wished to betray
me—escape was now impossible—I determined to
act upon her advice. But the doubts which first
arose in my mind were soon dispelled, for I could
as goon have doubted an angel ag the earnest,
truthful eyes of this forest child. She tore my
handkerchief in strips to bandage my arm, and
after eating a few berries which she gathered for
me, I was able with her assistance to descend the
rocks and walk afew rods to the margin of the
lake, where lay moored her light birchen canoe,
half filled with flowers. She stepped into the
canoe, and when I had followed her a few strokes
of her paddle placed us at a safe distance from the
rocky shore.

A short time sufficed to bring us to an opening
in the rocks, which I had never seen before. Wi-
nona turned her canoe in this direction, and
rowed until we came to a small cavity which lay
at ourright. This she also entered, and for a
moment we were in perfect darkness, but I could
discern light ahead, and in a few seconds the ca-
noe touched the floor of Winona’s secret cave, It
was a largeroom, about twonty fect square, s~ *
lighted by a crevice in the rocks overhead, I
spent three weeks in this delightful retreat. At
first Winona visited me daily, staying a few hours
each time at the cave, but her father, the chief,
suspecting that something was wrong, watched
her so closely that sometimes, for days together,
fear of discovery prevented her from coming.
From her I learned that the Indians suspected
that I was yet alive, and somewhere in this vicini-
ty, and were using every means in their power to
discover my secret hiding place. Winona had
ever been a mystery to me. While her tribe
sought to slay me, she had braved their displea-
sure to save my life. One day she showed me a
smalllocket she had always worn since she could
remember, containing two pictures, one a young
man, perhaps twenty-two or three years of age,
the other a lady a few years younger. Shoe be-
lieved the locket to have been taken from some
captive, but I thought I could detect a similarity
in the features and expression of the miniatures
to Winona. I mentioned this to her but she fully
entertained the belief that the chief was her
father.

One night, as I lay watching the moon through
the crevice overhead, I heard the dip of Winona’s
paddle, and in another moment she stood before
me. She had come to tell me that the Indians
suspected a secret cave among the rocks, and
would search for it the next day. My arm was
nearly well, and she proposed that we should
enter her canoes and she would take me to the
shore, and by traveling all night I could place
myself at a distance from immediate danger.

Lf was about complying with her request when a
shrill whoop told us that Winona had been fol-
lowed, and that they had discovered the inlet be-
tween the rocks, where she disappeared from their
sight. Nearer and nearer they came but failed to
discover the entrance to the cave. The concen-
trated yell of twenty demons broke upon the mid-
night air, and above them all was heard the voice
of their chief commanding his braves to return to
their wigwams, saying that on the morrow every
crevice in the rocks should be explored—the pale-
face should be found, and Winona too, shoule die,

The stroke of their paddles died away in the
distance, and all was again still. For the first
time I urged Winona to leave her tribe and accom-
pany me home. She had saved my life—I would
save hera. I told her of Mrs. Wynne, a wealthy
widow lady, who, when my parents died, had
adopted me as her own son, and [ knew for my
sake Winona would be to hera daughter. She con-
sented, and in a few moments we had left the cave
and were on our way. ie

Mrs. Wynne welcomed her boy home again with
a mother’s tenderness, and glanced inquiringly at
my strange companion. I gave her but a few
words of explanation at the time; but that night
when Winona had closed her eyes in slumber f
told her of the wound I had received on the rocks
—of my providential meeting with my preserver—
of her father’s threat that she should die, which
induced her to flee with me, and lastly, of the
locket, and my thoughts regarding it.

Mrs. Wynne left the room,} but presently re-
turned with the locket in her hand. Tears of joy
and sorrow filled her eyes as she told me of what
I had not known before, that the early days of her
wedded life were spent in a frontier settlement—
that one day she had left her little girl with a
friend to go to the nearest village, and had re-
turned in a few hours to find the dead bodies of
her friends scattered around, and their homes
burned to the ground. The miniatures in the
locket were those of herself and husband. I had
placed the lost daughter in her mother’s arms.

Happy years have passed since then, and Wino-
nais now my wife. Twice since our wedding day
we have journeyed to the Pictured Rocks, to gaze
upon the familiar haunts we learned to love that
eventful summer time. The Indian yet lingersin
those Northern woods, but. he dare not slay the
pale-face now, for the white man’s armis stronger
than his own. And I prophesy the time will yet
arrive when the Pictured Rocks will be known as
a pleasant summer resort, as rich in picturesque
scenery as the far-famed White Mountains.

«@

Cuiinpren.—Teach children to love everything
that is beautiful, and you willteach them to be

 

 

useful and good.

 

CRAPE ON THE DOOR.

BY MARY KYLE DALLAS.

“Grape on the door!” Some one says it care-
lessly, as they might, “It is a pleasant day!” or,
‘We shall have a shower!” And you shudder
and turn pale, and looking see the long black
streamers floating out into the sunshine; and the
closed shutters and the stealthily opened door,
from which some one comes forth on tip-toe, as
though the dead friend within could be disturbed
by any noise; and takes his way down the street
with a solemn face, thinking of what he has just
looked at. And you, a stranger, are awed as you
pass by, and fall to wondering who lies within
those walls at rest forever! Perhaps it is the
father and husband; the protector of that pretty
woman and cunning children you have seen at the
windows so often, looking for his coming at even-
tide. You know him by sight—a tall, handsome
man, with a genial smile! Can he be motionless
within his coffin? Are those delicate creatures
left alone injthis cold world? Perhaps he left no
money, no property, and this pretty little home
must be left, and that girl-wife may perhaps be
obliged to toil for bread with her needle; and hard
fare and a home in some garret, will replace the
comforts they now enjoy. Or, it may be the wife
herself, that rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed woman; and
you picture the husband, sitting desolate in the
hushed grief of a strong man, with his mother-
less babes beside him; and you hear them asking
for ‘‘mamma!” and see the great tears in hig
eyes and the drops of agony upon his brow. His
home lies dead with that beautiful wife of his,

and the little household will be no more; the chil- |

dren must he put to board with strangers, and a
lonely life at some hotel or boarding house lies
before him if that little wife is dead.

Then you think again you have heard of a sol-
dier brother absent at the seat of war. Perhaps
it is his form which lies in shrouded silence with-
in those walls; and in fancy you can see the sister
weeping over him, and the old mother and father
come from their farm-house, miles away, quite
broken down with grief. And in the darkened
parlor, a young girl, on whose finger a betrothal
ring glistens, and who was to have been that sol-
dier’s wife if he had lived a few weeks longer.
Setting at your window watching the darkened
house, imagination paints many a sad picture,
and though she may not lead you aright, you
know at least that there are broken hearts wherey-
er there is crape on the door.

“‘Crape on the door!” Probably, if you are not
blest beyond most mortals, you know just what
that means. You have felt the cold sinking of
the heart, after the first wild burst of grief and
the hushed bustle of the sad preparations for the
lagi sceno are over. You know what it is to goon
tip-toe into the darkened room, and look with
burning eyes at that still something covered with
white linen, lying on the unwrinkled couch; to
stand gazing and thinking until you are nearly
mad, and fancy a motion under the white drapery;
to lift it tremblingly, and see the same white,
marble face, with its closed lids; to touch the fore-
head and start at its coldness; to moan to your-
self, “Those arms will never fold me more—those
lips will never touch mine; there is no voice to an-
swer me—all the hope and love is over;” to cover
up the face that is not and yet is that you have
known so long, and to kneel there praying and
saying strange, wild things until some one coaxes
you away; to find all the house so different from
its wont; to dread most of all the room where the
dress-maker stitches on black garments, and to
wonder what she means when she comes tip-toe
to your chamber door to ask whether, “‘as the
family are in such grief, it wouldn’t be better to
havo three folds of crape on the skirts of all the
dresses;” to ‘‘lie down,” in obedience to the ad-
vice given you, and from sheer exhaustion fail
asleep, and start awake in a few minutes with a
terrible realization of the dreadful truth; to go
stealing down to that room again as though your
lost one were there; to feel he is gone as soon as
your eyes rest on that white-shrouded casket,
where his soul was the day before!

Then friends come—well meaning, sympathiz-
ing; but they feel so differently from you, and
they ask the usual questions, and utter the cus-
tomary commonplaces, and you stand by them
and look, and do noi weep, for you seem freezing
from the soul out. Then, sitting near the open
window, staring at vacancy, you hear children in
the street going home from school call to each
other, ‘“There’s crape on the door,” and know
they mean your own.

“Orape on the door!” Ah, me! there’s craps
on everything to your eyes—crape over your
heart, over all the long future. Many and many
a day after the black hearse has rolled away with
its sad burden, after the black knobs are untied
from your bell-handle—when household work
goes on again as usual, and shutters are open,
and to others the house is what it was before—
that gloom will lie within, and voices will sound
strangely, and cheeks look pale, and there will be
one room unused tidily put in order, with gar-
ments folded in its bureau drawers, and a watch
anda ring or two in a little casket, a book, with
its marker lying where the pages were closed for
the last time, and other memorials of a life that
faded out there; and no one senters the door of
that room all day, though sometimes in the night
you unlock it and creep in, and weep over the
relics of past hopes and fears buried in the grave
with your lost one.

No one is ever quite the same, no household is
ever just what it used to be, after crape has once
fluttered from the door, Evenif it is only for'a
little baby—a tiny thing that hardly knew you—it
brings grief enough to last a life-time. There is
not a sadder sentence in the English language
than tho oft-repeated one, ““There’s crape on the
door.

THE DRY GOODS CLERKS.

The clerks in retail dry goods stores in this
city are making efforts to secure an increase
of salary. Although the dry goods business
was never more profitable than it is at present,
few of the dealers have advanced the salaries
of their employees. It is well known that dry
goods clerks are compelled to dress well, and
are on duty from twelve to fourteen hours per
day; and yet, as a class, they are poorer paid
than any clerks employed in other stores, al-
though performing similar duties. We know
of no reason why dealers should refuse to ac-
cede tothe just demands of their clerks. All
they ask is an advance commensurate with the
enhanced value of every article of consump-
tion; and as aclerkis expected to be neat in
his appearance, surely the employer should
allow him sufficient salary to do so without
curtailing his share of other necessaries.

<> (QO <—

 

{® To discover the whereabouts of some
rebel masked batteries, Shermantresorted to an
ingenious practical joke. The railroad track
stretched past a part of our front, and down
close to the rebel line, which it skirted for
some distance. Sherman started alocomotive
down the track at full speed toward the right.
They heard the shrill shriek, saw it with
amazement come tearing down toward their
breastworks, and suspecting they did not
know what trick, at last, unable to holdin any
longer, blazed away with their whole line of
batteries at the mysterious monster. That
was all Sherman wanted.

a

{@ The President, wishing to make some-
thing out of his private secretary, sends him to
Niagara. Seward objects, but old Aba replies
that he must make Hay while the sun shines.

 

PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS.

—If itistrue that a man becomes purified
by affliction, we think an editor should be
avery immaculate person. Among the many
afflictions he has to encounter, one of the
greatest is to be compelled, out of courtesy, to
receive the visits of that class of people, who,
from the frequency and length of their calls,
and the uninteresting nature of their conver-
sation, are termed ‘“‘bores.” Presuming upon
a slight acquaintance, they drop in at the most
inopportune moments, and occupy the time of
the editor, who is compelled to listen, perhaps
for an hour at a time, to the senseless twaddle
of a man who talks just ‘“‘to pass away the
time,” giving vent to ideas and suggestions
that are only wonderful because of their im-
practicability. But editors are not the only
persons afflicted by these individuals; and if
proof were needed of this fact, we have only to
refer to the communication of an esteemed
contributor, ‘George W. West,” who gives us
a lucid delineation of the peculiarities of

THE “BORE.”

*Oh, he’s as tedious
As isa tired horse, a railing wife;
Worse than asmoky house. Ihad rather live
With cheese and garlic, in a wind-mill,
Than feed on cakes, and have him talk tome,
In any summer-house in Christendom,”’—Shaks,

The good and bad things of earth are strangely min-
gled together, and you cannot ghave either separately.
Agreeable friends are blessings; but one cannot form
acquaintances without contracting some sori of allian-
ces with those who are especially disagreeable. For
what purpose bores were created, it would be difficult to
determine; perhaps to teacb us patience and forbear.
ace.

It certainly requires as much patience to remain cool
under the influence of dullnessas for anything else in
lite; and to be able to forbear, when you feel tempted
to kick stupidity out of your presence, is a virtue in-
deed,

There are two leading classes of bores—the talkative
and taciturn. Heaven help you when you are victim-
ized by one of the first-named class! He deluges you
with words; he inflicts allthe scandal and news upon
you, while you look like Resignation hugging @ whip-
ping post. You feel irritated awhile, and then sick. He
has tongue enough for both, and only requires that you
resolve yourself into a horrible deformity by becoming
allear ! You gape, and show symptoms of sleep !

He doesn’t care; you may siesp on, dislocate your
jaws by yawning, if you please. He is one ofthe emis-
garies of fate, sent on earth to punish, and he means to
fuifil the purposes of his destiny. Tuereis no getting
clear of his noise; and you may as well be as compla-
cent ag you can, and regard his tongue as the scourge
which inflicts chastisement for past sin.

Again ataciturn bore dropsinto your presence. You
talk first on one subject and then on some other; but
instead of showing interest he looks as if his leaden
eyelid would fall in spite of your efforis. You think
the fellow a fool, and can scarcely resist the propensity
to enlighten him in regardjto himself by telling him so.
You look “‘anutterable things” at him, but you cannot
stir him up. Your heart sinks within you, and for a
moment you look the model of a statue of despair. You
ask him to read the morning paper, but ‘‘he is tired to
death of politics;”? you offer him a book, and he fum-
bles it listlessly for a moment, and putsit dewn. Your
agony becomes excruciating; your friend looks like the
impersonation of the nightmare, and clings to you, as
the™*Old Man of the Sea’’ clung to Sinbad.

“The present age” is the ageof bores. Noskill can
avoid them, Like the enemy of your soul’s salvation
they go about seeking whom they may destroy. They
infest every society. and their name is legion, Ifyou
were to seek acave in some far-off mountain they would
find you out; or if, in despair, you should drown your-
self in the sea, the ghost of some “‘bore’”’ would be sure
to rise with yours from the waters, and torture your
“shade” on its way to “kingdom come,.’? Whether you
sit down, lie down, read, write, or reflect, you must be
annoyed by the presentiment of bores and coming evil,
Your apprehensions are ceaseless, and you momenta-
rily ex8ect the Philistines will be upon you—Philis-
tines who wielded the weapon that was fatal to their an-
cestors of old.

— The greatest of all bores, we think, is the
man that can talk upon but one subject. ....
Here is a case of that kind, furnished by a
lady signing herself, ‘“‘Susie Hargrave;’ and
we think our readers will agree with us when
we say that the writer made the acquaintance
of a blockhead when she was introduced to

THE MAN MADE OF SHINGLES.

Mr. Eprror—I just want to tell you how I treated a
young man whose acquaintance I recently formed. He
was in company with a male friend, an old acquaint-
ance of mine, and the latter introduced him to me at
my residence. My new acquaintance is named Robert
Weston, and is engaged as clerk to a lumber merchant,
who in the course of his business deals largely in shin-
gies. Mr. Weston’s intellectual capacities are not of
the highest order—he is afflicted with “shingles on the
brain.’’ The only topic he can talk about is shingles.
No matter what subject would be introduced, he was
certain to adroitly turn ic to shingles. In referring to
the poetry of Byron, I remarked how smooth his
poems read, ‘Just so,’”? Mr. Weston remarked; ‘the
writings of Byron are as smooth as shingles, and the
lines come together as nicely as packed ‘square ends.’ ””
This last term, I believe, refers to a peculiar kind of
shingles. It happened to be a beautiful moonlight
night, and when [ incidentally alluded to this fact, Mr.
Weston echoed my remark, saying, ‘‘Beautiful! But,
Miss Hargrave, did you ever notice how splendidly the
moon shines on- a newly-shingled roof? The roof of
our house is made of shingles, and I frequently go out
on it when the moon shines, the light is reflected so
beautifully from the shingles. But, by the way, do
you know, Miss Hargrave, that the government tax on
shingles is excessive? It will certainly ruin the busi-
ness. I know two or three firms that meditate a sus-
pension. The idea of such a heavy tax on shin-
gles—a domestic article like shingles!” Wishing
to change the subject, I alluded to our army in Geor-
gia, and the prospects of our sutcess, as I have a
brother in Sherman's army. ‘‘Sherman is advancing
slowly, but surely,” he said; ‘and I think will be suc-
cessful. But what an opening there is in that locality
for a man in our business—-the lumber business. Only
think of the forests our soldiers cut down as they ad-
vance. Now ifa man were to go down there and start
a saw mill, with machinery for turning the lumber into
shingles, it would not take him long to make a fortune.
The shingle business is very profitable,—-or, at least it
was before the late government tax was put on them,
But by following the army, he could get his lumber for
nothing, and the cost of manufacturing the shingles
would be comparatively trifling.” Having no desire to
be further enlightened concerning the lumber busi-
ness, I said, ‘‘Mr. Weston, I think your head is well
adapted for the luraber business; your mind is a store-
house of shingles; and although you ‘may have a heart
of oak, I think you would pine were you told that there
are few persons who delight in converging upon such
an intellectual subject as shingies.’? This had the de-
sired effect, and Mr. Westor relapsed into a state of
taciturnity which continued until his companion hint-
ed that it was time to depart. Since that evening I
have not been favored with a visit from the man made
of shingles,

—If that young man had his way, he’d make
shingles a legal tender; and if he ever gets
married, he'll be sure to board his wife by diet-
ing her on the same articles. We suppose
‘Susie’? was so much dvored by his first visit,
that she does not desire a second call........A
second visit from a troublesome urchin was
not desired by the lady alluded to in the an-
nexed incident, which is related by ‘Joseph
B. Moore,” and refers to a female who was

NOT MUCH ONFIGURES.

“Smith, you know dat ole lady what keeps de cookey-
etand, doesn’t you?’ ‘Oh, yes, Bones, I knows her.”
‘Weil, Sam Snodgrass weut up to her stand yesterday,
and says: ‘Old lady, how does you sell oranges?’ ‘Five
cents.’ ‘Well,’ said Sam, takin’ up an’ turnin’ it ober
in his hand ‘how do you sell dis cake?’ ‘De same
price.’ Sam ses, ‘’Spose I gib you back de orange and
take de cake?’ ‘Berry well,’ was the reply. ‘Is dis
pie five cents, too?’ “Yes.’ ‘Well,’ sed Sam, ‘I tink
T’ll take dis pie arter all, instead ob do cake.’ At de
same time he sed, ‘What do you ax fer cider?’ ‘Five
cents a glass.’ Sam ses, ‘Take de pie back an’ gib me
a glass of it. De ole woman filled a glass an’ handed
itto Sam. Arter swallowin’ de sume, an’ smackin’ his
lips wid great gusto, he walked deliberately of, when
he was arrested by the ole lady, who ses, ‘Piease mis-
ter, you habn’t paid me for de cider.’ Sam replied

berry coolly, ‘What should I pay for?’ ‘Why, de cider
to be sure.’ Sam ses, ‘Didn’tI gib you de pie for it?’
‘Yes, but you didn’t pay for de pie.’ ‘Berry well, I ex-
changed de cake for it.’ ‘Yes, but you habn’t paid for
dat.’ ‘Well, I gib you de orange for it.’ ‘Well, de
orange is five cents.’ Sam ses, ‘Why should I pay for
dat? Ididn’t eat it, did I?? ‘No matter,’ sed de ole
woman, ‘no matter; dar’s a mistake somewhar, but I
can’t see it, Ineber was much on figures. You needn’t
eall agin.”

— The old lady’s ideas were somewhat mud-

dled, although Sam tried to make the honesty
of the transaction appear “ag clear as mud.”

sees And this suggests the communication of
our friend ‘‘Pickwick,’’ who says that in con-
sequence of the state of the weather, and the
shocking condition of the streets in the locality
where he resides, his most appropriate subject
is

MUD—MuD—MuD !

Mud is a noun—the name of a thing—third person,
Singular or plural number, with any variety of cases—
hard, flat, soft, hab,.and last, though not least, the
mire case. It is derived from rain-water and dirt, and
agrees with nobody, butis extremely consistent with
everything disagreeable. It is found principally out of
doors, but nevertheless is not wholly wn-domesticated;
as the appearance of in-doors at certain seasons of the
year will testity--aided with the quiet (?) gentle! wit-
ness of certain housewives. Its principai uses are to
vex the ladies, maintain any quantity of itinerant boot-
blacks, and retrograde the movements of the army of
the Potomac; and the last-named characteristic stamps
the filthy compound as traitorous in the extreme, tor
its deleterious effects in hampering and deferring our
national military successes, forcibly reminds one of the
co-workers with disunion, of the element of discord
and preventitive of unity now rampant—Copperhead-
ism. Inits most abundant state it readily yields to
the ‘‘pressure of the times,” and its most prominont
organ is adhesiveness—in fact, in that lies at once its
glory and its shame. It assumes a superlative degree
in most instances, besides constituting the superlative
degree of happiness to little mud-digging, pancake-
rolling, pie-making urchins; and to this implication the
writer, ‘once on a time,’? had the weakness to plead
guilty. But thereby hangs a tale, of whichitis suffi-
cient to say that Dr. Birch played a somewhat impor-
tant and by far the most striking part on that untortu-
nate occasion. Mrs. Partington, upon being informed
by Ike that “the scholarsin his school must ali write
on mud,’’ with the utmost consternation expressed in
her usually placid features, exclaimed, ‘‘Law! Sakes
alive! whatis this world a-comin’ tew? Neow, when I
went to schule in the little stun schule house, we all on
us used to write on paper; but I dew suppose that
takin’ into consternation the ravages of them terrible
bears on the Walled streets, and from the latest devices
of the submarine railroad, the price of paper rags must
have riz terribly. But what a dirty time on’t there
will be, though!’’ and glancing out of the window,
where Ike was, arms and legs ina mud-puddle, the old
jady sighed ag she sympathetically remarked, ‘‘Dear
studious boy! he’s gohe right away to gittin’ up his
composition on mud,”

— We suppose Ike’s ‘‘composition” was a
mud pie....... ‘Frank M. Cox” is, as usual,
communicative, and informs us

WHERE THE ‘‘SMILE” CAME IN.

An old toper,who was in the habit of lounging around
the village tavern, was sitting in the bar-room, waiting
for some one to ask him up to drink, when a country-
man came in and tookadram, On taking the change
from his pocket to pay for it, he dropped some small
silver coins and a button on the floor. The button and
a dime rolled to the feet of the toper, who, putting his
foot on the dime, picked up the button, handing it to
the owner, saying, ‘‘Here’s your button,” and sat down
again as composed as if nothing had happened. Those
standing around, who saw the trick, laughed; but it was
not until the countryman had gone that the toper ven-
tured to ‘‘smile,”

—A few more ‘‘gmiles’’ will be occasioned
by the following string of

GRINLETS.

_Squiecins asks us the difference between the an-
cients and the moderns? The ancients wrned their
dead, while the moderns earn their living !

THE lap of luxury—A cat enjoying her milk,

Wuy ought acarpenter never to allow himself to be
chiseiled out of his dinner? Because he can always chop
a stake (steak) out of apiece of wood, or lay his hanus
on a saw’s edge (sausage) at a moment’s notice,

iy amad-man is called a man-iac, should a mad-
woman be called a woman-iac ?

sw, H. M.” on hearing it remarked thatthe Robel
General Lse was & slippery customer, said he believed
it, for if turned completely around he becomes an
Sseel,’?

OnE ofthe strangest incidents of the war—one hound
carrying another—the Deerhound carrying Semmes to
Southampton.
eee kind of gloves are like young niggers? Black

ids.

Wy cannot a lady reasonably object toa gentleman
putting his arm around her waist to supporther? Be-
cause it’s treating her in a prop-her manner.

{A NEWLY-FLEDGED parent, who has undoubtedly been
too curiously impertinent in domestic matters, asks,
‘‘Can putting a clean shirt on a baby be properly called
shifting the responsibility 2?’

An infanticide case happened in New York last week,
when the doctor who conducted the post-mortem ex-
amination, ‘‘failed to discover whether or not the child
was living at the time of its death !’’

Way did a fat fellow, who was very much squeezed
going into the opera-house, become very compiiment-
ary to the ladies? Because the pressure made him
flatter !

A WEATHER ItEM.—The court was called. There was
acioud upon the brow of the judge. Silence raincd.
William Mulligan was hatled, but William was mist. Ine
judge thundered. The prosecuting attorney stormed.
ee jury’s labors lightened--William Mulligan had miz-
zled ! 5

A LITTLE boy, on coming home from church, where
he had seen a person work the bellows of the organ,
said to his mother, ‘‘Oh, mamma, I wish you had been
at church to-day! Such fun! A man-pumped music
out of an old cupboard !”

To P. P. ConrRisurors.—Josephine R.--We are much
pleased with your last effort, which is a marked im-
provement on your previous compositions. Ifyou per-
severe you will certainly succeed.......H. M.---'*ihe
Three Rowdies” appeared in No. 39 of the last volume.
-s---eLh6 following articles are accepted: ‘‘Deacon B.
and Mr. M.;” ‘Be Easy:” ‘‘Newsboys on a Strike.’’...
“The Way he was Cured”’ has appeared in print. :

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Gossip with READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Frank Arlington.—Send the firat of the series of papers
which you purpose writing at your earliest conveni-

ence. Room with usis important. You will theretore
do well to take multum in parvo as your moitto—give the
largest amount of knowledge in the smallest possible
space. An illustration occasionally, if not too large,
will not be objectionable. Wecan tell better how we
like the matter after we have read the first number.
C. H.—There is not much to choose between
your prose and poetry—you write both well, although
the former is the most saleable. Candor compeis us to
gay, however, that writing for a livelihood is, in this
country, an up-hill business. A writer of established
reputation finds it a hard matter to get along e:mfort-
ably; and anew beginner has the slightest possible
chance. The reason of this is, that in this country edu-
cation is universal, and almost everytody has a desire
torush intoprint. With literature, a8 with everything
else, the price of the article is regulated by supply and
demand, and as it happens to be @ drog in
the market it is, of course, very unsaleable. We
would not advise anybody to take to literature
with a view. of living by such labor alone. .....,
E, Ella Lessig.—Like most persons possessing real tal-
ent you are modest almostto a fault, Weare not atraid
to praise you, for we do not think praise will spoil you,
aud it is not too much to say that you are fairly enti-
tied to rank among the first class of amateur writers.
The sketch yousend us is beautifully conceived and as
beautifully written. We shall be glad to hear f.om you
again, and in the meantime -your proposition 1s cheer-
fully accepted..... .J. &. S.— We do not believe in mar-
riage between parties connected by the ties of conran-
guinity, however distant the relationship, although a
marriage between second cousins may not be atiended
by any serious results......4da.—We will see to it....
M. Edessa Wynne.—There is a letter for you at tuis
office.....-koyal True.—The sketch you allude to w.8
published in last week’s issue......Bella French.— We
will preserve the MS., and if we can we wiil use it at
some time in the future. This is the only promise we
can make......Fred Vernon.—Your jast sketch is a
peautiful one. Thanks for good opinion and kind
wishes.....- The following MSS. are received aud ac-
cepted; ‘‘Curiosity;’? “In the Gloom;” ‘dennis Con-
way;’’ “The Angel of Sleep;’’ -‘Bertha;’’ “The Sewing
Party;’? ““November;’’ ‘“‘The Vampyre’s Feast;’’ “Her-
bert Hayden;” ‘‘Five or Six Years;’’ ‘fA Scene Behind
the Curtains.’’...... Tne tollowing are respectfully de-
clined: ‘Summer; ‘Died at Petersburgh;” “Whu

 

Wants a Wife.’’