£850@0W |

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YY OPE POT OLE

 

 

 

 

“Vol XIX.

STREET & SMITH,
No. il Frankfort St.

NEW YORK, MARCH 10, 1864.

=

 

ANSWER TO PRAYER.
BY MRS, SARAH A, WATSON.

There was no earthly hand with power
To tako my grief away;
I said, “I cannot let thee go—
O, listen, while I pray.’
All the long day my heart sent up
Tis pleading voice on high,
And the dark midnight watches bent
To listen to my cry.
Borno on the breath of that wild prayer,
My spirit touched thy throne,
And my veiled eyes thy glory felt,
O, High and Holy One. :
O, can earth’s follies ever fold
Thoir glittering charms o’er me,
And ever cause me to forget
How néar I’ve been to thea?
I bless thes, O my Father, and
I glority thy name;
Thy loving kindness and thy truth
Are evermore the same,
Pocr erring mortals, all thy love
And kindness will not see;
Bui when no earthly hand can help,
How soon we fly to thee!
I bless thee, O my Father, and
‘I glorify thy name;
Tay loving kindness and thy trath
Are ever more the same.

<B> +> «~<a

oe Is

ONE-ARHED TRAPPER:

The Heroine of the Prairie.

 

BY WILLIAM H. BUSHNELI,

fathor of ‘Bartha,’ ‘Left Alone,’ “The Eloating
Feather,’ ‘Estelle, the Vivandiere,”’ “The
Outlaws of the Wabash,’’ etc.

‘¢ PIRES Bee wi eee
CHAPTER I.

THE CAMP IN THE SNOW—FUN-- THE ALARM.

‘Ugh! how it snows!” exclaimed a stal-
wart trapper, as he came from the thick woods
into the semi-open spot where his companions
had built a warm fife, and threw the peltries
ke had recently gathered upon the ground,

A single glance would have satisfied any one
that he was aremarkable man. Extraordina-
vily sinewed for one of his heighth, with a

_ gaunt frame; eyes black and sharp, and ren-
dered still more strikingly so from the extreme
whiteness of his hair. His age might have
been fifty, but his features plowed and wrinkled
by exposure, and completely weather-bronzed,
gave but.littlé clue to it. Yet these things
would’not have served to fasten the eye upon

im, had it not been that he was one-armed,
for accident had deprived him of the right one,
and the stump, but a few inches long, made
him a marked object, especially to strangers,
who saw him with his rifle, and followed by
his dog ‘‘Terror.” How he could load and fire
with the astonishing quickness and accuracy
he did, was a marvel, even to those who were
his companions,

‘Snows, does it?’ queried an Irishman—
Tom Burke by name—who was ever the fore-

» most either for good or ill. ‘Be me sowl, but

ye may say that same, and niver till the ghost
uv a lie either.”

“I never saw it snow harder,” replied the
trapper, ‘“‘since—”’ and a convulsive shudder
s2ook his iron form.

‘Since when? How the divil kin the likes
uv us be gessin ?’*-

“Since the night I lost the best right arm on
the frontier, and gained my name.”

‘‘Dat ob Ole Bruin?” asked anegro—for all
were equals there—true manhood and skill
alone creating superiority,

“You're right, Sambo.’’

‘Be jabers, but yees niver tould us about
that same,” said Burke.

“It’s a short story, Patlander. An old she
bear—a devilish, roaring savage from the
mountains, and I, had a bit. of a skrimmage,
and I lost my arm, and—that’s all.”

‘“‘And the brute? Bedad, what became ny
it?”

“Lost her life. But how about the traps?
What uck, men?”

‘Tell us about the bar fight fust, will yees?”’

“NotI Some day when I take to bragging
you may hear it, though it don’t amount too
much. What luck did you have, Tom? You
speak first, and get over with your blarney, so
that the rest may have a chance.”

“Divil better luck in my life.”

“De Trisher coched a skunk!” broke in the
negro, with an extensive display of red lips

Hy and ivory.

5 ‘Well, if I did, he wasn’t half as black, or
y smelt half as strong as yees do, ye infernal
aigger!”

$2 50 PER YEAR,
Invariably in Advance.

 

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

“DIM! BIM! SHOUTED THENEGRO BURSTING THROUGH ALL RESTRAINTS

 

“But, Tom,” interposed the trapper, in
order to keep peace, ‘‘what did you do with
the hide ?” :
‘Hide? Arrah now, an’ be done wid yer
jokin’, avid I'll tell yees how if was. Yer see,
the brute threw dust in the eyes uv my dorg
and oe

“Dust!” fairly screamed the negro, rolling
over and over, asif to thus give vent to his
feelings. ‘By golly! you call that dust?’
“Be still, yer spalpeen. Yer know, Mr.
Brain; that my dorg Whiskey is as brave as a

“Skunk!” agajn interrupted the negro.

“As von pole— pole him, you call de pele
cat,’’ said a Frenchman.

‘Let Tom tell his story,” commanded Old
Bruin, as he began to partake of the supper
the negro had provided.

* “Well, then,” replied the Itishman, rejoic-

‘The ugly brute scratched and clawed, arid
threw the dust into my eyes, so that I couldn’t
get hold of him to knock the breath out of his
ugly carcass. My dorg ran in, and was about
to catch him by the scuff of his neck, and I
tell yees it would have been short work he
would have made of him, when ——”

‘Bim! bim!” shouted the darkey, bursting
through all restrainst, ‘the ‘famery flew, and
Whiskey he cut and run as if the very debbil
himself was arter him !”’

‘Well, there is neither honor, pleasure, nor
profit in fighting such brutes,” replied Bruin;
‘and so we'll talk of something else.”

‘“T killed him, though,” persisted Tom.

‘Ts that all you found in the traps?”’

‘No, a couple of beaver.’’

“Andvyou, Pierre ?”

Each one now exhibited the prizes they had
obtained—al with self-landation, except an
Indian, who silently laid his before the old
trapper, and then lighting his pipe relapsed
into the usual stoical indifference of his race.
But the “irrepressible” negro was mot easily to
be persuaded to desist in his mirth at the ex-
pense of the son of the Emerald Isle, and con-
stantly kept the subject of his misfortune with
regard to game, ventilating.

‘Took heah, Pat,’ he said, ‘what your
dorg bin gon and dun!’’ and he dragged the
ungainly and unwilling cur into the circle.

“Bo the piper that played before Moses!”
exclaimed the more than indignant Tom
Burke, “‘who did that ?”

“De dorg been gone and dun it hisself!’’
laughed the negro.

“You lie, you black imp of Satan!’’

But the owner of the cur could not refrain
from a smile as he looked upon its grotesque
appearance.

Even the Indien, “Whirling Wind,” shook
with silent faughter, but uttered no sound,
while the Frenchman gave full yent to his
glee, and Old Bruin enjoyed the scene hugely.

Somebody had decorated Whiskey in the skin

 

of the defunct poleoat—the ears supplied the

ing that the way was at last clear for his yarn.

 

 

place of the ones he had been deprived of—the
tail, that which had been cwr-tailed ofits once fair
proportions, while the remainder of the spotted
skin was sewed around the long, gaunt body
so as to resemble a saddle-blanket. What the
effect of this change upon the uxcouth animal
was can readily be imagined, and the shout
that went up at his first appearance upon any
stage, dressed in character, woke many a bird
from its early slumbers.

“Sacre! but him be de vera ghost of what
you call de pole eat,” laughed the Frenchman,
as Tom vainly endeavored to catch his dis-
guised dog, soas to strip off his too fanciful
adornings.

‘‘What for you no let him alone?” asked the
negro.

“T'll tache yees, tye ketile black niggar!” ex-
claimed Burke.

: ‘He be von hyena in de wilds of America!”
replied Pierre.

‘Here Whiskey—here dog,” called and
whistled Tom. :

‘Get out, you brute!” screamed Pete.

‘Here Whiskey, here; that’s a good dog.”

‘Take him away! He smell like forty
thousand leeks. boiled down,”’ retorted the
Frenchman.

‘Here Whiskey.”

“Get out!”

‘Take him away!’*

And thus thé calls and shouts continued un-
til the dog of Old Bruin, not recognizing his
four-footed companion, very unceremoniously
caught him and shook him as if he had been
a rat. The old trapper relieved the unfor-
tunate brute from the sharp teeth and massive
jaws, and handed him over to’his master, and
once more the camp became comparatively
quiet,

But such moments of calm were ever indi-
cations of a coming storm in that company of
jovial, free hearted trappers, and again and
again tricks were played upon each other, cre-
ating both mirth and disturbance, until Old
Bruin, withdrew from the fire to the rude
shantee in which they slept, and by so doing
gave the signal that the hour of rest had ar-
rived. With his foot upon the very threshold
he paused, when a shriek, wild, piercing, un-

‘natural, rang upon the ears of all, and caused

the blood for a moment to stop its pulsations
through the azure channels and curdle around
the citadel of life—the heart!

epee

CHAPTER IL
THE RED AND THE WHITZ—A TERRIBLE SITUATION.

Many miles distant from where the trappers
had pitched their camp the nomadic Siowx had
their home, and were fully prepared to abide
through the long season of cold and storms.

In one of the numerous wWigwams, more
pretentious and earefully built than the others,
were seated two girls of about the same age,
and dressed in the same manner, but very far

 

different in both race and complexion. One,
and the taller of the twain was deep olive—
copper colored—and bore all the marks of her
Indian parentage, while the other was fair as
the fruit of the wax berry. The eyes and hair
of the daughter of the Sioux was black as the
midnight thunder cloud, and shone in strange
contrast to the light blue of the one‘ and the
deep chesnut of the other that belonged to the
descendant of the white race. In the texture
of the skin, as well as in the moulding of the
limbs, which their savage dress displayed to
full advantage, there was also a marked differ-
ence, those of the squaw being sinewy, and
those of the pale face girl soft and exquisitely
fashioned. Still both were beautiful after the
fashion and taste of their different races, and
while Wassamo, the Fire Plume of the Sioux,
was gifted with all that would have been prized
by a red warrior, Seegwun, the Spring Spirit,
as the white girl had been poetically named,
would have been equally so in the eyes of the
white hunters.

She had been captured early in life, and had
resided as an adopted daughter of ‘the chief,
with the Indians, since that time. Now, al-
though she had passed nineteen years of sun-
shine and tempest, she yet vividly retained the
recollections of the former days, and often
longed secretly to bo again among her own
race. Secretly, for to none save the Fire
Plume, dare she betray that longing. In her,
however, she had a firm friend, who not only
sympathized, but had often promised to assist
her to escape. a

It was of this subject they discoursed while
seated by the fire in their wigwam, while the
storm whistled without, and the snow wreaths
whirled like a new-shorn fleece around,

“Spirit,” for so the Indian girl commonly
called her fairer sister, ‘how many winters
have passed sincé you came to dwell among
the children of the prairie?”

‘Hight years—eight winters.”

The Indian girl slowly counted them on her
fingers, and paused for some moments in deep
thought before she continued,

‘And you have not forgotten the little
cradle in which you rocked, when the moons

of your life were few as the leaves on the oak |

in the winter time?”

‘Remember? Have I forgotten the lan-
guage of my fathers or the songs my mother
sung me, although she early was taken from
earth? Remember? Oh, how dear to me
their memory is! Alas! shall I ever seethem
again—ever see the face of my father—ever
dwell among my people?’ «

“It is not many days to where the white
man sets his traps for beaver.’’

“True; butI.am a prisoner here. Even your
father, kind as he has been, could not save
me if I was found attempting to escape.”

‘The arm of Ching-wau-konce is mighty as
the oak of the mountains, but he must not
break the laws of the tribe that made him their
chief,”

‘Then he is called ‘The White Pine’ to lit
tle purpose. But why te me that the trap-
pers are not many days’ travel from here?”

‘When the maidens of the paleface are not
strong enough to protect themselves are there
none to whom they look for help ?”’

‘‘Certainly —to parents, to friends,”

‘‘Are there none. such among the wigwams
of the red man?”

“None for me, except you —you only.”

‘‘Wassamo never forgets that she is a sister
to the Spirit.”

‘“‘And you would go to the white men—yon
would—hbut, alas, you cannot! Even if you
could unmolested by your tribe, the snew
would bar your way.”

‘‘Wassamo fears not the snow. The good
Manitou guards his children alike in the
storm as in the sunshine,”’

“True; but ae

“Through the many moons that have passed
since the Spirit first eame like a flower in the
soft spring-time, to cheer and bless the wig-
wam of Ching-wau-konee, through the freez-
ing winters and burning summers, Wassame
has cherished ia her heart but one thought—”’

“And that was?”

*'To see the Spirit again among her people.”

‘Thanks, thanks; but——”

‘The moccasin of the warriors of the Sioux
when once pointed on a trail turn not aside
for danger. As it is with the young men, even
80 it is with the Fire Plume.”

‘‘And you willgo and give the trappers news
concerning me, and urge them to purchase
my freedom or 2

“Die |”

The rustling of the skin covering of the
lodge put an end to their whispered conver-
sation, and the entrance of the chief of the
tribe—the White Pine—denied them the op-
portunity of renewing it.

To sleep and pleasant dreams sank the
white girl, and when she awoke with the light
of another day, she little imagined that the
lips of her Indian companion had been presg-
ed to her own while sleeping, and that amid
snow and darkness she had departed on her
dangerous mission.

It was near the noon of night when Wassa-
mo knelt in silence by the- sleeping form of
the white girl—took from the cherry lips a
parting kiss, breathed a prayer to the great
and good Manitou, drew her blankets more
closely around her, and departed. With the
cunning of her race she was fully aware that
she would be speedily followed, but the same
cunning had also taught her that the snow
would completely obliterate «her footsteps.
Still she was not strong enough to distance
those who would follow, and stratagem could
alone secure the success of her plans.

In a deep cave in the rocks she hid herself
with the light of morning, and rested through
the day. But when the earth was again veiled
with the ebon hangings that night throws over
the blazing sun, she cautiously emerged, and

| guided by the stars alone, pursued her journey.

The day and nighi that followed she sped
on, and the next was given to rest, for her
task had been a hard one, even for one forest-
trained as she had been. The wading through
the snow drifts had saturated her garments
and chilled her limbs, and the repose she thus
gained, although her fiery soul chafed at the
delay, was absolutely necessary. Refreshed,
and with new courage and hope, she again set
out, and was able to pick her way and rapidly
put miles behind her. :

Another night of rest, another day of travel,
and she knew she was near the end of her
wearysome journey. A few hours in the morn-
ing, perchance minutes, would suffice, for she
could already hear the surging anthem of the
mighty Mississippi.

A hollow in a huge tree was a fit place for
her to woo the falling of the poppy leaves--to
court the benumbing mesmerism of the God of
dreamy slumber. A searching glance upon
the ground around, frozen, but destitute of
snow, revealed no footprints of either man or
beast, and when her frugal meal of dried veni-
son and parched corn was finished, she craftily
hid the opening with bushes, and entering,
prepared to pass the dark hours sleeping in a
sitting position.

Bat with such ones there is one faculty that
never appears to become dormant. No matter
how much the body may be steeped in insensi-
bility, the ear seems to remain on the alert—
to be the faithful sentinel that guards against
and warns of- coming danger. :

And that not to be deceived sense told her
that cautious footsteps were coming—that it

 

was not the night wind that stirred the fallen

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

aR RPEEREY. tec

 

leaves, and that danger was approaching
swiftly. A moment of uncertainty, and then
at the very portals, and completely blocking
and guarding the way, she saw a pair of glar-
ing, fire-flashing eyes! A stir behind her—a
deep growl in front, and she knew that her bed
had been made in the house of a bear, and
that the mother was returning with food for
her young,

Then as the hopelessness of escape flashed
upon her, and a fearful death stared her in the
yery face, she made the woods resound with
the terrible shrieks that startled the trappers,
even in the midst of their mirth,

CHAPTER IIL
THE BEAR FIGHT.

To spring to their arms and disappear from the
light of the camp-fire was the work of but an in-
stant for the hardy trappers, for well they knew
that the ye that had so alarmed them never
éame from any other than Indian lips, and much
they feared an ambush. Once behind trees, and
consequently partially secure, every ear was
strained to the utmost, but they were baffled for
atime by the complete, intense silence. Hven
the wind appeared to have suddenly lulled, and
the snow flakes floated softly as feathers down.
Pitchey dark as was their surroundings, it was the
ear alone that could We trasted—the eye was use-
less. And thus with one sense strained to its ut-
most they stood like statues untilagain the woods
rang with the soul-affrighting yells.

“By heaven! it is a woman’s voice,” whispered
ie Bruin to Tom Burke,- who stood nearest to

ina.

‘True for you, man.”

‘She is in some terrible danger. That voice
was never tuned by anything beside fear, She
must be hunted out and rescued.”

*Divil a shtep will I.stir. The she-catamount
might lead us into some scrape.”

“Never fear, man,” and he whistled the re-
mainder of his companions to his side.

A short, very short consultation, and having de-
termined upon the direction from which the un-
wonted sound had proceeded they cautiously felt
their way through the thick forest and- blinding
snow, pausing ever and anon for some renewal of
the alarm, but strangely indeed it seemed that
none came.

Again the whistle of the leader rang shrilly
forth and again all paused.

“Tt must have been very near to this spot,”
whispered old Bruin. ‘My word for it we shall
have something to fight besides men if we save
that woman’s life. If my experience is worth
anything it was caused by-——”

A roar, as if a thunder cloud had pyidny
burst beneath their feet, caused a rapidiretreat
on the pait of all except Old Bruin, who stood

firm and unmoving, as if moulded of iron rather

than human flesh and bleod.

' Stand firm!” he shouted. ‘I have cause to

.remember that sound well. It is a she bear roar-
ing for her cubs. Look well to your rifles and”

‘Look!’ replied Burke; “darned a bit can I
‘gee any more than a——_”

“Skunk!” put in the negro, who even then
could not keep within bounds,

“Ono grizzly!” said the Frenchman.

“Not it!” replied Old Bruin. ‘Such reptiles
don’t wander so far away from the slopes of the
Sierras. I’c almost give my other arm for a half
howr of sunshine.”

Again the terrific roar—fierce, sudden, terrible.

“Shoot!” said Tom Burke.

“Not for your lives. Knives alone must be the
weapons here, unless you wish to murder some
‘poor woman.” :

.. “Hight a bar in the dark and snow with knives?”
asked the negro. ‘Oh, golly!” :

sq sooner fight a snake, blessings be upon
Saint Patrick for driving them off the ould sod.”

. “Hush! as I live I can hear-the crunching of
bones,” said the old trapper, in a voice that thrill-
ed every, ear.

‘Mon Dieu !” exclaimed the Frenchman,

.“Holy Virgin save her!” echoed the Irishman,
crossing himself.

- De Lor’ gabe her!” whispered the negro, half
pet ween an ejaculation and a groan.

“No time for prayers now!” commanded Old
Bruin, sternly. ‘‘Up with yourrifles and out with
your knives to——” z

“Be kilt entirely!’ Be jabers that I should ever
have crossed the big pond to be ripped into fiin-
ters by a she bear!” and Tom Burke began back-
ing his monstrous body behind the nearest tree.

“Coward!” and the old trapper gave the word
such a hissing emphasis that it at once put an
end to all thoughts of flight.

A pudden glimmer of the moon through the
rifts of the storm clouds—a sudden ceasing for a
moment of the drifting, blinding snow—a sudden,
temporary lighting up of nature, such as we some-
times see even amid the wildest storms, and such

' @ scene was revealed to them as caused every
nerve to thrill even in their danger-hardened
. frames.

_At the foot of a giant tree lay the form of an In-
dian girl prostrated beneath the huge feet of a
bear. One paw was placed heavily upon the un-

- protected breast from which every particle of
elothing had been stripped off, while the other,
with its long, sharp nails was held aloft—poised
as if to strike. The jdws of the angry beast were
snapping—tho eyes rolling in fury, bloodshot and
fiery, and hoarse and deep and ceaseless growl
after growl poured forth from the open throat.

Two cubs sat near, whicing and lapping theig

jawsin expectation of food and blood, and well

each startled looker-on knew that there would be

@ speedy end to the scene—that if not already

dead, a piecemeal death—a death of horrid tor-

ture—a pitiless, tearing, rending end awaited that

poor girl! é

Twice Old Brun raised his rifle as if to fire, but

- the chance of'a death shot was far too uncertain
te be risked. And yet wasit not bis only hope?

Had the monster turaed its hed towards nim but

for a single instant the finger would have pressed

the slender spring—the report been heard and
the swift-winged bullet have sped on its life-ex-
tinguishing errand. Such a shot—a. shot in the
eye—he well knew would bealmost instantly fatal,

_ and once given he would net have hesitated to
have rushed in and torn the monster from its ex-

“dias prey before, in its dying agonies, it could

ave struck deep and sore. ee

.» Again'the rifle was raised, for @ldgBruin could

~ no longer look tamely on the scene thus unexpect-
edly presented to him; and then the moon was
blotted out, as it were, bythe storm, and the
howling wind outrang in its wrath even the
growling of the bear.

“May God forgive me for not shooting sooner,”
ae the old trapper; “but I dare not, I dare
not.

‘*What’s to be done now?” asked the Irishman.

“Duan?” fairly blubbered the negro, whose feel-
ings had been deeply excited—“‘dun? it’s as
black as a stack of black cats. By golly! if Thad
not dun gone and left de blessed ole axe at de
camp, I’d split de head of dat air bar just like an
ele pine knot.” ,

“Hush!” commanded the trapper. ‘The bear
g8W us and I think is coming this way. Hark!
don’t you hear steps crunching the snow crust?”

“Blessed Saint Patrick !” exclaimed Tom Burke,
“put it’s & goner I am this night for certain.
Holy Mother! but I hear it just as*plain as——”

Mon Dieu!” followed by a startling scream,
burst from the lips of the hitherto silent French-

man. — 4
“The bear has him in its hug!” yelled the negro.
“Silence! Closeup! Use your knives, but be

-  eareful that you do not hurt Piorre!” commanded
aBruin. | :

Ort is not de bear, it is von of de leetle cubs,”

answered the Frenchman. ‘“Don’trip me up with

your knives like von pig.”

“Fight your own way out den, like de Trishers |

id der skunk!” laughed the negro; but the words
ane hardly out of his mouth before his mirth
was changed to screams of fear. ‘Oh! oh! oh!
de.-good Lor’ golly! I’se a deac man | Help!
help! De ole b’ar !—de—de she-b ar |

Stop your yelping, curly head!” shouted Burke
in reply, but although he was constantly quarrel-

 

 

 

 

 

—

ing with the negro, he yet loved him too well to

feave him in danger, and so he rushed to his as-

ae forgetting for the moment all his recent
ears.

And while the Frenchman was combatting thus
with the cub, and the Irishman hastening to the
rescue of his sable friend, Old Bruin was stealthily
crawling towards the she-bear and its victim amid

he darkness and whirling, singing storm.
, As he thus, in reality, felt his way, the thought
as to what had become of .the Indian for the firat
time flashed across his mind. What eould have
become of him? Since the first alarm he did not
remember to have seen. or heard him, and this
was strange indeed for one he knew to be stout of
heart as the very oaks beneath which he was
born. Much would he have been pleased to have
had him by his side at that moment, and yet,
though one-armed, he shrunk not back from the
fearful encounter that he knew would certainly
follow his proposed atiack upon the savage beast.
eed he looked, as he crawled along, for the
flash of its eyes, and skilled as he was in fire
hunting and “shining” the eyes of game, he could
see nothing. Oh, for an hour of blessed sunlight
then—a single sixty minutes of bright noonday!
But all was pitchy blackness, and any movement
that he made might find him upon the enemy
eee any warning and with but scanty prepar-
ation.

Moving along thus on his desperate way, crawl-
ing on hands and feet beneath the thickly over-
hanging branches, through the drifted snow-
banks, and with the whirling gusts breaking mo-
mentarily in his face, hig hand, ofa sudden, ag he
cautiously placed it in advance, rested upon a
warm, hairy mass! ;

What a fearful situation for any one, no matter
how strong and fearless! If the brute, then the
hour of trial had indeed come, and what else could
it be there and at such a time? Instinctively his
fingers twined themselves: among the tapgled
mazes, andif he had but been possessed of his
other arm, quickly would his knife have found a
bloody sheath. Alas! to strike with him was to
release his hold, and then where would be the ad-
vantage, ifany, that he had already gained ?

Like lightning these thoughts flashed through
his ever active brain, and he was slowly drawing
himself back, preparatory to loosening his hold,
when there fell upon his ears, not as he had ex-
pected, the harsh growl of the bear, but the voice
of the Indian, softened rdw so that its guttural
tones were almost musical.

“The fingers of my brother are locked fast in
the scalp-lock of the Whirling Wind, as.if they
were lifting itfor the knife.”

“JI thought it was the cursed bear, and in ano-
ther moment I should have wounded you, I fear.”

“The monsgter of the forest,” replied the red
man, unmoved by the danger he had so narrowly
escaped from, “is near. Beneath its long sharp
claws, bloody now with the stream that runs
from the heart of a squaw, rests one of the tribe.
of the Sioux.” -

‘Well, whatis to be done, Wind? We surely
cannot let her perish thus. But how to save her
is the question. If it was only light I’d trust my
rifle, though it would be a desperate shot. Yet
Pd chance it anyhow.” :

“Let my pale -brother fear not. The great
Manitou has taught his children to disarm the’
wild beast of the forest of its wrath. The squaw
may bleed, but the dark spirit of death shall not
bear her beyond the black waters of the river—
her soul shall not yet be caHed to its home in the
happy hunting grounds.”

was. ‘True even your Indian pappoose knows that
a bear will not touch a dead man, and so counter-
feits death. Well, then we have nothing to do
but wait calmly until it is light.”

“The Whirling Wind would not see one of his
race perish, even though she belongs to another

tribe; he’ would not let his worst enemy linger

thus, even though he were to follow his trail on
the morrow and win his scalp.”

“That's a queer kind of mercy, but its Indian
honor, I know, and if you will tell me how to help
the poor woman, Til be the first to do go.”

‘My brotheris not wont to need the red man to
assist him at his council fire.. His head is white
with the snow of many winters—he is a great
hunter,” and he laid his hand upon a whistle that
constantly hung, suspended by @ deer-skin thong
upon the breast of Old Bruin.

“Now, may I be tied to a stake and whipped to
death with black snakes 1” exclaimed the excited
trapper, and every echo of the forest was awaken-
ed by the shrill and prolonged call he caused to
issue from the little instrument.

On, Terror 1” shouted the old man, as his dog
came obedient to the summons, for trained ‘as he
was he hadremained snugly in the shantee until
he heard the whistle of his master. ‘On, good
dog! Bear! bear! catch and hold!”

There was a sudden rush, a rolling, fossing,
as ofa heavy body in the snow and bushes, and
then a moaning sound as of one in pain.

Was it dog or bear, friend or enemy of man?

From the side of the white trapper, after a few
low-whispered words, the Indian departed with
his keen hatchet in one hand and his long knife
firmly clasped between his teeth. With his com-
panion who remained, it was a moment of in-
tense anxiety, but again, as if in mercy, the
heavy clouds lifted, and the first cold, stony grey
light of the wimter, morning revealed to him on
either hand these scenes.

On his left, the Frenchman was grappling with
@ nearly half-grown cub.

On his right, the negro was stretched upon the
ground, with another cub, busy about his throat,
while the Irishman was vainly endeavoring to
gavehim. .

In front, his brave dog had seized the monster
mother bear by one of its hind legs, and was
holding it away from the prostrate form of the
squaw; and the Whirling Wind, as he rushed for-
ward to their rescue, was struck by one of the
paws, and hurled bleeding into the bushes.

A trio of dangerous situations he saw—and then

once more the thick curtain of snow, and the not-

to-ba-pierced darkness shut. him out alike from:
sight and all ability to assist either party.

CHAPTER IV.
‘ SEALOUSY—TORTURE,

All hope of finding the Fire Plume having been
given up by her tribe, except perchance by her
father, with whom she was an idol, the minds of
the master spirits naturally sought to find some
tangible reason for her disappearance, and she
the Spring Spirit, the white girl who could alone
solve the mystery dared not give the slightest
clue to it, for well she knew their anger would
fall uponher. And yet her silence was to their
uneducated and superstitious minds ‘‘proof as
strong as holy writ” against her. Did not the
twain sleep in the same wigwam? Had they not
been ever as sisters, 2nd was it probable that the
red-skiuned girl would so strangely disappear
peek any knowledge on the part of the white
one
Ail the probabilities of her having been devour-
ed by wild beasts were carefully weighed and re-
jected, for, in that event, some of her dress would
have remained to tell the story. Many other
theories were also started, discussed and reject-
ed, and at last a web, formed of surmises, hints,
and basely suggested motives, was thrown about
the white girl, until it enveloped her in its fatal
meshes beyond the poradventure, almost, of es-
cape. t

ne who had long and vainly sought to win her
love, to gain her consent to fill his eS dala and
to be, consequently, his slave, fired by jealousy
whispered in the ears of the girls of the tribe, who,
also, were swayed by the same devilish spirit that
she was 8 Wabe-no—a magician—a sorceress, and
that in 2 moment of anger she had caused the
disappearance of the Fire Plume. With such en-
vious tongues for tale-bearers, the report spread
with electrical rapidity, distorted, enlarged, and
atill more fiendish, and when it at last reached
the ears of the father of the missing girl, it was
magnified and tortured into a horrible story of
torture,

For a time he was deaf to all insinuations with
regard to the speedy trial and punishment of the
supposed guilty one, but_ prompted by his grief,
and forced by the outside pressure; he at last
succumbed, and placed spies around the person
ef the Spirit, strictly charged te watch her every
movement, Little, however, could these ever-

 

anxious sentinels gain; and so, urged on by their

“Ag Llive I never thought of that, fool that I} 4

own base passions, and prompted thereto by the
master mind that had at first instigated the
charge, they fabricated charges of conversations
with horrible imps, that gathered round her bed
every night-—-of wanderings in the forest, and
secreb communings with Matcha Manitous in
deep cave’, where they dared not enter, and of
charms worn around the snowy neck, by which
that fair young girl could at will transform her-
self into a beast, bird, er reptile, and skim through
the air, or craw! noiseless on the land,

Still unconvinced, but sorely perplexed, the
chief and father, Ching-wau-konce, called together
his braves in couacil, One by one the witnesses
‘were examined, and while tho innocent white gir]
was alone, andin the silence of her wigwam,
breathing prayers for the absent one, her life was-
literally sworn away by lying tongues, and she de-
voted, doomed to the most fiendish torture that
their savage ingenuity could by any possibility
conceive.

To lead her to that tribunal, by which, unheard,
she had been sentenced, was a pleasure for the
Indian that had been the prime mover in themat-
ter. Once there—for tedious were the ceremo-
nies attending it—and the charge stated, she
vainly denied her guilt, calling upon all that the
red man holds sacred, to attest the proof of her
words. When she found that useless, she tried
to convince them how futile all their plans of
punishment would be if she wasindeed gifted with
the powers they attributed to her—how easily she
could escape from _ their bonds, and how: terrible
her revenge would be. Many were startled by
the argument, and not a few shrank back, but the
old Medicine of the tribe avowed his power to baf-
fle her spells—to meet her incantations with
others more potent, and'te throw around, her per-
son spells that would keep the fiends of air and
earth and water from coming to her assistange.
Thus reassured, the cowards again became boast-
ingly brave, the weak-minded strong, and the
vindictive still more active in their malice, and
the mid-day of the morrow was proclaimed as the
time when she should-be tortured and suffer the
death of a witch!

Oh, brave young heart! will not your lips be
teh ate when life is the stake and death the for-

ei :

It meets not to tell of the preparations made
for that scene of damning sacrifice. Neither of
the long hours spent by her, the innocent one,
in preparation for a terrible passing away from
earth, One word from her lips would be sufficient
for her safety, but that one word would doom the
Indian girl who had dared all for her sake to the
game doom. Often and often she spurned the
thought of betrayal, but will she be firm of heart
and stout of will enough to hold to her purpose

torture are glaring before her eyes ? j
From her knees (for she had not forgotten the
God of her fathers and the little prayer her infant
lips had learned) they raised her, and sustained
by an unfaltering trust in Heaven, she allowed
herself to be decorated like a lamb for the slaugh-
ter—tricked out with Indian finery of wampum
and beads and feathers, and led to the fatal post.
With her chestnut hair floating in wavy masses
about her neck, and her clear blue eyes upturned
to heaven as if for aid—her cheeks unflushed as
marble, her heart unheaving, and her hands
clasped, she stood awaiting her ddom, while the
same thought, though perchance not the same
words that thrilled the air of Calvary, floated up-_
ward from lips rendered holy by suffering, “Fath<
er, forgive them, for they know not what they
Oo oy

The sunlight trembled on the tops of the loftiest
trevs, and the hour of torture was near at hand.
Was the victim so logt to all around her—to the
dreadful preparation for death—that-she did not
m rk the sw.ft passing away of the allotted time?
Was she communing with invisible spirits? Many
a tongue said so. But the fire was kindled, the
arrows sleeped in pitch prepared, the knives and
tomahawks sharpened, and the dull, rumbling
signal of death beating on the rude Indian drum.

Water dropping on a flint willin time wear a
hole, and so constant'y repeated words will at
length leave an impression on any heart. How
much more so than when that heart is, as it were,
slowly pouring out its precicus tide. Such came
tke the case, after a time, with Seeg-wun, the
Soring Spirit, for with her ears constantly tilled
with the charge of being a sorceress, the thought

suddenly flashed through her brain that by coun-

terfeiting such knowledge she might at least gain
time. if not save her life.

, A wonderful reaction took place in her appear-
aace with the resolve; her face resumed its color,
her eyes flashed brilliantly, and from her lips
ruled the strains of a gay, even joyous song.
Startled at such a change, the group gathered
around, made a wider circle, and whisper amobhg
themselves that she was calling spirits to her aid.
But alas! they came not. Something more than
human song, be it ever so sweet, was needed
to free her from: the tols of the dark hunter
death, who with hounds of blood and weapons of
destruction had marked her for his prey.

“Let the torture begin!” commanded the Med-
icine. x

“Let me fire the pile!” interposed the captive,
asthe faggots were being piled around her. “I
will call it down from the burning sun, and gath-
ering a portion of ice that hung glittering from a
treo trunk near, she concentrated the sun rays
into a focus upon the hand of the Medicine until
he drew back from the scorching. An old hun-
ter’s trick this, but new to the sons of the forest—
one she had been taught when a mere child; and
now turning it to account, it established her pow-
ers at once as a rarely gifted Medicine.

That ice could produce fire was beyond their
simple comprehension. They knew nothing of
the power of a lens, be it glass or any other sub-
stance, and they gazed in awe and fear on that
frail girl drawing down fire from the sun at her
will. If she could do this could she not also con-
trol the other elements?

More puzzled than anyone else was the old
Medicine man, who had boasted of his superior
charms, and yet he was forced, in order to keep
up his reputation, to laugh it to scorn, and urge
on the execution of the sentence. Still when he
again commanded that it should proceed, he
trembled and looked anxiously around, as if to
watch the coming of evil spirits that would troop
thither at her csll.

But they came not, and the prisoner began to
fear that the power she had shown would only the
more certainly enure to her speedy destruction—
that she had established a reputation fatal to her
hopes. Think ag she might she saw no ether act
of magic within her power of being accomplished.
Turn as she might she saw no means of escape.
But she saw the fears of the many and talked
bravely of what would come upon them if but a
single hair of head was injured. Impressed with
her words full an hour passed, and then as all yet
reraained unmolested, they gathered new courage,
and like a flock of wolves urged each other on to
the consummation of the dastard deed.

The wood was carefully piled around her—the
bark and splinters placed in the best: possible
wees for burning in order that she might feel

he full force of the fire before the smoke should
stifle or render her insensible to the scathing
flame, and then, at a motion, the torch was waved
on high and kindling fiercely descended, lighting
the fatal fire,

Oh! burning, blasting shame upon those who
stood idly by, wearing at least the forms of man-
hood, though possessed of the hearts of devils.
A fair, young, innocent girl, wrapped to the very
lips in sheeted flame aa lurid smoke, with none
to pity and with none to save! :

ith one unbound hand she covered her mouth
to keep frqm inhaling the deadly air, and with
the other she pointed upward as if invoking aid
or calling down revenge from heaven. Her dreas
of skin has thus far protected her limbs, but now
it was rolling up, and the fierce flames were
eagerly wrapping themselves around her delicate
form and almost bared and shrinking flesh. She
was completely in the embrace of the demon of
the flames, and woe betide his oft repeated kisses,

“God, in Thy mercy, pardon—save me,” burst
from her lips, “and then——”

(To be continued.)

InGRATITUDE.—If we take a cold-blooded crea-
ture to our bosom, better that it should
sting us at ones and we should die, rather

 

than its chill should slowly steal into our
hearts,

when the horrors of a liagering death, of frightful |.

 

White Hagle, The Avenger ;
OR,
THE BRIDE OF THE SETTLEMENT,

BY FRANCIS S. SMITH,

Author of “Maggie, the Child of Charity,’’ ‘Azael
Kain,” “Lilian, the Wanderer,” “Galenus, the
Gladiator,’ ‘Florence O’Neil, the Rebel’s
Daughter,” ‘“‘Eveleen Willson,”* “The
Sexton of Saxony,’”’ ete.
sein ete ncecaiookn
{Back numbers of “White Eagle, the Avenger,” can
be obtained from every News Agent throughout the

United States and Canadas. |

CHAPTER XXX.

CONCLUSION.

Two weeks rolled swiftly by, and the night
arrived that was to witness the nuptials of
Mark Thorne and Mary Hanford. Lights
flashed in the mansion of the wealthy Robert
Houghton, and from the basement to the at-
tic the hum of busy preparation and pleasur-
able excitement was heatd. Carriage after
carriage, filled with guests, rolled up to the
door, till the grand rooms were filled, and all
awaited with anxious expectation the coming
of the clergyman and the appearance of the
bride and bridegroom and their attendants.

It is true that but few of the invited guests
had seen the young couple to witness whose
marriage they had assembled, but the throng

not the bridegroom the adopted son of a mil-
lionaire, and was not the bride his especial
favorite, besides being highly refined, edu-
cated and surpassingly beautiful? These
were reasons strong enough to ensure a full
attendance of the rich merchant's friends, and
a full attendance there was.
While they are ‘awaiting the great event of
the evening and conversing thereupon in sub-
dued whispers, let us glance in upon them.
A close inspection reveals to our view a bril-
liant array of fashionables of both sexes and
all ages. Fashionable ‘young gentlemen,
whose only aim in life is to secure an heiress;
splendidly dressed young ladies, who have an
equal desire to secure rich husbands; manag-
ing mammas, whom have determined that
their desire shall be gratified; romantic heir-
esses in search of a titled lover, who will value
them for themselves alone; common sense,
practical papas, who do not believe in titles,
nd are determined that their daughters—the

themselves; and antiquated maiden ladies,
who, having passed the bloom and vigor of
youth, still cling to the hope of yet meeting
the “coming man.” It was, indeed, just such
a party as had assembled twenty-two years
before to witness the nuptials of the first Mark
Thorne and Ada St. Clair, and strange as it
may seem, some ofthe parties who were pres-
ent at the first wedding are present now. Two
of them belong to the class of elderly maiden
ladies. just alluded to, Stiff, prim, and formal,
they sit by themselves, severely criticizing the
assembled guests, little dreaming the while
that they themselves are the subjects of a con-
versation which would have caused a fit of
hysterics had they heard it,

‘Tsay, Gus,” said a perfumed and elabor-
ately dressed young gentleman of the fortune-
hunting class, to his companion, a kindred
spirit, ‘‘who are those two ancient feminines
yonder with the corkscrew curls. and severe-
looking countenances ?”

“Oh,” replied his companion, ‘they are
gay old damsels—companions in misfortune
and fast friends in consequence. The name
of the one who sits nearest us is Markham—
Arabella Markham; that of her companion is
Clarissa Pinchingham. ‘Their experiences in
life have been precisely similar. Ihad their
history from my. own dear ma, who knows
them thoroughly. Their anxious mammas,
old Mrs. P. and Mrs..M., brought them out
early in life, and for many years tried hard to
secure fortunes for them, but all in vain, and
they at length died within a year of each
other, broken-hearted no doubt at their sad
failures.. Their husbands—a couple of old
files in the mercantile line—had gone all to
pieces before this and. drank themselves to
death, and it is said that our host, old Hough-
ton, defrayed the expenses of the old ladies’
funerals. More than this, ma has it from
pretty good authority, that he supports the
old maids now. Would you believe it, Harry,
those two old girls were present at the wed-
ding of Mark Thorne, Senior, which took place
in this very room twenty-two years ago! Fact,
by jingo! And yet they havn’t ceased to look
around sharp after chances! But I musn’t
speak disrespectfully of them, for ma says my
governor came near marrying Miss Markham,
and if he had she would have been my mother,
you know l= and Augustus Mandeville tittered
facetiously.

‘Speaking of that wedding of old Thorne,
Gus,” said his companion, ‘‘didn’t something
unusual “happen on that occasion? Some
disturbance, or something of that kind ?”
Yes,” wasthe reply. ‘Thorne, senior, ac-
cording to all accounts, was of a rather gay
and festive nature in his youth, and he had
some trouble with a dark-eyed beauty, with
whom he had been too familiar. She brokein
upon the party after the marriage was over,
and talked to the bridegroom like a Dutch
uncle, Butsee, here comes the parson, and
the serious part of the play will soon com-
mence now.”’

As he spoke the clergyman entered the
room, and was conducted to aseat by the host.
All eyes were at once turned upon him, for
apart from a few newspaper paragrapbs, which
spoke of him asa zealous Methodist divine,
who had spent the greater portion of his life
among the Indians, many of whom he had
converted—a ready speaker and an eloquent
pleader for the red man—he was comparative-
ly unknown among them.

 

was not less brilliant on that account, for was.

heiresses aforesaid—shall not make fools of |’

He was a young man of powerful frame and
strongly marked countenance, whose . dark
eyes, though mild as a woman’s,‘and full of the
light of benign Christianity, were yet indica-
tive of great resolution and firmness. His
general appearance was that of aman ef ence
powerful passions, which had been thorough-
ly subdued by the divine influences of reli-
gion, He had fallen beneath Mr. Houghton’s
notice from the fact that the old gentleman
had attended a church lecture delivered by
him, in which were introduced a number of
the red children of the forest, whom he had
converted and brought with him from the
great West. The old gentleman waa entirely
carried away by the young divine’s eloquence,
and at the close of the service he sought an
introduction, which speedily ripened into
friendship. ~ oe

The guests had hardly obtained a full view
of the minister, when the whisper went around
that the bridal party were coming. This
proved indeed to be the case, for shortly af-
terward the door swung open, and the bride
and bridegroom, followed by their attendants,
entered, and ranged themselves upon the focr.

dress of spotless white satin, her flowing veil
and her wreath of orange blossoms! Very
beautiful looked she as she stood there with
downeast eyes and face covered with blushes,
the object upon which all eyes were turned
with undisguised admiration. Nor did Mark
Thorne at all suffer in comparison with her.
‘He seemed the very man of ie for such a
companion, Bright-eyed, fresh-looking, and
roodest withal, it was seldom that those pres-
enthad gazed upon a finer countenance than
his, and even at a first glance it was the uni-
versal verdict that they were indeed a splendid
couple.

The minister arose, and as he fixed his eyes —
upon the young couple whom he was akout to
unite, he seemed strangely agitated. At the
same moment Mr. Houghton, whe kad been
chatting gaily with Farmer Handford, ap-
proached him, and whispered with an air of
great perplexity, oe

‘Bless my soul, Mr. Fairchild, how stapid
of me! Till this moment I had forgotten in
‘my excitement to give you the names of the
parties whom you are about to unite!”

‘It is unnecessary.” replied the minister
aloud, ‘I am acquainted with the parties!”

At the sound ofthis voice both Mark and his
bride looked hastily up, and while the former
seemed rooted to the floor with astonishment,
the latter, to the amazement of all present,
rushed toward ‘the young divine, threw her
arms around his neck, and exclaimed,

‘Oh, William! Brother! Dear brother!”

‘Yes, my sweet sister!”*he returned, as he
imprinted a chaste kiss upon her forehead, ‘I
am indeed your brother, retleemed, regen-
erated, disenthralled I trust, through the ever-
enduring love and mercy of a righteous Ged,
who has led me like another Saul, out of the
black depths of sin and despair iato the sun-
light of blessed religion, and called upon me
to preach his holy word. Is my father with
you?’ .-

‘Here, my son, here!” exclaimed the far-
mer, coming forward with tear-filled eyes, and
seizing his son’s outstretched hand. ‘Oh,
how good, how very good God is to usali! I
I never expected to see you again—certainly
never in this guise.”
While this scene was being enacted the

countenance present, and many were the re-
marks indulged in concerning it, *

‘I say, Gus,’’ said the perfumed young gen-
tlemen to whom we have before alluded, ad-
dressing his companion, “that isn’t at all
handsome! On the contrary, it’s decidedly
demd awkward, just as‘we had made up our
minds to gee the thing carried through decent-
ly and in order, to have this demd malapropos
affair take place! There seems to be a fatality .
attending the members of this family on their
wedding night! I wonderif it’s going to spoil
the sport? No, by Jove, it’s allright! The
executioner has braced himself up again, and
the execution will take place in spite of all in-
terruption.”’
And the execution, as the man of the world
facetiously termed it, did take place then and
there, Having somewhat recovered his self
possession, the Rev. Wm. Hanford (Fairchild
no longer) proceeded to unite his sister and |
the man of her choice in the bonds of hely
wedlock, greatly to the satisfaction of the as-
sembled guests who overwhelmed the newly
married pair with congratulations, and did not
depart till the night had wora away into the
small hours. as
When the guests had all gone, and William
Hanford—who had accepted an invitation from
Mr. Houghton to stop with him for a season—
sat talking of the past with his father, he sud-
denly felt himself plucked by the sleeve, and
looking up he encountered the good-humored
countenance of Uncle Clem. - _
‘Mag’r Hanford,” said theold negro, for, of
course, the story of the recognition had spread
all over the house, ‘now dat you has married
Mas’r Mark and Miss Mary, dar’s anoder little
job on hand for you down in de kitchen, if
you's got no *jections.”
“Certainly not, Clem,” returned the clergy-
man. ‘‘Who wants to be married ,in the
kitchen ?”
Well, de fact am, Mas’r Hanford,” return-
ed Uncle Clem, fumbling with the hem of his
apron as he spoke, ‘‘dat I—dat is-—-I meant to
say dat Aunt Polly--ki, ki!—I mean dat us
two—chee! chee!—dat—shar! Wot’s:de use
o’ mincin’ de ting? Aunt Polly andI wants
to get married—dat’s wot’s de matter!”

“So you shall, Clem,” returned the minis-
ter, with a good-humored smile.

 

ried as anybody else.”

 

 

Very beautiful looked Mary Hanford in her

greatest amazement was depicted on. every ~

 

ra

‘T don’t seek mn
why you have not as good a right te get mar- yA a

 

 
 

 

 

 

a Pee

 

‘ an influential man in the settlement, was |

. foam.

‘rupted. Aman must have a queer taste to take

; Hugh, glaring at the other fiercely; “are you go-

-of Red-handed Hugh,

. Off] Who said anything about conscience? I

 

 

 
  
 
  

‘3 whistle to let me know where you are; for, hang

  

 

 

And following this new candidate for ma-
trimony below stairs, the wholo party wit-
nessed a wedding which was not down in the
programme, oe

ees

 

Ourstory is now brought nearly to a close.
A slight allusion only to a few of the charac-
ters, and we have done. :

Dr. Fhorne did not live long after the mar-
riage of White Eagle and his niece. He died,
bequeathing to them the whole of his pro-
perty, including that which had been left by
Judge Thorne, and which, of right, belonged
to White Eagle, as his legitimate son. The
secret of his true position was mever revealed
to the latter, and both himself and his half
brother passed through life without a suspi-
cion of the true character of Wa-ke-lu-sa, the
Indian queen. White Eagle, in time, became

elected. Judge, and ruled as his ae had
ruled before him. Sim Lanty was killed ina
fight with the Indians, while Richard Jor-
rocks, his partner in iniquity, having ventured
back to the settloment, was caught by the in-
dignant people, who had been made aware of
his attempt upon the life of Mark Thorne,
whom they idolized, and summarily hung.
Jake Ham made a bad use of the money which
he had received from Dr. Thorne, for assisting
in the escape of White Eagle. He never drew
a sober breath from the time it was placed in
his possession, and died at last of delirium
tremens. Cuyp, the hangman, never rallied
from the stupor which followed his. neglect of
duty. A settled melancholy seized upon him,
which culminated in a sort of atrophy, ynder
the inflyence of which he wasted away to a
skeleton, and was found at last dead in hig
bed,
THE END.

 

 

r BOVE.
BY J. J. STOUVENEL.

Oh. love! how swift thy fairest prospects fade—
Swift as the beauty of a vernal day; +

At‘hoon the sun Dlumes the dewy glade,
And flowers, expanding, drink his orient ray.

But soon it passes—chilling blasts arise,
She flow’rets droop, Sol’s lustre disappears,

And the light clouds that glow’d with golden dyes,
Ohang’d to black vapors, mourn its fate with tears.

RED-HANDED HUGH:
‘The Heir of Osmond Hall

 

 

CHAPTER IL.

Ii was a dismal and stormy night in the month
of February, 18—, when two men ‘might be seen
moving over a part of the iron-bouyd coast of
Northunaberland; overhead the clowds scudded
along the sky, which, however, was so overcast,
that only at rare intervals could a glimpse of the
moon beseen. The wind was piercing cold, and
it blow with such fury that, dark ag it was, the
goa far some distance from the shore was distinct-
ly visible, heaving and raging, and white with
As the billows rolled in and broke upon
the beach, their force was so mighty that they
seemed te shake the solid earth, bursting like
thunder upon the shingle, and sometimes driving
large boulders from their places. The wind
shrieked asif it was possessed of life; and none
but the sternest breasts would have ventured at
that hour in such a place, so fearful was the strife
of the elements, so hideously dark and desolate
the entire scene. Even the two men at times took
shelter for a few minutes whenever a cave in the
cliff presonted itself; and.as they listened to the
dismal-roar of the ocean, they spoke in a low tone,
lest some dreadful voice should answer them out
* the storm, for the night seemed alive with

orror, e

‘Would no time have done but to-night?” ‘ask-
ed the shorter of the two, when for a fourth time
they had sought » momentary refuge in one of
the deeper indentations of the cliff,

“J tell you, nol” answered the other, in ‘a deep,
hoarse whisper. ‘And what better night for such
a deed would you have ?”

‘Why,” returned his companion, with a grim
laugh, “‘there’s not much fear of our being inter-

the air on-such a night ag this, if he can keep at
home at his own fireside, . Give us another pull
at tas bottle, Hugh. Ugh! this is freezing

ork, 3

s6Pwill be the best paid work that you and I
ever did before, Will,” replied his companion.

“And it had need be; for it has nothing else to
recommend it.” :

‘“Whatl” exclaimed the man addressed as

‘ing to prate to.me about your conscience? You?”
and ag he said this, he grasped the other by his
ice. with a force that made him stagger, though

© waa a strong-built man, and showed how ter-
rible was the strength which resided in the arms

‘“Hasy,” eried Will Bewicke, “take your hand

suppose that murderisn’t a thing that aman
does from ekoice, and surely it doesn’t require
much conscience to say that, does it ?”

Hugh relaxed his grasp.

“You know, Will, that I respect you,” ssid he;
“and this isthe best proof that Icen give you,
bringing you with me to-night to share and share
alike with me, We shall have five hundred guineas
counted downon the nail; and with that, Will,
you aadIcanmake for the Brazils, and trade
there on our own account, and give over this
smuggling business, that puts a man’s life in
dangér every day, and vives him not over much
for tho risk. And, after all, you know, why it’s
only a bit of a child.” f

* “Shall we bury him in the sand ?”

“Ayo, for the sea to wash him up again: that
would be alikely piece of work! No, Will, we'll
bury him out yonder,” and he stretched out his
long arm toward the sez, so that his towering
figure, with this limb sticking out of it, made him
look liks a walking gallows. —

‘What! exclaimed Will, “out there to-night?”

‘Why not?” demanded Hugh. ‘The tide is on
the ebb, and as it falls, the wind will lull and
the sea will go down, We canthen put out from
the bay, and with a bag half fall of stones and the
youngster in. the other half, we'll soon put him
out of pain and out of sight.”

As Hazh had said, the tide was on the ebb, and
the wind had already begun to fall, though it was
still high enough in all conscience. But it was
just possible that it might lull sufficiently to en-
able the smugglers’ craft to put out far enough
to get rid of the evidence of their guilt.

And wow they resumed their journey over the
shingle till, after walking some twenty minutes
more, Hugh laid hishand on Will Bewicke’s
arm.

_ “Avast, mate!” he cried. “This is about the
right place. I think I must strike up here. And
you, Will, remain concealed .till you hear three
stones strike against that rock; then give a low

mo, if the night doesn’t grow darker and darker,

 

“Look here, Hugh,” cried Will; “there need be
no whistling nor pitching of stones. I'll lie down
the lee side of that rock, which you can’t mistake,
as it lies sheer epee the gorge. But just
leave us the bottle before you “go. Why, you
drink nothing yourself, Hugh; I never saw sucha
man.” .
“T don’t need Dutch courage,” answered Hugh,
handing him the bottle, which Will eagerly re-
ceived, “If i’m not back in an hour from this,
make the best of your way home—d’ye hear ?”
“Ay, ay,” replied Will, laying himself down be-
hind the rock and ungorking the bottle to have a
good pull at his ease. When he had done so, he
Hstened to the receding footsteps of his compan-
ion over the shingle. By and by they were heard
Pre and then, left to himself, Wiil began to
reiect.
“Only a child!” he muttered to himself, while
his teeth were chattering with cold—“only a
child! Butit must be done! I should like to
see the man who would dare to back out of any
undertaking with Red-handed Hugh!”

a

eenmose

CHAPTER II.

About a quarter of a mile from the spot where
the two smugglers had parted, and within a hun-
dred feet of the cliff, stood Osmond Hall; a man-
sion which combined the architecture of the long
past and of a more recent date, and which showed
in many parts traces of the various changes of
style through which suecessive renovations and
additions had passed it, from the time when it
first became the property of the ancient family of
Osmond. The most venerable portion of this re-
raarkable hall was that which stood nearest to
the sea, and which testified that, in earlier times,
where the hall now stood there had been a fort-
tress of considerable strength.

The portion we allude to was a massive tower,
built of such solid masonry that it seemed at the
time when the events about to be narrated took
place almost as firm and redoubtable as when first
it had been puttogether. An addition of: modern
date, in the shape of a flight of steps on the out-
side, had been made to this tower, which, as it
commanded a view not only of the sea, but of the
surrounding country, better than could be had
from the windows of the hall itself, was a favorite
resort of the family during the summer months
of the year.

Alas! the family had shrunk to small dimen-
sions. Death had passed through the land two
years before the ee of our story, mowin
down thousands with his cholera-scythe, an
amongst those whom he swept away were the
young baronet, Edgar Osmond, his beautiful
young wife, and the child with which she had but
‘lately been confined, the second pledge of their
domestic felicity. aa left, indeed, an heir; but
he was now only a child of three years old; and on
this infant boy did the task descend of bearing
the honors of an ancient house; for, except him-
self, and another of his name, the family of Os-
mond was extinct. ; ‘

Beside the child’s bed, on the stormy night on
which our tale opens, stood a young man who had
not numbered more than three and twenty
summers, though his face would have led any one
to believe that he was considerably older. With
one hand he held back the curtain of the bed,
while in the other he grasped a lantern, which
emitted a dim and cheerless light. Except the
storm without, howling round the old tower with
a dismal roar, nota sound was to.be heard. Yet
the youth’s quick and restless eyes often turned
frequently towards the door, to which as often he

he dreaded, It was avain alarm; for except a
pare domestic, there was no one but himself
and this child in any part of the hall; and, ere he
had come to the tower, Reginald had taken race
to ascertain that the old woman, whosé drink he
had drugged, was fast asleep under its influence.
Yet,.for all that, his soul was full of terror. If the
child stirred in his sleep, he started as if a spec-
tre had suddenly presented itself and stood glar-
ing upon him. Voices seemed to form them-
selves out of the silence of the night, and whisper
fearful things into his ear, And if at this mo-
ment he could have seen his wan and ghost-like
face, he would have shrunk back appalled at the
sight of his own visage.

He had stood some time in silence, when at
last terror seemed to force words from his lips.
“Thou or I, boy; yes!” he exclaimed, with
deep, suppressed rage, “thou or I must perish.
The earth cannot hold us both. I loved your
mother, and your father won her from me; he
was my elder brother, and because the title was
his, and the broad lands of Osmond, and the old
historic hall were his along with it, she chose
him, and Thated her asI hated him forever af-
ter. And now, mite of creation, little miserable
wretch, whom, with one grasp of my hand, I
could stifle, shall I see you stand between me and
those honors and that wealth for which she de-
serted me?—you, her child and his-! the living
relic of a story which has geared my heart and
blasted all the hopes of_my life! No!—I should
be a slave and a dog to accept life upon terms of
such disgrace.” >

It was not true that Lady Alice had deserted
Reginald. Osmond for his elder brother. She had
never loved Reginald, though, as they had been
familiar from their childhood, he might not un-
naturally fall ihto the mistake that she did. She
had given her whole heart to his brother Edgar;
and it was as much her grief at his death—for he
died before her—that brought her to the grave in
the full bloom of her beauty, as the disease which
was the imputed cause of. her death. But Rogi-
nald had conceived himself wronged, anda he
would never give up the conviction that he was
so. And, even though he had the art to conceal
hig emotions—almost as strongly developed as
those emotions themselves—it was not long be-
fore it became apparent to Lady Alice that he
hated both her, her husband, and their children.

Would that Sir Edgar had listeWed to her warn-
ing, and'had appointed some one else the guar-
dian of his infant heir; but he shrank with loath-
ing from every suggestion that his brother could
harbor the sentiments imputed to him. And now,
if his spirit could behold the scene we are nar-
rating, what pangs of regret must have afflicted it.

Reginald let the curtain of the bed fall from
his hand. As he did so,a huge dark form ap-
p2ared at the window. A stifled shriek escaped
him; but in a moment, recovering himself, he
weat to the window, which was half window and
half door, opened it, and motioned to the figure
to comé in, ‘ °

Stoopi: g low, it obeyed, and entering the,room,
regained its natural height. Itwas so tall that it
seemod almost to touch the ceiling. It was
w:apped up in a sailor's jacket, with an over-all
Over that; and an oilskia covering the over-all.
As it took off its cap, it displayed a huge head,
with a mass of tangled red hair on the top, and a
shrubbery of red hair on the cheeks, under the
cbia, and on the throat, which even in this bitter
night was almost bare. Its long arms reached
very nearly to its knees, and could touch the tops
of the sea boots that protected its other extrem-
ities without.stooping. But that which, after the
first shock of this sudden apparition was over,
chiefly attracted attention, was the color of the
right hand, which seomed agif here and there it
had been smeared over with blood; and i was
owing to this fact that the man who now stood
before Reginald Osmond had gained amongst his
associates, and throughout the neighborhood,
the sobriquet of Hagh of the Red Hand, or, more
commonly, Red-handed Hugh.

- “Are you alone?’ demanded Reginald, after a
pause.

‘All alone, your honor,” replied Hugh; “TI left
my mate by the hollow gorge, But he knows ne
more that I’m here nor the babe unborn.”

Reginald started at the word “babe,” for what
more was the infant whose breathing he heard
a8 it lay calm and unconscious in the sweet slum-
bers of innocence. 8

‘You have taken such measures,” he said, after
another pause, “as will nrevent the nossibility of
discovery ?”

“Lord love you!” cried Hugh, with a grim
smile, and turning slowly round, he stretched
out his arm towards the sea—‘‘who could hear a
baby’s cry in the hullabaloo out yonder? He
must have sharp ears, Or who would ever think
-or searchiag for the lost heir of Osmond twenty
fathoms deep, where the fishes will soon claim
their own? Stuff!” cried Hugh, drawing himseif

savage sternness which, to say the truth, alarmed
Reginald quite ag much as it reassured him as
to the fellow’s firmness of purpose, ‘When a bar-
gain’s made, if it bea bargain, what’s tho good of
gaubee oo questioning when the thing should
e doing ?” : ;

‘“Fnough|” cried Reginald, “I trust you. I
confide this important and difficult ——”

‘And bloody!” interrupted Hugh,

‘And bloody matter,” continued Reginald,
adopting the fellow’s phrase, “‘to your discretion,
to your firmness, to your—your honor.”

Hugh at the word ‘‘honor” looked at Reginald
with a curious, puzzled expression, as if he
doubted whether the word was seriously meant,
or whether it conveyed some disguised satire
Which he was not scholar enough to appreciate,

‘T mean,” said Reginald, observing his per-
plexity, “I mean your good faith. And remem-
ber, my good man,” he continued, “‘if there is
any miscarriage in this affair, it may be the worse
for you. Do you understand me?”

Ay, ay, sir; [think we both understand each
other as well as we need, and the less we say
about the conseqtences the better. Time is pre-
cious, your honor, The night is a dark,,conven-
ient night. Folks are all in their beds, and there’s
neither moon nor stars to pry into a gentleman’s
secrets, or a smugegler’s either, for the matter of
that. And so, sir, if we do understand each
other, we had better get under weigh as goon as
possible.” , :

“Took, then,” said Reginald, opening a secret
drawer in an old cabinet, and taking out a pocket-
book; “there is the money. I promised you five
hundred guineas. They are here. Bring me
back some evidence that the deed is done, and
the money is yours.” :

‘What evidence would you like?” demanded
Hugh, sulkily. ‘‘Would you like to see him when
he ‘is stiff and coid?”

‘Reginald almost gasped for breath, but by a
great effort he kept down his emotion.’

*Nol” he replied. ‘But here, take this hand-
kerchief. If you bring it back to mo as itis, you
understand, white and stainless, the money is
mine. ‘If, on the contrary, the handkerchief is
soiled, stained—red! why then I hand it over to
you. And you look here; take him, and away
with him.”

As he spoke, he again drew aside the curtains
of the child’s bed, and the smuggler, putting on
his cap, stepped forward, and looked down on the
sleeping infant. .

‘Hold this lantern,” said Reginald, placing it

round him, lest he cry with the cold.”

As he left the room, the child awoke, and, sit-
ting up in his'litile bed, began to rub his eyes
and look about him. He looked at Hugh, and
presently, te the astonishment of the uncouth
and semi-savage rover, stretched out his arms
towards him. Hugh put down the lantern, and
lifted little Edgar out of his bed, and set him
down upon the ground.

“Up,” eried the child, holding up his hands to
the smuggler, who stooped and raised him, as he
desired, in his arm. The little naked feet rested
on his breast; and as the door opened and Regin-
ald returned, the child put his arms round Hugh's
neck, and clung to him.

‘Why did you wake him ?”

**He woke hisself.”

Come to me, Edgar,” said the uncle, approach-
ing, and endeavoring to take him from the smug-
gler; but the boy clung still closer round Hugh’s
neck.

“Giveme the clothes; Pl put them on him.
You're not afraid of me, my little man,” said

would step on tip-toe and listen for the footfalls | Hugh.

ugh

“No,” answered the boy; and as the smuggler
placed him again upon the ground, he stood there
patiently while the huge hands hastily put some
clothes over his head, and, that done, wrapped
him up in the shawl which Reginald Osmond
handed to him for that purpose. That done,
Hugh threw him across his shoulder, and pre-
pared to depart. ;

‘When shali I see you again?” asked Reginald
in a whisper. ;

**To-night! In an hour hence!” replied Hugh;
and throwing open the window, he stooped once
more as he passed under it with his burden, and
began to descend the steps.

The wind had considerably lulled by. this time,
80 that its sharp whistle, which sometimes seemed
like a shriek, had sunk into a hollow moaning.

Reginald watched Hugh as he went down the
steps, and observed that the monster frame
seemed almost to totter under its load, though it
was only a child. He watched him up the path
that led to the gate by which he had entered, and
which had been purposely left open for him; and
when the hired assassin and his infant victim
were no longer in sight, he closed the window
and drew the curtains, which had hitherto been
open, to shut oat, as it- were, the dreadful tragedy
which he knew was soon to be enacted. Having
done this he turned, and was about to draw the
curtains of litile Edgar's bed, when he started
back with horror...

What was that?

What?

Look there—in the bed !

Fool! Itis but an optical illasion which a ter-
ee conscience presents toyou. Thereisno one

Ore

ve achild?

0.

Not little Edgar?

Pshaw! It is only your fancy.

“It is nothing!” cried Reginald, sinking into a
chair, his countenance even moré deadly pale than
before, and his whole appearance ghost-like.

_ He covered his face with his hands; and then,
rising quickly, took up the lantern, and rushing
from the room, closed the door behind him.

But go where he would, he could not get rid of
the sight of his infant nephew. When he turned
from one passage into another the child in his
night-dress stood at the other end, like the air-
drawn dagger which appeared to the guilty vision
of Macbeth. x

At times he thought he heard the child speak
fo him, and in tender accents appeal to him to
forego his dreadful purpose; and then he would
rise up as ifabout to rush from the reom, and
prevent the deed which for months he had contem-
pisteds and which, perhaps, even now was com-
pleted,

Vain effort! The night is dark, thera is nota
star in the sky, Hugh ia already far from the hall,
and if by the warm fire, and in the well-lighted
room, Reginald’s guilty conscience makes him
shudder at every sound, real or imaginary, how
could he find courage to descend upon the beach,
and, amid the howling of the wind and the roar of
the breakers, call out to the murderer to withhol
the deadly blow. :

Hush, what is that? Is it another of those
phantom sounds which have haunted him during
this dreadful night?

Listen |!

Tramp, tramp, tramp! These are no imaginary
footsteps,

They came nearer and nearer, They approach
the door of the room in which he is sitting. Then
they stop, and for a moment there is a death-like
silence, broken only by a sound as of @ man’s
hand feeling for the handle of the door.

The door opens, and Hugh stands before him,
A sigh of relief bursts from his agonized lips.

‘ig it done?” he demanded.

Took there!” replied Hugh, holding out the
handkerchief Reginald had given him—red.

‘Wretch!? exclaime the other, with a sudden
spring throwing himself upon _ the smuggler, and
grasping him by the throat. But with one sweep
of his arm, Hugh threw him off, and sent him
sprawling upon the ground. 5

“Tt is too late to repent now,” cried the Red-
handed; ‘“‘and the sooner we settle this business
the better.” :

“Fiend!” exclaimed Reginald, ‘what would
you have now?”

“Why, the money to be sure. Do you suppose
I've nlaced my neck within risk Of a halter for the
honor of serving Sir Reginald Osmond ?”

“Sir Roginald!” Tyen at that moment the new.
title by which the smuggler addressed him
brought comfort to his soul. He was now the in-
heritor of the broad lands of Osmond, and of one
of the oldest English baronetcies, The horrors
of this night would soon wear awa: and his spirit
would have free scone for the iaulgence of all
those ambitious projects, and of that over-master-
ing pride, which aad hurried him to the commis-

 

 

aa if there was never to be any more light in the
world again,”

 

up to his full height, and with an expression of

sion of this fearful act. After pausing a moment

to indulge in the pleasing anticipations which the

in Hugh’s handg, “while I get something to wrap gy rode them fearlessly; and ag the wind was now

   

sound of his new title called up, he hastily drew
forth the pecket-book, and placed it in Hugh’s
hands. Hugh opened it, and began leisurely to.
count the notes. Even at that moment Sir Regin-
ald, guilty as he himself was, could not help shud-
dering at the calmness with which, after such a
deed, the assassin counted the’purchase money of
his services,

‘Right!” cried Hugh, when he had performed
this operation. :

‘And you have taken care that no trace——”

“No trace that any mortal eye can discover but
yours and mine,” replied Hugh, in a solemn tone.

“Sit down, Hugh,” said Sir Reginald, suddenly
relaxing hig reserve. Thon going to a cupboard
he brought out a decanter of wine, and fille
glasses for himself and the smuggler. Hugh
tossed off three or four glasses in succession, as
if they had been so much water.

“If you, Hugh, will, within twelve hours from
this, leave the country, and promise me never to
return to it, I will double that money.”

‘Done !” cried Hugh. ‘I promise.”

‘Within twelve hours ?” :

‘Within six. I shall be glad to be gone,” he
continued, in a tone in which, for the first time‘
Reginald recognized something like human feel-
ing. ‘Some of us are tired ot this life, and they
will go wherever I take them. The wind is shift-
ing, and before the break of morning we shall be
able to put to sea in our own boat,

‘Never to return ?”

&*Never 1” =

Tho bargain was struck, and the monoy paid
down. Before daylight broke, the smuggler, true
to his word, embarked with his companions on
board their cutter, the Nancy, and put to seas but
no sooner had he reached her deck than he de-
scended into herlow and warm cabin. and in-his
own hammock he laid. the sleeping form of a
child. With gentle touch, his great horny hands
covered it well with the blanket; and to make
sure it should be warm, placed his own sea-
jacket on the top of that.

Red-handed Hngh had not taken the life of the
young heir of Osmond. Touched by the confi-
dence with which the child held out its arms to
him, and clung round his neck, his heart had
melted with compassion. And though the spirit
of avarice was too-strong to resist the temptation
in the shape of money, he determined to take the
child along with him, and bring him up as his
own.

Though the waves were yet high, the saucy Nan-

owing from the land she sped’ gallantly along
her course.

But the smuggler had been too confident of the
weather. He had not been an hour at sea when
the wind veered round to.its old quarter, and be-
gan to blow a hurricane.

When Sir Reginald awoke, which was not till
somewhat late in the day, the sea was white with
foam, and along the shore were groups of people
watching the fatal progress of one craft after an-
other helplessly driven by the violence of the
storm upon the shore.

Mounting his horse, he rode on to where he saw
one of the largest groups assembled, and there
dismounting, joined them, and soon saw the ob-
ject which attracted their attention. A boat, bot-
tom up, was nearing the shore. Ina few minutes
it was cast upon the rocks. At the same time, in
the immediate vicinity of the crowd, a body was
seen, alternately washed upon an open space of
sand, and drawn back by the receding wave, One
of the party volunteered to tie a rope round his
body, and seize it when it was next washed in.
The bystanders, ee hold of. onezend of the
rope, he advanced, and grasping the body as it
was hurled in, was held tight by the rope as the
wave retired. Several persons dashed forward,
and rapidly bore the body out of reach of the sea.

“It is Will Bewicke!” cried several voices at
once.

“And yon boat, Pll wager anything,” cried an
old gray-bearded fisherman, “belonged to the
» Nancy, Red-handed Hugh’s cutter.”

The sound of Hugh’s name smote upon Sir
Reginald’s heart like the blow ofa knife. He im-
mediately withdrew from the crowd, walked in the
direction of another group assembléd at some lit-
tle distance. He was approaching them,when his
foot struck against something. It was a seaman’s
glazed hat. He lifted -it up, and started with
mingled horror and satistaction when heread on
the inside, stitched in white worsted. the name
“Red -handed Hugh |”

Moerman,

CHAPTER M1,

The last strains of the Magnificat had dicd
away inthe church of our Lady of Victories, in
Cadiz. The priest who had sung vespers had left
the altar with his train of acolytes, and. the con-
gregation had separated, having only here and
there a worshipper, who lingered awhile to pre-
fer some special prayer, or to dwell upon those
holy meditations in which the grand. organ swell
of the music had wrapt them, High over head
clouds of incense wandered slowly along the
groined roof, and on the altar a servitor wag ex-
tinguishing one by one the candles that, during
the benediction which had followed vespers, had
blazed with such magnificence. By and by they
were all'put out, and in a few minutes more the
people who had: remained behind the rest of the
congregation began also to depart, till only three
were left. One was a woman apparently in the
deepest poverty, and suffering under some recent
bereavement. She knelt before the tabernaclo,
before which shone the perpetual lamp, and,
placing her two children on their knees before
her, stretched out both her hands as ifshe would
implore mercy and help for their innocent sakes.
At some distance from her, in a side ‘chapel, and
before the image of our Lady of Victories, knelt a
young Spanish maiden, repeating the prayers of
her rosary, which every nowand then she pressed
tenderly to her breast. Though her dress was
simple, it.was costly enough to mark her as be-
longing to one of the wealthiest families of the
place; and she had, besides, that which wealth
cannot bestow, aform of the most exquisite sym-
metry, and a face beaming with loveliness. As
sheknelt with her eyes cast down she looked the
image of sanctity, and when at times she raised
her eyes and looked towards the marble repre-
sentation of the Virgin, it was difficult to say in
which face was the ideal of heavenly beauty more
seni giely expressed.

ithin a few yards of Donna Teresa stood a
young man, in the uniform of the Spanish mer-
chant navy, and whose bearing had that air of
fearlessness which results from habitual inter-
course with danger.

Don Antonio had almost from his infancy been
a wayfarer on the highway of the ocean. His fa-
ther was % merchant of Cadiz, and the possessor
Of several ships, some of which traded to the port
of London with wine, and others exchanged be-
tween Cadiz and Rio Janeiro the commercial
wealth of Spain and South America. The boy
showing at an early age a love for the sea, Don
Antonio, the elder, had sent him on many voy-
ages, till at lagt, before he reached his majority,
he was réckoned the most skilful captain in the
olé merchant’s service.

Amongat other acquaintances. which Antonio
had made since he had taken un his residence at
Oadiz, of which he was not a native, was that of
Don Sebastian Manrico, like himself a thriving,
nay, indeed,a wealthy merchant, and in the in-
tercourse which presently grew up between the
two families, it was not to be wondered atif a ten-
der attachment should arise between Sebastian’s

Bat during the last two years, while Don Sebas-
tian’s fortunes had considerably increased, those
of Don Antonio had stood still; and his old friend
began to think of a bigher marriage for his
daughter; and am opportunity soon presented
itself of indulging his ambitious dreams; An
English gentleman of great woalth travelling
through Spain, stopped for some time ae Cadiz,:
and, becoming acquainted with Don Sebastian,
fell madly in love with his daughter. No wonder,
for of dark-eyed beauties she was the queen,
This event happened a few weeks before young
Antonio had returned.from his last voyage, and
deen was his, astonishment when, after flying on
the wings of love to report his return to Teresa’
and her family, he found eold looks where hither-
to a cordial welcome had always greeted him,
while he sought in vain ai interview with the em-

 

daughter and Antonio’s brave aud handsome gon, | .

his fellow mortals, he willsend to those who wish

 

the same result, till at last he was unable to gain
admission into the house; day after day he went
to the church where he knew Teresa had hitherto
performed her morning devotions, but she was
not there. At last, entering with a heavy heart
into the church of our Lady of Victories, he be-
held her, and it was not difficult for him to divine
with what purpose she had chosen this church
for her prayers, or what was: the special Victory
for which they were offered Mp: ‘
By and by she rose, and, letting her veil fall
over her face, prepared to leave the church. Ag
she turned she saw Antonio for the first time.
The blood rushed to her cheeks, and a radiant
smile ee eee up that face which a moment be-
fore had been so divested of all earthly expres-
sion.
“Our Lady be praised!” she exclaimed, as he
clasped her hand in his; “she has heard my
prayers, and you are here;” and then, suddenly
recollecting herself, she turned towards the high
altar, and bending reverently upon one knee,
slowly made the sign of the cross upen her fore-
head, aoe her lips, and on‘her breast, and then
rose and departed with Antonio.
‘‘And now,” he exclaimed, as soon as they stood.
outside the church, “what has happened? What
have I done that I have been shut out from your
father’s presence, and denied the only happiness
Llive for?”  . 2
Teresa paused before replying.
det had better tell you plainly,” sho said, after a
6.
“Plainly,” repeated Antonio.
‘My father has promised me in marriage to an
English nobleman,”
“Promised you!” exclaimed Antonio. “Does
he forget that he has promised you to me ?”
‘“*He does; he forgets everything—everything
but this marriage. Your happiness, mino—all is
as nothing to the honor of this high alliance |”
There was silence for some time. Presently
Antonio broke it,
**And you,” he said, “how have you met the
addresses ofthis English hidalgo ??
“Antonio,” she exclaimed, ina tone of gentle
reproach, ‘do you doubt how I would meet them?
This is unkind.”
‘Forgive me,” he cried, pressing her hand. ‘I
was a fool to ask such a question. But who could
have expected this when I sailed fer Rio three
months ago, and. when, on tho night of our part-
ing, Don Sebastian was so gracious and so kind
tome. Youremember it, Teresa?”
*“T do,” she replied. “But I have reason now to
know that for a long time he has looked upon our
union as impossible.”
“And this English hidalgo—has he spoken to
you 7 dear one ?”
“Spo en to me ?”
“JT mean in terms of love.
marriage ?”
‘Ho has.” *
*T know how you have answered him.”
*T told him I Would never be his.”
“Light of my soul!” exclaimed Antonio, “and
you never shall—never! never!” and Antonio
clenched his fist and shook it with a force and
determination which would have made the Eng-
lish hidalgo very uncomfortable had he been
present.
“Listen,” cried ke, after they had walked on a
little farther; ‘Father Dominic loves me as & son.
He will unite us, unknown to Don Sebastian, and
then, when resistance will no longer avail——”
‘Fie, Antonio! would you urge the good father
to a breach of duty ?—-would you urge me, Anto-
nio, to fly in the face of my father’s commands?”
‘And if not, what shall we do ?”
‘Be patient.”

Wait.” |

‘Ah! how long 2”

‘We shall see.”

“But what hope in the meanwhile ?”
‘Time will bring it.”

**You are very confident, Teresa.”

*Thave this to assure me”—she laid her hand
upon her heart—‘“‘this, which tells me Lamatrong
enough to resist all importunity; and that, if
your faith is as lasting as mine, the time naust
come, dearest, when we shall be ene.” a

Antonio raised the delicate hand which lay ia
his to his lips and tenderly kissed it.

“But tell me,” he said, after they had proceed-
ed a little farther in silence, ‘‘what is the name
of this English hidalgo ?” : » ;

‘You may laugh, Antonio,” she replied, play-
fully, “but heis a very great nobleman indeed
who has done me the honor to woo me. He isthe
most noble Sir Reginald, earl and baronet of the
principality of Osmond, in the peerage of Great
Britain and Ireland.”

“Psghaw!” exclaimed Antonio, patting her hand;
‘vou have put half a dozen dignities together.
Your hidalgo is only Sir Reginald-——”

Antonio stopped suddenly...

“What was the principality you mentioned of
which this British grandee was earl and baro-
net?” he asked, earnestly.

‘The principality of Osmond.” 4
“Our Lady be good to us!” exclaimed Antonios
‘this is no doubt that knight of whom I heard
when I was once in the port of London—Sir Regi-

nald Osmond.”

“Hxactly so!” cried Teresa. “It is the title he
gives himself; the one you presume to laugh at
was given him by my father.”

“There were strange whispers about your
graneees Teres2,” said Antonio; ‘‘whispers, I say;
or as he was a great orator in the British Par-
liament, no one spoke loudly against him.”
“Tell me, dear one; tell me what they said ?”
and Teresa drew closer to Antonio,

“He was not the direct heir to the-principality
of Osmond. The right heir was his nephew, over
whom Sir Reginald was appointed guardian by
his dying brother. But one morning when day
broke .on the palace in which they lived, the
child’s nurse found him gone, the window of his
chamber open, the cabinet ransacked, and the
furniture in confusion. It was said he had been
stolen; but there were. tongues which did not
scruple to assert that the guardian was in league
with the thieves. He is a great statesman, this
Sir Reginald; a great orator in the English Par-
liament, and a man of great riches, Against
such,” continued Antonio, ‘even though the livel
be true, the tongue of slander is not permitted to
wag withimpunity in England.” Pure
“Nor in Spain either,” cried a voice behind
them,
It was Don Sebastian. Parting them, he tock
hold of his daughter with one hand, and with the:
other motioned Antonio to begone.
‘Go your way,” he said, sternly. ‘Too long
have I permitted you to abuse the intimacy of my
friendship. But now forever, I bid you depart.
Do not overshadow my doors again; and for this
innocent child,” he continued, “think no more of
Bee It is not for thy roof Heaven has destined
er.
Antonio had been endeavoring to speak.
’ “Good Sebastian,” he exclaimed, “I pray you,
by our old Love, tell me in what have 1 offended
you? I have loved you as a son——”
But already the stately merchant had turned
his back and was departing. Antonio followed
him, implored him to listen; but in vain. c
“Begone!” cried Don Sebastian, not deigning
even to look at him. ta
Antonio, stung by the ingult of such an address,
stopped, and was silent. As long as she was 10
sigat he gazed eagerly after the retreating form
of his mistress; and when sho was no longer Visl-
ble he turned with a dejected air and went sor-
rowfully homewards.

_ (To be Continued.)

Has he asked you in

 

 

A MAN OF A THOUSAND. 3
A CONSUMPTIVE CURED.

DR. H. JAMES, a Retired Physician of great eminence, _
discovered, while in the ast Indies, a certain cure for Con-

sumption, Asthma, Bronchitis, Coughs, Colds, and General
Debility. The remedy was discovered by him when his
only child, a dacghter, Was given Up to die. His child was
cured, and is now alive and well. Desirous of ne ae
it : ( e
recipe, containing full directions for making and’ suocess-
fully using this remedy, free, on receipt of two stamps to
nay expenses. There ishotasingle case af Consumption
Enat it does not at once take hold of ana dissipate. igh:

sweats. neevishness. irritation of the nerves, failure v: &

memory, difficult expectoration, sharp pains in the lungs, &
sore throat, chilly sensations. nausea at the stomach, in-
action of ge bowels, wasting away oi the muscles.

Less CRADDOCK & CO.

 

press of his heart, Day after day-he called with

£18,3m. 225 North Second st., Philadelpiia. Fa ’

4

 

 

       
 
   
 
    
  
 
   
 
    
  
 
   
   
   
    
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
    
    
    
  
    
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
   
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
 
   
  
  
 
  
    
   
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
   
 
   
 
 
    
   
    
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
    
   
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
     
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
 
   
   
   
   
    
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
    
   
   
     
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
    
   
   
     
  
   
   
    
    
  
  
 
 
 

 

 
 

 

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WEW YORK, MARCH 10, 1864,

 

 

a he er ee
Sess

ANOTHER GREAT STORY.

. The readers of the New York WEEEty hve
always given usthe credit of unexcelled enter-
+ _-prise in endeavoring to please our patrons;

and in the selection of our stories, it has ever

been our aim to gratify their various tastes.
’ Qur authors have always chosen the most di-
verso subjects for illustration, and the peculiar-
ities of human nature have suggested ihe
themes. With these few remarks, we an-
nounes that we have made arrangements for
the publication of a new and deeply interest-
ing story, from the pen of a celebrated author,
whose powers of delineation are unexcelled.

It is a tale of Spanish America, and the pecu-

liavities of the characters are depicted iha

style which will instruct as well as interest.

The plot of the story is unique, and every,

succeeding chapter shows that it is being de-

veloped with the skill of a master hand. All
will bear evidence to this fact when they read

THE SILVER SHIP ;

: OR,
The Bloodhound of the Caribbean.
A SPANISH-AMERICAN STORY.
-BY LEON Luis.

The scenes and incidents of this thrilling
tale are portrayed in a style unequalled by any
author, and: it is the first real and faithful
picture of Spanish-American life ever publish-
ed in the form of a story. .

We shall also shorily publish a story of
historical incident entitled “THE IRISH
SCOUT ; or Tue Sry or Trerecanoz,”’ by A.
L. MESERVE, author of “Dick Garland,” ete.

 

 

OUR CITY GOVERNMENT.
- The committee appointed at a meeting of
... the Citizens’ Association—a new organization,
having in view the correction of abuses pre-
vailing in our city government—have pub-
lished an address to the people, setting forth
their views in full, and calling upon all good
sitizens to assist them in carrying said views
out.
The committee sete out by giving the facts
aud figures to show, that our city expenses
- and debt, if not checked, will, ‘at no distant
. day,-amount to a confiscation of the income
from the whole real estato of the city.” They
then glance at the mismanagement of the pro-
petty belonging to the city—the wharves and
piers—the strectsthe necessity of more
stringent sanitary regulations—the necessity
of seeing the law regarding the erection of
tenement houses enforced—the abuses of the
Judiciary—the abuses of the public schools-—
munisipal government generally— fraudulent
voting--the necessity of amending our city

ing “‘all those in favor of the objects sought to

be attained,” to ‘join the Citizens’ Associa-

tion, and by their combined efforts and influ-
ence, labor to secure so desirable a consum-
mation.”

The names appended to this addrese are
those of some of ourmost distinguished citi-

-zens—men aniversally known for their ‘pro-
bity, uprightness, generosity, wealth, and
public spirit—names which are a sufficient
guarantee of their honesty of purpose and
freedom from political bonds ef whatever char-
acter; and, it is needless to say, that we heart-
ily endorse their action, and sincerely hope,
as we firmly believe, that their labor will be
productive of great good.

We wish we could awaken the unreflecting
masses to the great importance of the work
contemplated by the Citizens’ Association,
for it is a work in which they are more deeply
‘interested than even tax-payers themselves.
Butitis hard to make the laboring man see
how greatly he is made to suffer from official
corruption. Having no property which may
be taxed directly, he falls into the error of
thinking that it matters but little, so far as he
ig concerned, who is elected to positions of
public trust. If he would but reflect’a mo-
ment, he would perceive that he, after all,
pays more taxes, in proportion to his means,
than the rich man. Not a cent.is added to
our inordinate taxation which does not affect
him in the shape of imcreased rent, fuel, food,
and clothing. The landlord is taxed, and he
makes himself whole by raising the rent of his
tenants. The baker, grocer, coal merchant,
dry goods dealer, or tailor, whose rent is
raised, squares his account by increasing the

_ price of his commodity; and so it happens
‘that the mechanic who labors from day to day
‘for a mere pittance, is the severest sufferer af-
ter all, And yet he rejoices in his blindness
—makes no inquiry as to the cause when he
is called upon to pay an increased price for all
the necessaries of life—and when election day
comes, he goes to the polls and casts his vote
for some soulless demagogue, who, if elected,
will enter ‘‘the ring,” and assist in piling up
taxation still higher.

We wish our laboring friends would give
this important matter a little serious consid-
eration, for so long as they stand aloof but
little can be accomplished. Municipal reform
is the only thing which will give to the labar-
ing man the fall value of themoney which he
earns, and there is a better chance of secur-
ing this valuable desideratum under the work-
¥ ings of the Citizens’ Association:‘thanin any
| other way that has thus far, to our knowledge,
7} been suggested,

 

\

 

charter—and they wind up by cordially invit- |

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

INDUSTRY AND. IDLEWESS.

Mankind are generally supposed to be divided
into two races—those who have too much, and
those who have too little to do. But when
you look deeper into the matter, those who are
the busiest are always found capable of doing
a little more, and they are the very persons to
go to if you want anything done which may
require labor, effort, and self-sacrifice. Adam
Clarke says the proverb, ‘“foo many irons in
the fire,” is a falsehood, and that you should
keep every one of them hot—tongs, poker, and
all, As to those who seem to have butlittle to
do, that little is usually a mighty work to them.
There is not, perhaps, a man of whom it may
be more truly said that he has his hands fall,
than one of those envied persons who have
nothing to'do—one who can live without toil,
and who has not character, or courage, or vir-
tue enough to engage in the serious responsi-
bilities of life. To such a ong, the meresi
trifle isa bugbear of vast dimensions—to him
a molehill is a mountain. You often see such
an imbecile grumbling at the petticst obstacles;
while another is seen toiling with vigor,
alacrity, and success. In deciding which of
these two men has the hardest lot in life, we
should reverse the common opinion, and con-
sider the men of nothing to do as those who
are over-burthened with care. Dr. Chan-
ning wisely said, ‘Do anything harmless rath-
er than give yourself up to thinking. I can
speak on this point from experience,”
he continues. ‘At one period of my life
I was a dreamer—a castle-builder.  Vis-
ions of the distant and future took the place
of present duty and activity. Ispent hours
in reverie. I suppose I was seduced in pagt
by physical debility. But the body suffer
as much as the mind. I found, too, that the
imagination threatened to inflame the pas-
sions, and that if I meant to be virtuous, I
must dismiss my musings. The conflict was
a hard one. I resolved, prayed, resisted,
sought refuge in occupation, and at length
triumphed. I beg you to avail yourself of my
experience.” After this sound advice, we may
give one comparison, which is, the miser pro-
crastinates, and the spendthrift anticipates;
the former perpetually experiences want, and
the latter absolutely purchases it, The one is
every day before happiness, and the other, a
day after it. Idleness is the parent of vico
and misery. * Never be idle, for you can al-
ways find something usetul to do; and remem-
ber that a small beginning, with industry and
care, will make an estate; whereas’ the slug-
gard, who will not plow by reason of the cold,
shall in harvest time have nothing. What if
you fail in business? You will have life,
health, and hope. Don’t sit down and cry
about mishaps, for that will never get you out
of debt, nor buy your children frocks. Go to
work at something; eat sparingly, dress mod-
erately, drink nothing exciting, and, above
all; keep a cheerful heart. When you are the
anvil, have patience; but when you are the
hammer, hit well, The way of the slothful
man is as a hedge of thorns.”’

 

<p> +> ta
A STRING OF PEARLS,
Kindly welcome your enemy, for it is the
better policy. The lightnings kiss the inviting
wire, but rend the defiant aals,

The word of truth, to some persons, ig like
a fence before an unruly beast; the better you
place it before them the worse they become.

Always recognize the possibility of a dis-
appointment as well as the probability of a
realization -of the pleasure anticipated. Hope,
falling from great heights, has shattered many
brains,

Secret envy is galling, and its manifestation
in anywise is productive of unsatisfactory re-
sults. Instead of tempting its object to the
relinquishment of that which causes the hate-
ful passion, the knowledge of its existence by
the envied person is but.an incentive toa
more powerfal exercise of his talents or the
improvement of every enviable quality.

The exaction of inferiors is often as unrea-
sonable as the arrogance of superiors is des-
picable.. They exhibit aspirations as unbe-
coming their social station or intellectual ca-
pabilities as those they condemn in others.
Due consideration may discover, to them that
there is often more reason than arrogance in
the condemned claims to, and feelings of, su-
periority. Grossness and refinement are as
heterogeneous as oil and water. |

Nature, in many instances, exhibits aston-
ishing patience; but her laws long trampled
on, she turns and avenges theinsult witha
fury and venom no less terrible than unex-
pected. Youth, look suspiciously on your
strong appetites and passions. You call the
man weak who plunges the dagger in his own
heart, but your own self-destruction may yet
be the demand of the misery—the penalty—
insulted Nature imposes. ;

_ The retention of absolute friendship requires

great care, for anotheris apt to apply more
force to your insinuations than you intend,
especially if a third person be the medium
through which your words reach the object
of discourse. Words often gnaw the heart as
acids corrode the metal, when they should be
as oil and ointment poured forth to soothe
and heal,

Many who say, ‘I am obliged to you,” to
those who perform little offices of kindness,
would resent the expectation of reciprocity—
they know not what they say. Our courteous
expressions seldom spring from a deep-seated
sense of others’ warmth of soul and our own
bounden duty to reward. © a

How true it is that the law of the mind is
Such that its gratification by recrimination ac-
tually hinders the subsequent exercise of good
will towards its enem¥; whereas patience and
cool forbearance under insult encourage and

 

facilitate it. . IsiNI0K.

ABOUT BOOKS AND READING.

What is better than a good hook? Be it a
novel, or what it will, a really good book is a
never-failing fountsin of happiness; snd how
thankful we eught to be that we have the un-
derstanding to appreciate it.

I often wonder what people do who cannot
read! How heavily the time must hang on
their hands, when not employed with the
usual labors ofthe day. To such people so-
litude would be unbearable. How many ser-
vants I’ve heard complain that Sunday was
such a long, dreary day. Almost all those can-
not read, or if they can, it takes them so long
to spell their words, they do not understand
what they are reading about,

In these days of free schools, we ought not,
in America, to have such people; but still we
do, and American people at that! Some peo-
ple who have no education themselves, don’t
care whether their children have any or not;
and just such people reside in the city of New
York,

Tcalléd on a seamstress the other day; a
smart, intelligent appearing woman, and a
splendid seamstress, at home in all branches
of the business. Observing a sect tract lying
on her table, near her work, I took it up; it
only pointed out such and such passages of
Scripture. Said the woman: “I suppose that
is an interesting book, if I only understood
figures, but I don’t; my mother could not
read and she said she had always got along in
the world, and she was sure I could; though
I sometimes wish I knew a little more about
reading.” And that woman was but a little
older than myself; handsome and intelligent.
What a different lot might have been hersif
she had only been educated.

I do not know what I should do if I could
not read; there would be little enjoyment for
me, deprived of my books, for

*sBooks are a-real world,
Round which, with tendrils strong ag flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness may grow.” A

9.6 D> «>
LYING.
Of all the vices, there is no one more crim-
inal, more mean, and more ridiculous, than
lying. ‘The end we design is very seldom ac-
complished, for lies are always found out at
one time or other, and yet there are persons
that give way to this vice, who are otherwise
of good principles and who have not been ill
educated. Lies generally proceed from vani-
ty, cowardice, and a revengeful disposition;
and, sometimes, from a mistaken notion of
self-defence. Those who tell malicious lies,
with a view of injuring a person of whom they
speak, may gratify their wish for a while, but
will in the end find it recoil upon themselves,
for as soon as they are detected, they are de-
spised for the infamous attempt, and what-
ever they may say hereafter of any person,
will be considered as false, whether it be true
or not. If persons lie by way of excuse for
anything they have said or done, or getting
out of a scrape, they aggravate the offence in-
stead of lessening it. Lying in excuse for fault
betrays fear. ‘There ig nothing more noble, if
we have done wrong, than to frankly acknowl-
edge it. It is the way of meeting forgiveness.
The confessing of a fault, and the asking
pardon are considered sufficient atonement.
There are persons whose vanity lead them to
telliies. Liars are not only disagreeable to
the community, but dangerous companions,

 

}and when known will be shunned by all per-

sons of understanding,

The greatest liars are the greatest fools, and
are looked upon as low and vulgar, and as
having little sense. D. A. 8.

——— 18)
WiNTER.

Winter is here with his ice and snow,
Now the piexcing winds doth blow.

O! the sleigh rides, the merry sleigh rides,
over the sparkling, white and crusted snow.
How fast you go! How merry you are!. How
sorry you are when the merry chimes cease,
and with a jerk you are brought up before
your own door, :

See that old man standing on the steps.
Pass*him by, he is not worthy of notice. What
if his old bones do rattle with the cold? What
if the wind does blow under his old rags?
You are warmly dressed with your furs and
warm cloak. You draw yourself up haughtily
as you pass him by; he essays to stretch out
his poor trembling hand, but you pretend not
to notice it as you pass into the house, where
a warm fire is awaiting you.

Of course it wasn’t your fault if he was
frozen to death that bitter cold night. Of
course you wonder why somebody didn’t take
him in! You would have cared for him ten-
derly had you known he was there. Of course,
when Miss Lovelace came soliciting subscrip-
tions for the poor, you pulled out your dainty
purse and placed a fifty dollar billin her hand.
But that old man—he had no business to come
begging on your steps. Whatif his family

were starving? you had plenty. But ‘the
poor thing”—you are so very sorry! Such is
life, Roseiza ASHBURTON,

commecmreerasat tim > 4 ED > ¢—Airremerennnrienrees
DON’T WORRY.

Don’t worry! It willdo you no good. It
will not make your burden lighter. It will
not dispel the clouds of sorrow from your life
sky. It will not advert coming evil. It will
make your troubles none the less.

‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
Have you done your duty in all things? Have
you improved every opportunity to do good?
Have you employed your time as it shonld

|have been employed? Have you oboyed the

Divine commands? If you have, then leave
results with a higher Power.

Don’t worry! It will only make your trou-
bles greater and life look less bright and at-
tractive. It willbring grey hairs and wrin-
kles, and make your heart old before its time.

 

Don’t worry! It never did any good yet,

»

‘self out, gatherin

 

and will never do anything but harm. Work,
work! be active, be industrious, be prudent,
be careful, but don’t worry, or you will never
accomplish anything in life.

It is activity, effort and perseverance that
leads to success. These, accompanied, by
cheerfulness and hope, seldom fail to bring
happiness, contentment and peace.- Cherish
them, exert them, be faithful, be trustful, but
don’t worry!

J. Witriam Van Namer.
4D > 4 —aremrecpaneeecrermenal,
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES’ NEW STORY.

We take pleasure In announcing a new serial
from the pen ofthis preat American authoress,
She has been engaged upon it for some fime
past, and we shall be enabled to speak more
lengthily of it next week.

me

 

 

 

 

NO LETTER.
BY ANNIE,

Charley Ashley is pacing the “sentinel’s beat,°?
His gun in the moonlight is gleaming;

His footsteps are heavy, his heart heavy too—
Of the dear ones at home he is dreaming.

He bitterly thinks how an hour before,
When the camp-fires were cheerily burning,

The mail was broughtin; for a very long time
For a letter his heart had been yearning.

Quickly the letters were handed out;
How, fast his heart had been throbbing!
No tidings for him!—like a plummet it sank
in his breast, as he turned away sobbing!
His tent-mate hag letters from home every week,
Kind tokens of woman’s affection,
His heart is kept pure, and tenier, and true,
By many 2 fond recollection,

Charley leans on his gun and thinks of the day
When the bullets were thickly flying,

They fought side by side, his tent-mate and he,
Scarce heeding the groans of the dying.

His tent-mate had said that his letters he wore
In his bosom--that they were love’s fetters,

When a bullet whizzed by, and buried itself
In the midst of that package of letters |*

Charley Ashley is pacing the sentinel’s beat,
His gun in the moonlight is gleaming;
His footsteps are heavy, his heart heavy too—
Of the dear ones at home he is dreaming.
He bitterly thinks that in the néxt fray
Perhaps it were very much better
A builet should reach him, for well does he know
It ne’er would be stopped by a letter!

Oh, mothers and sisters, ch swesthearts and wives !

Have ye never this duty neglected ?
- Have ye never caused some soldier heart to despair—

To grow weary, and sad, and dejected ?

There is plenty of work for woman to do ;
Tho’ ye work amid lamentation,

Yet the fruit will be sweet when we ghall be made
A rejoicing, a puriyicd nation !

*

*A fact, :
erteoenmecsinnctnmeantiiny ¢ <> ¢-<aiirwncaseienectcensinem

GOLDEN CHILDHOOD.

BY AUGUSTUS TREADWELL,

 

 

(Messrs. Strenr & Smira: Your compositor made
sad work of the last article I sent you,viz., “Morning,”
having omitted an entire page of the piece, causing a
very abrupt leap from the third to the fifth morning,
entirely destroying the sense of a part of the piece. I
hove he willbe more careful with this essay.—AvuGUs-
TUS TREADWELL, }

orn

ey watched him gambol with the flowers, and chase the
butterflies

With careless step, and joyous laugh and pleasure in

his eyes,

Until he laid him down to sleep, where stood the shel-
tering yew,

To dream of chasing butterflies, where heavenly flow-
ers grew,” :

*Tis the poetry of life. Who istheré among u8
that cannot look back to it with feelings of the
deepest pleasure! How often when we are older
grown, when the world with its cares, and life,
with its thousand perplexities, surround us, do we
look batk through memory’s silver vista to the
golden days of childhood.

Meditation is sweet, and especiaily so when the
subject of our thoughts is that of our earlier
days. Often have I gat alone in my room, the
busy, bustling world shut out,and gone back in
my mind through all the boyish sports and mis-
chiefs that mischievous boyhocd is heir to,

My schoolmates, some of them I have already
forgotten, some of them I can never forget; most
of them have grown up to be useful men and
women in society; some are married.

One little girl I cannot forget. “Iwas Nellie !
How her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed !
Nellie was my favorite. Always early to school,
and bringing our dinners with-us, what merry
times we used to have before school and during
the noon reces®. The boys would write our names
side by side on the black-board, on the fences,
and all over thesides of the old brown school-
house. Itused to make Nellie blush, and some-
times causeme tofeel angry, and threaten to
thrash Bill Jones, or some other fun-loving ur-
chin when I caught him; but I either never could
catch him or find out whether anybody else did
it or not, and so had to content myself by reading
my name in as many as fifty different places all
over the schoolhouse and fences, beside that of
Nellie Williams. ‘ £

’ How happy ‘we were going to be wken we be-
came old enough to get married, We were going
to have a house just like Mr. Lawson’s, our vil-
lage physician, with high windows, handsome
curtains, and folding doors. Have our grass-plot
and garden nicely laid out in front, And, oh!
everything was to be so delightful ! =

But one day Nellie did not come to school. The
teacher wanted to know why she had not come;
so he sent one of the scholars home to where
Nellie lived to see. The little girl brought word
that Nellie was very sick !

Day after day roiled on, and Nellie did not come
to school; and, by and by, word came that Nellie
was dead! Almost every child in the school. cried
when the teachér told us our little schoolmate,
Nellie, was Cead! We all went to the funeral;
and as Nellie was laid in the grave, many
a little heart sobbed, as if it would
break. For a long while all the scholars were sad,
for all had loved Nellie; and when I would go to
bed at night my little heart would give vent to
itself in tears, and I would cry and cry until I
cried myself to-sleep. Now that I look back to
those childish tears, how they seem to melt
through all the-experience of years, and in their
innocent purity bedew my eyes again. The green
grass grows luxuriant and fair over Nellie’s tomb,
as ib does algo over the gently swelling mounds of
many others who were once our schoolmates,
The bending willows droop, as if sorrowing for
those beneath; but the'r sleep hag been calm—no
storms of life’s maturer sorrows has disturbed
their repose—no pain, no sickness or fever has
reached them there; they have escaped all—en-
joyed the sweet of life—its golden childhood, and
then by a merciful Father’s hand they have been
transplanted to the garden of Heaven.

Golden childhood! my mind cannot forget with
what an ideality it was then surrounded; all
seemed bright; sorrow, save that of “boyhood’s
petty griefs,” I knew not of. The future to me
seemed {naught but a glittering sheen of beauty,
growing brighter and brighter the farther I should
advance. Many a summer day have tired my-
Q flowers and chasing butter-
flies, and when I laid myself down at night,
slept but to dream of catching the largest butter-
flies and gathering the fairiest fiowers tha: my

 

J untrammeled' imagination could picture. © Even

my dreams then were blissful, and why should
they not have been?

Golden childhaod! *tis then we can look back
to the sweet face of a yearning mother. Who
that has the instinct of humanity about him but
what has his mother’s face, as she appeared to
him in childhood, clearly mirrored in his heart |!
Mother! How oft have we sat upon that dear
lap, and laid with our head against her bosom ?—
beon rocked to sleep as she hummed some well
known lullaby? How oft has her dear hand
stroked the hair from off our forehead as she told
us to “be a good boy?” Ah, ye mothers!—ye
who watched over our lisping infancy, caught the
first sound that had formed itself into a word, as
it fell from our lips, would that your counsels had
bgen more regarded, and your gentile teachings
peen remembered! How much less of wickedness
would we now see about us!—how much less of
crime! Yes, ye mothers! your names are part
of our childhood’s history; without you our re-
collections would lose their. brightness—with you
the days of our youth come back to us with all
the beauty and lite of their once bouyant reality.
Yes, golden childhood, I love to think of thee, for

‘lin thy memory I can drown the vexations and toils

of years, and for the time being feel that I again
range thy sunny meadows. Let me then not for-
get thee, for thou wert indeed the spring-time ang
summer of my life.

EE REECE

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

4a A man named Weales, who for several
years had lived the life of a hermit, in the neighbor-
hood of Maryport, Eng., died there recently at the age
of 87. About twelve or fourteen years ago he built a
small, open-roofed, one-roomed cottage, in the corner
of one of the two fields he possessed, and there he has
lived up to his death, refusing the assistance of a ser
vant to minister to his wants, though this would have
been gladly provided by his son. A dog, acet, and
himself were the sole occupants of this miserable hovel,
which had not been scoured oreven swept out since
its erection. Weales never undressed and never wash-
ed himself. During the last two years he has been
lame, and obliged to use crutches. Lately he was bare-
ly able to sit up in His bed, which was close to the fire,
and was indebted to the kindness of stray passers-by
to make his fire, keep it alive, and bring him provisions
from Maryport. The dog and. the cat ate from tho
game dish as himself, and he continued .to cook his
meat with afrying-pan, which was after every meal
carefully cleaned out by his canine and feline compa.
nions. Weales was the owner of two fields, producing
together £20 a year, and upon this he lived.

46s" Prairie chickens, it is well known, at cer-
tain seasons ofthe year, fly in great numbers from the
interior of Iowa and acress the Mississippi into Illinois.
They are very often to be seen sitting on the houses in
Keokuk, when tired after their return flight. We have
known quail to perch upon the ridge-poles of the
houses ina Western town: but, until this time, we
never heard of wild turkeys coming into acity. A
short time sinte, however, two wild turkeys fléw from
the island on the Illinois side of the Mississippi River,
opposite St. Louis, and made directly for the city. As
they neared the buildings, they did not seem to know
what to make of the prospect, and so perched on the
chimneys of a steamboat, which lay at the foot of Mar-
ket street. When disturbed, one of them flew to the
top of a house in Chestnut street, and thence to the
steamer John D. Perry, at the foot of Pine street. Itis
thought that he got back across the river. The other
was shot from his perch on the steamer,

x= Axi Indian woman named Boucher, said to
be 125 years old, recently died in Green Bay, Wis.,
wholived without ears. She was taken prisoner at
the storming of Fort Mackinac, (I do not remember
the'date,) by the Indians, and marched with other cap-
tives into the interior of Michigan, the intention of the
captors being to sacrifice them on arriving at theix
Settlement. On the second day’s march, Mrs. Boucher °
complained of hunger, and there being nothing to
give her, the inhuman wretches conceived the idea of
cutting off her ears, and making her eat thém, which
they accordingly did, roasting them on the coals be-
fore her face. A French half-breed, who witnessed the
disgusting scene, took pity on her, and effected her
escape during the night. In this mutilated condition,
and after a weary and despairing march through the
northern weods, she reached the settlement of her
tribe, on Lake Superier. She subsequently returned
to Mackinac, and married a French Canadian named
Boucher, who died at an advanced age many years ago.

45° Our colored troops have ai least one advan-
tage over white soldiers—they can covera great deal
of ground, Capt. Potter was authorized to supply

 

4 boots to the colored regiment at Quincy, fll. The sizes

were so enormous that they could not be procured at
Chicago, and the captain had to telegraph to Washing-
ton to know what was to be done. He was ordered to
have the regimental feet measured and send the result
to Washington, so that the boots could ke constructed
there. The sizes range from 10’s to 20’s. This regi-

| ment will be apt to ‘‘trample on the rights of the South,”

if they have opportunities to display their valorous
feats, :

AG A tian Wasvecently walking along a street
in Sheffield, England, and smoking a vipe, when he
tripped and foll violently upon his face, driving one
end of the pipe into an artery at the back of his
mouth. He was removed to the hospital, and as the
wound bled frightfully, the surgeon performed. the
rage operation of tying the common carotid artery.
Tis was successfully accomplished; but it is thought«
the man cannot recover.

aa A lunatics’ ball isone of the last great
events in England. The inmatesof the Cheadle Luna-
tic Asylum were honored by a grand bali recently, and
all of the demented crestures participated in the Terp-
sichorean sports. Nearly one hundred of the inhabi-
tants of the neighborhood were also present, and san-
ity and insanity became so commingled that it was
almost impossible to note these distinguishing traits,

x@- No wonder the price of eggs is advanced.
The spiritualists have discovered that the eating of
eggs by a medium causes the “spirits” to come out in
greater force. They assert that the consumption of
eges add to the phosphorus in the human body, and
consequently gives more power to the medium. We
often thought it would bea good idea to give these
Spiritualists a few raw ones—externally.

4a A pauper in the Uckfield workhouse, Eng-
land, named William Novies, aged 82, was charged be-
fore the magistrate with refusing to work. The poor
old man, who had lived for twelve years beyond the

unable to work, but their worships thought differently,
and sentenced him to twenty-one day’s hard labor. ;

ag A gurious and interesting discovery has re-
cently been made in California, of a pyramid very

very much smaller. The stones composing the courses
average six feetin length, and from one to thres fect
in thickness, :

xa Rats must be very fond of greasy matter.
A family of those quadrupeds, who infest the Rocky
Mountains, recently stole six hundred and forty pounds
of candles from a anne tunnel at Gregory Point.
They carried off the candles and secreted them among
the rocks. We have heard that printer ‘‘rats’’ are also
partial to a slice of ‘fat.’

aa Three surgeons, Mr. Thackeray’s intimate
friends, made a post-mortem examination of his body on

coolness—to dissect his head and weigh his brain. It
was found to be of the enormous weight of fifty-eight
and half a ounces—far, very far above the average of or-
dinary men. ‘

aa The heir-apparent of Italy is badly off in
his selection of a wife, being limited to three prin= *
cesses, and all of them German at that. He says that
should he marry either of those, the German is such
an eraphatic language that his wife would prefer using
it when desiring to scold him, and thus doubly abuse
him by employing epithets he cannot comprehend.

4@- The fishermen of Cairo, Ill, have mei
with unprecedented luck lately. One day last week,
they made two hauls of a seine, taking a ton at each
haul, ofthe finest kind of catfish, buffalo, perch, bass,
a sturgeon, They weighed from 10 to 100 pounds
each.

aw A young woman, named Susan Mitchell,
who was cleaning a loom in the Russell factory at Mid-
dletown Conn., one afternoon recently, was accident-
ally caught by her hair on a shaft revolving 100 times a
minute, but was rescued alive, minus all her hair and 9,
part of the scalp.

aa A “‘cock-and-bull” story has just been re-
lated by a Long Island journal. It tells us ihat Mr.
T. D. Cock, of Gyater Bay, has contributed as his Gona-
tion to the Sanitary Fair a young Durham bull,.valued
at $150. The irreverent Long Island print adds, “Bul-
ly for him,”*

aa A German mother, residing at Zanesville,
Ohio, taught her little son the prayers she had repea:-
edin her childhood. One day he surprised her by ask-
ing, ‘Ma, why do we_always talk Yankee and pray
German? Ig the Lord a Dutchman ?”
-  Ka- During the removal of the bodies from tho
old cemetery at St. Johnsbury, Vt., three bodies were

their usual proportions. eB
aay- A patriotic recruiting officer in New Haven

 

I

him of his bounty.

 

 

    

three score years and ten allotted to man, ssid he was °

similar in construction to the Egyptian pyramids, only -

the day of his death. They had the curiosity—and the -

 

 

 
 

   
  
  

found petrified, with their faces and limbs reiaining : <

enlisted his sister's son, last week, and them robbed yoga

~~ e

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(eis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A WOMAN’S LOVE.
BY SYLVIE A. SPERRY.

 

“Te said to me, “Mary, ’tis just as you cay;
‘It you wish I will go, but if not I will stay.

Say, darling, what duty devolves on me now?

Come, raise the bright eyo, and clear the fzir brow, :
And say but the word, shall I go orremain ?’’

And I looked in his face, and though tears fell like rain,
“William, go,” I replied; ** ’tis your duty to go,

And fight for your country against every foe!’’

He enlisted! Ah! well I remember the day
When that brave, noble band, in their martial array,

Bade their homes and their loved ones a final good-by; |.

And ye saw not a tear in the beaming, bright eye.

. Nota face was o’erciouded; the heart might be sad,
But.to judge from their actions each bosom was glad.
‘Dear William,” I said, when he bade me adieu,
“Be true to y-ur country—I’ll be true to you!’’

To-day Ireceived a long letter from him.

Twas written in pain, and my tears made it dim.

He says, in the baitle at Donelson, he

Lost a leg and an arm, and then adds, I am free!

That he will not compél me to marry him when

He’s so crippled; and yet he does not complain.

God bless him! the trial must be worse than death!
and he thinks I’ll forsake him—not while I have breath!

‘Hear William,’ I answered, “if yet there remain
Of that poor, crippled body enough to contain
Half your soul, I will wed you! So talk not te me
Of releasing me now, for I will not befree! 5
I will count my whole future most happily spent,
If to thy rough pathway one pleasure is lent,

Or one sharp thorn concealed from thy footstep, un-:

wary, :
By me! So haste home to your parents and Mary!"

 

ByMisMaryyle Dallas.

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

 

[Back numbers of ‘‘The Neglected Warning; or, the
Triais of a Pablic School Teacher,’’ can bo obtained
from every News Agent throughout the - United

_ States.)

 

 

CHAPTER XXIIT,
AMONG THE GRAVES.

White and cold arose the: tombstones of a
Long Island graveyard under the star-studded
night sky. Over them hung the drooping
willow branches, just budding into early
spring-time freshness. Thesnow had melted
from the mounds, and the brown earth, giv-
ing up the winter frost, was soft and marshy.
No village lay close at hand; the nearest farm-
house was a mile away, and not a sound dis-
turbed the solemn stillness of the scene, sa-
cred to the last long slumber of the life weary,
from the moment when a feeble old grave-
digger, who had taxed his waning strength to
hollow out a bed for a little coffin, to be laid
away there the next morning, had padlocked
the iron gate and totteredaway; until the deep-
voiced bell of a neighboring church had told
the ‘hour of twelve. Then, indeed, strange

echoes broke the solemn hush of that white} Do you know thatIam here—can you |
graveyard. Sounds of splashing footsteps in | me calling to you—do you know that all my

the miry earth, suppressed laughter, the voices
of men in jesis, or impatient exclamations
conéerning the condition of the road, and in a
few moments the forms of five or six men
made their appearance on that portion of the
ground which, more elevated than the rest,

formed a sort of hill, on which a stately mon-
ument arose against the sky. It might have
been observed, had there been any eye to
mark their approach, that these men were all
young and tolerably well dressed—that they
bore with them spades and pickaxes, and that
one carried a large cloth soe loosely over
his arm.

Wild fellows they seemed to be, but not ig-
norant,ones, for amidst the coarse jests and
gibes which they flung at each other, were
heard now and then classical allusions and
scraps of Latin twistedinto puns. That they
had been fortifying themselves with liquor
was pretty evident, although none were abso-
lutely drtink, nor even in that condition in
which a gentleman finds it difficult to fit his
latch-key to its keyhole, and is prone to retire
to bed in his boots.

Oné or two were smoking cigars, and ono
held a meerschaum between his teeth, from
which the blue smoke curled in soft white
waves and danced upward in blue rings about
his head. He led the procession, and as they
descended into the.lower part of the ground,
turned toward his comrades and inquired,

“Which way now? Under the first willow
to the right, I think you said. . Is¢hat it yon-
dor?” Be

“That's it,” replied one of the party, a
black-haired youth, with a flushed face and
heavy brows. ‘I nicked a bit out of the tree,
thatI might know it again.”

“And I'll tell you something,” said a third,
“Tf you stop long to talk we'll find ourselves
crossin@ the water in broad daylight, and that
won'tbe pleasant, with a stiff on our hands,
ifany confounded policeman happens to be
about.”

“Time enough,” said the first, carelessly.
“You're sure, Jem, it’s a good one?”

“Splendid!” said the dark-browed youth.

_ “A perfect model !—curious case, too. Larkin
gays he never saw a death like it. The blood
was absolutely dripping from her lips when
She died, and the hemorrhage was not enough

to kill any one either. He says he didn’t be-
lieve it at first—thought it was a swoon.

Ditn’t you, Larkin?”

“Yes,” replied the man addressed, the old-
est of the group by many years, ‘‘yes; I ex-
pected to see her pick up again, though sho

 

 

 

had looked queerly all through the inquest. I
don’t believe she killed the boy.”

‘Who did, then ?”’

‘Heaven knows. It showsthe worth of cir-
cumstantial evidence—that’s all I have to say
Pabout it. My God! how hard that fellow took
it—Millard, Imean. Wouldn’t we be in for
it if he knew what we were about, though ?”

“What was her name? I’ve forgolien it,””
asked the first.

“Lilly Merle,’’ was the reply.

They were at work now. Mattock and
spade were being driven into a new made
grave. The earth was flung aside rapidly as
the strong arms of the young men wielded
their bright implements, and soon the grave
was opened, and stooping over it stood two of
the number, busy with a long and knotted
cord. The next momenta coffin stood upon
the sod and they were unscrewing it. The
moon, at its full height when their work com-
menced, was sinking slowly now, but there
was light enough to see the marble form lifted
slowly from its regting-place and laid upon
the cloth which had been spread for its recep-
tion. In an instant this cloth was folded over
its bosom, concealing it from view, and busy
hands were hard at work, flinging the earth
back into the grave, into which the coffin had
been hastily lowered.

The man who had before admonished them
to speed spoke again.

‘Hurry! hurry! The moon is setting, and
it will be hard work to stumble amongst these
graves without her. ‘There, I'll help you.
You would think-I had been a grave digger all
my life, wouldn’t you? Hurra! done, finished,
completed,” and the man who bad just dese-
crated a grave, absolutely danced a breakdown
vpon the new-heaped mound. $

He was checked by! a whisper from his com-
rades,

“Hush! I tell you! Behind the tombstone
yonder for your life! Some one is coming.”
Quick as a flash two of the number caught
the corpse from the ground, and vanished with
it behind a stately monument near at hand.
The others sought various places of conceal-
ment, and by the time that the tall form of a
man made its appearance in the summit of the
rising ground, not one of the party of students
were visible,

_ He came on slowly, this man, and the linger-
ing light of the moon fell full upon the face of
Harry Millard. It was pale as that of a ghost.
The first grief which had fallen upon his heart
had been‘a bitter one—so bitter that he had
not even striven to drown it, but gave way to
its overwhelming torrent, hoping and _believ-
ing that it was too strong to live under, and
that borne down by it he must inevitably die.
In the night-time, unable to sleep, unable to
bear the companionship of his wild associates,
he kad taken a boat and without a companion
roamed from the city to the shore of this lone-
ly grave yard where the girl who had blessed
his life with her innocent love had so lately
been laid to rest. He had no need to search
for the grave ,unmarked thotgh it was by any
stone. Memory led him to the spot, and be-
side it he knelt down, burying his face in his
hands and weeping like a child.

‘Titty! Lilly!” he cried, “my angel ay
hear

earthly happine= departed with you? Lilly!
hilly Merle—if spirits have the power of re-
visiting this earth, I call upon you to dome uato
me now. Iwill not fear you Lilly, I will not
seek to touch you, only kneeling here let me:
see your angel face—hear your soft voice!
Lilly, in mercy to me, one word, one glance,
one token of your presence.”

There was no answer to his prayer; no angel
wings waved over him; no spirit voice replied.
Silent was the night-veiled oraveyard—un-
stirred its sleeping inmates, and not ton feet
from him, hidden by a mighty block of marble,
lay the shrouded form of his dead betrothed,
and beside it two students knelt, pale and
shuddering, for once in their wild lives, and
hidden by other stones, the rest shrunk into
the shadows and held their breaths and stilled
the very beatings ef their a in fear and
shame,

Again sobs heaved that strong man’s bosom;
again, with uplifted hands, he implored Heav-
en to give him back his dear one, and, at last,
mad with anguish, his lips uttered blasphemy.
“Godis cruel!” he eried. ‘He does not
love His creatures—He hates them! I will
never pray again. Oh, Lilly, Lilly, are you
nothing now, save mouldering clay? Has
your soul gone out into darkness? Is there
nothing left--nothing, nothing ?”

He was well nigh mad by this time. Prone
on the marshy graveyard soil he lay, regard-
less of the mire that clung to his hair and to
his garments. He moaned and wept; and,
ever and anon, lifted his voice and cried aloud,
in tones that rent the night air.

‘Hilly! Lilly! Lilly Merle!”

And, suddenly, a voice faint and sweet as
an Aolian harp, replied,

‘‘Harry, Iam here! Come to me!”

It was Lilly Merle’s voice—her own tones.
He was dreaming—insane—he would not
trust his own ears.

He called again,

“Tilly Merle! Lilly Merle!
spoker to me from Heaven ?”
And again he was answered—this time only
by his own name,

‘Harry |?

The two students, kneeling beside the
shrouded corpse, heard the words as well.
They also had fancied themselves mad, but
now there could be no doubt. The shrouded
form had spoken—it stirred beneath their
touch; it was no longer clay cold; it moved
and breathed; and suddenly the wrappings
were flung back, and it stood erect in its white

Have you

 

solemn gloom—its black hair sweeping down
about its shoulders like a veil!

No man there ever forgot that night! In
horror, too great to be borne, they fied, fol-
lowing each other pell-mell to the riverside,
where their boats lay, and with hands which
trembled like aspen leaves, grasped the oars,
and pushed the little bark hastily from the
shore of the dim graveyard. Not until they
were half way out in the river did one among
them utter a word. Then with white lips they
spoke,

“What was it? Have we seen a spirit? Or

cy? Have we all gone mad ?”

Each asked a different question, but not one
amongst them could frame an answer.
Even the beetle-browed boy shook like one in
an ague, and dared not, glance over his
shoulder at the youth behind them. But the
elder man, he whom they called Larkin, gave
a harsh, unnatural laugh, forced from his lips
even while his teeth chattered.

‘We are fools!” he said. ‘The girl has
come to lifeagain! "She has been ina trance!
Imight have guessed it! In fact, the sus-
picion did cross my mind, but it seemed with-
out foundation, and I did not speak of it! It
was terrible; though—a ghost could not have
been worse! She’ll frighten that young Mil-
lard to death, I havé no doubt!”)

‘And die herself in that chill grave-yard,
outright!’ cried one. ‘We ought to be men
enough to go back and do what we can for
them!”

“I vote we row back!” said another,

‘Come, what say you all ?”

‘ Agreed!”

The word was ultered in a sort of chorus.
A fow strokes of the oars brought the boat to
shore again.

“Only stars lit the graveyard now, but the
supernatural terror over,‘ the men splashed
forward boldly through the mire, and soon
gained the spot where the ee scene had
been enacted !

There, lying senseless on the sodden earth,
they found the form of Harry. Millard; but,
though they searched each nook and corner,
went down by the water’s edge, and farther
in, whére stones were clustered close together,
the white-robed form, warmed into life be-
neath their desecrating hands, met not their
eyes. Lilly Merle, living or dead, had vanish-
ed as completely as though the earth hed
opened to enfold her once moro within its
bosom!

She was gone; no trace of her remained;
and while one or two of the medical studenis
sobered into earnest men, for afew hours at
least, strove to restore poor Harry Millard to
coneciousness—the others feeling all the while
that their labor was fruitless, went to and fro
amongst the graves, searching again spots
thoroughly searched before, and lingering un-
til day broke, and the eastern sky changed
from cold grey to gorgeous gold and scarict,
and every ripple of the river caught a gleam
of silver. Then they bore the form of Harry
Millard to the boat, still lying at the water’s
edge, and rowed across to the city, slowly and
in silence. Hach face looked gha astly in the |
licht of day, and no eye cared to meet an-
other,

What had ee done? Whither had this
gitl, torn from her grave by sacriligeous hands,
been spirited away? Had she really breathed
again, or had some eyil spirit mocked them
with her semblance ? There were wild thoughts
in the minds of those men who bent above
their oars in the light of that bright morning
—thoughts which they would not have put
into-words for the wealth of the whole world.
But the next day those who had charge oi
the church yard, seeing signs of fresh work
about the graves, and marks of steps sunk
deeply in the mire, which had not been there
at sunset the day before, gave suspicions, and
opened the new made grave where Lilly Merle

‘had been laid. They found there only an

empty coffin; the fair form which had reposed
within it was gone.

ee

CHAPTER XXIV
MISS ROCK’S SECRET.

At Miss Patch’s school matters progressed
as they had before the mysterious death of the
idiot scholar. A few frightened parents had
removed their children—a few paragraphs had
appeared in the daily papers.

There had been a little excitement in the
neighborhood, but it had died away, and the
belief that Lilly Merle had accidentally in-
flicted the death blow, had gained ground in
almost every mind. All save those medical:
students who had stood within the silent
graveyard on that never-to-be-forgotten mid-
night, believed her lying at rest beneath the
turf, and they kept their secret well.

Poor Harry Millard tossed on his bed in the
delirium of a fever which threatened both life
and reason, and raved of the tomb and of
Lilly who had arisen from her coffin to*an-
swer him. But those who watched beside his
bed only shook their heads and strove to
soothe him into silence; while the men who
had examined the desecrated grave, decided
that it would only trouble Lilly Merle’s old
grandfather to know that her coffin lay there
empty, without doing the slightest earthly
good. So the grass began to grow over the
mound; and in the warm spring days the old
man tottered thither and planted violets and
rose slips over it, and shed a few tears, but
not many, for he knew that his sojourn upon
earth could not. be a long one, and that there
lies beyond the grave another life to which
this is but an interlude.

‘And so in a fow days the outer world for-
got the tragedy enacted beneath the school-
houso roof, and forgot Lilly Merle.

 

garments, gazing upon them through the

maa

But Miss Rock went upon her way bearing

did the corpse absolutely move? ‘Was it fan-.

 

her secret about with her, and wearing all
the while a mask of smiles upon her broad
white face. Poor Miss Rock! people pitied
her. In the dead of night (that was her sto-
ry), some thief had entered her room, the door
being carelessly left unlocked, and carried off
not only her beautiful fur cape, but her watch
azad all her jewelry. So many keepsakes-—
such costly things; and now she wore not so
much as aring. The hall door had been found
open in the morning; but no one else had lost
anything, which was certainly a very curious

circumstance. Another thing was strange. She.

wore her old \dresses, she saved her money,
and changed her boarding place for one of
less pretentions. She was hoarding probably
for the purchase of new jewelry. But certain-
ly that brutal man, who dogged her footsteps,
who met her offen on the way to school, or
from it, was not a jeweler; and into his dingy
palm she counted many a dollar.

Sometimes when they met, he had been
drinking, and she hardly knew whether his
threats were only intended to alarm her and
amuse himself, or whether in a fit of drunken
spleen he really harbored intentions of expos-
ing her secret. Frankenstein’s monster was
not so terrible to his creator as this man was
to Mebitable Rock. Had it been possible, she
would have exterminated him from the face
of the earth. Her secret was so great a bur-
den to her that often and often the thought
of dying by her own hand crept into her mind.
But, not being mad, (as a suicide must be,
at least for the moment,) she could not forget
that ‘‘after death cometh the judgment,” and
she clung to Kife with all its miseries when she
remembered the pale face of her innocent vic-
tim, Lilly Merle, and the motionless form of
the idiot boy, as he lay weltering in his blood
upon the school-room floor. No, the inno-
cent may learn to have no dread of death;
but the guilty must tremble at the thought of
what lies upon the other shore of the dark
river.

There is another form at Lillie Merle’s old

t
desk now-—-one we know well—one we have

followed through many vicissitudes; a girl
whose-cheek is a little paler than of yore, and
who smiles rarely, but who goes about her
work with an earnest alacrity which gives Miss
Patch litile opportunity of fault finding,

It is Winnifred Hall. The veiled woman’s
warning has been cast aside at last. Sho isa
eee through Ralph Rothwood’s .influence,
and she sees him almost daily, and he is al-
ways very kind and friendly. Were she not
preoccupied by other thoughts, she might no-
tice a tenderness in his words and glances at
which bespeaks something more than friend-
ship; but her heart, alas! is with Mark Gra-
ham. She never sees him now, for her home
is not with the old sexton’s family. Shoe has
advertised for a boarding place near the school,
and has found one with the wife of a certain
Descon Grant, atthe time absent upon church
business; a pg@rsimonious woman, with @ sour
face, who, though known to be a excellent
circumstances, never loses /an opportunity to
turn a penny, and has decided upon increasing
her income by taking boarders.

This step at first grieved the prim Miss
Jerusha execedingly, and broughé tears .to
Heten’s soft blue eyes.

“You will forget us,’’ she said.
find new friends and occupations. Soon you
will not come near us. Yet we do not desexve
such treatment, for we are all fond of you.”

The old maid interposed tartly.

‘Nay, best say nothing on the subject,” she
said. ‘Miss Hall is prosperous now, and
Deacon Grant’s big house pleases her better
than our poor little rooms. There’s nothing
strange in that. It’s the way of the world,
gal, as you'll find out if you live to be as old
aslam. Jnever expected anything else.”

Poor Winnie, she bent her head upon her
hand and sobbed aloud. She did not wonder
at his harsh judgment, although it was so
utterly undeserved. She could not tell the
truth to blue-eyed Helen, nor even to stern
Miss Jerusha. It was a hard treat to leave the
familiar friends and dwell amongst strangers,
but conscience told her that this was the only
course left to her if she would avoid tempta-
tion. She could not meet Mark Graham and
keep her resolution. So she had departed,
leaving those whose opinion she valued so
greatly, half offended by what they considered
ungrateful conduct. Hiram had shaken hands
with a very long face, and the old grandfather
had muttered, :

‘Well, well, the young are given to vanity,
and don’t valley their rale friends as they’d
orter.”

And Miss Jerusha had rigidly condescended
to offer the first joint of her fore-finger, reserv-
ing the rest of the hand with dignity, and
though Helen had kissed her, it was not warm-
ly, and none guessed how Winnie’s heart bled
as she passed from beneath the humble roof.

Sometimes since, at hours when she was
certain that Mark Graham would not be there,
she had visited them, and hearing nothing of
any change in him, and learning that he still
came often to see Helen, concluded that he,
like herself, had determined to conquer his
own heart. Helen would be his wife, and in
her pure embraces would forget the girl known
and loved a few brief days. It was what Win-
nifred prayed for, but she sighed, and her
pillow was often wet with tears as her sleepless
eyes watched night change to dawn, and dawn
give place to sunrise,

Poor Miss Patch she could not help it, it
was her nature, but she did hate pretty young
women. A rancorous spite possessed her
when bright eyes gleamed, and checks were
sound and fresh, and teeth sparkled white as
peazls between parted, scarlet lips. Women
fallinto this state of mind, somotime when
there own charms are faded. Ht is a bitter

“You will

 

thing for a woman to see her beawty departing

and apparently sobbing violently.

 

little by little—to watch it die out—to see ad- JK \

miring glances changed to careless ones, and ©
to know the pert girls whé are what she was
once, bestow upon her the awfal title of “old
maid.”

Even an amiable woman, with intellect
enough to have a world within her own mind,
and heart enough to rejoice in the happiness
of others, must feel some pang of regret when
the mirror reveals the marks of Time’s noise-
less footsteps, and she feels that she must
stand aside, and play the wall-flower hence-
forth while beauty smiles triumphant. - But
one naturally envious and ill-humored—one
whose mind is filled with nothing but.frivolity
is very like to fallinto Miss Patch’s unenvia-
ble state of mind.

Had Winnie Hall been ugly she oul have
found favor in Miss Patch’s sight at once, for
her implicit obedience and strict sense of duty.
But it was too provoking to the spinster to
hear the complimentary remarks of strangers
who entered the school-house. ‘‘Whata love-
ly girl!” ‘Who is that beautiful creature with
the black eyes?” ete., etc., and persecution
began again as in the days of Lilly Mczle,
Miss Rock, rendered no more amiable by the
constant fretting of the hidden chain she

}wore, aided and abetted her, and a thousand

petty annoyances under the cloak of the ut-
most good feeling were heaped upon her
shoulders every day. Others came in for their
share also, but Winnie, being the . greatest
beauty, suffered the most as a.matier of course,
She bore all in silence. Perhaps she hardly
felt the smaller troubles, the bueden which
constantly rested upon her heart was so great.
Tt seemed to her that life was merely along
trial, to be borne as best it might, and when
Rothwood, solicitous in regard to her welfare,
inquixed, ‘Are you happy? Have you any-
thing to complain of?” she answered,

“T am as happy as mortals are permitted to
be, I Pig e Wies happy as I shall ever be ,
again.’

Sometimes, when the evenings were long
and bright, he came for her to walk with him,
Deacon Grant’s wife being cognizant of the
fact and making no objection. Once or twice
she had accompanied him to places of amause-
ment, and sometimes he sat with her in Mrs. /
Grant’s parlor for an hour or two.

An odd thing had happened during one of
those walks we have alluded to. It was a
brilliant night, and they had taken their way
along a broad and handsome street leading
riverward. Half way downstood an unfinished
buildtng, before which had been thrown @
sort of bridge covering the*open cellar way.
The front was not yet filled in, butas they
passed slowly over the tottering platform
Winnie descried two figures at the end of
what would some day be the hall of the dwell-
ing. One was that of a man, the other a wo-
man; the latter wrapped in a shawl and hood,
The man .
seemed angry. His fist was clenched, hisarm
uplifted, and in an instant he broke the si-
lence with a eoarse oath,

“Til not stand it!’? he eried. “I will have
money, or I’ll not keep your confounded se-
eret any longer! Tl hang you!”

The woman seomed overcome by terror.
She clutched his arm and seemed to whisper
something, and the man beeame more quiet.
Tn an instant th6 woman seemed to offer him
some money, and then the blue light of a
match flashed over both faces. By i¢the man _
seemed to count some money, which he thrast
carelessly into his pocket. The light lasted
but a moment. Then the match was tossed
into the air and extinguished; but Winnifred
had seen the countenance of the woman
plainly, and knew it to be that of Miss Rock.
There was no doubt in her mind; the face of
the school spy was a peculiar one, not easily
forgotten. But how should she come there?
—-and with such a companion?. Why should’
she give him money? Why did she fear his
menaces? Had he been an ordinary robber
she would have screamed for aid. Tt was a
mystery which she could not Bole though it
sorely puzzled her.

Rothwood, occupied in the inspection of
the crazy bridge over which they were pass-
ing, had not observed the little episode, and
Winnifred did not direct his attention to it.

N

 

OHAPTER XXV.

An English ship had left the harbor of New
York upon the evening chosen by the wild medi-

cal students for their visit to the graveyard. On .

board, amidst the first cabin passengers, was an
English lady of some rank and a great deal of
money and beauty, but apparently not very well
provided for in the way of brains.

Always in a flutter, always condescending to
someVody, always sending for the captain to give
directions regarding her state-room, her luggage,
etc., she made herself a terrible bore to those who
were disposed to be troubled by trides, and a
source of much amusement to many. From the
moment when entering the cabin, followed by
her footman and maid, with a white poodle in her
arms, she had despatched the former with “Lady
Flutterly’s compliments to the captain, and he
must contrive to stop that awful steam whistle,
o whatever he called it, as soon a8 possible on .
account of her ladyship’s nerves.”

Now and then her ladyship found it not beneath
her dignity to send for some sailor gnd question
him as to the perils and pleasures of the sea, in
gome such words as these: “Well, my man, I
suppose you are very fond of the water? Were
you ever shipwrecked?” To which the tar, feel-
ing himself groatly honored and equally ‘bound,
would respond: ‘Yes, m’lady, or no, m’lady,” as

might be; whereupon lady Flutterly would in-
quire—‘‘Are you fond of going to the mast head?”
or ‘do you enjoy weighing anchor?” And await
the response with great apparent interest.

Twice, as some large buoy had floated into ps

sight, had her ladyship insisted that she saw @
whale and commanded her fodtman to have it

caught immediately; nee when a little after IN

4

|

 
  

 

 

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 
 

 

Orem

Sas ee

 

midnight, just as the moon was setting, sheatart-
ed to‘her feet and cried, ‘‘a boat! a boat! let
down @ boat, ora net, or something. There’s a
drowned lady in the water.” Neither footman,
maid, nor sailors were much excited by the infor-
mation. : :

“Fits hanother buoy, your ladyship,” said the
footman. ss

“Your ladyship will really make your ladyships
self ill, ’'m afraid, by imagining such orrid things,
your ladyship,” yawned the maid; but lady Flut-
terly waa in earnest this time, and an officer of
the steamer being near, she absolutely seized
him by the sleeve with her aristocratic hands and
dragged him to the side.

hook!” she said; “look! You are not so_stu-

thosé people of mine. Look, Mr. Lieu-

tenant.”

The first mate, flattered by this title, conde-
scended to “look” as he was requested, and not
only did he look, but in an instant darted away to
give some orders. Bells were rung, strange
noises heard from the quarter of the engine, a
boat was let down, and in less time than it takes
to tell it, a white-robed form, drenched with salt
water, lay on deck; and passengers, aroused by
the tumult, came in all degress of negtigee from
their state-rooms, and gathered about it.. Among
them were the medical men attached to the ship.
They were experienced physicians and lost no
time in acting, while others were talking. Ina
few moments the body lay wrapped in blankets
pefore the fire in the cook’s cabin, and vigorous
efforts were being made to restore life to the ap-
parently inanimate form. It was that of a young
girl whose black hair, dark and heavy with sea
water, floated over her shoulders, and whose fea-
tures, exquisitely moulded, looked in their frozen
paller like those of some Grecian statue.

Although for a long time all seemed useless,
the physicians never relaxed their efforts, though
others, standing near, declared again and again,
‘She is dead!” “This is all folly!” ‘Breath will
mever come back to her, poor creature!” Those
who bent over her knew how often perseverance
will accomplish wonders in such cases, and at
length they were rewarded by success. ‘The fear-
ful throes of returning life, more terrible than
those of death, racked the frail form for a few
moments, then the eyes opened, the lips parted,
andfromthem came these words:

“Harry! Harry! ItisI! It is Lilly Merle!
Be noé afraid of me.”

(To be Continued.)

pid as

bad completed their work upon the ‘foreyard
came tumbling” aft in a body to hear about their
shipmate. ee ed

“Jt'sno use,” said the mate, nob daring to lift
his eyes; ‘‘you'll never see poor Tom again! He
let go the rope at the moment I was about to
seize him! L[think when the ship lurched that
she must have struck him upon the head!”

This explanation satisfied the men, who now
returned to the forecastle to hold a mournful
discussion upon the fate of their shipmate.
Shortly afterwards the other watch was called,
and when the men composing it were made ac-
quainted with the loss of Tom Leeward, the mel-
ancholy news seemed to cast a shadow over the
spirits of all, while many of the older seamen ac-
tually shed tears, so much was the young sailor
beloved by the crew. :

The larboard watch having been relieved went
below; but there was not a man that could sleep
. soon after the sad event which had taken
place. *

At the end of five hours they were again on
deck to relieve their shipmates. The weather
had not changed since they went below. The
gale continued to sweep with dismal shrieks
through the shrouds, and the old ship plunged
wildly among the heavy seas. Tho gloom would
have been intense but for the strange, phospho-
rescent light emitted by the waves.

foam as they drifted over the sea. A child to
have seen the spectacle might have fancied that
the stars had fallen from the sky into the ocean.
‘Poor Tom Leaward!

as they gazed upon the wild waters.

with his eyes fixed upon the turbulent billows.
“Oh! my God! my God!”

drunken man
colorless, and a
with an expression of terror,

en.
‘There! there!” gasped the mate, pointing to

ter! Isawit! Isawit! Ob, my Godl”

Sparkes of
fire seemed to flash among the white clouds of

His grave is among
these fire-flies of the seal” thought the sailors

Suddenly they were startled by a cry from the
mato who had been leaning over the quarter rail

The men rushed aft in a body, when by the
light of the ship’s lantern they beheld their officer
staggering towards the mizzen-mast, like a
his face as pale as death, his lips
his eyes bulging from his head

“What is the matter, sir?” inquired one of the

wards the weather rail, ‘under the ship’s quar-

The men sprang to the bulwarks, and peered
over them into the sea. At first they could see
nothing, but the next moment, as a huge wave
swept against the side of the vessel and scattered
into liquid fragments, they uttered a simultane-

_— Some of the characteristics of those vain
simpletons, who individually imagine them-
selves ‘the glass of fashion and the mould of
form,” are lucidly delineated by ‘“‘C. Quincy
Tirrell,” in his pen-portrait of

THAT ILLUSTRIOUS STAPLES.

Do you know Staples? What! ignorantof that no-
torious and ubiquitous individual—the learned cos-
mepolitan, the erudite statesman, the leader of fashicn,
the beau ideal of love-distracted maidens, and the pet
lion of Mrs. M—’s assemblies ? Let methen introduce
him to you. Mr. J. Q.R. Staples, L.L.D., ladies and
4 gentlemen, illustrious in every portion of country, fa-
mous in whatever he undertakes, and according to his
own chronological records, the lineal descendant of
many of the mest noted men of the past. As for Sta-
ples himself, let his own actions testify? Have you
never seen him coming down stairs late in the morn-
ing, standing long beforethe mirror, now softly brush-
ing his crispy, Apollonean locks, and anon affectionate-
ly twirllog his incipient mustache? See him adjusting
and re-adjusting his immaculate cravat, and throwing
himself into inconceivable theatrical attitudes, which
he imagines must have an, impressive effect upon his
female acquaintances, because Angelina Sarmonides
goes into raptureovershis affectations. How carefully
he puts on those threadbare gloves, for although he
worksin a tailow-chandler’s establishment, it would
not do to allow the aristocratic mamma; know that he
obtains a living by manual labor. After spendingsa
long time over these preparatory exercises, at length
the illustrious Staples departs to the emporium, aa he
styles it, where he condescends to work. Daintily and
nicely he steps along, lifting his feet with due exact-
ness and regularity, and bowihg, like a Chinese man-
darin, to all his casualfriends. Pity he didn’t see the
smile ofcontempi on their lips when he had passed.
Ah, here comes Mrs. Martin and daughters; and our
polite Staples, with conscientious regard to the laws of
etiquette and his own reputation, stands upon.the,
curbstone to permit them to pass. Uniortunately the
walk isicy, and while he is extravagantly bowing, his
lordly form assumes a more laughable than graceful
position, as he endeavors to arise upon his feet again.
Don’t you know Staples? Have you never seen him
walking with headlong rapidity aiong the streets, dodg-
ing scientifically into out-of-the-way alleys, casting
meantime furtive glances behind him, as if fearing
some startling apparition? Pezchance the tae fis on
his track, and behold what a ghastly pallor will over-
spread his delicately chiseled features. Bofore, be-
hind, on every side of him, he can see that terzible bill
staring at him with a demoniacal aspect. His lips
twitch spasmodically; his eyes blear with dogged per-
tinacity, yet he soon recovers his habitual nonchalance,
and blandly answers the little man in goggles, when,
half out of breath, he overtakes him, ‘I have not the

P LEASANT PARAGRAP HS. | tender passion.

generally, for the consideration of becoming ‘Mrs, a small quantity of flour;
Martin Adams!” Now, my advice is. go to work to | till it has boiled one minute,
mend your ways, and you will not have to mourn inja

 

 

 

 

 

You want somebody to ‘‘slick you up’’

old bachelorhood much longer. When you have learnt
to keep a clean face and a smooth dickey, ete:

— We should like to hear from you “Jennie,”
as often as possible, although you display a
want of sympathy with the old bachelor in his
cause of griof........Here isan instance of af-
fection from ‘‘Neil Bush,” and depicts

GENUINE GRIEF,

Bill S., one of the most tender-hearted and sympa-
thetic fellows in the world, was traveling in Hoosierdom
and stopped at a wayside inn. With some difficulty he
persuaded the landlady toallow him to stay for the
night, her husband being very ill. Bill promised to be
no trouble, and even tendered his services in case of
need. Tired with long travel he knew nothing until
the next morning, when, on arising, he was informed
that the sick man had died about midnight. Meeting a
daughter of the deseased, a buxom lass of about six-
teen, he proceeded to condole with her upon her loss.
*sAll that live must die,’’ he said, with a face of ex-
treme solemnity and tearful eyes, ‘passing through
nature to eternity.”’ ‘Waal, I don’t know nothing
about yer ’ternity,’’ she replied, “but ef yer mean ther
old man thar, he leys in ther other room as cold as a@
wedge!’

— Rather more expressive than affectionate.
Her beautiful simile of death, we venture to
say, is not. to be found in the Sunday-school
books. .... Speaking of hagks, here is a poet-
ical morsel from our welcome friend, ‘Minie
Riphle,” about

THE BOOK-CANVASSER.
BY MINIE RIPHLE,
"Tis all day long—’tis every hour—
‘Neath skiés that shine, and skies that lower,
One speeds from Beersheba to Dan,
If one resolves to go a can—
-Can—can—canvassing—
If canvassing’s the plan.

Go up, go down--go in, go out—

Oriss-cross, rightface, and wheel about—-

Your spirits must be “‘spick-and-span,”*

If you resolve to go a can--
Can—can,—canvassing—

Tf canvassing’s the plan.

" Now right and left—now dos-q-dog—
Trip on the light fantastic toe;
Halt not a jif to ply your fan,

3 tco chatiiable, by half—you say nothing about the | wineglassfull of water
Yo H out the lemon peel, and mix one ounce of butter with

for fifteen minutes; then take

stir it round in the sauce
and then 2dd a giaes and
half of sherry.

Agriricran Asses’ Mitx.—As an article of diet
for the consumptive, the value of asses’ milk is well
known, When it cannot be readily procurd, an ex-
cellent substitute may be made by pouring a pin’ of
water of super-carbonate of soda upon one quagt of
boiling:miisg,

Breap Carr.—Oneeup of butter; 3 cups of au-
gar; 1 bowl of light sponge; 3 eggs; 1 teaspoon of sal-
eos spices and raisins, Flour enough to make
stiff.

Warts Cake.—One cup of ‘sugar; half cup of
butter; 3 cups of sweet cream; whites of 8 eggs; 2
teaspoons of cream tartar; 1 of soda; 134 cups of four,

femonmnomme

TTEMS FOR FARMERS AND GARDENERS,

Cost or Cuitryating Lanp sy Sream.—A Mr.
Smith, of Woolston, Hngland, nas published an ac-
count of the cost of cultivating land by steam for eight
years, in which he says that the cost of preparing land
for roots was, with steam, $2 88; with horses, $10.03;
for barley, two years, $2 16 with steam, against $5.05 by
horse power; four years for wheat, $50 20 be steam
against the same for horse power, and foots up a toial
for a number of other articles, which shows a gain of
200 per cent. in favor of steam. The writer says also
that besides the economy of the plan he had much
better crops. ¥

Wintesine Geraniums.—A ary, cool cellar is
almost as good a place as a window, but adamp cel-
lar will surely prove the grave of all the geraniume
placed in itfor the winter. To keep them in cellars,
trim the roots, and remove any very soft sappy shoots,
taking care however to use the knife sparingly, and
cautiously remove all the leaves, and tie them, without
bruising the bark, in convenient sized bunches, and
hang them head downward on s line or rod put across
the cellar, so that none of them will touch the wail.

RAUVBARD.—Smaill quantities may be forced by
taking up roots, and putting them in boxes of earth in
the green-house, when leaves will soon be produced at

he expense of the roots. It may also be forced in the

bids. by placing a box or barrel open at both ends,
over a plant, and then piling an abundance of fresh
stable manure around it. A coyer should be pui on
during freezing weather and ai night,

Paize Crors.—E. 8. Hayward, Brighton, N. Y.,
has been awarded by the Monroe County Agricultural
Society prizes for the following crops: Rutabagas, 776
busheis per acre; profit, $13388. Barley, 40 4-16 bush:
els per acre; profit, $2327. Potatoes, 290 bushels per
acre; profit, $7444. Carrots, 529 bushels per acre; pro-

fit, $108.

ous cry of superstitious horror; for they now dis-
tinctly beheld a white hand rajsed above the
water. Shudderingly they starte€ back and stood
looking at each other with pale faces and won-
dering eyes. Nota word was spoken for some
moments, when one of them, an old sailor, shook

If your mind’s made to go a can—
Oan—can— canvassing —
If canvassing’s your plan.

Too late, too soon—too quick, too slow—
Fate seems to play you peep-a-bo—

SCIENTIFIC NOTES,

A Noveu Parnt-Brusu.—They have just patent-
edin England a paint-brush, the advantage of which,
in comparison with the usual kind, is, that it is made
of first-class bristles, selected for the purpose. Its

THE WARNING HAND.

A TALE OF THE SEA.

\ ‘BY ROGER STARBUCK.

amount ready now, sir. Call again. Good morning,
gir, good morning.’® But if you desire to see Staples
in his most inimitable sphere, you should be present
at Mrs. Steward’s parties. I was there the other night,
and was particularly struck with his appearance. He

*Olew up the foresail |” shouted the first mate
of the Huron.

This order was not given a moment too soon.
The gale which had commenced in the morning
had been gradually increasing, until eight bells
in the firat night-watch, (eight o’elock), when it
seemed to have reached its climax, and blew
‘Sereat guns” from the northwest.

here was also a tremendous sea, which made
everything crack in the old craft, as she reeled
and plunged like an obstinate pig, beneath the
blows inflicted upon her by the white tails of Nep-
tune’s “‘coursers.” :

The fore and mizzen topsails had been taken
in, and nothing now remained except a close-
reefed main-topsail, the topmast staysail, and the
foresail, the latter of which was already giving
ominous warnings of an “intention” to part com-
pany with the ship, and fly off in tatters to lec-
ward.

Bat, as we have seen, the mate was determin-
ed not to permit a catastrophe of this nature. In
obedienes to hig. orders, the men sprang to the
clewlines, the buntlines, and the sheets. Then,
asthe ship gave asidelurch to windward, the
sheets were “let go,” and by quick and vigorous
work the flapping sailwas clewed up ere it began
again to.fill. :

In less time than is occupied in relating the
fact, the men were skipping out upon both yard-
arms, and presently they were engaged in pulling
up the sail. Suddenly, however, the ship made
a furious plunge, the sail flew up, and Tom Lea-
ward, the best seaman and most jovial shipmate
that-ever handled marlinspike, or saved a share

his head ominously and remarked,

Tom’s spirit |”

ward all of you!” he added almost fiercely.
walk the deck with rapid strides.

tered, ‘for they saw it too!
ful sight!
held it whon—when—”

oe

But not.

hissing waters, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
stelpia

tered. **

case |”

quarter deck, occasionally advancing to the rai

routtering a low “thank Heaven!” when: he per
ceived that the vision was not there.

the waters, and the other watch was called. O

“T fears it means no good to the old craft, my
lads. I takes it asa sort of warning from poor

The men now ventured to look over the rail
again, but this time the hand was not tobe seen.
“It’s gone, sir,” said the old sailor, turning to
the mate, “What d’ye think was the meaning of

i ;
“T_T don’t know, stammered the mate in a
husky voice; “you had better go forward—go for-

The men obeyed, when the mate commenced to
‘Tt could not have been mere fancy,” he mut-
Oh, God! that fear-
It was his hand—his hand as I be-
He concluded with a groan, and advancing
to the rail again peered into the sea.
ing was Bow to be seen except the wildly

I shall never see it again!” he mut-
ay Heaven grant that such may be the

And he resumed his nervous walk upon the
to cast a frightened glance into the water, and

A few hours
afterwards the light of dawn bogan to steal upon

course the men did not fail to relate the affair of
the hand to their wonder-stricken shipmates, and
as many of the listeners were superstitious the

entered the drawing-room at a late hour, pulling his
porfamed handkerchief artistically from his pocket, and
twirling it then around his head with a genuine air of
self-complacency, and while tipping the hand of the
hostess smiled upon the MissesGordon. At supper,I
observed he barely tasted the delicious viands, and
just sipped asmall glass of wine, as he quoted mis-
applicable passages from Tennyson and Byron. After-
ward, rumor says, he covertly slipped into the dining-
room, and beastly gorged himself with liquors and
edibles! Oh, Staples! Who has not seen you? In
town and country omnipresent—phantom-like dwell-
ing everywhere ! :

— ‘Show me a fop and I will show you a
foolL’’ Foppishness cannot be too severely

and cites an instance where

A MOTHER REPRIMANDS HER FOPPISH SON.

Not long since the grandmother of a well-known fop
was on. a short visit to this city, and stopped at the
home of her daughter. The mother of the coxcomb,
for the purpose of making the stay of her aged rela-
tive as agreeable as possible, proposed that they should
visit the theatre, and requested her son to act as es-
cort. The conceited fellow, with more effrontery than
affection, after straightening himself and passing his
1 hand through his hair, to manifest his offended dig-

nity, replied in a tone of subdued anger, ‘Now demme,
mamma, you surely don’t mean it! What would the
- | young ladies of our ‘set’ say were they to heah that I
was seen in the theatah with gwandma? Her bonnet,
mamma,is deucedly out of fashion; she entirely ig-
nores cwinoline—even the ‘Quakah slope;’ and her
gait, to say the least, is decidedly vulgah! Can’t do
it, mamma—’pon honah. I should have evewy opewa-
glass inthe house levelled at me.” His mother ap-
peared somewhat pained at his refusal, but her answer

£

rebuked......... “Glendower” is of this opinion,,

And meet you too th’ occasional ban--

But heed not, if you’d go a can—
Can—can—canvassing—

If canvassing’s your plan.

Now fly like shadows o’er the lawn—

Now like the morning mist be gone—

If you some autographs would scan,

Bince you’re resolved to go @ can—
Can—can—canvassing—

Since canvassing’s your plan.

— The poetical pops of the ‘‘Minie Riphle,”
are always welcome to our ears,.... The fol-
lowing item from an exchange, sounds doubt-
fal to our auricular organs, and the writer
could not be in earnest when he told us that -

LONG EARS ARE USED AS BEDS AND QUILTS.

Atribe of dwarfs has been found in Africa, whose
ears¥ ach tothe grovm’, and are so wide that, when
they lie down, one ear serves as & mattress, the other
ag acovering! So says the author of a new work on
‘Central Africa,’ giving as his authority ‘an old negro
who has been 4 great traveler.”

— Perhaps the old negro considered the
person to whom he told the story as having
the longest ears! Some of these authors are
easily made asses !

OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

shapeis nearly flat, and set in thin copper binding, and
firmly cemented; it uses evenly, and in one way, and
is made to deliver the color with re rity on the
work. The most remarkable feature of the invention
is, that the center of the brush forms a@ small chamber
Sor the paint, whichis worked up to the fiag or top of
the brush by the arrangement of the bristles, which
are so placed to effect this purpose, that, while the
brush isin use, if is working the color to the surface,
and never becoming clogged. In flatting and stippling,
so great an advantage of laying the color with smooth-
ness will and must be appreciated by every decorator.
The workman using one of these brushes will be ena-
bled to cover one-half more space, use less color, and
produce @ better resnlt on the workin the same amount
of time,

Tur Caress System or Bronzrmc.—The Chi-
nese are said to bronze their copper vessels, by taking
2 ounces of. verdigris, 2 ounces of cinnamon, 5 ounces
of sal ammoniac, and 5 ounces of alum, all in powder,
making theseinto a paste with vinegar, and spreading
it upon the surface of the article, which should be.pre-
viously brightened. The article is then held over.a
fire till it becomes uniformly heated; then itis eooled, .
washed and dried. Itthus receives one, two, or seve-
1a) of such coats until the desired color is obtained, An
addition of sulphate of copper to the mixture makes
the color chestnut-brown.

New: Mareriat ror Paprr.—M. Bardoux, a
manufacturer of France, has made a discovery, which
willeffect a revolution in the manufacture of paper.
He bas succeeded in manufacturins paper from vari-
ous descriptions of timber, such as oak, walnut, pine,
and chesnut, and from vegetables, and without the ad-
dition of rags. :

effect can be better imagined than described. All| was poth pertinent and emphatic: ‘My son, I am gor-

 

of duff for an absont chum, was knocked from the
weather yard-arm into the wild, tempestuous séa.

‘fan overboard! Tom Leaward is overboard !”
eame from the fore-yard in wild, ringing tones.

‘A rope! a rope!” was shrieked forth from the
jaws of the remorseless waves.

Springing to the main-rigging, the mate snatch-
ed acoilfrom. a pin, and hurled it toward the
white face, which he could just distinguish
poet the gloom that shrouded the wild wa-

ers.

Thon he darted off, aid threw himself into the
mizzen-chains,

Tom had succeeded in grasping the rope which
had been thrown to him, asthe mate perceived,
upon gaining the position to which we have al-
luded. Peering into the dark waves beneath him,
he beheld the seaman clinging to the piece of
rigging with a tenacious grasp.

Suddenly thoship rolled over to windward,
bringing Tom sonear to the mate that the latter
might have touched him. The next moment a
huge wavo broke over the head of the struggling
man, and he threw up one of his hands, That
hand the mate might easily have grasped, and
thus saved the life of Tom Leaward. But, in-
stead of doing so, he drew back, muttering some-
thing between his teeth, while the phosphores-
cent gleam of the water ap bea pm eatures, ree
vealed a dark and almost fiendish expression in
his eyes |

Aninstant afterward, the ship rolled back to
leeward, and Tom was seen no more!

Why had the mate refused to grasp the extend-
ed hand? Surely, some demon musi have been
hearto suggest the dark thought which had
ro ted him to actin this manner; to remind

im that he might thus avenge himself upon the
man for whom Lucy Manton, the fair belle of N.,
had rejected him, (the mate,) confessing, at the
same time, that Tom was her acknowledged lover,

But now asthe mate stood glaring upon the
dark waters that rolled under him, a terrible feel-
ing of remorse came over his spirit, causing bi
drops of sweat to staréout upon his forehead,
while ho felt as though a vulture was gnawing at
his heart. )

Oh, if it were possible for Tom to make his ap-
pearance again, to raise his hand once more above
the contending waves, how gladly, how eagerly
would the mate have grasped the quivering fin-
gers, and saved the young man’s life |

But alas! this could never happen, and the
mate turned his face from the dark sea with a
groan and a shudder. He felt that conscience
would destroy the peace of his life-time; that he
could never again look’ a fellow creature in the
eye with a steady glance. :

As hegrasped the shrouds for the purpose of
returning to the deck, he beheld a white, boyish
face peering at him over the rail, An exclama-

- tion of horror escaped the lips of the mate, for
he belicved that this person had been a witness
to the event which had recently taken place.

s*Who is there?” he asked in a hollow voice.

hands seemed to agree that it was a warning
from their drowned messmate—a dark warning of
shipwreck or some other calamity. Even the
captain, who prided himself upon his wisdom,
seemed to entertain the same opinion. The car-
penter was at once dispatched to make an exam-
ination of the hold, while the officers were ordered

infirmities of age.

as ‘Limping Joe.’

ry to hear you speak thus, and derisively allude to the
You have often heard me refer to
the peculiar walk of my father; and I must tell you
now, for the first time, that in consequence of his ir-
regular gait, he was generally spoken of in the village
When but a boy he met with an ac-
cident which made him lame for life.

Now, my son,

whether everything was inits place and in ship
shape condition.

the bottom, it would not be his fault.

to go over the craft, from stem to stern, to see

The carpenter and the officers having, brought
a satisfactory report to the captain, the latter re-
marked that his conscience was satisfied, and that
if the vessel should take it into her head to go to

The subsidence of the gale was followed by a

as-you dislike to be seen with your grandmother, be-
cause her mode of walking is what you are pleased to
- | term vulgar, I will only ask you where do you think
you would be now, had your grandmother displayed
equal foolishness on her wedding-day, and refused to
accompany ‘Limping Joe’ to the church ?”

— That fop had at least one relative that he
might boast of—asensible mother'!........ There
is such a thing as boasting too soon; and

InteRestina TO AmmRIcAN Hovusrwives.—In the
course of a suggestive article, discussing the economy
and science of the culinary art, a writer inthe Round
Table proceeds to cay: ‘‘We have already intimated
that America had much to learn in the esthetics of gase
tronomy. Touching numboeriess delicious relishes seen
on the tables—especially the breakfast and luncheon
tables—of ‘the English epicures,’ Yankee Doodle and
eke his wife are Jamentably ignorant. Potted meats,
potted shell-fish, and potted game are not on our bill
of fare... Every well-to-do English family that pretends
to live well has @ store of these bonnes bouches to set be-
foreits guests. Thelady of the house prepares them or
s iperintends their preparation, and whosoever has not
$isted the transatlantic potted lobster,potted shrimps,
potted crab, potted veal, potted beef, and potted game,
has missed the same number of exquisite sensations.
They are not costly luxuries—far from it—nor is it dif-

week of good weather, during which nothing was
seen of the mysterious hand which had created
so much excitement among the crew of the Hu-
ron, The vessel was now approaching Cape Horn
and bad weather was looked for. It came thun-
dering upon the old craft one night just as the

A TURKEY GAME,

“Neil Bush’’ illustrates the truth of this in an
incident about

larboard watch made its appearance on deck
compels

ception 0
even that was reduced to a goose wing.

light of the sea!

uae wallof water rushed down upon the ship.
an

every rag to be taken in with the ex-
the main-topsail, and in a short time
It was a
gloomy night—the storm howling like a thousand
furies through the shrouds of the vossel, which
was every moment swept by heavy seas. The
men of the watch were soon gathered aft under
the round-house, closely mufiled in their pea-
jackets, while their officer stood by the weather-
rail, He had been looking to windward, but now
happening to cast a glance under the ship’s quar-
ter, he again beheld above the surface of the
raging tides that fearful hand which he had
hoped he would never sed again. Yer, there it
was, held above the crest of a foaming wave, as
before, whitely gleaming in the phosphorescent

With one wild and terrible cry the mate fell
senseless to the deck, and at the same moment a

Going home on Christmas Eve, Bob Shingles, one of
,| the genus loafer, dropped in at a saloon where they
were raffling for game. A monster gobbler was put
up and won by Jim D., but everybody wanted it, and
so it was thrown for again and again, the winner each
time putting the money in his pocket and having a
chancein. Aftera time the company, with the excep-
tion of four, bolted the game, and they determined to
settle the matter by agameofeuchre. Seated around
a table, they played ‘‘cut throat’’ quietly, until Jim D.
had but one pointto go. Bragging that he was sure to
win it, he arose, took the turkey, and putting it under
the table, placed his foot upon a leg, vowing that no
one should steal it from him, that being a not uncom-
mon occurrence. Bob Shingles looked demurely on,
waiting for the game to end and the winner to treat,
Another deal and Jim D. dashed his cards on the ta-
ble, shouting, as he won the last point, ‘‘That makes
me out, and the turkey is mine!” and diving under
the table grabbed the leg—and that was all, for some-
body had unjointed it wiih a sharp knifeand carried off
the carcase! Thenthere was arow! Nobody did it,
ofcourse. Bob sympathized deeply with Jim at his
less, and managed to get a drink out of him on ao-

lifting him like a feather carried him far away count of his disappointment, and another out of the

landlord, who treated to settle the matter. Bob then

ficult to manufacture them. The meats are thoroughly
“boiled, then chopped, and then, with the addition of a
little butter, reduced to a paste in a mortar. During
the latter process they are judiciously seasoned—don’t
forget the mace. Next they are closely packed down in
jars, and covered at the top with a layer about a quarter
of aninch in thickness of liquefied butter. Winged
game is generally potted whole, enveloped in strong
gravy, which becomes gelid when cold; but sometimes
the birds are boned, and then prepared and potted like
the ordinary meats. Lobsters and crabs are usually
pounded in the same way; but shrimps should always
be put down as they come from the husk, and the in-
terstices in the jar, after the contents have been pretty
closely wedged together by pressure, should be filled
up with melted fresh butter. In all these articles much
depends upon the seasoning—in fact, seasoning is the
very soul of cookery. You can buy imported potted
meats, shell-fish, etc., af some of the leading grocery
and provision stores, but they are no more like the ar-
ticles bearing the same names that are made in English
homes than vin ordinatre is like sparkling Burgundy.
They are manufactured for this market after cheap re-
cipes, lack richness and flavor to begin with, and are
more or less spoiled by the voyage. Things potted, to |
be worth eating, must be prepared athome. If Ameri-
can ladies will try thelr hands at these delicacies, we
. promise them the thanks of their countrymen.”

Gitpine on Metars.—In gilding on metals let
the articles be well cleaned and polished; then apply

toleaward. The men, upon hearing the cry of
their officer, had rushed from their shelter to
ascertain the cause; but the noise of the ap-
epee sea warned them to save themselves
y clinging to the running rigging of the mizen-

wended his way home, and the next morning, much to
his wife’s surprise and his own, he founda huge tur-
Bob says that turkey was prime, but what puz-
zles him is how it got there. He had no money to buy
with, nobody would trust him, and be didn’t know he

rail just in time to catch a

g
ere it disappeared.

it was borne off by the sea!”

mast. Now, however, they sprang to mg el ae
mpse of the han

“Bays,” said the old seaman to whom wo have
already alluded, “you'll see that hand no more.
It was a warning of the doom of our mate, who
has been washed overboard. I saw his form as

We have but a few more words to add. When
the rest of the crew were made acquainted with
the facts we have just related, the excitement
was intense, and numberless were the questions
showered upon the larboard watch from ail sides,
The loss of the mate, coupled as it was with

had any such kind friends. Jim says nothing, but
vows that if. he ever plays cards for a turkey again it
will be when he hasn’t got one in his hat.

—— Jim now evidently considers that he has
made a goose of himself........A new contribue
tor, signing herself ‘Jennie,” thinks ‘Martin
Adams” made a goose of himself when he de-
picted the miseries of an old bachelor, , and
asked some one of our lady readers to take pity
on him and marry him. Poorfellow! his for-
lorn condition will not be much ameliorated

the following powder by friction with apiece of cork,
moistened with salt and water, after which burnished
with a blood-stone -burnisher. The powder is thus
made: take pure gold, 5 drachms; pure copper, 1
drachm; aqua regia, 10 ounces: Dissolve the acid, soak
clean linen rags in the solution, dry and burn them,
and carefully collectthe ashes, which contain the gold
in a state of mute division. Another process for gild-
ing is as follows: The article to be gilt being either
copper, brass, or silver, is first made quite bright,
then it is rubbed over with amalgam of gold. This will
adhere to the surface. The next part of the process is
to put the article gilt into an oven, that the quicksilver
of the amalgram may be evaporated. The goid is now
left ag a black powder, which requires only rubbing
over strongly with a stiff, long-haired brush, and after-
ward be washed with vinegar and water, and lasily
with water only.

Homz-Mapz Yeast.—Take a handful of loose
hops, (a pinch only of pressed ones,) and tie in a bit of
muslin; boil twenty minutesin two quarts of water;

the appearance of the mysterious hand, seemed

take them out, and throw in four sliced potatoes, and

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Gossre with REApERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Nemesis,—-We are happy to make your acquaintance,
The sketch you send us is a beautiful one. Itis, as
you suggest, almost too lengthy, but it is so full:ofin-
terest from beginning to end that we may véry resson-
ably sacrifice Some convenience to publish it. About
eight pages of your MS. would be the proper length for
a sketch. Weshould be greatly pleased to hear from
you again, even if you do cover more paper than:suite
US...... Miss Markee,—-You want much instruction and
a great deal of practice before you can hope to write
successfully for the press. At present you are very
dcficisnt in every respect, but success is not impossi-
ble with patience and perseverance.......Frances J.
Ford. Your‘first effort is not without merit, but itis
stili deficient in certain particulars, which are fatal to
it. Keep on trying,and you may eventually succeed.
voce. V. Newton. Thirty pages isan awkward length -
for asketch. Itis too long for one number and not
long enough for two. About eight: pages foolscap is
the proper length to ensure insertion. However, send
your story along, and let assee whaf it islke. Ifyou
wish it preserved in case of rejection, be sure to men-
tion the fact when you send the MS........ P. A. A.
Yours is a beautifally written sketch, but it is too
lengthy for the plot, and almostto> tamein expression.
Gondensation and a little warmth of language would
muchimprove it. Weshould be pleased to hear from
you again.....Joseph B. Moore. You write very well,
and the sketch you send us isa very fair one, but it is
spoiled by extravagance. You have a keen
relish for the ludicrous, and can laugh yourself
much easier than you can cause laughter in others,
Your sketch is almost too improbable to befunny. A
sympathetic reader will shed tears over the imaginary
sorrows of a hero or heroine of romance, but to excite
the risibilities of even a mirthful man you must make
him feel that what you are telling him actually oc-
curred, or might have occurred. Herein exists the
great difference between the sublime and the Indicrous.
woeee Lieut, Taylor.—You haves rich imagination, and
the sketch you send us has the excellent guality of be-
ing ful} of incident, but your compositions lack finish,
You do not write very smoothly, and need practice be-
fore you will beable to do so......J. H. Koons.—The
last sketch you sent us lacks originality of style. The
incidents which go to make up the story are commop-
piace, and although they may have actually occurred,
they have been used again and again by different
sketch writers, till they have become so hacknied as to
lose all interest for the general reader - If you would
succesd as a sketch writer you must depend more upon
yourimagination. Tbanks for-your carte dé visite...
Almedia M, Brown.—We shall await with some anxiety
the receipt of that long story. Judging from your,past
efforts it will bea success; but take our advice in'one
particular. Be sure to throw as mueh interest. as
possible in the opening chapters. The success of a
newspaper serial depends almost entirely upon this,
With a book it is not of so much consequence, for &
person can pick up @ volume at any time and read till
they are interested; but if the opening portion of a
newspaper story fails to attract them they will cer-
tainly not look for the succeeding numbers. Ano-
ther thing is worth your attention. After you
have finished your story, go carefully over your
MS., and see if there is any portion of if which
may be stricken out witrout injury to the story,
Wherever you can cancel a line, do so withont hesita-
tion, and as @ serial your story will be all the more
popular for it......Louisa Searl.—We cannot.imagine

by ‘Jennie’s” pungent
BEPLY TO AN OLD BACHELOR.

to inspire every man with feelings of supersti-
tious awe. But the next day it was rumored
that the captain had found in the room of the

boil till soft; strain all through a sieve, and add half a | the cause of the difficulty of which you complain, We
texcup of salt and the same of’brown sugar; scald | can only assure you that the fault lies not with us,....

Ha! bal hal” laughed the pier, tossing his
these and let it stand till lukewarm; add sufficient | Cassie Casket.—The sketch you send us is a good one,

arms about his head; “‘it’s only Lucius, you

 

 

 

 

know; only Lucius, who couldn’t sleep, and so
came up tosee the man drown. Didn’t you see
his hand thrown out of the water? It was a
rightvoyal sight to see the way his hand went up.
But why didn’t you catch it and pull him out?
Lucius would have done so! Lucius wouldn't
have let him go down!”.

“Hash! hush!” whispered the mate, as he
sprang to the deck. “Go below and never say
that again!”

The luuntic, for such he was, shrank away,
muttering, : ;

“Thehand! thehand! A rightroyal sight was
the hand raised up over the water!”

“Go below I tell you!” cried the mate fiercely
as he snatched a belaying pin from the rail.

At this sight the boy disappeared through the
companion way, with a wild cry, and with both

ands clasped over the top of his head. In this
ion he had been struck a few weeks previously

a block which had fallen from aloit and in-
‘ured him so badly that his reagon deserted him.

Seareely had he disappeared when the men who

right position. A lon

light into the sea.

Tom’s hand raised above the water had produced

ating the deception alluded to.

The greater portion of the crew, however, re-
fused to credit-the rumor, and always. insisted
that the hand they had seen was that of their
beloved shipmate, who had resorted to this means
to warn them of the doom which finally befell
the mate of the Huron!

; ee

The world has 4 million of roots for a man, but
only one nest.

 

this novel contrivance, by which means the boy
could easily have lowered it through the dead

Our readers will remember that the sight of

I have been greatly amused for some time past by.

lunatic a piece of heavy wood with a stuffed glove | the contributors to ‘Pleasant Paragraphs,” discussing
attached toitin such a way as to occupy an up-/| the ‘pros and cons’? of old maidism and matrimony.
atring was fastened to | Now tke tune changes, and we have a poor old bachelor

on the carpet, deploring his forlorn condition, and rais-
ing a doleful cry for pity, remembering, I suppose, that

Adams,” (euphonious name to offer one, is it not?)

but how do you propose to mend it? By bestowing

inately attending to your traps? Brushing your hair?
(wouldn’tI pull it some though) and standingjguard
over your “ean de cologne’ and “pomatum?” Most
high and mighty office, indeed! varied occasionally by
the pleasure of drying a pair of savory pedal integu-
monts, and perhaps polishing the same while your im-
perial self was tubbing your eyes open to this world
full of sugshine to all but lazy people. Thirty-five!
and no blessed help-mate yet. I can well believe there
is need for reform, in many respects, besides a topsy.
turvy room. May not the head and heart be ditto?
The benevolent WEEKLY avows your misery to be
eaused by “the want of seme one to love.’ Now tat

 

yeast to rise it. When quite light, or when it ceases to
bubble up, putit in a jug or covered jar, set it in a cool
place, and it will keep good in hot weather, and a
month or more in cold.

Country CREAM CAKES.—To 2 quart of flour, add

‘pity is akin to love,” But word to this ‘Martin | a teaspoonful of fine salt. and a piece of butter of tho | merit.

s'zeof an egg; then take half a pint of thick cream,

Your picture of your state is most heart-rending, | the better if a little sour, half a teaspoonful of pearl- | Jong silence.

ash, dissolved in water, and poured into the cream,

is fit for baking..

Soup rrom Minoz Piz Mreat.—It may be new to
gome young housekeepers, that the liquor in which

something. We have known experienceG cooks to

and you have a good dish for the following meal.

 

half a lemon, one ounce and ahalf of sugar,

and well written. Let us hear from you again....,...
A. G. M.—We cannot add to our list of psid contribu.
tors...... Carrie B,,Hmerson.—The selections you send
us are very pretty, but we prefer original contributions
even though they may not possess, the same degree of
We should be much pleased to hear trom you
again.,....J/fad-Cap Ina.-You are welcome after your
We began to wonder what had become

of you..... . The following MSS. are received and ac-

a strong impressicn upon the disordered brain of | yourname upon some one, for the honor of teaching you | and milk sufficient to wet the flour. If cream isabund- | cepted: ‘The Runaway Bride; *‘Women;” “The Word
Lucius, and it was probably this influence that | the propor places for the “‘wasb bow! and coal-scuttle?”’ | ant, it may be used without milk or pearl-ash. In this
had inspired him with the strange whim of cre-| Of hanging up your outer adornments, and indiscrim- |-case, the cream must be sweet. When well kneaded, it

of Life;” ‘Willie Allyn;”’ “Gone to Rest;” “Thoughts
of Other Days;’’ ‘An Affair.of Love and Honor;” ‘God
of My Native Land;” ‘To Thee;” ‘Ezekiel Frodge;’’
“A Tramp With a Trapper;” ‘“‘Hearts;” ‘Theory Not
Always Practice;” ‘Ethel; or, The Blind Girl’s Sub.
mission;’? “Not at Home;” “The Traitor’s Doom;” “A

beef has been boiled tor making mince pies, is worth | Retrospect;’”’ “Lo My Mother;’’ ‘‘The Higher Cally”

“goon WillSummer Come Again.”’...... The following

throw itaway. It contains materials for a good soup. | are respectfully declined: “At Chancollorsvilie;” «Go
Afier the meat is taken out, boil the.water, if neces-| to ihe Battle;’? “Love and Pride;:” «A Puzzle: “Star s
sary, until itis strengthened by evaporation of the} of Bethlehem;’’ “Reformed;” “In Camp;’ “Tos Lit B
superfluous moisture, add vegetables and seasoning; | tje Girl of Five Summers;” “TolIda KE Masons” Tos *
ie Soldiers” spompe chee Hath Brought;”” | “Oastle wy
: c =~ Roi rin rind of | Clyde;” ‘Stray Gems Caught and Penned;” “dull \
Sweer Puppine Sauce.—Boil the thin Beal mone! “Dha Mwah ot tlaligc# © cic cious ‘Bul

 

a

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

ys

 

 

 

other ™

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

SOR Y “<p
Woe

 

 

J. H. WINSLOW & CO.

{ CHES, CHAINS. &., &C., &¢.
100,000 WAt"GnTH $600,000,°” “> *°

One Dollar each, without regard to value, and
. Weel to be pad for tel yous know what - are ia get.

‘Splendid List.

OF ARTIOLES TO BE SOLD FOR ONE DOLLAR EACH

    

hes.
808 Ladias’ and Gents’ ou

   
 

 

  
 

  
  
  
 

 

 

 

9000 Vest and Neck Chains........csec0se+ 6 00 to 10 00 each
8090 Gold Band Bracelets....... sesecocceee 800 te-10 OB each
00 0 ‘ ceccccescscceseees SOO tO 50 Gach
8000 Cameo Brooches......ccscoes ; 4.00 to 600 each
Mosaic and Jet Brooches.... ». £00to 600 each
Lava end Florentine Brooche -. 400to 60Heach
$008 Coral, Opal, and Em. Brooches...... £00 to 600 cach
8008 Oamoo Kar Props. Suawpocaccess ‘ ~e £00to 600 each
Mosaic and Jet Kar Drops.......+es-. £00 to 600 each
Lava and Florentine Ear Drops... 406 to 600 each
2000 Corai, Em., and Opal Ear Dreps..... 400to 800 each
5000 Gents! Breast. Pins........cssesoee esoos 250 tO 8 00 each
8000 Watch Keys.........+06 ..» 200to 600 each
6000 Fob and Ribbon Slides.. ee 200to 600 cach
8000 Sets of Bosom Studs... . 250to 600 each
5000 Sleave Buttons...cccsee cases -- 250to 600 each
ee en ea essees eeecees - 250 te 500 each.
6008 Stone Set Rings.... -. 250to 600 each.
O00 Lockets.......ceee on « 258 to 16 00 each.
6000 tse ee - ere peri & 00 to 16.63 each.
Gold Pens wilt ver Mo -
— £00 to 600 cach.

BIB Toco crvsvcsscoeccestecensees cus ccs te
Gold Pens with Silver extension Cases j
a“ GHA Penis. ....orcccrescesee seelasecoee 400 to 600 each.

Allof the .above list of Goods will be sold for one dollar
gach. Certificates of ail the various articles, eine what
each one can have, are first put into envelopes, sealed up,
aad mixed ; and when ordered, are taken out without re-
gard to choice, and sent by mail, thus giving all a fair
chance. On the receipt of the Certificate, you will see what

oucan have, and then itis at your option te send one dol-
{ar and take tho article or not. :

In.all transactions by mail, we shall charge for forward-
ing the Certificates, paying postage, and doing the business,
3 cents each, which must be enclosed when the Certificates
ig sent for. Five Certificates will be sent for $1; eleven
for fi ‘i thirty for $5; sixty-five for $10; and a hundred
sor

Agznts. —Thoss acting as agents will be allowed ten cents
on every Certificate ordered by them, provided their remit-
tance arnoants te one dollar. Agents will collect 25 cents
for évery. Certificate, and remit 15 cents to us, either in cash
or pestags stamps. Great caution should be used by our
Sores onsen a a to Sivias their eorrect ad

ce) ounty, an 8. ress

: : “J. H. WINSLOW & CO,

208 Broadway, New York.

GREAT IMPROVEMENTS IN
Sewing Machines.

EMPIRE SHUTTLE MACHINE!
_ Patented February 14th, 1860,
SALESROOM, 454 BROADWAY.

This machine is constructed
on entirely new principles of
mechanism, possessing many
rare and valuable improve-
ments, having been examined
by the most profound experts,
and pronounced to be SIM-
PLICITY and PERFECTION
COMBINED.

The following are the prin-
cipal objections urged against
Sewing Machines:

1. Excessive fatigue to the
operator.

2. Liability to get out of or-
de ;

 

 

 

r.

3. Expense, trouble and loss
of time in repairing.
4, Incapacity to sew every description of material,

 

' Ҥ, Disagreeable noise while in operation.

The Empire Sewing Machine is exempt from all
these objections.

’. 3

Ithesa straight needle, perpendicular action, makes a
Loox or SHUTTLE StitcH, which will nziTHER Rip nor RaveEL,
and is alike on both sides; performs perfect sewing on ever.
description of material, from Leather to the finest Nansoo
Muslin, with cotton, linen or silk thread, from the coarsest
to the finest number.

Having neither cam nor cog wHEEL, and the least possi-
ble friction, it runs as smooth as glass, and is

EMPHATICALLY A NOISELESS MACHINE!

It requires rirty PER CENT less pore to drive it than any
Machine in market. A girl twelve years of age can
work itsteadily, without fatigue or injury tohealth. _

Its strength and wonpER¥UL smmpiicity of construction
renders it almost impossible to get out oforder, and is
GUARANTEED by the company, to give entire satisfaction.

We respectfully invite all those whe may desire to supply
themselyes with a superior article, to call and examine
this Unrivalled Machine. :

Batin a more especial manner do we solicit the patron-
age of

Merchant Tailors, ' » Dress Makers,
Coach Makers, Corset Makers,
Hoop-skirt Manufacturers, Gaiter Fitters,
Shirt and Bosom Makers, Shoe Binders,
Vest and Pantaloon Makers.
Religious and Charitable Institutions will be liberally
dealt wil
PRICE OF MACHINES, COMPLETE: ,
No.1, Family Machine, with Hemmer, Feller, Gauge,

_ Braider, and Corder, complete, $5v.

No. 2, Smali Manufacturing, with Extension Table, $65.

No. 8, Large Manufacturing, with extension Table, $75.

No. 3, Large Manufacturing, for Leather, with Rolling
Foot and Oil Cup, $85.

One-half hour's instructions ts sufficient to enable any person to
work this Machine to their entire satisfaction. .

Agents wanted for all Towns in the United States, where
agents are not already established. Also, for Cuba, Mexico,
Central.and South America, to whom a liberal discount
will be given.

Terug, invariably Cash on delivery. .

T. J. McARTHUR & CO.,

Marl6,2t. 454 Broadwaay.

 

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

 

OSBORN’S

CXLEBRATED PREPARED

IRYR COPPER

WARRANTED SUPERIOR TO ANY IN THE MARKET.

Bold at Retail for Twenty-five Cents per pound, by &rat
elass Grocers, throughout tha United States, -
Eee” A liberal discount to the trade.
Put up only by

LAWIS A, OSBORN,

Wholessle Devot. No. @@ Warren &t.. N. ¥.

 

       

0Se. es of scanty, retarded growth, where the
erson is ¢ 18, by its remarkable nourishing and stimu-
ating power, the Tennessee Swamp Shrub Balsam has
been found infallible in exciting the Beard, Moustache,
&c., to an exceedingly fine and vigorous growth. The
history of this Balsam, with a small sample box, will be
seat sealed, on receipt of return postage.

, 815 BROADWAY, N.Y,
rersst-ede tN RAWLINS, 8 DWAY, N.Y

A. SPECULATION.

ois Male and Female, ‘in Town, ain iz camp
are ma. easil 8 our
GREAT New and WORDEREUL UNION PRIZE AND
STATIONERY PACKAGES, NOVEL and UNEQUALED,
ke all the eld styles; ee ae New Articles,

and of fine quality. Writing Materials, Parlor Games, Use-
fal and Oe Ar es ee of Heroes, Camp Com-

ew

 

 

panions for the Army, Fashion Plates for Ladies, rich
SNLY aber Ore es nat pow anne word orey Pe for
friend in the army ast the thing for a present to your

a oc nt oe Ts Lene, ls
as ents, 7

i SPLENDID WATCH, warranted as a perfect timekeeper,
presented free toall Agents. Packages-in endless variety
-and at all prices. Agents wanted ali through the country.
Goods sent by Express to all parts of the any. Send for
NEW Cirenlars for 1863, containing EXTRA inducements.

8. G, RICKARDS & CO., 102 Nassau Street, New York,
se i og oldest Prize Package Heuse in the World,

 

 

Ke perGBnMsNee SHOW EITHER SEX MAY FASCI-
nate and gain the love and affections of any pe
they choose instantly. This simple meatal pense
wae aes free, b Per ei een poeether with a
248 tO @ unmarr. X68. ueer, exciti
500K. 100,000 copies sold. Address, T. WILLIAM’ a ane
Publishers, Pailadelphia.

: | the Heart, Hys

Beauty.—Hunt’s White Liquid
ENAMEL.

ed by Madame Rachel Leverson, the celsbrated
poe ae Ladies’ Enameler. It whitens the skin perman-
ently, giving it a soft, satintike texture, and imparts a
foest ness and transparency to the complexion, which is
quite natural, without aiury, tothe skin. It is also war-
ranted toremove Tan, Freckles, Pimples, Sunburn, ete.
sent by mail, free from observation, dn receipt of Brie, 80

eents. Address, HUNT & CO., Perfumers, 183 South ee
029 tf.

siraes, snd 41 Sonth Eighth street, Philadelphia.
THE GREAT ENGLISH REMEDY,
SIR JAMES CLARKE’S
CELEBRATED PILLS!

Prepared from a prescription of Sir. J. Clarke, M. D.,
.  Physitian Extraordinary to the Queen.

|} This well known medicine is no imposition, but a sure and

sate remedy for Female Difficulties and Obstructions, and
although a powerful remedy, it contains nothing hurtful

. | to the constitution. To married ladies it is peculiarly
suited.

In all cases of Nervous and Spinal Affections, Pain in the
Back and Limbs, Fatigue on slight exertion, Palpitation of
3 terics, etc., these Pills will effect a cure
when all other means have failed; and although a power-
fal remedy, do not contain iron, calomel, antimony, or
anything hurtful to the constitution. —
all directions in the pamphlet around each package,
which should be carefully preserved.
For ful. ede ee get a pamphlet, free, of the agent.
N. B.—$l and 6 postage gene udiored toany authorized
agent, will ensure a bottle containing over 60 pills by return

mail.
Sold by all,Druggists. :
JOB HOSES, No. 37 Courtlandt-st., New-York,
£25. 18t Sole United States Agent.

CANCER INSTITUTE.

Ganeersand Tumors of all descriptions cured without
pain or the use of the knife, Send for circular, free of
charge. Address

029,138. DRS. BABCOCK & TOBIN, 27 Bond st., N.Y.

ia IF YOU WANT TO KNOW

Man atd Woman, Inside and Out, what the sexes are made
of, and how drawn together, the cause of disease, and ma-
trimonial and social wretchedness, read revised and en-
larged edition of

“MEDICAL COMMON SENSE,”

a curious book for curious people, and a good book for
every one. Price $1 50. Sent by mail, postage paid, every-
where, on receipt of price. Contents tables mailed free
to every applicant. Address, DR. E: B. FOOTE, No. 1,130
Broadway, New York. :  mh3 3m

USE THE
AMERICAN CARD COMPANY'S
New Union Playing Cards!

NATIONAL EMBLEMS, &

they are the greatest success of the age, Everybody
that sees them wants them. The suits are

EAGLES, SHIELDS, STARS AND FLAGS,
Colonel in place of King—Goddess of Liberty for.
Queen, and Major for Jack.

They are the prettiest playing cards ever made, and all

the usual games can be played with them as readily as with
cards bearing foreign emblems. Hach pack is put up in an’
Elegant Card Case, and then in dozen boxes for the trade.

a sample packs in eases sent, post paid, on receipt

Address AMERICAN CARD COMPANY,

. 165 William-st:, or 14 Chambers-st., N. Y.
Marl0,1t.

Wonderful Cure of Cancer !

A short time since we publened acard from Mrs. A. G-
Munson, of New Haven, Conn., describing the fine opera-
tien of removing and curing a cancer in her breast without
the use of the knife, by Drs. Babcock & Tobin, 37 Bond st.,

Below we give another one of their remarkable

READING, Conn., Jan. 10th. 1864.
To THOSE AFFLICTED WITH CANCER: :

This is to certify that Drs. Babcock & Tobin, (27 Bond-st.,
N. Y.) have removed a large and painful cancer of three
years standing, from my wife’s neck. after she had been
given up as incurable by some of the best Surgeons in the
State. I would also state that they removed this eancer
without the use of the knife, and without any pain what-
ever. Those acquainted with my wife and her disease con-
sider it a very remarkable cure. I cheerfully recommend
these gentlemen as skilful men in their profession, and

public benefactors.
E. WILSON, Reading, Conn.

Marl0,It.
Gold! Gold!

Full instructions in Ventriloquism, and how to win the un-

dying love of the site sex, sent by mail to any person for

Five cents. Address HANDLEY .& JAGGERS
Marl0.2t. Calhoun, Ful.

GREAT TRIUMPH.

STEHINWAY & SONS, Nes. 82 and 84 Walker street, N. Y.,
iave been awarded a first prize medal at the Great Inter:
aational Exhibition, London, “for powerful, clear, brilliant
and sympathetic tones, with excellent workmanship, as
shown in grand and square pianos.” .
_ There were 269 pianos from all p: rts of the world entered
‘or competition; and the special ecrrespondent’ of the New
York Temes says:

M“ogsrs Steinway’s indorsement by the Jurors is emphatic,
and stronger and more to the point than that of any, pero:

1 jm.

 

 

 

cures.

psan maker.”

 

 

Palin ote 5 BE Bi ett Sere

A SKATING ADVENTURE,

BY N. SPRING. :

 

 

Mr. Joseph Brummel was a young man of mod-
erate means, moving in the first society of this
great city. He entertained a first-rate opinion of
himself, and was never known to confess himself
eecrent of or unable jo do anything, no matter
what. 4
Moving in the samecircle, was a young lady of
very prepossessing appearance, named Mary Den-
vil, Mr. Brummel had been very much struck
with this lady’s appearance, and he flattered him-
self that he had made a deep impression on her,
although he was very jealous sometimes of Mr.
Hall, a young gentleman he affected to despise.

One day, making Miss Denvil a visit, the con-
versation turned upon skating. Miss Denvil
thought it such a delightful exercise, so healthy
and graceful. Then wanted to know ifMr. Brum-
mel skated.

Now Mr. Brummel had a very faint recolleetion
of doing something of that kind in the gutters of
‘hia native city, when a boy, so he answered,
Yes, he could skate a little.”
Miss Denvil was so glad to hear it; some friends
of hers was making up a party to go up to Cen-
tral Park, and have a good day’s skating, and Mr.
Brummel would be such an addition.
Mr. Brummelthanked the young lady for the in-
vitation, and promised to be on hand, although
in hig own mind he had forebodings that he would
not make much of an appearance on ice.
Punctually on the day appointed our hero ap-
peared, in an unexceptional skating costume and
with a splendid pair of skates.
There were five or six ladies, each accompa-
nied by a gentleman. Mr. Brummel had the
honor of chaperoning Miss Denvil.
Arrived at the Park, the gentlemen led the la-
dies into alittle house on the edge of the pond,
and kegan to put on their skates. Mr. Brummel
found this no easy job; as he had never put on a
lady’s skates, he went extremely awkward about
it, but with the lady’s help he at last managed
to get them on about a half an hour after the rest
of the party were ready.
Miss Denvil and our hero were the last to go on
the ice, and just as they stepped on, Mr. Hall
appeared and skated up to where they stood.
Mr. Brummel undertaking to return his polite
bow lost his balance, and suddenly found himself
seated on the ice, He would have dragged Miss
Denyil down with him: if it had not been for the
arm. Hall, after assisting our hero to rise,
skated away, but did not go far, as he knew that
our friend Brummel could not skate at all, and he
thought it best to be ready in case of any acci-
dent. He had not long to wait, for Mr. Brummel,
Ges to make a bold strike ont before Miss Den-
was ready, precipitated himself on his face,
dragging the young lady down with him. Hall
was at her side in an instant, assisting her to
rise. Miss Denvil, all covered with blushes,
thanked him for his kindness, and while the by-
standers were laughing at the efforts of poor
Brummel to regain his equilibrium, she skated
away under the escort of Hall.

After any quantity of falls, Brummel managed
to get upon his feet, and was looking around for
his lady, when some one behind gave him a push
that sent him over the ice like lightning. Right
before him was @ board with the word danger
painted on it in large letters; he tried to stop
himself, but it was of no use, for in a mo-
ment he was up to his neck in water. Aft
soaking for some time he was got out by two po
licemen, half dead with cold.. He made first-rate
time towards home, and I guess he will never say

 

he can akate again,

 

i

 

 

 

THE JEALOUS LOVER.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES,

 

 

se oo Jamie; how do you suppose Y can
work

How did he suppose it, indeed, the unreasona-
ble wretch, with his arm around her waist, and
his curly black whiskers so close to the peachy
crimson of her cheek! It wasn’t a bit surprising
that she pricked her pretty fingers, and snapped
her thread off short. —

‘Well, then, do put down that everlasting
stitching, and talk to a poor fellow.”

‘¢ Nonsense—I shan’t |”

And Jessie Merton sewed away more diligently
than ever.. James Chartley watched her a little
while in admiring silence, wondering if the crea-
ted world contained anywhere within®its limits
prettier little damsel than his betrothed love.

Jessie,” he began after a short silence, “what
time shall I call for you to-morrow ?”

** To-morrow ?” ;

“Yos—don’t you remember to-morrow is the

ride tothe beach? All the young apni are go-
ing, and I’ve selected the nicest little racking
sorrel for you—the pretiest pony in the party. by
all odds.”

“You needn’t callfor me af all_Tve made
up my mind not to go,” said Jessie, coolly biting
off the end-of her thread.

“Not to go?” ejaculated James,\ completely
taken by surprise; ‘and why not?”

*°O, I don’t care about going.”

* But Jessie, I shall be obliged to go—they de-
pend on me to show them the way.”

© Well, go then; did I say I wanted you to stay
at home ?” queried Jessie, glancing archly at him
from beneath her long curled lashes, as she sewed

on.

‘*It’3 too bad, Jessio!” said Chartley, with
elongated face. ‘Well, it makes no difference—I
can take the pony to Lizzy Davis’s—shell be giad
to ride it.”

Do,” said Jessie mischiovously; “I haven’t the
least objection 1” :

It was useless to attempt teasing Jessie, so af-
ter one or two more attempts to induce the little
damsel to change her mind, James Chartley took
his leave, with more coldness than he had ever
before shown towards her.

‘“ What can possess Jessie to act ‘s0?” was his
mental reflection as he walked impatiently home-
ward, crushing the meek-eyed little daisies re-
lentlessly under his boot-heel. “Iknow women
do sometimes act the coquette, but I conldn’t
have believed it of Jessie. And she isso fond of

‘0 1?

James Chartley had often laughed with Jessie
over the absurd freaks of jealous lovers in novel-
lote—it never occurred to him that he was mak-
-ing himself ridiculous and uncomfortable in very
much the same style; men néver do see them-
selves as others see them.

However, he resolved not to swérve from his res-
olution of playing beau to Miss Lizzy Davis, a
plump little village maiden, with round blue eyes
and apple-cheek; and when the party trotted down
the village street in the dewy coolness of the
next morning, Lizzy perched on the easy-going
little horse, and he close at the bridle rein, he
could not-resist a furtive glance at Mr. Merton’s
second story front window to see if Jessie wasn’t
repenting. But there was nothing visible but
the white muslin draperics of the window, gently
swaying to and froin the breeze; and James rode
on, more vexed than ever. ;

The day passed off delightfully, as the young

eople of the party allsaid, except James Chart-
ey. He expressed no ‘opinion, but he secretly
thought it the longest and most stupid eight
hours he had ever struggled through. Charley
Allington, a mischief-making sprite, of about six-
teen, who invariably made his appearance when
he was not wanted, joined the group about noon,
1 udly congratulating himself on having got away
from “business” (7. é., 2 clerk in a drug store),
which escape the others had heartily hoped would

have been an impossibility.

‘* Hallo, Chartley,” said he, after having suc-
cessively tormented every individualin the par-
ty, “don’t you think you’d better be at home at-
tending to your sweetheart? I can tell you oth-
ers are making hay while the sun shines.”

* What do vou mean?”

* Only that I saw a nice young fellow ride up to
Merton’s after you’'dbeen gone about an hour.
Such a mustache ag he wore, and such shiny
boots! Can’t say how long he stay’d, for I was
taking a dose of chamomile to widow Perkin’s ;
but one thing] know—Miss Jessie seemed very
glad tosee him, and he gave her something wrap-
po up in a paper—looked asif it might have
een a keepsake |”

Chartley made no comment, whatever ; but the
venom had entered fnto his soul. He was a little
jealous before—now he was half wild. .

‘Tho treacherous little thing,” he reflected as
he trotted his horse homeward, silent and ab-
stracted, by Lizzy Davis’s side. ‘Now I see
why she was so anxious to remain at home. But
if she is so tired of me, I will annul our engage-
ment as soon as she choses—the sweet-faced, de-
ceitful syren! O, I wish women had never been
created |” :

Poor Lizzy Davis—she could not imagine what
made her cavalier so gloomy and unsocial. He
left her at her own door, in thebright sunset, with
a brief good-bye, and rode onward to Mr. Mer-
ton’s, resolved to demand an explanation.

**1t is very lucky,” he pondered, ‘that I am go-
ing on that yachting excursion to-morrow. I
will take care not to hurry back—perhaps in
change ef scene Imay forget her! No, I never,
never can do that, either. She lnewI was going
—could she not have spent this last day in my
society? It will break my heart to give her back
her plighted troth, yet perhaps it ig better for
both of us!”

He dismounted, and walked into the house,
prepared to be exceedingly dignified and severe.
It somewhat interfered with the success of the
plan, when Jessie flying down stairs, her ringlets
and ribbons fluttering—pretty disorder—stood
on tiptoe to kiss him!

*‘ Jessie,” he said gravely. “I expecteda very
different reception, after the events of this day!”

‘I don’t know what you mean!” gaid Jessie,
looking up with large, surprised eyes. :

* Did you not decline accompanying me to-day.
for the purpose of receiving a visit from another
gentleman? Jessie, I fear you have ceased to love
me—ifso, all that is necessary is simply to state
the fact, and I will resign all pretensions to your
hand, although -” 2

Here Jamie broke down—his fortitude had fair-
ly given ube §

**O, IT seo howit is—jealous, eh?” said Jessie
metrily, stealing her arm coaxingly about his
neck. “Jamie, I didn’t know you was subject to
that disease. Now just listen, will you, and we'll
explain matters! In the first place, this ig the rea-
son I wouldn’t go riding with you to-day, al-
though I’d have given my new bonnet for the
chance! Ah—youthoughtI didn’t see you and
Lizzy Davis cantering by this morning, but I did!”

She held up an exquisitely embroidered ci-
gar-case of white velvet, covered with arabesques
of gold braid,

“T wanted tofinish that for a little surprise
present,so that you could carry it with you on that
yachting excursion, to remembef your little Jessie
by. Ihave worked all day long at it, and every
stitch has woven in some loving thought of you.
Those cigars I sent tothe city for—Cousin Her-
bert brought them, on his way to Elenville, to
visit his wife, who is spending the summer with
her mother there! So now what do you think
about resigning all pretensions to my hand ?”
Ohartley folded the fair little creature in his
arms, ;

“My dearest Jessie, can you ever forcive me?”
Pll try—if you'll promise never to do se any
more,” said she archly. — :

** Yon needn’t be afraid, love,” he gaid, carress-
ingly; “I am completely cured of my fooligh fit of
jealousy. AndifIever feelit coming on again,

"ll take a look at my cigar-case.”

And the sweetest kiss Jessio had ever bestowed

on him, was given then and there,

=@o-> +> +

} Fansre.—As the pearl ripens inthe obscurity of

 

 

 

its shell, so ripens in the tomb all the fame that
is truly precious. {2

 

day we had arranged for that long horseback | P

riding too—I wish I knew why she refused to]

‘AGNES MANNING;

 

OR,
THE BROKEN-HEARTED.
(fo? “BY AA. Davron,
é CHAPTER I.

“What are you dreaming about, Agnes?” asked
an old‘man with silver hair of a blue-eyed young
girl who was sitting on the steps by his side, her

ead leaning against. a vine-wreathed pillar;
‘what are you dreaming of, Agnes? You have
set there for over an hour in that abstracted
mood looking at those clouds; what are you
thinking of?”

The questioning yoice of her father broke Ag-
nés’ reverie; but as she changed her position,
her dreamy eyes were veiled by the veined lids,
and the rosy cheek whereon those dark lashes
lay were scarlet. In a moment she replied:

‘Oh, I was building air-castles, as usual; not
eee occupation for one like me, is it
ae? :
Just then the sound of carriage wheels was
heard, and an open carriage came along the road;
the occupant, a proud; dark-eyed man, doffed his
hat and bowed low to Agnes and her father.
Mr. Manning did not. reply, save by a slight in-
clination of the head and a haughty look. But
Agnes bowed and sweetly smiled as she.did thus,
and her cheeks flushed. Mr. Manning’s eyes were
ioe and his brow was darkehed as he saw
is,

The carriage passed on, and Agnes was again
in a2 reverie; but she was startled by her father’s
saying, “Agnes, do you love that man, that de-
testable James Lee?”

Agnes’ cheek grew still brighter, and the blue
eyes were veiled again, and her snowy finger de-
stroyed the ces tulip she held in her hand;
ae tulip given her by James Lee the night be-

ore.

Again Mr. Manning asked—“Tell me truly,
Agnes, do you love that low-bred man?”

In a moment Agnes’ eyes flashed, but she re-
strained herself and calmly answered—

“James Lee is not low-bred., He has a true
and noble heart—one of nature’s noblemen; and.
blame me if you will, I do certainly love him.”

“Agnes Manning, I forbid that love; I forbid
you to ever meet him again; I forbid all inti-
macy under the penalty of my disowning you
forever. Besides, you are too young tolove. Re-
member, Agnes, dare to disobey me on your
ee And he left her to her unpleasant medi-

ations. ‘

‘Too young to love!” murmured Agnes; but her
pale, cold face, and eyes heavy with deepness
of sorrow, told a far different tale from that/

 

‘CHAPTER I.

“My, Manning, I came here to ask permission
to address your daughter,” said a young man
who stood in the rich library of Mr. Manning one
evening.

Mr. Manning looked up haughtily, for he knew
it was James Lee. What did he care for that
dark soul-lit eye, that massive brow? What mat-
tered the noble, generous heart? What mattered

coffers filled with gold, no pearls to wreath with
Agnes’ golden tresses. No, she must wed higher,
and so Mr. Manning coldly said—

“That permission is denied now and forever to
you.”

James coldly bowed and asked the reasons. -

‘T have none!” said Mr. Manning, ‘“‘save that I
do not deem you noble enough to be my son, save
that your station is not equal, save that Agnes is
too. young to love.” :

“Mr, Manning,” said James, calmly, “I know
that I am not wealthy, yet I have a, good practice,

me truly; she is not to young to love. Beware
how you trifle with her young heart! Her wreck
of happiness may rest upon your soul!”

“J tell you, sir, Agnes is too young to love, too
young to wed; and even if she were not you
could not be my choice. You can go, sir; but
never dare to speak again to my daughter.”

With a cold slight bow James Lee left the
room.

 

CHAPTER III.

“Good bye, Agnes,” said James, as he stood
calm in the garden with Agnes; “Et cannot stay
here. It would be an agony to be thus near you—
never to see you—never to speak to you; know-
ing that you were forbidden to speak fo me;
knowing that I could never call you mine.”

“God forgive my father for this!” said Agnes,
calmly, as she raised her face, go cold, so pale, so
deadly, from her lover’s shoulder. — ‘‘God forgive
my father for this cruelty. I am not too young
to bear a broken heart. I can never wed against
my father’s wishes. You are noble that you do
not urge me to that step.”

“Geod bye, Agnes,” again said James, as he
kissed the stainless brow resting against his
cheek, ‘‘we shall never meet again; I leave Ameri-
caforever. Good bye, Agnes! Naught but a lov-
ing death for us both! Would that God had
never given either of us hearts, then we might
never have felt the pain and anguish of being
crushed; would that we had not met; then wo
had not known the parting. Good bye, my darl-
ing, forever,” and he left her,

 

CHAPTER IV.

A calm and holy night—Agnes lay on @ rich
poe sofa by her open window, pale ag the

arian Psyche by her side, and almost as cold.
The stars looked sadly and solemnly in upon her,
as if sad at the broken heart beating beneath the
silken boddice. The cold night wind came and
caressed the brow aching beneath its weight of
pearls! A bridal veil lay around her, with its
shining silvery folds! The betrothal ring gleamed
upon her finger. She lay there pale and faint,
chaining down the giant suffering which was
making a wreck of her young, loving heart, crush-
ing all love, darkening all hope, veiling all with
the sable of despair.

A few moments and her hands were clasped by
others, and then she stood in the princely parlor
below, in the midst of a bright, festal throng, by
the side of a tall, dark man, and unwilling, prom-
ised to love and cherish him till death should
partthem. False promises, made with cold lips.
False vows, written with the very gall of despair.
Lips vowing to love one—heart worshipping ano-
ther—one far away—one whom she was too young
to love. And she was Agnes Graham, the envied
bride of a wealthy man; a victim to her father’s
aristocratic principles and love of gold.

 

CHAPTER V.

“Come, Agnes, it is time—the carriage is wait-
ing,” and Mr. Graham threw a rich opera cloak
around his wife’s frail figure.

‘Henry, I cannot go,” said Agnes, faintly; “I
feel very sick and weak to-night.”

‘“Pshaw, Agnes! Iam sure you look as well as
usual. They will expect you.”

“IT would willingly oblige you,” said Agnes
“but you will have to excuse me this once, for 1
feel very sick.” :

“It is nothing but your whim,” ssid Mr. Gra-
ham, as he shut the, hall decor and entered his
cereee to be borne away to the rich saloons of

rs. ‘e
The pale, girlish bride of the golden summer
days sat there alonein the spacious drawing-
rooms. It was ali rich, all grand, all cold, all
falgo glitter, all icy, like her own ruined heart—
alla cold, heavy, mocking weight—all a bright
disguise for the victimized bride. :

She lay there alone on the crimson velvet sofa,
no loved one near to sooth away the lonely agony.
Too young to love! Ah, no; she had loved, and
that love-—-it was crushed back; its free, outgush-
ing fountain repressed; its full tide sweeping im-
potuously back on the frail young heart until it
was a wreck, a terrible wreck, slowly sinking
down into the dark, deep ocean of despair, bear-
ing life ’neath its heavy weight. :

own the wrecked heart goes neath despair’s
surging waters, love’s pilot gone forever, hope’s

 

beacon star lost in the gloom, golden wealth gild-

\

it that he passionately loved Agnes? He had no

and you are mistaken about Agnes; she does love |

 

hiding the terrible wreck from the eyes of fellow

man, but not too young to die, a

There lies the dead sacrificed bride-victim; lips
cold and still; brow pulseless, cold and w as
the frozen snow; dreamy eyes closed forever more;
hands folded calmly over the meek breast; the
slight figure still and stiffened in death; the
heart pulseless and hushed; the wreck gone down
forever; the presence of death alane in the still,
gilent parlor,

Too young to love the father deemed her, yot

bear a broken heart; not too young to have al
that which was glorious of life wrecked forever
not'too young to bear a living death; not too
young to die broken-hearted.

ommend GB php nn ence

THE LOST SHIP,

BY THERON B. APPELL,

 

4

Stanley Thornton, the hero of our tale, wasa
young merchant in » New England village. By
diligent attention to his busifies, he had amagsed
some ten thousand dollars, and began to be re-
garded as a Very\nice young man, pink of
propriety, by all ambitious damsels and maneuyer-
ing mothers. But he soon fell into disrepute in
the matrimonial market, for he became smitten
by the handsome features and elegant form of
Adeline Stanton. a,

Adeline was the only daughter of Mrs. Staxton,
the widow of a wellto do farmer, who had been
dead some years. Her husband left another

line, the child of his first wife.

- When her husband died, Mrs. Stanton sold the
farm, which, with the usual sharpness of step-
mothers, she had secured toher possession, and

Iady—a process that: had sadly diminished the
procee Is of the farm. Adeline had grown haugh-
ty, capricious, handsome and a would-be belie. She
practiced music, painted sickly-looking flowers,
made morning calls &c, while Maria,negleeted and
frowned upon, performed the house drudgery.
Maria was fair, gentle and quiet, quite imtelli-’
gent, and a good singer, but never allowed to sing
in company With Adeline,

Stanley Thornton was charmed by the beauty
and smiles of Adeline ; he professed his love, and

chan‘,returned hig love, and ib was soon whispered
at sewing societies and tea table gossips that
they were engaged. Stanley soon had food for
reflection ; his lady love was haughty and capri-
cious—she was sure of her lover, and began to flirt
with others. Stanley became better acquainted
with the gentle Maria, and a vague idea that he
had made a mistake in his choice, haunted his
brains, but he endeavored to banish it as treason
to the love he had pledged.

Meanwhile, in the course of his business he had
freighted a vessel for the West Indies, placing all
he was worth, and more, inthe venture. The
vesgel had {been gone many weeks, andit was time
for her return, when one morning the following

aragraph met the eyes of allreaders of the vil-
age paper:

“We regret to record the loss, by fire, of the
barque Albion, freighted by our enterprising -
young townsman, Stanley Thornton. She was
richly laden, and her loss will be a severe blow.
It is to be hoped that his creditors will not press
him, but allow him to.proceed with his business.”

When Adeline read this, did she weep over the
loss of her lover—did she hasten to console him
with her smiles and her love in the hour of his ad-
versity? By nomeans. A blank expression came
over her beautiful face, then a frowning, wrinkled
brow,and she hastened to give her mother the in-
telligence and hold a consultation.on the position
of affairs, whichecouncil of war, or rather of love.
resulted as follows ;—the next day Stanley called
—Adeline received him coldly. :

or suppose you have heard of my misfortune,
Adeline?” . - 3 4

sé Yes.”

have nothing left me now but your love. But |
cheered by that, I will commence the world
again.”

‘Tam very sorry Mr. Thorton. I shall ever re-
gard you with kindness, but your altered circum-
stances will make it unwise for us to marry.”

- features of Stanley remained calm, unmoy-
able.

‘You mean that you wish tobe released from
‘our engagement ?”

‘Tf you are willing, I desire to be released. I.
an Bnet to aid you in the struggles of supporting
a family.”

*¢ So be it then, if it so pleases you.” 2

He arose and departed. ;

**The dollar is almighty,” muttered he, as he
strode along; “there is one who carressed me and
professed to love me, when I represented ten
thousand, and now turns me off coldly without a
sigh when she thinks me penniless. Talk about
heathen Idols and the Juggernaut—the worship of
the dollar sunders the tenderest ties., Man, if
ever go noble and talented, is not regarded with a
glance if he has not the magic dollar, while the
veriest doll is pette1 and carreased, if he happens
to inherit a fortune. Vice and drunkenness are
winked at, if clothed-in silk and broadcloth ; but
woe bethe poor man if he errs; if he steals five
dollars, away with him to jail ; but let some rich
man embezzie another hundred thousand, and
he will be sent to Congregs—sure.”’

Stanley was so lost in these reflections that he -
nearly ran against an approaching Jady—it was
Maria Stanton.

**Good evening, Mr. Thornton; I am so sorry
for you.” ; one

‘ Maria, do you regret my loss of fortune? If
Thad been your lover, would you have discarded
me ?” : .

‘‘ What mean you? Surely Adeline has not——'

Aye, Adeline has dismissed me—but you did
mie a me—would you have done the same by
a lover ?”

‘No, no! But you have no right te ask my
thoughts.” : oe

‘Then give me the right, Maria—be my love,
my helpmate in building up my fortune. I am
poor, and I love you!” = :

Joy thrilled through Maria’s heart, athis earn-
est words; she whispered a gentle, loving reply as
he-drew her to his bosom, and turning, escerted
her to her home, requesting her to keep their en-
gagement a secret for the present.

A week after, another paragraph read as fol-
lows in the village paper :

‘We arehappy to state that the loss of the
barque Albion was @ mistaké, She arrived in port
yesterday. It was ancther vessel, the Albert, that
was burned, and mistaken for her.” re

“Oh, how did that horrid statement get into

when she learned the truth. Shrewd people sus-
pected that Stanley Thornton caused it to be in-
serted—but that we can leave the reader to
guess.

,_ Adeline received another shock one fine morn-
ing, by learning that her sister was married to
Stanley Thornton on the evening previous. In
vain were her regrets, or therage of ker mother.
She is still looking for engagement number two. -

 

 

GREATEST LITERARY PAPER: YET.
We are about making extensive preparations to
issue the first number of a new family literary journal
to be called

THE LITERARY ALBUM.

It is to be gotten up in handsome quarto forma, in the
first style of typography, especially designed for .
binding, and'is to contain nothing but original matter,
written expressly for it, Its contents will be varied and
excellent, and the greatest care will be taken to admit

tene and sentiment. The design is to make it a

FIRST CLASS FAMILY PAPER,

and in order to carry out this design we shall srare

& paper of this kind are great, and et our ability to con- |

 

duct one, the public can judge from past acquaintance
with us. .

voyagers. Too young to-love a noble, true-souled —

not too young to be sacrificed; not too yeung to —

daughter, Maria, some two years older than Ade- ..

moved into the village to rear her Adeline as a ~

sie, nothing loth to wed with anice young mer- .

“Tt has stripped meof the labor of years. I ~~

Pa

the papers!” exclaimed the heartless Adeline, .

nothing into it’s columns which is not strictly moralin |

 

neither pains or expense. Our facilities for getting uy 2

   

ing the ocean with a golden glitter, a jeweled veil gQ

 

 

 

   
 
 
  
    
  
  
  
   
 
    

* “ az a

 
 

 

pe

 

il gc I adap pce a AOSD incni hae ae Aa

 

 

| and despised.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

BLESS OUR VOLUNTEERS.
BY WILLIAM H. BUSHNELL.

God bless our gallant volunteers !
The noble souls that come
When Freedom waves her standard
And beats her signal drum;
hat rally round the dear old fiag
In stalwart, conquering bands,
Self-elected champions ef Bight,
With their hearts within their hands.

From their eastern homes they wander
Where the broad Potomac sweeps;

From the prairie gardens southward,
Where the Alabama sleeps;

From the pines amid the Northland—
From the mountain’s snowy crest,

To where rolls the Mississippi,
Golden cestus of the West!

At the trumpet-call ofe danger
Evory State wheeled into line;
Crimson banners stained the woodlands,
Crimson streamers flushed the brine;
Eichoed back the ery of batile—
Hchoed back the cannon jars
To the “old thirteen,” by sisters
Nower born among the stars!

¥he hearthstones wore deserted-—
Tore the dear wife’s arms away—
Blossed the children as they armed
To hasten to the fray;
Kissed the mother’s wrinkled forehead—
Wrung the father’s hand again—
Dashed the teardrops from their eyelids
As they marched to ight—like men!

Warmly grasped the slender fingers—
Qn. soft cheeks the kisses pressed—
Clasped within their arms the fair ones

They had ne’er till then caressed;
And growing bold at parting,

Told out love’s golden ore,
And/bore away to batile

Hearts now theirs for evermore.

fn the thicket, where the foeomen
Like the wolves are prowling round,
In the forest where the batteries
Are masked—the bloody ground
Where the shells are falling thickest,
- Where desiruction’s whirlwind sweeps,
Whore the air is lurid fire,
And Death his harvest reaps!

By the iron frowning city,
Up the mountain’s rocky side,
Round the foriress—on the rivers,
With their darkly crimsoned tide;
Whrough the tangled, wild savannahs,
*Neath the Palmetto and Palm,
They are fighting Frecdom’s batils,
And are singing Freedom’s psalm!
Thoy are fighting in the valley,
Whey are fighting on the-wave,
They are pouring out their heart’s blood,
Freedom’s heritage to save;
They are dying on the roadside,
Suffering what no tongue can tell,
They are pining, starving, dying
fo the loathsome prison cell,

heir graves are in the hollows,
Where the wind sweeps wild and shrill;
They ate furrowing the prairies,
And aré ridging every hill ee
They are hedging in the roadside,
‘They are walling cities round, \
They are changing unknown regions
to Freedom’s hallowed ground.
Through the darkness of the present,
Through the murky clouds of night,
@hey are looking for the coming
Of the morrow’s glorious light;
hey are looking to the future.
With a/hopeful, holy trust,
When the cannon shall be silent,
And the sabre blade shall rust.
‘hey are watchiig while they’re fighting
For the bloody strife to end,
With sharp swords for every traitor,
Aright hand for every friend;
Waiting, watching for the hour
When, if they are alive,
Freedom’s flag shall float above thom—
Xés stars still count thirty-five |
Ii is litle they are asking
From us, that they may live;
Are we dastards that we go not?
Are we misersand not give?
Of our stores shall we not lavish
On these bravé and loyal men?
Is there a heart that prays not,
God bless them o'er again? }
Ayes, God bless them! and God bless them!
Should bo still our fervent prayer,
Till the angels, heavenward winging,
With its burden fill the air;
Until His work is ended,
And the baitle’s chorus cease,
And earth and sky are ringing
With the holy songs of peace.

EDITH WARNER'S VISION.

BY MRS. JULIA A. B. DAVIS.

‘The Queen! the Queen! make way for the
Queen!” .

Immediately the crowd parted right and left,
caps were doffed, and cheers rent the air, as
the Queen and her daughter, attended by no-
bles and ladies, rode by mounted upon superb
and richly caparisoned horses. :

There was one amid the crowd witnessing
this splendid pageant, who felt her heart fill
with envy as she wended her way, with weary
steps, toward a large lodging housé in the
heart of busy Manchester, England, Her
miserable attic once gained, she threw her-
self on hor humble bed and gave way to envi-
ous complainings.

‘Why is she more favored thanI? Whyam

Y doomed to toil early and late for the mere
pittance which supports my body, while she,
radiant in jewels and splendor, moves through
the world without d care or sorrow?”
» Hiding her face in the pillow, Edith Warner,
the Manchester factory girl, wept bitter tears.
A low footfall sounded at her side, and look-
ing up she beheld a little wrinkled old wo-
m3n.- \

“Why weepest thou, child? Know thy lot
is more to be preferred than that of her thou
enviest.” :

“Verily I would like to change places with

gi, her. She has a mother; 1am an orphan. She

is rich, petted and caressed, while I am poor
Her hours are devoted to
pleasure and idleness, while mine are spent
in weary toil—a kind of toil, too, which marks

X24. mo the lowliest of England’s daughters.”

‘Still your lot is more to be preferred than

that of a royal princess.”

“Bo that as it may, if I could become a
princess, I would never sigh for the return of
former days.”

‘Fave, then, thy wish!”
Immediately the humble attic chamber fad-

ed. In its place appeared a splendid boudoir,

furnished with every appointment that taste

could suggest or wealth supply. In the. midst
of all sat Edith Warner, no longer the humble

| factory girl, but clothed in velvet and diamonds,

surrounded by maidens of noble birth, who
waited to do her bidding—in reality a princess,
the daughter of aking. Bofore her, on a ta-
ble of mosaic and gold, lay a book in foreign
language, but the words were familiar, and
she reclined negtigentiy on the velvet sofa,
reading the poems it contained.
As days glided into weeks, and weeks into
months, the young princess found in the
splendid pageantry of court life and the pleas-
ing homage of her servitors all the charm of a
brilliant novelty, and sonietimes thought with
scorn of the old woman’s prophecy that she
might wish to. become an humble factory-gizl
again, :

Bat, as years flew by, the restraints of court
etiquette became irkseme; the adulation of
thousands no longer pleasing; for she felt that
{not to herself, or her beauty, were these
shouts of adulation given, but to the daughter
of a king; and, in heart, she began to wish for
the true friendship of a congenial mind, for

j alone.

Where was the blessing of having a father,
when she never saw that father save in the
presence of his assombied court; never heard
his voice sofien to address to her words of en-
dearment, or saw him forget for a moment the
icy barriers of ceremony which seperated
them?

Where for her were the pleasing memories
which cluster around the name of mother,
when their intimacy was limited to ceremonial
visits, in the presence of their ladies of honor?

At last, however, there came a change for
her, a pleasing episode in the stately mono-
tony of her daily life.

There came to court a nobleman of high
rank, an envoy from a powerful nation. They
met, and loved, and although they dared not
openly avow theif attachment, there was hap-
piness for the princess in the tender glance,
and moments of bliss when in stelen inter-
view they sauntered in the garden paths, or
loitered in the friendly seclusion of a grape-
curtained arbor.

But this could not last; the fow months
passed swiftly, during which the envoy’s mis-
sion was brought to a close, and he was forced,
however unwillingly, to return to his native
country. :

Their parting was a sad one, for each knew
that although their hearts were united, their
hands could nover be; and more than once
did the envoy -feel tempted to urge the
princess to fly with him to some remote land,
where they would be fres to love each other.
Ambition saved him, for if she consented, he
must forsake the proud name and station
which he enjoyed in hisjown land, and begin
life, as it were, again.

The princes was not left long to mourn in
secret for her absent lover.

In a few months after his departure,
there came proposals from several nations for
an alliance with the beautiful princess. A
duke, seeking her hand for himself, hoping
that she might prove a stepping-stone to her
father’s throne; aking, for his son and heir—
hoping, by such an alliance, to secure the aid
of a powerful nation, amid dangers which
threatened him on every side; and, lastly,
from the emperor of an adjoining nation, who,
beside the advantages which might aecrue
from this alliance, sought also the rare beauty
of the princess to adorn his throne. The king,
her father, and the ministers of State, chose
the emperor. :

Did she, or could she, love him, they sought
not to learn-—the interests of the nation would
be advanced by this alliance, and that alone
was sufficient reason for the choice.

The union decided upon, preparaticns began
to be made on a grand seale for the approach-
ing nuptials, and for months the tire-women
of the princess were busy with their need] g,
fashioning the robes which were to adorn her
person. But while her maidens gossipped of
the approaching bridal and talked with ecstacy
of her magnificent prospects, she listened
with silent apathy, and prayed in her heart
that she might die ere she was forced to utter
vows with her lips which her heart could not
echo. But death eomes not when in our blind-
ness we ask for it, and the day at last arrived,
bringing with it the Emperor, who was to be
her future husband.

The sun rose bright and clear on the prin-
cess’ bridal morn. At an early hour her
maidens were astir, caroling merry songs in
‘bright anticipatien of the gorgeous pageant
they were about to witness, and in which they-
themselves would takea part. The whole city
seemed joyous too. Banners and evergreens
festooned the principal buildings, and loud-
mouthed cannon joined with merry bells in
doing honor to the momentous occasion, while
the streets were thronged with people of both
sexes in holiday attire. But the mornin:
brought no joy to the bride elect. Pale and
languid she arose from a sleepless couch—
smiles on her lips because she knew they were
expected—but an icy sadness at her heart.
When arrayed in her bridal robes, the king
and queen came to offer her their congratu-
lations, and look with pride upon the regal
péauty of their only daughter. They noticed
the almost deadly paleness of her counten-
ance; but they read not the heart-anguish
which produced it, and remarked how well her

 

4

Throughout the entire day, at the bridal

followed, the new empress bore herself with
the iey coldness of dispair, which passed for
haughty dignity; but her maidens remarked
that she might as well have been a statue, for
any pleasure which she séemed to feel.
At the close of a week .he new-made em-
press, accompanied by the emperor and their
attendant ladies and nobles, took a formal
leave of her parents and started on their jour-
ney toher new home. Arrived there the roy-
al party were weleomed and escoried to the
palace by’ a ‘company of nobles, foremost
among whom rode the envoy, her former
lover; and as he doffed is plamed cap and
bent low his head in honor of the bride of his
emperor, bs eye darted into hers a quick,
searching look of inquiry. Then it was for
the first time throughout this dreadful trial,
that her presence of ‘mind forsook her; for a
moment everything seemed to reel before her
eyes, @ deathly faintness came over her, but
by a strong effort of will she rallied and was
again the same stately being as before. None
saw this moment of emotion save him who
caused it, and he read therein what gave him
joy to know, that her heart was still his own.
Two weeks of festivities and rejeicings fol-
lewed the return of the emperor; and the
new empress found herself placed in a much
more trying position than heretofore; for, be-

the love of one who would love her for herself | sides taking a part in pleasures for which she

had ‘no relish, there were courtiers to be pre-
sented for whom at least a smile of conde-
scention was expected, and hard it is for the
lips to force a smile when the heart is break-
ing, but bitterest of all to have daily before
her the form of one so dearly loved and yet
be compelled to meet as strangers, occasion-
ally to see a fond, sad glance bent upon her,
which told that another heart was suffering
too, without the power to comfort or relieve,
What wonder that the weary empress at last
fell sick and lay for many weeks delirious
and suffering—nigh, very nigh, unto death! :
Though delirious, she kept her secret safe,
and the emperor, fearful of loging the beau-
teous rose which he had hoped would long
adern his throne, bent over her fondly, and
anxiously watched by her bedside until health
returned,

Those were bitter moments for the young
envoy; now first gentloman of the emperoz’s
household, to know that his heart’s dearest
idol lay at death’s door, and although beneath
the same roof they were more widely separ-
ated than if oceans rolled between them.

Youth at last triumphed over disease, and
through the long period of convalescence the
emperor watched over her so tenderly, seek-
ing her happiness so constantly that she be-
gan to feel that with such loving arms to shel-
ter her she might walk her thorny path in
safety. Oh! if he only knew all, was the con-
stantly recurring thought, and sometimes
when he would seat himself beside hor, and

derly, she would half resolve to tell him all;
but the fear that such a confession might
arouse his jealousy kept her silent.’

At the end of three months the empress was
once more able to appear in public; and now
the cares of state seemed to engross the mind
of the emperor, and she found herself obliged
to exchange the pleasing conversations of the
sick-room for the colder etiquette of the court
saloon, and listen to meaningless congratula-
tions from many who cared little for her wel-
fare. Then returned the old yearning for af-
fection as her soul grew sick of the heartless
formality ofher daily life. Then, too, she had
to school herself to meet unmoved the elo-
quent, pleading eye of him who longed to
elasp her to his bosom and weep tears of joy
at her recovery. She had sought to forget
this early love, believing it to be her duty as
the wife of another; but a more bitter trial yet
awaited her.

It had been her custom since her recovery
to spend her moments of leisure pacing silent-
ly to and fro in the thickly shaded walks of
the palace garden, holding communion with
her own thoughts. This practice had been ob-
served by her lover, and he determined to em-
brace this opportunity for a private interview.

One day she sought her private retreat, and
entering a secluded arbor knelt in’ prayer for
strength to do her duty faithfully. She had
risen refreshed, and sat leaning her head upon
her hand, lost in meditation, when a shadow
darkened the entrance, and looking up she be-
held her lover standing before her. Surprise
for a moment kept her silent, but recovering
herself she coldly asked, ;
‘What means this intrusion ?”’

‘Am Ian intruder? ‘Was the love you once
professed for me but the passion of an hour?
Alas, that I should have made my heart the
toy of a foolish girl, to be cast aside for a
richer bauble! Nay, nay, you.shall hear me!”
he said, as she attempted to leave the arbor;
‘T eave you allthat man could bestow—the
first love of a true and trusting heart, and I
still love you devotedly. Ithought thatT had

that your word was worth so little.”
‘Egbert, Egbert!” said the empress, in

bless and prosper you.”’

 

has willed that our paths should be separate? |"

ealm dignity would becowe the siation she | Who, indeed, but your stern father and his
j was about to oceupy.

altar, and during the week of festivities which | joined our hearts together? Why need we be.

{sel me to err—to bring reproach upon my

dzaw her head down upon his shoulder geten- |

august lords? What right had they to bestow
your hand on the emperor, when God had

bound by their acts? Letus fly from here,
andin some remote land we will dwell togeth-
er, happy in the love we bear each other!’’

‘Egbert, Egbert, is it you that would coun-

name, and make it a by-word for generations
yet to come? for not only must my cheek blush
for such an aet, but a whole nation must bear,
the shame of my error! We should have
helped each other to have borne this burden;
but I forgive you, and may God bless you!”,
Ere he had recovered from the surprise into
whieh her words had thrown him, she had left
the arbor and he was alone.

All might have been well for the empress
if no envious eyes had marked their interview,
for Egbert, shamed by her just rebuke, had
resolved to place miles between himself and
temptation. That very. night he had sought
from his emperor leave to travel in a foreign
clime. His request was easily granted, for he
stood high in the favor of his sovereign, and
the day was appointed for him’ to embark, in-
trusted with letters of great importance to the
government.

But Egbert had enemies, and one of these
had marked his stolen interview with the em-
press. Determined to make this circumstance
a stepping-stone to favor, the night preced-

ao — Se Se ETS

of earth, te again undergo the painful suffer-
ing they experienced while disease was doing
its terrible work; neither could we desire their
longer stay within our cottage home when the
folds of bliss were opened to receive them.
We can no more behold their forms upon this

| mortal shoro; for in the solemn churchyard,

where many a withered flower doth lie in sweet
repose, their forms are mouldering back to
dust, Where the feathered warblers ef spring
ehaunt sweet dirges, and the beautiful flowers
of summer bloom in fragrant: loveliness, the
caskets of our departed jewels doth dwell. In
the language of the immortal Montgomery, we
can say:

« There is & calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.

6 The storm that wrecks the wintry sky
No more disturbs their sweet repose
Than summer evening’s latest sigh,
That shuts the rose. *

6‘ The goul of origin Divine,
God’s glorious image freed from elay,
In Heaven’s eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day.

«The sun is but a spark of fire—

A transient meteor of the sky;
The soul, immortal as its sire,
Shall never die.”’

Tuo. D. G. Mruzzr.

MY TROUBLES.

BY BLANCHE ALPEN.

 

ing the day appginted for Egbert’s departute,
the eavesdropper sought the private ear of the
emperor, and poured therein a cunningly de-
vised tale, pretending to be cognizant of a
plan for the elopement of the empress with
Egbert. The villain professed great solicitude
for the emperor’s private happiness, and an
earnest desire to save the empress’ name from
slander. He told his tale so well that he found
no difficulty in inducing the emperor to be-
lieve him, and promising to remember him in
the future, he bought his silence with gold, and
dismissing him, sought’the apartments of the
empress. He found her surrounded by her
maidens, for siace her interview with Egbert
she had taken good care not to be left alone.
Dismissing her attendants, he confronted her
with angry brow, and charging her with infi-
delity, accused her of an intentiog to elope
with Egbert, Knowing her innocence, she
calmly denied the charge, but when he spoke
of the interview in the arbor, repeating her
own acknowledgement of love for Egbert,
combined with many little acts of hers, harm-
less in themselves, but which served as links
in the chain of evidence against her, she was
confounded, and could only exclaim,

“Tam innocent! Believe me, sire, I am in-

nocent!"
. Yowing vengeance upon Egbert’s defence-
lessihead, he left her, turning the key upon
her, thus making her a prisoner in her own
apartment.

Finding herself alone she fell upon the
floor, and burying her face in her hands, ex-
claimed, a8 :

‘Ig this the lot I coveted? Would that I
were an humble factory-girl again! ‘Better a
life of poverty and toil, with its quiet pleas-
ares, than the strife and temptations which
wealth and station bring!”

Scarcely were the words uttered, when the
old woman again stood beside her. The rich
boudoir seemed to fade and blend again into

‘the low-walled attic chamber, through whose

dingy skylight the first gray light of dawn was
creeping. |

“Hast thou learned wisdom?” asked the old
woman.

‘‘T have, indeed. I shall henceforth be con-

that no station is without its trials.”

The distant bell of the city clock, striking
four, broke the stillness of the morning as the
old woman vanished from the apartment,
warning Edith Warner that the hours of toil
were approaching; but she went forth with a
free step and light heart. The weary walk, as
she had often called it, seemed not long as she
tripped cheerfully onward, mentally conning
over the vision of the night before; and when
in after years she, with the husband of her
choice, crossed the blue waters of the Atlan-
tic, and sought for themselves a home in the
Western wilds, she felt that no princess could
be more happy than she in her neat cottage
on the rolling prairie.

DIED.

At Low Hampton, N. Y., August 22d, 1863, of scarlet
fever, Exnora M. STREETER, aged two years, ten
months. é

“At Putnam, N. Y., September 18th, 1863 of scarlet
fever, Ciara L. Baoxus, aged two years, eleven months.
At Low. Hampton, N. Y., December 12th, 1863, of ty-
phoid pleuro-pneumonia, ELNATHAN P. MILLER, in the
thirty-seventh year of his age.

The angel of the ebon wing has entered our
cheerful circle and taken from our midst a
brother’s form and the cherished little ones of
two sisters. From our embrace they have
faded as gently as the pure snow-wreaths that
melt upon the river’s brink—as calmly as the
uurippled waves of some fairy lake lie basking
in ethereal blue, when softly kissed by the
sparkling rays of the sun. Their earthly toils

your love in return, I deemed not your prom-| are passed, life’s fitful dreams are over, and
ise to love me until death was idly spoken— | they have gone to reap the rich reward otf the
early blest.

How little we anticipated the dark messen-

tones fraught with bitter anguish, ‘I did love | ger’s approach! How sadly the reality dawned
you—fondly and truly loved you, and I cannot | upon us!
deny that I love you still; but destiny has| must givethem up! But skill proved impo-
willed that we should tread diverse paths; the | tent; the physician’s art was vain; the ravagés
decree we cannot alter, and we must bow sub-| of disease could not be stayed, and Friend-
missive to it. Go bestow your affections on | ship’s ceaseless vigils failed to prolong the vi-
some more worthy objet—one who, untram-| tal spark. We saw them fading beneath its} missioner down among the Yorkers, who is incap-
meled by the shackles of royalty, can return | poisoned breath, as the beautiful Aower, when | able of appreciating a true scholar.”,

your love; and may our Father in Heaven | parched by summer’s gun, and there was no
refreshing dew to reanimate their drooping
‘Nay, nay, I will not yield thee thus! ‘Who | forms. aaa

We cannot wish them back, frail blossoms | to love!”

How painful the thought that we

 

tented with my lot in life, for I now perceive |

Young, handsome and educated!” What a
misfortune! Why wasn’t I one of those plain,
every-day sort of people, that are not worth a
second thought? ThenIcould pursue the even
tenor of my way unmolested, without being sub-
ject to the ill-natured remarks of an envious
world. But people with such superior acquire-
ments as Ipossess, are sure to be assailed on
every side, with invidious remarks. But after all
iv’s a compliment! If you are not considered
somebody, nobody will take the trouble to talk
about you. (Mem,—The above remarks are not
my own; [am not egotistical enough for that; a
friend of mine makesthem for me.) Now for my
troubles! My nameis—well Smith will do just as
well aa any other name for this occasion. I hold
the office of school commissioner in the town of
F——. My duties are many and onerous. I ex-
amine teachers, license teachers, appoint teach-
ers, superintend the schools in my districts, con-
duct the examinations, preside atthe recop-
tions, criticise the various ‘‘test books” that are
issued; andam atthe disposal of the public in
general. Now, if Thaven’t enough to keep me
busy, L would like to find the man who has more !
And yet T fail to give satisfaction. Some deem
me ‘too sirict;’ others, ‘too lenient.” Some
call me agreeable, while others pronounce me “an
ingnfferable bore,” and I have at last arrived at
the conclusion, that when we try to please every-
body, we generally succeedin pleasing nobody;
so after this, I shall please myself. This being
school commissioner is very hard work! I am ex-
pected to look very grave and dignified while ex-.
aminiug candidates ; and sometimes such novél-
ties present themselves for examination, and such
ludicrous blunders are made, that it is amost im-
possible to control the risible faculties.

Thad acase of the kinda few .weeks ago. I
had been through the usual routine of business
fer the day, and sat down hoping to enjoy an hour
or two of uninterrupted quist; but alas! I was
doomed to disappointment. I was hardly seated,
when the door of my study opened, anda tal, raw-
boned individual entered, and thus accosted me,

* Are you the school commissioner ??

I replied in the affirmative.

. a examine candidates for teaching ?”

es.

“Well then I want you to examine me; I’ve
come all the way from Connecticut to get a situ-
ation. I think teaching is my vocation, andI
don’t doubt but you'll cometo the same conclu-
sion. My nameis White. George Washington
White.”

‘Be seated, Mr. White, and we'll praceed to bus
iness, Have you ever tauSht school?” .

‘*No, sir! Spent all my life working’on a farm ;
but PU work there ho more! It’s out of my
sphere! Iwas bornto flourish in the literary
world.” ’ :

‘*T will see what Ican do for you. I will now
commence your examination. We will begin with
arithmetic. Give me the rule for the division of
fractions ?”’

Mr. W. looked perplexed ; raised his eyes to the
ceiling, then turned them to the floor, cast furtive
glances around the room,.as though he expected
to find the solution written on the walls; but not
seeing it, he shook his head, and said;

* Really, I can’t call it to mind just now.”
‘Well then, you may tellme how to multiply
fractions ?”

“There! Ideclare! I thought of it a moment
ago, and now it has entirely slipped my memory.”
I came to the mental conclusion that his mem-
ory was not remarkably lucid on the subject of
figures, so Iturned to something else.

ee ae may tell me how many seasons there
are ?”

‘Two, the cold and warm season.”

*¢ Can you tell me what causes the change in
the seasons ?” ae
“Oh, yes! The ice and snow, and the wind
blowing from the north, causes winter; and the
sun coming out very warm and melting the ico
and snow caus ssummer’

I had hard work to smothera laugh.

‘* You say you came from Connecticut, can you
tell me the principal products of that state?”
‘*Nutmegs! I believe it is spoken of in history -
as the land of wooden nutmegs.”

I did laugh this time. © :
“That will do for geography!
little about grammar. You may parse this sen-
tence, ‘The sun sets in the west.’”

He managed to blunder through with the first
and second word, bat the next was a poser; he
looked at it rather dubiously, and at last said;
**T guess it’s a verb!”

oo right. Whatelse can you say about
1 ” .
Thus encouraged, he went on. :

§ Sets, is aregular active transative verb, and is |
the object of sun.”

5: How do you make a regular verb of it ?”
‘*Really, 1 can’t callit to mind just now.” ¢
“Tetit go! Takethe next word.” ee

‘Tn, is a—a—what would you callit, Mr. Smith ?”
‘Never mind what I would call it! 1 want to
hear what you have got to say about 1617

* Jn, is a—is a—a—noun.” =
‘‘ That will do for grammar ; it will be useless
to go further on the subject. You may write
down the following sentence.” -

“Be ye wise as serpents and harmless as
doves.” Bee ae
He wrote as Idictated, and thisis a fac-simile
of his orthography. :

66 Boo re wiee as sarpints and harmless as
davs.”

Tcouldendurenomore! :

‘Mr. White, your examination is finished,”
‘When can L[ begin to teach ?”

«© 7o teach! Tam sorry to say that you have
mistaken your vocation. I could not pogsibly
give you & license of the lowest grade.”

He looked at me in blank astonishment, and
took, hig departure without uttering a single
word.

I have since heard, that he went home, and re-

We will talk a

sumed his farming operations, and he entertai+
his friends with the story of “that school cor-

So goes the world. Oh dear! if I only had o7¢

sympathizing friend,to bear a part of my burdens. Ag .
what a happy man I should be!

 

 

 

 

 

Jusi think of i: ! Sg
“Young, handsome and educated! “with no one