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FRANCIS S. STREET, :
VRANCIS S. SUITH, t Proprietors.

 

UONREST.
BY MRS. C.

From early morn till evening
Ive labored here for naught;
Whilst others, coming after,
Have found what I have sought.
Oh, Iam weary waiting—
My earth-life is unblest—
I’m glad that Lam going
Where the weary shall have rest!

Y’ve worn the thorny chaplet
Upon my shrinking brow,
fill earth has lost its brightness,
And faith is failing now.
Oh, I_am weary waiting—
My earth-life is unblest—
I’m glad that Iam going
Where the weary shall have rest!

But, see! the morn is beaming—
The night will soon be o’er!
Behold the glory beaming
Upon the further shore!
Oh, Iam weary waiting—
My earth-life 1s unblest--
I’m glad that Iam going
Where the weary shall have rest!

The Sister’s Crime;

THE PRINTER’S PLOT.

By Adelaide E. Story (Helena Dixon.)

CHAPTER I.
THE EARL’S SECRET.

Twilight, of a June day, was slowly deepening over the
broad domain of Silvermere.

* The lamps had just been lighted in hall, boudoir, and

“parlor, when a carriage bowled up the broad. avenue
leading to the house, and paused before a side entrance.
The carriage door was quickly opened by a footman, and
the Earl of Walsingham descended to the porch.

Without a word or gesture to his faithful servitors, who
waited to welcome him home from his journey to the
Highlands, the morose and hauglity earl passed into the
house,

Walking listlessly, as though to be at home again were
no pleasure, his lordship passed on to the library.

The room was unoccupied.

Taking a number of letters from a case, his lordship
seated himself in an easy chair and began their perusal,
his deep black eyes and cold, proud face changing not a
whit in expression as he read on, letter after letter, until
ali were finished save one.

All save one! And thisa dainty missive, in a delicate

pchirography, the reading of which brought a flush to the
earls sallow cheeks and a sparkle to the hitherto passion-
less eyes. Theletter was read and re-read with raptur-
ous pleasure, such as one would fancy the haughty, ab-
gent-minded éarl incapable of feeling.

With a genial glow overspreading his face, he arose
and touched the bell-pull.

Soon a servant entered. The earl commanded:

‘Inform Lady Walsingham that I desire her presence
hhere, and at once.”?

“Yes, my lord.” :

in a state of extreme lassitude, Isabel, Countess of Wal-
gingham, formerly widow of Gregory, Marquis of Haldi-
mand, gat in her elegantly appointed boudoir gazing de-
jectedly through the open window at the lovely night
scene pictured before her,

Bat though her gaze took it all in, the countess saw it
not. Her eyes had in them a dreamy, far-away look—
those fathomless, restless eyes that were ever wandering

@ With a strange yearning light in their blue depths.

Her ladyship sat with her thin white lands clasped con-
vulsively in her lap, when the sound of the earl’s carriage
crunching the gravel reached her ears, Her languid,
dreamy manner changed instantly, an eager look came
into her eyes, and her face lit up with joyful expectancy.

Reaching forth a tremulous hand, she rang the bell for
her maid, who immediately entered from an adioining
apartment.

“Merton, Rupert has come at last!’ said the countess,
half rising. ‘Go bring him to me at once. Why do you
tarry? Have I not waited patiently these many years for
his return, and now that he comes to claim his own, do
you league yourself with his enemies to keep him from
yme, and from his rights? Atlast! at last ! no matter who
is against me, I will do right by Gregory’s boy.”

Her ladyship was standing now, her queenly form tow-
ering above her attendant. A menacing frown contracted
hier brows, and her eyes glowed and scintillated like coals
Si fire.

The maid, however, was so used to these moods ‘hat
she was not at all daunted.

$he put out her strong arms and gently forced her mis-
tress back to her seat.

“Be composed, my lady. “Rupert has not come. It
is his lordship who has returned from his tour. Shall I
dress you now for dinner? or will you have it brought up
here? As you’re not feeling well, perhaps that will be
best.*?

» Lady Walsingham gave no heed to her maid’s ques-
ions.

“Not come yet? Rupert not come when I was so sure
it was he? Will he be here to-morrow, Merton ?”?

ss] here he will. not, my lady,’? answered Merton, with
a sigh. ;

“Yes, he will surely come,’ she murmured softly, calm-
ly, a8 she took her way .across the room to. where two
portraits were suspended side by side.

On one of these, which was that of a boy who might
have been three or four years old, her eyes fastened with
woful tenderness.

‘He wiil not look like this when he comes, will he,
Merton? Itis so many years since this was painied, so
many heavy, woful years! Buti shall know him by his
eyes. They are so like what his father’s were. Oh, Gre-

ory, when I come to you and you upbraid me with my
aithiessness, what shall l say? JI have not fulfilled your
dying charge! Your boy is a wanderer, homeless, friend-
less! His wealthisin my keeping. But I have not used
it, not a farthing of it! They cannot make me do that!
He shall have it, every pound, and thetitle, too! He will
be Marquis of Haldimand. They cannot rob him of his
title.. Thank Heaven for that !”

The large blue-violet eyes seemed tolook from the can-
vas in innocent, childish wonder at the countess as she
wailed in anguish before it, heediess now of Merton, who
was still regarding her pityingly.

“Please, my lady, don’t, take on so about the boy. Look
now at this other picture, the Lady Valeria’s. Did ever
mother have a more beautiful daughter? And only think,
she will be in your ladyship’s arms in a few days. Mrs.
Gabron has had the sunniest suite of rooms in the east
wing fitted up for her by the earl’s order.”

With such words as these the faithful maid was endea-
voring to cheer Lady Walsingham’s spirits, when a knock
was heard on the door. The girl opened it to admit the
servant who was charged with the earl’s message to the
countess.

Mechanically, and without appearing to have heard his
words, her ladyship took her way to the dressing-room,
followed by Merton, who proceeded to attire her in a rich
mauve silk adorned with lace,

Her toilet completed, Lady Walsingham slowly left her
rooms, and descended to the library, where she found the
earl impatiently pacing to and fro.

«vm He arose with studied civility, and presented a chair.

He was about to ask her concerning her health, but
checked himself witi a slight frown when he saw that the
countess was in what he was pleased to term one of her
“moods,” and said instead:

“Will you read this letter from Valeria, Isabel ?
coming home in a few days.”

4s¥es, Hugh.’

“Ah! so you knew it then ??

“Yes, I knew it.”

“Since when ?”’

“Smcea week ago.”

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“The housekeeper has arranged a suite for her in the east
wing, I believe.”

Lady Walsingham was leaning against the mantel, ab-
Stractedly tearing away the petals of the white and crim-
son reses arranged therein in an elegant porcelain vase.

The earl continued to walk to and fro. Suddenly the
countess turned facing him.

“Hugh, perhaps Rupert is on the continent! He and
Valeria may return together.?’

His lordship’s face grew as white as the snowy rose
leaves which he stooped to pick from the carpet, where
his wife hadidly thrown them. The hand that gathered
the tattered leaves trembled violently. When he drew
himself erect, however, he was outwardly calm.

“You forget, Isabel, that Rupert was drowned in the
river by the old tower, years and years ago, and that he
lies buried at Clermont. Have you ceased to remember
that, and how we mourned over his untimely death?”

“JT must tell you, Hugh, or my secret will kill me, as
it has nearly driven me mad. You think Iam mad; but
Tam not! Rupert is alive! TI have known this ever since
that morning, 80 many years ago, when he went out to
play with his little boat by the artificial pond, below the
great fountain, and never came back. And for years I
have been waiting for his return. JI tell you truly, Hugh,
Rupert is alive. I see him every night in my dreams,—
noble, manly, the very counterpart of what his father
once was, Valeria and he must love each other, and
marry. Then all will be well, since it is for her that you
want Rupert’s fortune.”

Lady Walsingham said this mildly, calmly, much more
go than she was wont to speak of her step-son; buf the
earl flew into a towering passion. There was a look of
fear, too, in his midnight eyes as he answered:

“Madam, you dare to tell me that I desire to possess the

boy’s fortune! Did I not offer large rewards for his re-
covery, before the body: was found, and while it was
thought he had been carried off?’ Her ladyship laughed
hysterically.
“What will you say, Lord Walsingham, when Rupert
comes and demands his rights, his fortune? Why, only
last night I fell asleep on the balcony, and Valeria and
Rupert came and stood before me in the moonlight. They
stood, hand joined in hand... They knelt together before
me, imploring my blessing! ‘They were lovers. What do
you say to that, Hugh?”

“I gay, Isabel,” answered the earl, in low, sneering
tones, ‘“‘who but a lunatic would expect tosee a sickly
dream realized???

‘It isnot by my dreams alone, Hugh, that I come to
believe this. Let me tell you howl Know that Rupert
lives.

Lady Walsingham approached her husband by a gliding
movement—her eyes seemingly on fire, her face glowing
with excitement. The earl put out his hand to keep
both her, and the words she would utter, away. His ex-
tended hand trembled visibly in spite of his efforts at
composure.

“You tremble, Hugh,’? whispered the countess. “Why
need you be so agitated? Thereis no one here to catch
my words, and I will say them low, so low that the very
walls, had they ears, could not hear.’’

At this juncture dinner was announced, and the earl,
greatly relieved, apparently, at the escape this would af-
ford him, offered his arm to Lady Walsingham, saying in
subdued, scarcely natural tones:

“Come with me to dinner, Isabel, and drive these va-
garies from-your brain.”

Without heeding his words Lady Walsingham crossed
the room, and opening a side-door, went out into the
moonlit garden.

And the earl went alone to dinner. Ags he walked over
the resounding marble floor of the hall, he murmured:
“Jgabel’s mania either grows upon her, or she has a
knowledge of something, the memory of which I would
give all my wealth to blot out from my soul.”

CHAPTER II.
THE TWO. PORTRAITS.

While the earl tarried over his wine, and her ladyship,
with dew-moistened garments, remained on the terrace,
Mrs. Gabron, the housekeeper, was busy making ready a
tempting repast in one of the rooms appropriated to her
u

Se.

In age Mrs. Gabron must have been above fifty years,
yet her step was firm and her carriage stiffly erect.
Though not positively devoid of a certain coarse comeli-
ness, the housekeeper’s features were not such as would
be likely to make a favorable impression on a stranger. |
A low, square brow. from which the sandy-brown hair
was brushed smoothly back, overshadowed a pair of

She bent over the waxen hand, a

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The cloth was laid for two, and Mrs. Gabron moved
briskly about, preparing the meal, her thoughts evidently
intent on something foreign to her work.: Her thin lips
were ever and anon tightly compressed, and the reddish-
gray eyes had in them alook too stern and hard to be
pleasing.

As she took a Seat near the table over which she glanced
with an air of satisfaction, her eyes sought the small wood-
en clock on the mantel.

“The train was due at the station twenty minutes ago.
He must be here shortly,”? she murmured aloud.

Even as she spoke there came a rap on the door, and the
next moment it was softly opened, and Randal Gabron,
the housekeeper’s son, entered the apartment.

In personal appearance he was very like his mother,
save that the hair which covered his small, round head
was a trifle darker and redder, and the eyes a shade
deeper in hue and somewhat larger. The chin was con-
cealed by a luxurious growth of sandy beard. He was
tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. Randal Gabron
was ambitious, and had determined to rise in the world.
He was aman to be feared as an enemy—distrusted as a
friend. He was at once bold, resolute, unshrinking, yet
cunning, unscrupulous, and wily—with a brain to plan
and a heart to execute.

From the soft, womanly light which crept into the
housekeeper’s face at the appearance of her son, it was
at once evident how large a place he had in her heart.

‘You see J am an obedient son,’? he said. ‘Your let-
ter reached London at noon, to-day; and now, here I am
at your service.’’

“Fie! Randal, just as though your own inclination had
nothing to do in the matter. But let us have dinner and
then we will discuss our plans,”?

“Nonsense! mother, we will talk now. I shall do
greater justice to these tempting viandsif Silvermere and
Haidimand are held up before me in perspective. You
wrote nothing in your letter beyond that Lady Valeria
is about to return. Whenis she expected?”

The housekeeper arose from her seat at the table and
went to the door, which she opened, to assure herself that
there was no loitering servantin the corridor. Reclosing
it, she turned the key in the lock and resumed her seat.

“T am ready to tell you, Randal, but you must let me do it
in my own way, without questions. 1t was only yesterday
that I chanced to learn, through Merton, that her Jady-
ship had received a letter from our young lady. Last
night, after my lady had dismissed her maid and retired,
Istole on tin-toe into her boudoir and found and read the
letter. You know, I suppose, that Lady Valeria went
abroad under the care ot her Grace, the Duchess of Allo-
way. Her health was growing bad, on account of mourn-
ing over her mother’s queer ways, I’ve no doubt, and the
earl was persuaded to spare her, though I wonder some-
times how he could, he isso wrapped upin her, and he
knew. so_ well what a living tomb his house would seem
with no Lady Valeria’s bright presence to enlivenit. It
seems her winter in the south has restored her health, and
she is anxious to get back to Silvermere. What a pity it
will be, though, to interfere with the travele1’s happy
home-coming!”’

And Mrs. Gabron laughed.

“But, mother, you haven’t told me when she will be
here?”

“No earthly power can tell that,’? the woman replied,
with deeper meaning than her words conveyed. And then
she added: ‘

“One week from to-day—that is on the sixteenth—the
duke and duchess, with Lady Valeria, wili be in Calais.
It is expected that Lord Walsipgliam will meet his daugh-
ter there and bring her home, as her Grace of Alloway
wishes to visit St. Petersburg.”’ ;

The housekeeper’s son sprang excitedly from his seat,
exclaiming, with eagerness, yet in a low, guarded tone:
ignore good fortune smiling, we must be there before

itt

“T was sure yon would see the necessity for that, Ran-
dal. Our young lady has been away nearly nine months,
and if the Lady Valeria who returns to Silvermere
Should not. resemble in some particulars, the one who
went away, it wil) naturally be attributed to her sojourn
among foreigners and closer contact with the world.”

“And what says Lord Walsingham? He will go to Ca-
lais, of course ?”?

“His lordship has but just returned from the Highlands.
He may not yet Know of his daughter’s proposed return;
but he would go on wings to meet her, if that were pos-

 

sible. He has been a lonely, heart-sick man, if there ever
was one, all these long months since the Lady Valeria |
went away.” |

Mrs. Gabron arose as she spoke, and summoned one,
of the housemaids, bidding her remove the remains of!

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nd said: ‘‘The past has had its struggles, tair lady, and——”

“Now, Randal, I am ready to look at the picture. You
know I have never seen your sweetheart. If the resem-
blance is as great as you think, you and [ are on the high
road to fortune.”

Without making a reply Randal took froma valise,
which he had brought from London, a small paper-cover-
ed roll, which he proceeded to open, while his mother
leaned over his chair—his sallow features lit up with ex-
ultant pride, hers with eager expectancy.

The roll was siowly unbound and opened, Mrs. Gabron
gave a quick start, and drew a long inspiration.

“Ol! Randal! you are deceiving me! That is the Lady
Valeria’s picture—hair, eyes, color, all are hers.’

“No, mother; this is the portrait of Griselda Lyell, my
betrothed wife.”

‘‘How like!” gasped the housekeeper, with her eyes
riveted on the painting, “and yet, Randal, how unlike.
Now that I look closely there is an expression in the eyes
and about the mouth which my young lady never had.”

‘‘And if the eyes, then, are the windows of the soul, as
we are sometimes told, there must be a difference be-
tween the two beyond what we can see. But come, mo-
ther, since the original of this and the earl’s daughter,
who so closely resemble each other, can never meet face
to face, let us compare their shadows! Can you obtain
a likeness of Lady Valeria? Perhaps, after all, this dif-
ference of expression, which you jancy you detect, does
not exist.’’

The housekeeper mused.

“There are several fine portraits of my young lady in
the house, besides those in the picture-gallery. But the
one in her ladyship’s boudoir is the most life-like.??

“And you can bring it here?”

“fam not so certain of that. I might enter the boudoir
and bring it away before her ladyship’s very eyes, if she
happened to be in one of her spells. But Merton is not so
easily managed. If she should but see my shadow lurk-
ing about her ladyship’s rooms she wéuld dog my steps
like a sleuth-hound. But perhaps the countess is with
Lord Walsingham, andif so, Merton is not on duty in her
rooms. I will go and see.”’

Mrs. Gabron departed on her errand, and Randa! began
walking back and forth in the tasty,home-like apartment,
whistling complacently to himself several bars of a popu-
lar air.

While thus whiling away the time the door opened, and
Mrs. Gabron reéntered the room.

“So you could not get the portrait?’

‘I might have done so, for Lady Walsingham is not in
her rooms and Merton is entertaining the head cook in
her own apartment. But I mean to take you to the bou-
doir, I do not like to bring the portrait away for fear that
Merton. should discover its absence before | could replace
it.””

“But what if we are discovered in her ladyship’s
room ?”

“I can easily fabricate some excuse to satisfy Lady
Walsingham. About Merton I am not sosure, but she can
make nothing of it beyond a simple intrusion into a room,
where, of late, her ladyship is accustomed to receive such
visitors as she can be induced to see.”

Without further parley mother andson left the room;
the former leading the way through several corridors into
@ Small antechamber or vestibule. Here Randal seated
himself to wait while his mother should. reconnoiter.
After a survey of the different rooms comprising her
ladyship’s suite, Mrs. Gabron beckoned her son into the
boudoir.

A printer by profession, accustomed to toil in all times
and seasons for his daily bread, occupying chambers ina
poor neighborhood, Randal Gabron had never before
crossed the threshold of so gorgeous an apartment as the
one before him, and he paused involuntarily lest his pro-
faning footsteps should cause the lovely scene to fade
from his vision.

“Come on, Randal. This is Lady Valeria’s portrait.”

With one swift, scrutinizing glance at the beautiful,
Sweetly-innocent face on the canvas, the young man
averted his gaze.

Was there a rebuking ray darted from the lustrous
black eyes? Did the fall, coral lips move as if to upbraid
the intruders? To Randal’s imagination so it seemed, and
he did not venture to look again at the portrait until his
mother had hung its counterpart beside it, and called on
him to note the remarkable similarity between the two
pictures.

The resemblance was, indeed, striking. There was the

! game queenly poise to the superb head—the same sym-

metrical curve to the siender throat—the same full lips,
and low, square brow in both pictures. Then, too, the
hair was alike im color and tendency to curl, though,
while that of Lady Valeria fell naturally over neck and

dal, as he stepped back to allow the light from. the chan-
delier to fall upon the portraits. ‘And yet,’ he added,
‘no relationship exists between these two!’

“No, of course not,” returned Mrs. Gabron;. “and yet,
were they not so nearly of an age, 7 might . But
what nonsense amI thinking? The earl was a wild one,
to be sure, prior to his marriage to the Marchioness of
Haldimand, and rumors were, at onetime, afiloatof a
marriage with a Parisian actress. But the story gained
no credence among his lordship’s friends.”

“You spoke of theirages. Griselda is twenty, but looks
much younger,’’ said Randal, thoughtfully.

“And the Lady Valeriais scarcely .eighteen!’? ejacula-
ted the housekeeper, her cheeks flushing crimson under
hermomentary excitement.

“Your conjectures are wild, wild, mother. These girls
are in no way related to each other. “It is enough for me
that they resemble each other so nearly, that, put them -
together, the mother of either coukr not select her daugh-
ter. ?

In a row with these two portraits hung that of a boy,
and to this the attention of Randal was directed.

“Lady Walsingham never had a son, Iam told; then
why does that picture hang here, in her boudoir, by her
daughter's???

“That is the boy her ladyship takes on so about. He
was the son of her first husband, the marquis, by a for-
mer marriage. He would be aman now, had he lived.
He was drowned whiie at play around the old tower,
whose base, you know, is washed by the river. His death
happened shortly after your uncle took you to London to
live with him. There was something mysterious, to my
mind, in connection with the boy’s death.”

And Mrs. Gabron lowered her voice to @ rasping whis-

er.

“A black-browed stranger was noticed hanging around
shortly before he was missed, and your father, the tien
gardener, saw the earl with him in the Persian summer: _
house, on the river bank.?’ ‘

“Well, is that all the mystery there was about it?”

The woman continued in a still lower tone:

“His lordship turned as white as a ghost when they
told him the boy was missing, and before any one sus- ©
pected harm had come to him. And when your father
carried the little hat and scarf. all dripping with ooze
from the river bottom, to the library, where the earl was
moodily glowering over the coals in the grate, he said
never a word, ‘but fell away in a dead faint. He was ill
for a long time after that, and raved about the river, and
Rupert, and the tower, which he said was haunted. He
would have his windows closed night and day, because
they overlooked the river, and as soon as he was able to
sit up, made them carry him to another apartment. And
then, to think of his ordering rooms to be got ready for
Lady Valeria in: the east wing, as he did before he start-
ed for the Highlands! He had just come in from the ter-
race in front of the west wing, the night before he went,
when IJ met him in the passage. His face was ghostly
white.

‘“ ‘Mrs. Gabron,’ said he, in a scary kind of voice, ‘yeu

mnust give my daughter other rooms.’

“TI was frightened by his wild looks, and tried to leave,

but he seized: my.arm and held me fast.

‘““Doyou hear; Gabron? Lady Valeria must sleep in
sight of the tower no longer.’

“‘And he:glared on me like a madman. I promised to
see to it, and he let go of me and’ went away, muttering

, about something he had seen, and saying it was no won-

der his daughter had dwindled te a shadow, sleeping

80 close to the haunted tower.”

Mrs. Gabron had unceremoniousby seated herself in one
of the easy chairs, and was talking leisurely and with a
feeling of security, when the rustling of silken garments
and the fall of light footsteps were heardin the vestibule.

Instantly Randal seized her by the arm, and together
they concealed themselves behind the wide, open door.
They had barely done s0, when the robes of the countess
brushed past them.

Her ladyship was literally wet with dew, and looked to
the young man, who cautiously peered at her from his
hiding-place, like a drooping lily.

Lady Walsingham crossed the room to. the oriel win-
dow, which was open. Kneeling within its recéss, she
rested. her weary head:on her hand, and looked out into
the night.

“We must go now,’! whispered Mrs. Gabron, and the
two figures glided noiselessly out into the ante-chamber.
They were hurrying across this, when they met Merton,
the jady’s maid, on whose faithful, honest face a look of
astonishment was visible. The housekeeper puton a bold
front, however, aud without deigning a word in answer
to Merton’s questioning lock, she led the way into the
passage.

“It’s odd enough whatever brought them here,”’ mused
the lady’s maid, as: she passed into the boudoir and
glanced searchingly around, when her eye fell upon the
portrait which the Gabrons, in their hasty retreat, had
suspended beside that of Lady Valeria.

“Another picture of my lady’s daughter, surely; and
yet I never saw the Lady Valeria’s eyes glower like that,
How came it here? Did the housekeeper and her son
bring lt, and why? At any rate, it must not hang here
to annoy the countess. Such glances as those must not
be for the mother’s eye.”?

When the moon was getting low in the west, Mrs.
Gabron crept back to the boudoir; but she came in vain.
The portrait of Griselda Lyell, her son’s betrothed, was

gone.
CHAPTER HI
THE BEAUTIFUL SCHEMER.

Down the narrow stairway of a plain, somber-faced
lodging-house a beautiful girl swept with a lofty bearing
and haughty, resolute air.

Her beauty was of a dazzling, bewildering sort. It had
in it all the royal splendor of the lily, with little or none of
the modest grace of the violet.. The girl was plainly at-
tired in a gray poplin dress, over which she wore a loose
sacque of silk, on whose lustreless folds time and wear
had ruthlessly set their marks.

Her hat, though neither costly nor new, was not alto-
gether lacking in attractions, and the fan and parasol
which were carried lightly in the small gloved hand, were
of fanciful, almost gaudy material and make, showing
plainly that, with ample means at her disposal,. their
owner would not go forth into the streets of London as
she was now going, in modest gray garb, but would rather
sweep the pavements with a. shimmering train, while
priceless jewels blazed upon her person in evidence of
her wealth and grandeur.

This was Griselda Lyell, whose portrait had for a brief
space hurg beside that ef the earl’s daughter, in Lady
Walsingham’s boudoir.

She went tothe door and looked forth into the noisy
street, then turned away with a look of annoyance and
began walking up and down the length of, the narrow
passage, her gaze bent upon the oaken floor, and.a hard,
set expression on her periect face.

She paused abruptly as the street door, opened, and
round-faced Toby Goodtiue entered. Toby was. a charac-
ter in his way. Big-hearted, honest, willing, to. do any-
thing and everything which the dozen lodgers of Mrs.
Snugg wanted to have done, he had come to be consider-
ed, and so esteemed himself, quite an indispensable part
of the household.

Toby’s face, as he took off his hat in deference to Gri-
selda, for whom he had conceived the. greatest respect
and admiration, was beaming with great, satisfaction.

“Jve brought the cab, Miss Griselda, The slickest one
T.could find—only three-and-nine. for. there-and back, and
the horse ain’t a crow-bait either.”

Griselda smiled her thanks, and brushed past the boy
and out upon the street, where the cab was in waiting.

“Lots of room, ain’t there?” questioned Toby, who had
followed her out, as though he had said, “Can’t I go
along as well as not?’

There was plenty of room, and so Griselda permitted
the boy to take a seat beside her, and, the vehicle rolled off.

The cab wended its way through bustling business
streets until it reached.a wretched neighborhood, the
squalor of whose houses, and the filth and misery of
whosé denizens caused Griselda to close her eyes with a
shudder of disgust,. She. whose heart was set upon stand-
ing among the noble of the land, paled at the sight of the
mean tenements and hollow-eyed, skulking wretches that
peopled them. ;

In the midst of the moving mass of wretchedness which
animated the scene the cab came toa stand still, and ©
Griselda alighted before a building, whose high broke
front seemed ready to topple tothe ground,

“Ma@am Baumbach, the fortune-teller, third story,
fourth Goor to the right,” said the cabman, who had
often before brought credylous people to test the old
madam?’s skill.

Small, deep-set gray eyes, cold and distrustfulin their | the repast for which neither mother nor son had shown! shoulders, the wavy mass of the other was wound in 4 |
“And I suppose you have seen that the change of} glance, yet keen as these of an eagle. The cheeks were | much appetite. When the girlhad gonejshe again locked | coil at the back of the head.
rooms I ordered for her has been effected ?”” full, the mouth broad, the chin square and prominent. ' the door, saying:

Griselda, closely followed by Toby, disappeared up the
iyickety stairs, and the oabman took his seat to await their
“I never in my life saw sisters more alike !” said Rag. return. Sickenipg withthe odor which pervaded tg at;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
  

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mosphere, Griselda reached the door of Madam Baum-
bach’s room.

She knooked timidly, as though her resolution to look
upon her future was wavering. The corridor was nearly
Gestitate of light, and a superstitious thought that she was
about to appeal toa muinion of the Prince of Darkness
seized her. The voice of a parrot perched over the door
startled her by shrieking:

“Walk in, pretty lady, walkin! Madam knows! Mad-
am will tell !??

Filled with
entered. T Tow ant ‘¥5
void of light that the girl could at first
with distinctness. & hen her eyes becam

  
     

iselda, lifted the latch and

 

   
 

scern novoir
' !

the obscurity, she Saw that the apartme
the center by a cu
Madam Baumbac
scrawny. :
She was toothless, a
She was seated o
to and fro, and croon
owls, which were lar
sdarp shoulders... - re ee
The old woman raised her flaming eyes to the visitor's
face, and then gave a quick furtive glance toward the
curtain. Sue rose from her seat, and the owls flapped
their somber wings and again folded them slowly, as
their mistress spoke:
“Does the pretty lady wish to know
‘It is for that I have come.’? | dda She
The weazened face of Madam’ Baumbach assumed_a
rapt expression ag her long fingérs ’griped Griselda’s

 

bin, which was. close yt mee
as old and ugly, wrinkled and

 
  
   
   

3
a smoked herring.
y
a

     

   
  

  
   

her future ??

dainty hand. She bent over the waxen palm with close

scrutiny.

“The past has had its struggles, fair lady, and 1

“Ic is of the future I would know. The past is too well
remembered,” interrapted Griselda, with a cold shudder,
and the woman’s grip tightened on the tremulous hand.

“There are treachery and cruel wrong—there: are sick-
ness, sorrow, and despair for one as beautiful and good
ag ever man loved or woman envied and hated |?) —

“For me?” gasped Griselda, with bated breath. Pere

“For one akin tothee! For one who resembles thee as
much as sister roses, whose dainty petals-are upheld “by
the same.parent stem resemble each other. But, lady,
beware! Thesun does not always shine clearly! Clouds
float in the air, and his rays are hid 1”?

_“Enough |? exclaimed Griselda, haughtily and impa-
tiently. “I shall risk the shade, if I can but bask fora
time in the sunshine.”

_ “Lady, again 1 say beware !’) croaked the beldam, with
one scrawny finger uplifted, while the owls, fluttered
from their perch and circledin an awful stillness around
the girl’s head, at which Toby seized a stati—a slender roa
With a serpent coiled around it—and made several in-
effectual passes at the birds. ;

“Hold, boy, or.I will give you to the owls,’ cried Madame
Baumbach; and ag Toby made another attempts .to strike
the owls, she said, with @ wild laugh; ‘‘See now low they
will obey me.” ; Pier ; ' y

Lowering her voice she addressed her strange com-
paniens, which were again. perched upon her shoulders:

i Yelye him away, Satanas! Away with him, Diabo-
aus! =

With a noiseless swoop the, owls, descended, upon.. the
boy's uncovered head, into the short crisp hair of which
She phe their foul beaks, with demoniac croakings.

ither the strange weird, scene or, the prophesy, the
witch had uttered overpowered Griselda; her face was

 

. blanched toa marble whiteness, her,eyes, distended, and
her lips moved in speechless terror—yet she. stirred: not,

But Toby was not so. inactive, and seemed but little terri-
fied, He shook his. head and twisted and.contorted his
little body vigorously;,, he. beat. the, offenders with his
tiny, clenched. fists; he. butted. his head against the
wall, but that only brought a temporary release; and all
the while the delighted fortune-teller laughed: madly, ma-
liciously, and cheered on her petSeoe 6 sonio) os i

But presently Toby’s eye caught sight of a familiar fece
behind the curtain, and,he, despite, the woman's’ effort to
grasp and hold him, rushed under its folds,at- once.

“Take thei off, sir. My jheadsis bleeding. Tne blood is
running down my back in streams. . J.Know it is; Kill the
devilkins, do, or—no, I want todo,that job myself, ‘Tere,
now, won’t 1 pay you off, though). at ;

voby rushed upon his. assailants; and when his hands
were almost upon them) they soared gracefully upward,
and. disappeared through a hole inthe ceilings: ;

“Will the pretty lady look at the parrot?)iasked the
fortune-teller, endeavoring to draw Griselda’s; attention
from the inner division of the rovm and its oceupant.

Impelled: by curiosity, she did not try to resist; and
without making any reply, Griselda. went near, parted the
curtain, and looked in.

‘Leonard Grafton !, You here!’ she exclaimed, in a
tone in which anger, indignation, and contempt were
blended. oO

The person addressed—a tall, flaxen-haired young man,
who would have been handsome but for @ Ssinisier ex-
pression which ever, brooded in, the cold, gray eyes, and
lurked about the thin, finely-curved lips—bowed coldly
and in silence to Griselda, y ott ait

For a moment the girl gazed with scorn-laden features
direct into the searching eyes of Grafton; then, turning,
she fled from the room and down the trembling: stairs
like a hare surprised from her, covert by the huntsman’s
bugle. Grafton was creeping close behind, and when the
narrow vestibule within the outer door was gained, he
was by her side, and her icy hand, from which fear had
banished every drop of blood, was. seized .and held
tightly in his vice-like grasp, while his: cold gray eyes
scanned her face aS though through them-he would: read
the secrets of her heart, ; ifr >
“Miss Lyell, are you doing well to scorn such love as
mine? Love-so strong, So pure, cannot be set: aside with
impunity; remember that, and tremble for the splendid:
structure which you. blindly, unaccountably aspire to
raise, with no foundation in love, Whatis Randal Ga-
bron to you? And what is hein the world more than 1?
He is poor, as Lam. -He is without. family, without fame,
even as 1, and yet you:cast me, whom you once proféssed’
to love, aside for one for whom you feel no«aifection'!
Miss Lyell—Griseida,, Limplore you beware what you do!
Hate may come.to usurp the place of love, und then——’

“Coward—eavesdropper |’? interrupted Griselda, her
cheeks growing carmiue, her voice clear and even-toned.
“What right have you to pursue: me thus? I thought’ I
gave you to understand at our last interview that we
could never be more to each other than we now are.’ Let

e@ go.) ; i nw ’ 3
“No. and the strong hand tightened its held, “not un-
tileyou tell me why you cast me eff.” - ss
{nave told you already. | Because I do not love you.??
“And you. dare to tell me that, with your hand trembé
ling so in mine, with your heart throbbing so‘close'to my:
breast, with your rare and wondrous eyes melting before
my gaze? Pardon me, Griselda, if I tell you you have not’
spoken truly 1)? tO ; pirat
‘He released his hold of her hand, and stood against the
door, thus preventing her egress. The warm blood surged
willfully to the gir’s neck and brow, covering” her face
With confused biushes. i
‘You have no right, Mr. Grafton, to:treatme thus, How
dare you talk to meas you have done?” :
‘She essayed to pass out, but he did not stir.
“Tell me, first, whatithis Gabron is to-you 2”?
“Nothing, sin’? sos ‘ i
“But I saw you walking last night in Hyde Park, and—
pardon me—l thought: tron: certain scraps of your con-
versation which l was able to gather, that you had: pro-
mised to marry him-that in some way, through him, you
expect to reach an exXaltcd station, and tuat, too, by)
crime!” TED
Griselda raised her eyes defiantly to hisface.
“Ravesdropping again !’
“Grafton did not heed thé words.’ :
“Girl, aré you mad? ‘Tie fellow is deceiving you.
He is without expectations, without power to advance
your ambitions hopes?) 2 ssh eae
There was candor, at least, in’ Griselda’s dark orbs now.
“Mr. Grafton, believe me, I shall never marry Randal
Gabron. To prove this to you, and to show you that
you are all wrong in your surmises, | will tell you, though
you do not deserve the confidence, that I depart to-mor-
row for the continent, to be absent, I know not how long
—perhaps for years. Are you satisfied ?”
.“Scarcely,’”? said he, with ahalf-credulous smile; “bat
you may go.” ate
Toby, who curing this conversation had been listening
in an interested attitude on one of the upper stairs, now
came down, and he and Griselda entered the eab, and
were driven away, leaving Grafton to gaze after them
with scowling visage. : ds :
Griselda drove homeward, or to the house she called

home, with a mind ill at ease. ;

That her conversation of the previous evening with
Randal Gabron, in which they had discussed her own and
his future prospects at considerable length, had been, at
leastin part, Overheard was sufficient cause of annoy-
ance, but, added to that, her discarded.and vengetul lover
had listened to the prophetic words of the fortune-teller.

“Wow came that man concealed in the room of Madam
Baumbach ?” said she to herself, as she sat beside Toby,
with tightly-clasped hands. 5

“I s’pect,” Toby made answer, a8 promptly as though
he had really been addressed, “I s'pect he heard me order
the cab. Le was lounging, lazy-like on the corner, jest as
he always is, Miss Griselda.?””

“But how should he know who wanted the cab?

“S’pect he heard me tell, "cause the cabman he asked
me—thought 1 was up for sending him on a, lark, I's’pose.
But jest don’t you fret, Miss Griselda. He wants to make
you marry him, ’cording to his talk; but don't you do it.
Pil take your side agin him, if he is three feet the biggest.??

Griselda looked down on her plucky little champion,
a epuiiea need of herself,

1€ Cad Ciattered up to the door of the lodging-house
and Toby, to show that he considered himself Eel to the
ae of ea poe friend, hastily scrambled
out over the wheel, a: roudiy offered I: °
sist her to alight. 4 "4 ae DANG: OS
_. (To be continued.

So Oe
DRUGGISTS AS NEWS AGENTS, - -

- Among the thousands who sell the New Yorx Wrrs ty are
many Druggists, from whom we. occasionally receive letters, in
which they state that since the addition of papers to their busi-
ness their sales of medicines, tooth brushes, combs, ete., have

greatly increased, while, at the same time, tocy have made fair
profits from the sale of papers, and: that withoutin any way in-
terfering with their attention to their regular business. It is our
opinion that all Druggists in small places where there are no
News Agencies alreacy established can add the sale of papers to
tbeir business with profit to themselves and to the great accom-
modation of their customers. Will not Druggists throughout

the country take this suggestion into consideration? They can-
not lose anything should they try the experiment, and it may
be the means of firmly establishing a now languishing business,

Bo néariyde- |

drawn. ake

children being placed within the fortification,
in the very heart of the Indian country, cut off from direct

OUR CRAFT IS SMALL.

 

BY E. NORMAN GUNNISON,

When the hardy Norwegian puts out to sea,

With his sails well trimmed, and the rocks a-lee,

Ber upon his sight the land grows dim,

Iie chants for protection this well worn hymn:
“God help us all, whatever befall, ey Se
For Thy ocean is vast, and our craft but small.)

ocean's Wave, ~

; 1, and a heart as brave,

He looks aloft, throngh the rack of the storm,

And pierces the yoid for a formless form;

For he knowsiand fee's, whatever befall,

Mough his craft i small.

I whoe’er thou art, —

4 hi Onl and this dauntless heart!
_ When thylife grows drear, amd thy hope grows dim,

Lift thine eyes above—put thy trust in him

And feeland know, whatever may be,

‘Tis a Father’s arm that encircles thee.

 
 
  

3

    
  

And thon, too, oh Christian—a heavy cross
May bear thee down, andthe worthless dross
Of this world encumber thy-upward way;
Still, let this thought be thy hope and stay:
Through each earthly snare a Father’s care
Tlis trusting chiid shall in safety bear.

God help us all in this voyage ot life!

God keep us pure from its stain and strife,
And whenever may dash the angry wave,
Teacly us to say, with a spirit brave, ©

Ged help us all, whatever befall,

For Thou art 80 vast, and we so small.

 

AMERICAN HEROES,
SAM DALE,

THE FOREST HERCULES.

aes photographing the genuine frontier man,
said: Re

_ “Modest, truthful, patient, frugal, full of religious
faith, proud of his country, remorseless in battle, yet
safety for the helpless and oppressed—a race of men
such as no other country has produced—wholly American
—a feature as prominent in our social and political his-
tory as the grand physical characteristics peculiar to this
continent,’? es

This is the portrait of that strange race known-in his-
tory as wood rangers—among whom. Boone, Kenton,
Brady, Dale, &c., were chiefs and leaders. The life inci

  
 

 

the story of Dale’s wild life we will now give.

   

Samuel Dale was a frontiersman’s child. He ¢
from infancy to manhood in the very midst of India
barities.. Stories of murdered settlers, sca.
and children, desolated homes, were his fir
the war-wh@op, the deadly rifie crack
sounds to-his young ears. A stockade wa
the wilds of soutu-western Virginia his
ground. : ent ae eee

And they were wilds, indeed. . Everyw.
hids towered around hi

ed, in li

   
 

ur'-

 

    
 

 

   

 

 

   

  
  

     

 

With Aor auy seryice of
dang de—with a motuer who,
mor nd her young-—
litule , Dale, the
scout—the set : ae
| 10°83 Sar Yet xeorgia,
hoping. pe aie tranquility. All of Western. Virginia,
was so ranged over by the terrible Shawnees, incited by.
the Br dreadt{ul barbarities, that tle settlers. des-

iSl to. ‘
paired of peace, and Dale started for the Georgia border.
' But there the war-whoop followed. The Creeks, Semi-
noles, &¢c., were on the “war path,” inspired by the
British in Savannah, by whom they were supplied with
guns. The result was a succession of massacres, whose
story it chills tie blood to read. The life led by the Dales
was but a daily succession of hair-breadth escapes or
struggies for life and a living. There was no flinching,
however—no retreating to the more settled regions ve-
low; that was not the course pursued by the true fron-
tiersman. In Greene County they remained.
Though the close of the Revolutionary war was not fol-
lowed by peace on the borders, the settlements yet so ad-
vanced that in 1791, when Sani was 19 years old, the father
moved to a farm, three miles froin the stockade at Car-
michaels, There the cabin was built, the little ‘‘clear-
ing?’ started, and the long-sought-for home established—
alas, only Soon to be made desolate!
In: few weeks the mother, so dear to them all, died;
it dear dead face taken away, the father drooped

 
  
  
   
  

    

         

and died, literally of a broken heart, one week thereafter.
Bereaved indeed was that little family of eight children,
boys a irs, of which Sam was the eldest.

Vh esi brother! That meant a great deal to that

rphaned fleck; to become to-it father, mother, all—the
chiet port, the adviser, the only refuge. How did the
brave boy discharge his trust? Hear what he said;

“@n the night after we had laid father’ by/our poor

motuier’s side, when my little brothers’and sisters had
sobbed themselves to sleep, I went to their graves and
prayed. * * JT went to the grave a broken-hearted, al-
most despairing boy. I came. back tearful and sad, but a
hopeful and resolute man. * * Weall went resolutely
to work, according vo our strength, and .God -blessed our.
labors.’! : *¥ >

_ 1In93 young Dale, leaving his little home in charge of a
ood old man, entered the United States service against
he Creeks, who were again at their bloody work. We
then commenced the career of scout and Indian fighter,
in which he years afterward became so celebrated... His
adventures 1m ’93 anu 994 were so numerous that a yol-
ume could be filled with their narration. At onetime a
savage in a canebreak got hold of his hair and raised the
scalping-knife to plunge it into Dale’s bosom, when a
comrade shot the Creek dead, At another time hie was
treed by wolves, one of his moccasins being torn by the
fierce brates from His foot as he sprang up the tree. ;

| The Creeks beipg punished into peace, Sam applied all
his earnings and the tobacco crops of his farm toward
paying for their home. Little by little this faithful brother
garnered up the money which at last placed him in full
possession of the estate for which his poor father had run
in debt. lie “teamed? in winter when there was nothing
else to do. Then he invested his earnings in a traders
stock, and went among the Creeks, exchanging his goods
for furs, catile, hogs, nides, and tallow, which he wag-
oned and drove down to Savannah and sold, He added’
to his teams and carried emigrants through tie Creek
and Choctaw country to the Mississippi territory beyond,
These teams returned to Savannah loaded with Indian
produce. In this business he thrived, as. he richly de-
served...

_ After various experiences he settled in the Cherokee
country as a trader, and there remained for several years,
having the entire confidence of the savages. He became
a landholder as settlements advanced, and Was a pros-
peroug, respected citizen. j
In October, 1811, the Shawnee chief, Tecumseh, with
twenty-four of his braves appeared at the Creek Annual
Council, and there sowed the seeds of dissension by
which the great conspirator hoped to induce all the tribes
from Floriaa to the northern lakes to rise and war upon
the whites. Dale surreptitiously heard the Shawnee's
celebrated harangue, and used all his influence to main-
tain peace; but the poison lurked in those red hearts, al-
ways easily aroused at the war-call, and in the fall of
1812 many warriors of the southern tribes were on the
‘War path. Dale’s life was preserved only by the utmost cau-
tion in his movements and the intercession of numerous
friendly Indians and lhalf-breeds, by whom war was
greatly deprecated. ‘

But the smothering fires fairly burst forth in the sum-
mer of 1813. August 30th the dreadful massacre of Fort
Mimms occurred. This frightened the Major-General com-
manding that military district. He ordered the abandon-
ment of outlying forts and stockades. Fort Madison, in
the forks of the Tombigbee and Alabama rivers was
vacated. :

Dale’s stout heart scorned this retreat. He called for vol-
unteers ¢n the spot, and fifty resolute bordermen respond-
ed. With-these he remanned the fort. Their wives and
Thus left

communication With the main forts below, Dale assumed
the offensive and defensive. It was war to the knife—

fighting in the swamps, on the river, and in the woods—
‘wailing by day, and scouting by night. D
celebrated. for its ferocity and.hercism, Dale, in a canoe

In one conflict,

on the river, encountered, and killed four stalwart Creeks,
while the chosen braves of the noted Creek chief, Weather-
ford, lay not forty rods away... It was only one of numer-
ous acts of “Big Sam,’ and bis, daring followers, whose
deeds long were the theme of praise in the homes their
prowess gave to civilization.

In General. Claiborn’s memorable march against the
Creek rendezvous called ‘Holy Ground,” Dale piloted the
way, and was the very incarvation,of vengeance in the
bloody, struggle that ensued. Weatherford, the Creek
leader, fought ferociously, but. was overpowered and es-
caped in @ wonderful manner by leaping his magnificent
horse over a ravine, twenty feet wide, then dashing down
into the Alabama river, and swimming it, amid a shower
of balis, shouting back his defiance.

General Jackson found in Dale one of his most trusty.
agents. Was a dangerous mission to some fort to be ex-
ecuted, Dale was cualled—was information wanted of In-
dian Gesigns or movements, ‘Big Sam” was put on the
trail. When Jackson went to New Orleans to Keep the
British from the Mississippiriver, Dale remained to watch
the Creeks... Urgent dispatches coming at the Creek
agency, from the War Department, fur Jackson, Dale, was
cnosen messenger. No. other man, indeed, would dare
such a service. Eight days,and nights’ ride, through. a
country infested with savages,eager for blood, brought
the heroic man to New Orleans, at the very moment. when
the great battle was going on. Proceeding to the trenches
and cotton bale fortifications, onthe plains of Chalnette,
he witnessed the conflict—the, first where large bodies of

 

men were maneuvered that he ever beheld.

brompt to forgive, andever ready to jeopard his own |

WIZARD

 

dents Of the two first named already have been presented; }

     
   

   
    
 
 

  
  
 

 

Jackson’s reception of the scout was characteristic.
Dale was asked to ride another express back to Milledge-

vilie, Georgia—to start within four bours. Again mount-
She important victory to the east, on its way to Washing-

on.
sissippi from Alabama (1816). He established himself in
the trader’s business at Dale’s Ferry, and was ruined by
giving away his entire stock of flour and provisions to
Suifering immigrants. In 1817 he was a delegate to the
first General Assembly of the Alabama Territory, and was

| commissioned colonel, to repress Indian disorders, which

“he did in @ peremptory manner, ig ‘
~ From this date to the éluse of his life (1841) Sam Dale

} Served in various public capacities—as Member of Legis-

lature, Government Agent for the removalef.the Indians,
&¢., &.- le made a tip: to Washington City during
Jackson’s presidency, and lias left a unique record of ‘hs
impressions of men and affairs,. He was, in fact, quite a
“liom,” made much of by the president and other men of
eminence. Like Crockett, he was famed not less for his
deeds than for his blunt, outspoken views, which, to say
the least, were original, andsprang from a Clear head and
a sound heart, e

Dale was of striking appearance. Boone, Kenton, Bra-
dy, the Wetzels, McClelland, Logan—all were men of
Herculean mold; but “Big Sam,” standing six feet two
inches in his moccasins, was their peer in stature, and
quite their equal in strength. The. American savage
found in him their master in physical power, and more
than a master: in that cralt which renders the Indian a
dreaded foe.

“In many respects,” wrote his biographer and person-
al friend, Claiborne, ‘physical and moral, he resembled
his antagonists of the woods. He had the square fore-
head, the high cheek bones, the compressed lips, in fact,
the physiognomy of the Indian, relieved, however, by 2
fine, benevolent, Saxon eye. Like the red man, too, his
foot fell ightly on the ground, and turned ‘neither to the
right nor ieft; he was habitually taciturn; his face and
manners'grave; he spoke slowly and in low tones, and
seldom laughed.”

He was exceedingly patient; true as steel as a friend
or servitor; tender in his regard for women and child-
ren; honest, and naturally religious.

“I have often seen,’ said his biographer, ‘a wretched
remnant of the Choctaws, homeless and oppressed, en-
campedaround his plantation, and subsisting on his
bountye in peace even the Creeks entertained the high-
“esbveneration for him; he had been the friend of Weather-
ford, he ted many when gaunt famine pursued them."

May the yace Gf such heroes never die out |

Gold-Dust Darrell :

OR, THE

OF THE MINES.

By BURKE BRENTFORD,
__ Anthor of “SQUIRREL CAP,” Ere, ETc. ETC.
old-Dust Darrell” was commenced in No.1. Back numbers
an be obtained {rom any News Agentin the United States.]
CHAPTER XII.
THE BIRD AND THE SNAKES
hen Wickliffe (whom, of course, the reag
| have identified with George Glavet
1g, Who figured in the ear!

 

 

 
  
   

 

 
  
 

   

 
  
  
   

ce:

@ near-flowing fiver, “Wickliffe saw
ythat the family, together with their
were stilllattheirevening meal
ssedl around the garden fence, and standing with-
the shadow of the great trees, gave a long, low whis
tle, He waited impatiently for some time,
ag
occupied. :

  
 

aon Pa =
th raegeth
law

   
        

 

vealed her form distinctly, though her head was partially
‘covered by the black mantel peculiar to: Mexican women.
He approached tne garden, 80:as fo also stand partially
in the light, and she stood leoking at him over the fence.
‘Ig it you, Senor Glavet 2”? ‘ i

“No! it is Senor Wickliffe for the present, my dear.
we pe do you like your new mistress and your new
place \ :
“They are beautiful people; I. was never so happy as
with them, senor,”? replied the girl, simply.

He did not like her tone, aud threw a. quick, harsh
glance at her. : ;
‘Remember what you are here for, Maria, he exclaim-
ed. *‘It is not so much for you to like the place as to act
in var service of your real employers—Don Diego and my-
self. : on : awe

“Tam no longer @ peon, senor,’ said the girl, resolute-
ly. ‘I believe Californians are Americans, now.’

“Fool! Don Diego would quickly show you that his
power is undiminished; and you, of all others, should
know his temper’? . he

The girl’s face grew troubled.

“But, senor,?? she said, with Some hesitation, ‘the se-
norita here and all of them, treat me—a poor wild girl—
so kindly, 80 generously, | cannot, cannot repay them by
being a.spy haa them.” :
jier coarse. lips Shook, and there were tears in her eyes.
“You must! yoo shall! he hissed, and his white hand
glittered in the moonlight as it fumbled af. his breast.
.*Por Dios, I will not!” cried the girl, starting from him.
_ Sueer as he may at it, a villain Knows and respects the
glitter of an honest eye, the tremorofa noble lip, He

‘saw that she was lost to his cause, and his fertile brain

instantly beganto scheme how he might use indirectly
that of whicn he could-not take open advantage.

“Do not go yet; I willnot harm. you, Maria,’ he said,
abstractedly, Jor he was. scheming fast, thinking deeply.
“Atleast you Will not tell of my speaking to you in the
garden ?? ht Bint ‘

She hesitated. ; ;
“No,” she said; ‘‘no, senor, I will not mention it, if such
is your wish.”
“Such is my desire, Maria. Do yon know. aught of your
young mistress’s thoughts? “Do you knoWw whether she
still cares fur the outlaw, Griffith, Craig?”

“T know nothing, senor, except that, whenever his
name is mentioned, she looks truoubled and turns white.’
“Listen, Maria. We have been old friends, ‘This infer-
nal outlaw.is my foe—my rival. Le will, probably, come
prowling around here, even at the risk of his life, to ob-
tain an interview with your beautiful mistress. Promise
me, out of old-time favors I have done you, that, if you
should see him—he wears a heavy cloak and.a brown
hat, and is about my hight—you will not take, any mes-
sage to your mistress from him.*? ”

“T shall not promise any thing of the kind, senor—it
would not be right.?? : :
“You will not promise ?’’ hissed Wickliffe.
She made no reply, but, suddenly turning on her heel,
sped swiftly toward the house.

What could he mean? for he only Jaughed softly as she
did so, and there was naught put triumph in his smile,
“That trick will Stand me in my stead, should fair play
and an open front fail,” he muttered, ‘‘Now for the pa-
rent bira! Perhaps his greed may get the better of his
judgment after all.”

Re went around fo the front door, and knocked.

lt was opened by the girl who had just quitted him; and,
withouta word, he passed into the little parlor, where
Mr. Dashwood and his son were smoking. Dora was not
present, being fatigued from the excitements of the day,
and at that time resting herself in the little sitting-room
to the rear of the house.

“Mr. Dashwood,” said Wickliffe, “even in the short in-
terval since we last met, I have received some intelli-
gence, through an agent of mine, which gravely affects
your interests. Can I see you alone???

“Certainly. Clarence was just then thinking of taking
a.stroll into the town. But, in the first place, Mr. Wick-
liffe, can youinform me the meaning of those strange
voices wé have heard several times? I am not supersti-
tious, but they render Ine uneasy.”?

Wickliffe laughed.

“Tf { mistake not, they must proceed from a ventrilo-
quist, a foolish mountebank called Gold-Dust Darrell, who
goes about the mining towns amusing credulous people
with card-tricks and other silly contrivances. He is an
unprincipled rascal, and ought to be whipped out of the
country. But your son looks up quickly—perhaps he
knows more about the fellow than I.”

Clarence had, indeed, thrown up @ quick glance, but he
cast if away again.

“Oh, no! certainly not more than you do, Mr. Wick-
liffe,?? said he.

“What mainly struck me,’ resumed Dashwood, ‘‘was
that these mysterious warnings, or whatever you may
cailthem, always seem to refer to my family alfairs, or
to my expedition in regard to. this law-business. And,
indeed, I—I beg your pardon, but the last communication
at that old rascal’s ranche over there, seemed to—to—_—”

“To point at me, | suppose you mean,’ interrupted the
other, laughing even louder than before. ‘Well, I sup-
pose it did; but lam. just. as much in the dark as to its
meaning as yourself. 1 suppose the fellow has some spite
which lie wreaks against mein this way. Ican account
for it inno other way. But, really, my present errand is a
very serious one.”

Clarence yawned, lita fresh cigar, and went out, and
his father, after. offering some Wine, awaited Wickliffe's
further remarks.

“T have always been extensively engaged in. specula-
ting in the mines here,’’ said the latter, ‘which requires
meto have a number of traveling agents.in. my employ.
One of these, a shrewd half-breed, Who has just: returned
from the fur-north placers, brings me strange -intelli-
gence.
from the death of your lamented: brother, has been
spread widely over the country. This fellow of mine as-

of atribe which have wandered gradually from the far
south-west—at Carson City, whe publicly boasted that he

rence Dashwood to a New Orleans lady many years ago.
He said that he had obtained these proofs from a Mexican

to her death. ne st
there was a continuity about it which induced me to com-
municate it toyou at once.”

 

ing his own. “Paddy,” he safely carried the first news of

Dale served in the convention called to set off Mis-

     

   
  
 
  

    
  
 

own girl came across the garden toward the place Ne |
Tne Starlight, beaming brightly in the open space, re-’

You are aware that this. affair of yours, arising
tonished me by saying that he met: an aged Indian—one
was in possession of proofs of the marriage of Major Law-

woman, 2 nurse, who had stolen the child from its moth-
er, during the absence of the father, anda few days prior
At first 1 deemed the story, incredible, but

Mr. Elnanen Dashwood had_ listened greedily. Despite
his robust and hearty ways he loved money with all but a
miser’s passion; and, as his lawyer had held out a rather

   

oe

 

 

 

uncertain prospect to him to recover from old Don Diego,
the present communication had an additicnal charm.

“There 7s continuity about it as you say !? he exclaim-
ed; “and a strange one at that. Why this is a portion of
the sume story related !o0 me by my brother years ago !
What else ? what else ?”?

“Little more,’’ resumed the other, smiling craftily at
perceiving tuat.his words had already taken effect. “Tue
old savage, Who communicated this: much, said further
that he had once met the child in question, then a man-
grown, and living with a band of the Pi-Utes, on the
other side of the Sierras. He tueught he could find him,
if stillalive, but he was uncertain.”’ os :

“Ah, still alive, enl’? said the old gentleman, rubbing,
his hands; “bug did he think that he Was still alive?
Migtitn’t he bed@ad! eh???” a ( 4

aes Smiiled again, and with yet more crafty de-
light, 5 j
acre old Indian thought it most likely that the lad was
dead by this time, but was uncertain. However, 1 shall
bring my half-preed to see you 10-morrow—he must be
drauk by thistime m the town,—and you can hear his
story for yourself.” on ees

“Yes, do! that’s a,fine fellow! And I'll also talk if over
with Lancet,” exclaimed Dagliwood, again rubbing his
hands, and chuckling. “Ah, We'll yet beat out that old
Don over there! We'll make him squirm! we’ll make
him squirm!??

Wickliffe drew his chair nearer, and lowered his voice
toa whisper, se ‘Bal eee

“Yes, my déar sir, but best trv this cue without Lancet’s
aid. He is as deep as the average, but I never have too
much Jaithin these lawyers. Let him cook up his view
of the vase in his own way, and weinours. Eh?”

Yes,’ said Dashwood. “We'll have a better chance
a irons in the fire. But what do you propose to

oO

“JT propose to set out for Carson City myself in a few
days,” said Wickliffe; drawing himself up, with the air of
aiuan about making a great sacrifice. ‘The season is
bad, and the way long and perilous, but I> trust my
‘knowledge of the country will stand me instead—espe-
cially when I have with me the constant thought that 1
am laboring in the service of the sire of Miss Dasttwood.”’

The old man’s face fell, and he looked a little puzzled
at this speech.

“Understand me!? said the other quickly; “I shall
either return from Carson City with the proofs in my pos-
session, or with the old savage bearing them.”

“Ah! will you really do that, my dear fellow 2???

“J swear it! I only ask one condition.”

“Good! what is it?”

“Permission to press my suit for Miss Dashwood’s
hand. Do not misapprehend me, sir,’? continued the
deep villain.“ am no ordinary adventurer. True, I
have led arough life in a rongh land, but fam a man of
honor! I have enough means to suppolt a wife suchas
80 peerless a girl as Miss Dashwood should be supported.
Moreover, I love her passionately—devotedly, sirt??

“Still, I—I diun’t think of that!’ said the old man.

“My love has beenof slow and steadfast growth!” ex-
Claimed the other. “I thought the infinite service I
might be enabled to render you in this, would cause you
to favor me.” hE '

“Kayvor you? Is the girl willing? That is the point.’

*s] sincerely trust so; but im case she should be a little
averse—a mere girlish caprice; you know, J thought that
the exercise of @ little parental authority—”’

“No, sir? Not a bit, not a bit! exclaimed the old
gentleman, rising for a moment to the dignity from

|| which his cupidity had dragged him. “She is there in the
{sitting room; g0 and ask-her to be your wiie.

If she
consents, so dod; if not, 1donot. Go, and/speak her fairly,
my by !?? he continued, more mildly, and resuming his

{ chuckle. ‘She’s.a good gitl—a noble girl!” ze

- Wickliffe, desperate as he-was, hesitated for some
moments; and then, regaining his nonchalent composure,
he entered the little sitting room, closing the door behind

 

@} him, ‘

Scarcely twenty minutes had elapsed when he returned ;
but his fice was white with suppressed mortification anu
rage. Old Dashwood was still walking up and down,
Trabbing his hands, gleefully; but he paused at perceiving
-Wickliffe's-altered appearance.

“Ah, I see how it.stands, my boy ! You sprung it upon
the poor eciild too suddenly, eh? Never mind; better
} luck next time! Gail to-morrow.’! i eee

Tlie adventurer muttered something between his teeth,
and seizing his bat, quitted the house. He had no sooner
done so than Dora Dashwood appeared before her father.
_ She, also, wasewhite, but her eyes were brilliant with
Suppressed indignation. fg Oo §

“Father 1? .she said; slowly and deliberately; “father!
do you mean to say that that person who just addressed
me, did so with your ‘sanction?!’

“Why, my dear, you see—you see’’—hesitated her
father, and feeling greatly humiliated at sometuing.

“Oh, Heaven! I see it all! If this is so, 1am lost, lost
indeed! exclaimed the poor girl; and, with a great and
bitter cry, she sank upon her Knees, and burying her
face in her- hands, moaned and sobbed aloud.

“Clarence at this moment came in, and, without know-
ing the cause of her grief, knelt witn his father by her side
to comfort her.

But at this instant was heard a pistol shot and a hallo
at a little distance from the house. They looked at-each
other, father and son, in alarm. Someone was heard to
stagger up the Jitthe garden walk, and then to fall, with
a deep groan, upon the wooden porch outside the door.

Maria brought a light, and Clarence, opening the door,
dragged in a helpless form.

It was that of Lawyer Lancet, bleeding like a sacrifice
from a Dullet-hole in the temple, and quite dead. He had
been chary of words while in life; and now he was
forever silent.

 

CHAPTER XUi.
SNAPPING A SERPENT’S CHARM.

The motive of the murcer of lawyer Lancet was never
exactly ascertained, and his assassin was never brought
to justice. 1t was generally thought that the silent man
of litigation was in possession of some of the secrets of the
lawless lives around him, and by the hand of these spirits
he had been ushered into eternity.

There was one eye, however, beside that of the All-See-
ing, which saw the commission of the deed; and that wit-
ness-was but.one of a, hundred that were weaving a. gar-
ment of fire around the guilty. at

Several weeks bad elapsed since the occurrence.’ Dash-

wood had engaged. other legal assistance,.ana other inter-
views had been had. with the haughty Don, but. with, un-
satisfactory results, Save perhaps the completion of .Clar-
ence’s infatuation for the fair Inez, if that might be dcem-
ed satisfactory.
_ Wickliffe had brought his halfbreed—a miserable, lying
creature of his owa—who had, of course, recited the same
story as his master. Wickliffe still retained some power
over Mr. Dashwood, which enabled him still, through. his
tacit, consent, or rather sufferance, to press. his suit. upon
Dora, however distasteful and painful it was to that young
lady, to whom his addresses and even presence were. per-
secution.

At last Wickliffe, much to the concern of the father, and
to the. infinite relief of the daughter, ceased. his, visits
altogether. i “

Dora was rapidly recovering her health and spirits. She
took long walks and rides with her. brother, and under the
brightening influence of the rarified atmosphere of Cali-
fornia began to improve wonderfully.

The popularity which the deceased major had enjoyed
was cordially extended to his relatives, and they also re-
ceived general sympathy for the success of their contest
with Don Diego, Who was mostly regarded with dislike by
the Americans.

Late in the evening of a fine day, after Dora. had gone
to her room, to read awhile before retiring—both. her
father and brother being absent from the house—her maid
Maria had occasion to cross the little garden, when a sig-
nal attracted her attention to the shaduw of the red-wood
trees. j

The meon was shining brightly, and even filtered a few
rays through the forest, by which She could see the outline
of the man who had signaled her.

She was about. torun quickly back to the house, when
she noticed that this man wore a heavy cloak and had ona
brown slouched hat, while his form was bent and forlorn
as with extreme fatigue. She remembered what Wickliffe
had endeavored to force her to promise with respect to
such a person, and, after some hesitation, approached him.

*Oh, do not shun me, as all the world are doing, or alZ
those who are endeavoring fo hound me to my death !”
exclaimed the man, in hollow, feeble tones.

She could not see his face, but his hands were extended
to her in a@ supplicating attitude, his whole frame was
significant of misery and desolation. ‘

“Who are you, poor man?’’ asked the simple girl,

“A gniitless man, who 1s yet an Outcast, against whom
the hands of all men are raised to slay. My name is
Griffith Craig. Lloved and still love your beautiful, mis-
tress, I wisn to see her, to speak with her before I die;
for I feel Iam near my death.”?

“What do you want me to do, man???

‘Here is a bit of paper,’’ said he, in the same desolate
tone, at the same time handing her a fragment of paper.
“Take it to her... If she will obey its request, I will wait
her coming on the river-bank, through this narrow wood.’?

She held. the paper doubtingly in her hand.

“Oh, take it! take it!) he implored. ‘Even if she will
not come, it will.do her no harm to read it.”

‘Well, I go, man, 1 go! but I no think the senorita
come.”?

She proceeded into the house, and gave the paper.to
her mistress, {t was evidently the fly-leaf of a book, and
the words upon it were scrawled in lead-pencil, and
almost illegibie. It ran as follows:

“DorRA:—I know that you, with all the rest, must think
me guilty of murder. If I could speak to you a dozen
words, I could prove to you that lam as guiltless of the
crime with which lam charged as an angel in. heaven.
I feel that l.am,on the verge of dissolution. J have wan-
dered through the wilderness, hungry, shelterless, friend-
less, for long, long. weeks, with the hands of all men
raised against me. At last I have dared, and just been
able to crawl into this wood that I might be near you ere
I die. Oh, let me see you once, Once more. I will wait
in the trees at the river’s edge. Itis but a few rods from
your. house.

“Come alone, for the very sight of another would make
me tremble with fear—I nave become such a poor, terri-
fied, hunted thing. Bunt alas! you will not come! And
my strength is too far gone to write more words. ;

: “Farewell—farewell! GRIFFITH.”

The writing was rough and broken, and the paper
stained, as though by tears.

A multitude of emotions swept through the young girl’s
mind, and tae hand from which the paper fell was a8
cold as ice. Her breathing came and went quickly. She
closed her eyes to the world—to everything but memory,
and thg Jove which bad never yet been crushed from her
breast, She remembered the old sweet days at hame.

 

LAE

 

She remembered Griffith a8 ber child-play-fellow, as her
boy-admirer, as her handsome lover. She thought of
him now—broken-hearted, moaning, hunted through the
world; and tnen she sorgot the black crime with which
he was charged—or rather she cared not lorit; and her
feelings found vent in a flood of tears.

But a new energy séizedher. ~~.

“I will go to himl,yes, Iwill gol? she exclaimed,
springing to her fect, und’ casting a mantel hastily over
her head and form. ; .

_“No go, you no go alone, senorita!” exclaimed her
ymaid, who, simple and untutored as she was, intuitively

|/perceived the imprudence of her mistress’s intention.

“Yes, 1 will, Maria! ‘The distance is short. I know the
way, and wil netlong be gone. Therel’—kissing her—
“do nottollow mel? ae | Be

Maria turned pale, and began to sob; but the door was
swiftly opened and situt, and Dora was gone.

The latter felt @ thrill of terror as she passed through
the little gate and entered the tall, somber wood.

But, though naterally timid, she had considerable force
of characterawhen lier mind was once made up; and:she
hurried-on-toward the river. When she was near enovgl:
to see its placid, moonlit current sparkle through the
trees, she suddenly paused, for she thought she heard
veices and the plash of oars. Lat ee :

But no; all was silent; and she moved on. .

At length, inthe center of a little glade’ that opened
upon the stream, a figure kneeling, as if supplicating her.
The figure was heavily cloaked, but its head was un-
covered. The face, was bent, as if in the extremity of
shame, upon the breast. She could not see it, but the
moonlight flooded the Glusters of dark hair which she re-
membered well.

Filled with intense pity, she yet approached him
timidly. She stood beside him inthe moonlit glade, end
While she stood there he seized her hand and covered it
with passionate kisses. :

“Poor Griffith! poor, hapless one! Ido not believe you
guilty. God knows, Idouot! Arise, my darling!’ ;

Theman sprang to his feet—she was struined.to his
breast—his burning kisses rained upon her clreeks, her
lips, her eyelids.

 

 

him, with frantic terrors © «=

It was not Griffith Craig.. She was in the arms of
Wickiitfe! : 3

“Hush! hush! my pretty bird}? he exclaimed, stifling
her cries with a firm, but: gentle, hand.; “On, Doral’ he
continued, passionately; ‘forgive this deceit. My only
course was to resort to this stratagem—to personate &
felon—you left me no other! Mine yon ninst be, but ix
alltruth and honor! A boat is at the bank of the stream
—in ten minutes it will bear us toa sacred spot where 2
man of God is waiting to consummate Our union. Come?
come! Do not hate mel Jwillwim yourlove by the de-
votion of @ life.’ . pale :
| She was going mad with terror, and struggied desper-
ately. She was, however, buf a@childin, his iron grasp,
and a wild horror crept, to, her heart as.she felt that
her strength and senses were together deserting her,

“It is useless, useless, my dear)’ said the ruffian, now
speaking angrily; and he blew @ shrill whistte.

There was 2 loud hallo in response. A large voat glided
toward the litile glade, and eight brawny ruffians leaped
ashore. a. ¥ tadt hale ot

But at this instant, Wickliffe stood. as.one paralyzed. |

He seemed to have eyesin the back of his skull, through
which he could see what.appeared, a shadowy. gigantic
land raised menacingly, yet. Grawingly (ihere is no bet-
ter word to explain what I mean,) above him, and two
eyes, like balls of living fire, were burning into his very
soul. } ii :

He strove to draw a weapon, but volition had left his
tendons and his limbs. His arms-felllax and powerless
to his side, and the. senseless, form of,Dora sank away
from himyupon the turf, Still,.did that shadowy hund
draw and sap his powers; still did those glaring balls of
fire shiver and scorch his soul .He was filled with an in-
finite pain, an anguish like a living death, At last truth
and dream flowed from him, and he fled.) ... |

The six ruffians upon the bank bad felt none of this
tremendous, ulseen power, but its effect upon their mas-
ter had caused them to stand, stupetied aud bewildered,
incapable of voice or action.*

_ Now, however, with. weapons drawn,, they. moved_for- ,
ward to wlhiere helay. ¢ | ate oe (Ag 4

They were interrupted bythe rough, uncouth figure of
Grizzly Jake, Who.sprang into theirmidst, .°.° © .

Each hand grasped @ Jong and glittering knife, and
three of the ruffians fell’ almost ‘simultaneously, stabbed
to the heart. Ss eater
" The attack was so stdden that two of the remainder
started back toward tlle river in alarm. One of them fell
forward on his face, transfixed between the shoulder-
blades by one of Grizzly’s bowie-kuives, hurled from his |
hand like a bolt from a gun. :

His comrade, nearest ihe river, paused in indecision;
but the other, more courageous, managed to close in with
Dave, knife in hand.’ The latter breke his wrists, like.
pipe-stems, and drove his knife up to the hilt im his
throat. aw

The remaining ruffian fled in terror toward the boat. ¢
But the evenger bounded after him. H.s teft arm eneits'
cled his throat from behind, witha wild bear’s hug, sti-
fling his deéath-shrieks as, twice, thrice the huge and”
bloody knife was plunged into-his breast and side. ;

. Then, wiping his knife upon the short grass of the little
glade, Grizzly Dave sprang into’ the wood and was out of §
sight in’an instant.

When Wickliffe awakened from his swoon, and arosé to
his feet, he was alone, with naught but the bloody furms '
of his dead followers around ‘him. To his wrist Was 2,

light, he read the following, in a bold, round hand:

ee ee ee ee Pew cere roe sec coer

: BEHOLD THE SCENE OF DEATH AROUND:
‘THEE! . lv, 18 GOD'S WILL THAT SOME:
:SHOULD REACH THAT EXTREMITY OF SIN,
: WHOSE ONLY MEAD IS.AN
ag ETERNITY OF FIRE,

THY HOUR WAS NOT YET COME.

weet eee ce reece e cw cees see ccesee eeee cece ers oe

Corrupt, unconscionable, desperate as he was, the man
was stricken with fear. He grew white, quivered like am
aspen,:and cast furtive, fearful glances about him. ‘nen,
as thongti parsued by flends, he ran, like a deer, over.ine
dead bodies, down the glade, and jsprang into the boat.
He looked like a specter, ‘as, with long, nervous strokes of
eee he flitted through the; moonlight and, out of
sight. :
' Maria, the Mexican
her mistress’s: departure from thejhouse. Mr. Dushwood ©
and Clarence.had returned home.at a late hour, and, not,
dreaming that anything out.of the way had happened,
had closed the dours, and retired to bed. '
_ They were just sinking into their first sleep, when they.
were awakened by some one shouting through the heuse.
It was a voice they did; not recognize, and it seemed to
come from far, far away, yetit rang and echoed through
Ihe halls like a ‘clarion. ;
_otAwake Liawakel?? it shouted. “Go, and look upon
your porch, and see how you guard the treasure of your
‘house 1)?

Dressing themselves.in terror and haste, they rushed to
the door, and found Dora lying upon the porch, still ina,
dead faint, but with her heart beating regularly. i

‘ vino up Lo be Continued.) ‘

Items of Interest.

6

“aes> The Crystal Springs (Miss.) Aferald reports the fol-
lowing strange occurrence: “Mr. O. D. Newman, of this
place, was stabbed thirty-four, years ago, in the back,
with a knife, by a man with whom he had. difficulty. A
few days ago)he felt something, sticking out of his back,
and Called a negro to see what it was. The negrolooked,
and told Mr. N. that it was a knife blade. Mr. N. reached
around and pulled, out a piece of dirk blade over two
inches long, which had been in his body since 1836,”

ua The corn crop Ofithe United States is unprecedent-
edly large. From. Cincinuati to $t. Louis the whole coun-
try is almost literally one' great cornfield.' Added to the
extraordinary crop in the old producing States, hundreds:
of thousands of bushels lave been marketed from Kansas
and other’ States» west of the Mississippi, which have:

aeve

eeeeeo

 

consumption.

4a The town of Hamden, Conn., with a population of
3,000, has had not less than 2,000 persons sick with the
malarial fever, in one form or another, since the first of
July last, or since the drought began. The epidemic wae
caused by decaying vegetabie matter exposed ‘to the ac-
tion of the sun by the Subsidence ofa pond in that’
vicinity. 1 1 a
4a A good medical authority says itis a, fact that of
the passengers in a train which met with a. terrible acci-
dent lately, all, or very hearly ail, who, were asleep at the
time, escaped uninjured—natare’s anesthetic insuring
them not only against fractures and contusions, but evyeo
against the bad effects of shaking and concussion.
ha~ A German paper states that after the battle at
_Thionville; on the evening call being sounded by the First)
Regiment of Dragoons of the Guard).602 rideriess: horses
answered to the summons. ‘Tue noble: animals still re+
tained their disciplined habits, theugh many of them
were maimed and jaded: f t
4as- A Detroit, Mich., lady was recently surprised with
the gift of a valuable set of diamonds from her Quaker
aunt. They were accompanied with the following epistles
“Thee may find them convenient, Catherine, in case of
necessity.” See
a> A patent has been recently taken out in France. for
the preparation ofa finish of starch for vegetable tissues,
yarn, cloth, etc., which is not soluble in water, and
Which, therefore, when. once applied, will remain through
several successive washings... , , ra
ua A sheriff in. Minnesota was lately called upom to.
perform the very disagreeable duty of arresting his owm
son, and lodging him in prison, for murdering! a promi-
nent citizen. ‘
kas A New Cork Helmet for the use of officers of the

proved. Its color ig white, and it is surmounted by 2
brass spike two inches in length, Mike the Prussian helmet.
aa A census taker near Springfield, Mass., found a
man who had forgotten the name of one of his own chit-
aren, and alter many efforts gaye up trying to recall if.
kay Mr. William Lewis, known to a past generation as
the vest chess-piayer of his time, died recently in London
at the age of seyenty-Luree, :
kar A colored man born in Scotland has been natura-

 

lized at Alton, Illinois.

 

 

 

She screamed’ wildly, and strove to tear herself from “

piece of paper attached, upon which, by the vivid moon- Ww}

girl, had fainted away soon after

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A THANKSGIVING RHYME.

BY NED BUNTLINE.

 

 

Give thanks beneath a thousand spires
Give thanks beside your household fires!
Give thanks ye men of untold wealth,

if got by thrift, or e’on by stealth—

Give thanks and sip your sparkling wine f
Give thanks torall, to Grace Divine-t

Forget the myriad dens cf woe
Whence streams of human mis’ry flowt
Forget, that hundreds starve and die,
While you hold revel rare and high!
Forget who burns “the midtight ol,”
Forget the slave of endless itoil!

Forget‘ the weeping child of sin,

Who creeps half-crazed amidst life’s din
Forget whatarms the murd'rérs hand !
Forget what feeds a felon band:

Forget the prison’s crowded ecell—
Bourget you help the tide toswell!

You frown! You deem me rudely bold!
You keep no shop where rum is soldt
You Jead no helpless one astray t

Gf orphans, Widows ne'er minake prey!
Ne—no—most, noble Phatisees—

For this give thanks upon your knees!
Whose apathy, to say the least,

Has crime on crime so fast. increased,
‘That murder, theft and rapine dirc,

By hight and day ‘so oft transpire
Whe votes the gambler into place,
‘amd gives to fiends official grace?

Give thanks above the banquet board—
Give! thanks for all you have and hoard!
Buticonscience still will, work her will
And many abrimming goblet spill,

For want and. wretchedness and woe
Will pictured "haunt, where’er vou go!

 

{HB AVENGER’S RECORD!

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ARNT EES

By MAURICH SILINGSBY,
AUTHOR. OF “BUCKSKIN JOE,” ETC., ETc.

 

‘Notches on tlie Stick” was comimienced in No.'3.° Back: Nos,
can be obtained ‘of arly News Agent id tlie United States]

, CHAPTER YV.

THE » APPOINTMENT.
Breck La. Peard, after parting with Isidora, lost 10

 

. way to: Redwood, he had: encountered: the young Sioux

to meet them at an “all-night saloon’ on his return.

"Walatasa had hinted to the ‘Fire Kater’ that. there
was to.be a grand convention of the chiefs of the Sioux
Nation; at ‘Crow Hollow,” the headquarters of tre grent
chief, Little Crow, and that the ‘palaver” ‘apon that oc-
casion would be the determining pivot upon which the
nation would turn. Walahasa had been entrusted with @
message of invitation from, Littie Crow, to. the ‘Fire
Kater.” Farther particulars he was. to learn: on his re-
‘turn ‘to the: “all night saloon,’?: where’ his informant
would await him.

The battle-trump of the Rebellion had already sounded
‘througn the length and breadth of the land, and, soldiers
fromevery State had been called upon to: swell the ranks
or the army. A second and third regiment were rapidly
recruiting within the limits ofthe new State—one in St.
Paul, the other in ‘Lake Qity. The shrewder part of the
inhabitants forboded trouble from: the Indians along the
border, in the event of their, losing many more of their
able-bodied young men. It was well Known that for
months'past a feeling of disquietude and hatred had been
growing in the breasts of the red men, and no one could
tell how soon it might quicken into the bloody elements
of savage warfare; and the. future sadly verified: the
truth of their ominous prediction.

Once mounted on his fiery steed, it required but a very
brief space of time to traverse the eight miles of level
prairie country that stretched before him; and by half-
Past twelve he had stabled his horse, and was: wending
his solitary way in the direction of the “all-night-saloon,”
wheve he was to meet the emissary of Little Crow.

The ‘all-night saloon”? was a sort of a bar-room cellar,
reached by descending a flight of stone-steps leading
down from the sidewalk, It was a long,.low-roofed,
dingy-looking room, dimly lighted, and. very, imperfectly
ventilated, There was a dirty looking bar in one corner,
near the front entrance of the'place. “A few heavy arm-
chairs graced the center, and some rickety wooden
benches, occupied the back.ground. :

There were a plenty of customers present of everyishade
and description; and every stage and degree of drunken-
mess and debauchery were ‘fittingly represented on this
occasion.’ :

Breck La Peard was well known as a liberal patron;
and his entrance created a marked sensation among those
who were sober enough to notice who he was.

. Walahasa and his companion were the soberest of: the
party, though they had ‘been indulging pretty freely in the
raw fire-water of which the “all-night saloon” boasted a
never failing supply.

. They both arose when they saw Breck enter, and came
forward to the bar shaking hands after the cordial 1ashion
‘Of their nation.

“Follow me,’? said La Peard, whispering the word to
Walahasa in a low key; s0 as to be inaudinle to the rest,
and throwing a few pieces of siiver on the bar, and invit-
ing all hands up to drink, he: quietly led the way out of
the saloon, followed by the two savages. It was only a
few eens to the room he occupied, and thither they re-

aired.

striking a light, and bidding his two.dusky friends to be
seated, he, brought eut a.decanter of whisky and some
glasses, which be placed on a deal-table near at hand:

. “Now, said: La Peard, after filling a glass for his two
friends and one for himself, “you cai speak your minds
freely here, for there are no eayesdroppers; and you both
understand fully the deadly hatred L bearto the whole
white race, although I am myself, more white than red,
But that makes no difference. Itis the stings and insults
have received.in my boyhood on account ofthe taint of
red blood that circulates in my veins, that haunts me now
-—though to-day the fact is overlooked on account of my
Position, and seemingly ample means; but the old grudge
— bear them is as intense and deadly ag ever. Ay! I
could grind the whole accursed: race under my heel, and
exult and rejoice over the torture I might cause them.
But go on and give me the full particulars of your mes-
Sage from my friend, Little Crow—and the .object, so far
aS you Know, or can conjecture, of this unexpected con-
vention of the chiefs of ourpeople. Speak freely—you
have nought to fear.”?

“The Sioux people are not a nation of fools! senten-
tiousiy responded the young chief. they are a great na-
tion of braves, Their hunting-grounds are encircled by
mighty lakes, and lofty mountains that speak to the
clouds, Dheir great oracles and medicine-men talk to
them, They know that thegreat Manitou. is offended
with the white race; for do they not know that their ene-
mies are fighting over their spoils—killing ‘one another
like the Snakes and the Blackfeet, who are not wise like
the Sioux. Now is our time to strixe, when. their young
Watriors are abroad, and their-borders are defenceless.?)

**] see! I see!’ cried La Peard, exultingly. “Drink,
Walahasa, drink! Let us all drink to the destraction of
Ivis te Hlood of te mecursed onenmely ONG et ue Imagine

Le ursed 6 j arerae ‘
quafting.” hemies of ORrrace we are

“Gooul much goodi’? responded the

his companion, imitating the examp Younes chiek antl

“Fire Eater,’! by guiping down the raw liquor he had
oj e 2».

elas ceen is this-meeting to take place ??’ inquired La
Peard, replacing hig euply giass on the table, and reseat-
ing himself close by theyoung Chief.

“Two suns, and thencthe full moon comes. It is then
youwill meet the council. of chiefs in “Crow Hollow.”
fnen we snali know if, the batchetis to remain buried; or
bedug up; and how soon, our braves will go out on the
war-path, and strixe:terror-to the hearts of our enemies.”

“Goud | you cam-sayy lo) the great chief, Little Crow,
that the ‘Fire Eater’ will be: there, and that he will have
some|lmportant, communications to make before the as-
sembied council.”

“Very gooul) ‘The ‘Fire: Hater’s’ words'shall be spoken
through Walahasa to the great chief.”

“How soon Will you return? inquired: La Peard, re-
plenishing the glasses,

“Go back to-morrow. | Stop at Raoul’s, aud take along
mucti money for.our people.”? ‘

‘Just walt till the middle of the’ forenoon, till I have
transacted: some important. business, which lis) unavoid-
ables and then J willaccompany you to: Crow Hollow,”

As he made this seemingly, friendly: proposal; La Peard_
cast a quick, inquirivg glance.-at) is;companions. “He
sawithey were armed only with their batcnets and hunt-
ing-knives. ‘ .

Tnetwolndians consented to wait for him, and after
imbibing another glass each of the: raw fire-water, Wala-
hasa and his companion:took their leave, and returned. to
finish up the remainder of the night where they had
begun tt.

After: lighting then out, Breck La Peard returned to
his apartments in high glee. « i

“Everything works weil—capital !” he exclaimed aloud,
ashe filled another glass and tossed it' om |The note
business which! has given me so much uneasiness of late
willbe straightened ‘up, aud all eviderice of the forgery
will become as extinct un idea as though it! had never
liappened. ‘This, the event of a war upon the border,
Willinsure me the chances of a very much heavier opera-
tion upon the bunk the next time. If'the' voice of Little
Crow is for war, and I have every reasoipto believe it will
be, l’shall go tn for no less ‘a figure than five thousand;
and°then if I fail to get ‘on to my satisfaction with the
redskins, cau just ‘emigrate to the Red River country,

ipand that will be the end of 16.0 As for Nelly Dimsdale, sne

must go. With hie, “eitlier by fair meas, or otherwise, for
my hesrt is fally bent upon it. ‘As for Isidora, if things
work ag I have reason to think, she Cun be of no further
service to me; and so froni this night out I Shall say
good by to her, That, | imagine, will be the best plan—
give her a wide’berth, for sie will be a dangerous fury to
deal with, the moment she mistrusts I have deserted her.
Time will cool her flery pussivns, and she will learn to
forget mé'T fancy-much soutier than Juliet.”

He then took’a revolver from a Slielf near at hand, and
after a careful €xamiation Of the weapon, he deliberate-
ly proceeded to luad it. = : 477

“Now, then, 1 am prepared for my mission to Crow
Hollow; butif my nerve is steady audimy ain sure, itis
doubtful if Walahasa atid dis tvleud-ever get there. But
to be ready fot action dn the wnorning, it will be necessary
£6 Gbtain'a little'sleep.? ©. - Ste

And suitipg the action to, the word, he. threw, himself
at full lefigtn tipo the lounge and was soon sound asleep,
Itwus a sort Of a torpid, Uilnatural sluinber; interropted
occusionally by spasmodic starts and low. mutterings. As
morning advanced his sisep became more quiet aud un-
disturbed. He glanced at his watch when he awoke, and
perceived he pa@ oversiept. his usual liours It was very
nearly half-past eight, and the bank which held the forged
paper would shortly be opened... eng 40% ,19
_ He hastily arranged his toilet, breakfasted in a, Saloon
where he usually obtained his meals, aud was at the,bank
almost,as soon as the teller himself, fs atts

With the ‘air “and importance of a mUlionaire he paid
off the forged’ note ‘witn the stolen gold, and tore it into
shreds, ry nf wip ret

“Thus perishes all evidence against me!’ he muttered
to himseif.as he lefp. the bank, and hurried. in the direc-
tion of the “all-night-saloon,” in order to’ apprise Wala-
hasa and his friend that, he, would. soon be ready for the
proposed yisit to Crow Hollow,

On lis way te met George Dimsdale coming out of
Oscar Heredith’s office. : }

“Good morning, Breck !? cried’ George, extending his
hand warmly tu the magnificent model “he so much ad-
mired... “Really, old fellow, it.seems an age, almost,
since we mect. Where kept yourself?’

“About town, mostly,’ replied La Peard, in his usual,
off-hand manner. ‘How are the folks?, How is Nelly?”

“Phey were all well yesterday, when they left for ‘The
Elms.’,, Nelly rode over in the inorning, with father, to
assist In setting up the things, and in the afternoon. 1
carried over tne rest of them, mother, sissy, and Bridget
—a Cal, a clock, and 3. looking-glass—and so forth, and
So. forth... By the way, to-day is Tuesday. I think of
rididg over there Saturday.. What do you say to. going
with me? They’ll all be giad to see you—especially Nelly.
If it wasn’t for her engagement with Oscar, [should think
she was.a little soit on you; I should, really.” ’

“Do you think so?” :

“T do, pom honor?) .. ‘

There was a sudden gleam of Satisfaction in the dark,
glittering eyes of La. Peard. :

“I think I wilt ride over with you, George. What time
Will you start?” :

“Oh, any ume you say. I am not particular when—
start in the morning if it suits you,”?
“Let it be in the morning, then,
opportunity of visiting Redwood on our way.
not acquainted with the Miss Raouls, are you?”

“Nos; but when I passed yesterday | saw a most mag-
nificent looking girl on the lawn in front of the house, 1
fell desperately in love with her at, first sight—l did, 1 as-
sure you. That was one of iy reasos for making so
“early a visit home—tne hope of seeing this fascinating
creature again, if only fora inoment.” ,

“T think it must have been Margaret you saw—if so you
shall receive an introduction to her.. T don’t know how
you wiil get on with her, Sheisas hard as.a flint, and
as proud as Lucifer.” ~ Var

“We must ail take our chances, Breck; but I have high
hopes I shall be able to win favor in her eyes, if 1 succeed
in making her acquaintance!” replied George, with the
sanguine. tone of one who had confidence in his owu
powers to piease.:

“T hope so; for no other person ever did,” responded
La Peard, dxily.

—“T can try, at an events, ‘Faint heart never, won fair
lady,’ you Kuow. But see, there comes a company of
tres recrulis to swell the new regiment, By the way,
did you know, that Oscar Heredith had. obtained a com-
mission!’? ;

La Peard Started at the announcement, while a look of
exultation gicamed from his dark eyes,

“It is the first I have heard of it. Bub I must be geing
now. An cngegement, you know—mest you Saturday.”
And the two iriends separated.

It. will allow us an
You are

 

CHAPTER VI.
A NARROW ESCAPE.

As she stepped shudderingly across the threshold of ber
once happy Aeime, Out into the solemn, silent night, Isi-
dora Raoul would have esteemed it a blessing to. have
had the earth onén and swallow her. The-blowWw was so
sudden and tu: xpected ag.te at.first almost stupify her.

There was s..) thing so utterly lonely and desolate in
her present co: ion—turned,.as it were, adrift upon the
wide world, wi .out a friend or protector, and all,on ac-
count of the si. ful passion she had cherished for one who!
might now turn coldly from her in her hour of adversity;
even though she had sacrificed everything in life.for his
sake.

‘Where should she turn ? whither should she go 2??? were
the mental questions that absorbed her. <At first. she
thougnt she would direct her steps toward Lake City.
Then it occurred to her that the two Indians liad taken
that route, and the fear of, encountering. them in, some
lonely place, deterred her. Then she bethought her of
Simon Thorpe, the, hunter, whose log-house steed tivo
miles beyond, cn the road to “The Elms,’ and. whose
wife she had once been. very kind and attentive fo in sick-
ness. Ona second thought she resolved she would go
there and claim, their hospitality, till such time as sue
could arrange some plan of action for the future,

With hurried steps, and a strange feeling of insecurity
creeping over her, she flew rather than walked in the di-
rection of the hunter’s cabin.. As she passed through a
small wooded ravine on the way, She was startled by, the
dismal hooting of an owl. emery

liad she never heard those unearthly night-calls before,
she would have. been. horribly frightened; but she had
often listened to thein—been awakened by their “hoot-
ing’ frequentiy during her residence at Reawood; and
yet they caused a strange chill to. run over der, despite
her Knowledge of their harmless character. She quick-
ened her steps. and was soon out of the ravine. Some-
times the moon would be obscured fora few. moments,
ana then it would. burst, forth again. from. its imprison-
ment of clonds with resplendent brightness, lighting up
the prairie for a great distance around her, rendering ov-
jects almost as distinct as day. The rapid. transitions
from light.to darkness were painfully suggestive of her
OWnunquiet existence for. the. past few months. One
moment light, hope, love; the next, gloom, doubt, de:
spondency.

Suddenly a prolonged howl greeted her acute sense of
hearing. Itcame from a great distance across the prai-
rle, and was quickly answered by a dozen others. She
eta, its meaning; it was the ominous howl ofthe
wolf.

Was. it, possible, she queried, while a sharp thrill cf
alarm pierced her heart, tnat they could have scented her
at so great a- distance? To judge trom the faintness of
the sounds, they must have been at leagt.a couple of: miles
away whe the first signal cry of the ringleader resound-
éd across the prairies. She had at least a good mile fur-
ther to go before reaching her destination. Would the
horrid creatures overtake ler before she could get there?
She feared they might, and with an increasing terror
creeping over her, she redoubled her flight in. tue direc-
uion of the hunter’s abode. If she escaped, it would de-
pend upon the distance that lay between them at the
commencement of the race.

The air in the distance was already resounding with
their prolonged, hungry howls, growing momentarily
nearer and more near,

Terror lent ber wings, and she flew over the level road
With a 8peed tuat astonished even herself. But still, in
spite of ber utmost entieavors, the hungry pack gained
rapidly upon her, their dismal howls growing every mo-
ment more distinct and awful; and with an increasing
thrill of terror she felt that the distance between bersel!
and her bloodthirsty, pursuers. was momentarily decreas-
ing. }

She well knew that with the greatest speed she could

 

fe set them by the

attain, that the swift-footed brutes would get over three

miles to her one... Would they. overtake her? So distinct
had already become their howls, that she glanced back
over her shoulder with a shivering sense of her deatily
peril, almost fancying she could see them bounding over
the intervening space toward her. Jt was indeed a race
for dear life. She was out of breath and aimost ready to
drop from the united-effects of fear and over-exertion.
Sue trembled in every limb, but stillshe contrived to get
over the ground witb incredible swiftness,

Suddenty the, moon burst forth with increasing bright-
ness. She could plainly see the cabin in the distance, and
was quite sure there was a light gleaming from the one
small window which. the rude structure afforded, She
threw a quick, terrified glance back over tlre path she had
come, and was sure tis time she could Seethem in the
distance bounding’ frantically toward her—the nearest
already not more.than a hundred rods behind her. And
yetshe was nearly half that distance now from thecabin.

“Merciful Heaven!” she cried, ‘I am lost!. and totter-
ing forward..a few. steps further, she uttered one wild,
piercirg scream, and sank faint and exhausted upon the
prairie road.. Her head swam, a. cold. shudder. crept
around her heart—a sense of horrible fear and suffocation
overpowered her; and she lived as many years, a8 it
were; in the few brief moments that followed, With a
groan of anguish she closed her eyes and resigned lhiersell
fo her fate. Deéath seemed inevitable,” The foremost o!
the ravenous pack was within twenty yardsof her ~

nly the breadth of 2 ‘moment seemed to intervene be-
tween her aud eternity, Tueir sharp, quick, vindictive
yelps, pierced. her, like a knife. ,Alreauy in imagination
she could feel their horrid. teeth tearing her. tender flesh.
Her gay and | thoughtiess life seemed; to. pass in instant
review before her—every sinful act she had committeu—
even the cruel deceptions she had so systematically prac-
ticed’ fo months pust upon the noble-hearted and uusus-
pecting’ Raoul—were all painfully reviewed; and she
mentally prayed in that brief instant of agonized suspense
aud loh! now earnestly—tiat ‘the Great Father above,
beyond the moon and stars+-so remote, and\so insensible
of her fearful peril,at that,dreadful moment—would hear
her last frantic appeal for forgiveness, and admit her
parting spirit to. His kingdom of rest. 5 , oy

it was alllike an electric shock—the doings of a lifetime
compressed into a fleeting moment. 4

But a single leap remained between her and the fore-
most of hér pursuers. Sue ground ‘her teeth firmly to-
gether, and closed her eyes. One instant more, and—a
ringing, human shout fell upon: ber ears, followed by the
sharp report of arifie. She opened her eyes. The gaunt

beariog down upon her, through the air, on the last flying
leap which separated them. It struck like aheavy weight
upon her prostrate form; but it did not move, or attempt
to bite her. She felt something warm. trickling upon her
hand—she looked; it was blood. A second glance satisfied
her that thisone, at least, was dead.

The continued shouts now approached rapidly, and the
neXt moment Simon Thorpe stood over her, battling down
tne Awakming, howling pack with his clubbed rifle: Ie
tore the carcass of the dead wolf from her body, and a
sisted her to-arise, | : ;

“Mrs. Raoul! In Heaven’soname is it you?” he cried,
in astonishment. “Bat run—run: for the eabin if you
have the strength te do so, while beat back these ac-
cursed hounds.” ; : »

And ashe spoke, he dealt some tremendous, blows
among the snarling, ravenous pack. .Jsidora. instantly
followed the friendly advice of Simon—but too happy at
the thought o. having escaped so miraculously from the

iments'slé was saféy at te cabin, though she Swooned
away the instant she Wa» Within the door. The hunter's
wife caught her in her strong arms, and thos -saved ‘her
fvom falling: When she came tv, Simon: had. returned,
having sustained no very serious inpery from his desper-
ate conflict with the wolves. to.

. “Llaid out. six or seven of the pesky, varmints,? he
coolly remarked, “before. they concluded te turn tail
tome, Butlord.o’ mercy, Mrs. Ruoul, how’s it happen you
were out alone, so fur from home, at this time o’nignt?”

could €ommand, went on and narrated to the hunter and
his wife so much of her recent trouble as she Chose to. di-
vulgey carefully avoiding everything calculated to: crimi-
nate her in the eyes of the honest people.

“You-poor dear!” cried Mrs, Thorpe, sympathetically,
“it’s plain to see you’ve been most onmercilully abused.
I pity you, Ido, orfully.. 1 wish I could help you.”

“Margaret has always hated me,”? sighed Isadora, pa-
thetically, “and she has watched Incessantly to pick up
something against me to injure me in the eyes of her fa-
ther.??

‘Sheis a spiteful jade!) responded the hunter’s wife,
indignantly. 7

‘Juliet is good, and Raoul; ‘himself, has always been
kind tome; but. I shall never consent'to go back: to him.
{ do. not.even. wish that.heshould know what has become
of me. Imean to stop with you awhile if you will let me,
ull such time as [can makesome permanent arrangements
for the future.” :

“You poor dear, you can stay forever, if you like, and
can put'up with our poor accommodations,’ responded
the hunter’s:wife with earnest emotion.

“Thank you,’ replied the beautiful'creole, feelingly.: *‘T
am but too happy to know that Ll haverat/jeast one triend
left, anda roof, however humbleitmay be, tat will shel-
ter me. I was sure; quite Sure, you would pity me when
you came to know everything.” ~~ ;

“Sartain—of course,” replied the hunter; “but I s’pose
you'll be making it Up witti them jaa day ortwo.” |

“No; itis already settled} Mi Thorpe. I shall never go
back to Redwood. But'l would lige you would get my.
things therein the morning; if you would; ancdsay noth-
Ing to a single; person} excepting Margaret, that you
know anyLhing aboutme,?); igh fT ae ee

‘“sSartain—of course I shall do.as you Bid me; bat then
T ginerally notice these family-jars git settled up alk right
sooner or later. Besides Raoul thinks a precious sight
too much of you ‘to let you leave him for good.”

“] wish it might be so,” returned the fair creole,

sigh, “but I’m sure ‘it'can never be.”
» “Ofcourse [don't know much about it,” said the-hon-
est hunter with «adubious shake of the head, “but I
hopes, for your sake, itwillhall come out right. dlowever,
its, coming nigh on, to. morning, old woman, and: we'd
vetter be fixing our bunk, so, Mrs. Raoul can git, a dittle
sleep, alter the fright the pesky wolves give her... —

 

CHAPTER, Vil.
THE 48 SAS SI NAT LON,
After parting with George Dimsdale, Breck La Peard

two ladians (a remarkable circumstance) almost as sober

as when, he; had. parted with them at. very near two

o’clock in. the morning. iow lh:
Before feaving the saloon, La Peard’ helped them,to-a

they started tor the stableawhere they had lelt their po-
nies the night before; isa Peard, in the meantime, repair-
ing to hig'room, Where he was speedily attired in the abo-
riginal’costume which he always wore when he visited
the haunts of the red men. | 4
When ve-reached the stable he found Walahasa and his
companion already mounted and ready for a start. His
own. horse.was’ Soon’ put in’ readivess, and the three
drove rapidly off on the-prairie road in the direction of
Redwood.) ©). ‘ t 4
On reaching the residence of Raoul, they found the wor-
thy proprietorin the greatest trouble’ and- perplexity on
account of what he‘believed, from the tenor ‘of the note
hehad found on'awakenihg, to be tlie voluntary deser-
tron! of “his. young wife. Margaret, agreeadule ‘to the
promiseshe had given Isidora} had foreborne’ to mention
aughtsne knew of.the circamstance, so that’ the ‘whole
matter, so far as the restof the household were concern-
ed) was involved in mystery. La Peard was equally mys-;
tiffed. “What could it mean? Tle had nosuspicion of apy
such thing as this‘occurring at the'time of their: separa-
tion omthe preceding nignt. Somehoiv, in his ownamiad,
he could ‘not help identifying Margaret ‘in’ the affair.
Could it be possible, hé thought, that she had acted’as a
spy upon Tsivora’s movements, and détected the robbery ?
He feared it might De so. But the whole affair was at
best inexplicable. : .
Me tiever'saw liis kind patron'so deeply affected by any

| circumstance before. :

He knew’ froin’ Rioul’s appearance, however, that as
yet he had received no knowledge of the robbery; for he
yreeved him? with his usual Kindness, and placed tire
cruel note which Margaret had dictated into his hand.

“T can bunderstand it,’ he said despondently. “E wish
you would read it carefully, and see if you can throw any
light upon theaffair,” What could possess her to go off in
this kind of’ style‘is more than I know. Supposing that
aullshe says inher note is true—that sheden't like me,
and ‘all that—f ¢an’t see her object im deserting a good
home, so long as it.isn't refused tier.”

“You Will se@ it soon enough, thought La Peard,
‘wren’ you discover the missing’ gold, Phope that ny
own complicity in this*affur' will never Teak out. And |
think, now, that’ Margaret knows ot the robbery, and that
it was ‘the fear of naplicatiog me that inducea Isidora to
fly. l certainly have no reason to complain so long as
everything works favorably for me, We shall see what
nly worthy patron's reflections are, when he comes to
pay over’ this government deposit to my. friend, Wala-
hasa.”?

While ‘these ideas were stirring in the brain of La
Peard, his Keen é€ye- was’ devouring Isidora’s dainty but
cruel note.

She admitted that she had grown tired of her husband;
that his presence had become nateful and unendurable to
hers. that sné had found more congenial friends—more
suitable to her age and tastes—were the only reasons she
assigned for leaving Resiwood. She briefly but distinctly
assured her Nusbaud that she sliould never return alive;
so it would be useless for him to’ institute any inguiries
about her, But the motive or cause of this unexpected
movement upon the part of Isidore, was still a mystery.
Yet he was sure Margaret was in some way at the bottom
of iisomehow the cause of it.

When Raoul counted over the amount of the deposit to
Walahasa, and did not alltide to any loss in the connec-
tion, he was: more than ever bewildered. _ It was evident
that the sum stolen from the safe by Isidora had been re-
placed by some one; and who conld that some one be, 1f
not Margaret? Yes, Margaret Raoul must*have been at
the bottom of if. No otner rational inference could be
drawn from the circumstances.

“What do you think of it?” inquired Raoul, gloomily,
as Breck handed buck the note.

“I think there is someti.iog very strange and incompre-
hensible in the whole proceeding.”
“She tells me not to look after her. What had I best
do? But what mad-cap expedition are you bent upon
now, Breck? I see you have got on your Indian toggery.
Why can’t yeu drop these Wild pranks, and become
civilized 2?

 

form of the foremost wolf; with wide Open mouth, was |

appalling danger Which had menaced her. Ina few mo-

Isidora, in the most pathetic and melting language she’

witha ,

hurried to the ‘‘All-nigit ‘Saloon,’ where he found the

liberal allowance ef their beloved’ fire-water, and then,

La Peard gave a harsh, dry laugh as the only nesponse.

After receiving, the semi-annual stipulation intended
for his branch of the tribe, Walahasa declared’ his readl-
ness to again take to the road. ‘

As they were leaving the nouse, Margaret confronted
La Peard in the outer passage... She laid her jeweled
hand impressively on his'arm, and gazed searchingly into
his dark, restless eyes. She whispered in alow, warning’
tone, blended with sarcasm:

‘Breck, are you here, my sultan ??

La Peard started as though he had received an electric
shock. He trembled and turned pale—he even quailed
before this exultant and determined girl, as he had never
done before any other human creature,

“Well, Mag,” he said, doggedly, ‘“what have you to say
tome???

She gave a hard, implacable smile, and the cruel light
in her cold black eyes gleamed menacingly.

“Breck La Peard, I know more of your wicked doings
than you think. J, this‘moment, hold your right even to
libevty in my weak hands.” Ls

“Go on,” said La, Peard, with satirical bitterness; et
will listen to your conditions, my feminine Mepbistophe-
les; but first of all 1 ‘would ask, are you at the bottom ?—
are you the cause of Isidora’s, unexpected disappear-
ance???

“Tam; and that is just what I was coming to. Listen,
your own safety depends now upon keeping her beyond
the! reach of my father. ‘So long as you do this you will
be safe from persona) exposure.”? j

“That will be an easy matter, if you will only suggest
where she is to be found.”

“Shevis at Simon ‘Thorpe’s cabin; but for safety you
must remove her from there as speedily as_ possible.
The hunter was here early this morning, and I sent the
most valuable part of her wardrobe and jewels to her. I
gave Simon. full instructions not to mention to another
living. soul that he had seen her. He left before my
father was up.”

“The drug worked well, at all events!’? mused La
Peard, as he promised to be guided by Margaret’s sug-
gestions; and then hurried. after Walahasa and his
friend, who had already mounted their ponies, and were
impatiently awaiting him.

The three rode on, past
and acrass the border. ot

it was still thirty miles to the nearest Indian village,
and Crow Hollow was still half a day’s ride beyond that.
He could make way with his two companions, secrete
the gold and easily reach the first Indian encampment
before night. ;

The rolling prairie country was beginning to mergé
into more uneven and hilly ground, with occasional
spurs and elevations, almost mountainous in their char-
acter, with long wooded ravines between.

On entering one’of the most lonesome and secluded of
these ravines, Breck La Peard, with a deliberate coolness,

Thorpe’s cabin, past The Elms,

would then and tere atiemps the tragedy—the wilful
murder of *5s two unsuspecting friends.

*’Heyemed in thé powerful black stallion, Thunderbolt,
and drawing a flask of whisky from the folds of | his
scrape, he called the attention of Walahasa and_his friend
to the fact of the existence of the ‘‘fire-water’’ in his, pos-
session. Eager fora taste of the potent beverage, and
perfectly unsuspicions of/his sinister designs, the two In-
cians reiped in their ponies by his side. He.drank, and
then handed the flask to the young chief. As Walaliasa
was in the act of elevating the flask to his lips, he drew
his’ revolver with a lightning-like movement, and dis-
charged two of the loaded chambers in.rapid succession.
Walahasa threw up his hands wildly, reeled an instant
in his seat, and then plunged uuresistingly to the ground.
His companion fell. forward upon the neck of his pony,

aud then rolled over, striking the earth with a dull thud,

 

CHAPTER VIIf.
THE MEDICINE WOMAN OF WAGWA.

La Peard canght the chiefs pony by the halter, just 48
‘he ha Yeared with a wild snort of terror, and was on the
point of plunging forward upon the road, or rather, trai),
leading to. the nearest Indian village, and brought him to,
trembling. ‘

With a dexterons jerk he removed the canvas-bags
containing the government specie, and at the same, time
dealt the frightened animal a sharp cut with, the, tough
raw-hide which he always carried with him for the pur-
pose of subduing his own Vicious and fiery steed. :

With a wild snort.and leap, he plunged forward in pur:
suit of the other mustang, which -had equally taken the
alarm, and was now plungingover the beaten trail with
flying Jeaps. : :

After securing the gold, La Peard dismounted from his
horse, and hitching him to a small ‘sapling, turned his
attention to, the incantious, victims of his relentless cu-
pidity. ;

Walahasa lay where he had fallen, rigid and motionless,
the blood tickling down froma ghastly puncture in the
forehcad.

Iie took him by the shoulders and dragged him aside a
few paces: from the trail, and then returned to his com-
panion. Hethought he discovered signs of life in him;
and stooping, he deliberately drew the long scalping-knite
from his belt, and plunged it four or five times to the hilt
in the breast.of the savage; but no groan or movement
escaped him which might indicate the presence of life. If
there had been, the precaution he had taken to remove it,
must have proved undeniably. effectual with every miur-
derous stab ne had given. ; ;

tHe removed him, also, as he had Walahasa, a little away.
from the trail... He then struck off,in an opposite direc-
tion, about the same distance from the traveled path, and
there he made an ‘excavation with his knife, sufficiently
largeto covceal the two: canvas-bags: -He then: marked
the spot carefully, so that he might find it again without

temporary confinement, vaulted into. the: saddle, and
spurred madly on over the path taken by: the frightened
mustangs, as though he had been set upon suddenly by a
troopof invisible fiends—invisible to all save himself.

He did, not abate one jot in, his break-neck,pace. for
nearly two hours, till becoming apprised suddenly from
certain landmarks he: remembered to haveseen on his

approaching the encampment where he had proposed to

{pass the night, when ne coucluded it would be advisable

ito slacken his pace alittle, so that he might enter tie vil-
lage with a grace and dignity calculated to inspire'a@
proper degree of admiration in the bosoms of his ‘rude
entertainers. It3vas not the first time he had been to
Wagwa, which was the name of this encampment,’ or
village; and he ‘knew that le would be recognized by
handreus of his dusky friends the moment he entered it,
Nor was he mistaken jin his conjecture; for. every little
Fred imp in the village, that was large enough to run
aloné, rushed from owigwany to wigwam, shouting vocil-
erousily:.. “Sug—wah—wanh! Big Five-eater!’ ;

And’ the whole village, men, women, and children,
rushed forth in acconfused crowd’ to’ weleome him.

De, was. conducted like some, conquering hero, amid
loud shouts of rejoicing, to the large wigwam occupied
by ‘their “great medicme-woman, ~Luella;* and ‘thither
flocked the entire population of Wagwa, impatient to
witness the marvellous tricks of the great ‘Fire-eater,’’

Luella’s wigwam was’ composed of numerous’ skins,
ingeniously.sewed together, so as:to;\forms a square of
some twenty feet, supponted: by tenarpright poles, somc
twelve feet above the ground into which they had been
firmly driven, with four, others, twenty feet in length,
running over all in a liorizontal position. .The skins were
then drawii'snugly over this novel frame-work, and Tast-

row strips of untanned deerskin. Tre flooring was simply
a kind of rush-matting; ingeniously woven, and stained
with a variety of brilliant colors, which, being kept:very
cleanly, presented, an unusually picturesque and:beautiful
appearance.. Sach.was the:babitation, of the great medi:
cine-woman, into which La Peard was noisily introduced
“by his admiring friends, ; '

He performed several slight of-hand tricks, to the infinite
“surprise and amusement of the benolders; but the crowns
ing effort of bis skill was the ribbon factory, so familiar
to every school-boy who has ever attended an exhibition

tonisliment among old and young, every one. belleving
him to beuwothing short of a veritable wizard. ° :

The ribbon; which he. so mysteriously.drew from his:
mouth, after seeming to devour large quantities of burn-
ing tow, was generously distriobuted.in short cuts among

onan, elevated pile of skins, watching the interesting
performance with a look of grave attention.. She was a
‘handsome, Half-breed woman, seemingly about forty-flve
years of age, with dark, flashing eyes, that, seen toge-
ther, were strikingly. like those of the Fire-eater.

When the exhibition Was over, Luella beckoned La
Peard to her, and bestotyed.upon him a long, scrutinizing
glance, : i ;

“You area white man in disguise,” she said, speaking
in very good English, ‘and come, irom, beyond the. -bor-
Tebe 3 ‘ j

““¥es; Iam from beyond the -border,?? returned La
Peard, deeply, strangely stirred, by the magnetic. intiu-
ence of Luella’s eyes; “‘but Iam not, as you infer, purely
White. Itis true, my father waSa White man, but,if I
haye been correctly informed, my, mother was part .abo-
rigine.”? ;

“JT should have not suspected it from your. looks,’ re-
joined the medicine womun, thoughtiully; “out, Knowing
you to come from beyond the borders, I. was desirous of
asking you a question. I, myself, have dwelt among the
whites, and am familiar with their ways.??

“Thattd suould not question,’ replied La Peard, with a
counterfeit show of deference, ‘to jadge from. the ¢cor-
rectness and purity of your speech; but I am ready to
answer your question.”

“T would ask,’? returned Luella, gravely, “if you are
acquainted with an. Indian boy in any of your border
towns, who answers to the name of Wyandot?”

“JT do know. him very well. He.is stopping at, Lake City

—hanging about the saloons and stables, doing odd jobs;
a perfect. menial—a ‘dog of a Sue,’ as they call him—a
most degenerate specimen of our noble race,”?
‘‘alas! he is my son!’? said Luella, bowing her head sor-
rowfully... ‘Better. he were dead than-he,snould thus de-
grade himself and. disgrace his people. Hagle-Piume was
a great-and brave, chief of the Sioux. Wyandot, is his
second son, and is half brother to the young chief, Wala-
hasa.. Alas! the great Spitit. has laid. His. bandy heavily
on the heart of Luella, and caused, it to. bleed and ache
with much. sorrow.?? :

“I truly commiserate your condition.” replied La Peard
ina tone of mock sympathy. ‘Butif I understand you,
you are not. own mother tothe chief, Walahasa ???

“No; IT was the second woman chosen by EKagie-Plume.
Tam not his mother.”

 

“I was thus particular in asking,’’ rejoined La Peard,

and, the premeditated cunning of q fiend gesoived ho:

where he seemed to cling. for. a moment. spasmodically, |

difficulty; after which he released Thunderbolt from his’

former Visits to the Indian.country, tnat he. was rapidly-

ened to the ground by the atd-of wooden'spiles, and nar-.

of legerdemain;and which’ excited the -profoundest asz)

the squaws, rendering them almost frantic with delight. |
During the exhibdtion, Luella, the medicine woman, sat }’

impressively, “because I did not wish to shock you too
snddenly with bad news. Walahasa has been murdered
by the whites. I know him well, lsaw him alive and in
perfect health, two days ago, in Lake City. He brought
me a message of invitation from Little Crow to visit Crow
Hollow, aud ‘IE amynow* on my way thither” Tsaw lis
body, and that of his companion, lying a. litte way from
thetrayéled™parh, just: @cross, the border) ana voth 0)
shockingly Mutilated ‘that I could Searcely recognize
‘them. = . , ;

La Peard was astonished to see how. tittle, emotion Lu-
ella Manifested at this announcement. df, sie exhibited
any, it was rather that of pleasure than of grief

“If Wyandot was but aman, now, instead of a Oe
renegade—he might be his successor and a great chief,”
she said, bitterly... 4

“Certainly,’? replied La Peard, much relieved by the
cool manner in which slie received the tragical news.
“Perhaps he will now see the advantages to be gained by
giving up his vile habits and assuciations, and retwurnipg
to his people.?? : i

“He will never be auglt than he is—a dog among the
whites,” rejoined Luella, with a deep sigh. ‘It is a HG
punishment that the Great Spirit has seen fit to visit up-
ou me for the evil I have done. But the crowd have dis-
persed, and I may now.talk freely to you. You will re-
main here for the night, There are a plenty of buffalo-
robes that can be epread for you; and there is something
in your appearance that interests me--reminds meof one
whom I but toointimatety knew years ago. I am not
Sioux woman, as you might suppose trom-the-fact of my
dwelling among them. On the contrary, I am half French
and half Chippewa. ;

“My father’s hame was Pierre La Soule. He was a furs
trader; and though he was never legally married to my
mother, he took upon himself the trouble and expense of
my education. The consequence was, that for the first
twenty years of my tife I was almost constantly among
the whites. I offended my. father by marrying, against
his express commands, a man whom he detested. He
proved to be a monster—wholly Gestitute of heart or
principle. . I bore him one son, who, if now living, would
be about your own age.

“We lived in Keokuk, and my husband followed the
oceupation of flat-boating down the river... He was & des-
perate drinker, and at certain stages of his inebriation he
was a perfect. demon—cruel, suspicious, md even brutal.
He'beat me; he accused me of everything foul and wrong
without a. shadow of ground; and for the four years we
continned together, he tortured and worried the life
nearly out ofme, One evening, when my boy was ut
three years old, he threatened to murder me, and, eve
assailed. me brutally with a knife. My wrath was fuil
aroused; 1 selzed a cleaver, and without stopping to cons
sider the consequence of my rash, though defensive act
(for I really think it was his purpose at the time to kill
me), I dealt him one Soc desperate blow, He foil like
an ox ig the shembies, With the blood “spittingyin s

ae Fa AO a eh ok Ra ee ys fe: et
streams) ’)Thenocame! wie reaction’ to:my ou.porary in-
sanity, and I immedittely swooned upon his prostrate
body, with the bloody instrument of death still clutched
in my hand.) ? ‘ Bee

“When I came to, the room was.full of people, and the
horror and indignation they expressed was intense. My
husband was dead. They said I-had- murdered him; and
with a benumbed feeling of grief and remorse, 1 suffered
myself to be led away.to prison. _I-never saw my darling
boy but once after that, and then he was brought to m
in the. jail by. the: people who had Kindly taken him in
charge.’? ‘

,La-Peard.passed his hand over his. forehead with an
air of perplexity, } : ; i

“What was the name of those people?”

“Breckenbridge.) "|. Ae sos ey

Her auditor gave a violent start, bat remaitied silent. ~ |

“I was afterwards tried,” continued Luella, in a sub-
dued tone, found guilty of murder in the second degree,
and sentenced to ten years in the State penitentiary. At
the end of a year I succeeded in making! myescape, but
not daring to,venture into Keokuk. to claim my boy, I
fled into the Sioux country for protection. I shortly after’
married Eagie Plume, and have lived and been identified:
among his’ people’ ever since. It'was your striking re-)|
semblance,to my unfortunate husband, before he became
bloated and disigured by intemperance, thai prompted
me to this confession. I do not remember ever to have
seen two persons more closely resembling each other’?

“One question more,” said La Peard, nervously.) “What.
was the name of your husband ?”’ ; {

“Da Peard |—Jasper La Peara !"*

“That is my mame, woman! and from the history you”
have. given me,.I have no doubt that the man_you kilied
was my father, and that you are my unnatural mother!)
responded the assassin, in a cold, unfeeling tone. 5

“Oh, don’t say that !—not if you are my boy, don’t say)
that!”? cried the excited woman, bursting: inte tears.
“Oh, Heaven! 1 have suffered so much! if you are really
my boy, this distrust and coldness on ‘your part would
break my heart. Noj you cannot be ‘wy’son,.and Jook
and speak thus. There is some finer seuse—some nicer
instinct of the soul, that bids me to repel the thought.’

The unnatural monster gave a dry, mocking laugh.

“T think Iwill be able to satisfy your @eubts upon this.
point, if you will listen,” 3

“Go on!” said Luella, in a subdued but troubled voice:
“T'trust you may not; for if your heart is already so
turned against. me, I should certainly have no reason to.
desire it,?? ;

“Perhaps we may grow fonder of each other as we be-.
come better acquainted. We certainly shall if you are.
but reasonable and useful when I need’ you. But to sat-
isty you that there can be no mistake as to my identity,’”
he went on with increasing triumph, ‘‘I will simply assure
you that I distinctly remember tne time:I was taken to
thre jail to: see ‘my mother, by a woman named Brecken-'
bridge, in. proof of which, I. will say that 1 still bear the>
name of Breckenbridge La Peard. 4

“ST was badly treated by the Breckenbridges; and under.

their unfeeling and evil ituition—aided by the jibesjand |
taunts of others familiar with my unfortunate, history—I
soon grew callous, and heartless, and revengeful, and
speedily learned to hate and distrust’ the whole world.
There was notasingle spot in my heart but what) was
thoroughly embittered anu corrupted by the damning in-~
‘fluences about me. Before I was eight years old I was_
more than once a murderer‘ at heart, and only required»
the nerve and strength to have proved myself such before
the world, Iran away from Keokuk when I was, eight’
years old, and that was what doubtless saved me from.
| becoming one’even in boyhood. eee '

“I stole on board/a boat, and when discovered was un-
ceremoniously landed in some large town on the Missis-.
‘sippi. ‘Here I was picked up, friendless and destitute, —
and half starved, by Aaron Raoul, a wealthy half-breed, |
and one of God’s/ noblemen, if there ever.was one. He’
treated me like @ prince, and I think if he had. had me at’
the time you murdered my father and was dragged to
prison, he would have worked me up into a tolérubly re-_
sponsible:man.. Butthat was my misfortane———,; :

“Hold! Ihave heard enough! cried Luella, in a mixed >
tone of anger and reproof. “Iam sensible I could not.
}have borne'suck a cold-blooded monster. I know there
is some mistake. Jt is only-a resemblance; and. you have
cunningly taken advantage of my own hasty narrative to”
strengthen that impression. I would not own one so
wicked and ‘heartless as your words imply, were you
twenty times my.son.? , i

La Peard utttered a dry, aggravating laugh...

“Don't be so hasty, mother dear, in your condemna-—
tion. Ihave only been’ showing you the evil Side of the
picture. Lshal point out to you some of my redeeming
Virtues by and by... But first of all, I want to Satisfy. you
“beyond ‘the shadow of a reasonable doubt, that I am
really your son—fiesh of your flesh, and bone of your
bone—and Ithink I shall do it. i

“Perhaps you cam’ tellome whether there was any- |
thing. prickeédin India ink on your boys ‘arm—and if so,
What was it?” ; ‘
Ah blremember—his name? replied Luella) witha |
shudder—‘Pierre La Peardt?!ou) is beiowens sc i

‘Exactly !) You. could ‘notthave spoken iruer?? And |

spoke, he ‘displayed’ the’ magic

tor :

iO }

 

 

baring his armias he
words. > . ; } ig i

“Alas ! the proof lis indisputable Psighed Laelia, while
a& spasm like pain shot-eeress her still handsome face.

‘‘And.canat be: possibie! that! youlareso wiéKedias you
seem? .. Had you,shown a spark—a single spark olitender, |
human emotion, 1 could have overlooked a thousand —
‘faults—forgiven a thousand errors! But no!no! What
shall bdo?t=I have ‘thought of you ‘for, twenty years— —
thought of you, constantly, day. and) night, and prayed —
that I might live to see you!? 5 ;
“And don’t you feél happy to find that your prayers
have been answered?” inquired the unnaturalotispring in
,& tone of itritating sarcasm. .‘But. seriously, my) dear
parent, since I have been so fortunate as to find you

after a lapse of twenty years, | don’t think we ouglit to
quarrel wpon miuor | points.. T-dare say: Pshalliearn to
love and respect, like.a dutifal son.by and.by.. Yousmust —
be reasonable, my most excellent mother, and remember
that for the last twenty years I have been so tnadvertent
tomy dutyas to dorget you valtogether—as completely
and effectually as though sucha person had never exist-
ed. Now you must admit that being thrown upon my
own resources, that | was liable’ to be greatly corrupted
and perverted in my slow, but: rough opropress to man-
ood; and if any one needs to ask forgiveness in this
connection, it strikes me it is the one who bore, and alter-
wards submitted me to the tender mercies of a not-over
scrupulous worid.’? é

“Task your forgiveness, my unnatural child, forall the
wrongs you have suffered through my unavoidable ne-
glect,” ‘said Luella mournfully, “and may the Great
Spirit forgive me algo. . Oh, if you could but show me one
sign, one glance, one smile. of natural affection !1)

“What satisfaction would there be, my most affection-
ate parent, in presuming to manifest a sentiment thatI do
not, and cannot feel, just at the moment your impatient
nature might demand it.. These things will all work
round right by and by; and I dare say you will have me
before long with my arms around your neck like the
penitent, prodigal son. But, to own the truth, lam some-
what fagged out after my day’s journey, and the feats of
magic l have since performed, and would fain catch a
little sleep before my departure to Crow Hotiow in the
morning. If yowhave a buffalo: or two, 1 won't trouble |
you further—l can easily. make ont.”

After Luella had spread a couch for him, he bade her
good niglit in his old mocking tones, and throwing him-
self carelessly thereon, was soon sound asleep.

(To be Contmued.)

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THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. @=

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IRB PARDL SAY

New York, December &, 1870.

The Terms to Subscribers:

 

PA

 

 

PPA

 

 

One Year—single copy ............s sees ecco. Three Dollars.
“ ‘© Four copies ($2 50 each).............. Ten Dollars.
“ “. Eight copies ........ DEAE ae semers Twenty Dollars.

Those sending $20 for a clubof Bight, all sent at. one time,
will be entitled to acopy rrex. Getters-up of clubs can after-
ward add singie copies at $2 50 each.

The NEw YORK WEEKLY is Printed at PRESTON’S

Great Press Room. 27 Rose street.

 

 

Thanskgiving.

 

Once in America, Thanksgiving day, next to the
Fourth of July, and like the Christmas of the Chris-
tian, was 2 most important epoch.

It was a time when in well-filled churches all over
the land, sermons and songs of praise and thankful-
ness were heard. It was a time when. families and
fiiends gathered in joyous groups around the festive
board, recalling sweet memories, enjoying dear real-
ities, and picturing bright futures.

To some extent, obedience to official proclamation,
Thanksgiving dayis now honored. But uot, as in
the glad olden time, which with a sigh we remember.
A sigh that it’ should pass away. A sigh that pro-
gress, as it is termed, should like a restless and re-
sistless tide, be continually washing away the old
land marks of our Nationality, erasing the traces of
our early history, causing us to forget the simplicity,
the purity, and the patriotism of our fathers.

Less and less do we exhibit signs of reverence for
such days as the 22d of February, Thanksgiving
and Independence day.

' Alas—alas—passing away! That seems to be the
sad refrain.
Saae RL coi ieee

Practical Temperance.

Do we do as much as we can forTemperance? Are we
at work in the right direction? Much has been done to-
ward reforming drunkards, to stop fashionable drinking,
and the sale of liquors; but unless we start right our gain
on the enemy will be no faster, than in bailing out a well
whiere to every pail of water thrown out two runs in.

It is comparatively easy to stay the spring, (the source
of amighty river), buta difficult undertaking to stop the
torrent that has accumulated onthe journey to the sea;
so with man when young, it is easy to curb and guide the
propensities; but when grown old, it becomes next to
impossible to change tne disposition, habits, belief, or
customs.

If-we were certain that every child growing up to-day
would be temperate through life, then might we be as-
sured, in thirty years from now, drunkards would be
scarce. We are prone to wonder at glaring effects, but
blind to the cause from which they sprang. You see the
drunkard reeling through the street, and wonder how a
man can so degrade himself; but did you ever think how
small a thing induced the first step downward—a glass of

_ cider, or a cigar might have sown the seeds of vice.

The mind, when young, is like wax, everything that
comes in contact leaves @ mark; with age it hardens, im-
pressions are not so easily made, or removed; so that the
first received are invariably the most lasting; and from
the condition of the mind, we can read what the early
impressions were, like the geologist who can tell the
habits and structure of an animal that left a footprint
upon a rock ages back in the past. A child observes

everything, and not possessing so acute reasoning powers

as an older person is full as apt to pattern after the bad
as the good, unless due caution be used. Educate them,
‘g0 that they will possess moral stamina enough to say
‘no,”? when tempted to do wrong. It should be the duty
of ail who profess temperance, to take hold and help the
good cause—help it by example, for that speaks louder
than words.

Parents, if, your views are not favorable toward tem-
perance, smother them, and for your children’s welfare,
exert a good influence by pointing out the evils of intem-
perance.. Don’t have it flung in your face in after years,
“?Twas my father’s bad example that first caused me to
go astray. My mother never warned me to beware.” Do
not punish the young for using an injurious article which
you daily consume; but rather say, “‘What is not fit for
those around me to use, is not suitable for me,’’ and cast
it aside. |

.We have got'to work, and to work practically, to work
together, we want leaders like Washington, who, when
his men began to flag, while throwing up intrenchments,
took a shovel, and set diligently to work himself. That
act gave new impetus tothe men, they found that their
jeader was a man who could come down to their wants,
one in whom they could rely, and when once he obtained
their confidence he had but little to fear, if the enemy
opposed numbers twice as large; where he would lead,
the rest would follow. So it will always be if the leaders
are sound, and set the people a good example—their con-
fidence will be gained, and a permanent good achieved;
and although the clouds loom darkly over us to-day, ere
long they will begin to disappear, leaving not “‘a rack
bellind.?? A. J.

THE LADIES’ WORK-BOX.

{A department designed especially for ladies, wherein will
be answered all questions which may be asked by cor-
respondents, relating to fashion, the ditferent styles of
dress, combination of colors, needle-work of all kinds,
the arrangement of the hair, etiquette—in short, any-
thing of especial interest to ladies.]

 

 

In the matter of invitations for ceremonious weddings,
we learn that the square and very large envelope is not
to be psed; the more oblong shape being considered more
in good taste, and pleasing to the eye. Several new de-
signs for simple ornamentation are just introduced,
especially adapted to what may be called Bridal style,
some distinctive mark being required to establish a
difference between the wedding and the epistolary en-
velope.

For the season of 1870 and 1871, some changes will be
made in the general style of wedding invitations. All
appearance of a circular, with a lot.of lines covering over
the entire note-sheet, will be done away with, for the
more neat styie expressing the subject matter just in as
simple a form, and as few words as possible, to convey
the intention of the invitation, being either at home or
at church, with the individual cards of the bride and
groom, and any other required to make the whole com-
plete.

The extremely coarse and large letters are not. looked
upon with favor, and the purest white paper is the only
kind recommended for the card, note-sheet, and en-
velope. The attempt to revive the coleur de rose paper,
for wedding invitations, will prove unsuccessful where
food taste regulates.

‘For epistolary correspondence, some delicate shades
may, in some cases, be admissible, for the sake of novelty
and variety.

For proper ornamentation for note-headings, the mon-
ogram will hold its place, and the best styie will be sim-
ple, easily deciphered, and in pure Italian or Grecian
style of alphabet. Research and study in the art of de-
signing, and constructing monograms, has led to the in-
troduction of many exquisite designs.

are made of the simple white alpaca trimmed with satin.
A most elegant dress was composed of long trained skirt
of rich white satin.
trimmed all around with handsome point apliqué, headed

by quilling of satin. The overskirt, not looped, vexy long:

An overskirt of same materials

 

 

 

ear-drops to match. Long vail of illusion, and simple
wreath of orange flowers.

White satin slippers and white kid gloves complete the
costume. ; :

An exquisite bridal bonnet is composed of white uncut
velvet, gipsy shape, with delicate plumes and lilies of the
valley, drooping over the chignon; a quilling of white
lace relieves the face, and a cluster of flowers is in the
right side. For strings, heavy white ribbon.

The colors now most fashionable are brown, silver-gray,
bottle-green, dark blue, plum-color, and a rich purple.

For young ladies, a pretty costume is made of velveteen.
It consists of an overskirt and a basque. The trimmings
can be in any color silk, faced on as cuffs, and vest, and
outlined with ruchings of silk, same color as the vel-
veteen.

We find most magnificent velvet cloaks now upon exhi-
bition, made of the finest Lyons velvet, and richly orna-
mented with exquisite thread lace and costly passemen-
terie. Many are cut up in the back and at the sides, while
others are tight basques, with bretelles trimmed with
lace, and wide sashes in the back.

To-day we saw some very stylish hats. One of black
velvet had crown about two inches high, perfectly round.
The velvet was plain on top of the crown and plaited on
the sides—a round brim over which the velvet was put
in same manner—edged with lace. Around the crown
was the feather trimmings. At one side an exquisite
cluster of tulips, as perfect in blossoms and leaves as na-
ture’s own—in a bed of dainty lace. In the back a bow of
gros grain ribbon, and ends.

Another of blue velvet was plain, with the exception of
afew bands of white satin, a bow of bluein front and
white algrettes.

A drab hat trimmed with brown, had very stylish effect.

For evening dress fora little girl, white alpaca, with
overskirt of colored silk is very pretty. On the skirt is
one plain flounce of colored silk, with a row of velvet.
Another flounce in scollops, with a bow of velvet at each
junction... The overskirt has around apron, and is open
in the back and puffed. High plain waist and coat sleeves,
the obretelles and trimmings in the sleeves formed of
blue silk ruffles.

A neat day dress is made of brown merino. Puflings of
black silk trim the skirt, waist, and sleeves. The little
overdress is of black silk, which is looped at each side
with bows.

A pretty little garment is an overdress made of fine al-
paca or black silk, trimmed with ruchings and revers of
a contrasting color. It has around apron front, and is
openin the back, describing two points. No sash-waist
or bodice with ruching of the silk.

Something new for a boyis the stylish suit of black
velvet or velveteen, trimmed with narrow silk braid and
jet buttons. The pants have no fullness at the top, and
reach just over the knee, where they are fastened on the
outside with three buttons. The jacket is open in front,
disclosing a tight vest underneath; and is cut with side
pieces in the back, and slightly sloped over the hips.

Some of our friends think this department. a little too
sober, therefore to add a bit of life, one suggests that the
quickest way to accomplish “raised work on canvas” is
a whirlwind lifting a circus tent, which recently hap-
pened in her town.

—_— Ot

“Female Help.”

There has beena very heated controversy in the
daily papers, upon the above subject, during the past
year, but nothing has been said in regard to our
“domestics,” commonly called ‘servant-girls.” I
think that their interest should be looked after as,
much as those employed in our dry-goods stores,

At the root of the cry, going up all over the country,
of thieving, incompetent, and saucy servant-girls,
there is areason which American housekeepers would
do well to heed. Whatis this reason? It is simply
this:

Our’ women, as a class, have only themselves to
blame for their bad servants, inasmuch as by their
fretfulness and overbearing ways or utter disregard
of a servant’s feelings, they have driven a class of
American girls out of their homes, where they were
formerly contented in a measure and were always
faithful and trustworthy.

A girl of spirit will work in a shop for almost noth-
ing, and keep up a comparatively good: position in
society, rather than get good wages and good board
in a kitchen, where she is not only treated as the
veriest menial, but is treated as nobody outside.

It would be well, occasionally, if our housekeepers
would forget social distinction between themselves
and servants, and recollect that they are women with
the virtues and failings of their sex,

Ah! ladies, you lose nothing in these kind offices;
you gaineverything. Your grace and tact preserves
your station—have no fear on that point, You
need no self-assertion for what should be self-impres-
sion. Makeforthese girls homes, and there will be
less talk of incompetence and dishonesty.

Interest yourselves in them; make them feel that
you are their best, their wisest friends, and you need
not fear that they willdesert you for a stranger. Do
not expect them to be perfect, for you cannot find that

in any relation in life; but let them see that you feel
your relation to them to be one of reciprocal duties,
that while they serve you conscientiously, you will
use your intelligence, your judgment in their behalf,
in thoughtfulness of their interest, both in their busi-
ness and pleasure, their income and their expendi-
tures.

This can be done without interference, and will
gather you 2 rich harvest in the harmony and unity
of your household. Try not to adapt yourself to
supp oged peculiarities of nationality, but treat human
nature humanely, and you will need no special rules
for the government of servants, :

CHABLETTE DE Wirt,
Oe

Rain Falls for Five Days in Clear Weather
on a Group of Graves and Nowhere Else.
From the Mobile Register, Nov. 8.

For several days there have been mysterious and vague
rumors of a most remarkable and meteorological phe-
nomenon out at the graveyard on Stone street, above the
Three-Mile creek. It is asserted by those who say they
have seen it, that for the last five days a gentle shower
has fallen continuously on the lot of the Lemoine family,
in which are buried Mr. Victor Lemoine and many others
of his family. With a view of getting at the facts of this
most extraordinary affair, we had last night an interview
with Mr. Louis B. Lemoine, employed at Asa Holt’s, a
son of the deceased Victor Lemoine, who died in 1851,
who related the following startling particulars:

“Having heard that it was reported that it had been
raining for several days on the enclosed ground which
forms my family burial plot in the grave-yard on Stone
street, above the Three Mile Creek, I drove out there last
evening to satisfy myself, and, to my intense astonish-
ment, I saw that a column of rain was coming down
without ceasing, which, altogether, hardly powerful
enough to lay the dust, was enough to wet the hands or
any article, and at times it rained quite hard. The vol-
ume of rain fell inside the enclosure, and nowhere else,
as the weather was and has’been bright and clear all the
time during the five days the rain has been falling on the
graves. ‘ :

“There are thirteen of my family buried in the lot of
ground upon which it had been raining. My mother,
brother, and sisters visited the spot yesterday and the day
before to satisfy themselves about the truth of this mat-
ter, and they declare that they too saw this wonderful
phenomenon. It has also been seen by over two hundred
persons. I tooka friend with me whenI visited the
spot, who also saw the rain falling as described. Mr.
John Rosset, the keeper of the cemetery, told me that the
rain had commenced falling in heavy drops about five
days ago. Iam willing to take my oath as tothe truth
of this statement.”’

So incredible did this extraordinary affair seem, that
those who saw it several days ago refrained from stating
or asserting what they had seen, for fear that not only

| their veracity, but their sanity, would be questioned, and
Bridal dresses for this season are exquisite; very many

it was not until anumber of gentlemen of the first respect-
ability had seen and reported the result of their personal
observations, any credence was attached to the truth of
the matter. Take it altogether, it is certainly the most
astounding atmospherical wonder in this part of the
world, and will doubtless afford abundant food for

 

thought, researca, and observation not only among scien-
tific men, Dut ail classes. :

 

BY REV. A. MELROY WYLIE,

 

We turn our faces toward this as our Mecca. It ig
eae an American institution. Other peoples

ave their services of the Harvest Home, but we
have the Thanksgiving Day.

The day is tinged by our democratic and republi-
can spirit. We believe that power comes from the
people, so we make the spirit of this day center in
the family circle. So the Yankee of the Yankees,
turns toward his Pumpkin-pies, and every boat and
car rushing ‘“‘to hum,” is crowded and crammed with
the returning pilgrims, and the sons of the pilgrims.

And the Keystoneite and Southerner have heard the
significant echo of the last gobble or cackle and his
nostrils scent afar the clouds of incense arising from
the body of the savory fowl.

We believe that the history and philosophy of
Pumpkin-pies the world does not understand. The
whole subject ought to be set forth for the enlighten-
ment of mankind.

To-day the Republic of France owes—how much
we dare not say—to pumpkin pies. Ifit were not so,
how came it thatthe very morning after we arrived
in Paris about this blessed season, my thoroughly
Yankee friend—he might have stood for the likeness
of the traditional Yankee in every feature and in form
ae eben turning over his plate at the hotel table,
uncovered an advertisement intended to pilot him to-
ward the very institution, which he, in his dreadful
simplicity, thought existed nowhere out of the Moth-
er Colony. Here was a genuine rocker from the Cra-
dle of Liberty—a restaurateur of the undying hunger
for human rights.

And what, pray you, do you suppose it was?

Why, sir, it-was a salon of pumpkin pies, to say
nothing of brown bread and baked beans.

Napoleon, argus-eyed though he was, yet over-
looked the entrance of this lever of liberty. He sup-
pressed the press, but he forgot the pies; and pies he
should not have despised,

And now, by an inevitable sorités—which is a chain
of reasoning not a link of which can be broken—the
result surely followed on.

Do you suppose that Pumpkin pies could exist as a
fact in Paris without proving a magic center to draw
aroundit the full circle of the Spirits of Liberty.

Those. Pies were tolerated for years, and Pies
(Pumpkin” don’t forget) drew after them Thanks-
giving Day; first observed in the sixth story, then it
came up by coming down untilit reached the first
floor, and then, naturally, it stalked forth, full grown,
into the street—it ee in the allies and lanes, and
then it lodged in the Boulevards.

Of course, if the P.. Pie drew in Thanksgiving Day,
Thanksgiving Day, drew inthe recital of mercies,
and no Yankee circle could exist uniess the Pilgrims
and the Msy Flower, and Plymouth Rock—Rights of
Congcience, Civil and Religious Liberty, et id omne
genus—made up that circumference.

Pumpkin Pies were the apex and pinnacle, and
lines ran from that point, drawing to the base all the
logical conclusions of Human Rights,

Hence, to-day, the French Republic owes its exist-
ence, a8 Napoleon does his overthrow, to the eating
of Yankee stewed fruit, put to bed between two
blankets, composed of shortened crust, or rather,
built upon “the under-crust.”

The Under-Crust rules, and this is true democratic-
republicanism,

All hail! this day of domestic pilgrimages. Let
boats and cars be crowded with thankful faces, from
which the cares of the year glide off, as the ava‘anche
from the mountain side. Let the sweet fragrance of
well-basted turkey arise from the altar of home and
hospitality, reconsecrated by joyful tears of domestic
affection. :

Let our faces be turned reverently toward this
blessed symbol of our highest institutions—treedom
of Church and freedom of State.

The Country of Thanksgiving Day has given us
‘Home sweet Home,” and so Jong as Home is conse-
crated with the spirit of Christian Thankfulness, we
fear not for the continued prosperity and existence
- boned which is most dear to every true American

eart.

This day the anxious citizen, who has long been
immersed in . the cares, of business, comes forth to
air his virtues in the sun-light of thankfulness,
and the man who will move through this world’s
ocean of care unsaturated and unsunk, must use the
essenceof thankfulness as the duck overspreads his
feathers with the secreted oil. The oil of thankful-
ness preserves the exquisite hues, which otherwise
would ke bleached away in the watery element of
worldliness, and prevents the man from being soaked
and submerged as to his higher nature.

But he must have these seasons, in which he may
emerge, and take time to overlay his life with this
shielding essence. It is the atmosphere which he
can carry with him when he dives again,such asa
spiritual nature can breath, and in which it can be
kept alive. /

All hail |’again the day of family reunions—of mul-
titudes thronging to the gates of praise—of the
sweet minglings of domestic and religious affections
—of thankful reviews of mercies in the past, and of
hopeful resolutions for the future.

What though some do abuse its intent? There
are those who abuse and pervert to the ends of self-
ruin, every institution intended for their development
into a higher and better manhood. Only let each of
us see to it that our Thanksgiving season shall be
spent in the purifying atmosphere of affections’ holy
sympathies—spent in the exercises of the higher
tastes and appetites, and not amid the gross gratifi-
cations of mere sense and sensualness.

Let us be men, moving upward upon the rising
plane of pure and thankful hope, and not animals, or
worse, moving ever downward, by a perpetual abuse
of our noble institutions.

ati ag ee

REMARKABLE DREAMS.
DREAM TOLD BY A NEW YORK OFFICIAL.

BY J. ALEXANDER PATTEN.

 

 

A gentleman, of New York, who held a high position in
the New York Custon House, during the administration
of Millard Fillmore, made the following revelations to the
author of these papers. We give it in hisown words:

“T can tell you,” he said, ‘‘something remarkable in the
way ofadream. It is a romance connected with the New
York Custom House. One day a person came to me for
an appointment in my department, bearing a letter from
the then President, Zachary Taylor. The letter stated
that the bearer had served with courage in Mexico, and
was thus deserving well of his country. Furthermore,
the President stated 1t would be a favor to him if a place
were found for the gentleman. Of course a person com-
ing thus endorsed was not to be turned away. I owed
my Own appointment to General Taylor, and I was not
disposed to disregard any application from him for what
he called a favor, but which he might have made a com-
mand.

“From the letter I turned to the individual, whom, for
the purpose of my story, I will cali Captain Morris. He
was a fine-looking man of about thirty-five years of age.
He had a most agreeable face, and his manners were
most gentlemanly. I was never more pleased in my life
with a stranger. He talked well, his manner was easy
and polite, and, in truth, he quite fascinated me. I con-
cluded that government would gain a most competent
official, and I a most agreeable subordinate. [I had a
place, as it happened, but I should have made one in any
event, Consequently in afew days the gentleman was
duly installed at his desk, as one of Uncle Sam’s retain-
ers at: the Custom. House.

“Strange to relate, I could not dismiss Captain Morris
from my mind. During business hours, and when at
home, his genial face was like a picture before me. 1
could not tell why, and I began to be annoyed by the cir-
cumstance, Whenever we met in official intercourse he
was the same bland and polished person of the first inter-
view. But I began to dislike him. I thought I detected
sinister lines in his countenance, and it seemed as if all
his courtesy was hypocritical. There was not, I confess,
a shadow of reason for these thoughts, but they were
certainly strange in view of what did transpire. Matters
went on this way forsome weeks. My dislike for Captain
Morris increased with every day, but I revealed it to no

one.

“One night [hadadream. I thought that I was at a
place called Military Garden, in Brooklyn; a place that
was located where the Court-House now stands, and
which was then a distant part of the city. It was a place,
as you will rembember, fitted up with boxes about the
extensive ground where people went for ice cream, to see
fireworks, and hear a brass band. Well, my dream had
me in one of these boxes, eating ice cream. While thus
engaged, I heard voices in the adjoining box, which were
evidently those of men. They talked very low, but as
there was only a slight partition, presently I caught a
word. Then I got another and another. They were of
such a nature that I considered & my duty to turn eves-
dropper, and get all that I possibly conld.

«Why, Captain Morris,’ said one of the voices, ‘you
don’t think to play that ere game with coves as old as us,
do you??

“eves; I have reformed,’ repkied the other. ‘I have
changed my name, now glory under it, and hope forever
more to live a respectable man.’

“Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed the other. ‘Look you, Bill—for
that's the name your old pals Knows you by—once a thief,
always a thief. I puts it to you in plain words, you see.
You can’t shake off from your old friends—/riends I say
in that ere manner. . You knows too much about what

 

they’ve done in time past, and at all events, they knows

“ ‘Impossible,’ criéd the other. :

“ ‘Don’t say that,’ was the reply. ‘Look you, Bill, I'll
make a heavy bet that vou will either Serve your old pals,
or they’ll strip your new name and fine feathers off of
you. Then where will you be? Look you, Bill, we don’t
get one of our gang into’a Custom-House appointment
every day. No, we don’t. Consequently, when we 4o,
we would be fools not to make the cove do ail the good
he can.’

“From the first I was transfixed with astonishment. I
not only recognized the voice of Captain Morris, my sub-
ordnate in the Custom House, but I heard him called by
name. Soon there was a movement, and the men were
evidently about to leave. I determined to watch them
further, and by making a motion to follow them Iawoke.
Istarted up in bed, and I was a moment or two before I
could fully realize the situation, I ‘believe that it was all
only a dream. However, I was deeply impressed by it;
I, on my way to the Custom House next morning could
think of nothing else. In my astonishment, Captain Morris
was not at his desk, and did not report during the entire
day. Of course my excitement increased, and I was
hadly able:to conduct business myself. Later in the day
an evening paper was placed on my desk, which I opened,
and there, in the public reports, found a narrative which
filled the full measure of my apprehensions, and also of
my astonishment.

“The night before, the very period of my dream, the
police had made the arrest of Captain Morris of the
Custom, House, but in reality a former member of a gang
of bank and jewelry store burglars. It was true, as the
account corroborated, that. he had been a soldier under
General Taylor in Mexico, where he had shown bravery.
But it was also stated that. he had been guilty of various
robberies in that country, and possibly murder. Having
determined to reform, he procured a letter. from General
Taylor, and had secured a position in the Custom House.
His old associates found him out, and concluded to make
use of him. They made an appointment with him, and
Offered him a quantity of watches, the proceeds of the
robbery of a Philadelphia jewelry store, which thy insist-
ed he should dispose of.. Officers were on the watch at
the time, and all the parties were arrested. Just before
going to press a confession had been obtained from Cap-
tain Morris, by which all the facts were made kno wn.
The result of the affair was that the parties to the rob-
bery were tried and convicted, and Morris was a witness
against them. He was of course obliged to leave the
country. At all events we never had the pleasuh of
seeing him again at the Custom Houes.’?

Such was the relation made to us. The paper of that day
fully bear out the remarkable story, with the exception of
the dream, which is now for the first time given to the

public.
THANKSGIVING.

A TEMPERANCE STORY.

“Mother, I hear them talk about Thanksgiving Day in
the street. What does it mean? Will anybody give us
anything then?”

She was so thin, so pale, 30 wan in face, the little girl
who asked this question, that anyone with a heart must
have felt pity, even in looking at her.. Want, cruel want
in form, feature and apparel—suffering, too plainly in
sight to be mistaken. Not over ten or eleven years of
age, yet furrows of care on her brow.

The mother did not look any better. She was wan and
Wweary-eyed, too thin to make a good shadow. Both wore
calico dresses, which were clean, but patched in many-
places, and so faded that the original color could not be
guessed at.

“Once a year, my child, the Governor issues a procla
mation, bidding all the people to respect a day which
Sect as atime for rejoicing, to thank God for his
gifts

“God’s gifts!” said the girl with a bitterness of tone
painful, ay, fearful in one so young. ‘What has He
given me but a drunken father who beats me almost to
death. What has He given you, but a brutal husband
who robs youof all youearn to feed his appetite for
drink!”

“Hush, Eva, hush!’ said the mother in a sob.

“7 will not hush, mother! Iam hungry, and hunger
will speak! We were both cold on this damp floor last
night, for re stole all we had to cover us. I hate every-
thing in the world but you!” -

“Poor Eva—I would die to save you from all this care
and suffering. Here take this—I valued it once, for it is
my wedding ring. Go sell it—do not pawn it—go sell it,
get the money and buy bread!’’

The mother took the ring—it was loose enough to drop
off—and gave it to the child. ;

The latter took it and wentout. She was bareheaded,
without a shawl, yet acold, November rain was falling.
She had nothing in the world but what she wore, no
matter how inclement it was.

‘Heaven, has it come to this!» moaned the poor wo-
man. “Once I was a petted child in an affiuent home.
For the rum-sodden being who has made my life a long,
long misery, I left that home. He once was manly, spoke
so fair and looked so noble, I could not help but love him
—for him brave a father’s wrath, for him endure disin-
heritance with a smile. For atime earth seemed like a
paradise of love—then the summer of my joy was gone,
and after came the weary winter of my wretchedness.
His appetite for drink has ruined him, driven me down—
down to sorrow’s lowest depth, to degradation’s darkest
shade! What—what more can be left for me to endure ?
Ah—his step—the loathsome creature comes!’?

A mMan—no, it is a libel on manhood to call such a be-
ing man—a creature with bloated face and form, ragged
in garments and filthy in person, staggered down the
basement steps into the dreary, fireless room. His blood-
shot eyes glared on her in a beast-like way, and ina
harsh, hoarse voice, he asked:

“Where’s Eva???

“She has gone to sell my wedding ring, and buy bread
with the money to Keep us from starviug,”? said the woe
man, as harshly as he.

“Good! Gone for money. I'll have one big drunk on
that,’’? he said, with a chuckle.

“+ Beast]!

It was the only word she uttered, but there was a vol-
ume of loathing disgust in her tone—enough to sink a
man to earth, in her look.

“Mary—my God! Has it come to this?’’ he gasped.

And cowering down upon the damp floor, he wept long
and bitterly—wept and sobbed asif all the heart he had
was breaking.

He had shed maudlin tears before in her presence—he
had made promises, only to break them—but he never had
wept as he did now.

He was sobbing when the little girl came in—weeping
on the floor harder than she had ever wept under his
cruel beatings.

“Mother, here is all I could get for it—one dollar,” she
said, and she held the money out in her thin hand.

The mother looked at that sobbing man. She expected,
as usual, that he would rise and demand the money, that
he might go and buy rum. He did not, but he continued
to weep.

“Go and geta loaf of bread, Eva, and be careful to
bring back the change,’’ she said, and she spoke loud
enough for him to hear.

His sobs grew lower and lower, but they seemed to
choke him, and he trembled as if in a fit.

The girl came back with the bread and change,

“Ninety cents! It is more money than I have had for
weeks !”’ said the mother.

The man heard her, but he did not rise, he did not
stop his weeping. His wife did not understand it.

Her sone softened, and she spoke his name.

“Henry!

He made no answer; but it seemed as if his sobs would
Trend his frame asunder.

“Henry! Poor Henry!’ And now she laid her thin hand
on his hot head. :

“A beast! Yes, l ama beast !? he gasped out, in chok-
ing sobs.

“You were once a good man, a kind husband, a loving
father, Henry!??

Her voice was soft and low.

“It is drink that has changed you. Here is money—you
have not asked for it—we have bread in the house now—
we had none when you took my last earnings. This is
8 price of our wedding ring. Go, drink it up if you
wish.

“Not if I could live a thousand years, and have an
ocean of drink before me, would I touch a drop again |”?
he cried. ‘‘You told the truth—rum has made me beastly.
I may die, but 1f I do, I will die a sober man !”

“Henry—dear Henry, is this real???

“So real that I will die before I break my oath, never to
taste strong drink again !’?

“Kiva-—Eva—thank God on your bended knees! You
have a Jather, I have ahusband! Run to the jeweler
where you sold that ring—run quick, and ask him to keep
it till 1 cam earn money to redeem it.”

The astonished child hurried to obey, while that weep-
ing wife lifted up the repentant man.

Away down in the depths of his ruam-degraded heart, a
spark of manly pride had been reached; enough of sense
was left to realise how beastly man might be; it wasa
harsh trial to reach it, but the work was done.

Thanksgiving Day came, and Eva Towneley learned
what it was. A sober father, a loving mother, sat down
with her, thankfully, to a better dinner than she had ever
eaten before. And it was earned by that father’s hands.

—_———— > 6 <--

HITcHCOCK’S HALF-DIME SHEET MUSIC has become
very popular, and deservedly, for the music is well printed on
music paper, well selected, and remarkably cheap. The ease
with which the masses can now procure good music has already
had the effect of elevating the public taste, and making many
acquainted with the masterpieces of the great composers, who
hitherto had to content themselves with “Shoo Fly,’ ‘Sheep
Meat’s Too Good for Niggers,” and such stuff. We are pleased
too learn that the enteryrising publisher, Mr. B. W. Hitchcock,
has made money on the music—that though his profits are ne-
cessarily small his sales are very large. He deserves his suc-
cess. He originated the cheap music system, he selected with
care, and he advertised with liberality. Tne public have ap-

preciated his tact and talent, and have generously sustained the
undertaking, which, at the beginning, looked so.unpromising—
that of selling sheet music at one-sixth the usual cost. In an-
other column will be found the catalogue of the music, vocal
and instrumental, which has been published in the Half-Dime

 

 

 

Series.” In the lengthy catalogue something will be found to
suit all tastes.

 

and wide sashes, with elaborate bows in center of the ivi Bees i ump- | t0o much about what you’ve been doing. You hid youself Wrestling Joe
back. Sleeves flowing and open, trimmed with the lace Tanastving ve frites ris and P P as your i name = the Seneee Coretta hae — :
2 : . was a good dodge. We never though K
and satin ribbon. Waist high-neck, with bretelles of lace for you. oon p ie g found you, we aie that you shall We notice a paragraph gaing the rounds of the papers
and satin. Rich lace collar, fastened with pin of pearls, make yourself useful to us.’ with the above heading. ‘The facts narrated therein were

in possession of our well known contributor, ‘““Ned Bunt-
line,” so long ago that he has a most thrilling and exciting
serial story under that title, nearly ready for publication,
Next week we will make further announcement,
9

To Correspondents.

Gossip with READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS. —
Never Mind Who.—We can furnish all the numsbers you want,
except No. 24.. The numbers will cost you $1.98........ Constunt
Reader.—let. It is not imperatively necessary that MSs. for
publication should be punctuatea; but a writer should do hig
utmost to make his writings perfect before they leave his
hands. 2d. See answer to “Invalid” m No. 2. 3d. The Rubicon
isa river of Central Italy, which rises on the borders of Tus-
cany and flows east to the Adriatic Sca. It is twenty miles in
length. The Rubicon was anciently regarded as the boundary
between [taly proper and Cisalpine Gaul. It is celebrated in
history on account of Cesar’s passage across it at the head of
his army, by which act he declared war against the Roman
Republic. 4ih. Penmanship passable........ Diamond.—The ac-
counts published in certain daily papers of diamond lands in
South Africa are cath sensational fabrications. We ad-
vise you and all others who think that fortunes can be made by
diamond hunting in Africa to stay at home, and seek fortune in
the rich fields of our own land. In the latter you are certain of
making a good living, while in the former you are as sure of
disappointment........ Robt. Baxter writes: ‘‘I have been for the
past year reading your paper, and the more Tread ic the more I
want to read it. The week is very long to wait for it, but it is
so good when it comes that we cannot find any fault. Almos¢
every week you give us something new. The last story which
we read was good, but the new one is always better. I do not
think you can improve on Mrs. M. V. Victor's ‘Who Owned the
jewels’ or Mrs. Holmes’ ‘Leighton Homestead,’ nor, deed, on
any of the stories which are now running in the columns ot the
New York WEEKLY.”’—Your penmanship is very good.........
Geography —ist. The highest mountain peak in the world is Mt.
Everest, or Chingofanmara, which 1s 29,002 feet. This mountain
is one of the peaks of tne Himalaya chain of mountains, The
next highest mountain is another of the Himalaya chain, Kin-
chinjunga, which is 28,178 feet: high. 2d. The Amazon River, =,
though not the longest. river in) the world, is the largest. Its
length from its source is 3,944 miles. The Mississippi from its
source is 4,506 miles long. The Amazon at a distance of 2,830
from its mouth is 500 yards wide; at 2,325, it is three-quarters of
a mile wide; at 1,500 from its mouth it is from four to five miles

wide, and ten miles wide thirty-five miles above its mouth; ang 4

at its mouth, where a Jarge island divines the current, it is 1

miles wide. Its depth varies from 42 feet in the upper part of. a

its course to 312 feet at the Para mouth. So vast is the volume ©
which this river pours into the Atlantic, and so great the vio-
lence of its current, that its waters are said to remain uumixed
with those of the ocean for a distance of more than 200. miles
from the coast. The Amazon drains a territory of 2,500 000 square
miles, while the Mississippi drains a_ territory of but 1,237,311

square miles. The Indians calied the river near its mouth —

“Amassona,” “the boat. destroyer,” hence the name by which
the river is known tous. 3d. Lake Superior is the largest body
of fresh water in the world. Its greatest length is 360 miles; and
its greatest breadth 140 miles; iis entire area is 32,( square
miles. Its depth is about 1,000 feet, and the level of its surtace
above the sea is 627 teet. 4th. There are thirty-seven States in
the Union........ W: Oberlies.—Study some good author.........
A Young Contributor.—We shall commence the publication of Mr,
Alger’s story, ‘Abner Holden’s Bound Boy,’ in the course of
four or five weeks........ Inquisitive.—The fellow is a notorious
humbug........ Fe } n of 11 V

you the information. We wil) not discuss political questions in
the columns of the New York Wxrxxiy. 2d. Ox-marrow is the
best kind of grease to use........€. C. €.—We know nothing con-
cerning the man about whom you inquire.......John.—Ist. You
can get works on book-keeping at any book-store where educa-
tional works are sold. 2d. Yot ndwr
have modeled after a bad style of penmanship. 3d. We can
furnish the numbers.....-.....7ypo.—A notorious quack.........

‘oungster.—ist. Any history of the war will give /~

our handwriting is not good. You —

 

}

i4

Henry Dunbar.—There would be no impropriety in your asking |

a lady with whom you are on terms of intimacy to permit you
to visit her at her home......... H. M. Ludington.—ist. There is.
an army recruling office on Chatham street, New York. 2d. We
do not advise you to enlist in the army. So/diers do not receive
as much pay for a month’s service as mechanics get for one
week’s work. 3d. The New York WEEKLY js an older paper
than the one named; but.we are unable to say which is the
oldest literary paper in the United States......Zouisa Kleinpa:e.—
We could not use the story.......... €. D.—ist. Inquire of the
American News Co. 2%. Your penmanship is excellent.........
One of Your Readers.—This correspondent says that John G. Saxe
wrote a poem called “Early Rising,’ which begins with *‘God
bless the man who first invented sleep.” Ot course Mr. Saxe
quoted the expression from Cervantes, who puts it in'the mouth
of sage Sancho Panza....... Mack.—We may republish the story,
but several years must elapse first........ --Gtpsy Queen.—Ist. For
recipes for “how to crysalize wire,” “how to destroy vermin on

lants,”? and “a cure for neuralgia,” see ‘‘Kuowledge Box.”
Ba. You should treat him a little coldly, refuse to see him occa-
sionally, and cease permitting his engaging your time to the
exclusion of those who are more in earnest than he. If he
means to make you his wife he will see that you are tired of his
dilly-dallying, and will at once speak the words you wish to
hear. If he has no serious intentions, of course he will become
offended, and probably cease visiting you, thus giving place to
some man whois not a “laggard inlove.” 2d. Your penman-
ship is good......... Not the ‘or.—Ist. In the great majority
of peopte the eyebrows are separated; butit is not unnatural
for them to be Connected. 2d. Lying on the right side in bed is
said to promote health. 3d. We have not the slighest doubt but
thatif you have patience, and at the ‘same time caress and
fondle the few hairs you haye on your upper lip, you will in
time be blessed with a luxuriant mustache. If you wish your,
mustache to grow soft and silky, do not shave it off......... q
Geo. J
of the popular dance........Unser Fritz.—The association is a
quack concern....St. Undo Brand.—Ist. The best time for exercis-
ing with Indian clubs 1s in the morning, immediately after get-
ting out of bed. Fifteen. minutes’ exercise. with the clubs each
day, is sufficient. 2d. We think two weeks as much time as is
necessary for you to. make your preparations for attending a
surprise party. 3d. You should go from one store to another
and make personal applications for,employment. Your must
seek for a situation, as a situation will not seek for you........
Annie.—Ist. It is not considered in good taste for people dressed
in mourning, to visit theatres and public shows. Custom pre-
scribes the wearing of mourning for a year, and the refraining
from theatres, balls, etc., for the same period. 2d. We cannot
tell you where to get the poem,..... Wick of tke Woods.—When 2

holiday falis upon Sunday it is observed on Monday, and all ae

presents should be given on the day of its observance........
....Holly R. Persinger.—Ist. The nnmbers for which you sent
were mailed from this office for St. Paris, Ohio, on the llth of

October. We have again mailed the papers to your present ad- _
dress. 2d. The star is dimly shining. It is an evening star at¢y
present. 3d. Mrs. Mary Jane Holmes is the proper naine of the

writer who has been so long a favorit with all our readers. 4th.
Your handwriting would be good, were it a little larger and
bolder in style. 5th. There are but few grammatic errors in
your note........ A Sorrowing Brother.—Minnesota Is regarded as
the best place on this continent for the residence of consump-
tives. In climate, Minnesota is favoréd beyond most lands in
the same latitude. The winters are cold, but clear and dry, and
the fall of snow is light; the summers are warm, with. breezy
nights, during which occur most of the rains; and the general
purity and salubrity of the climate recommend Minnesota as
aresidence tor invalids—especially those afflicted with lung
complaints........ o Owns the Jewels.—Ist. Your penmanship
is fair, and the first specimen is the better of the two; but you
will never be a good writer until you learn to make each letter
distinct, and you should avoid all ornamentation. The: first ob-
ject of all writing is, that it shall be easily read.: Now the
plainer you write the easier will your writing be to read........ ‘
Wm. A, Wilson.—You will have seen, it you have read this
column, that another of our correspondents has kindly informed |
us of the poem in which the line occurs. We thank you for your |
kind offer, but decline it, as we can procure the gentleman’s

yeines without putting you to the trouble of forwarding &
Ol 2S

m t B. e.—Quacks Roy.—Ilst. We,do not*
know the number of state-rooms in the steamer named. 24d.
Charles {1I. of Spain ruled from i759 to 1788... .Carry Waldron.—~
ist. The best time of day to take exercise isin the morning; but
evening exercise is much better than no exercise. 2d. A quack.
3d. There is no average hight for a boy of seventeen. 4th
From $200 up to $30,000..,.Albany.—The lady should not go te
parties, theatres, and balls, under the circumstances, accompa:
nied by any gentleman not anear relation...... Peter Snooke.—
Ist. The Inquisition was a tribunal established in the countries
of the south of Europe to search out and to try heretics, as well
as persons charged with certain other offenses against morality
or the canons of the church. 2d. ‘Auto da fe” (a Portuguese |
phrase signifying “Act of faith’) a public day held by the 1n-

uisition for the punishment of heretics, and the absolution of
the innocent accused. The term is also applied to the sentence
of the inquisition read to the condemned just before execution,
and to the session of the court of inquisition..;...Faithie Lee.—
ist. You would probably be able to get the photographs of all
the members of the royal family of England from any exten-
sive dealer in photographs. 2d. “Hortense” is a French name. \
and pronounced ‘‘or-tongss;” the English form of the name 3
“Hortensia”’ (‘““Hor-ten-she-ah”’).
lish and a French name. The English name is pronounced
“jen-e-veev,” and the Fresich name ‘‘zhen-e-ve-aiv.”? —“‘Geral-
dine” is pronounced ‘‘jer-al-deen.”’. .... Charles Dargan.—\st. Hero
Strong is a native of the United States. We shall shortly com-
mence the publication of a beautiful story from_the pen of. this
favorite writer. 2d. A new story by “Ned Buntline”
will be commenced in the New York Wererxkty in e
course of a few weeks, 3d. ‘fhe Flower of Suda,” by
Mr. and Mrs. Leon Lewis will be commenced shortly......
Isle of Man.—lst. You will find such works in any book store
where educational works are sold, or you can get them through
the American News Co. 2d. Your penmanship is good enough
for office work...... . 7. @.—ist. We think your music ofa kind
to attract popular attention. It is simple and melodious, and
gives promise of much finer performanees than any which you
have yet given to the public. 2d. We believe the paper died
some three or-four years ago...... Petroleum.—The company
which you name was, if our memory does not play us false, &
swindle...... A.C. L., W.—We can fill our columns with matter
more generally entertaining than puzzles, enigmas. &c., ecnse-
quently. we must decline complying with your request..... i

old Premium.—The highest premium which gold attained was
on the 16th of July, 1864, when $1 in gold sold for $2.85 in cur-
rency, ; 3... Shoo Fly.—Ist. The fare from New York to Chicago is
$25. 2d. The Delaware and Hudson Canal Company’s railroad
is the one on which the first locomotive was employed in this
country. The engine was put on the road in the latter part of —
the summer of 1829. 3d. ‘L’amour’ is the French for “the
love.”’ 4th. Your writing wonld be regarded by most women
as an impertivence..... -Aspirant.—The government would fur-
nish the transportation, and would also sustain you during the
four years you remained in the academy. Your being poor will
not be the least hindrance to your admission should you be so
fortunate as to obtain an Speen ere Yonng Eventuality.—
ist. The whole Mosaic law is contained principally in the 2d and
3d, and repeated in the 5th book of the Pentateuch. 24. You
can find the translation in the libraries,..... Rachel.—Wash them
in lemon juice, and rub a little glycerin on when going to bed.
ene Lamp King.—Your compositions are far below the stand:
ard of excellence necessary to gain admission to the columns of
the New York WHEKLY...... Charcoal Sparks. —You will find the
poem in the Singer’s Journal...... Davenport.—Your handwriting
is good, and would be better were you to omit the flourishes.....
The following MSS. have been read and accepted: ‘True Unto
Death,” “Fairy Nellie,” and ‘A Good Woman.”...... The fol-
lowing are respectfully declined: ‘‘Death Parts Us,” “A Frag-
ment,” ““To Madame,” “One Year Older,” ‘First Song of Love,”
“Hope,” “Lines by Eric,”? “Edna,” ‘‘Longings,” “A Night of
Terror,” ‘‘Drunkard’s Farewell,” ‘By Chance,” and “Acrostic.”

—_——>-9-+____
EXCHANGES.—Friends—in our city dailies, in our coun:
try exchanges as well, we very often see sketches, poems,
editorials, &c., &c., for which we have paid liberally, cop-
ied entire, without credit. We are glad to be of use to
you, but when we pay such men as Josh Billings and

others, the first writers of the day, large sums of money
for their labor, we ask you, who use these labors gratis,
if itis not just we should have the. credit of bringing
the gems to light, whieh you borrow and wear, Please,
then, say, when you copy our original articles, that you
take them from the “NEW YORK WEEKLY.’? We do not
ask it as a pulf—we need none—we ask it as a 7ight from
man to man.

 

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(Ee NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

 

5

 

 

 

onan

TRUE AS LOVE COULD MAK HER,

 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.

“True as love could male her,”
Oh! what depths of truth weré theré—
How her woman’s heart was glorified
By love, true love, so rare!
How her soul went ott to all things,
In the heavens and in the earth,
When the one love of her lifetime,
Pure and beautiful, had birth.

“True as love could make her,’?
Oh! what tender thoughts arise,
As we watch the cheek so blushing,

And the downeast, dewy eyes!

Akin unto the angels

That are watching at her bed,
With a portion of their halo

Round her young and shining head.

“True as love could make her,”

Love and truth are both from heaven;
Blest indeed the happy mortal

To whom love and truth are given.

 

WHO

Owned the Jewels?

OR. THE

Heiress of the Sandal-Wood Chest,

Mrs. M. V. Victor,

Author of “THE DEAD LETTER,”
> ‘PIGURE BIGHT.”

PART IL-THE BARON’S JEWELS

 

[“Who Owned the Jewels’? was commenced in No. 49. Back
Nos. can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.

CHAPTER VI.
AT THE OPERA, AND AFTER.

It was the night “The Hugenots” was brought - out in
New York forthe firsttime. It wasthe winter of the
crisis; there was plenty of suffering in the city; some
good men kept soup-houses open for the poor; but; as
always, there were many who did not feel the disasters of
the autumn—enough of the gay and music-loving com-
munity to assist in bringing out a newand expensive
opera.

The price of tickets was high for the opening night; but
the house was crowded. Mr. Catherwood’s box was filled
with an especially brilliant company. Camilla, Ethelda,
each beautiful in her way, and ravishingly dressed—
George, Mr, Scranton, “Lord” Lytton, Mr. Catherwood,
looking a king among princes—there was no handsomer
group in the Academy that evening.

Camilla in a rose-colored robe, with a white veivet
opera-cloak thrown back from her superb shoulders; dia-
monds and pearls; with a rose-colored fan, a rose in her
dark hair, and two in her cheeks, was looking her very
best. Ethelda in blue and white, with a pearl necklace,
and her sunny hair lighting up her graceful head like a
coronet, was equally lovely, if tess brilliant. There was a
smile on her lip anda faint blush on her cheek called
there by some words of Mr. Scranton. Ethelda’s girlish
dream was stillof the olive-faced artist, so variable in
his moods, so different from other men, but she could
hardly remain entirely indifferent to the delicate, assid-
uous attention of a gentleman like De Vere Scranton,
Whose admiration all women esteemed a compliment
and whose love many would have vainly aspired to.

In the gallery was another group contrasting with that
in the box below as little likely to attract attention as the
other was to repel it. A young man, a youth, a young
gir), all deeply interested in the music, thinking nothing
of their plain dress or the impression they might make on
strangers, At least this was the case with the youth and
his sister, who, absorbed with the music and the scenes
upon tie stage, took no note of the real life enacted
about them, and thus remained, for .some time, uncon-
scious that their companion’s attention was centred upon
the occupants of the box we have described.

“It was grand!’ sighed Leora Duleth as the curtain
came down at theclose of anact. “You knowI have
never been to an opera before, fond as | am of music. It
fairly takes away my breath.’? She whispered this to the
artist, at her side, but perceiving that’ he did not hear
her and that his expressive face wore a half-sarcastic,
half-admuring expression, her eyes followed his until they
rested upon Camilla Catherwooa.

Atterthat, not even the scene upon the stage had such
fascination for her as that bright, bewitehing face,
crowned With its dark hair and roses and diamends.

How splendid was the whole party! Courtly gentle-
men, beautiful ladies. Did Mr. Grey know. them? It
must be that he did from the way he looked at them.
Yes! there was a face she had seen before!—the lovely
face of the lady who had’come once to their door, asking
for Mr. Grey—not troubled now, as it was then, but beam-
ing with the sweet satisfaction of knowing itself loved
and admired. While she watched it, Hthelda Ashleigh,
looking up by chance, recognized Mr. Grey, blushed,
bowed and smiled.

Leora felt that these bright beings lived in a different
world from her’s. She grew sad with envy and longing;
she was tired of life, tired of hardships and self-denial,
tired of misery, sickness, madness!—the only portion
doled out to her in her short and yet long years. Was it
any wonder? ’

The man by her side, the only one person on earth who
represented to her something of that brighter and happier
existence on which she now gazed—the one who had
come into then dull home bringing with hima ray of
outer sunshine—and who had hence become to herthe
representative of earth’s best gifts—sat now by her side,
forgetful of her very presence, heedless of her pleasure,
wrapped in a study of the minor drama played in the box
below.

What would Leora Duleth have thought had she been
told that the lovely fair-haired girl smiling in that box,
looking to her little less than an angel, was breaking her
heart, in that hour, from envy of her? Of Leora, who
sat by Oliver Grey, herself as beautiful a creature as ever
brightened that bright place, despite her dark merino
dress, and her plain little hat.

When Oliver did turn at last, with that winning smile
of his, to ask Leora her impressions of her first opera,
Ethelda saw the smile, the look of interest, the tender-
ness of his manner—the tenderness of a brother, but not
so to her jealous apprehension—and would have given
her place in that distinguished group gladly, eagerly, to
be that poorly-attircd, beautiful girl whom the artist
found worthy of such attention.

“She has not succeeded thus far in drawing the Eng-
jishman from his first love,’? was Oliver’s sarcastic com-
ment as he marked the hundred little arts of Camilla to
keep Mr. Scranton to herself. The trouble with Oliver
was that in loving a woman unworthy of him he re-
mained capable of criticising her at the same time that
her beauty and graces of manner enthralled him.

He enjoyed a sardonic pleasure in witnessing the fail-
ure of Camilla’s ambition to conquer Ethelda’s admirer;
he despised the smaliness and selfishness of the motive;
yet he madiy loved every movement, every smile, every
curve, every flash of the dark eyes of the enchantress
binding him in spite of his judgment and his will.

Presently Ethelda whispered to George, who looked up
and nodded at his friend Oliver, and then fixed a long
stare upon Miss Duleth. Oliver resented this stare by
scowling down upon George until he made him under-
stand it, when the latter withdrew his gaze only to renew
it again and again as opportunity offered.

“Your power over my friend the landscape painter has

- yanished like a dream of the night,’? whispered George

to his sister. ‘You have a rival; and by the goddesses of
old, she’s a beauty! That’s the girl I told you about.”

“where?”?

“In the gallery—straight in front of you.”

Camilla looked up at the unfashionable gallery. She
saw Oliver, and by his side a modest young girl in almost
mean attire; with a brow smooth, white, and low, cur-
tained by waves of golden, bronze hair, such as painters
love, the features of a youthful Diana, and an expression
of passionate “sadness and longing, akin to pain.” A
face in ten thousand! Not only exquisitely modeled, but
full of sentiment.

Miss Catherwood could detect the charm and acknowl-
cee it to herself, despite the dark merino dress and plain

at.

‘“T trust he has found some one suited to him in all re-
‘spects,’? she whispered toGeorge. ‘She’s a pretty girl, a
child, rather. Will make him a saving and industrious
wife, no doubt.’’

Her lip still curled as she looked again, meeting a bow
from Mr. Grey. A few moments later the curtain fell at
the close of an act, and Oliver excusing himself to his
companion went down and paid a visit to the Cather-
wood’s box.

‘He is one of them,” thought Leora, her heart flutter-
ing. ‘It does not surpriseme. He appears better than
anyof them. They are allso gracious tahim; but it does
not affect him. Ah, I saw it the moment I found him
looking at her. He loves her. Does she love him? I
think the fair-haired one likes him very much—but not
the one he loves. Will, oh, how beautiful she is !”

Who???

“The young lady in the box whom Mr. Grey is speaking
to—dark hair, and diamonds in it. Mr. Grey has been
disappointed in love, I knew long ago, by his melancholy,
and—and—well, I thought so! And now, Will, that is the
lady, Iam sure of it!” j

“You need not excite yourself so ever it, if it is,” an-
Swered her brother, with superb indifference. ‘1 think
Mr. Grey able to take care of himself, She'll hardly
break lis heart so but that it will grow together again,”
and he fell to amusing. himself with the audience in gen-
oll, while Leora, with a heavy sigh, sank back in her
Seat.

This visit to the opera was Mr. Grey’s ‘‘treat.”” He had
Sold a picture unexpectedly, receiving a generous price
for it; and in the exhileration of this brief affluence had
resolved to do what he had long desired—take Leora to
the Academy, He fancied he should be well repaid by
studying the impression made upon her music-loving na-
ture by she opera. Seats in the gaWlery would best betit
their dress and circumstances, and since they went only

ee ee Sati sars iano Nahe oe aE LE a Oe

 

for the music, be quite as satisfactory as orchestra chairs.
A neighbor having been induced to sit with Mrs. Duleth,
the young people had set forth gaily on their adventure,
Leora in the happy mood of a child whom a fairy is con-
ducting into Wonderland.

But when they had gained the magic-land, behold! her
prince paid no heed to the study of the emotions of the
maiden by his side.

One glance at Camilla Catherwood, in her father’s box,
surrounded by galants, dressed in velvet and diamonds,
had undone all.

Since the evening of the dinner-party Oliver had been
a@ constant visitor at Mr. Catherwood’s; that is, he spent
an evening of every week at his house, and usually when
Camilla had company he was invited.

George, who went frequently to spend an afternoon at
his friend’s studio, had told her of the young beauty of
Locust Place, so that Camilla had two objects of interest
connected with Mr. Grey—was he as poor as he pretended,
and had she a rival?

When Oliver returned to Leora’s side, all the gayety
which he had brought with him had vanished. As usual,
Camilla had contrived to make him miserable.

“You see her?!” he whispered; ‘‘the lady I have some-
times spoken to you about. Is she not as fair ast des-
cribed her???

“Sheis beautiful as a dream,’? murmured Leora.

“See how attentive those men are to her every word.”

“It does not surprise me.”

“She has a right to be haughty and untameable.”

“Not to you, Mr. Grey.”’ é :

“To me, little Leora. Ha, ha! perhaps you imagine I
am some great man? a hero of many virtues? But Miss
Catherwood knows better. She sees me as iam. A poor
artist, in an old-fashioned coat, with a rough manner and
an ill temper.’

“You have an angel’s heart, Mr. Grey.”

“Only in your too-grateful eyes, my dear child. Ah!
Leora, I wish we could find the jewels!’

“Do you think they would buy her??? asked Leora—she
did not mean to put the question so plainly, but it came
to her lips.

‘Don’t you learn to be harsh and skeptical, little
Leora.” ,

“Oh, nos I could not be harsh to her since you love her,
Mr. Grey. I do wish you could find your property. I
have been thinking, since they say papa is so much better
in the asylum, that if we should bring him home fora
few days or hours, perhaps he would now tell us what he
has done with it.’?

“If you say so, I will go out to the asylum to-morrow
and ask the doctor what he thinks of the experiment.
You know they report him as having entirely recovered
from what they considered a temporary aberration of
mind, brought on by anxiety.”’

The turbulent music of the last act clashed about them.
Will called Leora’s attention to the stage, and all became
avsorbed in the stormy harmonies and the magnificent
spectacle—all save Oliver, who, in a mood to which all
this excitement ministered, gazed unwinkingly at Ca-
milla, quite unconscious of his regard in the interest of
the new opera. !

That night Oliver thought a good deal of the suggestion
to bring Mr. Duleth home, and try if they could not wile
him into a confession. It. was quite likely that the au-
thorities would discharge him before many days, as they
already reported him cured. All things considered, he
decided it best to wait until they did so, so that no possi-
ble blame could attach to himself in case of any violence
following Duleth’s freedom.

It was hard for. him to wait, even a week or two. He
had almost ceased to hope for the restoration of the gems,
and life was so intolerable to him in his present circum-
stances, that only his deep interest in the Duleths had
kept him in America this long.

To fly to a foreign land, there to try and outlive his love
for Camilla Catherwood, was his purpose. He could not
bring himself to tell this to Mrs. Duleth and Leora, while
they clung to himso; butif Duleth should come home
cured, and the money and gems were irrevocably gone,
he resolved that he would no longer delay carrying out
his intentions. :

He told Leora, the day after the opera, that he would
wait until her father was sent home—not make matters
worse by hurrying them.

The following Saturday proved to be the day of John
Duleth’s discharge. Mr. Grey went out after him while
ieora remained at home to prepare a tempting supper,
her heart throbbing with joy and gratitude at the pros-
pect of her dear father being restored to them—cuwred.
For the physicians had declared him a sane man.

Leora did not have many feast days, but this she re-
solved to make one of them. Having obtained her moth-
er’s approval of the plan, she sat a small table in the
invalid’s room, in order that all might be together at this
glad re-union. Mr. Grey had sent home a few flowers,
sweet but not very expensive, and these gave the arrang-
ments a festal air. No care was spared in the cookery of
the dainty, if not sumptuous repast. At twilight all was
in readiness, and Leora watching at the window above,
while Will waited in the office ready to rush forth at
the appearance of the carriage.

Mrs. Duleth in a white wrapper, embroidered by her
daughter’s fingers, her transparent cheeks flushed with
unusual color, her eyes shining with the deathless love
of a faithful nature for the companion of her youth, re-
clined among her pillows looking so beautiful that many
times Leora turned to gaze upon her with an admiration
that was almost awe.

“Mother, you are perfectly lovely to-night,” she said, at
length, stealing up and kissing the cheek which bloomed
as inits maiden days.

“I feel perfectly happy, Leora. I am not in any pain;

while 1 enjoy such freedom from nervousness—such peace, ’

as is to me happiness of itself. I have not felt so well in

years.?? “
“Father will fall in love with you,’”? said Leora, glee-
fu

lly. 4

0 premonition of evil checked the pleasure of auticipa-
tion.

The doctors had said that her dear father was cured.
She was quite certain the doctors had experience enough
to Know what they asserted. He might get ill again—
especially if he were worried and troubled. But that he
shoulda never be! She and Will could take care of the
family now! They would do it. Father should never be
perplexed and overworked. Father shall never be driven
insane by over-anxiety—never again! They know the
danger now; and to be forewarned was to be forearmed.

All these loving resolutions crowded the worn heart
like birds in a nest. Not a shadow—not a shudder of
presentiment!

At last carriage-wheels rattled through the silence of
Locust Place, and drew up before the door. She looked
down and saw her father, gently assisted by Mr. Grey,
who paid the driver, while Will ran out to embrace Mr.
Duleth and lead him in.

Leora wanted, ‘‘dreadfully,’’ as girls say, to fly down
the stairs to meet them. But it had been resolved that
quietness should mark all their proceedings; there must
be nothing exciting, in act or conversation, to increase
the agitation which Mr. Duleth must inevitably feel in
simply coming home. So she waited until the wraps
were taken off below, and Mr. Grey came up with the
convalescent; then she stepped out into the hall, and
said, ‘‘dear father,’”? holding up her cheek, in childish
fashion, to be kissed; as he passed on into the room, re-
maining behind a little time, till she had wiped the tears
from her eyes and subdued the tremble in her voice.

When she went into the chamber she saw that her
father had gained in flesh and color; he did, indeed, look
very well, and his countenance brightened more and
more as he sat by his wife’s bed-side, holding her hand,
and enjoying the sight of his daughter placing on the
table the tea and hot dishes which she had prepared.

“Ign’t mother pretty to-night ?’? Leora whispered tw Mr.

rey.

“T have been remarking it. Mr. Duleth, too, is in bet-
ter health than | have ever seen him.””

“Does he seem quite as he used to, before—you know ?”?

“J have not detected the slightest aberration, thus far.
We had a very pleasant, animated conversation on the
way here.’?

“Come, papa, supper is on the table.
hungry.”’

“Tam always hungry when you have chickens fried in
this style, Leora—the Southern fashion; and a most ex-
cellent one. Shall I sit here?—that’s right; for now I can
eat and look at your mother, too,”’

It was a merry little supper. Everything went. off
pleasantly;.and it was a novelty and delight to have Mrs.
Duleth present. Only ence, Oliver Grey, looking up sud-
denly, beheld Mr. Duleth gazing at his wife with an ex-
pression which startled him. Stil, it passed in a mo-
ment, and he persuaded himself that he had not seen
what he had seen.

Afterward, when he recalled it, he reproached himself
for trusting @ man capable of such an expression—a
subtle deviltry of covert meaning—a look without one ray
of love in it, but bright with gloating malice, and sly with
secret resolution.

Mrs. Duleth did not perceive it. For one evening of her
painful, prison life she was happy, body and mind.

Oliver was like one of her own children; and far more
helpful than Will—full of magnetic strength, knowledge
of the world, force. of character. To-night he exerted
himself to please as sincerely as if surrounded by the
most prosperous of his friends. No allusion was made to
the missing treasure, nor any reference to the wants and
troubles of the family. After sitting long at the table
Oliver played a game of chess with Mr. Duleth, while Will
and Leora carried the things down stairs. Duleth was a
ee player, quickly beating his adversary the first

attie.

“We will have time for another before Leora is ready to
sing for us,’? said the chemist. ‘Suppose we stake
something on this game—say the baron’s jewels—I pro-
pose we play for the baron’s jewels.”

He did not smile, as ifin jest; Oliver, wishing to avoid
that subject, shook his head, saying, hastily:

“Let 1t be an oyster supper, Mr. Duleth. Whoever
loses shall provide a supper to-morrow night, to be en-
joyed in this room, with madam’s permission,” bowing to
Mrs. Duleth.

_His opponent made no reply, but placed the men in po-
sition, and betook himself to the game with intense ear-
nestness, Again he was the winner; for, although con-
sidered a tolerable player, the artist was nol such a mas-
ter of the game as his companion

“We shall have to partake of another supper here to-
morrow,” Oliver: laughingly announced to Leora when
she returned to the room. ‘Your father has won the
oysters.”?

“And now, my girl, I have been pining to hear you
sing these six weeks. Bring your guitar.”

Thus, for an hour or two more they enjoyed themselves
—the deep exquisite enjoyment of peace after sorrow—
calm after storms.

Leora could have lingered all night, tasting the sweets
of this rare cup; but she felt that her mother would soon

I hope you are

| focus of attention.

 

grow fatigued, and about ten o’clock proposed to break
up the litte party.

Something disturbed the thoughts of two or three, but
yet neither one of these wished to give it expression. The
doctors at the asylum had pronounced their’ patient en-
tirely restored to hisright mind. He certainly appeared
as sane as the sanest. Under such circumstances it was
a delicate matter to hint at any lack of trust in him.

Probably it would not have been thought of had Mrs.
Duleth been a well woman. Utterly helpless as she was,
a slight chill ran through Oliver’s veins, as he thought of
her husband occupying the room adjoining her’s, at full
liberty to come and go at his will.

He glanced at the lady to observe if any doubts op-
pressed her, The light of love was in her eye, the flush of
pleasure on her cheek. He contrived to speak with Will
in the hall:

“Will your father occupy his old room ???

“IT suppose so. Why, you do not 1? almost angrily,
but checking himself before he said more, ,

“All is right so far as 1 see, Will. Hush; here comes
Leora. I will not make her uneasy without cause.”?

Very often, when Mrs. Duleth was more unwell than
usual, Leora slept on a lounge in her room. She offered
to do so that night, but the invalid felt sure she should
have no need of her.

‘I will speak to your father if lshould want anything.
But I feel as if I were going to sleep all night. Yes, Le-
ora, 1am like: a tired chile, to-night. I believe I shall
enjoy the dreamless, untroubled sleep that used to be
mine when alittle girl. Your father says he would like
to go to bed immediately. He thinks he shall rest well.’’

“T shall sleep like a top,’’ said Duleth; he was looking
at himself in the dressing-room mirror as he said it, and
laughing.

“Do you wish anything more, dear mother???

“Nothing, whatever, Leora. Pleasant ‘dreams, and God
be with you, my darling.”

“Good-night, Leora. Pleasant dreams, and God be
with you, my darling.”

“Good night, dear father,” looking up at him quickly as
she spoke.

Was he mocking her mother’s tender words, or. was his
humor so fine that he was still in the mood for jesting, or
did he really feel the blessing and wish to bestow it up-
on her? It seemed, to her'startled ear, that she heard a
mocking tone inthe echo; but when she looked at her
father, he was smiling upon her with boyish gayety.

The house was scon apparently buried in repose; but
Leora, from some cause unexplainable to herself, could
not rest. Perhaps it was the mere power of association;
having herfather at home again brought back the old
feeling which had been so strong. on, her during those
dreadful nights of watciving and fearing which she had
undergone alone before his situation became palpable to
all. Once or twice she went outinto the hall and listen-
ed at his door. She could hear the gentle, reguiar preath-
ing of her mother through the open door of her chamber;
she heard, also her father’s heavier respiration, his door
also being on the Jatecn.

“How foolish Iam,’ she murmured, going back to her
couch, and creeping under the bed-clothes, but still
without undressing.

She laya long time staring out the window at the
large, bright stars twinkling through the frosty-clear air
—stars, pure and steady, shining down the same over.
the. snewy country-fields and the crowded city. The
wagons Ceased to rumble along the neighboring. streets;
the feet of passers-by to creak on the cold pavement—all
was silence, peace, and the light of stars—in the midst of
which care and serrow ceased to haunt ithe young girl’s
thoughts, and the sleepy lids came between her eyes
and the glimmering Sky. ;

Hark! what was that! :

Easily awakened, from long habit of attendance on an
invalid, Leora sprang up in bed and listened. Absolute
silence prevailed, until a bell in the neighborhood struck
three. It was a cold night, and she shuddered, as the
bed-clothing fell down from her shoulders. :

Hither she had @reamed it or she had. heard a sound—
a sigh, &@ moan, 2 word, ‘‘Leora!’? coming from her
mother’s room. She must have dreamed it, as the call
would be repeated.

She remained quiet a minute, listening; there was no
sound in the house; the cold made her tremble; she was
drowsy, and the inclination was strong upon her to lie back
without making the effort to investigate the cause of her
alarm. While she deliberated a boara creaked in the hall.

Leora sprang out of bed and ran into the hall. Mr.
Duleth, dressed, all but his boots, was just coming from
his wife’s apartment. She stopped and stared at him;
her voice was choked; she tried but could not speak.

“Are you up?” he asked, surprised.

“Yt thought I heard mother call,” she managed to say.

“All a mistake, Leora. Your mother never slept better
in her life. She wiil not wake up before morning, if she
does then. You need not goin. She does not want you,
and I’m going back to bed. She was obstinate, Leora—
very, very obstinate about the jewels. She was always
complaining; and saying [ had not looked in the right
place for them. Now, ske will fret no more. Go to bed,
child; I tell you she is sound asleep.”

He turned abruptly, entering his own room. He hesi-
tated, for.he seemed annoyed to find her up; but she was
always brave when there was a duty to be performed; she

 

could not sleep again nntilshe had taken a look at her.

mother and assured herself that all was well. As she
stole past her father’s deor she was. certain she heard
him putting on his boots. :

“Alas! his old restlessness is returning,” she thought.
“These sleepless ‘nights are as bad as possible for him.
The physicians should have ordered an effective sedative.:?

In Mrs. Duleth’s chamber a hight was always left, burn-
ing low. % 5

Her daughter, peeping in, saw, by this dim light, the
lady lying among her pillows motionless, apparently
sleeping, the clothes drawn glose up about her chin as if
to protect her from the coldness of the night. She was
about to turn away when @.large dark spot on the. white
counterpane attracted her observant eyes.

What could it be? 4

Leora did not wait to be silent and cautious now; she
darted to the burner and turned up the gas—then shud-
deringly, unwillingly her eyes Was drawn again to that
dark blot. bs

Blood! yes, it was blood.’

She tottered across the floor and tore down the care-
fully-spread covers. Then her sharp screams rang through
the house. Shriek after shriek! if she could have burst
her over-burdened heart-strings in those wild cries it
would have been better for her.

They aroused Will from the heavy slumbers of youth;
they aroused Oliver, asleep in the parlor underneath,
who, as he hurried up the stairs, met some one coming
down—a tall, gaunt figure, whose face was wrapped in a
nang eeretiey sae whose deep-Set eyes shone like a cat’s in
the dark.

The artist, puttinffout his hand to arrest this figure,
was hurled to the bottom of the stairs as if he had been a
five-pound weight, . Fortunately he was not much hurt;
and the screams up-stairs still continuing, he rushed up,
fain to let Mr. Duleth alone, until he saw where he was
most needed.

Dead! Yes. Mrs. Duleth was dead, Already the
limbs were stiffening and her face marble cold. The
dainty white gown which Leora had trimmed with loving
skill was crimson from the throat down.

Oliver would not stay now ‘to hush the heart-rending
cries of the son and daughter; there was a physician but
a few blocks off, and as he hastened down, finding the
street door open, he saw that same tall figure running west
down a street which led to the river. He could not pur-
sue the fugitive. He knew that Mrs. Duleth was dead,
and yet he felt that he must have a doctor there as quick-
ly as possible.

Indeed, the good physician was needed in that house of
wo, for when Oliver returned with him Leora lay sense-
legs beside her murdered mother’s bed; and it required
long ana patient effort to restore her from that merciful
swoon Lo a renewed sense of her misery.

Au examination by tne doctor showed that the carotia
artery had been opened by some small sharp instrument,
probably a penknife whetted to a point; it was his opin-
ion that she had bled quietly to death in her sleep; but
Leora always felt that there must have been some con-
sciousness, some struggle—for was it not her mother’s
stifled cry which had awakened her in the dead silence
of the night?

CHAPTER VII.
MEETING OVER A COFFIN.

Those domestic tragedies which expose a home to the
curious gaze and inspection of the multitude have an ele-
ment of wretchedness added to the sharpness of the dis-
aster. The quiet little house in Locust Place became the
There was a coroner’s inquest; the
police were in and out; hundreds of people came and
went away angry because Oliver Grey was determined
that they should not gratify a morbid curiosity by rudely,
or pityingly, as the case might be, staring at the corpse
of the murdered lady.

The few who were permitted to behold Mrs. Duleth in
her cofiin were astonished at the beauty of the dead after
a life of illness ended by a violent death. Tne fiesh had
the marble whiteness peculiar to flesh from which the
blood has been drained; the face still wore a reflection
of that happy, loving light which had illuminated it on
that last joyous evening leading on to such a tragfe
night.

Her children were not allowed to accustom themselves
to this blankness of desolation which had come over
them without being the prey of anxieties for the living
as well as grief for the dead. That is, if their father was
still living—which, as the dayS wore on, was more and
more doubted. Since that glimpse of him which Oliver
had, flying down the street, on the night of the murder,
nothing had been seen or heard of him, i

One might say the whole city was on the lookout for
John Duleth. His personal appearance was minutely de-
scribed in the newspapers; 2 reward was offered for his
apprehension; the mystery of his disappearance was com-
mented on, day by day, by the press. - It soon became the
universal belief ‘that he had gone directly to the river and
drowned himself. Search was made in the water at the
foot of the street, but nothing was found; which was not
strange, since in case of suicide the body might have been
washed down by the current.

One little circumstance came to light, during the inves-
tigation made by the police in the vicinity of the docks; a

‘ship moored to the wharf a little below had lost a small

boat on that night. This boat was not lashed to the side
of the vessel, but had been left in the water, towed by a
rope to the stern. This incident was commented on as
explaining how the maniac-murderer might have escaped
from the city entirely. Still, most persons believed he
had committed suicide.

Not so thought his daughter Leora. She felt that he
had the cunning to escape by that boat; and she was cer-
tain he had done so. Where to, how, what he was now
doing, suifering—this was matter of weary conjecture,

of dread, of anxiety to her, as near as her half-paralyzed
faculties would allow her to feel. :

She could not have been more miserable had she known
that her father, too, was dead, then she could have ac-
quitted him’of a deed done upon the person he loved
best in the world—the mad act of a diseased mind pre-
senting images to him in a false light—tnen she could
have forgiven him, feeling assured that she, his wife, her
mother, had also forgiven him and welcomed him to her
companionship in a happier world.

Did she not forgive him, as it was? She tried to doso.
She knew that he was not responsible; more, that years of
attendance upon that sick wife, whose life he had finally
brought to so sudden a close, had induced the sleepless-
ness, the nervous strain upon his faculties which had been
a predominent cause of his madness. 0, she did pity him
with a harrowing pity—put she could not Jove him as she
had done before.

Besides, she was afraid. ;

Had she not been half-dead, stupid, with the shock and
sorrow of the catastrophe she would have beey more keen-
ly afraid then she was. Her father was alive. Somewhere
he lurked, suffering hunger and cold perhaps, or palming
himself off on tne unsuspicious, as other than he was; but
wherever he might hide, whatever aspect he might take on
he would come back. He would steal upon them, some-
time, and treat Will and her as he had treated their
mother! a :

It was dreadful to haunted by such @ probability. She
mentioned it once to Mr. Grey; he thought it very doubtful
if Mr. Duleth were alive—“he truly hoped,’? he said “that
he had committed suicide, since such a course would save
more trouble, and a man, tortured as her father was, by
unhappy images, could never be anythiug but a curse to
himself.’?

Mr. Duleth’s rich relatives did actually step. forward, at
this time, and assume the expenses of the funeral, blaming
John Duleth as usual for his folly and weakness in going
crazy; and so awkward in their expressions of sympathy
to his children as to constantly betray their fear that they
should be called upon to do something for them. - Oliver,
fairly detested them, getting out of their fine carriages,
portly and pompous, coming into grumble and dictate,
but not to help one penny farther than could be avoided.

One of the uncle’s, who had lately lost a daughter by
death, of about Leora’s age, did seem a little interested in
his beautiful young niece; he had not seen her since she
was a little girl, and had no idea that a daughter of John’s
could grow up So stately and so pretty. Both men, 100k-
ing at the smiling white face of John’s wife, in her coffin,
may have felt uneasy pangs of self-reproach;it is quite
possible they did, but if so their remorse was not strong
enough to induce themto reach out fatherly protecting
hands to her children.

The day and hour of the funeral was kept as secret as
might be, in order to avoid the crowd which otherwise
would have gathered; a crowd, not of friends coming to
morn, but of strangers called hither by morbid curiosity.

| Oliver was determined that none such should be admitted

to the simple funeral ceremonies, which were held in the
back parlor toward the close of a February day. There
were a dozen or more persons gathered in the room—
neighbors who had been kind to the family, the uncles,
their wives could not bear the excitement of attending a
funeral under such frightful circumstances—and, strange-
ly enough, George and Camilla Catherwood.

This was the way it happenea that they were there. Mr.
Grey had not been to their house, since that evening at
the Academy of Music. The affairs of the Duleths had pre-
vented his promise to call soon. George had teazed his
sister by drawing most vivid pictures of the wonderful
charms of the humble beauty who presided over the
artist’s breakfasts, dinners and teas. Camilla would have
scorned to admit to her own thought that she was
jealous. Yet some of the symptoms of that disease be-
came apparent. She was restless, and if teased she was
irritable. She snupbed Lord Lytton, so that even his meek
lordship took offence and remained away a week. Mr.
Scranton had eyes nor ears forno one but Ethelda; the
whole world was growing stupid.

Camilla was tired of dressing, shopping and driving! In
one of these discontented moous she came down one after-
noon, very charmingly dressed, and invited George to
take a promen ade—‘‘she needed exercise—a long walk
would do her good.”

“Whither away??? inquired the obedient brother, when
they were out on the walk, a blue sky with white clouds
like that of March over their heads, a damp wind, hinting
of spring, wooing the lady’s draperies, a bright. red flush
in the western sky foretelling a gray to-morrow.

“Let us pay a visit to Mr. Grey’s studio,’ answered Ca-
milla, slightly blushing. ‘We used to go, frequently,
when he had rooms on Broadway. He has not asked
me, recentiy; but I would like, all the more on that ac-
count, to surprise him.’?

ae the wing in that direction |’ George whistled
softly.

“Please don’t whistle when you are out walking with

“Tt will be quite.a walk for you, Camilla.”

“] feel like taking it.. I need the exercise.”

“I notice you have been pining lately. Hither you eat
too much, or you are in love.’’

“Well, sincerely wish you would get in love. It might
distract your observation from me a little.”?

“Tam in love! Dead in love with Oliver’s new flame.
But there’s no use in fanning my passion beyond control.
Better trample it out in the beginning; for I’m quite cer-
tain Oliver won’t brook a rival.”

““How you do rattle on, George. In love with a pretty
face, whose features happen to be moulded like some
goddess’, but where there is neither breeding, blood, edu-
cation, or anything else to renderits owner tolerable!
That is where I wonder at Mr. Grey.”

“But Oliver isn’t inlove. Itis only I who plead guilty.
In earnest, Camilla, I have sounded Oliver onthe sup-
ject. Heis an honorable man, as we know—far more
delicate in his sense of right and wrong then I—or you,
my dear. .He thinks a great deal of this pretty Leora—as

a sister; he will he a good brother to her. That is why lam’

so uncertain how to act. If I pay the least attention to this
lovely young creature, I’ve got to answer to him first, as
her guardian. He’s savage on that subject. He won’t
let me even bow to her when I come there. Indeed, she
is as pure as a snowdrop and as innocent of the world a
ababy. That’s why I am infatuated with her.’? :

“George, how ridiculous! Infatuation, truly, you may
callit. I guess we had better turn back. It may be
dangerous to your worldly wisdom and supposed good-
sense to take you where you are in Ganger of encounter-
ing this goddess in a calico dress!?? :

The young man laughed. c

“T have reaily excited you, who pride yourself on your
imperturbabity. Thank you, Camilla, for your interest in
me. Ihave no idea, soberly, of wooing or wedding this
pretty door-teuder. I consider Miss Lytton about the
style of young lady to suit me. By-the-way, l’m going
there to-night. Shall 1 make your peace with Lord
Lytton ???

“Bah! let him make his own peace when he grows tired
of quarreling.*?

They walked on, down and across until Camilla really
began to grow tired.

“Here we are,” said George, as they came out into the
little triangular park.

“What an out-of-the-way place! you need not tell me,
George, but that something more than the desire to find a
quiet boarding-place keeps Mr. Grey here.” ;

Camilla’s heart gave a great bound asthey ascended
the steps ofthe house. She was agitated; but it would
never do to betray it; since she had come on purpose to
congratulate the artist on his prospects, and to show him
how willing she was that he should transfer his feelings
to a person better fitted to be his mate.

The few friends were already beginning to assemble to
hear the reading of the funeral service; but there was no
crape on the door, and the gay couple, as they chatted on
the door-step, awaiting the answer to their summons,
little dreamed of the tragedy so near at hand. —

They had read the account of an insane man having
murdered his wife; but as George had never taken note
of thename of the people with whom Oliver was stopping,
he had not associated the occurrence with them.

It was Oliver himself who cameto the door, and who
stood there, staring in surprise, as Camilla looked up at
him archly, her fine dress and smiling face in such
marked contrast. with the place.

“We cameto ask if we might look at your pictures;—
and to congratulate you,’’ she added, in a lower tone.

Leora, sitting by her mother’s coffin, with her face on
her brother’s shoulder, heard the gay, sweet, musical
voice, and lifted her heavy eyelids, while another pang
went through the aching breast which she had thought
too dulled by sorrow to feel a selfish pain like that.

“Y cannot show you my pictures now,’ Oliver spoke
very softly, in a hushed tone. ‘Funeral services are
about to take place in this house over the body of the
poor lady who was murdered by her husband. _ You must
have seen something of the affair, George?”

“J read an account of it. But I never dreamed it was
this Duleth.. Indeed, I did not notice the name at all.
Shall we go away, Camilla?” PG

“Oh yes, let us go.”? .

“Now that you have come, why not stay and do such
kindness to the friends as you may by your presence?
They will think you came at my suggestion.”

Miss Catherwood hesitated a moment, then stepped
into the. hail; Oliver led the way to the back parlor,
where, as the two fashionable young people stepped into
it, they felt themselves divested, ina moment, of all the
‘pomp of circumstance.’

They were in the presence of Death, whose grandeur
and whose mystery mocked the vanity of earthly preten-
sions.

They stepped up to the coffin, which was crowded with
white flowers and myrtle. As fair and waxen as the
flowers was the face of the dead martyr—a refined, intel-
lectual face, with the glory of its. martyrdom upon it.
The long dark curls floated lightly either side of it, witha
white rose at the temples. Camilla had not expected
such a'sight. She was touched to tears. Then from the
countenance of. the dead mether, she turned a look, in-
quisitive, searching, at the daughter.

Leora sat by her brother's side. She had just raised
her drooping head as the visitors came in, but had
dropped it again, and shut her poor, aching eyes, dazzled
and offended by the gay apparel, the joyous prosperity
which had come here to mock her darkness,

She was pale and quiet now; her figure bent, her hands
fell languidly; her attitude might have been chosen for
an image of hopelessness; it appeared as if she no longer
wept, becanse the last drop had been drained from the
fountain of her tears,

Her youth and beauty were so pathetic in their appeal
to the spectator, even Camilla felt so sorry for her that
her petty jealousy and anger melted into compassion.
She longed to kiss the pale cheek, and to press the broth-
er’s hand; but Leora would not look at her, thus did not

 

see the tears in the young lady's eyes, and only felt tnat
these were intruders—Oliver’s friends, indeed, but not

her’s. Friends! what friends had she? Only Will! only

this dear brother, now; and she pressed her foreliead |
against his arm, listening dully while the minister en-

tered, read the prayer, spoke a few words—then Mr. Grey ©
came and took her hand, saying, as she opened wide her
frightened eyes: ae

“They will take your mother away, now, Leora. Will
you look at her again?”

down the coffin-lid and bore the heavy burden out. Oust

been so sick and so weary for years, they bore the body of
Mrs. Duleth. The locusts, whose Shadows she had
watched on the wall, night and day, for a decade, tossed

splendor.
pered to George; “I am going to the cemetery.”
The two uncles,

the far-off city of the dead. j

Leora was left alone, save that two neighboring women
kindly remained until her brother should get back. One
by one the little group in attendance passed out and went
their ways. )
sister. Camilla still remained in her chair. She did not

“No—no—no! Mr. Grey. itis allover. Oh, let me bel?’
She clung to Will and hid her face, while they screwed |

from the old brick house—where she had come as a bride —
—where she had been so happy at first, where she had |

their arms in thé damp wind, sighing and shivering; —
the sun shone luridly through a rift in the red clouds of |
the west; it was a wild hour of mingled gloom and i

“You will excuse me, and come again,” Oliver whis- —

Will, and Oliver, filled the single coach i
which followed the hearse under the locust trees, past —
the little park, away and away over the echoing stones to

cere

3

George was waiting in the hall for his |

wish to go away without speaking a kind word to this {
young girl, whom she did not know, but of whom Mr, Grey —

evidently thought so well.

There seemed little reason for the proud heiress of the ©
Catherwoods to envy this pale child of misfortune. Yet

Camilla did envy her. In the midst of her pity and com- ©

passion she was conscious of a wild passion of envy be- ©
cause this young girl enjoyed Oliver Grey’s companion-

ship, his friendship, and his respect. Very true, she

sie had thrown down.
supplicate; to hover about her, with gloomy brows and

ing flame.

with this stronger nature. She would have been quite
satisfied had she known how the parting look she gave
him as he followed the coffin from the room lingered in
his consciousness during all the sad and tedious ride to
and from the cemetery. A tender, appealing look under
the: dark curved lashes, as if begging him to forgive her
past coquetries and to try her again. ~ i

Leora wanted the lady to go. Her bright presence in
the room blinded, suffocated her. Why did Miss Cather-
wood come here? She knew the lady’s name. No danger
of her forgetting it, having once heard it, and having
been told’ by Mr. Grey himself that this was the lady of
his love. She came to be kind, no doubt, but oh, her very
kindness was cruel, Leora thought.

Will had placed: his sister on thesofa before he went
away. She reclined there, drawing her breath in sobs,
but not weeping. Camilla went over to her. She
smoothed away the bright hair from the half-averted face
with her gloved and perfumed hand.

herself had thrown from her the privilege of having ani ~
this—of being his wife—yet sne'could not endure, without |
suffering, the thought that another should take up what —
She wanted Oliver to continue to ©

blazing eyes, nursing his love until some little breath of |
permission from her lips should fan it again into a leap- ©
She did not like the manly coomess with |
which he Kept his will upon his heart, and staid away —
from‘her. To herit was excitement, it was life, to toy

'

i

p

“Tam so very, very sorry for you,’? she said, tenderly,

“can I do anything for you??? .
“Nol? said Leora, with a dry sob. a:
“If you think of anything you would like me to do, tell

Mr. Grey, and he wili let me know,” added Camilla, after |

ing forehead, and went away. ;
“What can she do for me?” thonght Leora, as she lay

give me his love—oh, no! she has all, and I have nothing!
O, mother! mother! Why are you dead? Why was I
born??? : ‘

(To be Continued.)

TRUE AS LOVE —
COULD MAKE HER

BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

“True as Love Could Make Her’? was commenced in No. 1. Back
numbers obtained from all news agents in the United States.

CHAPTER IX,
PERCY IS REFLECTIVE.

The builder’s son asked himself some serious questions
while smoking his cigar in the flower-garden at Penge.
The crisis had come with a vengeance.

It was hard to part from Fanny. The love days were
young yet, and the girl bad. grown very beautiful in her
happiness. She had grown refined to—educated herself,
and cultivated some accomplishments; had ske married
@ poor man, with rude, untuiored instincts, and coarse
ers: she might have degenerated into a discontented
slattern. ; . :

But Percy was a gentleman, and his companionship
cultured the beauty of her mind.
duced her to the Penge aristocracy without misgiving,
but there was the ugly picture of her relations in the
back-ground—the hard-handed, illiterate. people of Falk-
land-row. He never could think of them without a shud-
der, and Fanny herself was almost ashamed of them.

“J have not been wise, perhaps,” he said, mentally.

 

 

tion before I went in for the final step, but if is too late
for that now. If it were not for that dreadful tribe of

brothers, and the respectable maternal individual whom, «

however, I have never seen, then I believe I should. out
with the truth and risk it. I have some courage, but it
does not reach the pitch of sublimity that would. enable
me to acknowledge old Bill West as my father-in-law.”
Percy had come very well out of the interview with
Falkland the elder. The old man felt the superiority of

his gentlemanly son; but the old man held the’ purse- |

strings, and Percy could not do without him. He was. too
indolent by nature. He had been thoroughly. spoiled,
petted and allowed to run his race of extravagant folly to
an extent that totally unfitted him for a working life.
Poor Fauny had not married a hero.

a little hesitation; then she stooped and kissed the burn: —
i

i
:
i
i

¢
;

:

on the sofa, shivering. ‘She cannot give me my mother— |
she cannot restore my father to his right-mind, she can- |
not give me affluence and grace like her own—she cannot |

i

t

He could have intro- °

,
t

“T ought to have taken the consequences into considera- |

5

Her husband was ©

but human, with very many human faults. The redeem- |
ing point in his character was that he loved her with an —

honorable love. The voice within him told him to confess

the truth, do his duty, and work for his wife like a true —
man; but the suggestion of the voice within him was un-

pleasantly practical—he did not like it.

“T certainly will not go without seeing Fanny again,”
he said, coming to a sudden determination, as he heard
his father’s footsteps on the gravel path.

Falkland the elder did not appear at a judicious mo-

ment. He had very little tact, or he would have kept out |

of the way till Percy wanted to see him.

“I have been thinking,” began the old man, “that our
best way would be to arrange for 4 certain sum. monthly
—say five pounds—to be paid by our bank to the poor
girl. You shall not neglect her, mind.” . ‘

The young man dashed his cigar into a rose-bush.

“Be kind enough to leave the ‘poor girl’ to me,’’ he
said, impatiently. “You talk asif I were a boy. Iam
not entirely dependent on you, sir. I am worth five hun-
a pee any where.’’

‘‘And I allow you a thousand,” was the elder Faikland’s
calm reply; “‘and you work or not, just as the fit takes
you. However, since you take my advice in this way,
there is no more to he said. Be prepared to start in the
morning.”? ;

He turned away then, stern and rather dignified. Per-
cy’s conduct pained him more than he cared to say. He
had at least been a good father, kind and indulgent—too
indulgent, and there was the fault.

Falkland the elder often looked with a. feeling more
curious than pleasant on the work he had made—the
faultless bearing, unexceptionable dress, polished man-
ners, and refined language of his son. Sometimes he
asked himself sadly whether he had been wise. He was
a plain-spoken, untaught, homely man—his wife an une
taught, homely woman.

And his son was a gentleman, his daughters were ladies.
Percy could enter into a classical argument with the doc-
tor or the minister, both of whom were on visiting terms
at the Penge establisument. The Misses Falkland couid
speak French and sing in Italian, play wonderful piano
duets, and had quite a little airof “society.”

Mrs, Falkland admired them for it; loved them perhaps
not less, but she had a sense of their superiority, and felt

dimly that the change which had converted her children

into those stately little ladies was not. such a change as
she wished. They were severely polished, had such pretty
elegancies of speech and manner—tiny, playful sarcasms
that did not even spare their parents, and were brilliant
at the expense of their dearest friends.

The matron had once called her eldest girl ‘Miss Fin-
ick,’? and the young lady expressed her surprise at the
expression in such becoming terms that Mrs. Falkland
never repeated it.

“Mamma,’’ Miss Falkland had said, with a curl of her
short lip, “‘how can you really! Itis just such a thing as
oneof pa’s workmen’s wives might say to her children.’?

Mrs, Falkland sighed, looked at the silken, sott-cheeked
figure, with its long blonde hair, looked. at the handsome
drawing-room, at the costly mirror by which that silken
figure was surrounded, and then her thoughts went back
to the substantial nine-reomea house in the builder’s
yard, where they had been happy and. content—where
they were married.

The good lady was no happier for the change that took
her to Penge—gave her an establishment and a suite of
servants. :

She had dresses now, that in her by-gone years she had
hardly dared to dream of; jewelry that she was afraid to
wear, and of domestics of whom she stood in awe—for
they had lived in good families, and told each other con-
fidentially that ‘they knowed missis: wasn’t used to sich
luxshuries. Any one could see she’d been nothink.”” And
poor Mrs. Falkland knew that such was their impression.

It was different with her husband. Men gather strength -
of character as they grow rich, and the elder Falkland
chose his Own society. He kept a good table and a well-
stored cellar; had comfortable dinuers in town, with solid
commercial men of his own calibre; and cared very little
how the world wagged, so that it did not affect his per-
centage or his appetite. _ é

“Be prepared to startin the morning,” said Mr. Falk-
land, for he had yet a vague misgiving, which he could
not set at rest till Percyand Fanny were separated by
Many a mile.

 

Percy 1ighted a fresh cigar. He turned and followed

 

 

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gor

Sn nea

ie

  

SUS ree

mae eon

 

 

ey

 

 

his father; took the path that ran parallel with that in
which the elder Falkland walked. There was only a nar-
row flower-bed between them. 3

“J shall not be prepared to start in the morning,” he
said, in distinct incisive tones. ‘i have arrangemeuts to
make that will oecupy me the whoie of the day.”

By this time they were near the house again, at the end
of the lawn, and nearly under the open windows of the
back drawing-room. Percy rested his white hand on a
tall pillar of Sicilian marble that supported a vase, thick
With pendant blossoms. :

“What arrangements?’ asked Mr. Falkland.

“Such as are pecessaty for the happiness of the lady
with whom you have been kind enough to interfere. I
am willing to obey you—be the most dutiful of sons as
you are the most amiable of sires; but I wili not sneak
away like a treacherous cur, leaving a paltry note in ex-
cuse behind me.” ; :

When Percy Falkland spoke in that polite, subdued

’ voice—when he measured out each word, and gave each

word its proper emphasis— when face and forehead went
pale, save for a tinge of blood that burned in the center
of each cheek, those who knew him Knew that his mind
was made up—that he was bent upon having hisown way,
and would have it—would be stern to argument or threat,

Out of the open window came the sound of music. Miss
Falkland was singing a pretty ballad, “Fading away.”
Percy, heard it with an emotion that he held down in his
heart—it was a favorite song with Fanny.

“What is the use of going?” said the elder Falkland,
persuasively. ‘it is only adding to the girl’s pain.”

“Tnat is forme to judge. I can represent the matter
in a gentler light—bring her mind by degrees to bear it.
I teil you, father, that I love the girl—feel that I am act-
ing like @ coward and a brute.’? 3 : :

“Well, then, marry her, and work for her,” said the
builder, angrily; ‘‘that’s the best thing youcando. Make
her your wife, bring her here to your mother and sisters,
with her whole tribe of relations. Old Bill West is com-
ing here next week to do some carpentering work in the
house; it will be an excellent opportunity for you to in-
troduce him.as your father-in-law.”

Percy muttered an oath. The last words stung him
deeply. He remembered the lines he had quoted to Fan-
hy, when his playfully sarcastic speech about her broth-
ers brought the tears to her eyes.

“Huth the pearl less of whiteness because of its birth?”
he said, silently, and between his teeth. ‘There is noth-
ing more delusive than these infernal sentiments. Fanny
is my pearl, pure and precious, in spite of her origin; but
{ am Jess fortunate than the pearl-divers, 1 cannot sink
the eyster shells, There they are—an ugly accumulation,
and they will stick to me.’?

“I shall be prepared on the following morning,” he
said, more respecifully. ‘You will find me ready; and I
Want some meney,"!

“How much ??? :

“Give me a hundred pounds,’!

“Very well, £ don’t want you to. do anything mean.”

Zhe young man smiled bitterly.

<4f 1 were the villain that he thinks I am, what would
a hundred pounds be to her? Why, she would dash it
back into my teeth with all the loathing I should deserve.”
. He went back te town that night, with the check for a
hundred pounds in his pocket. His father demurred at
his departure, and wished him to put it off tiil the morn-
ing, but Percy, would go. He. pictured Fanny in her
strange apartments, alone, for the first time for months,
and he longed for the glad welcome he knew she would
give him. : :

“‘My poor darling!’’ he said, quite tenderly, as his dog-
cart, with its handsome cob, took him to town at the rate
of nearly twelve miles an hour. “Jf I could only keep
away from Penge—away from the people who pester me
With their talk about equality in position, and the train
of miseries that are sure to follow an unequal marriage—
if I could forget these dreadful relatives of hers, and had
Preuty Oh money, should be the happiest fellow in the
world.

Percy made his. way to the Baker-street apartments.
He had a tolerably well-furnished drawing-room fioor,
with a piano; but they were only furnished apartnients,
after all, prim and severely clean, with a general air of
too little comfort and too much antimacassar.

Fanny had sighed, and’even wept a little in secret, over
the change. Tne villaat St. John’s Wood was such a
paradise—ali her own, too; pictures, mirrors, fresh,
bright carpets, tasteful breakfast parlor, and cozy velvct

Suite, so differentfrom therfaded green damask of chairs,

curtains and table-eovers in Baker street.

The lights were burning, but the house was silent,
though 1t was, barely ten o'clock. Fanny dared not play
the piano at that hour. There had been no distinct inti-
mation to\thateffect, but there were other lodgers in the
place—boarders, who had been there for years, and were
of early habits. Fanny felt thechange already. She was
~o longer mistress of a home.

 

CHAPTER X.
THE LAST DAY TOGETHER.
Percy saw thé expectant face light up when ne entered.

“His heart ached when her supple arms twined round his
_ his neck, and her giad lips met his Kisses. She thought

he had returned forever, and it was but fora day.
“it has seemed such a long time, Percy, dear,’’ she

said, her soft eyes full of tears; ‘and it is so different

here,”
“So different here,’’ he repeated, smiling. “My pet
must not mind it foratime. We have lost a little of our

- Sunshine, Fanny, butit will come back.”

*{ don’t mind anything when you are with me.”?

'And she did not. There was to her a glow of beauty in
his presence that would have made her happy even in
poverty. Tne girl loved him with her whole soul. He had
never disappointed her; never for an instant been less
than the gentleman and the lover—graceful, gentle, con-
cise, and always with a sweet and patient temper.

‘Whe little faults she had he dealt with delicately; the
littie vulgarisms of style and speech that were insepara-
ble from her early associations. If he corrected them, he
never chided. 4

Very often Fanny looked at him with a sense akin to
Adoration—grateful with a wondering gratefulness that
she was loved by him sointensely. Sometimes it seemed
like a dream.

“She does not mind anything when I am with her,’
Percy thought, repeating the last words she had spoken
tohim. “And I believe her. There would have been a
scene with most women at the giving up of the Villa, but
Fanny never uttered a reproach. Isaw. her lip tremble
Once and her eyes fill with tears. Then she looked at me
and smiled with a smile that said plainly, ‘What does it
matter? I shall be with him.’

*But how to prepare her for the separation?’? he went.
on. “I thought { could do it easily as Icame up; but 1
haven’t a word left.” 5

Fauny sat in his arms very quiet, her face beautiful
with the deep love that filled every feature. He could

_* mot took into that face and cloud it with sorrow.

“J was rather rash, after all, to break up our home on
a mere alarm,”’ he said; and Fanny brightened. with a
quick thrill of joy. The change she had feared was not
coming—the transition from the villa to furnished apart-
ments would not be followed by Percy’s departure.

“Were you, Percy? Was it nothing then?”

“Weil,” he said, pushing the nut-brown hair from his
white temples and laying his lips softly to her cheek, “it
was nothing much, only what we might have expected;
pertiups it was the best way of throwing them off the
scent.” crs

“They don’t know where we are?’

“Wo; and [ don't mean to let them, if it can be helped.
As for our home, Fanny, we can get one just like it
When—wien I come back.” ;

The jast treacherous words stole in so quietly that
Fanny did not take their full meaning. ;

' “Wecan do very well here for a month. or two,’ he
went on; ‘and [shall make a heap of money over the

-affuir. Sumehow, Fanny, work Goes not seem half so

uy?

' dramatic manner.

tervible as it did. My father thinks he is taking effectual
means to separate us; he is doing just the reverse.”?

“How 7) :

“He is giving me an actual position. I am tolerably
clever in iny profession, you know; though I don’t sup-
pose my pet ever thougnt I was good for much.”?

She smiled gravely. In her deep faith the man was in-
comparable. She believed that his talents were unlimited.

“) have the entire charge of this Berlin contract, Fanny,

_ and the eyes of the world—that is, the engineering world

Should all go well, I shall have

—willbe upon me.-
I shall be able to

offers from every great city in Britain.

@arn an independent thousand a year.”

“On, What an immense sum !?

He laughed.

“Not in these days. The plodders must plod for their
poor wages, but men of brain can command their own
price. You see, my pet, that with a thousand a year I
should be independent of my father. He might cutine off
witth a shilling, according to his amiable fancy, and he
might favor me with his malediction in the most melo-
; Ishould not care abit. There is one
who would think I did right insaying, ‘Fanny my wile,
and I care for her more than any one in the world,’

“Your father might forgive us by-and-by.” .

Percy shook hig head. The elder Falkland’s bitter
"| ity—the landlady—who already began to have her doubts.

speech recurred to him.

“No; but { have a forgiveness that I value more than’

his. He does not blame memuch. He does not think
we are married; and see what a world it is, Fanny.
There is my father, a respectable old man, honored in his
business and his heme, He has daughters of his own;
yet, thinking I have done you a hideous wrong, he is
pleased to call it a youthful indiscretion.” ,

Fanny shuddered.

“T have a forgiveness that I value morejthan his,” Percy

' yepeated, “for 1 have my own. 1 have not been a good |

Ioan, Fanny. Very few of us have, I daresay. The world
is fall of evil, and we are too wise in our generation; but
if I thought I had ever caused you a tear of remorseful
agony, 1 should wish myself off the face of the earth this
night.”

the young man Was sincere. He was under the influ-
ence of home just now, sheltered by the hallowed love of
atrue woman. — i

“They wanted me to go to-morrow morning,’ he said,
after a long pause, and letting the blow fall ws gently as
he could; “‘but I would not leave my pet so suddenly.”

“Dear Percy, and you are not going ??

eNof till the next day. We shail have all to-morrow to
ourselves, Fanny, and we can arrange everything for the

uture.”?

' “Not till the next day.” The words echoed themselves
in Fanny’s heart. Tue next day!: He would be with her
twenty-four hours, instead of twelve; twenty-four hours,
and then—separation.

Her sorrew—the deep, deep aching that seemed in very
anticipation of her loneliness to leave such a void, such a
yearning to have him with her always—only found vent
in a subdued plaint. i

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“YT shall be so lonely without you.”

“But you can write to me, Frances.) We eailed her
Frances in their tender moments—“‘every day, of twice a
Oy . you like; and you can think of me, as l know you
will.

“And how long will you be gone ?”

“That’s hard to say. Two or three months, or perhaps
more. Of course I shall Steal a week now aud then for a
tugitive trip,” he added, in pity for her alarmed look.
“Do you Sappose that L could live without seeing my pet
now and then in allthat time?’

“[T shall be so lonely,” said Fanny, with a sigh.
“Couldn't you take me with you ?”

_ Tie shook his head slowly, revolving a score of imprac-
ticable schemes for smuggling ner over, and reluctantly
confessing the folly of each one.

“Or let me follow?” said the pleading voice. “You may
hide me anywhere, so that J am near. Do let me cume.”?

“It is impossible,’ he said, drawing a heavy breath.
“On my word, Fanny, you tempt me sorely. You den’t
know what a bitter struggle it has been to give you tip so
far, and if ié were not tuat I Knew it will be better for us
in the end, I would give in now.”

He rose in stronger agitation than she had ever seen
him display before.

“You see I should be poor,’ he said, with a gesture
that implied how bitterly ne hated poverty. “Strong as
my passion is, deep aS is my wish to remain with you, I
have wisdom enougi to look intothe future. Life las
hitherto been a pastime to me, and I cannot labor for ex-
istence. If I had to work—as I might have to’ worw
were I to disobey my fatner now—the silver links of our
love would turn into heavy iron fetters, and drag ua both
down to misery.”

The young wife threw herself into his arms.

. ‘Ah, Percy, I did not mean to make you angry.”

“Tam not angry, dear child, but I have (o think for
both of us. You have seen the drudgery of life; you know
what a Sad love-killer poverty is. I tell you, Fanny, if 1
were to throw up thiscontract, and avow our marriage, I
should have to settle down toa common workman’s lot—
slave like a negro for bare bread.”

“Do what you like,’? murmured Fanny.
complain,”

“You don’t know what a man’s position is in the
world,’ he went on, “now, those who plod with the herd,
struggle together in the common ruck, beat each other
down, and stretch out a hundred hungry hands for the
place that can only be filled by one.”

Fanny did know, for she hud been brought up in a
working neighborhood, and Percy’s remark applied with
equal force to women.

“AS my father’s son,” he said, “I can command a posi-
tion, and take my price; as my father’s son the business
must be mine some day, even if he disinherit me. But if
I were discarded now, Fanny, | shonld have to put ona
Jinen jacket, and toil from six in the morning fill six at
eve, for nine-and-thirty shillings a week.’*

“T swear,” said Fanny, solemnly, “that you shall never
run such arisk for me.”? \

She put her hands upon his shoulders, and looked at
him with eyes that swam in tenrs, yet were filled with
passionate fervor.

“Rather than you should be poor,’’ she said, each in-
tense’ word coming from her soul; “rather than you
should be sacrificed, I would deny our marriage to my
own father, to my mother. “And Iwill, Percy, until you
give me leave to speak the truth—tl will. Let Meaven
forget ine if 1 do not Keep what [have sworn. Iwill, for
4 Know you love me!””

“TTush!? said Percy. But he was too late to stifle the
rash vow, even with his close and clinging kiss. “We
will do our best, and wait with patience. There will, 1
hope, be no occasion for a sacrifice on cither side, though
I believe my brave girl would keep her word.°?

“T would, indeed.”?

“Even though the day should come that your father or
your mother put you to the test?”

Though they discarded me—though the whole world
pointed at me with the finger of scurn, Ah, Percy, you
do not know the depth ol a woman's Juve {"?

He smiled gravely—fond belief and reverence in his
face. Such purity and strength in affection were myste-
ries he had never dreamed of till now.

“Truly,” he said, “the wife is man’s guardian angel.
You take me back,,Fanny, to the idealism of my boylicod
—restore to me the Juitn I had nearly Jost.” ;

“We give up everything when we marry,’ said Fanny,
softly. “The stranger that we love becomes dearer to
us than father and motner.  Whetler it isso with men J
do not know; but Iam sure all women are the same.’

Then they talked of other things. This was one of
Fanny’s memorable evenings—like the sweet sunimer
hour in the twilight, when they sat at the window in tne
Richmond Hotel, silent, while their love grew and the
sun went down. Both were times to be remembered,
and remembered strangely, in the tong, eventful years
that were to come.

“JT will not

CHAPTER XI.
FATHER AND CHILD.

The builder’s son Kept his word, and was at Penge in
time to start with his assistants for the continent. No
questions were asked, and little was said on either side.
Tne elder Falkland was content to.see Percy prepared for
departure, What had passed with Fanny he did not in-
quire. There was a 100k on Perey’s face that warned him
he had better not.

“Ts there anything I can do?” said Falkland the elder,
when he siook hands with Percy in the carriage. His
heart softened in. the moment of parting. ‘here is a po-
etry and pathos in such atime that appeals to the rudest
sense, and the builder wished to do sume graceful service
before that snorting iron monster bore his only bey leagues
away. a

“Nothing, thanks,” said Percy, rather coldly. “My in-

structions are complete, I think, and I can send for what,

I want in men and material.”?

“J meant about the Wests, Percy.’ .

“Oh, the Wests! Well, old Bill has been a good servant
to you—give him a life salary, or Start him in business.
If your proclivities are philanthropic, there are so many
ways of relieving yourself.”’

“Good-by,’’ said the,old man, seeing that his willful son
would not understand him. “You must know that I
meant about the girl.’

“You can leave her to mein perfect safety, Under
present circumstances the arrangements in that quarter
are not susceptible of improvement.” -

“Good-by,”? said old Falkland again, adding a mur-

mured blessing this time; and Percy responded to it in.

his throat, though he wastvo proud to Jet it be heard.
Then the bell. rang, and the doors were shut. The stern,
kind warning of the guards—‘‘Stand back, please!”’—sent
wistful friends and relatives from the carriage windows,
and the station doors were closed. :

Just before the last one was shut, just before the huge
bars swung round, and the massive engine wheels began
to revolve, a lady, closely vailed and delicately gloved,
came to the platform. :

Her eyes flashed out in eager search—swift, like light-
ning, from carriage to carriage, til they reached the one
atthe window of which Percy’s face appeared; then she
sprang forward. : ined

But the guard barred her way with a Kindly arm.

“Too late,’? he said, putting the signal whistle to his
lips. ‘“R-right!?? ,

She was too late; the mighty thing was in motion, and
she had. only caught a glimpse of his face. She watched
the locomotive plow its way with stately might and ma-
jesty down the iron line—watched tue iast carriage sweep
round.a slow curve—watched even the puff of smoke
that marked its way, till the pull ofsmoke blended witn
gray clouds, and was lost in the dim distance,

“jTe did see. me,”’? said-Fanny, aS she went out with
faint footsteps. He smiled and, kissed his hand tome, If
Lhad been 2 minute sooner.” _ ;

The wise, tanght wisdom by experience, would have
told her it was better as it was—thut it was better they

were spared that last despairing kiss on the platform; },

yet she would have prayed foritas a boon—beéen grate-
ful for it from her soul, in spite of all its bitter agony.

She went out. Her cab was wailing; she had not. paid
the driver in her haste; but he was too old. a traveler to
have any fear on that score. He could have told her the
whole story in his way. as

“Gone to take a farewell peep at her sweetheart,’
mused the cabman, as she disappeared, leaving him un-
paid; “and there goes the whisile—she won't co it.”

When Fanny came out, the cubman was studying the
atmosphere; his big gloves folded on the rug in front of
fim, a short elay pipe in his mouth, and his countenance
expressive of much philosophy. Hard world-wear and
bitter weather had knocked emotion out of him.

“Cab, miss?” he said, watchful as a lynx, lest another
should deprive him of his fare. ts

Tne voice was familiar, though she had only heard it
once before. She recognized the weather-beaten counte-
nance, and even that was something to cling to in her
desolation. : ,

“Oh,” she Said, “you brought me here?”

“Yes, miss. Back to Baker street?”

“Please.”? : a : ;

Back to Baker street they went. Fanny shivered at the
prospect. Bacix to the ehecriess rooms, with their faded

damask, and the keen-eyed, prim pictare of respectabil- |”

Poor Fanny’s thoughts reverted longingly to Falkland
row—to the homely, loving mother, who would welcome
back the penitent, stained though she might be. ar 4

But they would question her, and then came the mem-
ory of her vow—‘I would deny our marriage to my own
father, tomy mother. I will . Let Heaven forget
me if 1 do not- ‘

“Ali Percy!’ she sobbed, “if you had Known ‘what I
should suffer you would never have gone away without

“Percy wrapped in his cloak and rugs, thelappets of a
sealskin cap drawn over his eats, und a cigar between his
lips, felt a pain scarcely less keen than hers. “He had seen
the face in its white anguish and its beauty, and it was a
wonder that he did not leap out of the train, leaving it to

0 on.

But the elder Falkland was there. :

For many miles of the long journey that white face
haunted Percy, and he conjured up pictures of the hours
Fanny had shared with him. {nthe few short months
they passed togeeer, existence had been very sweet to
them.

Then there was the last day, and Fanny’s vow. (The
girl had looked sublime when she made it, lifted above
ordinary woman-kind by the self-absorbing sacrificial
power of a woman’s love. ,

“Yes,” Ne said, with a silent fervor that surprised him-
self—his character seemed to have so deepened since the
charm. of pure affection had chastened him—*‘L will be
true to my poor darling, no matter what may come, She
1s a noble girl, and sne isa laay, if alt the true and splen-
uid instincts that belong to womanhvod can make her

 

 

 

one.

| her whereabouts,

 

 

  

   

 

aa

 

 

The train went on, and was miles away by the time the
cab touk Fanny to Biker-street. She liad no suspicion
that she had been watched and followed.

Mr. Falkland saw her at tne station. He felt some pity
for her, and he wanted to know where she lived.

“Percy may mean very well just now, thoaght the
builder, with the best mtentions in the worki; “but the
best of men ure selfish at his age, and soon tire of a bur-
den. Now, if Tean find’ out her address, and get her
father to take her pome, we can nake @ proper arrange-
ment for her, aud keep her out of Percy's way.”

Ile called a& hansom, ‘and uirected the driver to follow
the suulling four-wneeler in which Fanny rode.

The driver looked through the trap at Mr, Falkland’s
iron-gray hair, and totally misconstruing his purpose
thought What a wieked old gentleman he was.

The builder made the discovery be desired. “He saw
Fanny enter the house by means of a Key.

“Sue lives there beyond a doubt,” said Mr. Falkland,
as he was driven toward his bduilding-vard. “fam glad
she ig found. Ishould not jike her to come to harm, for
poor old West's sake,??

Poor old West was at his post and at work When the
merchant arrived. The foreman touched his cap respect-
fully as uSiul. | Hard as it was to serve the father of the
man who had wronged him, it was harder still 60 have
no work atail. He had a good salary at Falkiand’s—a
better than at his age he could get cisewhere—and hay-
ing a large family, that was something to consider.

“West, sald Mr. Palkland, taking is foreman to the
countivg-house, and speaking to him Kindly, “Ll have
found Out where your daugnter is.”

“Have you, sir?” suid West, brokenly, ‘It was kind of
you to take so much trouble.”

“I like to do my duty, West."? The merchant was great
on duty, and had made many a change On it in after
dinner speeches, “My son has done you an iojury, and
itis my duty to show that I, as his’ parent, in no way
sanction or condone that injary.”

“No, sir,’? said the foreman, vaguely, and slightly over-
whelmed.

“It is your duty to fetch her home, Mr. Falkland went
on, “though, of course, after what has happened, tue
girl would not like to be seen in her old neighborhood.
But we will get her a good situation, West, and I will
settle a little inoney on her.’

“We don’t want that, sir. She’s my child all the same,
and I can work for her, like I’ve done before."

“Jus my duty, West. You fetcn her. You can have the
day, and here’s five shillings; and if there’s .any—any
littie thing 1 can do—any of your boys tiiat want work,
or—or—you a little ready money—there - You had
better go at once.”

The poor man touehed his cap, and waiked out. The
rich man walked the whole length of his counting-house
in fretful impatience. He had blundered, stammered, and
broken down in speech. He could net look his workman
fairly in the face; for he felt how paltry and hopeless
were his attempts at help and sympathy, since he could
not, and would not, willingly, give tne poor man his
child stainless in name as she had left him.

Bill West, blundering out of the yard sleepy with sor-
row, recollected himself, and went back fr the address.
He got it written down and put into his hand without a
word—the number of the. house, and the nameof the
street, :

Out he trudged, debating whether he had better go
alone, or return to Falklanad-row, and consult the ‘“mis-
sus,’? and finally resolving to go alone, and see what he
could do. ®

“For why,” he argued, ‘women is women; and if the
missus goes, she’ll burst out erying and talking loud, and
everybody in the house will Know what's the matter.
Now, it ain’t that way with me. I can bear alot, and
take it quietly. I goes and asks for Mrs, Percy so open,
and no one knows who lam, and who 1l’m not.”

The foreman trudged over the bridge, his head bowed
all the way, and the piece of pauper, with the address on it,
crumpled in hishand, We found the house jn Baker-
Street. without trouble. It was the first object he had
looked at distinctly, since he started. The streets, tlie
river, the throngs of faces on the pave, the ernsn of ve-,
hicles in the roads, were all vague and shadowy to him.

He knocked at the door once—a single, humble knock,
that brought no response other than a voice from the area
and the sharp, terse inquiry:

“What is it???

Bill West looked down at the smudged face of the smal)
domestic drudge, ;

“Does Mrs, Perey tive here?!

“Yos,! i

*“T want to seé her, please.”?

“Tg it & message ¢? — ~

“Yes,’? cried old Bill; “it's a message—from a father’s
almost broken beatt,’? he might have added.

“Can I take it?”

“No, my girl. I must rive it her myself’?

The smudged face vanisucd then, and the door opened
presently.

“Mrs, Percy says wnat name please 7!

“Say ivs Someone from Falkland’s,”? said’ West, im-
patient with the longing to se¢ his child; “someone who
xoust see her.’?

Someone from Falkland’s—perhiaps one of the work-
men whom Percy had instricted with a message for her.
So Fanny thought, and she told the gitl to ask hin up.

She stood nearthe fireplace when her father entered,
and he had time to close the door before her low cry
fuund its way to the servant's prying ears.

“Father!? she faliered. :

“Panny, my girl!? andthe poor old man's voice failing
him, left his tearful eyes to tell the story of his sorrow.
“Why didn’t you come home? We woulun’t have turned
you out—we wouldn’t, Mother nor me. J never thought
to see this—ashamed to speak, orto lift your head, or to
come and kiss me.” fe

The gil wrung her hands in passionate despair.

“IfL could only tell the truth!’ she said, with & wail of
agony. “If 1 coul¢@ only tell the truth!” :

The old man sank into the faded damask cushion of
the couch and turned his face away. ; j

4am afraid we knowiat, Fanny,” said Bill West with
@ quivering sob in every word. ‘It's quite beut poor
mother, and my heart's carly broken; but, Fanny, we
don't mind—we don’t. mind, if you'll only come home.”

She ran and threw herselfinto his arms, trembling,
clinging to him, and kissing him—her, whole soul yearn-
ing to give out its burden.

But then came the remembrance of her oath.

“IL would deny our marriage to my own father, to
my own mother, though they discarded me—though the
world pointed at me with the finger of scorn.”

And now the time had come to test the strength of her
devotion. The vid man’s tears were falling fast upon
her head, and he, was urging her almost prayerfully to £0
back home With him.

(To be continued.)

 

Lady Juliette’s Secret.

BY THER PLERLESS AUTHOR
Of “*Peerless Cathleen,’’ “Scheming Madelon,’?
Lady of Grand Court,’?? and **Rose of
iKendale,’’ &¢., &c.

 

 

[Lady Juliette” was commenced in No.43. Back numbers can
be had from News Agents throughout the country.) :

CHAPTER XXVI. -

But why do I talk of death?

That phantom of grisly bone,
T hardly fear his'terrible shape,

It seems so like my own— !

It. seems so like my own,

Because of the tasts I keep. :
Oh God! that bread should be so dear,

And flesh and blood’so cheap!—Hoop.

Florence Random had left Maberly Abbey four days,

Mr. Mapleton was in London ‘‘on ousiness.”?

Sir Guildford Owen had entirely recovered conscious-
ness; he had even begun to gather strength. The for-
merly stout and rubicond knignt was pitiably changed in
appearances he was now pal, his once plump cheeks
were flabby, iis eyes were hollow and’ sunken, his mouth
was drawn. As he satin a soft cushioned arm-ciiair,
drawn close to the. fire, in an elegant little apartment iuto
which he had beea wheeled in his invalid chair, he looked
indeed the wreck and ruin of the once potnpous and stont
merchant who had so ardently desired to wed the youth-
ful daughter of a noble house. He was bent nearly doubie,
as the doctors had prophesied that’ he would be, for the
injuwies sustained bythe breast-boue and collar-oone were
of the most serious character

Bat’ there was one thing that was: unchanged in Sir
Guildford, that was the expression of intense and indom-
itable obstinacy which cnuracterised his thoroughly com-
mon-place and uninteresting countenance.

By his side stood the colonel; he was ‘toying absently
with some of the Dresden China ornaments which dec-
orated 1hé mantel-piece, and he was listening with a per-
plexed face to the querulous and angry complaints which
the wounded gentleman was pouring forth.

“T'tell you thatit was an act of treachery,” said the
‘baronet. “I was going out with you to dine, we were
both 6n horseback, wiien'a man rides up; and calls after
me ‘Stop, Sir Guildford Owen!’ This man presents a
letter‘te ne which I tear open, and:l discover that 1 am
prayed to ride at.once to the house of a gentleman Called
Ingoldsby, in the neighborhood, since there I should re-
ceive secret information respecting tue Lady Juliette, and
Lam told to makenoconfidant of you,
‘to make an excuse and ride off atonce; this Laccordingly
do.’ Thé'messenger I do not see again, he rides off in an
opposite direction, and I find myself on the road: leading
‘to Ingoldsby House; { discover that it stands twelve miles
from Maberly, and the nearest ways lies through the
Allonby Woods, I am: not an expert horseman, as you
well know,” continued the baronet, who made the adinis-
sion unwillingly. “I ride carefully and slowly through
the weods, and darkness soon fails; then I hear some-
thing rustling among thetrees, another moment and there
is the flash and report of a pistol.’ 1 feel that lam wound-
ed, my head swims; and I fall heavily from my horse.
When I recover my senses again, lam told that 1 have
been at death’s door for weeks; tat [have been robbed
of my valuable watch and a great dealof money, But
thatis not the worst of it. Ian: crippled for life; so crip-
pled that 1 could not with dignity approach the altar, aud
my most Cherished wishes are forever blighted. Mean-
while that insolent girl, your ward, who has performed
the unmaidenly feat of escaping to London in the com-
pany of her maid alone, returns, Tam informed, to this
house, secure in the consciousness that she can no longer
be coerced into the marriage which it was her father’s
wish should be arranged for her. Ltell you, Colonel
Philvertson, there is treachery bellind all this—treachery

 

pies would not hold you back from crime.”? :

“I will only ask you,’’ said the colonel, speaking in a
trembling voice, “what advantage your bemg wounded
and robbed could possibly afford me? Had I desired your
death, have you not lain helpless, as it were, in my hands
for many weeks? But I swear to youthat Ihave not, de-
sired your death.”

Now the colonel was not & good man, but there are
many degrees in iniquity, and he belonged not by any
means to the worst class of villains; ne spoke truly when
he affirmed that he had not desired the merchant's death.

“You may not have desired to Kill me,’ said Sir Guila-
ford, who was now almiost Iparticulate from. anger, ‘‘but
you may have desired to crippie me, so that ] should: not
be able to marry your ward, whom, perhaps, you. design
fur some titied rascal. But you forget, Colonel, Philbert-
son, What a secret I could tell to the world.” ;

The colonel shuddered and covered his eyes with. his
hands. ‘The shadow of the long-past crime had indeed
cast a terrible gloom over his whole life.

“What do you mean to do, Sir Guildford ??’ he inquired,
in a hollow. voice. “Do you desire to marry Juliette now,
crippled as you are? ; If so,-only speak the word.??

“} aati not quite such an imbecile, Philbertson,”’? return-
ed Sir Guildford, with @ bitter smile. “I shall probably
never de able to walk again. I am tied to an, invalid’s
chair for life. It will not advantage me to possess @ beau-
uful wife who is dancing abouttne world in garden par-
ties, balls and operas, while I am chained to my sick
room. No, [never desire to see that girl again. Pray
keep her ontofmy way. I mean to travel on the conti-
nent. Ishall gointe Italy; 1 shall advertise for a travel-
ing companion; but 1 shall also set to work, to worm out
the tratn regarding my assailant, and if, L discover that
you had any band in the maiter :

Then Colonel Philbertson trembled and looked down on
the ground.

Sir Guildford had gained somethingin dignity, strange
as it may seem, since his misfortune; he had lost in pom-
posity, but: we repeat that he had gained in’ dignity. If
adversity had not improved his temper, at least it had
curbed his pride, and taught him wisdom. He felt, truly
enough, that he had been cruelly wronged, and treacher-
ously dealt with. Still hehad lain at death’s door, and
while lying at that grim portal, conscience, which some
great writer calls the voice of God, had spokem loudly to
the rich man of the city. Perchance he had been himself
a suppliant for mercy Anyhow, he could see now what
he had not been able to see in the days of his health and
strength; that in trying to chain. a young, shrinking
creature, Scarcely more than a child, to a life which she
hated, he had been endeavoring to commit a wicked and
unjust action.

life no longer, then, desired this marriage; nay, more
than that, he was ashamed in his heart of ever having de-
sired it. But he was not going to admit this to the world.
Ife had not forgiven Juliette; it was impossible that a man
so conceited and so vain should all‘at ence forgive a girl
who had been the means (however innocently) of wouna-
ing his self-love. Still he was not implacable; his dislike
went no further than this—that he never Wished ‘to see
ner again.

Toward the colonel he felt differently. He believed
that he should be only doing his duty, both to himself
and to the world in general, if he succeeded: in hunting
out the author of the crime of which he had been the vic-
tim, and delivering him up to justice. If it turned out
that the guilty man was the colonel, then lie would not
spare that gentleman; he would bring up that mysterious
past crime of which he was cognizant, and he would let
the law do its worst. But he was not sure by any means
that the colonel was guilty. To discover who was should
henceforth be the object of his life.

“Did you not tell me, colonel,’’ said he, suddenly, “that
the village schoolmaster discovered me lying wounded in
Allonby Woods, and then had a desperate fight with the
rufflan’ who attempted to murder me to complete the
work which he had begun ?”?

“So he said,’’ cried the colonel; “but he is a bad char-
acter. He is sent away from the village in disgrace.”

“Why did you have him sent away?” asked Sir Guild-
ford, sharply.

“1 did not have him sent away,”? answered the colonel.

“Who did then?’ demanded the sick man.

And his pale face looked up inquisitively into the
bronzed, haudsome face of the cclonel.

“Jt was Mr. Upperton, the vicar,’ returned the colonel,
Speaking now steadily, and looking the invalhd full in the
face, for he was telling the truth, “Mr. Upperton, the
vicar, said that he found him drinking and swearing ina
public house, He thought so very badly of him that he
wished me to have him arrested on suspicion of being
your assailant; ut I refused to do that.”

“Then had the young man borne a bad character up to
that period ?? asked Sir Guildford.

“T really don’t know,” replied the colonel, haughtily.

“But if he saved wy life at the risk of his own,” ob-
served Sir. Guildford, musingly, “lie should have been
rewvarded, not punished; lie dues not appear even to have
been thanked.”

“Because the circumstances were 80 suspicious,’? ob-
served the colonel, arily.

“Stay; did Tnot hear something of his having saved
cliildren from a burning house?’ exclaimed Sir Guildford.

“There is such a story,’’ returned the colonels “but you
know the young fellow is very handsome, half-Spanish,
foreign and fantastic in his manners and modes of action.
He is one who would be always putting himself into the-
atrical and heroic situations befure the world. Ishould
not piy attention to any story of his.”

The invalid smiled a Knowing smile, and stared mus-
ingly into the fire,

“Where did you say this young man was?’’ he asked
sharply.

“T did. not say, because I do not, know,” replied the
colonel, coldly.

Again the knowing smile, that keen scrutiny of the
dancing flames.

And all this while the secret of who the assailant was,
was known perfectly to Florence Randoil, absolutely to
Eugene Fernandez, yet neither of these bad spoken—
both, perchance, had felt the difficuly of proving their
own convictions.

Tne colonel remarked after a little space, that it would
not answer for the invalid to fatigue himself with any
further conversation, 80 lve took his departure, and sent
Sir Guildford’s own servant to attend upon him.

In the breakfast-room he discovereu Juliette, standing
pale and pensive by the mantelpiece. Te went up to her
and laid his hand affectionately upon her head. He was
glad to think tnat the beautiful girl was now liberated
from the fear of a marriage which had been odious to
“her.

“You lead buf a dull life here, Juliette,” he said; “but
there shall soon be achange. Wewil take you to Lon-
don; we will show you the world. Tnere is no occasion
to cage and box you up any longer, for the old man who
was to have monopolised you, has withdrawn afl claims.
We will marry you to the richest and handsomest young
nobleman we can find; we will marry you to Lord
Crosby.’?

Juliette Jooked thoughtfully and sorrowfully upon the
ground, and shook her head.

sof wish to think of other things than marriage, colo-
nel," she said. “I bave very sad news for you. The
fever is raging in the village of Allonby, and, indeed, in
‘all the villages and towns fur ten miles round. The poor
people are lu great distress, 80 many fatirers of families
are lying ill. Mr. Clenham has written’a note to me,
begging me to ask your assistance. They want to take
that large house called “Normanby,” which has been so
long unlet, which stands at the end of the village in its
own grounds; they wish to fit it up as a hospital, but this
will cost two hundred pounds at least.”?

The reader is aware that large demands had lately
been made on tne colonel's purse by the infamous Maple-
ton; indeed, he had given him several thousand pounds.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if he looked and
felt a little annoyed when he heard of this new demand
upon his pocket. Before the arrival of Mapleton the colo-
nel would gladly have headed the subscription list with a
donation of fifty guineas. Now it was quite different. The
colonel was still a rich man, but he had been Jately try-
ing to make up, by secret economies, for the heavy drains
onhis exchequer, and he wineed at this sudden demand
for a large suvscription. ©

‘AWhat a pest these parsons are!*) he cried, testily;
“they are always like the horse-leech, shouting: ‘give,
give!’ I positively sha’n’t ‘give them‘ more than fiye
pounds—I can’t; and, Juliette, since the fever is so rag-
ing, I must absolately forbid your going into the village
at all, or'we shall have you bringing the illness home to
us here.”

Tne colonel? shuddered and shivered as he spoke.

“So I can be of no use to these poor people,’ cried Ju-
liette, almost passionately. “I havé:no*meney to spare,
for Lam required to dress 1n so costly a style, and I must
not go to nurse or help them.”

Then-she thought wistfully of the two hundred pounds,
part of which sum she had saved, and part ofswhich had
been gifts from rich friends during her: childnood.: That
money she ‘had given away toa stranger, with a Jigpt
beard, Whom she was at liberty (if she chose) te claim as
her husband. Already Juliette lelb a sickening dread of
tle consequences of thatrash act.» Strive as she would,
the phantom of that mad marriage haunted her like a
grisly spectre. The man might yet rise up, and ‘torture
and: humiliate hers and now her money was gone, and
glie was quite powerless to heip the poor at Allonby.

“You seem very much distressed,’ said the cvlonel.
“Were are five pounds, which you ‘may send to your
friend, Mr. Clenham, but I really cannot spare any
more.”? oy

Hie slipped five sovereigns into Juliette’s hand’as he
spoke. :
eile thanked him, and then ran off to write a note to
Mr. Clennam. Ste siipped the five pounds into @ little
purse, and added thereto a sovereign of her own. She
took the purse and-note to Mr. Clenham’s messenger, a
village boy who stood in the hall.

The lad made his bow and then departed, for Mr. Clen-
ham had told him to hurry; he hastened across the park,

It was a soaking wet day, the atmosphere reeked with
moisture, the clouds floated low. One could have fancied
on entering the villiage, that the whole place was. filled
with miasma: i6 was one of those warm, heavy, unwhole-
some autumn days, when the demon of feverrises up sud-
denly in the low-roofed- dwellings of the poor, and strikes
down its vietims, wholie writhing and tortured zometimes
when there is neither medicine, nor cooling drink, nor at-
tentive nurse to be found in time to save the lives that are
fiercely ebbing away under the burning throes of disease.
The rain beat Gown upon the low-roofed cottages, and
made temporary wildernesses of the once neat gardens.
The little boy reached the curate’s house; he was admit-
ted into-the study, and handed him the purse and the
note.

The curate first read the note, then opened the purse. A

 

 

of the worst kind. You must ve aware that lL know

look of disappointment and pain came into his kind eyes.

Only six pounds from Maberly Abbey, and the people were
dying in the vijlages for ten miles round!

“You are wet, miy boy,’’ Said the curate to the little
messenger. ‘Drink this glass of wine, and run home as
fust as you can; change your clothes at once; and there is
a shilling for you.” :
ne boy drank his wine, chuckled gleefully over his
shilling, and departed. :

‘Toe curate looked sorrowfully at the six Sovereigns; do
what he would, he feared he could not raise more than
thirty pounds.

At this moment came a knock at the hall door, a mo-
ment afterward there was admitted into his presence a tall,
slight female, She was habited ina long cloak; she wore
a hood on her bead, and her face was covered by a thick
vail, She drew this vail aside, and disclosed to the asion-
ished curate the peculiar but beautiful face of the extra-
ordinary Nancy Symes. :

“J have something to tell you, reverend sir,’’ she sa d.

(To be continued.)

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For Moth Patches, Freckles

Ana TAN, use Perry's ‘Morg AND Fredxix Lotion.”

Tt is reliable and harmless. ‘Prepared only by Dr. B.C. Perry,
49 Bonu-st., New York. Soid by druggists every where, 42-13. ©

 

 

 

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331 and 333 SIXTH AVENUE,
pare a perfect assortment of FALL and ILOLIDAY attractions,
including

1000 ps. French Epanglines........-.---0-++-- $1 50 worth $2.00.

10 cases Black Alpacas... .iv.ecoees: ++ 2eee +s: 50c. worth — 75c.
20 cases Black Alpacas......:.:..-820+ ae 62c. worth $1.

200 ps. New Fall Dress Poplins........-2-+--++ 88e. worth 50c.
200 ps. English Luster Poplins........-.-- see. 37c. Worth 75c.
1000 ps. colored Empress Cloth............--- 50c. worth 65c
Cloak Velvets, 26 inches wide...sae.------++> $5 worth $7.
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(Very beautiful goods and great bargains.) _
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500 doz. all color Kid Gloves, at prices varying from $1 up-—
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ALTMAN, BROS, & C
331 and 333 Sixth Avenue.

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The important dis¢every of the CARBO.
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JOHN F. HENRY,

SOLE PROPRIETOR, ...

imitation Whitby Jet Sets, &c., at j 0.

 

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No. 8 College Place, New York.» :
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ON'T RE WITHOUT IT! “GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK RE.
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anemone 202 —
SENTIMENTAL No. Avmuon,
\ . 1465 Spanish, Maleleer,,. si. .:.- 2c deco cease cree sas ee Millard
No. - AUTHOR. | 371, Something to love me ..........--++<
30L A llightand minstrel boy.....6.......60666> sessed, Barnett. | 246, So WOUGLY incite coset es
; 204. Mhuidred years aoe oe A SE Waverly. 1 380, Spellis broken ....
294. A place in thy memory.: 2.6.00. 0. eb eee e ete eae Smith. 411. Spring time is come
385. A sweet song bird was singing.....+--..2...4. W. F. Taylor. | 424, Star Of hom@ .......6...0sececesescees German
10. MITER Date 2 rd SS. t wad Vol BOG Wart: Wi3U0). Star Of 1OVE...... <2. cess esse se cot sarees Bacon
Agamst the Stream. .- UH. Fase. } 220, Star-Spangled Banner.............c.cesecenenees ees
) 217. Allan’ Water. 2.30 2.60...5.< OE tEROMi HO Suli T love thee en ss od. caseise- ciate ee Dobson
269. All that’s bright must fade,. Stevenson. | 140, sirangers yet..........e.cecceeeec eee es
259. All's Well. fo. coo. 20... Buccaneer ecctecta Braham.’ | 37, Susan’s Story
206. Anuié Laurie... Joe ost Rar Pee onc en - Scotch. | 57. Sweethearts...
($43. Angels Whisper. -.:.. 2.0. +2+.see esses eee eee MIMIOVETU FARO! Sweet PIO WEl<..cosw. bot ts ee Blamphin
368. Aimnie o’ the’ banks 0” Dee.............0...000 se GHOWS YN 2U( SWE RODIN aoc ct ay A ee esas tp ie pote ck nes Scotch
(257. Araby’s Daughter:........... Be fost, Lae, + ee. sKiallmark,. 1 Sweeter than the Breathe 2.0770. -Nelson
(302. Away, away we bound........ 5 SO Bet. BIE Drake. | 284. Switzer's sony of Home.... -Moscheles
306. Banks 0’ the Blue Moselle......,...+. 3 Mess Rodwell) | 333, Sweet song-bird was singe. .W. F. Taylor
poe. BUaMUtal Bele. test cents neers st wile Waverlysieayr Take back theheart,..5....0. 00.2 osetia eee Claribel
/,95. Beautiful Hope..-.:..........4. : Bard.’| 308. Teach me to forget..........0.c.scceevleveeetee 2 Sa Bishop
347. Beautiful spirit, spirit of love..... soe es eet «F. Taylor. | 116. Thea yowll remember MC...........0..c cence eenes comes Balle
231. Believe ine if all those endearing young charms,Stevenson. | 134, There was a SUID OMEN csc sce svg ops teres oo Muactarren
244. Bessie, the sajlor’s wife...) 0. ee aes Hodson. | 28. There’s a charmy 1m Spring. ..........0.0.2eee eens cee Hullab.
: 64. Be Watchful’and beware... 2 eee ee Glover. | 304. There isa flower............ Mos eae ees ncre toe Wallace
242. Bird of Liberty...... Reset er renee -JALOIGOM. 1/289) THEre's NOt IOV ce «ser ¢- 2079) cedces car weer cee eeom anes Hause
227. Birks of Aberfeldy....... 20.2.0... 2.08 VIL. TUOTE)S NOL MAUOKS. .0c5 56 2cs, sb eoee seeks ree Stevenson
280. Black-eyed Susan.....:......... : 148. >Tis hard to give the hand.............,: So eeieen sae aee Glover
fl. Biishted Tove. scr tb, = 3 eb aS EO R.'S. Camaroth: (174; The Trotibudour...........-00-0+sshecseeewctecpeceenens Bayly
310. Bloom is on the Rye... ishop. | 345. These things cam Never die........,-.secccsasecseeeeeees Fase
; 42. Bite Byes... 2.2 sss: --Molloy. | 105. This world is tull of beauty. . Waverly
365. Bonnie Doon........... oizeluch. | 295. They bid:me forget thee.........cseeeeeverececeeses
(376. Boys of Switzerland. - Bishop. | 288, Those flaxen locks,,..-..,-...--:espeececsceaecene Kiallmark
183. Breathe soft and low “Millard. { 393. Those happy days are gone....,.,. Se oda ee Layenu
1240. Bride, the s.2 ae Ee, -.- Nelson. | 216. Thou art. gone trom my gaze....s.....0.66- Saye g aes Linley
lat Bridal ring......... a Beso tp sae ee ecu e sis « -Rodwell. | 297. To-day, dearest, is QUIS...5...-2.0.05-000ereeeees -.. Moore.
873. Brookside, the............. Buse otic ¢ccmeh Upee tees tro Hine. | 353. Threc fishers went sailing................eeece0e .- Hullah
185. By-gone days.......... a aoe -+....Raymona. | 399, Trumpet and Drum........... once ca pce ato segeee ee» OSSIIL
1272. By the sad'sea WAVCS ..../...05.0.0-seseveeeeonses Benedict.-| 355. Tubal Cain.............-.. ARN aS en Russell
1265. Buttertiy’s Choice......,..... 0.2.08 Mee OCS Leos SWIRL WCW. ce cece rion tN oars ise Lewes

50. Call me thine own..... Malad aos oats nent eT Ae -L’Eelair. | 386. Voice of her I love..... oo - Parry
378. Culmly the day is GyiNg..........-...ccee eee ee -Linley. | 401. Wait for the turn of the tide. Clifton
215. Canadian Boat Song.........-.seceegeeeeeee ee Moore?’} 172. Wake, darling, Wake .<...5- 0's >: nceeess leer scodgee ce Willson

233. Carrier Pigeon...... Moran V357 4 Waitener t0G., 2.4645 a ee Lardner

85. Castles in the air Adaims. | 387. Wha'll be king but Charlie?........., phate iar ee Scotch
Oa. CAMAMER UNG steen, tosses tae tM es ke? eae 28 Glover. | 238, What need have I the truth to tell?...... Claribel
NOR CRAs Ste cs Sap at cn. cect haee ee eet sk he em ee, e 358) What. will’ you do, love?....2.....22.-+2c008 - Lover

UG CA OL LUOL Wy eS cece. ccasc eet cec sts lsat --.. Hodson. | 3. We'd better bide 4 Wee...... 2... cecceceees Claribel
430. Claudine lived contented. . -.. Shields. | 359. We have lived and loved together........c..s+0+se-0ee Herz
pose. Cote, CwWell With TGs lteter g-te stone en cees Lee. | 413! We may be happy. Yet....-.e.-02--é-sseseesenregerer ss Balle
422. Come in and shut the door....-........- tesco eee Calcott. }-292. We meet by Chance.......-....seneeesercencenes ..Kucken
¢t2, Come HIMET My DAUYs cscs tees eee eee eee te. oe NVteneT 193661 We: met. i 6st, orca 5 . Bayly
267. Come, take the harp ..+.-+.. 358. What will you do, love Lover
i44 Coming thro’ the Ryev. i... i! 208. When love is Kind..........0.... Bishop
fA32. Cracoviag: MAIC. Wc 1. os Stee. scene. 388. When stars are ithe quiet skics....1..5..4.85 demerit pL
226. Cushlamachree. 115. When theswallows homeward fly....... ‘ <-- Abt
1367, Cypress Wreath...... Pod WHOM OC, SANE AWA co. ine, tn rs se seeideren a eracie cue Scotch
Ft3. Danis: Boy's WHISUG st tece cs og ccs ece en oe es seoee Graff: | 154. Where is my sister dear?...... ae (
162. Dawn of Day...... Sea eee ees ween aoe ..-Millard:'| ‘63. Where there’s a-will.;..2.0... oe sae
(p02 Day and night I thought of thee...... se.-eeee es -Bhrivall |'364. Whistle and Til come to YOU, .-.cee-seseentr eres . Bruce
1255. Dvep in my soul....... pos ROP SURE ni niasagsence Nelson: | 103. White-plossomed tree... sei... eee e rene eetereere IEtAVE
375. Dreams of the heart.......: se etpey reece per necboes G. Linley: |°'51. Why, wandering here?.......... fe tigen oak & N whan
75 HEily Mavourneen. 2 et fee ete peace Benedict. 171. Wilt thou uot smile upon me?... PaMihard
P50. Tenis MY NOMS! oe. cy ete erste streets: ones Moscheles. | 241. Wilt thou say. farewell, love ?... Moore
i415. Ever be happy, ..2.-...+-.22+---+ Cees 382. Wind thy horn, my hunter boy ... Bishop
(236. Ever of Thee... ee eee eee 362. Will you love me then as now,2-.......-. 00+ es
ee vets Cet. cose ene es eee 314. Wings. of a Dove... -....o,-++5 wibek oo Devereaux
1232. Fairy Boy... «« f 145. Within a mile of Edinboro... vee SCOteh |.
Re Paes Wel eee eh ee ee _Waverly.| - 2. Wont you tell me why, Robiu?............-6 .. Claribel
PAs. PM OBA DO ects eae Rae sere eter ee Lutz. | 138, Would you be young again?...................- Clippingdale |
374 Farewell CMON er Me giao tree ewer ence nore Blamphin. | 416. Yes, T wilh Jeave. 5.55. oy cé- sens «hbase eden qe} es teyitt
Laas: ave o'clock athe WAOLU ING ce geen os pg eens tne HOOT Vankee Dootie se a ee eee ee EMS
477. Flow on, thou shining river... eee eran Stevenson. | 114. YouandI.......: ee re cae tel ahi ge ere Maribel.
See De ot ihe Hat se seat n'e) i4hi ai meteor # et Cathe
‘213. Forget not your Kathieen.....2....... worse od. We NOW, i &
lGG. Pore sPeOMer occ skye sec Cu sty ease ee Soper eI, : COMIC.
423 MOrsHBen eter tess fe aes ee ee ee V. GabiithHe. | 153, A’ Motto for every mans. ....000). eres ace '.. obson |
a2 PNOTONCO << yao ncaa ea Bee cen ec ce Pose! Seerery 4 eee All anon the Mey. f). ck feces) nee CAE Ok J) Williatns
218. Gaily through life. oA .. Linley: | 256. Annette’s Granny Dear: 2.20.22: ea a ees te eee '.. Bayly
410. Glide to the sea . . B. Ladd 7-363. An old man would be wooing.. Candy
BSU0: Oe LOMO LE Ge wai as ce sics cl ceis ee em acres Mozart. |) 75. Bachelor’s Hall... 2... rs Culver
f 6. Good-by, sweetheart... 0 oan, bo ees id Ua lettores| Oi | Bache Oo LEN. One tae ones co -Lover
APS. GOUU CIN otc reece oe ee Waverly WPS BOSMMUL YOUNES AVY po cect een pees then Glover
200 Goop might, my; GEarest.s; n-ss5- aemencecsts cer ee tee: Moore. | 340. Beauty and Time. i... 2.2.2 2e es! Lover
Wife GaoG- Welle co.cc cs porter a eee te ee USE 408 Flowers. | ‘84. Bells goes vinging for Suiral............ cee eee Hunt
‘414. Grecian Daughter, the. . 00... 0.0.20... ese eee ees J. P. Knight. | (40. Belles of Broadway.......... see ngpayte see tecc esas aymond
DOR ABU Lab UGA Us lnc n cs oon ct ieee ae ee ieee J. Roger: | 408. Better late than never: ey te ke Blockley
Sale Tanifeamabiy Niel os ke eee as gas Se eee ne @laribel 165; Boston Beles. ee ee ee lett oe heece ates Raymond
Ose MAB UP EL? ONE UNEY soe c cic ca ocean sens Seieees eee . Wiesenthal. |) 56. Bootblack’s Song......... 00. eV averly
178. Harp of Tara’s Hall.....0.. 20.2. ea ne canter oer ane Trish. | 320. Bother the Mashion......... ieee A eae utler
'290. Has sorrow thy young days shaded ?. ..-Moore.'; 187. Bother.the Men. ..:2.0..2.2. Walker
189. He never said he Joved,...... Uvdson. | 409. Bowld Soger Boy........ + Lover
249. HEGIUIG Bony SCOUANG, «sce dabcceesc ssc hensesect Lee. | 316. Broken Down... Sinclair
p123; Heer i bowed dow); .: icscc +. c5- cescpc ees cesees. ..,-Bulfe. | 157, Balls and Bears....... .. Pratt
131. Heaven and Thee...... eee sb eee are eee Guglielmo. | 331. Cackle, cackle, cackle......0.0... 20.8. :.Bagnieil
PISO. RSL NMENT BEC sn sedaetat estes cncin eeeeheeess Wrighton: | 136, Call ber back and kisg her... 2... cece yee weet eeene ee clifton
229, Here we nicet too soon to part.............-- see DOSSINI, AT OAMATI OMEN Ghee or lites setae roe se enacts tee -Maclagan
278. Hey, the bonnie breast-knot...............- ews 9. Champagne Charhe...............5.. 7 dees . Live
' 16. His love shines over all..........-...56+--5- . +. -Borbes. 1/66; Chestrur-Street Belles... 2.0.2... 020: -Raymond
201. Home Music........ fee Senet cee Raymond: | 179, Clown in the Pantomime..:............. oioetss st emete
| 273. Hope from sorrow takes the sting..........-...... ot ee wiz. | 194, Cruiskeen SIAN 2 ee ete ee ee Benedict
237. Hurran tor the boniets 0’ Dlue.. 2... 2... 62s. eeen eee n es pO) hag ND) 8 OF Ss Ear ence eine cece inten we Scart cic <P ae Lloyd
-142, Icaunot sing the old songs.... . Claribel. } 183, Dancing Darkey.........0... 0.6.20 eyes Moestcini
+101. Thave a rose. 2... ec s.. arrington. | 168, Dancing Fairy......-2.-..--.- +++! Waverly
' 421. I knew a Sicilian Maid. ..................2.-.-.-d+ Barnett. | 228, Dashing White Sergeant. . - Bishop
POOL POV EG UNL NCG se, cari iice ew uasesataewtee ss: P, Cianchettini. | 2. Dutehman’s leetle wee do ~
'315. I love the merry sunshine..... v 198. Barly in the morning. .-... 0.00). ieee eee ee Mace
(281. I will love thee to the tast............ Rete aye Montgomery. | 322, Fascmating Swell... Van Hess

36. I will not ask to press that cheek..............+,++ Gabrielle. | 10. Fidgety Witt. 0... ee re a Covert
224. I'd be a butterfly....... ieee wentieee scene oo Bayly. { 39. Flying Trapeze..-....-..-...+--..- -Raymond
418. I'd offer thee this hand of muine.,.............. 2.5 62, Foreign Count... . 20. as Lioyd
Bae. Miia SCALE ANNA 2 BON: snc cee sc cose es conte cat eA et ake Bishop; | 760, Gay Cavalicr. oon. ee eee nee ws Millard

| 127. In happy WADING S fests hea ae gece < csp ties cps Walluce. | 346. Give a man a Chance Batchelder
1391. Tngle side, the... Mares ... Wiesenthal: | 159. Good by, John.-....... ve eeget 52 Caer ese
, 128 Lt ought not.thus to ve aca ek ee . | WO. Go it while you're young. -. Waverly
_ 342. Isle of Beauty..... ..- Whitmore. | 132. Hamlet, Prince of Deninark. -Raymond
+141. Janet’s choice, ...,,..... .Claribel."|'S2£ .Have patience till tomorrow... ee a io, -. Bae?
, 173. John Anderson, my Jo.............. 149. Have you'seéiy tier latcly P02 SHS Tute
A OF SUA eg a ate Nae nag te eters? -Norton 7. Lreally don’t think [ shalimar brielie
| 412, Kathl-en Aroon..... fei eee dee cl er ainsi t.0 rs Fl abt. | 209. Tsaw Esau. tte ee Davies
| 360. Katy Darling........ Aes i 396. I will stand by my friend....... Bieknell
LTO Mel Vet LENE <n oes a ch ach; vin ee eat news sien ‘Diflerin 1160. Tilask my mother... ee ee urnshe w
BS ICO UVM NAMEN ene ia Vere sees ees ge ee fe eect Scotch, | 852. Vi tell nobody...... 2
REO: UY de cee ce cree tee ance egeg eee s Balté. | 96. I’m not myself at all.. .. Lover
Gb ad yi MING oe re op apne Sede coe bas oo -Waverly. | 192. Vin o’er young to marry. Lee
B69, ABN Ob LBW Cbs ctdcag es crac en eaas ope se duce toes Lover. | 18h. Trish Hussar... ... 2.2.22. 2 fee ee ee -Raymond
$388. Uapsi0” GOW LIC eco cs sen er ens nse4tesnins air .. Scotch. / 404. Its not the miles we travel.....-..0... 020... -. Clifton
287. Last link is broken. . t OCR tone POOL Sema. BLOWS --.562253 22s - nse tee ae é Candy
' 239. Laxt rose of Summer..... ‘ : IT. Jog along. boys.......0.....0.---- eee tees tele i 2. Nash
(8 Vat WOGrd. WHC ccc cance ness ..Williams. } 90. Ka-foozle-um ¢ 2.2.2.0. ee eee eter eee eee Stewart
_ £9 Le Sabre de mon pere... : S09. Kte MeaArnev  . gen cs cr nce ttn teeee ene aoe ae Trish
; re Dita BOat cs. owe st. cs 83. Kitty Tyrrell... ee ee Glover
341. Light of other days..... 61. Lancashire ge. ee -Raymond
33. Light of the World... 196. Laugh while you Can.....-...--...s2++++-- Lf
434. Like a fluweT.ss o.. .. .c.- sg anomie bide y fou - - oe pt Wrighton. | 234. Live in my heart..............5.--- oo :++--Lover
417. Lillie Lee. SMe Soe. esr. So cn eee 0 PN Glover. | 230. Love was once a little boy......-.+..--++- ti ;
© 117. Little Bird, little bird..--........... Scecesrtarssectes Claribel. | 291.. Merriest girl that’s oUt... . 0.222. ee eee ee </Minasi
348. Little: Diumond Dewdrop..........:..4 -Blamphin, | 176. Matrimonial Sweets: :. 5.0.0.0. eee eee Freeman
ues OM COC GINS VT SARC co 01s wleitiisletccihecnis ks ss sie 0 cine Glover: | 254. My Daughter Fan... ee ee at Blewitt

WE APitile MAGIC MAN. oo ccc cis <i us <'> im wpine els oping = > Blamphin. | 278. My Son, Tom... 0.0.00. 5 2. eee ae eee eee teens Bayly
212. Little Neli..-.. ei eee oan Linley. | 153. Motto for every Man,........ eee eee ee eee ed Liobson

' 403. Lizzie Lindsay..... Robertson: |.158. Nellie just over the way....-.....-.0. eee Millard
122. Love tight in’ your ey Sedgwick. | 402. Norah McShane... SAG OF BEY Bie s+... Hewitt
195. Love in a cottage........... ben tthe Se arte ek see Smith B. Not for JOSepit. >. oo, -. scone esse tee ete eels wal Lloyd
258.5Love is thé themes .00 0025 222. SIO BEI a Tully. | 89. Nothing else todo...........-.... - Hatton
SIZS LOV el enn thas cake Ate tee el, oe Blockicy. 72. On, you pretty blue-eyed witch... » Taylor

| 323.) Dove thée; dearest. 8 et Vaotli. | 126. Oid simon, the Cellarer.........2. 6-56-21. e ee ins ss. Hatton
230. Love Was once @ little boy..... 2 356. One good turn deserves another......... + .kaw’d Rankine
80.-Magele Morgan.) 005) 282.20. ee SS tet Scotch. | 87. Paddle your own Canoe.....-..........22s eerie eet obson

15, Maggie’s secret...)..... eet Poe cists GEA wee OES tM laribel. | 805, Pretty girt milking her cow.....2-....--+..--eeee... .. Trish
21k OWA 102 Gt OAUHONS fo ote es eat re ett teh. .. KMiallmark, |. 282, Pretty: Jemima. of... eee eee eee Belzoni
283. March of the Cameron Men, the......... Le 22, Riding down Broadway........-.-..--- +++ see ee eee Andrews

19° Mary’ OF Avie ee eet seers 350. Rolling home inthe morning.........-..---++.+- +5. Egerton
384. Mary ot Castle Car} ieMeNeil. $155. Romeo and’ Juliet... 2. cc eee cece es Raymond
197. Marian Ramsay... ae aymond. 91. Sally, Sally.......... PB MI ties SE aes Lover
405; Marion’s Souges4 : 2.2 ett es eee dd Ularibel. 167. Sportsat Wire Island... ..-.. 0.22.22... seen pees es Raymond
250. Mary, £ betieved thee true .....) 0.2. ec eee cteens Moore, | §2. School of jolly dogs.....2.... . Copeland
2459 M aT seules Tey Mins 85, el hs. Be Se te De Lisle. | 225. Tapping at the garden gate.............-..

262: Meeting of the waters... .0..2..0. eee Stevenson: | 328. The way to be happy.............-.-.-- 0+ ee sees vi Cliftone
286. Meet me by moonlight... i. lee eee ee . A. Wade. |. 53. Those tassels on the Doots........ 0 eee .Raymond

60--Meet me fy the Wane. 2 0! fe ert. See. Blamphinie} 30s Tommy Dodds. ee ee ee Te tae te ale 2
370:1Metodies! of many Vande: 03205. LOT Glover! }165. Tommy Noodle... 2... o.oo ee eee deeb ek Steele
151i Memory otmedrly "Guys. o.oo PT Tetsch<t' 3920p mia bao. 2 en. owns eye ee eesees sve Raymond
2662 Minstrel Boy 2.0.2 NUE eho eek setae ss Moore, } 43. Velocipede Johmny....-......-...2....2 222. seco Leander
Be Mol ¥ Bawa. . eos ee OE a neta ae 0. Ss over. | 81. Willie went @ Wooing.........-.-...--.2eee «.. Raymond
161. Monks of old. Millard. | 296. Why don’t the men propose?........... 2 eet ee kee Blewitt
45, Moonlit ‘sea:-. 2.2.2.2... a Prout. | 251. Widow Machree..... eee ead cnet eee ee ts Lover
153: M6tto: for every mans fi 22- eS PAI OE Hobson. | 276. Widow Mahoney............... Biewitt
392): My sain Mrenidei ws ks A. IR Oh 23. Waltzing down at Long Branch... Andrews

TibDby, tags A ae Rae. LT Guglielmo. | 63. Where tnere’s a will there’s @ Way... +... .s... 5.000002. Saer
a My Biue-eyed Nellie .... Blamphin, | 401. Wait for the turh of the tide..................----.-+s Clifton

ll. My gondola’s waiting below..........-- ‘

a, My heart and Intense rs.cerhes. SACRED.
y mother dear..... rai gobaleaiue : $

321. My own, my guiding star....:.--seee eer reese Maciarcen. | 3077A Mighbdbymns 200.2255 Od. Seda 1 J. Daniel
164. My OWN true 10VE....e205.e cee ee eee senge-aic-tbillard, | 95, Beautiful Hope... ...0.. 520d. ites tind eet ose eta die old Bar
DOOMMOMIG: C. ah. . latdih 2o ai bb cine - 28 eb EASE =e Blam phin. 309. Ere this vast world was made..........c..0+- .Bassford
106, Never mind the rest... 6... .s scree see cette ce cece nes ASC. | 235, Eve's Lamentation... ........0.cceescseetesdieedsaseeee . King
433, Norma’s Sng. .....-...50-55-% $3 Bellini. | 274, Tlove to hear my’ Savior’s ,..Glover

92. Of whatis the old man thinking ?. Knight. | 308. In God we trust.......3s2.iL..6.
240,,Oft in the;stilly night... .......05 22. -.2 esse ey Moore. | 152. Jerusalem, the Golden...............eescece eee seeien Walker
ae on catlase Ghook SPR te 8g bsieeld =F Genes Seppe fe - ‘ qiloy, 251 Passing EBON oH i SOR M0. cee Os clseie bmw chic -Ree Claribel
325. familiar faces......... pubiss > veld 5: H. Fuse. mc
ae Old house appame; NaeLT Sie be Cae BAL Es E. J. Loder. INSTRUMENTAL,

77. Ola kirk yard..........5.. Lee PES EC . ah
307. Old rey: home, the... 2 Segebiiieas ates Anne Fricker. | 20. Arm-in-arm (Polka Mazurika).......-.....--.--2:000+ Stratiss
407... One CALeleSS WOT. ....e0- eee eeeecen vases. Alex. Lee. | 185. Blue-Bird Polka. ...... sees eee cece cence rence ees Rogers
113. Only a lock of hair.............. Weseon seein isries .. Claribel. | 182. Canary Walta....cracccmesseseer een e rec eceee ees Breckenridge
283., Orphaa Ballad, SINZCUSm¢) oc stic2 yin theese secs qne Russell. | 261. Cape May Scnottische.........,...eecseereereeee senses Rogers
ill. O take me to, thy heart again. ...,-.........-.55 hate aise Balfe.| 93, Continental NO MOUISCDS dara. erisnes sehiabens cooly oa =
104. O that I-were asong........ Beste Ter inns alana Hine. | 88. Crescent City March....... eas

73. O would I were a bird... <3 Blamphin. | 120. Drawing-Room Schottische.......+.---+-sstgsee pees Douglass
318. QO, ye tears....... oe thai ays < ea eats 109. Pancing DOO ea aioe fit caearenian cbt a ori cin.s tegen hogers
898 Oli! Bamauet nol as psiigta< is -- on ciate rs ..-.--. Bishop. | 180. Einma Mazurka... .....----.. ee eee eter terete :
SHO ge OT SMIBIADAEN 46 peda sicte mow oye sideittris oieoia's ...Geo. Barker. | 264. Euterpe Polka. .....2-.cncpeneenpuresrete rycen: J. oe Taylor
190. Over, the summer Se@.........2...-.002 Stele dpe dW nec 9 Verdi. | 125, Fairies’ Frolic. BE cea Mtcr aega och “SEGEW ick
226% PASSEG BWaNigs «cls then acs vesicles dec se SE RS Kennedy. | 333. Forest-Fairy Polka.......----..++-- i oger 8

De BASHING MOUy shen (iii od (nc celal «on ooo Fase bBo 6 Claribel. | Lt. Genevieve WV ANZ satis vass Seis a eos tereetcnss Ores W ienex
FAS AP CAGE OE BING NANCY). oi oe ote 3 slg gee o's o.y ie cniarine’spieis mys Balfe. | 41. Gems from Orphee. Violin.and Piano...-..... ay mond
253, Pensez a.moi, ma chere amie..........2-..ee eee setae Drake. | 42. Gensd’Armes duett. Violin and Piano......-..... - :
426, Pirate’s Serenade, the,..............- Rie ..J. Thornton, | 313. Go-ahead Galop.....-.-..-. 2.0 cece sree pe rete A.S. Winkler
293 ROO AsOMISC! ood int dock Vase ce cree: eiteg ee sp ringisenestD odwe 99. Guadalina WaltZ........0-ereee ence reer terse tees Offenbach

8. Piaise of tears Schubert. | 380, Halr-Dime Schottische...-.... .......-. ee Ra RRS Winkler

52, Pretty, pretty, bird.. Waverly 47, Home, Sweet Home...oa, 2... sees eters et eee erence Rickards
279. Red coats.«..5-- SE efi eP Net aE ig htiges cab ieteias ono wines Scotch. | $l. Ixion Galop........... AR BS ELLOS Late Aeolus
ANG DROG rar MCE AS Gos «S554 alc oi. 6 44 ae Vehivas dhe ooo aie Cook, | 129. March of the s PV GCS occa es seca eis necnietle cana V iviani
307 i Ronbe WAUHLON Tl 8b 2 occa. sing odie ce ses avon ee cteres Kelly. | 112, Mary Emma Polka....- -.-- sake -Rogers
So0rF olilpeAUa hires Sa esas aseiak Oo. coin peek cae Gee Reeve. | 59. Mabel Waltz,......., REESE BRR i Ra -- AYving
332. Rocked in the cradle of the deep.........:.,...2.6-- Knight. | 184. Maud Waltz..,.......---+--scesretpesese teens .. Laurent
260: alosa Of SAB UGIANC sis 3 5755-655 cies Aco goin Sinn nse cin pieinig.e ees Nelson. | 248. Myrtle Schottische........---..-+.-s2s+00 0: a. Millard

IQs Rose, ote uit acl acs danas creat ss eke tee Benedict. | 252. Nellie Waltz.............2.-...-22-5: Sac nes Dennotft
S797; ROSG4 piu BUlee elcasneie Weis oe isco cds ein citi ole p.cr.pinin os Glover..| 30. Olympic Schottische..- 2.5.62. .e esse ee eee ence eee Dobson

B57 ROS WNW CBUA ie 1 HILL «3/24 phe do sie vie par vytines panne » Raymond, | 270,'Pic-mic Polka... 2.02.6... 2 osc e we teen eee e es «+1. -Rogers
UBT st RO wwe DL OEE a TON ps fine (e yf « o8) 5 Sis Hin Sig sind ale'aia's ania 210 41* «29 Saer. | 46. Periehole’s Letter.....0....0......6.c4 60> isd denade Offenbach
335. Roy)s wife........++- i 38. Power of love............. SE, Use salted Mate CU ae Wade
HOF Sate diassiede ats sly vide = dedeived> vce cs densa Peabody. | 349. Prairie-Rose Waltz. . 2... 2.020. .- ls cesses eee teen eee Winkler

86. Scenes thai are briglitest................. bok aces sine 4 Wallace. | 169. Reapers’ Schottische........ ooo daiitle
224) Shelisiol- Ocean iis sas bas ise -steiesd sass ie A Cherry. { 156. Rosalie Polka Mazurka. .- gi tik
118. She is not fair io outward View...............0ce0e Sullivan. | 49. Sabre de mon PETC. 2... sence eeeesee ersten ee ....- Offenbach

21, She might not suit your fancy..............e.eseseeee Millard. | 317. Silver Sparks WaltZ.o.0... 00. ...0c. occ cee ccsecseeceet Rogers
347. She wore a wreath Of LOSES.......-.-.eeeeeceeeeeeee Knight” | 133. Nuuset Galop... 2.55. OR as ea sleca cs ve ee sho Wilde

AS SULNGE CULES oi rg ag he et ce ee ake Claribel. | 268. Sunshine Polka... ..)...0..000. ORR oleae OE ED C4 Winkler
TFS IVE MO SAO SONTS SC cr tar ceed ce cit ns Roscoe coe Linley. | 44. St. Nicholas Galop... .. mesh Sete s hte Bailey
337. Sing me an Engtish SOUD iy civadice ths: as ...Wrighton, 27. See the conquering hero comes a
Ts SEI pper audiems Boy oo ciate Selec s Fece concen Gabriéile: | 110. Skating Rink Polka! 20. 01 a. a ed Wiener
223. Smile, bonnie Lassie... Parry. | 139: Water-Lily Polka... 00.0000. eles +... ROGETB

56. Smile of Memory .. eANV BN GUYY. «| 12t. WAVCEIY POR s oc sot cote cnc be ence esos towel nt Sedgwick
LOA Smiles and hears: 5.0 ee ee Clippingdale. | 48. Woodside Waltz and Polka.......-....... Peo te cet. Gre Bailey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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LOST HEIRESS OF LATYMER.

| By EVELYN: ASHBY,
Author of The Illegal Marriage; or Cecy Mor-
, gars Erials,’’ etc.

 

 

(“The Conspirator’s Doom” wis commenced in No. 50. Back
Nos. can be obtained trom any News Agent in the United States]

CHAPTER XIV.
THE MEETING WITH Tit BARONET.

It was with many a fervent thanksgiving to Heaven that Vic-
i torine rose from the couch ou which she had been so long sleep-
ing and prepared for escape. The small lantern which Parry
had brought stili cast a feeble light about the room, and by it
Victorine saw the terrified woman still on her Knees, looking
anxiously toward the-door. ‘

“For tne love of Heaven do not give the alarm,’ said the poor
girl; “let me go’ to my nome whence they took me.” Bat de-
spite the appeal it was eviaent that fear of Percy alone kept her
froin filling the! house with her screams. ;

Parry was slilliying insensible were he had faljen... Hastily
throwing on her clothing and wrapping a mantel closely about
her head and throat, she. started from the room. Butat the
threshold ‘her’strength failed. Reaction after the long excite-
in faintness produced by the nareotie which she had
unconsciotisly taken, now made her sick and giddy, She woud
npaye tallen had not Percy extended his arms to save her.

‘We eannot delay, my darling,” he whispered, in) her’ear, as
he endeavored to lake her in his arms,. She shrank fom him
rough modesty, and fell into a chair, -

“Give me a moment; I shall recover in a moment,” she pant-
ed; but again’he declared thut dclay would rum them, and in-
s'anuly raised her to his breast.

ingewoman cried: for help, her voice trembling too much to
muke the call effective. Perey rushed back to her, and she feil
on her knees before him,
‘Spare my life, good sir—spare me! “Do not kill me.”
“Then do you keep-quiet. You force me to treat ycu rudely.”
“T will be still-——,” she began, but catching a sheet from
the couch Perey hound it across her face tying her hands to the
unaits He carefully pushed down, the muffler to leave the nos-
trils free. car
: “Be quiet for half an hour, or I shall return to treat you more
severely. Do you understand? After that time call for help as
loud as you piease.” |:
A deep” sigh: trom ‘the floor-made the young man glance at
Parry. It was a terrible sight. :
“But for your crimes I should feel some pity for you,” he said
oe ely as he hastily turned away. 2
ictorine was reclining in the chair upon which he had placed
her. Heagain took her in his arms and hurried to the baicony.
His feet had hardly gained the ladder rounds when he heard a
ery from the dame within, and in a moment shriek after shriek
Whe ringing through the house. | ae ‘
There was no longera doubt that the alarm had been heard.
The whole household was in motion. Criesin every direction,
doors and windows swinging open, lights flushing out from room
to room, and the sharp, quick strokes of his lordship’swbell, all
told that the escape had not been efiected'a moment too soon.
rd Arundel was already at the foot of the ladder, and took

“Let me relieve you, Perey; you must be fatigued.”
“T yield ber to you, Phitip, so that I may have my right.arm
free. I shall defend her todeath—they shall kill me before they
take her again.” . ie ts ee ce.
#O, my ford, leb us’ fly,”. murmured Victorine, in Arcndel’s
ear, “Call him away—he is too daring. ©, sir, Come, come 1”
He is roe dowmthe ladder. There
The ladder telk with 1 just as a man appeare

 

    
    

 
  

    
 
 
   
   

   

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‘ the earl recog-
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into a narrows

 
 
     
   

Percy followe id
for Defenee. For os Pie
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e nad | a
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the appr
of the stu, when they paused buta short distance fromthe Carl's

-

notel.
“Take home, 1
tated over their des
“Itis bes i

beg you,” said Victorine, when they hesi-
hation; “take me to the cottage.
it’ see that she is*¢aretully guarded

  

 

; Mp. ;
‘there until I camsee Sir-Christopher.”’

There seemed to be no other course, since. Victorine objected
80 strongly to remaining at Lord Arundel’s housé; and, leaving
her-with Percy tor atime, the earl hastened to order his ‘ear-
riage. Leaving orders for it to follow at once, he hurried back
to his friends. . phe cpynd, of their voices fell upon his earere
he was himself Observed. © i 4
“This has been a happy half hour to me, my darling; bit I
am unworthy of your love.” : :

“Do not say so, Percy, since you bid me call you so—do not
say that, for you make me feel my own unworthiness. What
can a triendless maiden offer in,return for a love so noble as
yours?” ; ‘aete i 5S see
7 ‘Fer own sweet love, Victorine; your own self is a prize for
which Iam unworthy. ‘Would you marry me, darling, were I
stripped of all whieh men ‘most prize; were T nothing buta
poor gentleman--and even ‘one suspected of disloyalty to the
crown ?”? rvhiot nice ; ;

“Hush! Percy, do not. speak.so.. I know your noble heart,
what care I for more ?, I know you for a good. gentleman only,
and were you ter times suspected, I world never believe that
¢could find a retuge in your heart.” -

“Thank you, darting; thank you for tise words; but, listen'a
moment: if they should take my title from me——?

“f dia not know, you had any title. I do not ask, since I know
you honor the grand old name of gentleman.” ;

‘And have they not told you who lam?”

“Never—do not sperkof 11 now, for were you a peer, I-could
not love you more. Indeed J should feel my own unworthiness
to be your wite.”

“You are well worthy to be a countess,’ said Perey, warmly.
“You cannot Know, my own, the troubles. which I may bring
vpon your fair young life. Already I am a prisoner, ordered
not to leave London, aa am liable at any Moment to teel the

caprice of the queen.” 3 :
“Whatever your troubles, I will share them. From this night
I give iny lite 10 you, as freely as I have given you iny heart.”

The sound of wheels interrapted her passionate speech, and
the eari.came forward to Meet them.

It took not long to reach the cottage gate. The two friends
looked from the windows at a signal trom the footman, secing
another coach there with fooimen ‘and outriders, the latter
pacing about in the gray light of the morning. ; ;

“Whose equipage is this?” asked the eari, haughtily, of one
of the lacqucys. ' ee

“Sir Christopher Hatton's,” was the reply. ss

Percy felt Victorine’s hand tremble upon his armas this name
was pronounced, and knew that she-dreaded a meeting at this
time withithe baronet. She sprang into the hall ahead of the
two friends, and m a moment was seized by Dame Rachel, who
cried almost hysterically as she serzed the maiden in her-arms.

Wich a cry of pain Victorine struggled for release, tearing
away the bandages from her wounded arm, from’ which the
plood was again streaming. The sight of the blood. made her
deathly sick; and, weak and exhausted, as she was, it was more

before an arm_-could reach her; and, horror-stricken, conscious.
stricken, the dame gazed for a second upon the palid face, now
stained with blood, then fainted beside her. ;

“It isa spectacle Thad not anticipated,’'said the baronet,
without moving trom the mantle, against which he was leaning;
“to whom am IT indebted—ah! my Lord Arundel, f see you
have a hand in this tragedy; and——” He looked at. Percy, but
without sign of recognition, as he was bending over the maiden,
and chafing the cold hands in his own.

‘the earl made no reply, but gave directions ‘to the servant
who was applying restoratives to the dame and her niece.

“My Lord Arundel, will you come with me fora moment?”
said Sir Christopher to the earl. “John, bear«alight into the
adjoining room.” ; ;

Arundel followed in slience.

“Perhaps your lordship will favor me with the history of this
adventure,”’ said the baronet, when they were seated.

‘1 have no objection to'so. doing,” said the earl, but with even
more hauteur than that shown by the, baronet. “Ihave. no
objection to so doing, provided Sir Christopher Hatton, will
make his questions in the proper manner, and in the proper
form.”’ vs

The baronet bowed. The 'earl’s manner. showed him’ that it

mind, i ‘ ;

“Will Lord Arundel teli me how it is that he brings my. niece
home at such an hour and in such a manner ?”?

“Certainly. Mistress Vicforine was in’danger, and we—my
friend and I—came to her relief. She was forcibly carried
away—she was kept ‘in close coufinement,: for what ‘purpose I
know not, and good fortune enabled us to rescue her—to restore
herto her home.”

“Prom whom did yon rescue her, my lord?”

“She was carried to the house of Lord Burghley:’’

“Burghley !” exclaimed Sir'Christopher, nearly starting from
his chair. “He has tried to play me false. Ah! my’ worthy
minister, that will not pay... Fortune seems to favor me in this
matter.’? :

This thought ran through his ‘head while the earl was still
further explaining the circumstances of'thée abduction. *

Without reserve the story was-toeld. Arundel bestowing the
warmest praise upon Victorine, for the. heroism she had dis-

layed. ?
P Sir Christopher wasabout to Speak, when. Percy entered the
room. ‘The young man bowed low ashe advanced, and again
when his name was mentioned ‘by the earl. '

“Sir Christopher, accident has thrown me into close relations
with your niece, Mistress Victorine. Hatton, and we bave learn:
ed to loveeach other. For some daysI have been determined
to seek you, to ask your sanction to my addresses. You know,
Sir Christopher, my name and my station a

“Stay sir; betore you go farther let me ask you if you are in
a condiion to offer your hand toany maiden?”

“Perhaps not at present, Sir Christopher, but her majesty
cannot be unjust. to me longer. It, would be tyranny to keep.
we a prisoner when I am guilty of no crime.’

“But you have offended the queen, and broken the laws al-

 

ready.

STeis false, Sir Christopher, and no man dare accuse me open:
ly. Lam innocent of evena disloyal thought, and have been
the victim of cruelty and tyranny.”

“Say no more, sir; this isnot the place to explain yourcon-
duct. Idoubt not you will have an opportunity of explainiag
before the council.”

“f should jike nothing so well.”

“You are sanguine, young sir, and I fear have small thought
of the responsihilities of your station. I cannot listen to your
appeal uatil you have cleared yourself before the council. My
miece will be presented to her majesty as soon as she is able to
attend court. and the queen, herself, shall dispose of her haud.”

“But, Sir Christopher ig ?

“T beg you tosay no more. I am agitated: In one week I
will have further talk withyou. I thank yeu, my lord, for your
good offices, both for: myself and for my niece. You, will ex-
cuse me for retiring unul you have made, your adieus. In one
week you can renew the subject, sir,” said the baronet at the
door; and bowing stifily to both, he left the room.

“Before that day comes I shail have him in the Tower,” the:
baronetsaid to himself; and he could not repress a chuckle as
he thought how well all things had worked jor his own ends.

“Had I Aladdin’s famous dantern, I could not have found
things more to my command; I am in cominan i of the Tower,
and. have already become & favorite with the queen. I may be
first favorite any day. Ah! old Burghley! and you, Walsing-
ham, take care, or I shall outstrip you both.” — ‘xf

He paused in his revery as the two men came into the hall.

“You shall make my adieus, Percy,” said the earl; “I will
not disturb the 1ew moments you may have witQ her.”

“They shall be his last,” Sir Christopher resumed to, himself;
“T will take good care that he is beyond the need of watching.”

The san was just rising when Percy joined the earl, and start.
ed again for the city. é )

“Have you told her all, Percy?”

“All but my station.. She thinks mea simple gentleman, and
Thave all the pledges which ber heart could suggest. Sir
Christopher shall not part us. Now’ must I clear myself, for
her sake, of these charges against me.”

“Heaven grant that you may,” said the earl, warmly. They
were sient during the remainder of the drive, each oceupied
with the thoughts which were uppermost in both minds... The
retainers had returned safely home, atler leading Lord Burgh-
ley>s mien a wild chase about the city, and the earl wentin to

 

 

He had barely resched the middle of the room when the sery- ‘

than she could bear.. With a deep, sigh she fell upon the floor '

was impossible to carry out the pliun he had formed in his own |

hear their report. Percy retired to rest, too much fatigued to
partake of foot, and the earl was not long in seeking the repose
which he so much needed.

Meantiine we have left the informer Parry stretched upon the
floor in Lord Burghiey’s mansion: He was unconscious wher
the young man leit with the maiden, but began to revive
enough to sigh and to move his arms about.

The terrified woman bound to the chair had seen his hand as
it was rated only to fall again imimediately, and with one
glance at his bloodstained face she gave a cry of horror, at the
Sume time struggling for reiease.

Inthe terror of that moment Percy’s caution was forgotten,
and tearing away hi- bonds, sbe filled the house with shrieks.
The inmates came in from all directions. Lord Burghley him-
self came in to find a group around the wounded man, but in-
Stantly ran out to see Percy as he threw down the ladder and
ran away atter the earl.

Ordering the pursuit, he returned to find that the wounded
maraudcr was Dr. Parry. The dame toid her story as well as
she cou'd—a story which was not true iu every particular—
pails Parry the defendant in the affair, and Percy the as-
Salant. és

Stimulants were administered to the wounded man, anda
sprgeon sent for to attend him. It was not until the day was
far advanced that Parry opened his eyes and fully compre-
hepdea where he was. Lord Burghley himself had just en-
tered the room.

“Where am I—ah, [know—my lord! I—I——”

“Do list attempt to speak, my good doctor,” said Burghley.
kindly; “I know the story well. You fell in trying to prevent
them froin carrying her away from me.”? :

Parry sinred -at his Jordship for a moment, then passed one
hand across his brow to make sure that he was really awake.
“The woman who was watching now came into his mind, and
he remenibered that she was barely awake when Percy cume in,
and hence cou'd know little of the circumstances.

“Tt was @ brave thing, Parry, to: follow hiin,’? pursued the
Minister, “and you shall be rewarded for. your fidelity to my
interests... There, there, say no more. Adieu.”

“Be rewarded jor my. bravery!” repeated Parry to himself.
“T see it now; he wishes to purchase inysilence. Good! An-
‘other claim upon her majesty’s minister, Lord Burghley.”

The minister left the chamber well pleased with his diploma-
ey, and smiling to’ himself over the success of his story; but
there was one other whom: he had to meet—could he make
things assmooth in that quarter?

“Sir Christopher Hatton to see your lordship,” said a servant
at that moment, and the minister started to hear the name
which was even then in his mind.

“Ah, Sir Christopher, Iam happy to see you. No visit could
have been more opportune.” ‘

‘T am fortunate, my Jord, to have come. My niece bids me
say that she is much better, and grateful for the attentious
shown by your lordship.” :

‘She is safe, then, Sir Christopher—very happy to hear it. The
truth is my men are now scouring London to find her.”?

‘Indeed!’ She is at home.” ;

“T had/the pleasure of saving her from the rnffians who first
attacked her; but, finding that she was wounded, brought her
here in charge of a surgeon. She should have gone home m
the morning.”
eee kind in your lordship,’ said the baronet with a puz-
zled air. :

“Chance threw Dr. Parry in my way, and I brought him here
to attend the wound which Mistress Hatton was so unfortunate
as to receive.”

Dei eit Ge said the baronet, still more puzzled and
surprised. : i

“Dr. Parry was by the young lady’s bedside when some ruf-
fians entered by the window, and cutting the doctor downat
his post of duty, and. tying the female servant in her chair, the
ruffians run off with the maiden.”

Sir Christopher bowed, and his lordship resumed. *

“Dr. Parry still lies here, unconscions and in a critical condi-
tion. He fought bravely with his dagger, bul what could he do
against two men with swords? They/escaped with their vic-
tim, whom I had ‘hoped to_restore to you sately.” :

“she is safe, my jord, and her wound is slight.’

io tell me, Sir Christopher, how she came into your
hands ?” :

“It was a simple process—my own men rescued her.”

Lord Burghley looked at the baronet ae. Not yet could
he comprehend the story, and he was, puzzled to know wheth;
er Sir Curistopher,meant to say that the maiden wasrescueid
from his house, or {rom the nen who had taken her from the
house. He couid not solve the problem, and was forced to await
further developments. : ; ‘ :
“Well, Sir Christopher, the great fact is her safety.. You know
that we cannot afford to let ber fall into Northumberland’s
hands; and:J teared that he had stoien her.’

“He did,.my lora——” ee ae

“Ah! Isee}‘and you rescucd her from him! Capital! How
fortunate |” ie : A

Sir Christopher was pleased to find His ‘Iordship making his
story easy, and replicd by a bow merely. 99 .°
“We must work together, Sir Christopher. Perey will find his

‘night-errantry futile against us.” ;

mad }

“ite will trouble a nojarther, “my lord; I had him arrested
at twelve to-day tor hightrcason. Me is now in the Tower.”

CHAPTER XVe
HENRY PERCY’S ARREST.

Vhe morning was tar advanced when Henry Percy sought his
couch for sleep, but his anxiety prevented the oblivion which
hesomuch needed. For some time he rolled: and tossed upon
the bed, andat length rose /to. seek: his friend.. Arundel had
fallen into'an uneasy slumber, but woke the moment Percy en-
tered the room.

“T could not sleep, Philip, while IT know she
must go to the cottage to muke inquiries for her.’
“Nor can I sleep, Percy. My mina is uneasy, not only on her
acenunt but on your own. I tear Sir Christopher Hatton———”
“He too, Philip ] is he added to the number of my enemies ?”’
“His manner showed enmity to you.”

“Vet he shall not separate.us, Victorine feels no ties of kin-
dred with him—she has fold ineso; ner will she yield to his
commands against me. Yet we have ugreed to wait for a time.”
“It is better that youshould, Percy. To see her now against
Sir Christophers: wishes' would only subject her to further
tronblei? i. ; HELE i

. “I shall not attempt to see her. I will take one of your horses
and ride to the cottage, but ovly. to inquire for her.’’

The young man went out to give the order, and the earl again
tried to close his ¢yesin sleep. But he was oppressed by the sad

is suffering. I
? t

} thoughts which wou!d not Jeave his brain, and soon rose to have

atew parting words with his friend. pio |

‘Despite my reason.’ he-said to himsetf . while dressing—‘‘de-
spite. my reason, I feelas if. some great sorrow or trouble was
about to come upon him. Iwill give him one more caution.”

Lord Arundel descended’ the stairs just as Percy was ridin
from the court, accompabied: bya single Jacquey. He wou!
not calbthen, and stood: at) the gate looking atter his friend,
heartily admirmg the handsome appearance and noble bearing
of the yousg man. 6 he ;

But even as he gazed the dreaded trouble came. Percy had
ridden but’a few yards away when’ he was haited by a file of
soldiers. Arundel felthis heart bound at the-sight, for he knew
well the meaning of such things:. He hurried down the street.

“Comeyimy: Jord; descend without further words,. and enter
yonder carriage. My orders are peremptory.’ eSice

“What.isit for,?” asked. the eari breathlessly, as he came up.

“That is more than T know, Philip,” replied Percy. “Will you
tell us, sir officer, why you arrest me?’ ~ § | & ra

“By viriueof her Majesty’s warrant, my lerd.’?

“For what cause, sir 7” | <i i

“High:treasom ss) act yo 45 ‘ : , :

The earl, gave, a subdued cry as the words fell upon his ear,
and rushed. to the side of his friend. ‘lears filled his eyes.

“Do not grieve, Philip, my noble friend. “Surely there issome
error here. What eharges'can there beagainst me ?”?

pao that you are innocent,’ Percy, \as. innocent as. the
maiden— pie ict ito

j Heaxen help her.now,” groaned the young man, dropping
his hands with a féeling of despair. ‘‘f did 1rot think of her.”

“I know that you are innocent, Percy, anu I will do ali that T
can to aid you.” : t ad i UO MROR Ys
' * Pam sure of it, Philip; lam sure of its, From the bottom: of
my heart, I thank you,” said Perey,» with great, feeling, as he
deseended from the steed and gave his sword to the cfficer.

“Let: me gonvith you... Surely there can be no objection.”

“No, no, Philip} you can comeé'to ine later. Go there and see
how she is, and then come to visit me.” He

They-walked together to the carriage; ‘and the éarl stood near
until the door was opened, then gave one einbrace to the young
Man, Who, with asweet smile, sprung into the coach.

“To the Tower !” was the order given as the officer mounted.
Lord Arundel stood in the same place until the escort was out
of sight, then Sadiy turned ‘to his house.

Av hour later he was riding toward thecottage to inquire for
Victorine. ' ‘Iwill do as he wished me, then return to sce what
I can do for him,” he said to himself; and it was with a sad
heart. that he drew rein at the cottage gate, thinking of the sad
tidings which he had to communicate to the young heart there.
He looked up at the windows to find the lattices closed and the
blinds close drawn. There were’no signs of life about the place.

Again and again he rapped, eliciting no response, finally
walking around the house to the bit of gardenintherear. The
oid domestic. was sitting there upon the steps of her cabin,

. “Are the ladies to be seen, my good woman? I come to in-
qilire 1or Mistress V:ctorine.””

“They bean’t home, my lud.’?

“Not at home!”’ exclaimed the earl, in surprise.

“they bean’t at home. Sir Christopher came fer ’m a-mid-
day, my. lud. The house be closed for good, my lud.’’

. “Closed for good,’’ he repeated after ber; ‘do I understand
you that they will return no more?’

“That be what mistress told, my lud. In the morn I be going

 

‘‘And where have they gone?’

“They be gone with, Sir Christopher, my lud.”’

“Where has he taken them—here is a crown for you, tell me
where I may find them.”

“Wern’t a guinea, my lud, I couldn’t tell where they be. They
be gone with Sir Cbristopher.”

The earl saw-that the old woman spoke the truth, and thank-
ing her kindly he turned away, :

“If she is with Sir Christopher,” he thought, “T do not see how
harm can reach her. Surely common humanity would make
him treat her kindly.”

Lord Arundel rode directly to the Tower and inquired for the
lientenant, hi

“He is not in, my lord,’ said the officer on duty; ‘“‘can I do
anything for vou?”

“Can I see Henry Percy—arrested this morning ?”

: AL fear not, my lord: The orders are strict with regard to
him. j

“By whom were they issued, sir?”

“By Lord Burghley, Ithink—here they are: ‘For the present
Northumberland’ will be kept in ciose confinement, without
communication with others until future orders—Burghley.’
Here is an endorsement: ‘This order will be strictly obeyed by
the guard—Hatton, Lieut. Tower.’ Yousee, my lord Arundel,
that itis not in my power to grant your request.”

“I appreciate your courtesy, sir. You are right in declining
to allow.the interview; but I will endeavor lo precure an order
from the queen.”

“Or from Sir Christopher, my lord: With an order from him
I would open the doors for you.”

Arundelleft the gloomy pile, and, before mounting his horse,
stood for some moments gazing up at the narrow windows,
hoping to get even a glimpse of his iriend.’’

“To how many men has this prison proven a temb,’’ he said
to himself; Heaven grant that the noble heart of Percy may not
cease to beat within its walls.”

He shuddered at the bare reflection, and, giving his horse a
sharp cut, rode quickly away. :

Almost unconsciously Arundel found himself at the palace

ates.
B “As well now as later,” he thought, and ina moment he was
within thetpalace yard: :

Humbly begging an interview with her majesty on important
business, Arundel wrote his petition and sentit in by an officer
of the household. Lady Anue Wardour was in attendance upon
the queen. She started as she saw the name of Arundel on the
card, and knew that some extraordinary event had occurred to
bring him to the palace at that hour.

Elizabeth was in her cabinet, where she had been for some
‘hours in consultation with Burghley and Walsimgham. Leices-
ter had just left, after scandalizing the ministers by his free and
haughty manners, at which Elizabeth only laughed.

Walsingham made some remark upon the favorite which dis-

pleased the queen, §_
») “¥Youthink so, Walsingham,” said she,.as Lady Anne entered;
Syou think so?’ Well, then, what will you say to a new favorite.
I expeet my gallant lieutenant of the tower in a moment.”

“Sir Christopher Hatton, your majesty?” exclaimed Walsing-

ham. .

Burghley bit his lip with rage. What if Sir Christopher should
become the favorite! Circumstances prevented any opposition
on his part, and it. was very galling to. his lordship to think that
he was obliged to praise the baronet, and even endorse his
claims. He was wicked enough to wish Victorine in her grave.

“Sir Christopher Hatton, your majesty,’ repeated Elizabeth,
with derision; “the same, Walsingham. Has he not pretty
manners ?”” i

‘A message for your majesty,” said Lady Anne, advancing
toward the queen. ‘

Elizabeth glanced at the name.

 

“The Earl of Arunde!!” she read, making Burghley start and
look up anxiously. “What can he want of me’ at this hour?”

} she said, petulantly. “On a matier of great moment,” read

the queen from the card. “Of course itis of grea importance
to him. That is ever the way with imen—grant them one favor.
and they expect a thousand more.” 2

“Your majesty should be informed of the nature of this im-
portant business,”’ said Walsinghain. é

“Bid him state it,” erdered the queen, and Lady Anne de-
parted on the errand.

She speedily returned. :

“It is not enough that Phave granted biselaims and made him’
Karl ot Arundel, even when he is suspected of favoring the
nase, but he mast further tax my time and patience. What is
it }

“His lordship asks nothing for himself, your. majesty, but
7 ishes to procure some information regarding bis friend, Henry
ercy. i
“Young Northumberland,” cried the queen, angrily, “bid
him have a care or he will follow his friend to the Tower. He is
no friend of mine who consorts with traitors—go P” *

With terror depicted upon her conntenance Lady Anne run;
from the room, her fright putting Elizabeth into good humor.
She laughed aloud.

Now isthe time to speak for the earl himself,” thought.
Burghley, and he immediately expressed a deep regret tor the’
occurrence.

“Thad hoped better things from Arundel,” said_ the minister,»
With a shake of the head; “but I fear that he will bear watch-
ing also.”

“You think so, Lord Burghley? Well, I will see to it then.
For eight years he has been an ornament of the court, and I
should be sorry to distrust him. ~ Yet will have no compassion
on traitors.”
fit a heard that he harbors a priest at his estate,” said

urghley.

‘And report speaks of a strange Jetter that he had written to
one Gilbert Dix, his steward. ‘The son of this man is in France,
and on some mysterions errand,” Walsingham added.

“Ah then send some one to watch him—send Parry; Lord
Burghley.” 5

“Parry is wounded, your majesty, and now lies at my house.
It w.tl be some days before he ay eO hehe :

“How? Parry wounded?” asked Elizabeth, eagerly; ‘how
was tha:?”” ;

“He was wounded by Northumberland. Parry resented some |
words against your majesty, aud in the encounter the worthy
doctor was cut down.” ' ig “

“T. en have I wronged him in my mind; Lord Burghicy, de-
spite his plots Parry isatrue servant. You must give him ser-
me Present uim a thousand crowns, and send him after this

ix. ;

‘Stis the very thing I should have suggested to your majesty,’
said the overjoyed minister, who now saw an opportunity for
sending the doctor out of the way. oe

“And here 1s Sir Christopher,” said the queer, rising to greet
the new favorite ashe entered. ‘‘You are come in good time—
we were speaking of Northumberland.’” ‘

“He is safe from further (reasons. I have positive proof of
his sympathy with your enemies.” pt sO dia ;

“‘Frooft have you if, Sir Curistopher,” said Lord Burghley,’
who was himself anxious to find some clear charge against
young Percy. BA EPL

“It is positive proof, my lord. Nortnumberiand has certainly |
allowed Charles Paget—an exile, as your lordships are aware-—
to meet Lord Puget at his house at/Petworth.” Bula #

“And the purport, Sir Christopher !” seid faa
‘They pretend that it was for the purpose of making a settle-
ment of the family estates.” . ire
“Ys there evidence to the eontrary ?” : iW Bu
“Phere is: One William Shelly is ready to testify against the as-
sertion.. Ne says that he heard the conversation between »
Northumberland and the Pagets.” 3 i

“What was its nature, Sir Christopher?” :

“It was acons; iracy for the invasion of the kingdom, your
Majesty.” PRONE

>

TOL Bi

band struck the table at which she, was sitting, ;. |, get
“Then shall his head pay the forfeit,” said she, with almost a

screrm. “And, Arundel is, this traitor’s ene FEF to if, my”.

lords, that he comes no more into my presence.” “~~ ros

door, trembling and heart ‘sick, hearing the greater portion of,
the conversation. above related. She could_wait for no) more, »
and ran away to warn the earl of his danger... ... _. ‘aid 4
It was some time befere, the ayerts co it ‘s' bdne her one
The Cotd selfish face ot Lord Burgh ee strani ly lighted up’
during this episode, and for once’ he was thunktul ‘for Sir
Christopher’s presence. iu LV Th sited
is an acquuintan. e of Northumberland, and knows that,
implicated in Throckmorton’s, pl ; ; at ers 5
“Enough! enough |. bring him before the couneil at once, my
lords. Go, leave me to rest for a time; Sir Uhtistoplier! conie’
and entertain me with music, to drive these | gloomy thoughts ”
irom my brain.” t WS oo8 OSes Of
The ministers passed out: just as Lord) Arundel came in to,
answer the summonsof Lady Anne. He barely escape their
notice, » . i tcudal Wits ac : *
_ “You sent for me, Lady Anne,” he said ina ‘tender tone, see--
ing her weeping by the window: ~° © . ‘
“O Philip! O my—my Jord, I mean—I—” she stammered so
that he fled to understand ‘her; but de read her contusion

A330)

”?
ot. Phepus

aright, and saw how deeply her heart was moved.
(To ‘be Contintiea):

The Diamond Collar.

CHAPTER XXXIIL
SAFETY, HAPPINESS AND LOVE.

it was the end of the month which was fixed as the time
er Lord Edgar would bring home his briue te Berney’s
YY OOUS.

Ladies Josephine and Oriana Berney were in a fever to wel-
come the dear princess to her place as their sister, and fiitted
trom window to window of: the stately mansion watching the
road for the carriage. :

The earl and countess, in an eqnally complacent state of anti-
cipation, waited in the great hall, where the Knight of the
Gojden Hair used to lie, staring at the stone roof, while Thunder
and Mutineer snored on the tiger skin beside him.

The servants of the house were congregated in the front ves-
tibule in decorous order, ready to receive their new mustress
with that honor which Eari Lonsdale conceived to be becoming
toward a lady of her illustrious, albeit unacknowledged, rank.

“Yonder they come!”, cried Lady Josephing, gliding to the
window for the last time, and a rich bloom mantied in her clear
dark.cheek, as she descried the white fayors Butter Oriana |
pressed besiae her sister, aud her shy, violeteyes jit'up with
eagerness. e i i

“They sit side by side—Edgar and his lovely Frederica. He is
bending toward her: ‘he is gazing deep into those celebrated
blue eyes, which made her the choice of the brutal Crown
Prince, Ah, what a superb woman! What. an etnerial charm
she has! What a royal majesty beams from every glance!
ow shall we ever be able tu preserve the secret of her iden-.
tity? she is too beautiful to pass unnoticed! But we shall be
so careful of her! Look, Oriana, is she not a very, princess ?
and is that perfect creature really our sister???) 3, | vis

Lady Josephine’s southern eyes s arkled with triumph sand
joy, but a mist of . gentle emotion floated in the Saxon Ortana’s.

“Ah, what griefs she has suffered. We are her only friends
now; all the rest are dead. We must mikeituptoher!?  §

They hurried out hand in hand after’ the earl and countess, .
and took their placesto welcome the bride. }

Peaceful asa summer morning was her countonaners and her

 

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eyes shone softly with the heart’s full content... ‘
She leaned upen her stately knight with a eonfidence which
was in itself an act of affection; and he regarded her with that.

adoration of the soul. So lovely a lady and so stately a Knight,
—when was such a pair transcended ? + { Haetohh
“Welcome home, Lady Berney!” exclaimed the gran@ old .

sunny brow to Kiss. j wea
“Welcome to our ‘hearts, my daughter]? murmured the
countess, enfolding her in her arms ina yearning embraee. ;)

and Oriana simultaneously, encircling her. Wenn arms.
She took them one by one to her bosom, and kissed their trem-

ulous, loving faces. She held them off togaze rapturously at

them, and then kissed them again. a 31% j ‘

lord,” she sighed, like a happy child.

Pha looked with gratitude at each and all, a grave, sweet
glance. : ‘

“T thank you much, kind and generous family,” she said in
her clear, dainty voice. “You have taken 10 vour midst a
triendless, sorrowful woman, who else would have perished ut-
terly. I have instead of ruin found happiness and safety, and
better than ali—love |” “

She said this with such a radiant, upward look of gratitude
into the summer heavens, that all whe caught it thnlled wi ha
strange, sweet prescience of something holier than beaut
which encompassed this princess as'a garment of glory. .

They followed her into her new home with the breathless
gaze of awe. : : ;

“Am I not blessed, my dear lord ?” smiled the bride, with her
velvet clasp again upon his arm.

He looked upon her with passionate affection—with an inef-
fable respect too, and a ‘half-wondering rapture, from which
the delicate bloom would never be abrased: j

“Who could resist your power, Frederica ?” he fondly asked.
“You are my wife, and:my princess.’? ‘

 

It isthe evening after the arrival. : '

Who is this comes smiling upto Berney’s Woods, with her
little head nestling on an old fellow’s shoulder, in the obscurity
of the deep family coach ? ire

Why, I believe it’s fairy Bright Eyes, alias the Right Honor-
able the Viscountess Grantham. She’s dragging up. her de-
lighted spouse to present him to “that angel,” Lady Berney.

She can’t help feeling dreadfully shocked at her brother’s
death, which she didn’t hear about’ till she returned from her
trip abroad, but neither can she help burning with eagerness to
welcome home the dear-dead_ bishop’s niece, and: have a good —
cry with her over the bishop’s sudden death, |_, ,

Bless us, how gratified the viscount looks, when after a'sum- _
mary of events, his wife suddenly throws her arms about his ©
neck, and hugging him as if he were a great, curly Newfound- °
lander, informs him that he is, after all, the darlingest, dearest, =
most delicious old man who ever, ever breathed! After,which ©
my lady lets him lift her (with a passing hug of good-will) out
of the coach to the Berney porch, and they enter in.

Later yet.

Who is it walks under the lilacs behind the old towers, while
the kindly stars wink down a shower of benedictions ? : f

‘Tis the “brand which was plucked from the burning,” and —
the patient fellow who has loved. her torso long. itis Mabel .
Fane and Wade. ‘ :

“It’s not crying you are, my girl, because I’ve told you this p>
he is sadly asking her. . :

“No, no,’ she falters, shame-faced. “It’s long ago that I
stopped loving him, poor. wicked soul; but to think he ~
should die like that, with all his sins on his head! I ery at the
wickedness of these men; and at the ill they’ve done before
they were called to their account. And their deaths can’t bring
back the dear bishop they murdered between’ ’em—the man _
that came out of a cloud to save me from destruction. I ery be-
cause I feel that if it wasn’t for me the bishop wouid no: have
had such a cruel enemy. And now Ill see him nevermore,
nevermore, nevermore J”? ’

But Wade hushes the wailing cry with simple words of cheer,
and whispers of his patient love.

“T thought yowd -have grieved cos the poor gentleman wor
murdered,” ventured he; “and for your! sake it was P went a
nabbed the man as done it.. I thinks, to myself, she’ll know by
that, 1 feels sorry-like for her, and doesn’t put the blame on the
wrong back, 1 Knows right well that you’d never a been a jilt
if he’d a left yoube, Mabel. That’s why I went and follered
Jonson, my girl.” ; $

She looks at him with shy kind1e:ss; she is touched; she mur-
murs penitence for whathe has never plamedher; and she
puts her hand in his, and says: «

“Don’t fret any more, Wade; if you'll have me yet Vilbe a
good wife to you.” ‘

For the ‘fervor and faith of his heart hath been shown” to
her and to those she loves most dear—the bishop and his niece.
For this she wall love him to the end of her life.

Se

The story is told. .

The Bishone Debt.has been fully paid. Frail he was, and
much he had to answer for, bu’ he was not found insolvent—all
he had he offered. ce

He gave his life for his friend—more aman cannot do. The
head that was outlawed on earthis crowned with immortality
in heaven. And dear he wil ever be, if not to thee, oh reader,
to those who knew him best—faithiul Gretchen, brave Berney,
and the tender Princess Frederica. ‘

THE END,

{Wili soon be commenced “Wuy Dip He Magry Her,” by
Annie Ashmore, author of “Diamond Collar, “Bride Elect,”
“Faithful Margaret.” ?

 

 

Not daring to yo away evtirely, Lady Anne lingered Jat ‘the, —

“And this Shelly says car then pargueditiie harenst as Mat a
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thoughtful depth of eye, almost mournful, which bespeaks the!) .

earl; and with a smile that made him captive she gave him her

“Beloved princess!” ‘Darliog sister !” whispered Josephine. :

“You are indeed like Edgar; and worthy’ of my own dear. ;

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KISS ME GOOD NIGHT, DARLING.
BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

The clock has struck ten, Willie, dear, and you know
Papa has declared that at ten you must go.

Old folks are so queer! But perhaps he is right,

So kiss me good night, darling! Kiss me good night!

T declare ’tis eleven, and you are here still !—

You know well enough J’m not keeping you, Will!

If you don’t go at once, I must put out the light—

So kiss me good night, darlmg! Kiss me good night!

Tis twelve o’clock, now, and papa’s out of bed!

Don’t you hear his gruff voice and quick step overhead?
Here’s your hat! Goatonce! O,J’m in such affright!
Quick! Kiss me good night, darling! Kiss me good night!

“MAC'S FRIEND.”

BY M. P. C. CORMACK.

“All right, Mac, go ahead! We are as quiet and atten-
tive as mice when the cat is about, and all most anxious
to learn the history connected with your friend and his
pretty wile. By Jove! how it does storm to-night.”

We sai—five of us in all—comfortably clustered round

the fire, one stormy night last winter. : :

Outside the storm raged furiously. The cutting wind
and hail, drifting along the streets, came pattering sharp-
‘ly against the windows, and now and then a sudden
gust of wind hissed through the key-hole, shrilly sug-
gesting many musical ideas, of every imaginable time,
from that of the most doleful of ditties, to a lively quick-
step.

AWett,” answered Mac, “I'll try and teil you all about
it, and as consistent with the facts as I can—I don’t in-
tend though to spread it over with jelly and molasses, so
you must be content with it in plain words. Some folks
nave a passion for smearing it on so thickly, that. the
facts are not to be found anywhere.

“Jim O’Connor was the younger son of a respectable
storékeeper in the south of Ireland. Jim wasa right
good fellow, filied with aS much genuine good-nature as
could possibly be stowed away in five feet eight inches of
humanity, and a proportionate amount of avoirdupois.
He was always surrounded by friends, drawn toward
him by his benevolent and kindly disposition. He was
tolerably well educated, could boast of good looks, and
was, without exaggeration, a right good fellow.

“But even’ good fellows sometimes fall, and Jim was
notexempt. He fell, irretrivably—in love—and consigned

jhis love-laden heart to the tender care of Mary Dillon, a
vivacious, blue-eyed beauty, just arrived at the womanly
age of nineteen. ‘

‘Mary (Babbins, her friends playfally called her) was
étep-daugnhter of Dr. Bannette, an aristocratic old disciple
of Esculapius. The doctor had been twice married, and
had by his first wife a son—Tom, a slice from the old
loaf, achap who ever kept his vissionary organs peeled,
with a view to the main chance. Dr. B had for his
second wife, married—so folks said—a fortune, and taken
in the appendage thereto—the widow. The latter, how-

‘ever, insisted on a marriage settlement of a liberal kind,
that was, to descend at her death to her only child—by her
first husband—Mary Dillon.

“Mary had a’way of her own, and she never did take
kindly to her step-father, or to Bannette secundus.
Nevertheless did old Bannette lay his plans, ‘if that scamp
Tom marries my wife’s daughter, we will Keep the money
together,’ and forthwith did the old doctor proceed to
make arrangements for such a wedding. But it appears
that Jima O'Connor, well-posted on things generally, had
other arrangements made.

“Jim had secretly won the heart of Mary Dillon, and to
avoid unpleasantness, the young folks, thoughtless as
young folks generally are, resolved on a clandestine mar-
riage, and their flight to the sunny land of ‘stars and
stripes.’

So just at the time old Dr. Bannette had his plans in or-
der, Mary, having been married, flew under the protect-
ing wings of the adorable Jim to Liverpool.

Here they were, both young, hopeful and loving, about
to commence the struggle against the remorseless world,
and to fight the battles of life under the propitious shield
of love. :

Light of heart, happy, joyous, truthful, with all the ro-
mance of their 1ecent flight about them, they sailed, on
board the Silverspray; for their future home, which
loomed: beautifal, brightly on another shore. And how
o{tea did Jim: picture this future home—a sunny spot,
where the roses climbed in such luxuriance and sweetness
that it would seem as if each vied with the others of Flo-
ra's favorites.

Within this home he pietured his household gods, with
his beautiful wife queen of them all.. And when seated
on the deck, with his wife, as the crimson autumn sun
went down into'the sea, again and again would he repro-
duce, in, glowing words, the imaginative spot that was’ to
be their hame.

But, alas, for those bright visions of happiness, a thick,
heavy cloud yet intervened, the iron hand of fate beckon-
ed them’ back. The Silverspray was doomed never to
reach her destination.

On the last night of a terrific storm, which lasted three
days, the vessel became unmanageable by the loss of her
rudder, and alter buffeting and being tossed about fer
some time by the ruthless waves, with a sudden lurch,
down she went into the unfathomable depths, where
many a story of life and suffering lies buried in the liquid
abyss.

When the awful moment came, Jim O’Connor and his
young wife. were clasped in each other’s arms, awaiting
the. inevitabie destruction, If the bright, happy home
Was not to be theirs, they would die together.

And go the good ship went down, swamped by the an-
gry waters, which soon. rolled remorselessly over the
grave of the Silverspray, as if no sound had escaped the
panic-stricken crew, and no prayer from those two young
people who resolved to perish together. But even this
satisfaction was denied them. A ponderous wave came
crashing on them and torethem asunder, and a minute
after, Jim O'Connor found himself clinging to a spar,
clinging to life, to human life, without his wife.

Morning dawned clear and bright, the blue ocean
glancing in smiling ripplesin the sullight. Jim O’Con-
nor was alone on the great circle of waters—nothing to
be:seen but the:sea, thesky, and the bright. sun dancing
gladly, its beams reflected by the glassy surface of the
gréat Atlantic. :

Jim was not to perish. A passing ship, bound for New
York, picked him up; and at his request the captain sail-
ed round to see if any boat or raft remained. Nothing of
the kind was visible. So having satisfied himself that all
had gone to the bottom, he turned his helm for New York.

it may seem strange, yet Jim O’Connor was not the
only one saved from the wreck. The same wave. which
separated husband and wile, bore the latter along on its
towering crest, and before she was aware of it she was
firmly clasped in. the browny arms of an old sailor, who,
seated in asmall-boat, with marvelous skill, kept the
latter afloat, defying the merciless waves which every
moment threateneu to engulf them.

This boat was picked up on the same morning, proba-
bly three hours before Jim’s rescue, but. at the time noth-
ing appeared to have remained of the lost vessel or her
passengers. So Jim O’Connor and his wile were both on
the way to New York, each believing the other dead.

On arriving. at New York, Mrs. O’Connor was unde-
cided, as to whether she would stay in the country or
return home. She had lost her father and her husband.
Did she return home, there was Tom Bannette, whom she
could not like, therefore she resolved—brave woman that
she was—to fight the battle of life on her own hook.

Here she was, alone in this great city, not quite twenty,
and having the great, great world before her. Having a
first-class education, she was, in a short time, engaged as
governess in a wealthy up-town family.

And Jim. He had not been quite a week in the city,
when, through the influence of au old friend and school-
fellow, whom by chance he met, he procured a good situ-
ation in a merchant’s office in F—— street, at a liberal
salary. Here his integrity, honesty, and business tact,
soon attracted the attention of his employer; and at the
first opportunity, he was appointed to the important,
trustworthy position of ‘first clerk,” much to the satis-
faction of the junior clerks, who feit delighted at having
such a genial, good-hearted fellow to deal with. His
great sorrow had tamed his high spirit, but his calm res-
ignation, obliging disposition, and almost grave youth-
iginess made him friends.

_ With what perfect facility can writers “do away with”
time; a few dashes ef the pen, and we are brought from
out the misty depths of the past, up to the present, un-
inarked by the unbecoming wrinkles of time, our hair
unmixed with the gray silver-threads of years,

And my readers will say, “‘lave two whoie years passed
since our hero entered the firm of R—— & Sons?’ Yes,
two years after——

One bright May-morning, when all nature began to ar-
ray itself. in verdant splendor, we find Jim Q’Connor
seated:in one of the street cars, going up-town, the great-
est anxiety depicted on his handsome features. He held
in-his hand one of the morning papers, his whole atten-
tion directed toward .ene little paragraph. It ran thus:

“We are much pleased to notice thle success attending
the endeavors Of that estimable iady, Mrs. O’Connor, pro-
prietress of the ‘Young Ladies’ Boarding-Schoo}? ——
Street. This Jady is one of the only two saved from the
wreck of the Silverspray, which was lost ona trip from
Liverpool to this port. acount two years ago, at which
ons Mrs, O’Connor had the misfortune to lose her hus-

ead.

dim read no further. He felt as if something would
happen before he could see his wife; but assuming all
tiie Composure he could master, he went to the address
indicated, and knocked at the door. He told the servant
who admitted him, that he wished to see Mrs. 0’Connor.

The girl showed him into the parlor, thinking he had
called about a new pupil, and went to apprise her mis-
tress of his presence.

«Did he give his card?’ asked the lady, when she
héard that a gentleman wished to see her; or was he
ever here before ???

“No, ma’am, as I knows of; but he’s a rale handsome
man, I’m sure, what ever else I knows.”

Mrs. O'Connor said nothing, but entered the parlor, and
without looking her visitor in the face, requested that he
be seated.

“Mary!??

it. was the one, only word that started Mrs. O’Connor.
She recognized her husband in an instant, and then fol-
lowed such a scene of wild delight; tears, long and ferv-
ant embraces; the most touching terms of endearment,
the entire lover’s vocabulary all mixed upin the most
exquisite confusion. But glorious thought. Jim O’Con-

nor had found his wife, Mrs. O’Connor her husband, and
the old time came back to them, the sweet love-passion
} multiplied a thousand fold.

united, after their sad, strange separation. And now,
fellows, I am happy to say that Jim O’Connor and his
beautiful wife enioy the home of beauty which Jim had so
often pictured, and their honeymoon is one prolonged
period of intensified happiness.’ ”

—->-©

OUR CITY VISITOR.

BY CONTENT WHIPPLE,

Our folks expected a visitor from the city. The young
lady’s name was Clara Osgood. Her father and mine had
been friends in boyhood, and the friendship had always
continued, and now Mr. Osgood had written to ask father
if his daughter might come and spend a few weeks with
us, and see if country air would notimprove her health,
as she was drooping in the close atmosphere of the city.

The Osgoods were very wealthy, and we were common
farmer people, but father did not hesitate a moment. He
wrote a warm invitation to Clara Osgoou, to come at once
and see us, and we would make her as comfortable as our
means would allow. So she wrote that she would be with
us on the 18th day of July. (You see I remember the date.)
Mother andthe girls dreaded having her come, 1 Know,
for we lived in the very plainest style, and of course she
would be proud and ‘stuck up;” but father talked to
them, and got them to feeling better about it. He said
that we need not be ashamed of our circumstances be-
cause we were poor, andif she despised us on that ac-
count, she wasn’t worth minding. As for mel was in
perfect agony. I was a great, tall, awkward, six-footer,
as bashful as I could be, and just twenty-two. It was as
much as I could do to hold a conversation with one of our
country girls, much more making the acquaintance of a
city belle. At first I though I’d clear out and Jeave home,
but then I had promised to work for father that season,
and Icouldn’t back out very well... But I inwardly re-
solved not to speak to her, the whole time she was there,
my sisters to the contrary, notwithstanding. I had to take
lectures from Hattie and Elsie every morning and even-
ing, about being polite and paying attention to her.

“Now don’t act as you commonly do, Will,’ they would
say, “but help us to entertain: her. It won’t be fair to
throw it all on us.””

My sisters declared that I would be decidedly  handa-
some, if [ had any way to appear well, but that was all in
their eye. I guess girls are apt to think their brothers
pretty good looking.

Well, the long-expected day arrived at last. The. girls
said that I must come home from my work about the
time for the stage to arrive, and be there to welcome her;
but you didn’t catch me doing that. I was away off in
tie further field, to work, about that time, and my sisters
had to receive her themselves. When 1 came home J]
dreaded going in worse than a whipping... I went ana
did all the chores that were necessary, and some: that
were entirely unnecessary, before | went near the house,
though the girls called me several times to come to’ sup-
per. Then went up stairs and slicked up a little. I
put on my second best pants, and my linen coat, and
washed my face, and combed my hair.

1 didn’t have the slightest intention of going in where
she was, though.

By that time it was nearly dark.

1 went. down stairs the back way, and listened
at the kitchen door a moment, but hearing them talking
in the front room, I ventured in, and finding the taple
cleared away, I slipped into the buttery to get something
to eat.

I had a huge piece of bread and butter in my hand, and
was devouring it eagerly, when suddenly there flitted
into the kitchen the prettiest little fairy l ever saw in my
life. She was dressed in white, with the most beautiful
yellow curls floating over her shoulders, complexion of
the purest white and red, and a mouth so sweet and
lovable it was enough to set a fellow wild. Shecame out
to the water-pail, which was just in front of the buttery
door, saying:

“Here is where you get water, isn’t it?”

Before I could possibly shut the door, she raised her
pretty blue eyes and saw me. I was sure I saw an
amused sparkle in her eyes, and.a little dimple came and
went in either cheek, but she drank as quickly as pos-
sible, and went back into tie front room with mother and
the girls.

I'l could have had the floor open and Jet me through,
I’d have done it ina momentI felt perfectly ‘‘awful.’
The sweat stood in great drops all over my tace, and my
appetite was entirely gone. 1 could no more swallow the
remainder of my bread aud butter than I could have
swallowed chips.

The girls came and tried to get me to go in there; butI
declined. I'd as lief had faced a cannon’s mouth, as that
little blue-eyed fairy-like creature.

“What makes you act 50, Will?’ said Hattie, ‘‘You will
like her ever so much. She, isn’t stuck up a bitas1
thought she would be.. Do come in.”’

Bat | wouldn’t, i

The next morning I made out to come to breakfast. 1
wouldn’t have done it, but. F knew I never could stand it
without eating, and I thought I might, as well come to the
table as to have her find me eating in the buttery. That
morning she was dressed in a blue wrapper, with a snow-
white collar and coral pin, and she looked just as I have
imagined angels look. She seemed already acquainied
with. the rest of the family, and was as sociable and
merry as if she had always made it her home with us.

Elsie introduced me by saying, ‘This is brother Wiil,”’
and she gave me a sweet little bow and smile that made
my heart beat like a trip-hammer.

jt did seem as if there was no awkward thing in the
world, that [ didn’t do that morning. I tipped. over
nearly every thing on the table; when mother requested
me to pass the bread, I passed her my ‘cup of tea, spilling
half of it; when our visitor asked for the butter, 1 hand-
ed over the salt, and finally when I went to get up from
the table, my chair went over backwards with a terrible
bang, capping the climax of my mortification.

The days passed on, and Miss Clara made herself per-
fectly at home in our old farm-house. She helped the
girls to wash dishes, make bread and pies, and I would
often come in and find her with an immense apron on en-
gaged in some culinary operation. Sometimes she and the
girls would come out in the field, and rake hay, and she
did not even take pains to cover her hands to keep them
from tanning.

“You will get your hands as. brown as a gipsy’s,’’ I
said to her one day.

“T don’t care,’ said she, ‘it will be all the more fun.”

She was the daintiest, prettiest, sweetest little creature
in the whole wide world, and if I hadn’t fallen in love
witn her {should have been more than mortal. I did.
You may believe it didn’t improve my manners to bein
love. If Ihad been awkward before, 1 was threefold
more so now. I never would doa thing.as I wanted to.
One day we didn’t have so much to do as usual, and the
girls declared tbat I must take the team and let them all

and took our express, and off we all started for the
pasture. : .

Clara looked prettier than ‘she’ever had before. She
wore a gipsy hat with a broad brim, a calico dress which
she had got since she had been with us, for she didn’t
bring any calico with her, and she had on an apron as
white as the driven snow.

Itold her she ought not to wear such a white apron
huckle berrying; it would get all stained up with berries,
but she said she didn’t care, as there were plenty more
where that came from.

We had a gay time berrying. We broke down bushes
and sat under the trees the most of the time, for Clara
declared she couldn’t stand it to have the hot sun beat-
ing down on her head, and as it would not of course
answer to leave her alone, I broke down bushes enough
for us all. We picked a good many berries, though I
should say judging by appearances, that more went into
Clara’s mouth than into her basket.

Sure enough the white apron was covered with great
black stains before night, and Clara’s mouth had a very
“contraband”? appearance. Her fingers too showed her
occupation, to say nothing of her hands being scratched
with briers, and her curls being one whole mass of tan-
gies. 3

We rode home in the merriest. kind of mood. Clara
insisted on occupying the front seat with me, and I made
out to talk quite sociably. When we drove up to the gate,
who should we see but a strange fellow, talking with
fathez, in the door-yard. He was all dressed up, and
looked exceedingly stylish in his fine broad cloth and
glossy stove-pipe.

Clara colored up as soon as she saw him, andI mis-
trusted in a minute thatit was some city chap that she
was acquainted with, perhaps her beau, though it made
me dreadful mad-to think of that. He looked at Clara as
we drove up to the door and for a moment he seemed
puzzled. I didn’t wonder at it, for she didn’t look much
in her present plight as she did when she was all dressed
up in her city clothes. But when [ helped her out, he
seemed to recognize her, for he went up to her and shook
hands as heartily as could be, and said:

‘Miss Osgood, I am delighted to see you.”

lcould have kicked him with a good grace, but as it
wouldn’t have been exactly polite before the ladies, I
didn’t do it,

Clara introduced him as Mr. Taylor. He didn’t seem
particularly cordial to any of us, but he was all attention
to Clara.
see him. She was rather stiller than usual I thought, and
she went up stairs and fixed up, and came down looking
as fresh as a pink.

‘Can you make out who that fellow is, Hat?’ said I,
when we chanced to be alone together a minute after
supper.

“Why it’s Clara’s beau, you booby,” said Hat. ‘It does
seem asif you fellows can’t understand anything. Here,
Will, where are you going? Don’t gooff in that style.
Come back and help entertain the company.”’

“I. won't,” said I, savagely, walking off with rapid
strides.

1 went to Squire Morgan’s and spent the evening, and
Stayed till eleven o’ciock, and the girls couldn’t guess
ge of them I came to see. There were five of them in
all.

1 went home and dreamed of taking Mr. Taylor to the

horse pond. and throwing him in, and punching him back
with a pole when he attempted to swim out,
_ The next day I was in a desperate frame of mind, and
it didn’t lielp it any, when I saw from the field where I
was working Mr. Taylor and Clara, walking together in
the orchard, I would have liked to had my dream
come true just then. If he had stayed long, I should
have done something desperate, I know; but he went
away the next morning.

I was rather surprised that Clara didn’t go back with

 

Thus were those young, loving, faithful, hearts re-

go huckle berrying. 1 was willing, so I tackled up Dobbin }.-

1 couldn’t tell whether she was glad or sorry to |

him, but I supposed she had concluded to wait till next
time.

I was as moody and sullen as 1 could possibly be the
next few days. I didn’t take any notice at all of Clara,
and went to Squire Morgan’s almost every evening.
a begun to think I'went there to see Maria, the old
maid.

One evening I had put my hat on, just ready to start,
and was standing in the door, when Clara glided up be-
side me. Raising her sweetest of blue eyes to my face,
she said:

«Will, are you mad at me lately?’

“Mad, at you? How ean you ask?!

“Because you act so. You won’t hardly speak to me,
Have I done anything to offend you?”?

“No, but I thought Mr. Taylor would be about all you
could manage for the present,’ said I, growing angry as
I thought of my rival.

“Mr. Taylor was managed long ago. I don’t know
what he has to do with me, or you either for that matter.
But I see you are just as hateful as you can be, and if you
want to get mad you may, and stay so,’ and the little
lips were pouted, and tears fell, one by one, from. her
eyes. :

She turned to go in, but { caught her and held her fast
“Let me go, you bad boy,’’ said she, trying to release
herself from my grasp.

“Not till you tell me one thing,’ said J. ‘Isn’t Mr. Tay-
lor your lover ?’?

“No, and never will be,’ said Clara, vailing her eyes
with the long lashes. ‘i perfectly detest him.”?

“Clara,’? and my face grew very hot, while every vein
in my whole body was throbbing wildly, “supposing an
awkward, homely country fellow should tell you he loved
you, and ask you tobe his wife, what would you say ?”?

“T will wait till one asks me before I tell that,’ said she
pouting.

“I love you, Clara. Will you be my wife?”

Just -ne up lifting of the long lashes, one glance from
the pretty blue eyes, and the next moment the sweet face
was hid entirely from sight on my bosom. In my trans-
port I clasped her frantically in my arms, and :not satis-
fied with a silent consent, I made her say that she loved
me, and then! stole a kiss from the pretty lips that had
uttered such sweet words.

It was too good to be true, almost, but asI glance at
the little lady sitting opposite me, looking at me with
those same blue eyes, I realize that my happiness was not
alla dream. I have found out by actual experience, that
city gitis make most excellent farmers’ wives. :

The Josh Billings Papers.
AKTUAL BIZZNESS.

t OFFISS OF NEW YORK WEEKLY.
Editors ov Atlantik Monthly:

Yure Kind letter ov a recent date, inquiring after mi
health, the health ov m1 spouze, the number, names, and
various sexes, ov mi children, waz respektfuliy came to
hand, and punktualy attended to. In reply i will say, that
iam engaged to write excloosively for the Nkw York
WEEKLY, and it will be nnpossible for me to write for the
coliums ov the Altlantik Montily. 4

Yure proposishuns are very flattering, andif i want
made ov pretty honest stuff, would hav a tendency tew
fetch me. I konsider the Atlantik Montiily, (next to the
NEw YORK WEEKLY,) a dockument oy literary ability, un-
surpassed on the arena ov the earth, and to be one ov
yure Kontributionists, would fatt me with pride, and san-
guine glory. :

In konsiderashun ov yure kind, and able proposishun
to me, to write for yure dockument, i hereby authorize,
and purmit yu, to koppy out ov the NEw YORK WEEKLY,
enny ov mi pieces, providéi yu giv the New YORK WEEK-
LY Kredit, on account, for the artikles. J will say this, in
favour ov yure kurtesy, and cube root way ov doing bizz-
ness, that i hav alwus noticed, when yu koppy mi pieces
into yure dockument, yu alwus giv the NEw YORK WEEK-
LY kredit for them.

Most kindly, kordially, and Kamly, 1 subskribe miself
yure perpetual, posative, and parsevereing phriend.

JOSH BILLINGS.

P.S. hav yu seen ‘Josh Billings Farmers Allmanax”

for 1871? J. B.

OFFISS OV NEW YORK WEEKLY.

Editors ov Harpers: f

Mister Edward P. Sachem, Esq., (our mewtual friend,)
handed me yure letter, dated a fu daze sintz, in which yu
do me proud, bi asking me to kontribate to yure superla-
tive magazine. lregret, with tears in mi both eyes, and
sobs in mi buzzom, that i cant acksept yure golden offers,
for iam engaged to write excloosively for the NEw YORK
WEEKLY, the grate literary paper ov the period. Mi en-
gagement for the present, with the NEw YORK WEEKLY,
lasts for life, after that, if yu and i kan agree on the price,
i will fight for yu, in the ranks ov polite literature.

Incopying mi artikies, into the collnms ov yure maga-
zine, please to kontinew, (as yu hav alwus done) giving
the NEw YORK WEEKLY, kredit for the Same. In konklu-
shun gentlemen, beleave me yure uninterrupted admirer.

JOSH BILLINGS.

N. B. Whenever yure spirits git tired, or yure food dont

digest, read ‘Josh Billings Farmers Allmanax for 1871.”

OFFiss ov NEw YORK WEEKLY.
Editors Appletons Journal:

Mi engagements with the NEw YORK WEEKLY, (for
whitch 1 write excloosively,) will unable me to furnish
yure charming Journal, (az yu request,) with ockashional
“Billings Papers.” I should tell a lie, if ised, that yure
proposal did not tickle me, for idid not sleep the night i
received yure letter, for pheeling good. Gentlemen, i beg
that yu will alwus konsider mi fireside, and mi money
puss, at yure disposal.

Ttewvill alwus swell mi poor buzzum, to see mi skriblets
in yure extatick Journal, and it gives me a pious opinyun
ov yure honor, and butiful propriety, to also see, that yu
giv the NEW YORK WEEKLY kredit for them.

All hi minded and nobel journals duz this. Iam yure
sudden and sincere friend, JOSH BILLINGS.

P. S. if yu hav neglekted to git “Josh Billings Farmers
Allmanax for 1871,” dont neglekt it mutch more, ere it
may be forever too late. J. B,

‘ Orriss ov New York WEEKLY.
Editors ov New York Herald:

I write excloosively for the NEW YORK WEEKLY, and git
more money, (ackording tew the valew ov the artikles,)
than enny other: writer in norti: america.

I Kant ackount for this no how. I waz gratified to see
one ov mi recent writ things in yure wonderful paper.and
the graceful manner in which yu gave the New YORK
WEEELY kredit for the sketch, iz another singular proof,
that it iz not only dredful eazy, but dred{ful polite, to be
thankful for what we git in this world. Yure alwus, dear
Heral@, at liberty to grace yure collums with enny kontri-
bushuns. ov mine’ that may appear in the NEw YORK
WEEKLY, beKkausei kno sure delikate appreshiashun ov
the proper, and butiful, will encourage yu “to own the
korn.’”? Dont hesitate tew ask enny sized favour ov mie,
and in the meantime, enter me on the ledger ov your in-
ner pheelings, az yure cheerful, chaste, and citty couzin.

JOSH BILLINGS.

P. S. please ask me for one ov ‘Josh Billings Farmers

Allmanax for 1871" if yu haint got enny. Jd. B.

OrFIss Ov NEw YORE WEEKLY.
Editor ov Independant: :

Yure offer would tempt a less virtewous man than iam,
but virtew iz older than money. 1 thank yu for yure pro-
posal, but i hav an engagement to write ezcloosively for
the NEw YORK WEEKLY, a paper, whoze circulashun iz
now over 300 hundred thousand each week, and whoze
story literature iz unsurpassed bi enny other journal. I
see thut yu always giv the NEw YORK WEEKLY kredit for
mi trifles whenever yu transplant them into the warm
and geniul sileov yure paper, this iz az it should be, and
iz the distinguishing mark ov gentlemany journalism. In
making up yure jewels, dear Independant, hitch me onto
the string, and don’t. let either ovus forget, that we both
are to work on the same job, yu, in the more variagated,
and -kultivated walks ov literature, and I, amung the
thistles. Yure careless, but ceaseless friend,

* JOSH BILLINGS.

N. B.—‘Josh Billings Farmers Allmanax’’ are now out,
and they are only 25 cenis. oH

OFFISS OV NEW YORK WEEKLY,
Dear Editor ov Pordunk Flag:

I write excloosively for the NEw YORK WEBELY, am
paid excloosively bi them, and the artikles belong eccloo-
sively to them, and all hi toned journals excloosively giv
them kredit for them. ; }

Yure journal (being a hi toned journal) and yu being
anxious tew git into good company, and to stay thare, yu
will undoubtedly see the objekt, ov hereafter ‘giving the
New YORK WEEKLY kredit for mi artikles, whenever yu
stick them into yure paper.

The ‘“Pordunk Flag,” ackording to yure statement in

 

the paper, “haz the largest circulashun ov enny paper in

 

mpaenasaanttaease

all Hemlock county, iz the best mejum for advertising, iz
ee tew the arts, and sciences, and the spred ov mo-
rality.™

Now Pordunk, if yu are honest, about the ‘spreq”) yu
Speak ov, whi in thunder dont yu stop stealing the “Josh
Billings Papers,” out ov the NEw YORK WEEKLY, and
spreding them az yure own?

Yures affeckshionately, JOSH BILLINGS,

P.S.—Buy one ov ‘Josh Billings Farmers Allmanax
for 1871,” and larn how tew spred yureself in virtews
ways. - B.

_—_——_—_ > 4

Pleasant Paragraphs.

THE RUGG DOCUMENTS, NO. 25.

BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

As soon as I had gazed around the landskip a little, I out with
my cards and went to carding. Kitty she went to cutcing up an
old green flannel petticoat into carpet rags, and everybody
began to gisele and hide their faces in their handkerchers.

_My goodness! how the cotton did fly! The little aandy along-
side of me began to cough, and hold his handkercher to his
hose, and the fat man he began to sneeze asif he never ex-
pected to get another chance.

The fat man sed he’d have me versecuted for a public new-
cents. I told him he needn’t put himself to that trouble, seeing
as I hadn’t got a single cent about me, old or new, and all the
hard money I had was a three cent piece.

We went on aspell in silence, only for the coughing and
Ser Kitty she kept on acutting rags, and I kept at the
carding.

At Mr. Tammoth’s Iron Works we stopped to change the mail,
and changed the dandy for a woman and a baby.

After we got started otf, the fat man he began to snear at me
forcarding. He swore as if he was used toit. I felt shocked,
and sez I to him:

“You hoary headed old sinner! you! hain’t you ashamed of
at A man of your age with one foot inthe grave, and
other.

I had purseeded as far as this, when Ihbeerd an awful crash
in the bottom of the stage, and come to luk J found out where
bis other foot wast It was punched clean through my band-
box, and my new lace bannit wasknecked into a cocked hat !

I was mad, and I up with my cards, and told him if he didn’t
settle I’d setile himt-

_He turned paie—ondid the door and bounced out, and as he
did so,a big black dog bounced out of athouse close by and
sprang at him. They had an ‘awtul scrimmage, and I dunno
who would have been killed if the woman of the house hadn’t
come to the rescue with the mop?! As it was, the old gentleman’s
clothes was ‘tore so bad that he didn't luk decent to go any
furder, so he put up till he could git himself sowed up.

After we’d gone ahead a picce furder, the driver pointed out
a mountain called Mount Chickkorryway, after the steamboat
on the lake—and ‘sed this mountain was the place where the
ae chief cussed everybody and jumped off.

don’t ixpict that chief had ever went to Sunday school; if
he had, he would have knowed how wicked it-is to cuss folks.

J leaned out of the winder to see the mountain, and bya sud-
dint jolt one of my cards was jerked out of my hands, and went
flying back into the road. LIyelled tothe driver to stop and let
me git it, and-he did. -

Jest as I was a picking of it up I heerd a rumble, and Jawful
soul! that stage hadstarted! Them consarned passengers had
hired the driver to go or without me!

Warn’tI mad? guess so! I couldn’t tell when I have been
ri erties case ! But -Ihain’t to: be tricked so easy as I might

@ eae

1 clim a fence and looked round. About a mile ahead there
was a big brook—and atore vou got to it there was a long bend
in the road, so that by cutting acrost you could shorten the dis-
tance more ’n one half!

Imade up my mind on the spot. I'd git to the bridge afore
they did, and then if that stage got over in a hurry, why they’d
know it! I exerted myself tothe utmost! Over fences and
ditches I went lickety switch! I-gained on’em! I should be
in season! The driver hoHered to his horses, and laid on the
String, but it warn’t no use! I-beat him by full three mmnits,

The bridges up that way haint nothing on airth but poles laid
onto string-pieces, and [went at pulling up them poles and heav-
ing of ’em ‘into the brook. And as the water was pretty high, it
carried ’em off down stream. I’d: pulled the heft of ’ém up,
when along driv the stage, full split~and then—well, I’ rather
guess it stopped. : a,

“Oheckmated! by George!’ sez the driver, scratching his
head. ‘‘Darn the cards!” .

The rest of the folks didn’t say nothing, but they looked as so-
ber as a parcel of skinned eels,

One of the men got off and held the horses, and the driver,
poor soul! pulled off his boots, tucked up his trousis, and went
paddling down the brook after them oN I pitied him, ana I
would have paddled with him, and helped him, but I was afeard
of.takin cold in my rhumatiz.

It took quite a spell to fix things, and it was dark afore we got
to North Conway. We driv up to thie Kearsargé House, and the
landlord’ cum out and politely énformed us thathe was.full. [
ixpect he was, for he was wiping his mouth, and it’s likely he’d
jest been to supper. ech

Kitty and I got out with all our rigging, and the piazza got full
of folks that stared at us as if they’d never seen nobody.

We went into the parlor and took our things off, and. slicked
up @ little at the glass, and thei I sot down in the rocking cheer.
Pm a grate hand to sel ina rocking-cheer; I’m to home any-
where, if I can git into a good rocking-cheer.

In came the landlord, and séd he was ‘terrible sorry, but his
house was full, and we would have to go somewhere else.

“T haint a going gallivanting round in a strange place,” sez I.
Eee fust; I suppose you've got room enuff to put us up a
roos

The landlord apeared to be a real clever man, and he sed he’d
try and fix it somehow, and left us.” ;

I took a piece of salt fish out of my satchel, and some turn-
overs, and a handful of ginger snaps; and Kitty, she had a bot-
tle of cider, and some pickles, and we set out the marble-topped
table with the vittles, anid made ourselves to hum.

I invited a tallish man, with striped pantaloons, to eat with’ us,
but he didn’t accept. knew he was hungry by the way he
looked at us. After we'd cleared away, the landlord came and
showed us to a little room where there was some, comfortables
and things in a corner, and we laid down and slept as sound as
a nut.

Right airly, we took the stage for the Glen House, which is a
tavern close to the feet of Mount Washington. ~

There's considerable to see along the road. There’s the Lawes
Ledges and Goodrich’s Fails, which has sot up asaw mill of
its own; and other things too numereus to menshun.

I got my cards, and Kitly begun to braid her rags. ;

We went through Pinkham’s Notch. It’s a terrible muddy
road, and the bridges is brush heaps. I should think Pinkiiam’s
would try and have things in better order,

After awhile we came to a tree with asign on it—“‘Guiun Eis’
Fans.” The stage stopped, and we all clim out to see ’em.
There was a kind of a reclined plane of slippery poles leading
down to the Falls, and. I was smooth shod, and TI slipped, and
went a scooting along at a 2.40 gait, till I landed rite in the arms
of a freckled-faced man with green specks on.

“Land of Goshen!” sez he; ‘‘what bave we here ?””

“Tt's only me,’ sez I; don’t be skeered. If you'll jest be so
kind as to get the right ixtremity of me downward, [li ge along
without troubling of ye avy more!”

He stiddied me, and we got down safe. The Falls is nice, and
roared tremenjus. I asked a man if the Mr. Ellis that owned
the Falls was any relation to Sam Ellis to Dover; and he sed he
was his great grandfather, but I ixpict he lied.

There was some other folks along that say that the rest of ’em
went to see, but I was so anxious about that cottin that I sot in
the stage and carded.

Byme-by we come to the Glen House, which is a right pritty*

bilding, with piazzas all around it. Everybody seemed glad to
see us, Ihe landlord took my cards, and sed I must_belong to
the old-school of women. I told him yes, I ixpected I did, tor I
used to go to school to the old school-house at Beech Hill. I
told him that it was an old consarn then, but they’d got it fixed
up now, and he sed he was glad of it. :

After supper we were escorted up three or four flights of
stairs, tothe room _ where we was to sleep. Twan’t very late, so
we concluded we'd work a spell. Byme by we got kinder dry—
I ixpect we eat too much corned beef for supper, and I told
Kitty we’d go. down into the kitchen and git a drink of water.
But land sake! we might as well have hunted for a needle in a
stack of hay, asto have hunted for the right way to get any-
wheres! We. hunted,and hunted, and didn’t git nowheres.
Everything was alike, and we couldn’t tell tother from which.

At last we cum to a room that was open, and looked jest like
ourn, only the lamp had gone out. I told Kitty I guessed it was
best to gv in and go to bed, for we shouldn’t be likely to find the
same place agin, So we went in, and got ourselves to bed us
weilas we cowd in the dark, and Kitty was soon a snoring.
She’s an awful snorer! If she and Jonathan had a-come to-
gether, nobody could have lived within half{-a-mile of ’em un-
less it wasdeaf people!

} didn’t go to sleep, and in about aminnit I heerd somebody
to the door of our room, which I didn’t lock because I hadn’t no
key. It flew open, and in cum the identica! man with the green
specks that I had run aginst al Mr. Ellis’ Falis!

He had a lamp in his hand, and as he looked at us sich an ex-
pression as cum over his tace I never seed! He looked skairt
nigh about out of his wits! He sot on upon the run, a yellin’:

“Waiter! waiter! there’s wimmen folks in my room!”

The door was banged to, and I heerd ’em talking outside.

“How do you know there’s wimmen In there?” sez a strange
voice.

“J seed their night caps! and heerd ’em snore!” sez the man
with specks. Sees

“T dom’t snore!” gez I, indignantly; “’twan’t me you heerd!
‘twas Kitty!” SE Re

Somebody spoke to ts through the key hole.

“This is Mr. Walker’s room. . You have got the wrong number.
Will you please get up and come out?”

“Oh, sarting.!’? sezJ, “if Ican find my rigging!” and I waked
up Kitty, avd we both. hopped up, and got into our clothes in
the dark somehow. .-My stockings was on hind part afore, and
if I was to die. to find my false. frunt I couldn’t, and I had to
leaye it behind. . :

Mr. Walker pumped into the room.as soen.as we was out of it,
and locked the door asit he ixpected we was a gwine to eat
him. Law! he needn’t have been afeerd.

The waiter found us our room, and we had no more treuble.

The next day we went up onto Mount Washington in a ker-
ridge. The road that’s bilt up there beats the Dutch. It’s as
smooth and nice as the path to our frunt door.

The top of Mount Washington is all stone wall, though it’s bilt
meinen onregular; little rocks and big ones all mixed up.to-
gether.

The houses up there is bilt of rocks with ile-cloth roofs, but
they are pritty considerble comfertable taking everything into
account.

I guess that at some time or nother there has been a glass-
bottle manufactory up there, for I seed more broken bottles out
behind thé Tip-Top House than you could shake a stick at, and
I spose the manufactory must have bust up of a suddint.

We seed clean to nowhere from the top of the mountain, and
I carded quite a lot, and Kitty got a braid as long as my arm
done while we was up there.

We decided to go right on to Francony from there—so we
didn’t go back to the Glen House. Kitty wanted te go down
the mountain in the rall road, but I was afeard something woula
bust, and I made up my mind I’d go hossback.

So Kitty conclewded to go with me.

But PH tell you the rest next time. My back aches now, and
Jonathan ses he wants some slap-jacks for supper! Land sake!
if I was President of these United States, I should have to leave
off to fry flap-jacks for Jonathan Perkins. Yours, JERUSHY.

FORCED TO. DO IT.

Some time since, happening to be ata private party, witha
friend of mine, who is a man of great wit he was asked to oblige
the company with asong, this he refused_to do, when the fol-
lowing proposal was made to him by a Mr. B——, viz., that he
must either. sing a song, tell a story, or drink a pintof wine.
My friend being .an abstennous man, chose rather to tell a story
than incur a.forfeit. :

“One day,’ said. he, “a thief, in the course of his rounds, saw
the door of a.church inyitingly open... He walked in, thinking
that even there be might.lay hold of something usetul. Having
secured the. pulpit-cloth, he was retreating, when lo! he founa
the door shut,.. After some. consideration, he adoptea the only
means er cecave left, namely, to let himself down by the bell-
rope. The bell of course immediately rang. The people were
alarmed, and the thief was taken just as ne reached the ground.
When they were dragging him_away, he looked up and em-
phatically addressed the bell, as I address you, Mr. B——-: ‘Had
it not been,’ said he, ‘for your long tongue and your erapty.
head, I should have made my escape,’”’ D. W. RB:

POOR BUTTER.

As two little girls was passing a drug-store in our town the
other day, they observed an advertisement for poor man’s bit-
ters, which read: ‘Poor Man’s Family Bitters. Only 25 cents.”
They stopped and looked at it, when one said, as she spelled it
over, “Poor. Man’s Fainilv Butter, only 25 cents. Gracious! I
should thik it must be poor enough, butter is worth 40 cents
per pound here.”’ DrRumMMER Boy.

ALL GONE OUT.

A gentleman went fo see a triend of his, who owed him $50.

He knocked at the door, which was opened by a servant girl.

Me informed her he wanted tosee her master. ‘He is gone out,

sir,” said she. “Then your mistress will do,” said the gentle
man. ‘She,’ said the girl, “is gone out too.’’ ‘My business is
of consequence,’ returned he; “is your master’s son at home?”
‘No, sir,” replied the girl, “he is gone out.” “That’s unlucky
indeed,’ he replied; “but perhaps it may not be long before
they return, I will step in and sit by your fire.’ ‘Oh, sir,” said
the girl, ‘the fire has gone out too,’ upon which the gentieman
bade the girl to inform her master that he did not expect to be
received so coolly. Cuas. S. HAKESLEY.

DOESTICKS’ LETTERS.

DOESTICK’S LAST SPECULATION—MURDER TO ORDER.

Iam going into the vengeance trade—that is to say, I am
about to embark in the private vengeance and public slaughter-
ing—for a consideration—business. You see, if. there ever was
a time when crime stalked our streets unreproved, to say noth-
ing of being utterly unpunished, that time isthe present one.
Few of the crimes committed now-a-days seem to be deemed,
by the judicial gentlemen who daily square themselves on the
benches of our several courts, worthy of their serious consider-
ation. Of course, if the son of a judge, or his nephew, or his
uncle, or his cousin, or the fellow who happens atthe ume to
be courting that female cousin or niece of his, whom the family
think most desivable to get immediately off their hands, or the
female cousin or niece herself, does airy little playful act, such
as appropriating purses or handkerchiefs from some unsuspect-
ing person in a car or stage; or slipping into a capacious pocket
a silk dress-pattern, or lace collar and cuffs, while shopping at
“Stewart’s’—of course I say, in such a case, the little plea of
“Kleptomania” comes in, and the ‘person who did the act is at
once discharged. The officer who arrests &@ man or woman re-
lated toa judge, even in the very act of such a theft, is, of
course, severely reprimanded, if not dismissed from the police
force, the instant the fact of the’ judicial relationship is es-
tablished to the satisfaction of the presiding magistrate.

Of course, crimes against property must be, or ought to be
punished. The fellow who steals money, or who nips your gold
watch, or who grabs your chain, or who gets into your house ~
and walks off with your candlesticks, and silver forks and
other trifles, should naturally be punished, for making too free
with other people’s property—and if this thief or pickpocket
has no political friends, of course he must expect to suffer

_But for the minor offences of homicide in all its degrees, be-
ginning with “manslaughter,” up to ‘murder,’ with deliber-
ate, long-studied, thoroughly-plainned intent, the punishment is
by no means sure—indeed, it depends entirely on the political
relations, and the work of the man at the polls, and his value
generally to his political party, wliéther he ever be punished at

Having been pretty successful lately in some speculations in
the money way, and also having been instruinental in render-
ing some cerlain services to a number of City and State politi-
cians, I find myself ina position to do a few favors to my friends,
and also to settle up Some little affairs of MY own.

By means of certain shrewd operations which kave been _per-
fected by my friends and myself, I may sately -state that Tam
now ready to look after the inierests of any of my friends who,
by their indiscretions, have got themselves itite criminal trouble.

Having been on the coroner’s jory when Hogan’s corpse was
to be looked after, I persuaded the jury to bring in a verdict of
“Death from natural causes,’ when we all: knew that: Hogan’s
head had been caved in by a paving-stone which Mike Dongatty
threw at him in the course of an argument about the new City
Hall. This gained me Dongatty’s friendship, and when le was
chosen ‘‘Judge,” next election, he assured me that whatever he
could-do for me, in any way, he wou'ld do. ©

I chanced to stop a wagon in which were eighteen children of
as many different Aldermen aiid Judges, and other magnates,
with which wagon the horses were running away at a rate
which would have sinashed the children‘all into litle bits in.
four minutes more, so that I kave won the eternal gratitude of
all the said judges and other ¢haps.

And, remembering the late assertion of a certain gentleman
who merely stabbed a man to the heart in the presence of his
wife and children, that “‘hanging for murder is played out in New
York,” I have considered the whole affair and concluded to set
up my own original BUREAU OF VENGEANCE.

After I have settled some old matters of my own, I shall be
prepared to take orders from other gentlemen, and I can prom-

‘ise that their orders shall be executed with “punctuality and

dispatch.”’

TI own four judges. I am the proprietor of eleven aldermen. I can
influence three-quarters of the common councilmen.

Four out of tive of the police justices do just what I tell them.
And I have a talisman (twenty-five gold dollars in a sitk purse)
which will command tlie instant services of every policem:n in
the entire city.

On this capital I am prepared to commence business.

My own little affairs will be settled in the following order:

Con. Spuggelet, who asserted that my great grandfather once
spoke to a man who knew a hoé carrier, I shalt shoot at halt-
past eleven o’clock, on Wednesday, the 2d of March.

My friend, Officer Jones, will be on hand and will arrest me
at once, and take me before Alderman Jinks, who will commit
me to answer in $10,000 bail, to appear before Judge Spugier
next term—Justice Squeeks will be on hand to go my bail—and
I shall. then waik off 1o kill.

Harry Masko, who impugned my aristocratic breeding by as-
serting that my great-great grandmother, on my father’s side,
once churned two pounds and a ‘half of butter with her own
hands. I shall kill’: Harry at twenty minutes past two, on
Thursday afternoon, March 3d. Ihaven’tas yet deciled wheth-
er Lshall smash him with‘an ax, or shoot him, or poison him
with half-a-pound or so of strychnine,

Haying finishec up Harry I have only then tosettle with John

| Henry Peterson, wlio stepped on my toes one evening in the

lobby of a theater—I shall punish Peterson severely—I shall
chop him alittle with a bowie-knive; and take off an arm or so
—then I shall have a 4th ward rough’ on hand to bite his nose
off, and a fellow from ‘Mackerellville to chaw up his ears, and
gouge out his éyes,and then I shall finish the job myself by
knocking him down with a couple of clubs, kicking in his ribs,
and executilig a fancy datrce’on his chest so long as his breast-
bone doesn’t give’ in. This‘little job completed, my private af-
fairs in the way of murder will be settled, and as soon as I have
been set free by my judge next day, I shall be on hand bright
and early at my office réady to take orders for the speedy exe-
cution of each and every sort of man-killing. :

Of course, I will, on proper pecuniary inducement, under-
take any lesser crimes ‘Which’ have for their’ object, simply the
beating, maiming, ana general smashing up ef human beings,
Theft, robbery, and peccadilloes of that sort I will have nothing
to do with, Honor forbids me. But I willhave a man ussaulted
and battered—or, his legs broken—or, his head smashed—or, his
ribs caved in, and all fora reasonable and moderate price.

We do these trifling things simply to oblige and accommedate
cur customers, but the real business of our firm will be with
MURDER.

The prices are not as yet thoroughly established, but as wr
OWN TWO JUDGES, and have bought a dozen susticses, and cun
command a score of aldermen and such small fry at will, and as
jurors can always be bought cheaply, we can promise our cus-
tomers to do their work on the most reasonable terms:

In case any customer of ours should prefer, as a mutter of
personal liking. to murder his own man, we can guarantee him
perfect impunity, from the fact that, ‘as’ before stated, wE owNn
OUR OWN JUDGES and have lately bought a couPLE OF ASSISTANT
DiSTRICT ATTORNEYS Sea ; :

While we prefer to do the murders ourselves, as our em-
ployes arenaturally more proficient inthe business than mere
amateurs, we will not hesitate to provide for the safety of any
customer of ours who prefers to murder his own man.

Siung-shots, pistols, blaudgeons and other weapons always on
hire. Alibi witnesses ever ready to swear to anything.

Honestly, (j. K. PHitanpier Doxsticks, P. B.

—_—————_—_>-2<+—___—_.
Our Knowledge Box.
A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—~

H. Leman.—See No. 46.......... Constant Reader.—We cannot. aid
YOU.......06-Printer’s Apprentice.—A blister applied behind the
ears may be of benefit to you. Glycerine retained in the ear by
a piece of cotton is sometimes efficacious......... Lulu.—Wash
your face and hands in lemon juice.......... Onknown Barber.—
. Castor oil and spirits of ammonia. 2. Bergamot and rose are
the favorite perfumes. 3. No recipe that we can recommend....
Apohaqui.—l. Purity your blood by the use of sarsaparilla. 2,
Be regular in your habits, and retire to bed at an early hour.
3. Chew charcoal occasionally...... William Hamilton.—see No.
Me Os Jack Ghost.—We cannot inform you.....B. B.—See No. 31.
He 16 Year Old Reader.—To Remove FRECKLES, —See No. 39, For
chapped hands, etc., use glycerine. Your other questions we
cannotanswer.....:. Chloride and a Constant Subscriber.—We would
advise you to consult some experienced workmen in the busi-
NOSS==.G3es.. R. P.—We. cannot tell you....... Light Horse.—1.
Violet ink is very apt to fade. We have no recipe which we
can guarantee for the purpose named. 2d. The firstform of ex-
pression 1s the best... 3d. It is not_up to the bookkeeper’s stand-
BPG: A Constant Reader.—CoOSMETIC FOR THE COMPLEXION.—
Take half a cup of water and add to ita tablespoonfut of glycer-
ine. Add to this.a tablespoonful of alcohol and a teaspoontul of
cologne......... Elgin.—We._ cannot. intorm you,....... Barnacle
Backstay.—See No. 45,..... A Reader of the. Weekly.—Hara soaps
are made by boiling oils or fats with a.lye of caustic soda.......
The Weekly’s Friend.—See No. 42........ Reader of the Weekly.—
Mixture ror CLEANING SiLyER.—Common prepared chalk, or
whiting, 1-2 1b.; gum camphor, 1-4 0z.; aqua ammonia and
alcohol, of each, 1 0z.; benzine, 3 0z.; mix well together, and
apply with a soft sponge, and allow it te dry before polishthg.
eves ftobin Hood.-1, To make VARNISH FOR Viouins.—Take gum-
sandarad, fonv onnees: seed-lac, two ounces; mustic Benjamin,
in tears, each one ounce; pounded glass, four ounces; Venice
turpentine, two ounces; pure alcohol, thirty-two ounces. The
gum sandarac and lac render this varnish durable; it may be
colored with a little saffron or dragon’s blood. .2. To make
GERMAN SILVER, Melt: together twenty parts of copper, 15.8 of
nickel, 12.7 zinc. 3. Consult some one engaged-in ‘the business.
4..No recipe...... C. S. A.—To OurE Burrer.—Take two paris of
the best common salt, one part of sugar, and one-half part ‘of
saltpeter; beat them up and blend: the whole together. Take
one ounce of this composition for every sixteen ounces of but-
ter, work it well into the mass, and close it up tor use. Butter
cured in this way appears of a rich, marrowy. consistence and
fine color, and never acquires a brittle hardness, nor tastes
salt. It will likewise keep good three years, only observing
that it must stand three weeks or a month before it is used......
Witch of the Ocean.—To PRESERVE GRAPES.—Take close bunches,
whether white or red, not too ripe, and lay them ina ‘jar. Put
to them a quarter of a pound of sugar candy, and fili the jar
with common brandy. Tie them up close with a bladder, and
set them in a dry place... -.. H. H. W.—We have no recipes that
will produce what you desire. - In reference: to a license, apply
at the Internal Revenue office in your district. We do not know
the meaning of the word you desire to be informed about...... 4
An Old Reader.—To Maku Sort SonpER.—Melt together 2 pounds
of tin and one of lead. The lining of tea-chests makes a good
solder for tin-ware, being made of tin and lead in about the
proper proportions........ S. J. K.—SToVE Poxiso.—You can pro-
cure it at any stove store at much less cost than you can make
it, but as yourequest a recipe we give the fellowing recommend-
ed by a correspondent: Take 2 pounds of gum asphalium, and
1 gallon of turpentine; soak the asphaltum init two days. Pul-
verize common stove polish (Dixon’s is best);: then with a com-
mon paint brash paint only the top or side of -a-stove at a time
with the asphaitum solution; and afterward sift or sprinkle the
polish on, and rub untildry with a stove brush. This can be
used in cold or damp weather, indoors as well as out. Ihave
sold stoves for the past eight years, and the aboveis the best _re-
cipe I have ever used... ... Verona.—Harr Dyx.—To one drachm
of lunar caustic add enough aqua ammonia to dissolve the caus-
tic; then ada two ounces rain-water. This dyes the hair black,
and may be used without injury, which is not the case with the
so-called restoratives, which not only affect the sight, but cause
pain inthe head and bones. By adding double the quantity of
water, a lighter or brown shade will be produced. Apply to the
hair with a tooth-brush, being careful not to dye oy touch the
skin T. D.—Drussine Furs.—Only two processes are neces-
sary—that of cleansing the skin from all impurities, and ex-
tracting a species of oil from the fur itself. The skin 1s first
steeped in a liquid composed of bran, alum and salt; it is then
worked about and scoured sufficiently to remove all particles of
grease which might still adhere toit. The furis then washed
several times with soda and fine soap, after which it is regularly
cleaned in cold water repeatedly. The alum having rendered
the skin soft and pliable, and the fur being fully prepared, the
dressed fur can now be made up into the different garments and
trimmings for which it is used..... Edna Leighton.—1. Toilet soap.
2. We think not. 3. See No. 37, 4. Clip them occasionally. 5,
Lemon juice. The other questions will be answered in the La-
dies’ Workbox..... Gracie Williams.—We cannot aid you....Clay.
—You are troubled with FiusuH Worms. Try this recipe: Wash
the face twice a day with warm water, and rub dry with a
coarse towel. Then with a soft towel rub in a lotion made of
two ounces of white brandy, one ounce of cologne, and one
half ounce of liquor potassa.
———>-6—+___.
ApMIRERS of love stories should not fail to read *““faun as LOVE

Coutp Maxx Her,” No more beautifulstory has ever appeared

 

in our columns.