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Vou. XXVIT

FRANCIS 8S. STREET,
#RANCIS 8, SMITH,

 

NEW Y

Proprietors,

 

 

 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE.

BY. NATHAN D, URNEB.

Northward, ever northward,
As the dawn of Springtide shines,

L watch the merry wild geese wing
In long and straggling lines.

{ hear the clang of their leader
As he leads them overhead,

Or against the sunset’s breast of fire,
To blend with its gold and red.

And my spirit goes winging after,
O’er dwindling shrub and tree,
Yo the icy realms of the Polar Star,
And the mystic Open Sea :
That sea, in whose search so many
Have sailed, like a dream, to be lest,
But whose stern and icy barriers
The wild geese only have crossed.

Seuthward, ever southward,
As the shadows of Autumn grow,
{ watch the pigeons, massed in air
Like rainclouds, float and flow;
And my fancy is never weary
Of following in their flight,
Over the ever-deepening green
Of the world so warm and bright,

Over the Eden-Islands,
Star-set in the violet sea,
To some glorious glade in the Tropics’ heart,
Where perchance no man may be;
Where, alone in the radiant silence,
They can build, and rear their young,
And my spirit can find with their innocence,
The peace it hath craved so long.

T would cleave the sky on the pinions
That bear the bright birds afar,
To the emerald pomp of the Southern Cross,
Or the lair of the Polar Star;
Ever southward, or northward,—
To the glade no man hath trod,
Or the mystic sea never sailed by ship,—
To be alone with God!

Lady Leonora;

Ga Oye
THE FATHERS CURSE.

By Carrie Conklin,

Author of “THE CHILD-BRIDE,” and “TRUE
AS LOVE COULD MAKE HER.”

[Lady Leonora” was commenced last week: Ask any News
Agent for No, 27, and you will get the first chapters. ]

CHAPTER ITI.
IN THE QUIET AFTER SUNSET.

The story told by the driver of the Charnett coach
to the curious passenger who rode by his side was
quite as true as were his remarks upon it. The voice
of nature will make itself heard in spite of pride.

The proud old Karl of Charnett, now stretched
upon his dying bed, had often bitterly repented the
intemperate wrath that made him send his son
away; for the boy’s worst and only fault he had the
best and oldest plea to put forth in palliation.

When Sydney was gone—an outcast, disinherited,
deprived of rank and name—the earl tried to think
himself injured beyond seperation, He had not
Boe the separation—so he argued; he had but
justly punished the boy tor his disobedience.

Yet the quiet, inward voice of conscience would
rise and ask whether Sydney had deserved a sire’s
curse, and the wish that, coming from a sire’s lips,
was in its nature so appalling.

One dark thought would come, though the old man
strove hard to shut it away. What if that wish were
to prove prophetic? What if Heaven were to grant
the impious prayer that if Lord Sydney came back
to Charnett, he would die before his foot could cross
the threshold of the roof under which he was born?
What if his blood ran red upon the soil of his native
home?

Earl Robert reflected on this sometimes. The aw-
ful: wish made itself intoa phantom, and haunted

him.

And he had hurled the malediction only because
his son obeyed the dictates of an honorable love,
and, in defiance of- society, married one whose pro-
fession made the union a messalliance.

Even those who joined with Earl Robert in blam-
ing Sydney most sincerely could not but acknow!l-
edge there was strong temptation. The lady was
beautiful, her character spotless. The power of her
genius and her virtues had been trumpeted through-
out the world.

The proud old man exeused his own conduct by
thinking he had done no more than the duty due
to ancestry, rank, and position. But there was
something else of which he was made aware as
time wore on—the duty of a father to himsa@lf and to
his son.

A word,a single line in writing would have
brought back the boy for whom he often longed in
secret, but the,old man could not subdue the stub-
born sin, Yet.the incessant struggle told .at last
upon him. Jt fretted at his soul and wore existence
out.

He lay there in the quiet chamber, sinking day’ by
day, and with the setting of each sun the unspoken
wish for Sydney grew stronger,

It wanted but.a voice to urgé a plea on behalf of
the disinherited. Le

The earl would have been grateful for the chance
of being prevailed upon to yield.

But those whe wouldvhave gladly intruded, dared
not, and those who might have used the privilege
would not,

One man there was in’ the household who had
power above the rest. ‘This was Stephen Lester, the
steward.

Be was apparently upon singularly familiar terms
with Charnett’s haughty, master. He could say
what he liked» without, fear, and from -the com-
mencement of the earl’s:iliness Lester acted for him
in all things.

As a matter of course, he: was ‘no favorite with the
bumbler servants. . They. were jealous of his sudden
rise and absolute anthority.

James, Bingham,..the. stud .groom, was the only
one who ever presumed ,fo question the stewards
commands. An old rivalry existed: between. the:
two, though Bingham had always been the snbordi-
nate. :

They had only quarréeled once since Syaney’s ab-
sence, though they had quarreled frequently before:
On the last occasion, Lester threatened ‘the groom
with dismissal, but he did. not. repeat the threat.
Bingham. laughed-in. his face, teok him asidé, and
whispered ‘a few words in his ear... The steward
turned: pale—ai savage white; as one who saw the
Scene described it—but ever after that he avoided
an altereation.

That Bingham held some power was evident.

When Leonora, with her child, left the lodge to
proceed upon the holy mission, she went direct to
Charnett Hall.

A woman, however gentle and timid in herself

 

 

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ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACY OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1872 BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, WASHINGTON, D. C

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and in her own cause, can be very brave for the sake
of one she loves.

The lady was perfectly aware that when her hus-
band was exiled from home on her account, his
father gave strict orders that all messengers from
Sydney or herself should be refused access. to him;
Leonora did not heed that, now—she had a sacred
duty to perform.

Yet her heart’s pulsations quickened as her hand
lifted the muffled knocker, and for a moment she
could not speak to the servant who appeared at the
door.

The weakness passed, her voice was firm as she
stated her desire.

‘T will speak to Mr. Lester,” said the man, respect-
fully. ‘Shall I give your name, please ?”

‘*T am Lord Sydney’s wife,” she said, quietly, ‘and
I have a message from my husband to his father.”

The menial bowed low, as he retired. Leonora
had not to wait long before Stephen Lester appeared.

She looked at him intently through her vail. He
was a tall and portly man of middle age, and his
countenance wore a hard, stern expression; it was
in some degree a handsome face, but marred by deep
lines of lurking craft. '

‘“*You wish to see his lordship ?” he said, in a cool,
decisive tone, not entirely without an involuntary
poser ence forced from him by her queenly aspect.

e 0.”

“Yet, madame, you cannot but be aware that the
nature of his lordship’s instructions forbid me to
make your request known.”

“T must see him,” said Leonora with a calm resolve,
for her spirit rose instinctively against the man,
‘“‘take me to his chamber.”

“YT cannot, madame—lI dare not.”

Her resolution seemed to make him ill at ease.

‘Then I will find the way,” she said, ‘‘and- so you
will not have the risk of any consequence likely to
arise from an act of disobedience on your part.”

‘“Madame, he said respectfully, but with determin-
ation, ‘I must do my duty. I trust you will exoner-
ate me if I persist in it, but the earl is in a danger-
ous state, and a sudden shock would prove fatal.”

‘I come from Lord Sydney,” she said pleadingly.
“I bring a message—a prayer from a son, who may
be dying, to a dying father. You will not stay me ?”

‘Pardon me, madame, I must de my duty.”

He stood before her, barred her way and held his
ground in spite of the haughty gesture that followed
her appeal. S

‘Is there no one to help me ?” she asked half-alond,
while little Alice stood clinging to her hand, ‘‘none
of all who knew and loved Lord Sydney to intercede
for him?”

At this instant, James Bingham crossed the hall,
he heard the speaker’s voiee, and recognized her as
she raised her yail. :

- Leonora turned to him hopefully, she knew him as
a faithful servant to her husband.

“You,” she said—‘you will help me ?” :

The stud groom looked from one to the other, and
by the attitude of each seemed to read what had
passed: he bent his head very low to Leonora. Then
he placed his strong hand heavily on Lester’s
shoulder, and said:

“Stand aside.”

“James Bingham!” exclaimed the steward. ‘You
know'as well as I what his lordship’s orders are.”

“What?”

“That this lady, Lord Sydney's wife, must not be
admitted.”

The groom did not stay to argue, his hand going
from Lester’s shoulder to his breast, forced him back.

‘Stephen Lester,” he said, gazing at him steadily,
‘ther ladyship shall sce my master. I say it, and will
take her to him.” >

Bhe steward gnashed his teeth.

“At your peril, Bingham.”

“Interrupt her at yours—back—a step to stop her
and ve

The motion of his muscular arm raised in menace
finished the sentence.

Had Stephen Lester moved he would have been
stricken fo-the floor. ‘¢

‘“Nowfollow mie, my lady,” Bingham said, while
the steward, with a savage whiteness on. his face
stood stillin impotent rage. ‘‘Let Stephen Lester
say what he may, the earl shall see: Lord. Sydney’s
messenger,”

Leonora followed: him gratefully. . He led. her to a
chamber, and opened the door softly; as he was re-
tiring Leonora gave him her hand.

“T cannot than you now,” she murmured.

“T want no thanks. I could do more than what I
have done for Master Sydney.”

He touched the soft gloved hand with reverence
and retired,

 

“One faithful heart,” thought Leonora, as she en- |

tered the sick chamber; ‘tall is not lost yet.”

The physician who was by the bedside put up his
finger to his lip enjoining silence. Earl Charnett
had been sleeping, but low as were the voices out-
side the door, and noiselessly as the lady stole over
the carpet, he awoke.

An expression changing from surprise to recogni-
tion, then to pleasure, swept over the patrician’s
face, round which the long white hair fell as he
aanes from the pillow, and outstretched both his
hands.

“He has come,” he said eagerly, ‘the has come—
my son—Sydney—I knew he would.”

Leonora knelt by the bedside with.a cry of joy.
Earl Charnett motioned the physician away, and
placed his hand caressingly on Leonora’s head.

Pride was all subdued now, The unexpected ad-
vent of his son’s wife and child brought back every
association so hallowed in the past. The one
thought was for Sydney—to forgive him and recall
the curse.

‘I do not wonder that he disobeyed me,” he said,
gazing kindly at the beautiful. creature who knelt
aS with Alice. ‘The sin was mine not to forgive

im.

“Then he is forgiven—oh! thank Heaven! It will
be lifeto him. Let me go for him. He would not
come, my lord; heistoo proud to be sent back
again.”

“‘My- poor boy—poor Sydney, Ihave repented a
thousand times.. ] would to Heaven you had come
before.”

Leonora echoed the wish most fervently.

She was a proud woman—proud as the old man
lying there before her; and her proudest sense had
been hurt by his injustice to the manshe loved. But
in that moment when the earl spoke of forgiveness,
she wept with very joy, thinking of the glad tidings
she would have to tell Lord Sydney.

‘Let me fetch him,” she said; ‘‘let him know his
happiness. My lord, my father, it has been his dear-
est dream thatssuch an hour should come. Hé can-
not know his happiness too soon.”

“Nor can I; but I must not lose you. again. He
shall find you here, itis your place, and I have quick-
er messengers. . That bell.”

It stood on the table near. Leonora touched it,
and the metallic note struck by its silver tongue had
not ceased to vibrate when an attendant came.

It was Stephen Lester.

Whatever evil thoughts were in his mind he kept
them down. Nothing appeared in eye, on lip, or
brow but the respectful, quiet’ solicitude of a devo-
ted servant for his master. ~.

‘My lord.” he said, and waited. -

‘Mr. Lester, come: here, This is my daughter,
wife tomy only son,and heis coming home. I
know that gives you pleasure, Lester—does it not ?”

“The deepest, my lord. There is not a servant in
the house but will welcome him gladly.”

‘There, my child,” said the earl to Leonora, “they
have not forgotten him in spite of their master’s an-
ger. Haste, take horse, and go for him; he is—
where, my child, where? I know he is near, but
this has come so suddenly upon me that I had for-
gotten to ask where.”

“At the keeper’s lodge, with his foster brother,
John Kendrake.”

‘Then haste, good Lester, ride hard, and tell John
Kendrake to bring his master here, for Sydney is
master now. Thank Heaven, it is not too late. I
have been afraid to repent,and do justice. Go,
good Lester, send them both here, and then ride on
for Reuben Uxley. I shall want him to-night.”

He sank back on the pillow <Aere. The intense
excitement was' too much for him, and a red foam
came to his lips.

Leonora ran to the balcony, The physician, who
knew the imminent danger of his patient, had gone
fo farther, and he came immediately in answer to
her word. eee

Not.ten seconds had elapsed. he heavy curtains
had scarcely time to fall behind’ Leonora ere they
were parted again as she re-entered with the doctor.
Yet there was time for something to be done.

A minute globule dropped from ‘the steward’s fin-
ger into a glass of medicine that. stood ready for
the patient, The tiny atom melted as it touched
the liquid.

Leonora found Stephen Lester bending over the
earl with much concern. The doctor’s countenance
was very grave. He glanced at’ Earl Charnett’s pal-
lid face: He placed his flagers on the low, faint
pulse. :

“Lady,” he said solemniy, ‘if there is aught to be
done—peace tobe made with Heaven or man—tet
no time be lost.”

 

sonora gripped Lester’s wrist and whispered one
word:

“CO.”

He understood her, cast one hurried giance at his
master, and went to ride for Lord Sydney and Reu-
ben Oxley.

“Is it so near 2?” asked the lady.

“Tt will be ended before dawn,” was the reply.
‘‘Hush, now. Say nothing to disturb or to excite
him. This draught may give him strength for some
few hours to come.”

Quite innocent of what had been done to the
draught he administered it, while Leonora support-
ed the sick man’s head. He breathed heavily and
unclosed his eyes.

“Hamilton,” he said, with a smile, ‘‘I am better.
Tam sure of it. My son is coming. Not all your
medicine can give me such strength as will one look
at him. But you aresad. Is ift——”

Interpreting the sympathetic sorrow in the doc-
tor’s gaze he said no more. The hope faded witha
single sharp, short pang, and resignation came.

“Well,” he said, lowly, ‘‘Heaven has been merciful
in sparing me so long. I shall see my son, take from
his head the bitter, sinful curse, and give him my
tenderest blessing. I always loved him, Hamilton,
but the stubborn pride born in’me made me stern.
Tell me, doctor, the truth. Think you, for I have no
fear now, shall I have time ?”

“To make peace above, to see Lord Sydney here—
yes—but—_—_”

‘Say it; he must come quickly.”

Doctor Hamilton bowed his head.

Harl Charnett breathed an earnest, silent prayer—
he knew the worst.

‘My child,” he said to Leonora, ‘‘give me your lit-
tle one; come, darling, closely—so; I cursed your
father, but here by this kiss the cruel curse and im-
pious wish that went up from my tongue are revoked
in my inmost soul. Tell him so, my child, if—if he
should come too late.”

The last words were addressed to Heaven.

Little Alice, wondering at what she saw, but with
a child’s sweet instinct for affection, understanding
the old man’s love, nestled down to him.

‘*Would I hada few years of the past to live again,”
he said; ‘‘a few years that did seem so long in pass-
ing; but now as I look back upon them, seem but
days. My love for Sydney should be so proved that
he should quite forget [had been unkind. He is
coming, though, at last. It’s not far to the. lodge ?
Has the sun gone down ?” \

The physician drew the curtains aside.

‘T see it has. How beautiful the old hills look with
the deep red glow behind them; open the curtains
wide; don’t light the lamp; let me see my old home
by the starlit skies only. And Sydney—Sydney.
Doctor, I cannot see—is this sleep or death ?”

“Sleep,” said the doctor, holding his patient’s
wrist; ‘it is exhaustion, nothing more.”

**T shall wake again ?”

‘‘When the faintness is gone.”

“Thank Heaven!—to see Sydney.

‘‘My father.”

‘Don’t leave me. You seem like part of Sydney.
The tie is hallowed, for those who love each other
grow alike; I trace atone of his. voice in yours, a
look of his in your face. My poor girl, I was unkind
to you.”

Leonora kissed him reverentiy, and rested her
cheek lightly on his breast.

“This little ene,” he said, struggling to over-
come the lethargy creeping upon him, ‘what is her
name ?”

“Alice.”

‘It was his mother’s. That was a tender thought,
to. keep his mother’s name in spite of his father’s an-
ger. Alice; and she is like Sydney, fair and gentle,
with such silken, amber tresses as I can remember
he hadin childhood. Alice, Sydney and you—all
a The old man will not die alone after
all.

His voice grew faint and fainter yet, till it sank
Into a whisper.

“Doctor,” he said, and Hamilton bent low to catch
the sound, ‘‘bear witness to this, Sydney is Lord of
Charnett. I leave all to him and his—my children
here, his wife and little ones. And—and—you are
sure I shall wake again ?”

“When you have rested, and the sooner if you
sleep now.”

“My old friend would not deceive me—would not.
To wake, wake——not die. Sydney—Alice. A tender
thought. Alice, his mother’s name. Sydney—con-
ing, coming.”

Then the whisper sighed out too. He slept, leav-
ing much unspoken. He made an effort to point at
something in the chamber; a heavy cabinet. they

My child.”

. dying yonder, ffxed on me.
jhe threw upon my mother's memory—the outrage

 

Three Dollars Per Yeur.
Two Copies Five Doaliars.

LIES

thought it was, but his arm fell, and kept them in
doubt.

And so in the quiet of the sunset he slumbered,
with Leonora watching him, and little Alice by his
side. The star that Sydney saw from the lodge was
twinkling on, and the cloud that drifted slowly over
Charnett’s hill loomed above the group, the dying
sleeper and the quiet watchers waiting for the for-
given outcast to come.

.

CHAPTER IY.
THE RED TRAIL ON THE SWARD.

it was after Stephen Lester rode past the keeper’s
lodge, and while Lord Sydney stood at the door
alone waiting for his foster brother to return, that
the steward, going up the village road saw a
stranger, who at his approach had evidently stopped
to look at him.

Lester slackened pace involuntarily. The stranger
was vaguely familiar to an extent that troubied him.

“Now, where have we met before ?” the steward
thought; ‘or have we never met, and is it fancy
only ?”

That it was not fancy was proved beyond a doubt
by the first words the stranger uttered.

“You ride well, Stephen Lester, for a man of
weight; and whatever may be upon your mind does
not affect your habit.” And he laughed.

The laugh, cold, hard, and short, without mirth or
music in it, was more familiar than the voice, and
the steward reined in; the stranger placed his hand
carelessly upon the bridle. Carelessly it seemed,
but had the steward attempted to ride on,.he would
have found himself a captive for the time.

“T know you,” he said, speaking lowly, and in his
cheek there was the strange gray white that invaria-
bly came to him with any strong emotion.

“Why, yes, men of our kind do not forget. each
other easily; and some things there are that fix time,
and place, and person in the memory—-where were
you going ?”

“To fetch Reuben Uxley.”

“Who is wanted by Earl Charnett. This may bea
bad night’s work for both of us, Stephen.”

“Why ?” ’

“That is right—try cheat and subterfuge. You
cannot understand. The earl. will reinstate Lord
Sydney, and you have nothing to fear. It will not
be difficult to render a just account of the Charnett
stewardship.” i

They were walking slowly toward the lawyer's
house—no sounds to be heard save their own voieecs
and the soft trample of the horse's feet—-no human
beings save themselves in sight.

These two men in that quiet country town could
think their deviltry and hint dark sin without, fear

ing overheard; each was on his guard—neither |
ust the other yet.
| it not,” asked the steward, with a des-
tempt at self-possession, ‘‘be better, Michael
-o be frank ?”
&? I think I give promise of sufficient
seek to hide your thought.”
a here has so surprised me that I have
ts ¢ vet;
“Come,” said Michael Ewrick, ‘we make progress.
You have spoken a bit of truth, I will add a morsel
to it; you never expected tosee.me here again;
my appearance may possibly be inimical to your
interests.”

“How should it ?”

The steward confined himself to questions up to
this time ; he did not like to venture out of his men-
tal depth.

‘*How should it ?” echoed the other, ‘‘we are cau-
tious; suppose we put it in this wise—there is a
steward to a rich estate, whose master having dis-
inherited the heir, and being sick to apathy, does
not demand a strict rendering of accounts, The
revenue is vast, limitless almost; the steward has
authority, power—his position must be lucrative.”

“Well ?”

“Phen the disinherited returns, to be forgiven—it
would be awkward now were he to ask a rendering
of the account neglected by his father.”

‘Very awkward, indeed ; as awkward as it would
be to Michael Ewrick were the old man to live, undo
what he has done, destroy the will made in favor of
the nearest kinsman, and reinstate the son.”

The speaker looked at Michael with dark signifi-
cance, and Ewrick said, reflectively:

‘‘Were the old man to live—what does that mean?”

“This—not half-an-hour ago the physician said,
that if the earl had aught to do, peace to make with
Heaven or man, it must be done quickly, he will not
see the dawn.”

ial? .

‘““And then,” added Stephen Lester, in a tone
whose peculiar meaning could searcely be mistaken,
“the physician, though a very skillful gentleman,
did not know exactly how bad his patient was.”

‘Ts there a chance then ?” asked Michael, and sin-
ister eye met eye as sinster, ‘‘that death will come
before the work is done ?”

‘‘Before all is finished; but something is done al-
ready, the Lady Leonora 2

Michael caught the name, and said it under his
breath—he spoke it in a whisper, quivering with
intense passion,

‘Leonora ?”

“And her child. 2 4

“Her child and his—malediction on him—would I
could curse him with blight of death.”

He broke from this strain abruptly, and said be-
tween his teeth:

‘“Well—Leonora and her child ?”

‘Are by the earl’s bedside—reconciled. I was dis-
patehed to send Lord Sydney and his foster-brother
there. I gave the message, and they are doubtless
on tne way.”

Ewrick turned the fierce light of his large black
orbs in the direction of the lodge. He saw the for-
est keeper’s stalwart form striding on toward the
house.

‘John Kendrake—unaccompanied,” he said.

“Then they misunderstood my message. I gave it
as [rode past, and they, perhaps, only heard one
hame.”

*‘Kendrake’s ?”

“It must have been so.”

“Phen he—Sydney,” hissed Michael, “tis at the
lodge—alone.”

‘Where he will wait till Kendrake returns to him.”

Ewrick’s hand went with nervous indecision to
his breast—to something hidden there. He hesita-
ted—irresolute between an intent respecting Sydney,
and a desire to hear more from Stephen’ Lester,

“Lester,” he said at length, with his hand closed
like steel over the hand of him to whom he spoke,
“if we understand each other, as I think we do, this
night’s work may do much.” :

The steward did not speak, but he wore the aspect
of one who would take action with the other. He
waited for farther confidence from. his more daring
confederate—_the man whose brain had greater
scope, whose will leaped beyond control or fear.

“We know the past,” Michael said; ‘a single
glance into the black retrospect, and each has an in-
sight into the other’s soul core. My former visit,
Lester, you remember it ?”

“How you came, how you went, what passed while
you were here. JI remember all.”

“The bitter stigma that the proud old man, now
The smirch—the blot

cast upon her grave.”

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

 

 

 

 

Sess
“I remember, 400, that hv gave you money and

ity.”

“S:deatiht No word of if again; the recollection
brings a het sweat to my brew. I do believe he
knew her right and mine, even when he dared to
say his pitifid dowbt. I could have got the proof,

            

but on the yerynight I went for it the church was
fired. I have (lnctimés thought, 1@had a hand in:

that.”

netts are a strange race.” a

‘And he did not dove my father too well.”

“No better,” said Stephen, than your father lov
him who died.” le Bee

‘‘Ay, the seeret of that tragic deed gave you the
pees and power you hold, They said my sire killed
lim.’ AMG iG es TRA

“So he did.? ——— eee

‘* You le,” said Michael, with a lurid flash of the
eye. ‘They met to fight a duel, the forest keeper
was their only witness; he loaded their weapons.
Now on your oath, your salvation—did he not leave

    
   

one pistol empty ?

The steward went livid to the lips.

‘“‘T swear. ,’ he began.”

“So would Satan toa perjury. Ihad it from my
father when he died—the-truth. There was but one
ball, and that one ball he missed with. The bullet
which went through my uncle’s head was fired from
the keeper’s gun, and the keeper's name was Stephen
Lester.”

The steward. reeled in the saddle, his conscience-
stricken look admitted that the accusation was but
truth.

“You need notefear,” said Ewrick, sneering at the
other’s want of nerve. ‘I have much of the Ohar-
nett blood in me, and shall not be likely to weep

- over my kith and kin. The raee is dying. out,
Stephen.”

“The earl and his son, Lord Sydney, are the only
direct represengatives; but then there is the girl.”

The steward spoke more calmly now. Michael’s
manner told him he had nothing te dread.

“We can look upon the earl as dead, Lester.”

“T have told you the physician’s opinion.” :

“And Sydney is delicate—very. I should be in no
way surprised were he not to survive his father.”

The looks that passed between the two were dia-
bolical. Stephea.Lester shivered slightly—he had
not hardened info iron yet,

“T should be very sorry were anything to happen
suddenly,” he said, :

“You would have more cause for Sorrow were
something not to happen now. ‘Lord Sydney has
his own solicitors, who might require an account of
stewardship more stricé than you are perhaps pre-
pared with. They would be more difficult to deal

With than our friend Uxley.”

a do net much fear on that score, Michael Hw-
rick.” : :

“No; but if we disagree you may regret it: my duty
isto avenge my uncle’s death, clear my father’s
name of the stigma that rests upon it—people call
him fratricide.” f

‘So in intent he was.” : ;

“Yes,” said Michael, with cool and deadly menace,
“but not in act; we cannot hang aman for inten-
tion, we can for murder.”

 

The steward’s hand tightened on his heavy riding-

whip. Ewriek saw with what dark thought he
scanned the lonely scene,

“Go,” he said, laughing now in scorn, ‘‘do your
mission, Stephen—take Reuben Uxley to your mas-

ter. Should he be too late, so much the better.”
‘Shall I see you again te-night ?”
‘‘Perhaps; soon, at all events.
what has begome of Simon McDonald ?”
‘The poacher ?” said Lester, with a start.
“The conviet—the fugitive—the—no matter what.
Where is he ?” :

‘*He has the old hut on the heath yonder, and it is

said he is halfmad; he lives in a semi/savage state.

Earl Robert suffers him to roam at will over the
estate, and skeet what game he may require for sub-

sistence.”

‘Karl Rebert is a generous master to those who
serve him, So am I.”

Lester rode forward. He seemed to see an un-
pleasant significance in the other’s words.

‘We shall understand each other better soon,” he
said. Michael, who was striding on in the opposite
direction, paused, looked back, and said:

“We shall.”

So they parted for the time; each went his way—

each with a savage hatred of ve other, but with a

knowledge that each was nscessary Lo the other’s
purpose. _

“If could fear,” said Michae: to himself, **I should
dread Stephen Lester; he is the kind of man who
would strike ia the dark; but he will not: touch me;
we shall be aecomplices, slave and master.”

“Some would. think the chain that binds usa
strong one,” he resumed; “but red links:are broken
easily. Chicte, my guide, philosopher and enemy,
says that ‘Iwo men bound by sin are tiger and
snake.’ Igive faith to the philosophy, though I do
not like Chicte.”

He went thoughtfully in the direction of the for-
est-keeper’s lodge, with his eyes bent on the ground,
and one hand in his breast. The handsome face wore
a quiet but a very sinister look.

John Kendrake had not yet returned. When he
reached Charnett House he found Bingham in wait-
ing at the door.

“Where is Lord Sydney ?” asked the groom, anx-
iously.

“Then he was sent for?” said Kendrake. ‘Thank
Heaven for that. I told him so, but he would not
come till all was sure.”

‘Was sent for,” repeated Bingham. ‘I would not
for the world have his father wake and find him not
here—run back for him, Kendrake.”

‘Hush !?

A light footfall sounded on the stairs—the dark
glory of Leonora’s face looked upon them from

“Did

above. :
‘Where, is my husband ?” she whispered.
not the steward give his message ?”

The keeper answered in a voice subdued with a

strange fear

‘We heard the message, but not distinctly. Lord

' Sydney would not come till all was sure.”
Leonora clasped her hands.

“Haste baek and bring him; stay—the earl heard

you arrive and expects to see you.”
“But I had better go for. bs

 

“No; come first and explain the cause of this

Clay” x

The keeper dropped his gun inte Bingham’s hand,
uneovered his head, and ascended the stairs.
followed Leonora with reverent quietude.

Robert Lois, Harl of Charnett, was awake now, and

still had little Alice beside him.

_ A-shade of regretful disappointment crossed the
physician’s countenance when he saw Kendrake

enter without his foster brother.
‘My son,” said the dying man, eagerly.
Then ke sank back, saying, in fretful despair:
‘‘Why, Kendrake, you are alone.”

“My lord,” said Kendrake, approaching,’ “‘your
son is coming. The steward went past so rapidly

that we did not catch his message clearly.”
“And Sydney 2?”

“Has been so long away, and yearned so deeply
to return, that he could not risk the faintest .chance

of broken hope.” ;

‘Poor boy, forgiveness seems so strange he can-

not believe it. Tell him to come now, John—tell
him to come.” :

The keeper waited to hear no more; he saw by the
gray shadow creeping over Karl Charnett’s face that
no time must be lost. He made the descent of the
staircase at two leaps, and, taking his gun from
Bingham, ran homeward. :

“Tt seems as if he never will come,” said the earl
to Leonora. i

A fear, akin te that which had subdued Kendrake’s
voice stole into Leonora’s heart.

“It was the dread that he might be denied—only
that; but he will not be long now.” :

“I know, I know, he could not forget the curse,
I wish it never had been spoken; to have-recalled it
re not seem enough. He has suffered much, my
Cc i d.??

“Very much.”

“I have suffered too, Ishould have lived longer
and more happilyif [had not sent Sydney away.
Doctor ?”

“My lord.”

‘Help me to perform what will be wanted to give
him his inheritance. Open that cabinet—there are
two wills; one in that book—the Charnett records.
Have you foundit? . r

eT have.” ‘

4

“Let it be destroyed when Uxley comes—you |

witness its destruction. It gives my son’s true
heritage to another, our next of kindred. Letit be
destroyed.” e

“Tt shall be done.”

$‘In Uxley’s presence, and before John Kendrake,
The other—the other is there, behind the cabinet.
Slide back that metal inlet on the hinge, then you
see a crevice. I hid the will there in case a timelike
this shauld come.”

Doctor Hamilton hastened to obey.
clearly comprehend his task.

He did not

“Not unlikely,” said Lester, very pale; “the Char- I

One question—

He

The heavy cabinet was a fixture. Nothing stood
behind it but the oaken-paneled wall. The hinge to
which the ear] alluded was on the cabinet’s lid. No
metal inlet was visible, but by trying in various
ways, the doctor touched upon the secret) The slide:
went back of its own accord, and a narrow crevice
in ihe wall was pores: : 1 ~ at
Karl Robertattered.a joyous exclamation.
That mer It.gives all fo Sydney whe
ve altered the codicil. “It concerns one who sa:
he is my brother Ewrick’s son. The Charnetts hay

nned much, and should be merciful. It would do
him justice—confess——” a.
e paused abruptly. oS
Confess nothing, except to Sydney. He will do
justice; he——” 2 : ae
/ The echoes. of asharp report rang through the
still air, and startled all; then’ came the echoes of
another and a louder shot and when they died away
an unnatural silence followed. tay Bee

Before Leonora or the doctor could think of stay-
‘ing him, Earl Robert leaped from his bed and to the
window. They could see\nothing. Lord Charnett
saw with an inner sense of sight.

The old man’s.aspect in his long shrond-like night
robe, was as one inspired. He stood erect without
assistance, and pointed down the star-lit slopes to
the keeper’s lodge.

Face, voice, and attitude were prophetic.

“There came a death cry with the echoes,” he said,
“and I know who died. The curse—the wish; it was
prophetic—prophetic!”

Leonora, whiter than the white robe she clutched
at, uttered a thrilling cry:

‘Father!

“Hush, my daughter—I shall see him—they will
bring him home.”

She sank. shuddering to her knees, but the old
man did not move—he never turned his gaze from
the lodge, and he seemed to see the tragedy that
had been done there.

John Kendrake, when within a hundred yards of
heme, heard a pistol shot, and a short, piercing
shriek—the cry of one death-stricken.

It struck his heart with terrible misgiving. He
bounded on and saw a form run with the speed of
thought out from the doorway toward the Charnett
Heath.

The impulse and the act with Kendrake then were
one—he aimed and fired, not without effect, for the
fugitive staggered, reeled, but ran again.

“Sydney,” cried the keeper, fighting against his
dread, ‘‘Sydney, my brother——”

Then he stood before the door, and his wild scream
of agony rent the air.

The sire’s curse—the impious wish, too late re-
voked, had taken, the shape of prophecy. A track
of blood ran red upon the sward. The outcast son
of Charnett’s master would never set foot now in
Charnett’s Hall. Lord Sydney lay across the lodge
threshold, dabbled in blood, shot througth the head.

[TO BE CONTINUED.}
ee

<<
WEDDED, _
YET NO WIFE;
a OR :
A LEAPUEN See DARK.
By Mrs. May Agnes Fieming,
[Who Writes Exclusively for This Paper.) ‘
Author of THE HEDRESS OF GLEN GOWER,
ESTELLE’S HUSBAND, LADY EVELYN,

BARONET’S BRIDE, MAGDALEN’S VOW,
WHO WENS, ete. ete.

 

 

     
  
   

    
   
  

 

[‘‘Wedded Yet No Wife’? was commenced in No.3. Back num-
bers can be obtained of 2nz News Agent in the United States. ]

PP! AR TD Ve
GHAPTER VIII.
‘TOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL,”

 

Jt was the afternoon of the twenty-first of August
—the day preceding that upon which Guy Earlscourt
was to appear at the preliminary examination before
a police magistrate, previous to his committal to
stand his trial for the willful murder of Alice Warren.
‘It was a very warm day—an intensely warm day
down among the cornfields and golden country
meadows, blazing insufferably het here in London.
The atmosphere of the prison-room was stifling.
Guy’s long limbs were stretched out upon the bed—
he lay in his shirt sleeves, his collar loosened, almost
| painfully oppressed for air. He had spent nearly a
month in prison, and looked, as he very well might
after the ordeal, pale, and worn, and thin. The
sensation the whole affair had created was absolute-
ly something unprecedented. Guy Harlscourt, the
ex-guardsman, the wealthy and popular author, the
brother of Lord Montalien, to stand his trial for the
murder of a peasant-girl. The best metropolitan
‘society was thrilled—it was something new under
‘the sun, something to stir and excite even their
languid pulses. All his evil deeds of the past, for-
gotten in the sunshine of prosperity, were raked up
again, stories were afloat of him fit to make your
hair rise—people recalled the sinister expression
about his mouth, and the darkly evil glance of his
brown eyes. He had Italian blood in his veins, too,
revengeful, murdérous blood, from time immemorial,
and his picture sold like wildfire, and new editions
of his books were ordered as fast as they could be
issued. If Mr. Earlscourt had written a second
‘‘Hamlet” or ‘Childe Harold,” he had never found
himself so famous as now. Hesmiled inthe solitude
of his prison as he read and heard all this. It was
the way of the world—he had expected nothing else
—he knew the public would be grievously disappoint-
ed, ifhe were not condemned. It is not given to us
every day to witness such a sensational romance of
real life—a prospective peer and celebrated author
is not every day sent to Newgate like a common
felon. It was really wonderful how his friends fell
off—a little melancholy, too, ifGuy had not been a
philosopher and reader of poor, weak human nature.
A few friends were faithful in the dark hour—the
Atcherlys, Robert Lisle, Captain Villiers, Allan
Fane. The Lady Hdith Clive, too, sent him a note—
a passionate, vehement, girlish outburst of hearty
nature. She knew he was innocent—though all the
world believed in his guilt, she never would—never,
never!

He smiled a little sadly as he read it, then, want-
ing a pipe light half-an-hour after, I am afraid Lady
Edith’s note was twisted up to serve the purpose.

He was neither miserable nor indifferent to his
danger and hisruin. He saw clearly how strongly
circumstances told against him, and his own inabil-
ity toclear himself. He felt, with horror unutter-
able, that his brother was the guilty man.

Great Heaven! what a double-dyed villain he was,
to lure away an innocent, trusting girl, and then,
when weary of her, foully murder her. He sickened
when he. thought of it. Lord Montalien had not
been present at the inquest, but Guy knew he was
one of the new witnesses to be examined on the
“morrow, :

Most faithful of all his friends and visitors had been
Robert Lisle. He had never missed a day. His
father, had he been alive, could scarcely have felt
more bitter pain for Guy than he did. His own pri-
vate troubles were lessening—his daughter long
ago had been pronounced out of danger—had been
able to sit up during the past nine days. But he

fate remained undecided.

He was with him this sultny August afternoon,
walking slowly to and fro, always his wont when
deeply moved. They had been talking of indifferent
things—of the new book Guy had begun in. prison
he always avoided talking of his trial, if possible,
but Lisle’s moody brow showed that his thoughts
were of it now. -

“Task you once again, Guy, if you do nof mean to
throw aside this mad reticence, and vindicate your

 

 

/You can give bonds for your reappearance when

 

| an upright man in seeing his only brother placed in

could not leave England while his young friend’s |

 

    

 

innocence as you can—as I know you can?. You
have engaged excellent counsel, but we don’t want
his eloguence—we do want a plain, straightforward
Statetient Of facts, as regards your doings on the
morning of the twenty-fourth of December. When
used man refuses to account for his conduet
ith aStrong’ prima facie case made out against
‘him, the law is justified in believing that his silence’
rises from guilty or sinister motives. The‘ evidence
sainst you is purely circumstantial and. erroneous,
of Course, but men have been hangedbeforé now on
purely circumstantial and erroneous evidence.”

“They won’t hang me,” said Guy, shaking up his
pillows so as toget.the- cool side out; ‘‘at least, I
hope not. The evidence, as I said before, that suf-
fices for a coroner or a police magistrate won’t al-
ways stand the test of a grand-jury. It will be un-
pleasant to be committed to Newgate until the as-
sizes, but—well, the world is full of unpleasant
things, and I suppose I must come in for my share.
An alibi cannot prove—it is, as I told you before,
simply impossible. If I am cleared it must be by the
breaking of this' chain of evidence they have so skill-
fully wrought against me—not by any revelation of
my own. Don’t let us talk about it any more, dear
Lisle, it’s much too hot to discuss unpleasant sub-
jects. How are they all at Speckhaven to-day ?”

‘Much as usual.”

“Miss Lisle continues steadily to improve, I trust ?”
With some hesitation this.

‘Paulina does not improve,” her father answered,
gloomily; ‘‘not, at least, as she should. The apa-
thetic state of low spirits to which she fell a victim
before her illness has seized upon her again. She
does not rally because she is indifferent onthe sub-
ject. The doctors can do nothing—they speak of
hidden trouble—something preying on her mind—
advise change of scene, air and climate—the old
stereotyped medical formula, And this trouble, if
there be a hidden trouble, is a subject on which noth-
ing will induce her to speak.”

Guy’s face was much ‘graver now than when dis-
cussing his own danger.

‘‘You should follow their advice,” he said. ‘You,
should take her away. I suppose they willwant you
here to-morrow, but after that,iwhy not start at once ?

   
   
 
    
   

needed again. Take her abroad, and immediate-
ly—her health is much too precious to be trifled with
longer. She does not—I hope she does not know of
my affair? For tha sake of past times, when we were
good friends, I should not like her to know I am even
suspected of the murder of her friend. You have
nottold her?” ;

‘Most certainly not—all exciting topics are for-
bidden, And, strange to say, she-has made no in-
quiries whatever on the subject of her dead friend
since her recovery. The apathy that holds her
seems to blot out feeling and memory. She never
reads, she sees no visitors, and wé tell her nothing.”

Guy drew a long breath—a breath of relief.

“Tam glad of that—take her out of England in
ignorance, if you can; and whatever happens keep
her in ignorance. Let her never learn this, if ‘it is
in your power to prevent it. I could not quite bear
that. Imay tell you now,” after a brief pause,
“what I would not tell you out there in Virginia—I
love Paulina with a love as devoted asit is hopeless.
Alice Warren was to her as a sister; I cannot endure
that she should think I was suspected of her murder.
Promise me, old friend,” he held out his hand, “that
you will do this, the greatest, perhaps the last favor
Ishall ask. Promise!’

“T promise,” Lisle answered, wringing the young
man’s hand, ‘‘to keep her in ignorance while I can.
Sooner or later she must learn the truth in spite of
me.”

“Ofcourse; but until the matter is quite decided
keep her in totalignerance. Take her abroad, amuse
her, let her regain her health—she will recover none
the quicker for knowing this.”

At ten o’clock next morning the prisoner was
taken into court. The crowd was unprecedented—
many of those who had fled from London the second
week of July, as though it were pest-stricken, had
returned to witness the trial of Guy Earlscourt. He
bowed and smiled to the many faces he knew as he
took his place in the dock. My. Carson, a very able
lawyer, had been retained on the part of the prisoner,
Mr. Harding to conduct the prosecution. Mr. Harding
rose on behalf of the Crown to address the bench
and lay before them the facts of the case. « His ad-
dress was lengthy, and told forcibly against the pri-'
soner, He summed up the evidence laid before the
coroner in an overwhelming mass, and proceeded to
summon the witnesses, All the more important
witnesses who had previously appeared were again
summoned, and among the new ones, Mr. Allan Fane
was first called. “

Mr. Fane had very little light to throw upon the
case one way or another. Had seen prisoner in
company with Miss Warren many times—both'the
September of her flight and other years during his
summer -visits to Montalien Priory. Had never
thought Mr. Harlscourt a lover of hers; had not
known him to pay any more attention to her than
the other men did stopping at the Priory. Knew
that he went up-to London one evening late in Sep-
tember; could not remember the date. Heard next
day Miss Warren was missing, and had gone with
him. Was surprised at the news; did not credit it.
Believed Mr. Barlscourt’s own statement that he had
met her by accident at the station. Was convinced the
prisoner was quite incapable either of deliberate se-
duction or murder. Knew his reputation had not
been stainless in the past, but his guilt had been the
common follies of youth, never crimes.

A profound sensation ran through the court at the
name of the next witness. It was Francis, Baron
Montalien, the prisoner’s brother.

He came forward, his face deathly pale, dressed in
black, an ominous blue circle surrounding Iss mouth
and eyes, looking unspeakably ill. He shrank away
from the dock; his’ voice when he spoke was almost
inaudible from agitation—the natural agitation of

so dreadful a position.

Lord Montalien sworn. The prisoner was his
brother. Had known Alice Warren off and on for
many years. Had always had the highest respect
for her personally, amefor the whole family. Had
never heard her lightly spoken of. Visited the cot-
tage very often when passing—rarely went there
purposely. Had often met his brother there—and'
met him walking with Miss Warren. Had frequent-
ly jested with him/about his attentions to the bailiffs
pretty daughter, but had never considered them
serious. Was aware of his brother’s intention of
going up to London on the evening of the 27th, but
knew nothing of the girls flight until next day.
Was surprised and shocked when informed they had
fled together. Came up to town himself next day
on purpose to remonstrate with his brother, but did
not. succeed in seeing him then, or for many weeks
after. Yes; another of his guests, Augustus Sted-
man, had also left the Priory for London about the
same time, onthe same day, er the day. before his
brother, could not remember which. Mr. Stedman
had not returned—was out in Australia ab present.
Sir Harry Gordon was in India. His brother, Mr,

 

  

     

staying with him that year. He had remained in
London a week or more on the occasion of his com-
ing up—then returned for afew days to Lincoln-
shire. Hadmever seen.Alice Warren after her flight.
Yes; his brother had “called before his departure for
America upon him at his lodgings. It was Christ- |
mas ‘week, not Christmas Eve—two or three days
‘efore Christmas. They had talked of his departure
and of Miss Earlscourt/s will, which had disinherited
‘him. Had not paid his brother’s debts. ‘ Miss Earls-
‘court had done it. Had often advised him for his
‘good. Had spoken to him more than once on the
Subject of Alice Warren, but had always been re-
buffed. Poh 7

Lord Montalien was cross-examined, and allowed
to stand down. His emotion had been very great.
‘Profound sympathy for his delicate health and deep
sorrow was felt through the court. His face was
quite ghastly as he left the box, his hand was pressed
convulsively in the region of his heart, Guy’s dark
eyes follewed him, his handsome face set and stern.
He had listened. to his deliberate perjury; and if any
doubt of his guilt had lingered in his mind it was dis-
pelled in that hour.

Captain Cecil Villiers came next, and the guards- |
man, with every wish to serve his friend, every be-
lief in his innocence, did more to damn his case and
hang him than all the rest. Had known Alice War-
ren, and admired her—always admired pretty girls,
whether. peasants or princesses. Was not aware of
Guy Earlscourt being her lover—never had thought
him such. Had “chaffed” him on the subject-.of the
flight once or twice, and believed what had been
told him, that the meeting at the railway was
merest chance. Mr. Eariscourt had remained at his
lodgings for two days previous to his departure from
England. He had been absent on duty nearly all of
the 23d of September—found the prisoner alone in
-his chambers upon his return late at night. They
had sat together smoking and talking for a couple
of hours—his friend seemed thoughtful and out of
spirits. Once, when talking of his past reckless
career, Guy had burst out laughing, and exclaimed:
“Cecil, old fellow, what would you say if I told you
I was about to close my mad career by the crowning
madness of all to-morrow?” Had laughed again,
and refused to say more—had taken his candle and
pone to bed. Awakening next, morning about day-
light, he had seen Guy in the room adjoining, dress-
ing himself by candle-light. Had called, and asked
him what the duse he meant by getting up in the
middle of the night. The prisoner had answered it
was half-past seven o’clock, and that he had a press-
ing engagement for eight. ‘‘There isa lady in the
case, Villiers,” he said; ‘‘and ladies brook of no de-
Jay.” Ifell asleep again, and did not awake until
after nine. My servant came with hot water, and I
asked him what time it was, and if “Mr. Karlscourt
had got back yet. ' He said it was hali-past nine, and
Mr..Harlscourt had not returned. EHarlscourt came
in while we were speaking, covered with snow. He
told us he had been riding outside in the snow-
storm, and was tremendously hungry. We break-
fasted together. He made no further reference to
his engagement of the morning. At a little before
eleven he left for the house of a friend—Sir Vane
Charteris—to bid the family good-by. Two hours
later I saw him depart by the noon train for South-
ampton.

While Captain Villiers was having all this reluc-
tantly extorted from him, a messenger had made his
way to Mr. Carson, and placed a note in his hand. It
was of some length and of evident importance—the
face of the lawyer flushed up with surprise and de-
light as he read it. It was the middle of the after-
noon, the court must speedily adjourn.

Samuel Watters, the servant spoken of by Captain
Villiers, was the last witness for the prosecution
called, and corroborated his master’s statement con-
cerning Mr. Harlscourt’s actions upon that morning,
his calling the cab for him, the hour of his departure
and return.

With his evidence the case for the prosecution
closed; and then Mr. Carson arose with the pleasant
prefatory remark that his address would be a brief
one, -

He did not, he said, rise to assert that his client
was guiltless of this horrible crime laid to his charge
—that was tobe presumed until the evidence had
proven him guilty. That the evidence just heard
had done so, he, Mr. Carson, denied. It was from
first to last circumstantial, and improbable in the
extreme. He could cite scores of occasions where
innocent men had been condemned on far more con-
clusive circumstantial evidence than this, their in-
nocence discovered only when too late. Mr, Earls-
court meets this unhappy girl at the station, and ae-
companies her up to London. She isa stranger—in the
great city for the first time—tired and frightened, and
requests him, as a friend and protectorin whom she
places every confidence, to see her safely to her des-
tination. He does so at once, using no disguise be-
fore the landlady, making no attempt at conceal-
ment. \

On the occasion of his second visit, some weeks
later, he did thesame, going openly and in broad
day. Is this the conduct of that other man who visits
his victim like the criminal he is, diseuised and after
dark ? What evidence has been offered here to prove
that my client and this disguised man are the one
and same ?

Mr. Carson here grew eloquent, and showed dis-
tinctly the weakness of this part of the evidence.
That they were not one and the same, he was clearly
prepared to prove. Mr. Earlscourt had left the
lodgings of Captain Villiers at eight o’clock, or a
little before, on the morning of the 24th of Decem-
ber, 1862. :

He had told Captain Villiers “there was a lady in
the case.” He told him the truth; but that that lady
was not the murdered girl he was prepared to
show the court—that his client had been from a few
minutes past eight until nine—the time when the
murder was committed at Battersea—in company of
this lady and her maid, in the city of London. A
sense of loyalty to the lady had held his client silent
with a noble generosity at the peril of his own life.
With a generosity equal to his own, that lady had
now come forward to triumphantly vindicate his
honor and his innocence. Illness had prevented her
hearing of Mr. Earlscourt’s arrest at an earlier day
—yesterday she had discevered it in her home miles
away. To-day she waS—HERE !

A murmur thrilled through the death-like silence
of the crowded court. The face of the prisoner had
flushed crimson to the temples, then faded away,
leaving him ghastly pale. i

The door of the witness-box opened, and a lady
stood there robed in dark silk, tall, elegant, vailed.
Every creature in the crowded court leaned breath-
lessly forward—you might have heard a feather fall.
She lifted one gloved hand, and flung back her vail.
The rays of the August sun streaming in through
the windows fell full upon her, a thrill, an irrepres-
sible murmur, ran through the court at sight of that
queenly grace, of that matchless loveliness,
four hundred eager eyes fell and fixed on the proud.
ly beautiful face of Paulina Lisle!

She was white as marble, white as death, as she
faced the bench. Once, and once only, she looked

 

  

 

Fane, and Captain Villiers were the only other friends

at the prisoner, His faee wore a strained, passion-

And,

 

   

ate look of appeal asif even then he would entreat
her silence. A smile, the sweetest, the gentlest she
had ever given him curved her lips—her eyes lit up
—the old dauntléss esolution was there in every
line of that perfect face. He dropped his own, and
shaded his eyes with his hand. Until he stood up
free, Hé never raised his head again.

Mr, Carson leaned forward and blandly spoke.
Jemén present Miss Lisle was

yn by. the celebrated London
beauty, Whom only a few weeks ago had refused to
marry the Marquis of Heatherland. And the beauti.
ful, the wealthy heiress and belle, stood here in a
London. police court to vindicate the innocence of a
man suspected of murder!

‘Your name, madame, if you please ?”

She came a step forward. For an instant the blood
rose up bright in her pale face. Then, in that sweet,
vibrating voice that had always been one of her
chief charms, she spoke:

“T am called Paulina Lisle, but it is not my name.
Wait, when you have heard what Tam here to say,
you will understand.”

There were scores present who knew her well, but
with the exception of two not one of them under-
stood what this meant. Even her father stood con-.
founded.

Not her name!—what did she mean? As the
thought crossed his mind, as he looked at her won-
deringly, the clear, sweet tones of her voice again
were heard as she began her singular story.

[TO BE CONTINUED. |
[We have received another delightful story from Mrs.

 

 

 

 

 

   
   
  

 

well ‘known by. repu

May AGNES FLEMING, Which will be commenced imme-
diately after the completion of ‘‘ Wedded, Yet No Wife.?’]

Ada Argyle;

ee ORs

THE SPECULATORS DAUGHTER.
By P. Hamilton Myers,

Author of ROXY HASTINGS, BELL BRAN-
DON, IRON FIST, THE SKY TRAVELER,
UNDER THE HARROW, THE WHITE SA-
CHEM, HARLOW ESTATE, ete.

|‘‘Ada Argyle” was commenced in No. 19. Back numbers can
be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER XXX.

Rashliegh did net keep aloof from Ada during this
walk, but hia aitentions were divided between her and the
two married ladies, and he kept up a sort of forced gayety
quite unusual to him. He sought no tete-a-tete conversa-
tions with her, and she believed, (silly girl,) that her pow-
er over him was entirely lost. Yet she believed that she
ought not to regret this—that it would be better that they
should forget each other—but she was pained to think
that he was offended at her, and perhaps justly.

To be lowered in his estimation, she thought was some-
thing dreadful; but she did not try to analyze this feelings
nor did she suspect that she had fallen in love with this
stranger. She who was a model of filial obedience, and
who had so long passively acquiesced in the claims .of
that most respectable man, and most devoted admirer of
herself, Mr. Walsingham. ‘

The party soon reached Mr. Goff’s cabin, where the as-
tonished and dismayed wife and daughters of the former
awaited their approach; and were only kept from run-
ningaway in affright by seeing the laughing Absalom at
their head.

“Shipwrecked people, Becky!’ said the husband.
“One of the big steamers went to the bettom in that ter-
rible storm three days ago, and these ig part of her pas-
sengers come ashore in small boats.”

Becky was a tall, tanned woman of about forty years,
poorly clad of course, but by no means slatlernly, and her
two dark-eyed daughters of twelve and fourteen were
positively handsome, though barefooted, and it must be
confessed, @ little ragged. The sons were in the woods
chopping timber.

“Laws sake!”? said the woman, who after getting over
her first fright and embarrassment, was full of sympathy
for the strangers. ‘‘The poor creeturs! What can we do
for them??? ’

“Dot Why get them come breakfast to be sure. They
are nearly starved—all of them,’’ replied Absalom, With a
merry twinkle of his eyes.

“Breakfast? Breakfast in this house for thirty peopie!’
exclaimed Becky in despair. . ‘‘Wel!—they are welcome
to all there is, 1’m sure, Butit won’t go round, nor half
round. There’s nothing but Indian meal and potatoes in
the house, and not much of them.??

But Mrs. Goff was much relieved when her. quizzing
husband informed her that the strangers had brought
a considerable supply of food with them, and only want-
ed her assistance to cook it, and to furnish such little ac-
cessories for seasoning it, as every house afforded. ‘And
the tea, Becky! You know you've got some tea!"’

“Yiaws yes! Sol havel’’ exclaimed the delighted wo-
man, “That will do them real good, I know. How lucky
that I gotiti , ;

Yet the poor woman could: not repress a feeling of re-
gret at the inroads to be made upon this highly prized
treasure—tnis one. little luxury of her hard life, while she
would probably haye no means of replenishing her store
for many months to come.

Stillshe resolved not to grudge it, nor to let her guests
suspect the- sacrifice which she made in bestowing it
upon them. '

While Congo andthe Werters prepared the game and:
fish, she and her daughters made several large Johnny-
cakes and put.them to bake in the oven of the cook-stove,
and set a very heavy charge of tea steeping that it might
be strong enough to admit of liberal dilution.

“It will have to be made over again too,’’ she said;
“and if will take it nearly all, I suppose. But never
mind, it will do them, good; they’ve been drenched
through, and haJf-starved too, poor things.”

There was soon a fragrant odor of roast, and stewed;
and fried, in and about the cabin, but all the company ex-
cept those engaged in cooking remained outside, some
seated on logs and benches and some on the grass, while
others strolled about collecting fresh chips or large leaves
to serve as breakfast-plates, for the farmer’s store of
crockery was, of course, something of the smallest.

Benches, chairs, logs, and even the green sward itself,
served for their tables; and all being hungry, no one was
fastidious as to the manner of eating, since the food was
cleanly and well cooked.

Absalom and his wife and daughters were willing wait-
ers, (they had breakfasted themselves two hours earlier)
and they would not allow even Congo to assist them, for
he too must eat. and they knew that the voyagers were in
a hurry to finish their meal and be off.

Joe was, perhaps, the hungriest of the party, yet he
said he only wanted ‘‘a bite to stay his stomach till he got
to Brown Town,’’ so he took a two-pound bass, a quar-

 

 

 

ter of a Johnny-cake and three or four baked potatoes for

his share, and said he “felt better for eatin’ a little
sumfin.’? < :

Tea could be served to only afew ata time, for, as
Becky conlessed with much ‘‘confusion of face,’ they had
only four cups and saucers, but as those were used sepa-
rately, and a few old bowls were pressed into the service,
the feasters did very well, and many of. them protested
they had never enjoyed a meal more in their lives.

The two pipes did active duty after breakfast, together
with one that the old German carried in his pocket, and
the smokers, of whom there. were not a few, seemed to
relish this treat even more than they had enjoyed their

'food. But Absalom’s supply of tobacco was small and

was soon exhausted, for which he expressed much re-
gret.

“If we had only known you was.a comin,’ he said, apol-
ogetically, ‘‘we’d a had things. But as to the smokin’, ¥
tell you what—l’ve got a lot of dried mullen leaves which
are most as good as tobacco, and better than some. [
use it on week days, and find it answers very well. Be-
sides it’s good for bronchitis and thickness in the head.
You're welcome to that; it costs nothing but the gather-
ing.”

Several eagerly tried it and pronounced it a very good
substitute for the weed, as the smoking reader will, if he
is ever in distress from privation of this kind. Mixed
half-and-half with tobacco, or with a still larger propor-
tion of the mullen, it is scarcely distinguishable from the
best killikinick. Buta better plan still, in the estimation
of areformed smoker, is let both plants alone, and bestow
the pipes upon the children to blow soap-bubbles with.

“It’s good for the thickness of the head, Joe,” said one
of the crew—‘‘won’t you try it?”

“Tank you for noffin,’ replied Congo. “If it makes
heads any thinner, you'd betier let it alone; for yours is
8 balloon now, and I 'fraid de gas inside will bust it
as it is. : ;

But it was time for the travelers to resume their jour-
ney, and as they began to make preparations for doing
so, Mr. Argyle said to their host: A

“Now, my friend, you have entertained us very kindly,
and as you are rather a poor man——””

‘‘No—not so very poor!” replied Absalom, quickly. “I
own this eighth-section and have got Wncle Sams pat-
ent for it, and I’ve got some money laid up.”

“Sixteen dollars and a-half, I think you said 2?

“Yes, sir; all of that.’? :

“And the land is eighty acres, and cost you a dollar and
a-quarter an acre, | believe???

“Yes, sir; that’s it,’ replied Goff, looking with the air
of a proprietor around his domain. :

“Very well; Iretract—you are not a poor man—you
are independent. Still, we are beholden to you fora
breakfast, and we want to pay you for it.”

“No, 0, sit; you brought your breakfast with yon; we

have done nothing except to help eook it, and to give you °

a little corn-bread and potatoes. You're welcome to that;
we shan’t charge nothin’. T never thought of sich a thing,
Si—ind you shipwrecked people, tool Why, what would

 

 

 

 

 

  

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St. Paul say to it, sir? He says, ‘Be not forgetful to en-
tertain stangers, for thereby some have entertained an-
gels unawares.’

“J know he does,” answered Argyle, gravely; “but I
think if he were here, although he would commend your
hospitality, he would advise us to pay; for, although we
are shipwrecked men, and have lost our baggage, none
of us, I believe, are very poor, aud some are rich. We
shall be better satisfied so. Come, how much shall it be
now?”

Argyle smiled as he said this, and looked significantly
-at the captain and others who were in the secret of the
contribution; while Absalom, thus urged, consulted with
his wife apart, and then said: :

<‘Wal, there’s about thirty of you, I believe. I suppose

about five cents apiece would be the-fair thing, if you
must pay, though Pm ashamed to take it. DUN teas will
make us whole, and leave us quite a profit, too.
Some laughed; but Captain Chrome, checking them,
Saig: ‘ 5 =
“What say you, comrades? Can we stand this extor-
tion? Let those who can, throw down their money on the
table.”

A shower of coin followed, flung down by those who
had not been called on to contribute to the larger fund,
and while the amazed Absalom'and his wife looked on
and protested that they could not ‘‘make change,’’ the
captain, advancing hearer to therm, extended a roll of
bills, and said: ’

“Never mind the change. These men have only paid a
fair price for what they have had, aud a few of us, who
have more money than we need, have made up & little
present for you beside, Mr. Goff, to assist you in stocking
your farm. Here itis, and, as far as my part of it is con-
cerned, | may say itis a thank offeriug to the Almighty
for deliverance from great peril. To bestow it upon a
poor, honest, hard-working man, who is contentediy and
cheertully laboring to support his family, is, as I believe,
as gooda way of dedicating it to Him as almost any
other.” :

Absalom took the roll of bills with trembling hand. He
did not seem to look at them. He was quite oycrcome,
and he replied with a husky voice:

“1 don’t desarve it. Ireally don’t. I—t wish I knew
how to thank you—but—it’s the most extraordinary thing
lever heered of. Becky, can’t you say something? I
never was much of a talker, gentlemen, and: now I’m
quite dumbfounded.”

Becky took down the corner of her apron from her eyes
and courtesied and;tried to speak, but she broke down on
the start, and said: °

“No, Tcan’t.”

“I dew believe here’s more’n fifty dollars,’? resumed
Absalom, glancing at a few of the fives and tens in his
hands; ‘‘and we'll haye the steers and the plow right
away.’?’

“Not tillthe girls have had some frocks and shoes,
Absalom,’ interposed the wile, quickly; “it’s a shame
how they go.”

“Wal, that’s reasonable enough, too. Iagree to that,
poor things! But I coulda’t help itafore. Could I, Becky?’

“No—no,. I don’t blame you: But, gentlemen, we’ve
had pretty hard times—we women folks, Tinean. We've
kept still about it, and bore if, and, so he thought we
were giltin’ along pretty well. - 1 didn’t like to tell Absa-
lom because 1 saw thathe was doing all he could, and
he was so hopeful and cheerful like. Anda woman who
scolds and frets her husband when he’s doin’ his best,
don’t deserve to have any husband. There now! I’ve
been and made a speech without knowing if, after all.”

“And a very good speech too,’’ Captain Chrome replied.
“Count your money now, Mr. Goff, and see if there, is
enough for all your present wants.”

The farmer did count it, laying it off in piles of fifty,
uttering some new exclamation of joy and astonishment
as each pile was completed; and when the whole sum
of two hundred and twenty dollars was told, the delight
of the honest couple knew no bounds. :

“Wal, you’ve made us7ich,”’ he said—“right down rich.
I don’t envy Mr. Astor now, I don’t. There, Becky, is
fifty dollars for you todo what you please with.
git a yoke C_ oxen, a plow, and cart—a good milk cow,
and some pigs and poultry. Then we'll be set up com-

Lebere . :

y The travelers did not stay long for thanks, but bidding
this happy family farewell, returned to their boats, ac-
companied, of course, by the gratified Absalom, who
asSisted them in re-embarking and long watched their
departure, waving many adieus with his hat; and who,
When last seen through Captain Chrome’s telescope, was
seated on the beach counting over his money.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The unhappy Frederick was again in the pilot’s boat,
although he had resolved this time to. accept any invita-
tion or hint, however Slight, to obtain a place near Ada.
He could not keep his resentment alive, and although
hope was dead in his heart, he was willing to enjoy a day
dream of happiness in her presence, however certain,
and however rough must be his awakening from it.

Bat he received no invitation... Argyle was too busy
conversing with Absalom to think of him, and his daugh-
ter, Who might properly have extended the olive branch
of peace to her offended admirer, had not the courage to
do so.

But Rashleigh, although absent from his charmer, be-
came the topic of conversation in her presence, and some
facts came out in regard to his heroism on the wreck
which had not before reached the ears of Ada or her
father. : i

Mrs. Granger, one of the young married ladies, alluded

“tO'the story as one which she Supposed, well-kuewn, and,
‘finding that she had awakened inuch curiosity, she

called upon her husband, wiio had been on the steamer
to the last, to narrate it.

“‘T supposed he had himself told you all about it,” she
said to Ada, “having seen him so much with you; and |
really wonder he has not.” :

“No, no; he’s too modest for that,” replied Mr. Argyle.
“Fred never blows his own trumpet. Pray let’s hear the
glory, Mr. Granger,’? . 2 :

Granger was a slim, light-haired, pale young man, who
looked as if he had not .yet recovered jrom his great
fright, and who evidently could admire courage in others,
although not possessed of a superabundance of it him-
Self. -3
“It’s strange you haven’t heard about the Blenheims,”’
che said, addressing Argyle. ‘You knew, at least, that
there was a lady who would not goin the boats because

~. her son was not drawn.”

“Oh, yes; oh, yes; [knew that. I was one of those who
urged her to go. But I did not know her name, or, if [
did, I had forgotten it since, What had Fred to do with
her?” r eee nee ee athe ig

“A good deal, -Her son was an invalid, and they were
going West for his health, Intending to spend the summer
in lowa.
drew a place in the boats and deserted them, whicil, per-
haps, was not -to’ be wondered at. ‘the young man
(Frank, I think, his,name was) could not swim, and
seemed very inefficient generally. They had a very poor
float, and Rashleigh and his friend, Shelburn, went to
work and improved it. yery Materially.” : a

“Pi be bound they did. ‘That's like Fred and his father
before him,’? said Argyle. ‘“‘Alivays ready to help soime-
body else. Don’t you remember how quickly he was at
our state-room door when the shaft broke that night with
a report like a cannon, and how quick he got our life-
preservers and put them on us, and how he held you up
and got yourthrough the crowd when. you were. fainting
and nedrly insensible?, Don’t you remember ?”? i"

Ada bowed. She could not speak. - Her face was now
flushed and now pale, and her drooping eye-lids but partiy
concealed the tears beneath them. aa

“She would not be likely to forget stich scenes,’’ said
Mrs. Granger, speaking for her,

“No; only she was so frightened she hardly knew what
took place. I do believe that strong young feliow sap-
ported her in his arms, on the main deck there, in the
wind and water, nearly a quarter of an hour, while was
gone to find out what the matter was and to get some-
thing that would surve for a float.” * f

“Oh, no, pal? . f ‘

“On, yes! What do you know about it? Ask Aim. . I
dare say he will recollect it!?

Ah, yes; Fred remembered it! That memory tas the

chief staple of his existence uow.  Ifhe -had gone to the’

bottom on the wreck the next hour, he would have gone
down thinking about it,

“Well,’? continued Grauger,
much hope,
chiefly for iver son, who was a handsome young man of
about eighteen years. «I believe she would have leaped
overboard and gone to the-bottom unhesitatingly if it
would have saved him.
promised to keep near her in the waterand help her and
ler son all he could,’? aay

“Did they quit the wreck?) . sr eyleas

‘T was going to tell you. The question. was muuch de-
bated whether we ought to launch: our floats before the
steamer went down or not, and Raslleigh was anong
those who advocated waiting to the last. The wreck
settled so gradually that-he thought there would not be
much suction when it went down, and thatif it drew us
under, it would be only a little way, and we should come
quickly to the surface again.’?

ies 22 :

“Whereas, if we wentinto the water an’ hour or two
before it was necessary, we might be exhausted before
help came, (for the boats he said were sure to come back,)
and the lake you know. was awtul rough.”

“Yes—I think we know thay.”

“He did not mean to wait dite to the last. He thought
thefe wouid be some signs, before the final plunge, that
would give us time to get away. Most of us agreed with
him, but others launched out and got away from the ves-
sel and seemed to ride very safely, though drenched every
minute by the Waves washing over them.

“Their example was soon followed by many more;-and
Mrs. Bleniicim and ler son decided to go, for there were
some panic-makers who asserted that the steamer would
not fvat five minutes, and the old lady was sure that if
they went down on it, they would never come up alive.

“She had little hope any way. She kissed and em-
braced her son; they made 4 final prayer together: and
then she begged Rashleigh and Shelburn to help’ therm
embark. If they were not ready to go she would not urge
them, she said, but she dared not wait any longer. But
Rashleigh decided to go with her, and keep near her, ag
he had promised.” d

“Of course he did,” said Argyle.
raft had she ?”?

“Half-a-dozen planks laid double and nailed together
in a triangular shape, with a stateroom door fastened
across the openiag, and some ropes to hold on by.”

“Wasn't she lashed on??? :

“No—neither of them. Some said the danger would be
Bee and they thought they could hold by the ropes,’

o6 e ? x n

“But what kind of a

I shall)

Tey had a@ man servant with them, but he |

‘Mrs. Blenheim had not
She was calm and resigned, and feared:

Rashleigh encouraged her anid

 

 

 

 

 

“Well; the little craft was successfully saunched on the
lee of the wreck, so that it might not be dashed back
against it, and in another minute the waves were wash-
ing over it, and over its terrified occupants, who held on
with a deathlike grasp, to the Pittle ropes, but had scarce-
ly sel{-possession enough to held up their heads above the
breaking billows,.and. Keep from: present strangulation.
Rashleigh and Shelburn had @ lone’ settee ee

“T know they had; I got it for them. What a time I
had dragging it through the crowd! I wonder Fred did
not give ito Mus. Blenheim.’

“He did offerit.. But om the whole it was considered
no better than the other.- Hardly as good.” 2

OWFeLE yt : :

“Mr. Rashleigh and his friend followed as quick as pos-
sible, for; the. waves were rapidly bearing his friends
away, and they seemed so utterly helpless that he feared
they would be drowned on the very surface of the water.

Instinetively the\mother and son had moved toward
each other, thus destroying the equilibrium) of their raft,
and sinking deeply in the water, while the opposite side
of the float projected above the surface. :

Fred saw their danger, and shouted te them as he
eagerly pushed off the settee frem the side of the wreck,
and tried to overtake them, but he could do nothing to
increase the speed of his cumbersome craft, which rolled
and tumbled siuggishly in the troughs of the sea, and he
had the agony to see the space between himself and his
perishing friends rather widened than diminished. There
was another man nearer to them, in alarge dry goods¢
box, which he had managed thus far to keep erect and
‘ unfilled -——”

“J know who that was! That was Higg, the scoundrel!
Isaw his boat, as he called it, before we left. Hesaid
he'd rather have it than ours.” fs

“Well—Rashleigh Shouted to him to help the lady and
lad on the raft. He implored him, in the name of Meaven,
just to assist them until he could come up, but the man
shouted back, ‘It’s every one for himself here! I’ve got
‘my hands full taking care of myself!’ ”

“The villain!” ‘

“The interval between the two rafts (If such they may be
called), could easily and quickly have been passed by a
good swimmer, in still water, or even over moderate
waves, but to struggle with those erested billows, and
seek to make progress through them was atask from
which the boldest might well shrink.

“Rashleigh seemed to hesitate. He called to the Blen-
heims, but got no answer. We also shouted.from the
steamboat, and made signs to them that they should keep
on opposite sides of their float. They paid no attention.
The water dashed over their heads, which moved but
slightly when they emerged again into view. They
seemed insensible. They were evidently perishing. Still
they held on, with the grasp of the dying.’

“Oh! ohl’? exclaimed Ada with clasped hands; ‘‘could
nothing be done for them ?”?

“Help seemed impossible. Tho wildest excitement
prevailed, and shout answered shout from the wreck and
the rafts. Rashleigh threw off coat and boots, but still
seemed irresolute. Then he took off his life-preserver and
handed it to Shelburn. Ft was impossible to swim with
that... They called to him to forbear. They told him it
was impossible!” ;

“Heavens! He did not——’!

“At that awful moment young Blenheim’s hold relaxed,
and he was swept off; and a wild scream from his mother
told that she was yet Jiving and conscious. She followed
instantly!. She struggled to reach him, but he floated
before her, corpse-like on the waves, upheld by his life-
preserver, but showing no signs of life——’’

“And Rasiileigh???

“Rashieigh hesitated no longer. He leapt into the
water, anda wild cry of fear went up from the wreck as
he disappeared from view beneath the waves. He was
long out of sight. It seemed minutes to the breath-
holders, and the cry went forth that he was lost!

“But he re-appeared far‘on his way! He had calculated
well, and had swum beneath the waves to avoid battling
with them! He took a few breaths and went down
again——”

“Bravo! Bravo!” shouted Argyle, and “Bravo! was
responded from everyside, while the tears ran like rain
down Ada’s cheeks and her pallid lips moved but made
no sound. ;

“You may well cheer!) said Granger, ‘“‘as we did when
we saw his design. He could probably have reached
them in no other way, and when he came up the second
time he had accomplished more tian two-thirds of the
perilous passage. He remained up longer now, and
seemed to pant for breath, so that when he went under
again, we scarcely knew whether it was voluntariiy, or
whether he had sunk exhausted beneath a great wave
which at that moment passed over him. We kuew soon!)

“Ves, Ves 72

“We re-appeared at Mrs. Blenheim’s side! She was
stiilalive, and upborne by her large life-preserver, was
struggling feehly to overtake the inanimate and motion-
less body which floated mockingly before her. It was a
horrible sight! The living in pursuit of the dead!”?

“Oh—was he dead ?”? 5

“No one doubted it then—nor when, a minute later,
Rashleigh had him in his arms, holding his head out of
the water, both being sustained by the buoyant
‘preserver’ which encircled the seeming corpse.

“They were buta few yardsin advance ef the triangular
raft, for the waves were washing ft in the same direction
in which they had bore its late occupants, and it was
now following them, as if again to offer them a refuge.

“How Rashleigh gained it wlth his helpless burden I can
scarcely -tell, but gain it he’ did, and Mrs. Blenheim
also, Whose maternal love and fear. seemed to have
inspired her with superhuman courage and vigor. It
was quite evident that she thought mothing, cared
nothing for her own life in that appalling hour—but that
the rescue ofher son was the one sole engrossing idea, of
her mind? :

“You tantalize us, Mr. Granger!’? exclaimed Ada, eager-
ly. -“Pray tell us whether young Blenheim was re-
suscitated or not?” \

“He was. Frederick continued to make Mrs. Blen-
heim understand that she must keep away from’ them,
and preserve the equilibrium of the float by remaining on
the opposite side, while he, nearly submerged and bear-
ing lightly upon it, still kept Frank’s head up, and shook
and rubbed and chafed him, until he gave signs of return-
ing vitality. ” : oe \

“It was soon after this, thatthe sloop was discovered
which came to our rescue, and although it was a long
while in’ getting’ to us, ‘nearly all were saved, for those
Who were in the most desperate strait, were encouraged
to hold out, by the sight of help so near at hand.

“Rashleigh did not-leave his friends, but remained witii
them until the sloop came up and small boats were seut
to pick up: all that were upon the rafts, after which we
who remained on the wreck were taken off.”

“Were none lost except the man who was with Congo?’

“Oh, yes—several.. We could not tell how many. ‘The:
captain, here, thought only tivo or three, but captains are
apt to underate these things.”

Mr. Chrome smiled faintly, but did not-reply.

“No one had thought to count our number on the wreck,
and no one, | presume, counted the soaked and shivering
yet exultant and grateful crowd on the sloop.

“Congratulatious and thanksgivings were heard on
every side, yet many, half exhausted, were obliged to lie
down, in the cabin or onthe deck, wherever they could
find room, ; :

“Trank Blenheim was of this number; but not his

 

and I never saw such beaming looks of affection and grati-
tude as that mother bestowed upon the rescuer of her son
while thus they ministered together to his wants, "
“The rest of our story you know. The overladen sloop
was itself in danger of being wrecked, and at our own re-
quest the captain made for the nearest land, whieh we
Were only too happy to’gain, wilderness though it was.’

CHAPTER XXXII.
Mr. Granger’s narrative had produced a profound im-
pression, aud many questions were asked at its close, but
no further information of importance was elicited.
_ ‘Phe voyagers did not stop again until they had reached
Brown Town, where the news of their approach had pre-
ceeded them, as some of the shipwrecked party had at-
rived there before them. ; j
The one small inn of the village of course could not ac-
commodate them, but arrangements had been made by
the hospitable citizens to receive miny into their houses,
j Where they met a hearty welcome and much sympathy.

_ Of their stay here we need not particularly speak, ex-
cept te say that Rashleigh was again separated from the
Argyles, being quartered at a different house, and that al-
‘though he saw them frequently, he never met Ada alone,

The reserve and restraint between them seemed to in:
crease rather than lessen, and Frederick’s dejection was
sich that-he read allisigns wrong, and saw nothing in the
thmid girl’s demeahor-but indifference to himself,

The father was as cordial as ever toward him—he com-
plimented him loudly on his heroic conduct in saving
Frank Bienheim’s life—told him how Ada lad cried over
the story, but mever seemed for a moment to suspect that
ee might be any affinity in these young hearts for each
other,

Twice—thrice the lover resolved to disclose his whole
heart to Miss Argyle, and hear from her own lips the worst
that fate had in store for him, but the opportunity did not
occur, and when he resolved to seek it by asking her to
walk or ride, his courage failed, and he asked himself why
feng: he draw down this added humiliation upon his

lea ;

Why should he compel himself to hear from her own
lips—those lips upon whose accents he had so often hung
with rapturous fondness—that she had not dreamed of
awakening love in his heart—that her own affections were
given, and her hand plighted to another. ~

In all this Frederick never thought of his own poverty,
nor remembered how little right he would have to seek
the hand of Ada even if she were free to bestow it on him.
Or if at times these thoughts occurred to him, they seemed
but the flimsiest of obstacles in the pathway of his hopesy
compared with that greater one, of the existence of which
he had so recently learned. . < :

What would he not do and dare to storm the temple of
Mammon, or scale the hights of Fame, with her love to
encourage him, with her heart and hand as the promised
reward of his exertions ?

All\tasks seemed easy, all labor light, all privation joy,
all impediments slighter than the most attenuated web
which the spider spins in the strong man’s path only to
be brushed away untelt and unseen.

Of course, our hero had, forgotten his wrath, which
could not live in the light and warmth of such a love as
his. But to Ada it seomed otherwise, for she saw nothing
in his changed conduct but evidence of offense and dis-
pleasure—ajl too justly merited by her indiscretion. And
although she would not have parted with him in anger,
She believed that a parting, speedy and final, would be
best for both of them.

 

 

 

mother, nor Rashleigh, who attended faithfully upon him, |:

 

 

The opportunity soon came, Brown Town Gvhich has

 

 

since, under a more ambitious name, grown to be a place
of considerable note) had but little commerce then, yet
there was one small sloop which plied between its: har-
bor and Mackinaw, and this vessel was now in port,

It could not accommodate all who wanted to go, yet
nearly all were impatient and were willing to pul up with
every discomfort rather than sufferalong detention in
such a place. :

Not so with Argyle, whose great exertions and expo-
sure had begun to tel upon him, and whe reselved to
haye some rest and to abide by his present refuge until
some better means of quitting it offered. He was a rich
man. Why skould he expose himself and his daughter
to unnecessary troubles? Besides, this Brown Town,
With its vaunted harbor, might be worth looking after,
and he thought he would buy afew hundred shore lots
if he could exchange for-them some: valuable property in
“Argyle City,’? on the upper falls of Dry River—a most
promising place, well lald out, which lacked nothing but
inhabitants (and water) to set it going.

He did not believe in the panic—not he. . It would be
about over by the time he emerged into the world again,
and in three months real estate would be as high as ever.
Suppose it required six months to restore prices, it would
make no difference to him, this leviathan among the min-
nows of speculation. :

So Mr. Argyie not only resolved to stay, but he advised
Fred to do the same, urging that as-he had just left col-
lege, and was in no business, his time could not be very
precious, .

‘Write to your parents and let them know that you are
safe,” he said, ‘‘and they will be satisfied.. 1 have writ-
ten to my wife, and to Walsingham; and, by the way,
Walsingham will hear of the wreck and be on the way
looking for us, half-crazy, half-crazy, I daresay. Proba-
bly he will be here in a week, and I should like to have
you see him. Ireally should now. Ishould like to make
you two acquainted with each other. He will think so
much of you for having taken such good care of Ada.”?

These were home thrusts, But Rashleigh did not wince.
On the contrary he gathered courage to say:

“This Walsingham—what kind of a man is he???

“Oh, superb! A noble fellow!”

“Ig he young ??

“Oh, yes; he’s a young man. Handsome, too. And
very rich. He’s a lawyer and @ bank director (bank
owner I might say almest) in Buffalo. His professional
business is immense—inumense!”?

Fred suppressed a sigh, and asked:

“Ts he eminent as an advocate ?”?

“N—, no! Thatisn’t his line. But I suppose now that
man forecloses more mortgages and sues more notes than
any other man tn the State. In the State, sir! Why he
has two partners and seven clerks, and sometimes they
work night and day. I suppose his income from: his
business is—let me see—yes, over fifteen thousand a year!
And as much more from his capital!”

Fred felt smail—very small—in view of these facts and
the way they were put! What was he in comparison with.
this rich young Adonis! He, the son of an insolvent
father, glad to accept a small clerkship in-a bank, and
with scant funds in his pocket to reach his ruined father’s
home! Alas! alas!

We need hardly say that Rashleigh did not stay to meet
Walsingham, but that he embarked on the crewded sloop
for Mackinaw, pleading his father’s instructions to hasten
home as an excuse for separating from his friends,

His parting with Ada was in her father’s presence, and
there was nothing lachrymose or tender about it; as, in-
dced, there would not have been if they had been alone.
Fred had resolved to preserve his manliness and self-
respect, and not to make a useless display of feelings
which henceforth it would be his duty to subdue.

Yet all was friendly and cordial and seemingly cheer-
ful in that last interview, and a stranger would have
guessed nothing of the grief which those laughing adieux
concealed.

“Tell your father of the bargain I havein store for him,’
said Argyle, ‘if he has a few thousands to spare in ready
money. I may not reach Chicago in some weeks, and we
may give up the journey altogether and go back home.
It will depend much upon our opportunities to get away
from here, for ifa down-steamer comes first I shall cer-
tainly go home. I can do my business, after all, about as
well by correspondence.’ .

Thus they parted. The voyage to Mackinaw, though
slow and tedious, was safely made, the little sloop never
venturing out of sight ofland. The senior Mr. Hare was
among the passengers, and in that old trading post to
which they were bound he expected to be able to pur-
chase the horses and other merchandize which were to
ransom his son. He had alist of everything required, and
Captain Stowe, of the Loon, was ready, for a moderate
freightage, 10 bring everything down and transport it to
the “principality”? of Dertejap, of which he knew some-
thing. ;

But his bargain extended no farther than to landing the
goods on the island, in any safe harbor that could be
found, as he would not trust himself nor his vessel in the
hands of a people of whom he had heard some yery ter-
rifying tales. :

CHAPTER XXXIII. ~ ;

Bad news travels fast, and did, even in those ante-
telegraph days of which we write, and although our hero,
and those of his fellow-travelers, who were bound to
Chicago, obtained passage in a schooner from Mackinaw
to that city without much delay, the intelligence of the
shipwreck preceded them and spread consternation
among their friends. |

Two or three of the party who had firstreached Brown-
Town had purchased horses there and crossed the
peninsula to St. Joseph’s, wirence a small steamboat
crossed the foot of Lake Miehigan every other day" to
Chicago. 5

It was along and perilous journey, chiefly through a
wilderness, but they accomplished it in advance of the
vyoyagers, who had still fartiier to go; and as those men
had left the waiting and half-famished party on the beach,
before the return of the rescuing party, and before‘the
arrival of Rashleigh and Shelburh ana the Werters, they
knew nothing of the safety of the passengers who had
been left on the wreck. i

Fully believing that these people had all perished, they
had so reported, and all Chicago was ina furore of agita-
tion, seeking to learn who of their absent citizens were
among the lost. The news-bearers were thronged by.
inquirers, and as one of the former—a Mr. Bingham—was
himself & resident of the city, he knew too well the names
of his fellow-townsmen who were supposed to be in the
bottom of the lake.

The Rashleigh family, who had been looking for
Frederick for several days, heard of the great disaster, and
in their grief and terror, had scarcely the courage to make
the inquiries necessary to terminate their suspense.

They thought now, if they could but be spared this
appalling calamity which they feared had befallen them,
they would no longer mourn their lost wealth.

Mr. Bingham had a painful task to perform, but he dis-
charged it delicately, and with great consideration for the
sufferers, but he was particularly distressed when he saw
among the anxious crowd who.rushed to his house onthe
first news of his arrival, old) Mr. Rashleigh and his
daughter, both pale and trembling, and clinging to each
other, as it were, for mutual support.

“Tell me, Bingham,’ said the agonized father; ‘for
Heaven's sake tell me that my son Frederick was not on
the ‘Enterprise,’ or—or—(seeing that the other hesita-
ted to :reply)—‘that he was among those who were
saved.??

“T wish I could tell you this, Mr. Rashleigh,’’ was the
hesitating reply, ‘but Frederick was certainly among the
passengers——””

“But he-came off with you in the boat? Tell me that !
Oh—tell’me that!”

“No—sir—no! The lot was against him!
on the wreck!” .

Rashleigh sank into a chair, and was seemingly un-
conscious for afew moments, while his wretched daughter
fanned and chased ‘him and cried for help. But he soon
recovered, and refusing all assistanee, inquired with
husky voice into allthe particulars of the position, and
his questions were so rapid and so minute, as to admit of
no evasive replies. Beets

Let us not dwell on this distressing scene, which, after
all, was but one of many that were occurring in the city
on. that mournfal day. oe

Mrs. Shelburn, a pretty woman, but pale and slight,
and poorly clad, was among the trembling throng; and
she, too, had the bitter cup of woe to quatf—a eup which
the good-natured Bingham vainly sought to dilute by tell-
ing of the strange contract between her husband and the
‘banker, Rolfe, and the wealth which was now her due.

But. he mistook the tendency of his tidings, which
served but to aggravate the poor woman's grief, and
caused herto denounce Rolfevis a monster, who had

teinpted her husband to his deatiiy'

 

 

/

Iie remained

‘YT will never touch his monéy,” shesaid, as she went

moaning homeward, accompanied by a sister, as poor as
herseil, who lived with her, and was scarcely less afflicted
by the news than herself. “Iwill never touch it! Never!
never! Poor Edward and I have toiled and struggled to-
gether for ten long years, and now shall I live in ease and
comfort on the price of his iife? No! Nol?

“Your feelings are very natural and quite right, Anna,”
said her more prudent sister; ‘but they may change, and,
besides, I think ’d/make that monster pay, if it was only
to punish bim.??

“Yes, there’s something in that.” :

“Vd make him pay, even if I burnt up his -money the
next minute! ThatI would!” “©

(Query. If Mr. Rolfe Rad paid in the bills of his own
bank, and this threat of burning them had been fulfilled,
Would these feminine financiers ever have found out the
nature of the punishment they had inflicted on the
banker ?]

“Still, added the prudent sister, “twenty thousand
dollars would be a great deal of money to burn up,

| Wouldn't it, Anna ???

No reply.
“And then think of the children—how much good it
would do them. Awd doubticss Edward thought of that

when he made this dreadful bargain. And he did not’

really sell his life out and out, Anna, because, when he
did it, there was some uncertainty about the steamer
sinking. Don’t you see???

VES? :

“I wouldn’t say, then, that I should refuse this money,
for that would only give old Rolfe a pretext for not pay-
ing if, evenif you should afterward change your mind.”

Anna agreed to think about it, and she was not long in
coming to the conclusion that she would accept this for-
tune if she could get it; and as to burning it up, she
would decide upon that afterward. .

But Mr. Bingham’s reception was not aitogether a
mournful one, for he had joyous news for Many a trem-
bling inquirer, and this he was prompt and quick in deal-
ing out, even before he could be questioned.

The friends of Mr. Rolfe, and Mrs, Annesly—the mother
of little Clara, the mother of the crippled boy, and many
others were weeping with joy, though some of these

\

 

 
    

TE ES TSA IRE I PEP EE SN IP EEE YE nS

 

}major’s wife into convulsions.

 

 

 

anxious people had to be twice and thrice assured that
their loved ones were really sate, and that there could
not be ally mistake about it.

Had Mr. Bingham actually seen them on shove, after
the disaster, some asked. \

Yes—Mr. Bingham had seen.them—had spent more
than.a day with them onthe beach, and had left them
there waiting forthe return of the boats. As to thosein
the boats, some of whom were also citizens of Chicago,
-he believed there was no reasonable doubt df their safety, :
‘and thatetheir delay in returming had been owing to their:
getting astray, as they had no compass. ‘

It seemed unfortunate indeed that the first news of this
‘disaster im this city, should have been soincomplete, and
that so many hearts should wnnecessarily have been

‘shrouded in gloom.

Mrs. Rashhiegh always feeble, was prostrated. by the
blow, and 2 low nervous fever setin, which, accompanied
by her great .distress.of mind, awakened a solicitude for
her life, and tor her veason. Her husband wandered;

ghost-like, about the house and the lawn, whichextend-:

ed to the lake shore, and hore, a score of times and more,
every day he could be seen standing, statue-like, Jooking
offupon the water for some coming vessel which might
bring tidings of his son. .

He did not believe that any better news would come;
the door of hope seemed elosed; but there was a posst-
bility that poor Frederick might yet be alive, might yet be
clasped, warm and breathing in his arms, and to this
faint expectation he fondly clang.

Of the sister’s grief we need not speak. If it was less
than that of the parents, it was only less, but the necessi-
ty of constant attendance upon her mother, and her fears
for that loved life, left her little time to dwell upon her
bereavement. 8 al
[TO BE CONTINUED.]

PLEASANT _PARAGRAPHS.

Jackass Artillery.

Out in a certain Western fort, some time ago, the major
conceived the idea that artillery might be used effectively
in fighting the Indians, by dispensing with the gun car-
riages and fastening the cannon upon the backs of mules.
So he explained his views to the commandant, and it was
determined to try the experiment, A howitzer was se-
lected and strapped upon an ambulance mule, with the
muzzle pointed toward the tail. When they had secured
the gun and loaded it with ball cartridge, they led that calm
and steadfast mule out on the bluff, and set up a target in
the middle of the river to practice at. The rear of the
mule was turned toward the target, and he was backed
gently up to the edge of the bluff. The officers stood
round in a semi-circle, while the major went up and in-
serted a time fuse in the touchhole of the howitzer. When
the fuse was ready, the major lit it and retired.. In a mo-
ment or two the hitherto unruffled mule heard the fiazing
back there on his neck, aud it made him uneasy, He
reached his head round to ascertain what was going on,
and, as he did so, his body turned, and the howitzer be-
gan to sweep around the horizon. The mule at last be-
came excited, and his curiosity became more and more in-
tense, and in asecond or two he was standing with his
four legs ina bunch, making six revolutions a minute,
and the howitzer, understand, threatening sudden death
to every man Within half a mile. The commandant was
observed to climb suddenly up a tree; the lieutenants were
seen sliding over the bluff into the river, as if they didn’t
care at all about the high price of uniforms; the adjutant
made good time toward the fort; the sergeant began to
throw up breastworks with his bayonet, and the. major
rolled over the ground and groaned. In two or three
minutes there was a puff of smoke, a dull thud, and the
mule—oh! where was he? <A solitary jackass might have
been seen turning successive back-somersaults over the
bluff, only to rest at anchor, finally, with his howitzor, at
the bottom of the river, while the ball went off toward the
fort, hit the chimney in the major’s quarters, rattled the
adobe bricks down into the parlor, and frightened the
They do not allude to it
now, and no report of the results of the experiment was
ever sent to the war department. -

A Pig Story. :

This is not the first story that has been told of a pig; but
it has what has been called “‘the element of unexpected- 4
ness”’ about it.

Piggy gut into a large yard where he did not belong,
and, trying to get out again, hestuck fast under a high
board fence, and there began to kick and squeal in the
good ola way.

His mastery, a big, fat Irishman, hearing the hubbub,
ran out of his house near by, and caught his pig by the
ears, endeavorizg to pull him threugh the hole before the
trespass was. detected. :

But this treatment had no effect but to make ‘the pig
yell the more. :

An.old ram in the yard, hearing the noise, ‘and seeing
piggy’s hind legs and tail flourishing away in a menacing
manner, accepted what he thought was a challenge, and
lowering his head, charged with all his might. He struck
his mark fairly and squarely, and the pig shot through
the hole like a pork cannon-ball, and, striking his master
full in the breast, knocked him flat on his back.

The only person who witnessed this closing scene was
just entering the yard, and, not being aware how many
actors were engaged in it, was very much surprised to
hear what he supposed to be the pig swearing in Irish on
the other side of the fence.

The Rugg Documents.—No. 82.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

There is an old saying that it haint best to crow till
you’re out of the woods, and the same wise reemark holds
good when yew’re walking through a swamp. I was
pritty nigh to bursting out a lafting at the awkward pre-
dicament of them two-.constables, as they floundered
about, and then stuck fast; for I thought I was about as
good as out of the mud; and jest as I straightened my-
self up to laff, the bottom of the swamp fell out, and down
Iwent clear up to my Grecian bender, which: was a very
large sized one, aud made out of bran and oat straw,
rr oe a pillow tick, and which I verily believe saved
my lifel.

As Iwasa going down, I heerd a dreadful splashizc
rite in front of me, and lifting my eyes, I seed a racer
tallirlsh man, with a hors whip in his hand, a striding over
tne logs toward me as fast as ever he could travel! Isung
out to him to assist a poor helpless female woman as had
been driv’n to. fly for her life. and was as innocent as an
onborn child of stealing a black satchel bay full of spoons;
but he fiourished his whip as if he meant to cut down all,
both great and small, and’ ses he—

“Come out of that are! you old thieving witch. you!
Now I’ve found out where all my baskit stuff goes to!
You’ve stole in, drat you!??

“You'd better be careful!’ sez I—‘for if ever I git at
you, it’ll be the wors for you! WHspecially if I have my
ambrill! No man,” sez I, “can call me a@ thief with im-
portunity?’

“Til Jarn you to steal my little ash trees and make ’em
into baskits and sell ’em to old Husher for ram and whis-
ky!’ sez he, flourishing the whip more than eyer—‘‘Dll
Jarn you! by gingo, I will!’

“Come onl? sez I—feeling as if ’d give seventy-five
cents to stand on the solid yearth within three feet of that
very man, with my ambrill in my hand—‘If yowre a
going to larn me, you’d better be about it! The sooner
you begin the sooner you'll git through! But?’—sez I, ‘it
is my Christian duty to enform you that if you come any
further in these directions, you'll be dreadful liable to put
your foot in it!”

But the critter was too mad to thank me for my warn-
ing, and witha wild leap he sprung forrid. And as I
ixpected, the bottom fell out of the swamp where he was,
and down he went till nothing of him stuck out but his
red foretop and the sharp corners of his shirt collar, which
stood up on each side of his face like the wheels onto the
side of a ferry boat.

And he swore and splashed in about equal parts.

“Wall,?? sez I, ‘tyour blood be on your own head,
wicked man! and your mud too! and don’t say I didn’t
warn ye!”?

He only replied by swearing at me powerful, and them
two ossifers that was stuck behind me they swore too,
and I ixpected nothing but what the thunder from Heay-
en would strike us all dead there in the mud, though it
was a Clear day and the wind in the west, which give me
some courage.

I begun to git dreadful oncomfortable. I wished I was
to home, or almost anywhere else. I wished for a good
cup of tea or a dose of beans and pepper-sass. I ixpected
J was @ going to die, and folks in that perdicament think
‘ofa heap of things, they say. I did. I was dreadful cold,
especially my lower extremities, and I felt as if I might as
well give up the ghost then and _ there as to hold onto it.
Then I thought of that dreadful woman a running off
with my poor Jonathan, and I detarmined to live. I

‘ould make one more attempt. I seized onto a bush that
g -wed close by and tried to pull myself out. But the
bu, 1¢ame out instid, roots and all, and I went over on

ply °ad and lost my specks, and my under set of teeth,

Whic. there being no suction on ’em in my mouth, was
suckec ‘nto the mud; and Lixpest some old mud-turkle
or wate.-rat is a wearing of ’em this blessed minnit, and
imposing on somebody and making-’em believe he is
young agin, For this world is full of desates and decep-
tions. :

My teeth I never shall see agin, I suppose, but my
specks was gold-bowed, and this is to certify that I hereby
offer a reeward of fifty cents to the individoal that brings
’em to me safe and sound, and no questions asked.

The cold begun to git colder, and my teeth, which is to
say my upper set, chattered in my head. I was faint to
my stummach, and felt as if ’d eat sumthin’, or nothin’,
that didn't agree with me. I begun to feel shure that I
never should see Pigeon Holler agin, an’ Jonathan an?
Ellen Sophier, an’? Victory Jerushy, an’ nobody! I should
never fry no more turnovers, nor write no more Rugg
Documents, nor rescue Jonathan from the ciutches of she
that was once the Widder Spriggins!. I couldn’t see but
one advantige in my presunt physician, and that was, it
was about the grandest chance to soak a body’s corns that
ever was! and I have got one of them pestering things a
coming onto my little toe which was made by a tight boot,
and if it didn’t git all the soaking it needed that time, then
I miss my guess! :

And as I stood there a soaking, many curis things
passed through my mind. I wondered if my cabbidge

what Blossom did for dinner, and if Grandmarm Sykes's
hearing was good enuff for her to see into things; and I
wondered if anybody would find my corpus, and if Pd
look natral, and be buried with a eap on, or not. And I
wondered if Ellen Sophier would think to bile over the
apple sass in the blue stone jar which was a furmenting

 

~—and then I heerd a shout—and lo! acrost the bogs, with
a-fence board ih his arms, cu a conquering hero with

saan a a ace RES

Some day, you-Shall have all thé tur

pot had biled over and greased the Stove, and I wondered |

o

reddish whiskers, and green necktie, and laying down the
board beside me, he stepped onto it and took me by the
shoulders and histed me out onto terry Army, which is
the Latin for fence board. 1 a vn) ‘2

“Brave youth)? sez I. “Noble young man! I thank
thee a thousand times! and like tae heroimesiin the story
books I wold reeward thee with my heart and hand,
but I am already wedded to Jonathan’ Perkins, But, my
young friend,” sez 7, ‘if you'd €ome | te Pigeon Holler

movers yeu can eat,
to say nothing of pies, cakes, and etsettery P?

The mamsthat owned the Swanip, and the two perlice
felters, all yelled: out for-him totéome to them with the
fence board, and “while he 4vas a making’ up his mind.
about it, I streaked it out of sight and hearing, and the
mud and water Was flying in eyery direetion. Alter it got
darkish I went into a barn, and laid down on she hay to
let my ¢lothing dry, and while I laid there listening to
the heart-rending me-eous of a couple, old Thomas cats
that was a preparing to fight a deadly ¢onfliet,on the hay-
mow, JI composed the oo as Hines. :.,

I don’t say that) they’re ekal to some parts of Shaks-
peare in Paradise Lost, but if you can ao ny better on
the same subject, do.so. It’s. a eonsarned siaiit easier to
read good poetry than it is to write it:: g

; A POEM.
Composed onio being Reseued from « Muddy Death.

BY THE’ AUTHOR.

The day was cold and chilly,
The blasting winds they blew—
The frogs was singing numerous,
The robins was net few—
When from his peaceful fireside, .
(Which was a soapstone stove)
My husband Jonathan was took,
And kerried off to rove.

It was a dreadful female

That made away with him,

Three times she had been married,
And twice a widder been ;

To friendship true a traitor,

Her tongue was smooth, beguiling—
His wife was busy when they went
And the eabbidge was'a biling.

Ah, me} the woes of living
Is many and severe!
His faithful wife, Jerushy,
She dropt the falling tear,
Then trayvéled for the depot
And g6t aboard the train,
And ina eloud of smoke, and fire
Was borne off through the rain.*

Wi fortane did befall her!
A-satchel-bag was left
Upon the seat beside her, .
Considerable in heft;
*Twas full of stolen property !
Jerushy they arrested,
And had ne massy on her, though
Her innercence she vowed and pertestedi

But Heaven kept guard o’er innereenee, ,
And off the iron track

The train was throwed by a short-horn bull,
And got knocked all aback1>

Jerushy sought for liberty,
But got stuck im the mud—

Likewise them wicked constables.
That. would have shed her blood!

But.as she slowly perished,
There eome a noble yeuth,
Armed with a hemlock fenee-board,
And strong in virtuous truth;
He rescued poor Jerushy,
And sot her on her feet—
At which them wicked constables
Swore hard, for they was beatt
My pen is gitting poorer,
/ My ink likewise is paile—
TPH tell the rest the next time,
If I den’t miss the mail.

 

 

 

   

=

MORRILL.
Dear friends, be ever virtuous!
So; if in mud you stick, ~
Somebody’ll come with fence-boards
And hist you mighty quick!

*N.B.—It was afair day that I went after Jonathan, but I
couldn’t seem to make it rhyme. WE RAP:

: _ Cider. y

The word cider is composed. of two syHables, namely,
ciiand der, I haven’t been able to discover what either,
of these syllables means when taken separately, but just
theminute you get them together I recognize it as quickly
as if ithad been an old friend of mine. I don’t fool away
any time a hunting up dictionaries then—I understand
,cider—you cant tell me anything about eider—l’ve been
through the m— No, I haven’t either; I don’t mean to
say. that I’ve been through the mill exactly, but ve been
intimately acquainted with cider that has been through,
and therefore consider myself authority on the matter.

Cider, when traced to its original state, is a purely
vegetable production. In making eider, people generaily
use apples, a mill to grind the apples, an eld horse to run
the mill, and a cider press. .

The apples and the horse gets the werst of it.

such.a confused, sorry, “demoralized aspect that you don’t
feel like eating any of them yourself, or ef putting any
in your pocket to carry home te your friends, And as for
the poor horse—well, if there is anything that would take
the ambition and conceit out of a horse, I sheuld think it
would be a cider-mill. The horse is generally hitched in
between two sticks or poles, one just behind him and the
other a few feet in front of him. When everything is
pee you suggest to the old horse that he start forward
a little. os t

, The horse, naturally thinking that you want him to
step up close to the pole he is hitched to in front, starts
forward a little, but somehow or other he don’t reach the
point he started for as soon as he expeeted. At first he
concludes that he may have made a Kittle misealculation
with regard to the distance to his hitching post, so he
don’t stop until he has gone by a cider press,.a pile of
apples, and a man who seems to be busy carrying apples
and dumping them into a machine near by.

Still the poor horse don’t seem to get any nearer the
hitching post, but, if he is any way persevering, he will
try and see the thing through. Perhaps he has been 2
good road horse in his day and ambitious withal, and he
fully resolves to reach that hitching post er pole if he has
to travel all day for it; so he goes at it. After having
passed about seventeen thousand eider presses, and sev-
enteen thousand piles of apples, and seventeen thou-
sand men, all scattered along the read, he thinks the
whole thing is getting a little monotonous, especially as
he don’t seem to gain a single inch on that hitching pele,
although it has been in plain sight all the time. 1
shouldn’t blame any sensible horse if he did get com-
pletely disgusted with such work, - ;

, After the apples have been ground up fine they are
putinto the cider press and are subjected to a terrible
squeezing and pressing operation. The press doesn’t
seem to mindit much, butit starts the tears frema the
poor apples. Sometimes a little sqneezing from the right
kind of a press is a pleasant thing, but I néver saw a man

of equanimity. / :

The juice of the apples, as it runs from the press, is gen-
erally caught in alarge tub. Itis then ealled new cider.
Cider is divided into two distinct ¢Classes—new or sweet
cider, and hard or old sour cider. There are some geod
and some bad points about mew cider. It is generally a
sweet-tempered beverage, very so€iable in its disposition,
and with nothing lazy inits eomposition. Oa wc 36n-
trary itis bound to work. Put it ina barrel and stop it
up tight, and it will work its way out—some of it, at
least—if it has to burst the barrel to do it. But it hasn’t
any principle about it whatever; itis just as apt to werk
Sunday as any day. :

The reason I claim cider is ef a soeiable nature is this:
If you shut it up close in barrels, leave it alowe by itself
fora great length of time, it becomes hard and sour in.

are condemned to live alone all their lives. Let the cider
stand long enough and it will turn to vinegar, and some-
times you will meet some of these’ believers in single-
blessedness that are almost turned to vinegar too. The
cider-vinegar is the best of the two.

theories. Old cider won’t either, if you let it alone.
Cider is all well enough in its proper place, and man is
all well enough in his proper place; mix the two together
and you spoil both the man and the cider. I never knew
of butone man that became President of the United
States by drinking hard cider, and that was General Har-
rison, and I don’t really believe that it was cider that did
it altogether in his case either; if it was he must have
had a different constitution from people How-a-days.
Let aman follow up drinking hard cider to excess nDOW-
a-days and he’ll stand a better chance ef getting into the
poor-house than the white-house. . FRINKLE FRY.

bo ee

NOW READY. :
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e B ¥ °
E'rancis S. Smith.

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$100 to 25 Agents everywhere selling our
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w26-2teow.

 

The trade

 

 

 

The apples, after being ground up in the mill, present

yet that could go through a cider press with'any degree —

its disposition just like old bachelers and old maids that .

New cider won’t intoxicate, according to some people's °

 

 

 

 

Pas,

Nerrgery es,

 
 

 

|
:
|
;
|

 

 

 

mr SS ——

 

  
    
 

 

 

 

CALLA RARE

NEW YORK, MAY 20, 1872.

PDI

 

 

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Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight, all sent. at one time, will
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The New YORK WEEKLY is Printed at Preston's Great Press
Room, 27 Rose Street, New York City.

 

 

 

Mrs Helen Corwin Pierce.
aN EX'T WEEK.
THE CHEATED BRIDE.

Another new story, by one of our ablest contribu:
tors, willbe commenced neat week. Itis entitled

The Cheated Bride;

ge

WON BY A LIE!!
By Mrs. Helen Corwin Pierce,
Author of “OURSH OF EVERLEIGH,” “INJURED
HUSBAND, “WHOM DID LADY VIOLET MARRY,”
etc., etc.

This story is based on an absurd ancient custom
still practiced, although to a limited extent, by
MANAGING PARENTS,
who, fancying that they are insuring the future
happiness of their children,
BETROTH THREMIN THEIR CRADLES,

and thus, by an early matrimonial match, guarantee

the prospective

UNION OF INFLUENTIAL FAMILIES.

In the present story, the girl, as she grows up, is
forced to believe that this alliance must be the

CHIEF AIM OF HER LIFE:
that, although averse to it, she must consent to carry)
out her part of the nee
FATAL COMPACT,

to secure the wealih necessary to arrest the

THREATENED RUIN OF HER FAMILY.
The young man loathingly reflects upon the terms

of
THE STRANGE MARRIAGE, »
and resolves to seek some means to thwart if.
this intent he sends his
CONFIDENTIAL SECRETARY
to the home of-the family so anxious to avert their
ruin by the use of his wealth, and instructs him to
note the character of the woman @estined to become
AN UNWILLING GRIDE.
The secretary, aware that his employer has not
seen the lady since she was a child,
PERSONATES THE EARL,
and in this disguise loves and is beloved by the im-
pulsive heroine. A secret marriage succeeds a brief
acquaintance, and when
THE CHEATED BRIDE
realizes that she has
MARRIED THE WRONG MAN,

love turns to hatred, and she resolves to devote her
life to

With

EVENGE!

The story has a very ingenious plot, which is de-
veloped with masterly skill. It must prove a great
success, for in every respect it is Mrs. Helen Corwin
Pierce’s best story.

 

 

HUMOROUS
ESSAYS ON ANIMATED NATURE.

Order Pachydermata—The Rhinoceros.

Had his murderous majesty Macbeth been aware of the
sanguinary disposition of this tremendous beast, he
would not have besought the spook of Banquo to con-
front him as an ‘“‘arined rhinoceros”’—an uglier customer,
in every. sense of the word, thanthe ‘horrible shadow”?
that spoiled his appetite for supper.

' The genus comprises several varieties, but the axiom,
“variety is charming,” does not hold good, as regards
any of them. There is a black rhinoceros which is par-
ticularly dangerous when it turns to bay, and a white
variety, equally vicious when it becomes rusty. There is
also one species which has two horns, like a dilemma,
and another which has only one like a fish-peddler or a
unicorn. And here I would observe, that the principle
enunciated by Professor Neal Dow and other sover
students of Nature, that the more korns a brute has the
worse he is, seems to be amply borne out in the case of the
rhinoceros—the double-horned species being much
more ferocious than its single-horned congener.

Of all the pachyderms, the animals of this genus have
the thickest and toughest skins. Their hides will turn a
bali equal to a billiard table cushion, and seem to be made
of the sane material, viz.: Vulcanized India-rubber. A
traveier relates that he fired an ounce of Jead at a speci-
men which he saw taking a bath in the Basin of the Nile,
and hit the monster fair and square without producing
the slightest impression upon its epidermis. Travelers,
however, sometimes shoot with a long bow as well as
with a big rifle, and thig Nile story may, perhaps, belong
to the class stigmatized by Cicero as Nihil tam incredibdte.

Speke Livingstone and Baker, while engaged in hunt-
‘ing up the Nile, found herds of the black rhinoceros
pretty thickly-sprinkled in the neighborhood of the great
water-shed which suppiies its basin. Baker, if I remem-
ber riglitiy, says that this animal shrieks like an asthmatic
locomotive, when about to make a charge, and intimates
that in such cases it is advisable to concede to it the right
of way, as to face the music might be hazardous!

The rhinoceros is the only living creature, as far as I

know, that wears horns upon its nose. Indications of
horns may indeed be seen on the noses of habitual
drunkards, but they are mere pimples, and altogether
different from the regular rippers which project from the
proboscis of this enormous hog in armor,
- Sir Samuel Baker, according to his own account, had a
very summary way of wiping out the quadrwped. He
simply riddled it with half-pound shells, fired from the
shoulder; but how he accomplished the feat in safety, is a
conundrum in science which I shall not attempt to solve.
Judging from my own limlted experience of firearms, I
should say that-a rifle carrying an eight ounce shell
would be a pretty heavy back-load for a sportsman, and
that the charge of powder necessary to propel the
projectile would be quite likely to “kick”? an English
baronet into conniption fits. Still I would not for the
world question Sir Samuel’s veracity—of course not.
Yet if that Nimrod of the ramrod,-after rescuing Dr.
Livingstone, should have nothing else to do, and be dis-
inclined to sleep, it would be a gratification to gunners if
he would “rise to explain.”?

When the rhinoceros gets tired of his old horn, or
horns, he drops the Same and is presently supplied witha
new srowth by a natural Rhinoplastic process. Last
time Isaw the specimen in Central Park, his discarded
horn was hanging in front of his private residence and a
new one was beginning to sprout. If ever 1 hunt the
animal in Equatorial Africa, it shall be just after he has
relinquistied his nasal appendage, and while his snout is
still soft and sore. :

The rhinoceros is found in Asia as well as in Africa,
and there is a strong general resemblance between the
species inhabiting the two continents. It is probable,
however, that if brought together points af difference
would be observed in them!

All the tribe are gramnivorous, like the late Sylvester
Grahain; but then attachment to a respectable diet can-
not, like his partiality for pudding, be the result of calm
reflection—inasimuch as the rhinoceros does not rumi-
nate | i

The fossil remains of the animal have frequently been
found in the valley of the Rhine, and hence the hypothesis
that it owes its present name to its pre-diluvian connec-
tion with that river. J SQ Wik,

ELLA’S LETTER.

BY LEE TRASK.

 

 

“Who can this letter be from, I wonder?’ exclaimed
Ella Chase, as she finished reading a short, but evidently
quite interesting epistie. “I wonder who could have
written it??? . :

“Why, hasn’s it any signature?’ inquired her sister
Edith, who looked up very languidly trom the book she
was reading.

“A signature? Yes, but it isn’t the true one??? :

“What is it then?’ inquired the young lady, condeé-
scending in alofty way, to manifest a little curiosity.
‘What name is given?”

“Edgar Mortimer--do you want to hear the letter ?””

“Yes, if it is neither very long nor very intense.”

“Neither one nor the other, but somewhat presuming,
I think,” and she began to read : :

«My DEAR MISS CHASE: You will be surprised, no
doubt, (as | am myseif}, at my presumption in addressing
you, but having met you several years ago in Detroit, I
have never been able to forget the impression which you
made upon me then, and it is with the hope that our
slight acquaintance there, may ripen into something
warmer and dearer, that I now address you.”

“pretty impudent that, I should say,” interrupted
Edith.

“Yes, decidedly, but then you know, I like a little spice
of impudence in a man.”

“Rather too much spice there, I think, but go on.”

“J know,” continued Elia, “that there is a great deal of
prejudice existing against an anonymous correspondence,
but Ihave tried a number of times to renew your ac-
quaintance in the usual and proper way, and have always
been disappointed, and I feel so confident that you and I
are in every way adapted to make each other happy (1
hope I am not conceited) that I can wait no longer, and if
you will kindly condescend to answer this letter, I will
then write to you in my true character.”’

“Very romantic, indeed!’ observed Edith dryly, as she
returned to the perusal of her book, then in a few mo-
ments lifting her head again, she asked, “have you any
idea who it is???

“Well, there are two men that I have been thinking of
—J met them both at Detroit, and one I liked very much
indeed, the other, not at all. So you may besure that the
letter is from the latter, for that is the way such things
always turn ont in this world.” :

‘‘Are you going to answer it???

“T don’t knuow—would you ???

“No 79

Why not???

‘Because father would be so angry; you know how
strongly he disapproves of anything of the kind.”

“Shall you tell him, if T answer it’? .
“No—I am not a tell-tale, and I wouldn’t take the
trouble.’

“Well, Z shouldn’t tell him, that’s certain, so how
would he ever have a chance to disapprove ?”? 4
“T wouldn’t write to the gentleman, tf I were you.’?

“T rather think I shaw.”

“T knew you would.’

“Yes, you always know everything.”

“Tam pretty weil acquainted with Miss Ella Chase,’’
ana young lady was soon wholly engrossed by her
book.

A-young man was seated in a snug little office in New
York’ city, looking somewhat abstractedly out of the
window.

“J wonder if she will answer my letter,’ he said aloud,
“that pretty face of hers has haunted me ever since | first
saw her. ‘Ah! there’s the postman,’? and a few moments
afterward he was nervously tearing open a delicately
scented envelope, the whole appearance of which gave
evidence of the writer’s culture and refinement.

Charles Lathrop was a fine-looking man of perhaps
twenty-seven or eight years of age, with a pale, serious
face, that might not perhaps please a gay, laughter-loving
girl, but when he smiled, hig whole countenance lighted
up in a way that must have been very fascinating to some
women. That smile lingered upon
haughtily-curved lips, as he read the letter.

“A cautious littke puss,’? he said, ‘but fortunately: for
me, her curiosity exceeds her caution. She must know
at once who J am, or she will not writeagain. What will
she say when Ltellher? 1 could not make out at Detroit,
whether she really disliked me, or was simply indifferent.
The frst, L hope, for dislike is easier to combat than a
cold indifference. Now little beauty, you shall know who
iam,” aud seating himself at his desk, he wrote rapidly
for some time. ‘
About a week after this, Edith was reclining one morn-
ing upon an easy couch in her room, reading, as usual,
when suddenly Ella came rustling in, with a flushed, ex-
cited face, and throwing herself into a chair, exclaimed,
quite petulantly: 2
“How provoking it allis! That letter was from Charles
Lathrop. I never could bear him, with his long face aud
stiff ways!’ ‘ E

“TL advised you not to answer the letter, but you never
condescend to take my advice under any circumstances.”
“Well, if I did, I should sit with my hands before me,
and never care whether the world turns round or not.’
“You would spare yourself a great deal that is dis-
agreeabie.”!

“IT don’t care—I had rather have some disagreeable
experiences than never take any interest in anything.”
‘Are you going 'o answer ¢his letter?’

‘Yes; I shall tell himin very piain words that if I had
supposed that first epistie came from him, I never should
have replied to it.’

“That will be rather disagreeable for him, I think.”

“T can’t help it, if itis. 1 wassoin hopes that that hand-
some Mr. Wheeler had written the letter! But men that
1 like never like me! I think it’sa mean shame!”
“Perhaps you're too anxious, Elia,” suggested the pro-
voking Edith, in her cool, dry way.

“How hateful you are, Edith!’ returned the former,
seating herself to write the very ungracious reply.

“{ think Mr. Lathrop will be apt to apply that term to
you, if pon write what you said you were going to. Itis
altogether uncalled for, in my opinion.’

But Ella was in decidedly a very bad humor, and she
wrote and mailed the letter that very day; but no sooner.
was it gone than she repented it, for she was a very kind-
hearted girl, although quick-tempered and impulsive, and
she was almost inclined to send a second letter of
apology. :

“He will think me very rude and ill-natured,” she
thought. “I wonder if he will write again?’

She waited very impatiently this time, but a week
passed away, and then another, and she felt very sure
that she had offended him, and was really quite distressed
about it, considering that she disliked him so much. She
was hesitating whether she would write again and apolo-
gize, when one day a card was handed to her, upon which
she read the name, Charles Lathrop. Then all her feel-
ings changed again, and she was quite indignant at his
presumption.

“What an impudent fellow he is!’ she thought. “I
won't see him—yes, I will, tool”

And she went straight to the glass, and pulled and
twitched her hair into the most bewitching little curls,
adding a ribbon here and a flower there, until she seemed
at last perfectly satisfied with the general effect. She
certainly seemed somewhat anxious that he shopld ad-
mire her, at any rate. ‘

When she entered the parlor, the gentleman rose from
his seat, the haughty curve of his lip being rather more
-conspicuous than usual, and making a formal bow, he
said:

“Miss Chase, I have come to make an apology for my
presumption in addressing that letter to you—a very foolish
letter, that would hardly have been excusable in a boy of
nineteen. I have been severely but rightly punished. I
now return your two. notes,” and he handed the dainty
little missives to Ella, who felt very much inolined to toss
them back again; ‘and,’ he continued, ‘if you will be
kind enough to burn my letters, I shall consider it a great
favor.” :

“Would you like to have me do it now?’ asked Ella,
feeling exceedingly mortified and angry, she hardly knew
why. ee

“4G, no,’? he answered, “I will not trouble yon now. 1}
am very well aware, Miss Chase, that I have incurred
your displeasure, so I will not intrude upon your time any
longer,’ and, with another formal bow, he left her.

The young girl went up stairs in a kind of maze, but
disappointment was certainly the predominant feeling. |
“{ wonder if he thinks I have grown homely!” she
thought, going straight to the glass again. ‘‘I believe he
despises me!’ and sie pulled the flower out of her hair in
a most* ferocious way, aud then went to crying as if her
heart would break.

This was certainly a strange mode of proceeding for
Miss Flla Chase. Afier the weeping was all accomplished,
she seized his letters, and was about to tear them up,
when she suddenly stopped, saying:

“No; Di keep thein just to spite him, the proud, hateful
fellow, with his lip curling aH the time asif he felt him-
self superior to every one else. I hate him.”!

Charles Lathrop’s reflections as he left the house were
scarcely more agreeable than those of Ella.

“She is prettier than ever,” he said to himself, ‘‘What
lovely eyes. I wonder why she dislikes me so. Some
women even more beautiful than she have seemed well
pleased with my attentions, and yet I cannot think of any
one but her. Ibelieveif she were to put her little foot
on my neck I should love her still. I must see her again.
Ah, that party to-night—perhaps she will be there.”’

Ella was gliding gracefully through a quadrille that
same evening, when, suddenly looking up, she saw Charles
Lathrop standing at a lite distance and gazing intently
ather. After making a bow as haughty as his own, she
turned her pretty head away. Atthe end of the dance
Edith drew her aside, and with. most astonishing eager-
ness for her, said:

“Ella, who was that gentleman you bowed to so
coolly 7?

‘Mr, Lathrop,’? was the concise reply.

“Well, you area goose then. There isn’t'a man in the
room can compare with him. Why, he’s splendid. I
mean to have an introduction, and then cut you out.”

And not long afterward Ella saw Edith leaning on his
arm, talking in quite an animated manner, while his face
was turned toward her with an expression of surprise
and pleasure. She could not keep her eyes away from
the two, and although she talked and laughed even more
gayly than usual to the group of gentlemen around her,
she felt like having a teal good ery, jealousy, anger and
disappointment all gnawing at her heart.

Now Edith, notwithstanding her lanqnor, dearly loved
to teaze her sister, and thinking also that the latter had
treated Mr. Lathrop very unkindly for his only offense of
loving her better than she deseryed, she herself took
pains to treat him with particular attention, while he
seemed fully to understand and appreciate her motives.

 

 

his somewhat

 

That evening, when the sisters were alone in their
room, Edith said:

“Well, Ella, did you have a good time at the party ?)?

“Oh, yes; well enough; you seemed to be enjoying
yourself.”

‘I did; Mr. Lathrop was exceedingly entertaining.”

“Well, I thought you seemed to do all the talking, for a
wonder.”

“Why, were you watching us???

“No, [do not know that 1 was; but every time I did
look at you the gentleman had the appearance of listen-
ig very attentively.”

“Did he? I hope he liked me, for I tried my very best
to captivate him.’?

“Yes; I never saw you so animated.”

“Well, it isn’t often that I care to exert myself, but Mr.
Lathrop I consider really worth paying some attention
to. [have invited him to call and see me, and he pro-
mised to come to-morrow—so, if you do not wish to en-
counter him you must keep out of the parlor.”

And with a tantalizing little laugh she prepared herself
for sleep.

Poor Ella tried to follow her example; but, alas! sleep
would not come to her, and she tossed and tumbled about
nervous and unhappy. Mr. Lathrop’s face haunted her
as she had seen it that evening. :

“He certainly looked as though he loved me,’ she
thought; ‘but he thinks that I dislike him; and now if
Edith tries to-please him, she is prettier than I am, and
he will soon change and like her best.”

And so she worried and fretted all the rest of the night,
failing into an uneasy slumber just before her usual time

Y rising.

When Edith saw how pale she looked her conscience
reproached her a little.

“I do believe she cares for him after all,’’ she thought;
‘oor little goose.”

And, darkening the room, she went round on tip-toe,
closing the door softly as she left.

When the expected visitor came he received from the
young lady a. very cordial greeting. -

“Bila is sick this morning,” she said.
child hardly slept at all lagt night.”

Charles looked up quickly, the color rushing to his face,
but hardly knowing what to say, maintained a somewhat
embarrassed silence.

“Mr. Lathrop,” continued Edith, “I am afraid that you
think my sister has been very rude; but I know that she
regretted sending that last letter just as soon as it was
gone. It has troubled her ever since. She is very im-
pulsive, but very proud, and asT imagine that you are
just as proud, [do not see how you will ever make it up,
untess I give some of my valuable assistance. Do you still
feel as you did toward Ella?”

And she looked pretty enough to have bewitched any
man not already in the toils of a fair charmer.

“1 love her better than ever,’? was the reply.

“Then wait a moment, and Ul send her down here. I
shall have to cheat her a little, but then all is fair in love
or war, you Know.” ,

“But she dislikes me, Migs Chase.”?

“Do girls lose their sleep for men they dislike, Mr.
pees 2) and, smiling at the effect of her words, she left
tim.

After waiting ten or fifteen minutes, the door opened,
and Ella came in, looking very‘pale and Janguid. She
started violently when she saw Charles, and drawing up
her slender figure, said:

“i did not know that you were here.”

“JY willleave at once, if you wish it, Miss Chase,” he
answered, and was about to do so, When he noticed the
proud Jook in her faee change to an expression half
pleading, halfreproachful. A moment more and he wag
by her side, her hand in his. ‘Ella, Ella,’’ he exclaimed,
“why are you so-cold, so proud?” She triedto answer,
but the teurs ran down her cheeks, and, as he passed his
arm around her, she rested her head npon his shoulder.

**Q, excuse mel’ they heard at that very interesting
moment, and looking up, they saw the long train of
Edith’s dress rapidly disappearing. But Charlies did not
complain of Ella's coldness after that.

“J believe the

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

har GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
A. D. R.—In the “Knowledge Box”? of No. 23 we published a re-
cipe purporting to come from a person named Chas. Yardley, of
Pittshurg, Pa., in which it was stated that ‘‘wild tea” had proved
an efficacious remedy for cancer, and that it could be procured at
any drug store. The recipe was published, supposing the infor-
mation to be genuine, with a desire to benefit such of our readers
as required a remedy for the disease; but a correspondent, who
has sought in vain for the article, and finaily wrote to Mr. Yard-
ley, received a letter in ieply stating that "wild tea” was very
scarce, and unless gathered at a certain season possessed no vir-
tue. He, however, had asmall quantity in hand, which he would
send to sufferers for the modest aum of $5 per pound! Since our
attention has been called tothe matter we have investigated it,
and can vouch for the truth of “wild tea’? beimg very scarce, 50
much so that it is unknown, and those who forward $5 to Pitts-
burg for it will_probably receive some useless herb in return for
their money. In this connection it is well to state that we recent-
ly received another recipe from Hickory, Pa., in which the words
‘“fiery flower?’ were substituted for “wild tea,” and stating that a
gentleman named Edmondson, of that place, was cured by its
use. Getting suspicious of these simple cures for cancer, we wrote
to an individual residing there, inquiring ifthe statement was cor-
rect. His reply informed us that no such person lived in. the
place. ‘The letters containing the recipes were similar, with the
exceptions above stated, and probably emanated trom the same
individual, who takes this method:of gaining a living by imposing
on the credulity of suffering humamity..... oo Old Me of the
Mounted Rifles.—In reply to yours.of April 10, see editorial headed
“Have Charity ...... Charles Clyde.—-ist, The address of the U.
8. Land Commissioner is Willis Drummond, Washington, D. C.
2d. There are in Nebraska about 40,000,000 acres of Government
lands undisposed of, which may he entered under the Homestead
Law, or purchased at $1.25 to $2.50 per acre. Purchasers are not
limited to quarter-sections, 3d. The southeastern portion of the
State is well adapted to the raising of fruits and cereals, the cli-
mate being mild, the soil very rich, and theJocality easy of ac-
cess. Good furmiug lands are also to be found in other portions
of the State. 4th. Persons should go West in time to get in their
GlOBS ose A Reader since 1866.—We cannot give the exact in-
side dimensions of the building without going over the files of the
daily papers about the time it was erect: ; V. C.—Iist. You
would probably obtain about $5 for the article if accepted. 2d.
BRither would answer. 3d. One-column sketches are preferable.
4th. We have so many MSS. in hand, we are obliged to decline
purchasing scores ot accep-abl. sketches every Week...... 0. H. J.
—We do not know the name of the manufacturer......@. W. Liv-
ingstone.—Ist. The Pawnees are very Cunning, and possessed of
reat endurance. The depredation for which they were former-
y most noted was horse-stealing. .They have been considered
among the friendly tribes for several years, and during the Indian
war of 1867 assisted the U. S. troops in their operations against
hostile tribes. 2d. Fort McPherson is near the junction of the
torks of the Platte river, in Nebraska, about 1700 miles from New
York. The fare is about $75. 3d. Youcan enlist in the army, but
have no choice of post to which you would be sent. The only al-
ternative is to hire out asa farm hand. 4th. We cannot furnish
a letter of introduction. 5th. No definite period is tixed..........
Private Dalzell, in reply to a correspondent, “A Friend to the
Widow and Soldier,” says: ‘I have received the two letters men-
tioned, and should have answered by mail if address had been
furnished. I think the bill for relief of widows of soldiers of 1812
will pass at the present session of Congress.”........ E. G.—Ist.—
It is impossible for us to advise a mode of investing your money,
but the plan suggested seems a good‘one, as there are undoubted-
ly thousands of opportunities for mercantile business in the West,
in which a man of the requisite talent and energy could in a few
years realize a competence. 2d. Both good, with the exception
that Kansas is spelled with a K....J. B.—Advertise extensively...
Mucilage.—Ist. See “Knowledge Box.’ 2d. Yes. 3d. The salary
of phonographers depends upon how and where they are
mployeda secs H #H. H.—In Massachusetts, a marriage con-
tracted by a male over seyenteen, und a female over four-
teen yeays of age is legal. Your’ sister’s marriage is there-
tore legal. A writ of separation can be procured if. her hus-
band has failed to contribute toward her support, aud in many
States a full divorce is granted for willful desertion...... sein ents cals
Julia C.—“Leighton Homestead; or, Edna’s Debt,” is out of
print, “The Wite’s Foe” will cost $1 08..... J, Smith.—The letter
may have miscarried. Write again....Guy Karlscourt.—lst.
“Gold-Dust Darrel?’ will cost $1 02; - 2d. The Spanish foot as com-
pared with our measurement, is expressed by the decimals 0.9273.
3d. The New YORK WEEKLY is in its twenty-seventh year....H.
R. Perringer.—lst. Disposed of the papers to a news agent. 2d.
AS Soon as pogsible..... Emma.—Iist. It depends upon the cireum-
stances under which the divorce was procured. 2d. The divorced
wife has no claim upon the property, except the amount decreed
by the court at the time the divorce was granted. 3d. The will
could not be broken except on thevusual grounds, It would be
best to consult a lawyer as to whether your marriage is legal. We
are under the impression itis....S¢. Z. Mtssouri.—ist. A. J. Wil-
liamson, 2d. About thirteen years. 3d. If your father was nat-
urahzed you are not obliged to take out any papers; if not, you
can become a citizen on taking out the second, or naturalization
aper. 4th, The comruissioned officers of a regiment are colonel,
ieutenant-colonel, major and adjutant. 5th. U. 8. Ministers to
foreign courts are paid salaries ranging trom $4,000 to $17,500;'
consuls from $500 to $7,500, and fees, some receiving no salary,
being paid entirely by tees. 6th. The largest cities and towns in
Jowa are Davenport, 20,038; Dubuque, 18,434; Burlington, 14,930;
Keokuk, 12,766; Des Moines, 12,035. In Maine, Portland, 31,413;
Bangor, 18,289; Lewiston, 13,600; Biddeford, 10,282; Augusta,
7,808. In Arkansas, Little Rock, 12, Jn Delaware, Wilmington,
30,841. 7th, The distance from Liverpool to Melbourne, Australia,
by water, is 12,240 miles. 8th. The estimated number of inhabitants
of the five largest Chinese cities-is as follows: Pekin, 2,000,000;
Canton, 1,000,000; Chang-chow-fvo0, 800,000; Foo-chow, 500,000;
Nankin, 400,000. 9b. The largest cities of Oceanica, with the
population, as near as can be ascertained, are the following: Mel-
bourne, 200,000; Sydney, 100,000; Adelaide, 35,000; Hobart Town,
30,000; Honolulu, 8,000... 10th. We cannot say definitely......
Penman.—It depends on how largely you propose engaging in the
business....Guero —Ist. The fare from New York to Indianapolis
$21. 24. The average summer temperature of Texas is about
degrees; of Indiana, 76. The climate of Arizona is similar to
that of New Mexico..../. J. M.—Ist. “Abner Holden’s Bound
Boy” will cost 60 cents, 2d. Carpentering is a good trade. The
averave wages in this city is about $3 per day. 3d. Do not let
your love of reading interfere with the amount of exercise neces-
gary to a healthy physical condition, 4th. We do not know the
naine of the inventor of papercollars, 5th. The longest street in
New York is Broadway which, with its gontinuations, runs from
the Battery to the extreme end of the island—about fifteen miles,
Above Central Park it is called the Boulevard, aud beyond Car-
mansgville the Kings Bridge Road....7. S. Quackenbush.—Were
“Buffalo Bill” to reply affirmatively to all like communications,
he would have an army to look after and instruct. He has there-
fore requested us to decline giving his address...... Crescent City.
—Ist. The NEw YORK WEEKLY will be mailed to Europe on
receipt of postage in addition to the subscription price. 2d, The
suspension bridge at Niagara Falls is 230 feet above the rapids.
High Bridge, over which the Croton water pipes are laid, is 114
feet above high water mark; the arches are 100 feet high and 80
feet wide. 38d. Good....CapiWarium.—See ‘Knowledge Box.”,...
Jas. B. Starr.—ist. The so-called spiritual manifestations of the
performers named have been exposed several times, both in this

 

J country and Great Britain—at Williamsburg and Glasgow, we

remember distinetly, but cannot give the dates. 2d. No charge
is made tor answers to queries........ J. D. Emerson.—The drama
has not been printed...... L. R. E.—See “Knowledge Box.”......
Dick Warren.—-We do not know the nature of the gentleman’s
religious belief, but think he is a Protestant........ Eagar Wilson.
—The MS. will be noticed or returned when read...... T. H.—I\st.
See reply to “F §.7 last. week, in relation to the new Dill which
has just become a law, allowing soldiers to acquire public land
through an agent...... F. F. B.—Cali at the office irom which the
letter was sent, or write to the P. O. Department at Washington,
The safest way to remit by mail is through a money order..... i
Amateur.—We have no MSS. we wish to dispose of...... C. W.S.
—See reply to ‘“f, S. Quackenbush.”...... armand.—Letter paper
is the most convenient size...... J. S. H.—Helena, Montana Terri-
tory, hasa population of about 4,000. Whither it 1s incorporated
or not, and the name of the mayor, you can ascertain by writing
to the Postmaster..... Owen J. Cook.—Congult a tanner familiar
with the different methods, . A. DL. W.—I\st. See “Knowledge
Box.” 2d. Select a name of » syllable for your dog—we call ours
s dated ahead in order that it: may

   

 

Don and Bob. 3d. The paper is dal /
reach distant points by publication day. 4th. You would not

        

have us advise you in ppporition to the wishes of your parents,
who certainly are more interested in your welfare than a stranger
Can be. When you are older, and your mind is niore mature,
their objections will vanish. Very young people often become
infatuated with the most harmless amusements, to the exclusion
of duties, and then what should be merely a pastime is a positive
injury. Obey your parents in all things where your conscience
will acquit you, and it will bea pleasant eee in after years.—
Nellie of the Woodlands.—A. beautiful poem, which will receive an
early insertion......C. A. Adams.—We will send the papers con-
taining “‘Who Owned the Jewels” for 96 cents, the postage to be
paid by yourself on receipt of the package..... Michigan.—We
can send only the New YORK WEEKLY, the suoscription price of
which 1s $3 per year, or two copies to one adtiress for $5.
Romeo.—We know nothing of Albany physicians...... Charles
Lobdell.—We do not wish any more MSS. at present..... .A, B. M.
—We know nothing of the transaction. You can only abide by
the decision of the court in which the case is pending, or appeal
toa higher court.—is. A. W. Brownell.—We do not know the
gentleman, but would advise you to write to the Eye and Ear In-
firmary, 216 Second avenue, N. Y., where such diseases are exclu-
sively treated...... Sick Charley.—Go to St. Luke’s Hospital, one
of the best institutions in the country..... Harry Clayton.—1st.
Select any one of the hundred pleasant little towns on the New
England coast. 2d. The lady should precede the gentleman on
entering the seat. 3d. They are both reputable physicians, we
believe...... Wm. J. Eiis.—ist. You will probably grow taller, as
ou have three or four years before you to reach man’s estate.
d, The matter 1s one under the control of the Park Commission-
ers. What their action will be we cannot say. 3d. Good........
W. F. Loper.—Our list of paid contributors is full.... .3f. S. M—
Merely state the question as briefly and plainly as possible. It is
not requisite the name and address should be sent.......... ep hs
Yoyngs.—We do not know. The reading of such works has a
tendency to create doubts of the existence of a Deity, and a lack
of faith in humanity 1n general......4 Subscrtber.—When his age
and prospects will permit him to marry and settle down to the
enjoyment of domestic comtorts...... Clare La Platte.—Ist. It is
impossible to say what is the wages of telegraph operators, as
they are employed by manufacturers, railroad and steamboat
companies, the regular lines, brokers, etc., and the compensation
varies accordingly. 2d. Fair........ Kate Kearney.—the distance
from New Orleans to St. Louis is 1,090 miles; to Cincinnati, 874
miles; to St. Paul, 1,900 miles. The first journey occupies about
two days by rail, and the latter from four to five days............
Urs. S. E. W.—We cannot make the arrangement suggested, as
we have already more than we can find space for...... Unknown
Indianian.—We are afraid you will never rank very high as a
poet...... Inkstand,—It is customary among some European na-
tions for men to salute each other with a kiss. We have {tréquent-
ly seen it done by Germans. If you think kissing a senseless pro-
ceeding, try it with a pretty girl some time, and we venture to
say you will endeavor to repeat it at the first opportunity. Old
as we are, we never give a chance the go by, and dearly love to
kiss a fat, chubby baby.......:.. A, J, R.—See -reply to “T. §.
Quackenbush.”’...... Newman.—The inscription on the Lincoln
statue in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, “Kin dracht maakt macht,”
signifies, in union there is strength........ Cuffee.—ist. It depends
upon the nature of the tableau. 2d. A man is of legal age in New
ork at twenty-one years. 3d. Fair.......... Constant Reader.
Write to the editors of the American Artisan, 189 Broadway.
They will give you the necessary information, and also procure
the patent.......... Anxious.—Your friend is apparently fickle-
minded, but you had better seek the advice of a person who is ac-
quainted with both parties, and familiar with other circumstances
ot the case, as the matter is too serious for us to decide witlf our
limited knowledge ............ K. G. €.—Consuit a costumer.
Sabtath.—Under the Mosaic law the seventh day of the week was
observed as the Sabbath, but since the resurrection of our
Saviour, on the first day of the week, which was called the Lord’s
Day, it has been recognized as the Christian Sabbath...... W. 8.
Larkum,.—The U. S, sloop of war Albany, James T. Gerry com-
mander, sailed trom Aspinwall, on the 28th of September, 1854,
and has never since been heard of...... A. S. Beamer.—Tickets for
San Francisco may be purchased at the office of the Pennsylvania
Central R, R., corner of Vesey street and Broadway, or at the
offices of the Erie or N. Y. Central R. R., besides the several branch
offices of the other connecting lines...... R. A. Fred.—Petition
the court to change your guardian. Getting married would not
release you...... WV. G. S. Y.—Consult a member of either of
the regiments named......Constant Reader, Atchison.—We can-
not give the names of the States. as the source of our informa-
tion does not specify them. By visiting a public ubrary, you
may ascertain..... Disputant.—Fresh air and exercise will im-
prove your complexion. The habit of arsenic eating isthe worst
ever indulged in, asa person invariably dies after abstaining
from it a few weeks...... Dennis Noonan.—The office of the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is on the corner
of Broadway and Fourth street. A letter addressed to Henry
Bergh, President, will elicit the desired information...... Spotted
Tail.—\st. N.ce is an adjective which admits ot regular compari-
son, thus: Positive, nice; comparative, nicer; superlative, nicest.
2d. We have never heard the statement made before, and have
no hesitation in saying it is untrue, as the position of the armies
were such it would have been no deception even had Wellingion
permitted it...... Desproporcion.—Cioth 25 parts cotton and 75
wool is 25 per cent., or one-quarter, cotton; that 100 parts wool
and 25 parts cotton is one-flith, and consequently 20 per cent.
eotton. One per cent. is one of a hundred, or as represented by
fractions 1-100, or decimals 0. 01...... An Admirer.—A gentieman
should not call on_a lady with whom he is sllghtly acquainted un-
less invited...... Friend of Temperaice.—aA letter addressed to the
gentleman at this office will receive his prompt attention.....
Rkum-Hating Dick.—Neither of them are retiable........ John A.
Wood.—We preter that all persons who can will purchase the
New YORK WEEKLY of news agents, but do not refuse to send it
by mail to any address...... O. K. Y.—Iist. No. 2d. Yes..........
M. K.—It no name was attached to the article, it was intended us
no lack of courtesy to the author to print it in the editorial col-
uinn, it being understood that the.desire was to have it published,
and no other part of the paper being available or suitable. If it
was declined, and arterward remodeled and used editorially, it
was anything but creditable to the conductor of the journal......
Jas. Shields.—Sparring and fencing are taught at the various
gymnasiums and by private tutors...... Stock Broker.—The figures
represent the value per share..... Constant Reader.—\st. ‘Try a
ring until you get one to fit, or purchase with the privilege of ex-
changing. 2d. The engagement riag, the style of which is imma-
terial, so it is nota plain band, should be worn on the forefinger
of the left hand..... .... Cooper.—If you wish to reform your son,
adopt any other expedient than sending him to sea. ‘Ihe asso-
ciations would make him more vicious than ever..... Brick Bat.~
All that is needed is to comply with the requirements of the ad-
vertisement in the briefest manner pogsible........... C. O' Neil.—
Your view of the question isin the main correct, with the excep-
tion that the sympathies of the people, as a whole, were in oppo-
sition to the views of the government, which did not attempt to
stop the vessel until after it had sailed, The question haS tigen
argued pro and con, but the feeling will always remain that the
British government acted in an unfriendly manner........ M. S.—
Your desire will be complied with ‘at the earliest possible period. .
Buffalo Bill.—lst. There is no such river named in the Gazetteer.
2d. There are several -works on hunting, fishing, etc., in one of
which we presume you may find the information. 3d..Noet more
so than at other times, if the systein is thoroughly purified. ......
W. G. Hill.—Such marriages are unadvisable. The disparity
would become very marked in a few years. A man of twenty is
too young to marry under any circumstances...... W.C. W.—lst.
The fare from Cleveland to Omaha is about $35; to San Francisco
about $130, 2d. See reply to “Clare La Platte.” 3d. Back num-
bers are soid at six cents each at the office. 4th and 5th. 1¢ is im-
possible to say......... W. C. L.—We know nothing of the remedy.
The references on the circular in relation to the work are reliable,
and valuable information may probably be gained from its peru-
s For treatment see ‘Knowledge Box.”’..... Paul M.—Ilst. The
gentleman should appear in full dress, the same as his guests. 2d.
The third anniversary of a marriage is called the straw wedding;
the fifth, wooden; the tenth, tin; the fifteenth, crystal; the twen-
ty-fifth, silver; the fiftieth, golden; the seventy-filth, diamond...
¥. H. W.—Ilst. See “Knowledge Box.” We know nothing of the
institution. 2d. Soon. 3d. It requires perseverance. 4th. He
wil! send the work on receipt of $2. 5th. Rather difficult. Con-
sult a book seller or music teacher...... D. Brackétt.—We cannot
name a definite period........ E. R. C.—No. 264....... Rory.—Iist.
The titles are merely fictitious, 2d. The New YoRK WEEKLY.
may be sent to any part of the world to which there are mail
facilities...... J. E. D.—See “Knowledge Box” for treatment......
J. H. A.—\st. The offense is called treason or disloyalty. 2d. The
only connection between Alexander Selkirk and ‘‘Robinson
Crusoe” is that the actual experience of Selkirk is supposed to
have suggested to Defoe the imaginary adventures related of his
hero. 3d. There is no limit to the number of terms which a per-
son may serve as President of the United States. 4th. Shawls
and other goods are made of the hair of the Angora goat, which is
white and very soft, and about eight inches long. 5th. The man-
ufacture of 3 patented article, without consent of the owner of
the patent, isan infringement, for which an action may be
brought. 6th. State laws are enacted or repealed by the Legisla-
ture.’ 7th. If you can obtain employment, sufficiently remunera-
tive to provide a living by the use of your knowledge, there is no
reason why you should not doso...... Don Rumon.—Apply at a
book and job printing office, where you will gain a more thorough
knowledge of the business than by working on a newspaper.
The wages is necessarily small at first......... Invincidvle.—Iist.
There is no way of removing the beard except by pulling it out,
and this would have to be done constantly. It is a painfu
operation, and consumes more time than shaving. Barkis is
# character in Dickens’ “David Copperfield.” He isin love with
Peggoty, a servant girl, and proposes marriuge in the briefly
worded epistle, ‘‘Barkis is willin®.”’ 3d. It isnot necessary for
the second-baseman to touch the striker with the ball unless the
baseman is offthe base himself. 4th. Inthe event of a man
being on the first base, and the striker knocks a ball to second
base, which the baseman muffs, he must first touch the base, and
then send it to first. If the ball reaches the first base before the
striker, this ig called a double play, and both men are out. 5th.
Too large for a book-keeper’s land, which should be more closely
written...... A, G Alcinor.—The conclusion of the serial wiil
inform you of the number of chapters............ Fillmore.—
We know nothing of the company......W. F. 7.—No. 174...
N. Cusking, Jr.—The titles are fictitious, as should be evident
from the fact of introducing their supposed author in the story,
which we could not doe were any such works in existence......
Martin Lacy.—See reply to “N. Cushing, Jr.” The last named
may be procured at any book store...... Seth Thompson.—list. The
firm is a perfectly reliable one, and your letter has probably mis-
carried. Write again and inclose stamp tor answer by mail.

  

=,

See “Knowledge-Box”’ for replies to other queries....... Jas. M.
Sanderlin.—Intentionally opening a letter addressed to another
party is a misdemeanor, punishable by imprisonment or finc.....

Michael Ryan.—I\st. Prospect Park, Brooklyn, contains 600 acres;
Central Park, New York, 862; Epping Forest, Essex, England,
12,000; Prater, Vienna, Austria, 5,120; Windsor Forest, Berks,
England, 3,800; Fairmount, Philadelphia, Pa., 2,991; Richmond,
Surrey, England, 2,468; Hampton Oourt, Surrey, England, 1,842;
Bois de Boulogne, Paris, France, 2,158; Phoenix, Dublin, Ireland;
1,752: Petit Pare, Versailles, France, 1,280...... Unknown Suitor.—
In this State the party from whom the divorce is procured 1s pro-
hibited from marrying again during the lifetime of the other,
and we presume the law isthe same in Connecticut where the
divorce is procured on like grounds.,...... Apprentice.—lst. The
amount 18 80 small the authorities would not be apt to incur the
expense of sending for the eriminal; but he could be arrested and
tried on his return, no matter how many years had elapsed, if
the parties were alive to substantiate the complaint, 2d. We
cannot give recipes to make dangerous explosive compounds, as
inexperienced persons wouid be apt to injure themselves and
others by injudicious: use of the knowledge...... Two Constant
Readers.—They are entirely different persons, and are both en-
gaged in writing for the NEw YORK WHEKLY. 6002... Poor Boy.—
You-can purchase drawing books at any book-store.... .d1. N.
W. F.—ist. It is not necessary to have witnesses to the marriage
ceremony, but it is as well in case of trouble arising at any future
period, particularly in a State where no public record is kept of
such oceurrences. 2d. Many mechanics and others bring upa
family and live comfortably on less. 3d. A couple, if the wife is
economical, ean live better and eheaper by keeping house than
they can board. Beside, the Knowledge which can only be
gained by experience is better learned before the arrival of chil-
dren than alter. 4th. Matinee performances are given for the
benetit of ladies and children who have no male attendants, or
cannot attend in the evening. 8th. Take a friend with you who
knows the tone of a good instrument...... bL. N.—See No. 25......
Gussie, John Trott and K. S. Heymann.—See reply to “Economy,”
last week...... G. W.—No. See “Knowledge Box.”........
C. A. R.—The supply 1s greater than the demand, large as the
latter is...... Business.—lst. A good trade will pay the best, un-
less you are tortunate enough to obtain a good situation at your
resent occupation. Which you are best fitted for we cannot say.
Ba. See “Knowledge Box.’’...... Clara Seymour.—‘The ‘House of
Secrets” is out of print. It has not been, nor will it be, publish-
ed in book form...... B. T. G. H.—See reply to “George Washing-
CON J. H. P.—Waiat until your business is established on a
basis to warrant you an income sufficient to support a family...
F. and 0.—I\st.*“Wild Bill”? is living. 2d. Fashions for ladies
originate in Berlin, Prussia. 3d. We do not know the nativity of
the lady. 4th. They are sent separately to any address. 5th.
The photographs of “Buffalo Bill” are sent only to persons who
forward $8 for a year’s subseription, or fifty cents for the picture,
6th. It dapends on the nature of the business and the amount of
sales, n, We cannot say...... Cecil H.—There is such an insti-
tution, but we cannot find the number or street in the directory.
We think it is on Fifth avenue.......... J. H. H.—The Remington
breach-loader sporting rifle is a favorite weapon. The others are
also highly prized by hunters. Either can be procured of any
dealer...... The following MS. has been accepted: “A Beautiful
Palle... The following will appear in a new Mammoth monthly
soon to be issued: “My Childhood Home,” ‘tA True Ghost
BGOR etc The following are respectfully declined: “My Con-

 

fession,” “Buffalo Bill,” “Saved by an Alligater,” “‘Afcet Me, Dar-
ling,” “The Dream,”? f

 

 

LESSONS IN PHONOGRAPHY.
By James E. Munson,
AUTHOR. OF PHONOGRAPHIC WORKS.

LESSON VI.

In the five lessons already given, the learner has been
taught how to write correctly in Phonography all words
containing but a single consonant sound. :

By way of review it may be well to restate the chief
points that have to be considered in so writing a word.
You first determine what is the consonant stem to be
used, then the sound and place of the vowel, then the po-
sition of the stem, (which follows the position of the
vowel), and then you proceed to write. The word ve.
would be thus analyzed and written: Consonant-stem,
Bay;, vowel-sound e third-place; the stem Bay in third
position, with third place heavy dot placed after it.

WORDS OF MORE THAN ONE STEM.

When a word has more than one consonant-stem, all of
the stems should be written without taking off the pen,
and before writing any of the vowel-signs.

Such combinations of consonant signs are called the
“outlines” or ‘skeletons’? of words. .

RULE FOR WRITING VOWEL-SIGNS BETWEEN STEMS.

The signs of vowels occurring between stems are writ-
ten according to the following rule:

I. All first-place and all long second-place vowels are
written to the first stem.

II. All short second-place and ali third-place vowels are
written to the second stem. —

Thus, ifany one of the vowels ah, at, aw, ot, I, OI, OW,
a and o occurred between tio stems, the sign would be
written to the fist stem. But if any one of the vowels
et, ut, e, it, 00, oot and EW occurred between two stems,
the sign would be written to tlie second stem. 3

For illustrations of the first part of the foregoing rule
see in the reading lesson the words balm, back, talk,
Sop, Mike, bake, joke; and of the second part of the rnie,
the words peck, duck, team, fib, hook, cube.

POSITIONS OF WORDS OF MORE THAN ONE STEM.

It is of the utmost importance that the learner write all
word-outlines in their proper position from the very
start.

As ig the case with words of one stem, the position that
a@ word of more than one stem shali occupy is indicated
by the position of its vowel; or, if there be more than one
vowel, by the position of its accented vowel.

With respect to writing words of more than one stem
in position, their outlines may be divided into three
classes, as follows: , ‘

First—Outlines commencing with upright or slanting
stems; thus: Tay-Kay, Chay-Pay, Ray-Pay, Lay-Bay-May.

Second—Outlines containing only horizontal stems;
thus: Kay-May, Nay-Kay, Hay-Gay. =

Third—Outlines commencing with horizontal followed
by upright or slanting stems; thus: Kay-Pay, Nay-Ohay,
Kay-Bay-Jay.

RULE FOR POSITION. 5

Any outline of the first and second classes given above
is written in a given position when its first stem 1s
placed in that position, in accordance with the rule for
position of single stems; that is, the jist stem marks the
position of the outline.

In writing outlines of the third class, the initial hori-
zontal should be written higher or lower, as the case may
be, so as to allow the first upright or slanting stem to be
in the required position; that is, the srst upright or
slanting stem, and not the initial horizontal, marks the
position of the word.

[Note.—This rule for the position of outlines of the
third class should be thoroughly mastered, as those out-
lines are the only ones likely to trouble the learner at
all.] ‘

The process and order in writing a word phonographi-
Cally are as foliows: Determine mentally—first, the entire
outline of the consonant stems; second. the sound of the
vowel, or of the accented vowel, if there is more than one;
and, third, the place, whether first, second or third, ofsuch
vowel. Then write the outline in the position indicated
by the place of that vowel; and, lasily, write in the
vowel-signs.

has determined mentally upon the outline, to write it
temporarily upon other paper, without regard to the rul-
ing; and then, when he has ascertained its position, re-
write it in position. :

The hint given in a previous lesson, that there are as
many syllables as distinct vowels or vowel-signs, is also
very valuable to the learner in reading and writing words
of more than one stem. For instance, the word duke
Contains three stems, but it is pronounced in one syllable,
because there is but one vowel. :

READING EXERCISE VL

nw cage ame ana nee

eS scree A
: ee ‘ — . ere
Se momma). ee RN Pee
Ce fA accents

UO

WRITING EXEROISE VI. °

Pack, peck, pick, back, bake, balm, tame, team, duck,
chum, fop, fib, fame, talk, take, check, joke.

Came, calm, comb, gang, gum, knack, neck, nag, Mike,
mug, hawk, hook, hag.

Cap, cape, keep, cube, catch, coach, knob, inch, enjoy,
academy, Canada.

 

 

 

 

Onward & Upward!

STILL SHE RISES!

Over 300,000 Circulation i

Frequently during the past year we have met
friends who in the course of conversation have
thrown up their hands in surprise and ejaculated an
emphatic “Is it possible!” when we have asserted
that our circulation exceeded three hundred thou-
sand copies. They did not want to say that they
doubted our word, these good-natured friends of
ours. That would have been ungentlemanly. But
there is a way of implying doubt by gesture as well
as by articulation, and so to satisfy the skeptical we
have concluded to publish the following certificate
from the President of the American News Co.:

THE AMERICAN NEWS Pe
NEw YORK, March 27, 1872.
To Whom it may Concern:

The sales by the American News Company of the NEw
YORK WEEKLY (STREET & SMITH) of the issue dated
April 8th, 1872, were Three Efundred Thousand,
Four Hundred and Eighty Copies!

SINCLAIR TOUSEY, President Ainerican News Co.

We have also received the following certificate
from the Superintendent of the American News
Company:

THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,
115, 117, 119 and 121 Nassau gtrect,}

SUPERINTENDENT'S OFFICE, March 27, 1872.
MESSRS. STREET & SMITH—Gentlemen: I see by the
report of our bookkeeper this morning, that we are to
pay you this week for over three hundred thousand
(300,000) copies of your paper. Permit me to con-
gratulate you on your success. The dear people for whom
you cater are like Oliver Twist, crying, ‘‘Please, sirs, give

us more.”? Yours, truly,
PATRICK FARRELLY, Supt.

Any one who doubts the authenticity of the above
information may secure direct proof of the fact that
the circulation of the New York WEEKLY is now over
300,006 copies, by applying to any of the members
of the American News Company, whose names we
annex:

SINCLAIR TOUSEY.
P. FARRELLY. S. W. JOHNSON.
HENRY DEXTER. JOHN HAMILTON.

Similar evidence will be cheerfully given by any

News Agent in the United States.

GEORGE DEXTER.

 

 

 

 

s
In his early practice the learner will do well, when he

 

 

 

 

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x Sh ee me

 

“BUEFALO BILL.”

BY JOHN H. WEAVER.

 

A stalwart form, an eagle eye,
Silien Jocks that dangle in curls,
With features keen, and forehead high—-
Face as sweet as a prairie girl’s;
Heart ag brave as a heart could be,
Skilled as a scout, second to none,
Known from the great Yosemite
To where Niagara’s waters ran.

Out on the Plains astride his steed,

And heedless of the shrill war-whoep,
‘He fearless rides in times of need,

Where red men in their wigwams group:
A Bonaparte among the Alps

No greater dangers braved than he,
And savage minds, in search of scatps,

Most quickly from his pathway flee,
Despite the red-man’s cunning ways

He trails him through the pathless wood,
Where streams are bright with golden rays,

Or where the bluffs rise steep and rude;
And on his rifie he relies,

Together with his trusty blade,
The rude red-man to civilize

And drive him from his thieving trade.

The neighing of old “Powder Face
The clatter of his horny hoofs
Bring comfort to 2 Hardy race
Beneath the lonely cabin roofs,
“King of the Border Men” is he!
The title he so well maintains
In scouting with dexterity,
Or darting swiftly o’er the Piains.

When “Powder Face’ begins to snort,
And raise his head high in the air,
The signals are enough—in short—
Foemen or game are lurking there;
iis sides are tickled then with spurs,
The reins are drawn with wondrous skill,
By him who conquers conquerors—
Brave and fearless “Buffalo Bill.”

Stella's Ambition;
pe ORE at
THE THREE PASSIONS.

 

By the Author of Sweet Eglantine.

{‘Stelia’s Ambition,” was commenced in No. 34 Back Nos,
Gin be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER IX.

‘On the day following the events related in the last
chapter, there wasa report in Deal that Mr. Cecil
Ives and his cousin, Sir Harry Daubarn, had gone
out in the steamboat “‘Ariel,” belonging to the for-
mer, and that a collision had occurred between the
steamer and the fishing boat, the latter being cut in
a half and sent to the bottom, while one of its. occu-
pants, Walter Tottenham, was drowned; the other,
Dalton, being luckily saved. .

This account, though varying according to the
fancy of the narrator, was substantially the same in
all cases. That Walter was drowned no one doubted,
and the Clock House was literally crammed all day
long, by persons eager to hear the details of the ac-
cident from the pilot’s own lips.

He entirely exculpated Mr. Ives from blame, and
stated that Walter had takena wrong course. His
grief for the loss of his young friend, as he called
him, was painful to witness, and every one gave him
credit for possessing a sensitive heart, which beat
with generosity beneath his rugged exterior.

There was one person in the town who heard this
news with bated breath and an indescribable thrill,
for she knew that the terrible words of Mr. Ives had
been fulfilled, and that she was indeed a widow—her
married life had been so short as to resemble a
dream. Scarcely had she passed an hour in her
husband’s company and Anthony came to tell her
that he was dead.

Every search was made for the body of the un-
happy young man, but without avail; no trace was
found, and it was supposed that it had been carried
out tosea. The boundless ocean—that ocean he had
@oved so well, was his grave. Stella was pleased
that the sea would not give up its victim, as she was
saved the painful necessity of attending his funeral.

She waited with impatience all the morning for
the visit which she knew Cecil Ives would pay her.
If Walter had been less scrupulous he would have
been alive then. Cecil had not hesitated to commit
a crime, and his reward was the hand of Stella and
Satie of obtaining the thousands of Solomon

2.

The afternoon came, and Stella paced a shaded
waik in her little garden, impatiently expecting the
man whom she had, with fiendish cruelty and cun-
ning, made her dupe and tool.

In the shop her mother was busy in attending to
her customers, selling small articles and stamping
— be ready for the carrier when he called for
them.

Stella was feverishly anxious; she knew that she
was.the aceomplice in a detestible crime, of the facts
attending which she wanted to be enlightened.
Dalton she had geen in the early part of the morn-
ing, for a minute only, and he had whispered in her
ear, ‘He is dead!” and that was all.

AS she stood in the shop, pretending to be busy
behind the counter, she heard the gossips of the
place drop in to make some small purchases and re-
tail their news to Mrs. Ebury. It was there she
gleaned meager particulars respecting the tragedy
at sea; but of foul play no one had any suspicion.

At length the garden-gate opened, and Mr. Ives

 

entered. Stella retreated into the summer-house,

where she would be free from interruption or obser-
vation from the windows of the adjacent houses, and
Cecil followed her. Since, their last interview it was
for her to command and for him to obey.

‘Tell me all,” she said, repulsing him with her
hand as he approached to kiss her, and speaking in
a hoarse voice.

He looked nervously around him, and, in 2 low
tone, informed her of all that had happened, adding,
as he concluded his recital:

“Tt was Harry’s hand that struck him down, not

. mine, though the plot originated with me and Dal-

ton. I have not the man’s blood on my hands.”

“Tt matters little how or by whom-the deed was
done,” replied Stella; ‘alll want to be sure of is
that there is no chance or possibility of his return-
ing, as he did on the first occasion when his life was
attempted!”

“J will answer for that,” rejoined Cecil, with a
grim smile, .

“Then, taking the past as accomplished, let us
quit a disagreeable subject forever, and talk over
our future prospects,” said Stella, in a decided tone.

“With all my heart,” he exclaimed.

“T fear, Cecil,” she continued, “that you will think
me a terrible woman of business, and not so lovable
a3 when you first looked upon me with the eyes of
love; but this isa time for action. We may not be
idle, for inactivity at this time may lose us all.”

“That is true, and, it being my turn to speak, let
me ask you when you will make me the happiest of
men; tell me, dearest Stella, when I may call you
mine?”

His voice trembled with emotion, and it was evi-
dent that all his old affection, for her, which had
lain dormant tor nearly twe years. had cropped up
to the surface again and come out like a vigorous
flower in full bloom.

They were sitting side by side in the arbor, con-
cealed from view by the creeping eglantine and the
fragrant honeysuckle. He had grasped her soft,
white hand, which he pressed tenderly between his
own manly palms, looking up lovingly in her face
meenwhile,

“We will go to London to-morrow, you, I, and
Dalton, and be married before the registrar, which:
is, [have heard, an expeditious process,” ‘rejoined
Stella.” “If we remain here our wedding will be the
talk of the town, so let us go away.”

“7 am ontirely in your hands,” Cecil Ives sald;
“anything you suggest I am perfectly willing to
agree to.” a

While they were talking they were joined by Dal-
ton, and a long conversation ensued, the result of
which was that all three should go to the metropo-
lis, concealing their destination from every one,
even Mrs. Ebury, to whom Stella was to write when
the marriage had taken place.

in spite of the instinctive delicacy which had hith-
erto kept him silent, Mr. Ives could not refrain from
alluding to the order to receive Solomon Tulse’s
money which Stella had received from Walter in
such a confiding manner, and which trust. she, trait-
ress that she was, had so infamously betrayed, in-
stead of holding it sacred asshe should have done.

Dalton being present, she did not hesitate to show
her lover the order, which satisfied him as to its ex-
jstence, and he did not doubt its genuiness; but
Stella declared that she would make no effort to go

 

been solemnized, :

Of course the hope of possessing so large a fortune
was the main inducement. for Cecil Ives to marry
Stella, and both she and the pilot knew this very
well, but he exclaimed:

‘YT will not oppose you in anything, my darling,
because I do not marry you for the sake of the
money. If that did not exist, I have a handsome in-
come of my own which is quite sufficient to enable
us to live in comfort, ifnot in splendor. Come what
may, you shall not say I am mercenary.”

“A preity woman, Cecil,” she rejoined, smiling,
“is never the worse for a good dowry, and a large
fortune has often made the ugliest obtain a husband.
This is no reflection upon you, however, and you
must forgive me for talking of the fortune, for where
the treasure is there will the heart be also.”

The journey to London was undertaken as ar-
ranged, the little party of three stopping at a hotel,
Stella representing Dalton as her father and Mr.
Ives as the gentleman to whom she was engaged to
be married.

A certain residence in town was necessary before
the marriage could take place at the registrar’s
office, and this term was spent in seeking amuse-
ment. :

Stella had never been to London before; she was
consequently moving in a new world as it were.
Bverything had the charm of novelty, which to a
woman is intensely captivating. The various public
buildings and sights of London were exhausted in
the daytime, while the evening brought with it the
hour at which the theaters opened, and not one day
or evening did she spend quietly at her hotel.

At length they were married.

Stella Ebury became Cecil Ives’s wife according
to the law of the land. Callous as she was she could
not help thinking of the only former occasion on
which she had heard the solemn words of-the recital.
Then Walter was standing by her side, gazing upon
her lovingly. Now Mr. Ives looked upon her with
admiration rather than with love, and she had the
painful consciousness that there was an interested
motive in what he was doing.

“Now, darling, you are mine forever!” whispered

Cecil, as he led her from the registrar’s office in
which the ceremony had taken place.
- “Now for the fortune which I bring you, and for
which you have married me, Cecil Ives,” she an-
swered in a hard, cold voice, so different from that
of a young, tender-hearted and blushing bride.
“Now for the hidden thousands of Solomon Tulse!”

He smiled faintly, and his cheek brightened witha
flush of pleasure and expectation, somewhat similar
to that which illumined her own ordinarily pale face.

They got into a hired brougham and drove, as was
arranged previously, to the office in which was to be
found the secretary of the company in whose funds
Solomon Tulse had years before invested the money
he had with much labor and foresight amassed in
India. Heaven only knew how hard he had worked
in his young days to accumulate the thousands which
it was, after his death, the highest object of Stella’s
ambition to obtain.

Leaning back upon the dingy cushions of the car-
riage, Stella looked up in her husband’s face. Dal-
ton was on the box with the coachman, and conscious
only of the succéss of his scheme so far. They—the
conspirators, the murderers of Walter—were on their
way to-claim the reward of their villany: _

“We are man and wife now, Cecil!” Stella ex-
claimed, adding, with a wild laugh: ‘‘Are you not
proud of the alliance you have made? You ought to
be, for lam an heiress. I have brought you a for-
tune, which even in this rich city would be consider-
ed enormous, and if I have no family to boast of, the

}money should compensate you.”

“tam very happy when I think that you have
called into existence and given new life to the feel-
ing of love with which you first inspired me two
years ago,” replied Cecil Ives; ‘‘and if you were the
poorest of the poor I could only love you as I do
now.”

“That is hypocrisy, Cecil—you know it is,” rejoin-
ed Stella. “Our union was a mere commercial trans-
action. You bought me as simply as an article is
bought and sold over the counter ofa shop. If you
love me, so much the worse for you. I loved you
once, but your insults killed that passion long ago
and every time your lips meet mine in a kiss I shal
think of the time when I pined for your kindness
and would have given worlds for one syllable. of af-
fection. That’s past and gone. In me you have the
heartless woman of the world, and yet not heartless,
for in my heart I shrine the treasure which we are
going to enjoy together in our several ways. My
soul trembles with a wild joy, for I shall be a queen
of society. You are a gentleman of family and posi-
tion, and as your wife I am admissible anywhere,
even in the highest circles. I will be presented at
court; ladies of rank shall envy me my diamonds,
the beauty of my dress, and the splendor of my car-
riage; all London and Paris shall ring with my name;
I will lead-the fashion—yes, where I ge@ the fiower o
the English aristocracy shall be pleased to follow
like a flock of sheep!” e

She became quite eloquent while she spoke, and
Cecilregarded her wonderingly, as she had not
deigned before to open her mind to him to such an
extent as she had then done.

“Will the achievement of all that you have been
describing make you happy ?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. It is the passion of my life !” she said.

“T had dreamt of something very different,” Cecil
Ives said, with a sigh. ‘tA house inthe country, a
life of comparative seclusion, where we might live
for one another and not for the society you admire
so much.” —

“No,” answered Stella, with a shake of the heads;
“JT was never madé to live like a love-bird in a cage.”

The carriage stopped in the center of the busy city.
Crowds of men were thronging the pavement and
hurrying to and. fro, absorbed with their own
thoughts and their several occupations, __

No one would have thought from their appearance
or attire that the plainly dressed lady and gentleman
who stepped out of the dingy brougham had been
married but an hour before. There was not even a
bouquet or a white favor to indicate that anything
of the sort had taken place, and the black silk dress
which Stella wore was oneshe had worn at Deal part
of the spring and all the summer, until critical eyes
would have pronouncedit shabby. Both of them had
an essentially business-like air, and it was clear that
they did not come into the city for pleasure.

Dalton opened the door of the brougham and hand-
ed Stella out, watching her go up the steps of the old
house by the side of her husband, whose arm she dis-
dained to take. -She had the heart of a lion, and was
strong enough. The passage was dark, and it was
nearly half a minute before ‘her eyes, dazzled by the
blaze of the midday sun, could accustom themselves
to the dim light of the hall and corridors of the old
house. -

Seeing ‘‘Secretary’s ofiice” written over a door, in
paint which had once been white, her heart gave a
bound, and she pushed the dooropen. Cecil followed
her as if he had no will of his own, and was obliged
to acknowledge her as the guiding spirit, which in

reality she was.
CHAPTER X.

Finding herself in a room in which several clerks
were writing, Stella addressed herself to one and
made certain inquiries, which brought her the infor-
mation that the secretary of the company was disen-
gaged and would see her husband and herself.

The secretary sat at a table in a plainly furnished
room, with piles of books and papers before him. On
the walls were maps of India, and bookcases filled
with volumes relating to that distant land, so fertile
in romance.

He was a little gray-headed man, probably sixty
years of age, whose tanned complexion and dry,
wrinkled face showed that he had been exposed to
the force of an Asiatic sun.

“In what way can I serve you, madame ?” inquired
this gentleman, rising, and politely placing a chair
at her disposal. : :

‘Mr. Ives, my husband,” she answered, “‘is a rela-
tion of a gentleman lately deceased, who resided at
Sea View, near Deal. Pardon me if I am somewhat
prolix, but I must enter into detail in order to make
myself understood. The gentleman of whom I speak
was named Solomon Tulse, and he had in years gone
by been a large holder of your stock.”

‘He was so at his death,” said the secretary, who,
at the mention of a familiar name, seemed to take an
interest in his visitors which he had not exhibited
before.

“You have heard of the melancholy event ?” ob-
served Stella, with an inwazd tremor for which she
could not account.

“T was duly advised of it,” was the answer,

‘Well, to go on with my story,” continued Stella,
“Mr. Tulse has made my husband his heir—that is to
say, he has given him an ordersupon you which en-
titles him to receive the money you have in your
hands, the exact amount of which I should like to
know, if I am not troubling you too much.”

The secretary opened a heavy, vetlum-covered
book, held together by iron clasps, with a lock and
a little key in the center. This was full of figures,
and, consulting a particular page, he said:

“The amount now standing in the name of Solo-
man Tulse isno less than four hundred and ninety-

seven thousand some odd pounds, which is yery little
short of halfa million of money.”

“Thank you,” replied Stella. ‘‘Now I will show
you the order.” |

She took a purse'from her pocket, ana, opening it,
displayed the order which Walter had confided to her
care, spread it out on the table before her, and read
in a voice that, in spite of her admirable self-com-
mand, trembled with uncontrollable emotion:

‘¢ ‘Pay to the bearer atsight all the money standing
to my credit, after sale at price-current, of stock held
by me in shares of the Honorabie East India Compa-
ny. To the secretary. Signed: Soloman Tulse.’
That is perfectly formal, I believe,’ she said, when
she concluded,

“Perfectly,” replied the secretary.

‘And you have no objection to pay upon it ?”

“T should have had none if——_” :

“TFL repeated Stella, in atone of alarm, allied to
terror, while her face became as white as a sheet,
and her limbs trembled asif she were suddenly strick-
en with the palsy. alti

Her agitation was shared by Cecii Ives, who up to
this time had been a silent, though deeply interested
listener.

“You cannot dispute the validity of that document,

sir!” he exclaimed, feeling it incumbent upon him to
say something.
‘“T have no wish or inclination to do anything of
the sort, Mr. Ives,” replied the secretary. ‘tI was
about to explain myself when your good lady inter-
rupted me. The order is perfectly valid, but, unfor-
tunately, Iam unable to give you the money.”

At this announcement the mortification, disap-
pointment and rage of Stella culminated. She could
not speak; all she could do was to sit still and, glare
savagely at the secretary, while she clenched her
fists, driving the nails in the soft flesh of her hands,

unconscious of the pain she was involuntarily inflict-

ing on herself,

‘Your reason ?” demanded Cecil Ives. '

“On the evening before his death, Mr. Solomon
Tulse wrote to me, the letter being brought by a lad
who said his name was Chickton, and who was em-
ployed at Sea View. I daresay you know him——”

“Yes, go on!” replied. Cecil, hoarsely.

‘Mr. Tulse in his. letter gave me strict instructions
not to pay the order which you have brought with
you until the lapse ef ten years.” .

‘Ten years! echoed Stella, in a sepulchral tone.

“That's the period he fixed; and he further said
that he had signed two orders tor the payment of
the money, one having gone out to India, and being
dated prior to the one in England, and he enjoined
me only to pay on the production of both orders si-
multaneously in ten years’ time. Have I made my-
self intelligible?”

He looked from one to the other to see the effect
of his speech. Mr. Ives was prostrated, but Stella,
being made of sterner metal, was able to recover
herself, though her heart was devoured with rage.

“The arrangement is very extraordinary!” she ex-
claimed, ‘tand I cannot imagine Mr. Tulse’s reason for
acting in so singular a manner. You, however, have
only to obey your instructions, and we must wait for
the promised inheritance.”

“T cannot advise you, madame. You are the best
judge of the course you ought to pursue under the
circumstances,” replied the secretary, coldly.

“Have you the letter in which Mr. Tulse’s latest
commands was brought to you?” she inquired; ‘‘and
ifso, will you allow me to look at it?”

“Yam sorry I cannot comply with your request,”
he answered. ‘It’s contrary to our custom to ex-
pose important documents, though your solicitor
shall have every facility for investigation, if he will
callupon me. The facts are as I have had the hon-
or to state to you. In ten years’ time any person
presenting the two orders at this office, will receive
the half-million of money, with the accumulated in-
terest, either from me or my successor, should I not
be alive.” : .

“Any person?” i.

“Certainly. We pay upon the orders not accord-
ing to the appearance or the station in life ef the
person applying for payment. Those orders are like
a check ona bank. Is there anything else I can do
for you?”

“Nothing. Allow me to thank you for your cour-
tesy. I will send my solicitor, as you suggest. His
visit will be merely formal, but it is as well to have
ete matter of business conducted with strict regu-

arity. ‘ ‘

“Certainly.” ;

The secretary bowed, and opened the door for
them to pass out, whith they did at once. The
clerk in the .outer office looked wonderingly at the
pale and haggard woman who hung upon her hus-
band’s arm with a convulsive tremulousness, her
fortitude giving way, now that all was over and she
could fully realize the force of the crushing blow
she had received: It was scarcely credible that she
could have become so changed in those few fleeting
minutes. She had entered the office full of hepe
and confidence, she left it broken down and crushed
to the earth.

No word was spoken by either of them, as they
retraced their steps to the carriage, at the door of
which Dalton was standing. Stella requested to be
lifted in. :

‘What is the matter?” inquired Dalton, terrified.

“Teli the. man to drive to our hotel. Get inside
with us and you.shall hear all,” answered Cecil.

Dalton did -as he was ordered, and when he was
sitting down, facing Stella and Cecil, who supported
her with one arm round her waist, while her head
lay on his shoulders. Her luxurious hair escaped
from its fastenings and flowed in wild confusion over
her shoulders, and waving over her face, scattered
the bitter tears which fell from her eyes,

“Now, what is it?” cried Dalton, eagerly. ‘Not
the money? There’s nothing wrong; po hitch—for
Heaven's sake, don’t say there’s any hitch about the
money!” :

“There is, though, my friend,” answered Cecil
Ives; and he explained what had passed between
them and the secretary.

“What's to be done?” exclaimed Dalton, as crest-
fallen as either of his confederates. ‘Stella! why
don’t you speak?”

“Oh! don’t talk to me now,” she answered; ‘my
head swims! [ shall go mad iffam worried. Let
me get home—let me have peace, and when I can
think Twill tell you what’s to be done.”

She relapsed into the former condition of listless
apathy.

“Phere is but one thing to be done, and that is,
wait,” remarked Ceeil Ives, who was more of a phil-
osopher than his wife in those trying moments. '*We
must bide our time. Ten years is a long time, but
even ten years must glide away.”

‘*it seems to me that old Tulse must have fancied
Walter was dead when Ponder and Ellis caused his
fall over the cliff; that is what made him send Chick-
ton to London with the letter; and it is my opinion
that he gave the lad money, and instructed him to
seek for this son in India, to whom the first order
was evidently sent. Our chance of getting the
money is small indeed.”

“Is it?” exclaimed Stella, sitting upright, with
the air of a dead thing galvanized into life. ‘I
swear by allI hold dear, that I will never give up
the chase after the treasure. I will work and slave
to get it till my hair grows gray. Iwill leave no
stone unturned—I will halt at no means whatever
infamous. You do not know me, if you think that I
will abandon my cherished scheme, because I have
met with a cheek. Never, never, never!”

She spoke with such emphasis and decision, that

both men regarded her with admiration; but the en-

ergy she displayed was transitory—it was like the
flickering of a flame which is on the point of being
extinguished. When she ceased speaking, the light
died out of her eyes, her hands fell powerless by her
side, and she lay huddled up in a corner of the car-
riage like one in a faint.

“J shall go back to Deal, and work for my living,
as I. did before,” said Dalton. ‘‘In ten years’ time
you may see mein London. Whatever happens, of
course the secret is safe with me. No one will ever
know how Walter came to his death, or why he was
wanted out of the way.”

‘As for me,” remarked Cecil Ives, ‘during the ten
years which has to elapse before there is any chance
of Stella’s ambition being gratified, I will try te make
her love me.”

‘Love you!’ repeated Dalton, in a scornful tone;
‘as well might you expect tenderness from a cobra,
or warmth from a stone.”

A hard, cold smile played around the corners of
Stella’s mouth. She had heard their words, and
she approved them. Cecil Ives noticed this chilling
smile, and his heart fell within him, for he began
to see that he had married one who was pitiless as a

demon,
CHAPTER XI.

Ten years after the visit of Stella and her husband
to the office in the city, where such a severe disap-
pointment awaited them, had, with the exception of
a few weeks, elapsed.

It was again the joyful summer-time. London was
full, and its weary citizens sought the shaded side
of the way, so that one side of the busy Strand was
nearly deserted, while the other was crowded with
people, who pushed, and etbowed, and jolted each

 

other.

       

This being the case, it struck the observer as re-
markable that a tall, handsome man, about five or
six-and-twenty years of age. should by choice take
the hot side of the street and walk unconcernedly.
along, as if the sun of an English summer was so

ation.

Aman, who looked very much like a servant out
of place, was lounging, with his hands in his trow-
sers pockets, at the top of Arundel street, that side
of the Strand being the sunny one, and he, red in
the face with heat, was grateful for the shelter
which a projecting doorway gave him. When the
young man stopped to look in a shop window, he
caught sight of his face, and was apparently struck
with a remarkable likeness to some one he had
known, for he exclaimed: o

“Well, I never did! If the face isn’t as like as two
peas, only, of course, he’s bigger.”

“What's that you say?” said the young man, turn-
ing sharply round, and adding almost immediately:
‘You are right. I’m bigger, but there is enough
of what I was left to enable you to call me
to mind; for, altered as you’re become in ten years,
I can recognize Snarsby, the coachman at Sea
View.” .;

“I knew it was you—I knew it was old Tulse’s
lad,” cried the lounger, extracting his hands from
his pockets and seizing both of the other’s, which he
shook and squeezed by turns.. ‘‘They said you were
dead, but I never believed it; and where have you
been all this time?”

“That’s a long story, which, however, I shall be
glad to tell you,if we can get out of thissun. I
have only just returned from India, having arrived
at Southampton last night. The sun is a good thing
which it is possible to have too much of.”

*Come to my house—it’s only a few doers down,”
replied Snarsby. ‘You must know that old Tulse
left us all a handsome legacy, and it wa$ because
you did. not claim yours that they said you were
dead. I- married: Martha, who lived as cook at Sea
View. You remember Martha—of course you do.
Many a bit of cold meat and a hunch of bread has
she given you. You’ve a right to remember her.
Well. we went and got married, and, clubbing our
money together, bought a hotel in this street—‘The
British 4nd Foreign’ it’s called, and if you haven’t a
fancy for where you're stopping, you may as well
give usacall. We're clean, comfortable, and cheap.
The three C’s the missus calls it—her ideas were
always a little above mine. I wanted a public-house,
but she set her face against it; it was low, she said,
and so we went into the hotel line. But, I say,
what a fine, tall, handsome fellow you’ve turned
out—quite a gentleman, too, dressed as such, with
rings and watch-chain. Let’s have another look at

ou.”

Chickton smiled, and presently they stopped in
front of a quiet-looking house, the outer door of
which stood open, leaving a carpeted space leading
to a green baize door, with a fan-light, on which was
written, in brass letters, ‘‘Snarsby’s British and
Foreign Hotel, for Families and Gentlemen.”

The ex-coachman led the way into a’cool dining-
room, in which were several tables, covered with
snowy vhite table-clothes, at some of which cus-
tomers were dining, two waiters in irreproachable
white ties attending to their wants.

‘Come and sit down here, my boy,” exclaimed
Snarsby, indicating a quiet corner. ‘‘The missus is
cooking and mustn’t be disturbed. You remember
what Martha Puller’s temper was when put out, well,
Martha Snarsby’s no better.

He looked round furtively, as if he feared that
some mischievous wind would carry his words down
the shaft which communicated with the kitchen, in
the event of which happening he would not have
been surprised to see his wife coming up this par-
ticular shaft instead of the plates and dishes.

A bottle of claret and some ice was brought by a
pas and Chickton, having quenched his thirst,
said ;

“My story is simply this: Mr. Tulse had invested a
large sum of money, of which no mention was made
in his will. This sum he designed for his son, who
was born in India, and of whom we hadnever heard.
He wrote an order for this son to get the money,
and sent it out to India, having forgiven Syed—that
is his name--for offending him yearsago. He then
wrote a second order, which he gave to Walter Tot-
tenham (as we used to call him), and commissioned
him to seek out Syed and tell him of his good for-
tune, so as to make doubly sure.”

“Poor Walter!” ejaculated Snarsby.

‘Why do you say that? Is he not——?”

“Dead, sir, dead!” rejoined the ex-coachman, with
a melancholy shake of the head. *tHe was out in a
boat with Dalton, the pilot, and Mr. Cecil Ives’s
steam launch, the ‘Ariel,’ ran them down. . Walter
was drowned, and, the pilot saved. That was the
very day of Mr. Tulse’s death.” :

‘So he’sgreally dead!” exclaimed Chickton, in a
tone of commisseration.. ‘‘The second attempt was
successful; the first attempt—which yon knew noth-
ing of—failed (though its failure was not owing to
any want of determination on the part of Ponder
and Ellis. I heard of his miraculous escape from a
sailor, who saw him in the morning). Well, I was
telling you about the orders. ‘There is no doubt that
Walter was killed, for the one which he had in-
trusted to him, and Mr. Tulse thought, the night I
went away to London, that it would be wise to tell
the secretary of the company where the money is, not
to pay for ten years, and then only on presentation
of both orders together.”

“Capital !” exclaimed Snarsby, rubbing his hands. |
‘‘J.can see now why Mr. Ives married Stella Ebury.
It came out through her mother talking that she
had been married to Walter in Jersey. From him
‘she got the order of which you speak, and Cecil Ives
married her for the money.”

“Oh! that’s news!” observed Chickton. ‘Those
are the people to fear. That they have given up all
idea of getting the money I do not believe for a
moment, but, while [live and have my wits about
me, they shall not have a penny.”

“That's right; I like your spirit!” exclaimed
Snarsby, “though you have not told me about the

son.

“I went to India in search of him, hearing at Cal-
cutta that he had left that city to go to England a
month previously, and Mr, Tulse’s letter was at his
late house. I-took it, and, as it. contained the first
order, that important document is now in my pos-
session. Syed was a married man. The ship which
contained his wife, his son—aged eleven years—and
himself was wrecked. The wife and child were
saved, and landed at Southampton. That I know,
but I have lost all trace of them. The father might
have been thrown onthe African coast; that is a
matter of conjecture. At all events, [am trying to
find, not the son, but the grandson of Solomon Tulse,
our old master.”

‘If you succeed will he get the money ?”

‘Undoubtedly. Our arrangement about the two
orders was to prevent the enemy obtaining the
treasure, but the company have promised to pay the
order I hold if Ican produce either the son or the
grandson of Solomon Tulse, they being alone en-
titled to it.”

“I wish you every success, I am sure!” exclaimed
Snarsby, “and if there is anything I can do for you
name it, and itisas good as done. You shall stay
in the house, and pay no rent, and——”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Chickton an-
swered, with a smile; ‘‘fortune has smiled on my
efforts, and Iam now pretty well off. When in Cal-
cutta I entered a merchant’s office, worked hard,
and when my employer retired from business he
gave me a handsome sum of money, with which I
speculated on my own account. I have left a flou-
rishing business in India to look after Solomon
Tulse’s grandchild, because I swore to him—dying as
he was—that none but his own flesh and blood
should have the inheritance.”

“You will find the grandchild,” said Snarsby, who
was of a sanguine temperament; ‘I feel sure of it!
Have some more wine—it’s quite like old times to
sit chatting like this.” :

“Nothing more, thank you. I must go to my
agents in the city, and by sunset I will arrive with
my luggage, family, and attendant.”

‘Family ?”? remarked Snarsby; ‘‘you don’t mean
to say you are married and have a family ?”

“There is no reason why such a thing should not
be an actual fact, but I am not a married man,
though I have adopted—under peculiar circum-
stances, which you shall some day hear—the pret-
tiest darling you ever saw. Amine is my pet; you
shall make the young lady’s acquaintance, when I
am sure you will be as fond of herasIam. My at-
tendant is a tall, strapping fellow from upper India
—-a Sikh. I saved his life, and he is devoted to me.
I know he would give his own'for meat any moment
I demanded it. His name is Chowdar; he is body-
guard, and the chief business of his existence is to
wait upon Amine, on whom he dotes as much as I.
You see you will have to find us an extensive suite
of apartments.”

_ “We can do it, sir!—the resources of the estab-
lishment are not limited; we shall make you com-
fortable, and I hope the freedom with which I have
spoken to you has given you no offense,” said
Snarsby. ‘

 

 

ee 2

India entitles me to with you I am always the stable--
lad at Sea View, who used to ride the mule into
Deal for the letters, and help you groom the horses,”
answered Chickton, kindly. - ;
They shook hands once more, and Chickton de-

trifling a matter as not to be worthy of his consider- (parted, leaving the ex-coachman wiping a tear out

of his eye, and saying to himself:

‘‘He’s come back to find out the heir to the money
—what a fine fellow!—and he’ll do it. too; he’ll never
let the Ives lot get the treasure. The blessing of
Heaven will go with him!  He’s just the man for the
work, and I can tell that he will not rest until he has
fulfilled the vow he took to Solomon Tulse when the
old man was dying.”

[TO BE CONTINUED.}

The Steel Casket;

Sagi. OR ne aces

UNMASKED AT TEE MATINEE.

By Burke Brentford,
Author of “SQUIRREL OAP,’ “GOoLD-DUST
DARRELL,” ete.

 

 

 

{The Steel Gasket” was commenced in No. 26. Back num-
bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER IX.
SETTING THE SNARE.

Looking out of the window of a famous restatrant,
where he sat after a very satisfactory and expensive
meal, Captain Cranch observed an individual on the
opposite side of the way, whom he recognized as
the eccentric Tippleton.

The latter individual was standing in a disconso-
late, yet somewhat nonchalent way, with his in-
tellectual brows gathered in profound reflection, and
his hands buried deep in his breeches pockets.

Tippleton gazed up and down. the side-walk ofthe
crowded street, as if.in the-vain hope of meeting
some one who would ask him to drink. He then
thrust his hands. still deeper into his pockets, and
was sauntering away, when the captain hailed him
from his open window on the other side of the way.

Tippleton crossed the thoroughfare, and spoke to
the captain from the sidewalk. : ;

“Come in, come in,” said the captain, cheerily. .

Tempting as was the bait, the man of letters
shook his head sorrowfully.

“Can’t do it, cap?”

“Why not???

“Got a dog in there, cap.”

‘“‘What the duse is that ?”

By a variety of pantomimic exhibitions, such a6
putting his rolled-up hand to his lips, and throwing
back his head after the manner of drinking, Tipple-
ton implied that he had an old-standing debtat the
bar.

‘*Nonsense!” cried the captain, laughing. “Come
in. That dog shan’t bite you while I’m here.”

At length Tippleton straightened up his shirt-
collar, assumed the air of alion about to spring
upon his prey, and entered, nodding fatuiliarly to
the bar-keeper as he did so. 4

“Take aseat, and order something,” said his
entertainer. ‘If have just finished my dinner.”

“Give me a mugof that old Burton first, Au-
gustus,” said Tippleton, and, having received this,
he immediately ordered several of the most costly
viands onthe billof fare. —

“How is the world of journalism by this time, my
fearless knight of the quill ?” asked the captain.

“Hard work and poor pay-—just what it always
is,” replied Tippleton. ‘‘Augustus, replenish this
gleaming goblet of pure pewter.”

‘Let me see,” said the captain, pretending to re-
flect, ‘*‘what was the name of that good-looking
young fellow you introduced to me the other day ?—
I think you said you lodged in the same house with
him ?”

‘QO, that was Dickie Cranston—a very pleasant
young fellow—only a little fresh.” ;

“Rather fast, isn’t he ?”

Mr. Tippleton indulged in a fit of laughter before
proceeding to discuss the meal that was now being
set before him. ‘

‘Hast! cried he. ‘Why, the poor little squab was
never drunk fifty times in his life!”

“Still, he drinks every day, I suppose.”

“O yes, yes, a little.”

“Does he ever gamble ?”

Tippieton did not answer, but looked the other
straight in the eyes, with acurious expression on
his lips. Indeed, despite his habits, he was about
as wide-awake as the wily captain himself,

‘Hadn't yeu better bring out your catechism at
once ?” said he. “I’m afraid you can’t remember
all the questions you’ve got to ask without if.”

The other laughed.

“Do you remember that gold speculation you gave
me wind of the other night, Tippleton ?” said he.

“Perfectly.”

“T made a hundred dollars by it.”

Tippleton dropped his knife and fork, and gazed
at the other in amazement—tfor the ‘speculation’
he had put up for his friend had been the invention
of his own brain. ao.

‘No! he exclaimed.

‘Sure as you live,” said the other, drawing some
money out of his pocket. ‘And there is twenty dol-
lars—only the just percentage that is due you.”

Though still astonished, Tippleton hastily pocket-
ed the money, lest it should prove some beautiful
illusion, and presently vanish from his gaze,

“Now,” said the man of thé world, lighting a cigar,
“do be kind enough to tell me—does your friend
ever gamble?”

‘‘T do not think he does,” was the urbane response.

The captahh’s brow grew vexed, but soon cleared.

“T am going to Niblo’s to-night, and, atter the
play, intend to have supper at ——. Why can’t you
and your friend come down, and join me?”

“This is Saturday night,” said Tippleton, refiect-
ively—‘‘his usual night off. Yes, I guess theyll let
him off to-night.”

‘“Who will let him off ?”

‘His mother and sister—and very good women
they are. I had a good mother myself once. Gaugh!
that piece of meat stuck in my throat!”

‘*You will come, then?”

“Yes, I think you can depend upon us.”

“Good! I will endeavor to make everything
equally pleasant for yourself and friend.”

‘Well, captain, the cravings of the inner man ap-
peased, I shall e’en move homeward.”

Tippleton arrived at his lodgings in more than his
usual spirits, and entered Mrs. Cranston’s sitting-
room, to find it occupied by both Clara and her
mother, the gushing Richard, and the antique
Scroggs,

‘Are you going to let your brother have a holiday
to-night, Miss Cranston?” said Tippleton, gayly.
“Pve two excellent seats at Niblo’s.” oe

“Tet me!” exclaimed Richard, his cheek flushing;
Boe Clara readily appeased him by kissing him mer-
rily.

“Why, of course, you cannot go, unless I permit
you, you big baby,” she cried, laughing; ‘‘and, since
you’ve been a good boy all the week, you may go,
and just stay as long as you please. There!”

‘‘Capital!” said Tippleton; “for P’ve promised to
have supper with a celebrated dramatist immediate-
ly after the performance, and we'll have a glorious
time. I'll be down stairs in time, Dick.”

**Won’t you stop, and take tea with us this even-
ing, Mr. Tippleton?” said Clara.

ENO, thank you, I just dined with a friend. Be-
side, there’s that young theological student who’s to
deliver an original valedictory poem at the anniver-
sary exhibition of his college. I promised to let
him have one by Monday, so as he can commit it to
memory; and I'll just have time to write it before
we go to the play.” :

With these explanatory remarks, Mr. Tippleton
withdrew, and ascended the staircase to his room.

The sanctum of Mr. Thaddeus Tippleton, reporter,
base-ball reporter, musical critic, dramatic critic,
poet, romancist, and literateur at large, was roomy
and breezy, occupying nearly the entire aitic of the
dingy old house, with a small gable window at each
of three sides, and a skylight in the roaf.

The floor, which, according to his express orders
was only swept once a month, was devoid of carpet
or any covering other than the debris which littered
it. An iron bedstead in one low corner exhibited
the snowy couch whereon the poet reposed his
weary limbs. The spindle-legged little washstand
at the head of the bed threatened every moment to
go down peneath the weight of the earthenware
pitcher and basin it supported. A small rack, sus- -
pended against the highest wall there was in the
room, contained a number of volumes—mostly poems
and books of reference.

Into this temple of thé soul the owner strode with
the manner of a man who rejoiced in its posses-
sion, /

He commenced operations by throwing off his hat
and coat and kicking off his boots. He continued
them by striding across the room, taking a black
bottle from under the bedstead, and taking a long

 

 

“Certainly not. Whatever respect my position in

pull at the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
~~

f

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

er RO tanta sorte vm = gran ta

Despite his foibies, his drunkenness, his total lack of

principle, his prostitution of his every talent to meet the

“requirements of a vicious and prosaic existence, Tlpple-
ton was no ordinary. man, F

The san went down, bus still the Bohemian continued
to wiite, his cheek growing thin and haggard as the blue-
dark shadows flitted softly into the silent room, Z

A soft tap at the doer did not disturb him, and Dick
‘Cranston entered the room, With a certain awe which
always inspired him upon such occasions, for he consider-
ed the very walls to be hallowed by genius, ~~ i
- "Bhe poet drew a long breath, threw down his pen, and
laughed as he looked up at jis friend. :

“Just through, Dickie. Am Ion time?” he said.

“Yes, 1 think itisabout time we were off,”? said Dick.

The young men now guitted the house, and proceeded
to the theater, where they met Captain Cranch, who ex-
erted himself to the utmost to please young Cranston.
The supper, which he led thein to at the conclusion of the
performance, was an elegant affair. Several other gen-
tlemen, fully as fascinating as the captain, were present;
the champagne was of the first quality; and Richard was
delighted. aw

Alter supper the captain proposed a visit to a neighbor-
ing gaming saloon, to which ali assented, except Richard
Cranston, who said that he never had played ut any
game, and did notmean to,commence.

“But you can look at the game a few minutes,’ said.
the captain. ‘Gad! as for the matter of loosing any-.
thing, I fancy we're all. pretity safe. .I, for my part, |
haven’t got more than ten or twenty dollars to lose. Gad- |
sby, over there, told me he was-dead broke; and I don’t:
believe. Tippieton has got more than a small fortune. |
Come!” : Seon Cane meee
“Yes, come on, Dickie. I'll takecare of you,” said Mr.

 

Tippleton, rising to his feet, which were by this time very
unsteady beneath him. : : :
It required little persuasion to alter Richard’s determin-
ation, and, in a few moments, the party were on the}
street. tre ek j
They proceeded to the same ‘‘den” I haye already des-.

cribed. That establishment, after being “pulled,” as 16) up for

is termed in thé police vocabulary, had béen resuscitated
in the usual mamner, which is best understood by the par-.
ties concerned. GE BS aS reaet

Tippleton, now that he had rechéd 4 haven where, iquo

cost nothing, was ‘‘standing treat’) with every, body
every opportunity, introduced Richard.to the joltiest fel-.
lows in the world, explained the. ning: erything,
‘and ordered the waiters around, as, wned them...

They had been watching. the game of fara fora short
_ time; when" one of the serva ts/came Upto Captain
_ Crauéh, and handed him a note, which wasTead upon the

Spot. — ‘ seh Wet? Ae

eBy Jove, gentlemen!"? said he to Dick and Tippleton, }
“J ain compelled to leave.you for a couple of hours. Just*
got a note froma friend of mine, who has arrived by the
French steamer. Bad, too, for I was expecting to meet
here and introduce you toa particular friend of mine. I
say, Tippleton, if he comes.“during my absence, you and
your friend take care of him. He is a Gérman, Muller by
Hamme. Dressesin black, and has very black haix and eyes.
Tell him you are my friends, and he’ll jump*out of the
window to oblige you. Above all, don’t let him play cards
with any of these sports here. He can’t play worth a
cent, and always has too much money with him.”’

“O we'll—we’ll take care of the Dutchman,” said the
generous Tippleton. ‘‘We’ll ‘treat” him till he will dream
himself back to the land of limburger and sourkrout.”?

“Well, you will do as I request then, should I-not re-
turn in time,’’ said the captain.

“Oertainly, captain. But look here,’’ continued Tipple-
ton, springing after the captain as the latter was about

’ disappearing through the door. ‘‘Remember one thing,”
he said in a low, rapid voice, ‘there must not be any
job put up on my friend Dickie, here. eis a friend of
mine, and no mistake.’ ;

“Nonsense!’? exclaimed the captain angrily. “What
do you take me for?” And he tore limselfaway, and dis-
appeared. ‘

A short time thereafter, an odd-looking gentleman,
who appeared to be rendered very uncomfortable by his
surroundings, entered the lunch room.

Alter glancing in different directions, as if in quest of
some one whom he was disappointed at not finding, and
wandering about the apartment, in a curious, aimless
way, he timidly tapped Mr. Tippleton on the shoulder,
and said:

““Axcuse me once; meestar, but vill you be so goot as
to dell me'somedings I want toknow very mooch? Have
you de acquaintance of von gentlemans, Captain Granch ?””

“Oh,?? said Tippleton, ‘‘your name’s Muller, isn’t it???

“Yes, sir,’ said. the other, brightening up considerably.

“All right, Muller; give us your hand. Captain Cranci.
has stepped out on business and leit you in my charge.
Consider yourseif under my protecting wing. This is my
friend, Mr. Cranston—also a particular friend of your
friend, the captain. .Now, what’ll you drink? I don't
care for the stuff myself, only you see I’ve so many friends

that Ive got to keep up the hospitalities.’’

The odd-looking German, who was dressed in black,
and had very black eyes and very black hair, drank a
glass of sherry, and soon proved himself to bea very
agreeable gentleman.

Richard Cranston. was especially pleased with his un-
sophistication and the agreeable modesty of his manner.

At length Mr. Muller proposed to play poker with some
one. :

“How much money have you got, Dick?) whispéred
Tippleton.

“Only seven or eight dollars,’? was the reply.

“Then you play with him. Ifhe beats you, you haven’
much to lose; andinthis way wecan keep him out of
the hands of the sharps here, as we promised Cranch we
would.”

“Good? said. Richard; and ina few moments he and
the odd-looking gentleman were seated at a little side-
table deeply engaged in that most thoroughly American
of games—draw poker. :

Herr Muller, it could be easily perceived, had long since
been fascinated by the fatal allurements and illusions of
the gambler’s life. Although he played nervously, and
apparently with nothing of the cool calculation which is
the professional gamester’s strongest ally to success, he
Was soon deeply immersed in the game.

Richard had an extraordinary run of luck, and won
almost without interruption. Muller bit his lip and urged
hiim to continue playing when he desired to leave off, as
he several times proposed to do.

At length the gray of the new morning could be seen
through the chinks of the closely-shuttered apartment,
when Richard peremptorily refused to continue the game.

“You must excuse me till another time, Mr. Muller,”
said he. ‘ItisSunday morning. [have engagements
which I must keep after a few hours of sleep. Forgive me
for my extraordinary run of luck, butt couldn’t help it,
and there seems no likelihood of a change by which you
can get your revenge at present.” :

The German gentleman drew along sigh, as if greatly
disappointed. ;

“Very vell, mine friendt,’’ said he, counting the checks;
“ag you says, as you blease. Iowes you yon two hun-
dred unt fifty thaler.’? —

“So much as that?’? exclaimed Richard, his cheek
flushing with pleasure. ‘‘Yes. by Jove, you are right.”

“J don’t believe I got so much greenpacks,”’ said Herr
Muller, consulting his pocket-book.| “Isee Ihave von
draft for two hundred on de Imperial bank. I indorse
dat, vich vill make it all right, mit fifty more thaler in

-greenpacks,”?

The odd-looking gentleman went to a little desk in the
corner of the roo:n, procured the necessary materials and
made the requisite slgnature. He then bowed and pre-
sented the check andthe fifty dollars to Richard, after
which he again moved uneasily and awkwardly around
the room in search ofhis friend, the captain, who had not
yet turned up. ‘

“Was ever such luck in the world?” exclaimed Rich-
ard to himself, as he secured the money and consulted
the check. ‘Hallo! why the draft is made.on my Uncle
David. Whataremarkable coincidence. But then Tip-
pleton told me that the captain was quite thick with my
worthy relative; why shouldn’t the captain’s friend be
intimate also. The whole document is square too. By
Jove, I will astonish the old skinflint by drawing the face
of this draught on Monday morning.” ,

He ran to communicate his piece of good fortune to his
‘friend, Tippleton, who: was more than slightly inebriated
by this time.

<“Oapital!”? he exclaimed, when Richard acquainted him

| with the result of his game. ‘Ha! ha! ha! It’s a good
joke on the captain, isn’t it? Weve kept his friend away
from thé sharps in order to pluck him ourselves. But I
say, Dickie; my boy, you haven’t got a sawbuck or so to
spare, have you? To-day’s Sunday, and I forgot to col-
lect my accounts yesterday.’

“Certainly,” said Richard, smiling, and giving his
friend twenty dollars. :

“Now for Herr Muller,’ cried Tippleton, who received
the money as if he was doing his friend a particular favor
in accepting it. ‘‘The poor feliow must {cel bad over his
losses, so I’! treat him till gayety resumes her festive
sway in his Scandinavian bosom.”

But Herr Muller had probably given up all hope of see-
ing his friend, and had already departed, for he was n0-
where to be found; and Dick and Tippleton concluded to
follow his example. : :

in a few moments they were in the fresh, airy street,
Witly the first flashes of sunrise piercing the dim ‘sky here
and there, and a healthful breeze of the morning blowing
stiffly in from the sea. : ;

Both-of the young men were excited with liquor, and
Mr. Tippleton gave vent to the exuberance of his feelings
by kicking over ash-barrels, and sportive exhibitions of a
kindred character. But the sleepy policemen only
laughed at him, nodded and called him by name. ;

At last, having nothing else to engage his powerful in-
tellect, he consented to go home; aud the Catholic church
bell in the neighborhood of Mrs. Cranston’s lodging-house
was pealing the summons to early service as the young
men sank upon their pillows in the unwholesome slum-
ber of a feverish and ill-regulated existence.

CHAPTER X.
THREE LOVING PAIRS.

At nearly mid-day upon that Sabbath morning, which
was a bright and beautiful one, the broad sidewalks of
Fifth avenue were animated and brilliant withthe throngs
of fashionable church-goers returning to their homes alter
the morning service. :

Strolling up the avenue among this brilliant, slowly-
moving crowd are two couples, whom we recognize.

Helen Farnsworth, escovted by young Dashwood, is fol-
lowed by Captain Crauch, with silly little Henrietta Long-
purse on his military arm.

Why dotsn’t Helen qvit thinking of a man who cannot
love her, and accept the homage of this gallant young
feliovy at pec side, 1 wonde7? Ske may Eunt long and

t

fare worse spar. Daghyvocd. Be isavich man’s son, and

 
    
   
 

     
 

BD

  

 

measure the slave of her own passions, possessed a good

| while angling for the shy one of the shoal, .

body. at jd

 
  

| same Sabbath noon.

| thing so light and graceful as her sinall, delicate form, 80

‘never saw anything so bright and baleful!”

a gentleman himself—noble, ‘manly, chivalrous—and his,
affection tor her is strong and sincere, Cap

Helen acknowledged tle salutation of a gentleman and
lady passing dowh-the street. But she eonld not repress
an added color in her cheeks, and‘andnstinctive clench-
ing of her jeweled hand; for the: gentleman was Harold
Barstow, and the lady her cousin, Clarae.)i) |

How charming Clara looked, too,-in.. } 1
elegantly-made early-summer suit of pearl-gray silk! How
often and tenderly her companion’s eyes were bent upon’
her slight. delicate form and lrer sweet, open face!

Young Dashwood wondered why Helen increased her
pace and grew So silent.»

“J really believe you are trying torun asvay. from me,’

said he, laughing. ‘Is it to be Sunday morning’s sweep-
stakes for the championship of the avenue, Miss Farns-
worth? If so, I shall enter you against the field.”
But all attempts on his part to reney the conversation,
which had been quite brilliant before, were of no avail...
“Why do you treat me so coldly, Miss Farnsworth 2”
said young Dashwood, somewhat bitterly, as they ap-
proached the palatial residence of David Farnsworth. ‘I.
am a gentleman, and you do not utterly reject my ad-,
dresses, which are made in the best faith and with all the |
sincerity in the world, and yet sometimes you treat meas
if l were a dog.” . : ts weet ae
“Do I?’ said the proud. beauty, elevating the fine arch
of hey dark eyebfows and swinglng her paragol.. ‘‘Really, |
Mr. Dashwood, you must have mistaken’ me, TI have
many faults, but to knowingly wound the feelings of one
whom I—I—I greatly esteem, is surely not one of them.” |
/ Tiis cheek’ flushed, and his ‘eyes wére beaming as he
turned them rapidly upon her, Helen, though ina great

share of herfather’s caution and prudence, and Dash-
wood was too desirable a fish to frighten from the brook
ph BE os, att

_ “Porgive me,’’ said he;.‘I_ did not mean to insint te,
that you Wout be wantonly cruel. Bat here ‘we are. at
your door. Remember, you have engaged ‘to’ go. t thie
opera Pobi ohig to-morrow night; What: ti
ou p ep rey Rok er ie sf Eee

 

  

nD {Dr ‘YOR: iP. deula deal med
_ “About eight—the usual times To sappo'
Mr, Dash wood,?? sai Helens? uss aptai Ara

ed, as the couple madé.a tenip ih

  
  

 
 
 

 

 

 
 
 
 

   

hte Pec OT en Ct

“He did, Miss Farnsworth,” Said. the! daptain, “and

Shall drop in om my return down t See ie
¥ MG

 
 

  

   

“Good-by, Hetty,’? Helen calledaftérher friend,
tw proceeded up the street. da any

She then paused a moment at the bottom of the stoop,
and gazed after them.

. ‘Oh, how she had already come to fear and loathe that

an. Every glance of his bold, bad eye, every move- |.

ment of his swift white hand, told her how conscious he
was of the power he held over her. The first step of guilt
had not appalled her, but, once taken, and the snare be-
gan to pinch her foot. £3 ‘

ln the meantime, the captain, who had evidently been
talking about mountains, continued to expatiate upon the
magnificent theme to his fair listener, who had an indis-
tinct idea that a mountain was something with steep,
ugly sides and snow on its top. a

He rattled on glibly.of his many imaginary adventures
in Europe, to all of which Miss Longpurse listened with
rapt attention until they stood before the ddor of her resi-
dence, Here, without-aprofound bow, he left her and
hurriediy retraced his steps at a rapid pace, and) was soon,

admitted into the drawing-room of the house of David |

Farnsworth. aden t ; :
“Tt hope your worthy progenitoris not seriously ill, Miss
Helen,’ said he, when that young lady entered the room.
Helen! why should he address her thus. Her cheeks
flushed, but, bite her proud lip as she would, she felt the
chain of his power—the- chain of her own evil, being
drawn tighter and tighter, ever tighter. : :

“Why father is out for a drive, Captain Cranch!”’

“Ohl? he-exclaimed, affecting surprise.

“Let us have done with this,’? she exclaimed with a
passionate effort. ‘Tell me about our—our plan.”?

“Certainly, business. is business even on Sunday.
Come, Helen, I will tell you of our plot.’

He took her familiarly by the hand, and drew her to his
side upon the sofa he occupied. She trembled like a leal
with rage and her hatred of the man, but did not resist.
He seemed to take a. sort of pleasure in keeping her hand
in his, and. feeling it tremble. He knew the pride and
passion of the girl, and gloried in his power with all the
zest of his mean, dark nature.

“To business, then,’? said he, “for youand I, my dear |
Helen, appear to be made for partners in intrigue. To
make along story short, the thing I promised to perform
may be regarded as already virtually accomplished.”’

“What have you:done?’? . : é

He whispered to her.in alow voice for several minutes.

“There !do you think that will bring about the desired
result ?”?

“I should think so!’ she replied. “If they stand up
under this, they must be built of rock.’

The captain Jaughed.

“As for my part,” said he, “I get along swimmingly
with that little gilded doll up the avenue there, only the
old buffer, her father, seems to fight shy. I must see your
father about this. I’m afraid he hasn’t given me a strong
enough character in that direction.”? i

She may have suspected that her father had occasion to
fear this man. but’ she had never heard it hinted at so
strongly, and her proud heart again beat rebelliously. i

“1 thought I was to attend to this,” said she. ‘I don’t
seewhy my father should have any occasion to trouble
himself about your ‘character,’ as you are pleased to call
Ly

“Ah, Helen dear, what achild you are—how artless,
how unsophisticated!” said the captain, with a smile of
mock admiration. ‘But your father has very great
occasion to trouble himself about that verything. And
can you, dear girl, wonder that Lam somewhat a stickler
for this little delicacy of character—oy, rather, of honor—
tis the nobler name ?

‘Who steals my purse steals trash * * *
But he who robs me of my good name F
Steals that which not enricheth him, but leaves me poor indeed!’

“My dear little girl, never were truer words than these
of the healthy old quill-driver of Avon’s Classic stream. |,
Ah! give me death, but not dishonor. But hark! your
father must have returned from his drive—I hear his
stalwart tread upon the echoing marble without, and
will exchange afew words with him inthehall, This
tili we meet again!” ’

Before she could guess his intention, he drew her to
him suddenly, and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek,

As he sprang into the hall with a mocking laugh, and
closed the door behind. him, she stood for an instant as
white and motionless as a statue carved in stone. Then,
with that vile leprous kiss burning into her brain; and
soul, with her beautiful face convulsed with helpless,
deadly rage, and her fair.bosom heaving likethe angry
sea, and the extremity of the guilty degradation into
which her own madness had plunged her, found transi-
tory relief in a flood of bitter, burning tears. But still she
was not repentant. There was not the faintest glimmer-
ing of remorse, not: an atom of regret for the course. of
treachery and deceit upon which she had entered—only
the unworthy shame of a guilty pride brought low by the
circumstances with' which she had been compelled to
surround herself.

With what other emotions than those I have described
as appertaining to these disciples of vice and folly did
Clara Cranston and her would-be lover, Harold Barstow,
pursue their way down the broad sunlit avenue upon that

Harold had invited himself to Mrs. Cranston's to dinner,
and was looking fresh and healthful after a night of quiet
repose.

Most girls, when they leok particularly charming, are
perfectly well aware of the fact. But Clara was of the
unconsciously beautiful type. Her fresh morning face,
with its small, delicate features, its large, expressive,
eray eyes, and its wealth of soft, light hair, was set off to
the most charming advantage by the tasteful: little hat,
trimmed with narrow pink ribbon and blossoms of a soft,
subdued hue; and Harold thought he had never seen any-

neatly and elegantly attired in the pretty walking suit of
pearl-colored silk.

Both she and Barstow had dispositions more thought-
ful and introspective than is usually encountered in young

eople.
’ They spoke of the sermon they had just listened to in a
manner Calculated to enlighten each other by the mutual
interchange of opinion, and were conversing upon kin-
dred topics, when they met and passed Helen Farnsworth
and her beau. ys

This seemed to change the'current of thought in th
minds of both, for, after a momentary silence, Barstow
said: :

“T wonder which of usitis whom Helen Farnsworth
detests so cordially—you or me—Miss Cranston.”

“Neither, I trust,” said Clara, opening her gray eyes
surprisedly, though her own instifets told her other-
wise.

‘Did you not see that ugly blaze in her black eyes as
she passed us? Caramba/—as the Spaniards say—I

‘Alas, Lam afraid itis I who am the object of her re-
sentment, then!’’ said Clara.

“But you,” said Barstow? ‘tyou are good and noble.
What could induce her to hete you, Clar—, I mean Miss
Cranston ?? :

Clara cast down her ¢yts and blushed, though she
made no answer. But he persisted in his query.

“Tam afraid,” said @lara, in a low, hesitating voice,
“T am afraid you are the principal cause.”?

Barstow was puzzled. It had never occurred to him—
as it might, had he been a coxcomb instead of a gentle-
man—that he wag an object of Helen Farnsworth’s pas-
ae and ever now he could hardly recognize the ‘‘situa-
ion.**

Poor innocent Clara was no diplomat, and Barstow, in
many respects, was. Little by little, and so gradually
that she was unconscious of his intention until his end
was achieved, he drew out the whole story of how the
shrewa@ Helen had questioned and bullied lier cousin by
turns respecting her acquaintance with and estimate of
himself. Most young men would have felt very vain at
thus finding themselves tenaciously pursued by the pas-
sion of a young and pretty girl of wealth and station.
But Harold was only amused, though he said nothing
further on the subject.

Just at the foot of the avenue they were descending, the
street was partially torn up for the purpose of repairing
the gas or water-mains, and the crossing was muddy.and
difficult.

Harold gave his companion his hand, but, as she nearly
slipped off the narrow plank that bridged the chasm, he
clasped, her: waist with his strong arm, and landed her

 

 

safely on the opposite pavement with a single stride.

her: simple, but |‘bad headache and, periaps,

shalt Larive Fi

 

Tterary lens 3

j inated the |

  

 

 

_. This little. incident. cuned pitta othsste: blush, and
Clara felt her heart go beating ag#inst her breast as it
had never beaten before. ey Tata Bu
After entering Mrs. Cranston’s tumble apartments,
and ‘paying ‘his respects to the widow herself, Harold,
pleased everybody with Ifis easy cheerfulness. : :
Richard, who had just made-his, Appearance, wilh a
nscienuce, and who

a

 
  
 

   
  
      

had. known Barstow conjointly h his sister, expe-
rienced a lively Sensation.at the pl nce of the guest.

’ Tippleton (who had been inyited fo dinner) looked un-
commonly fresh and spirited; after) heaven knows how
many ‘“‘eye-openers,”’ and, as ‘Barstéw quoted some of his

zastamiliarly and complimented him generally upon
his productions, he took occasion, fo secretly apprise his
mercantile friend that the guest ofsthe,ocoasion was a
“thoroughbred,” coupled vith a. slight interrogation, for
his own information, respecting the financial status of
the Barstow family in society, ~  &
Even little old musty Mr. Scroggs (brightened up under
the cheery influence; and looked” around with more
worldly speculation in his eyéS tham they had exshibited
for a long time, - Lt Ae oe . ;
And, as for Barstow nsceuch found all sufficient

    
  
  

happiness in the gentle: presence of) Clara, as she lightly

moved in and out of the room, assisting her mother in

 

the preparation of themeal. .. ste :
CHAPTER Xi’)

THE FORGED CHEGK.

Early in the evening, or rather lat¢in the afternoon, on
the following day, Richard Cransto
from his place of business, was re
his mother’s little parlor, in a rat
OL TR Fy er) Ste ey ee

He had ‘collected tne face of his “eheck, which, together
With the actual midney he had won from the German,
made &Jargeramount) than he hadever before rejoiced

  
  

ding upon the sofa in
© confused condition

 

  
   
  
  
 
   
 
        
 
     
       
    

    
       
   

    
   

in-thtep 0 of. Hayin ined leave of absence,
from a Bi the, D sindisposition, he had
80 g) t his fri : ate of ip W 10, somehow or Bnet,
i Ht y difh ining, or taking, leaye of

2, DIOR:
2 Bi éy to be squandered |

10 fsély.es togetlier. {
an nen board anew steamer,
rted by his friend through
ryokhe seemed to know
Bivilities meant the
uced to numerous
gentleman denom-

     

 

  

le of scapegrac a ibblers, as wild and
profligate as Himself, among whom ‘he be aed moved,
and now. found himself in his mother's rior, with a
racking: headache, try, parched lips and throat, and a
conscience so uneasy that ‘he clésed his’ eyes that they
might not encounter the calm ¥ ug forms of his mother
andsister, Who sit, sewing, jm the same apartment.

Tippleton, who had rettirned at the same time, had
retired to the airy seclusion of. his ‘‘sky-parlor,’’ to recu-
perate, by the medium of serene repose, the energies re-
quired for a night of labor at the newspaper office which
had the inconvenient honor of emplo ying him at @ salary.

Mr. Sctoges, looking smatier and mustier than ever,
came shuffling into the parlor, with his quaint ‘‘Good
evening, ladies!’ but without disturbing the quiescence of
the reeumbentryouth. |’ ee

Thongh july as quiet, Mr. Sereggs was not so ab-
stracted as usual.) 2

He drew from the breast-pocket of his decently seedy
coat, a large, old-fashioned note-book, as old and musty-
looking as himself, and began to cogitate over its con-

‘tents in a secret, caressing way, aS if it were an old

friend, of whom-he was peculiarly jealous.

‘What, not yet through with the business of the day,
Mr. Scroggs?” said Clara,‘ who Nad come to treat the
harmléss oid man almost as one of her mother’s family.

eh my young lady,’ said Scréggs, with an unusual
affability in his pensive tone, which surprised both her
mother’and hefself, ‘‘1 haye kept this memoranda-book
for So many years that it is like looking upon old faces—

faces drom which the light of dayhas long been shut /

away—when I glance back and consult some of the old
entries; ° Many of them, as you will pereeive, are Can-
celed, but those that are not are the ones that interest my
fading memory most deeply.” ; :

When afew words ceuld confer any degree of happi-
ness on the old man, they were never wanting on the lips
of either mother or daughter.

“And why should the uncanceled entries interest you
most, Mr. Scroggs ?’? said Mrs. Cranston, mildly. ‘

“Tt would be difficult for me toexplain it to your un-
worldly understanding, madame,’? Said poor old Scroggs,
with a-sadly-ridiculous effort to appear as though he were
thoroughly at ease in all the problems of. financial

‘| Scienee;: “but each.of these one Fala names hasits sub-

stantial. representative in some valuable package left for
safe-keeping in the vaults ‘of the Imperial Bank, and
which have never been claimed by the parties depositing
them “there. I keep the packages-in order in the com-
partment allotted for this purpose, and often, in the early
morning, when’ I move through the decaying shelves with
my busy duster, the sight.of the older packages revive my
remembrances just as these notes do now. Like enough,
many of the depositors are dead and forgotten, and their
packages will never be called for, since many of them are
merely marked by the initials of the depositor’s name.
Heigh ho, what a strange world it is!”

It was not so very unusual to hear Mr. Scroggs moral- .
ize in ‘this simple way, but, as he returned his time-
yellowed note-book to its decently Seedy receptacle, Clara
could not help thinking sorrowfully of the ‘“To-BE-CALLED-
FOR” fragment of parchment, whieh she still retained as
a meaningless memento of ee dead nuplcieetection and
esteem. Ever since the u ppy incident at the matinee,
ter memories of her there ar ad his" tear death had re-
viyed strangeiy in her mind, and the remarks of the old
bank-messenger caused her to sigh deeply.’

“T wonder, Mr. Scroggs,” said she, ‘‘that the panking :

company does not advertise the names or initials in-
scribed on such packages.”? : j 3 ‘

“The company does do so, miss,” said Scroggs; ‘but
how often does any one—how often do you, for instance,
read the dry, formal little advertisements of this character,
which are mostly stuck away in some obscure corner of
@ great newspaper ??? pray

Apparently exhausted by the mental exertion involved
in the expression of this explanation, Mr. Scroggs leaned
back ii his chair, folded his feeble hands upon his lap,
and appeared, like an emaciated tortoise, to draw him- |
self within the shell of his habitual reserve.

Mxs. Cranston continued her sewing, but Clara arose
to light the gas in the hall, for it was growing quite dark.

The light was especially uncertain in the hall, and,
upon lighting the jet, she was greatly startled at perceiy-
ing two men, who had entered at the front door without
ringing the bell. Her alarm was by no means diminished
when she perceived that one of these men wore the: uni-
form of the Metropolitan Police, while the trowsers of the
other indicated that he also was an officer, though he
wore the hat and coat of a civilian.

“Do not be alarmed, miss,’’ said the latter, grufily, but

not. unkindly; ‘‘there is no occasion for it, though we |.

come here on a little business.’’

“Whom do you come for??? she asked, in a dreamy,
mechanical way.

“J have an order for the arrest of one Richard Crans-
ton,’’ said the officer, opening the door to the litile sitting-
room even as he was speaking, So that all within clearly
heard the purport of his words.

Mrs. Cranston dropped her needié-work, and her coun-
tenance grew ashy pale, while old Scroggs fastened his
spectacles still more securely On the bridge of his nose,
and looked about in stupid bewilderment.

Richard sprang from his recumbent position, the very
picture of trepidation and guilty alarm.

“Hal whatis it??? he exclaimed. ‘Is it about that
check—that infernal check ??? |

“You have hit the nail just on the head,” said the officer,
eyeing him from -head to foot. ‘It is about,that check,
end you are under arrest for forgery.”

{TO BE CONTINUED.]

| HISTORICAL ITEMS,

THE Norman conquest facilitated the disintegration of
the language of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. It caused
the introduction of a large number of French words and
idioms, or rather Latin words and idioms, modified by
French usage. The Normans were not Frenchmen—they
were North-men, or Scandinavians, substantially from the
same parent stock as the Angles and Saxons; but during
their residence in Normandy they had adopted the French
tongue, or, more Strictly, that branch of the Romanz lan-
guage which then went by the name of Norman-French;
and as their occupation of England was complete, and
their abode permanent, it was inevitable that their Nor-
man-French should eventually mingle with the native Teu-
tonic speech, and thus create a composite language.
When they first met, however, these two languages, like
the tworaces that spoke them, were but little disposed to
enter into alliance, nor was it until a mixture of the
races took place that a mingling of the languages com-
menced. ,

JOHN CALVIN was born in Noyon, in Picardy, July 10,
1500. Having adopted the ‘“‘reform”’ doctrines he fled to
Angouleme, where he composed his ‘Institutio Christiane
Religiones” in 1583. He retired to Basle, and settled in
Geneva, where he died, May 27, 1564. He was in-
strumental in burning Servetus for denying the Trinity,
in 1553. A formal separation between the Calvanists and’
Lutherans took place after the Conference at Poissy, in
1561, where the former expressly rejected the tenth and
other articles of confession of Augsburg, and took the
name of Calvinists. In France, under the name of the
Huguenots, they took up arms against their persecutors,
Henry IV., originally a Calvinist, on becoming king,
secured their liberty by the Edict of Nantes, in 1598.

THE origin of St. Valentine’s-day (14th of February) can
clearly be traced to the ‘‘Lupercalia,”’ of the ancient
Romans—a festival connected with the worship of Juno.
Aboué the fifth century, the Roman Church, wishing to
put an end to the continuance of a pagan and scandalous
orgie, forsuch it had become, cast its eye about for a
martyr to whose memory. the day of the greatest obsery-
ance of the tradition might be devoted, and fixed upon
St. Valentine, a sober, worthy priest, who Knew little
about love-making; but if the Church corrected the evil
of popular license, it could not do away with the senti-
ment connected with the popular idea of choosing lovers
at the approach of the vernal equinox, so that St. Valen-
tine, in process of time, came to be promoted to the rank
of patron saint of lovers and sweethearting.

CHARLES SUMNER took his seat in the United Senate,
as successor of Daniel Webster, December 1, 1851, the,
same day on which, Henry Clay appeared in the National’

 

ston, having returned } .

        

FLOR CHIQUITA.

BY ROBERT MO-WADE,

 

 

Lone little flower of my heart,
Come, stand here by my side,

And with your arms around my neek,
Our sad tears we'll divide.

Yes, darling, she has left us here,
Forgotten all the past,

And other hearts she holds more dear,
While ours are breaking fast.

No, little one, she will not eome
To kiss away our tears— -

No, no; we must not hope for that
Through all the coming years;

Your lovely eyes may look in vain,
Your hettle heart beat sore—

The loved will not come back again—
She’s gone forevermore]

Sweet Flor Chiquita, vail your eyesi
Keep close unto my heart! |

For clouds are gathering in the skies,
To wreck our lives apart.

Tis autumn of the year, loved one;

. The leaves fall with the rain—

When autumn of three lives hath eome

r We'll meet the loved again.

v

A ‘SEOUEL T0 “BUFFALO BILL.”
Buffalo Bill’s
“BEST SHOT:

Or, The Heart of Spotted, Tail.

~ ne i P aye Bs
By Ned Buntline.

“Buffalo Bill’s Best Shot,? was commenced in No. 20. Back
Nos. can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.],

CHAPTER XXIX.—(CONTINUED.)

“Poor Davel’’? groaned the noble scout, as intuitively
his heart and head told him who had fallen. ‘The Com-|
anches have killed and scaIped him—I would wager life
upon it.’) *

Ina minute he was armed and mounting, as he often
did, without saddle or bridle, he rode Powder Face at full
speed to the fort. :

In less than five minutes the troops were out and in
pursuit of the Indians. But mounted on the best of
horses, they went like the wind over the plains, and pur-
suit was vain.

They found the body of Dave Estes literally riddled: with
ome Rie arrows and with the scalp torn from his
head.

How-long the Indians had lurked around, sparing oth-
ers, most likely, while they waited for kim—no one could
tell. But there were signs that they had been concealed
among the sand-Knolls near by, for the night, at least, if
not longer. ;

The body was brought in by Buffalo Bill, and it was
given Christian burial in the burying ground attached to
the fort, where now the visitor can see that the heroic
young lover of Dove Eye has not been forgotten by those
who knew him well and loved him too,

CHAPTER XXX.

Like the triumph of some great conquerer; honored,
not for his title, but more because his country has ever
been the steadfast friend of America; respected because
more of a man and less of a snob than many a titled fool
who has been the recipientof snobbish idolatry—the
GRAND DUKE ALEXIS had passed into and over the north-
ern boundary of the United States.

He had been feted and processed in several of our larg-
est cities, he had danced with some of our fairest bees,
and now a new pleasure and an improved sensation toa
manly man was to be his. -

He Was to see the true native American in feathers and
paint, the game of the boundless plains, and the border-
men of the far West. is

Escorted by our noble lieutenant-general and other
brave and accomplished men, traveling in truly Imperial
style, the noble visitor had arrived at Omaha—the city of
less than a decade of years—but the thriving proof of how
cities spring up and grow in Ametica. 4

The special train was about to start when General Sher-
idan was approached by three persons.

The first was a gentleman whose snow-white hair and
long silvery. beard spoke of full seventy years of age.
Yet his form was erect, his bearing dignified and every
token about. him from his rich, plain apparel to the glance
of his eye, indicative of a true and high-toned . gentle-
manu—one whose respectability did not depend upon
wealth alone,

With this old gentleman were two younger men, their
features giving proof of relationship, who looked full as
genteel as their father.

The old gentleman presented a letter to General Sheri-
dan—an open letter of introduction.

The lieutenant-general glanced hastily at it, bowed low
to the bearer and asked him to be seated, for this meet-
ing took place in his~special car, Soom to start for the

Laing. . : : \

“The wishes of the President and his personal desires,

are a8 much to me as his orders!” said General. Sheridan,
when hehad finished reading the letter. “It willbe a
pleasure for me to serve you and forward your desires.
‘To-do it best, I shall ask you and your sons to join my
Jamily, as I term my staff and friends, on this excursion.
No excuse need be Offered—if you have your baggage at
hand, put it at once in the baggage-carl Captain,’’ he
added, toan aid, ‘‘these gentlemen are my guests. Be
‘so kind as to see them well quartered and attended to!’
, Amessage from the Superintendent, asking if all were
ready for a start, now reached the general, and required
that he should se¢ if the Grand Duke was ready, that the
word might be given.

Ten minutes later, and away over the iron rails sped
the train into a region almost as boundless, and in winter
full as drear as the far-famed ‘‘Steppes of Russia’’—those
endless table-lands about which so much has been written.

Away, with almost lightning speed, amid comforts un-
surpassed in the hotels he hed left, the Grand Duke and
his gallant escort were whirled.

But what is this part of the excursion to us? A mere
nothing. The best part will come only when the ears
have stopped.

When the train thundered across the long bridge of the
Platte, and with a scream clused its brakes and shut off
steam from the drivers at the long, straggling town of
North Platte, then the Grand Duke began to see signs of
the new life Which was here to dawn upon him. He had
been looking at glitter and show for a long while—now, as
‘Mark Twain? says, in his quaint way, ke was to learn
something about ‘‘Roughing it.”

The train stopped, and a thousand men and women of
every grade were there to look at it andthe visitors. But
the eyes of the Grand Duke settled on a group of army
officers, and asmall body of cavalry, which stood ‘‘to
horse”? near by, and longest, steadiest of all, his gaze
rested on a man over six leet in hight, with long brown
hair floating over his broad shoulders, a face bold, feax-
less, yet free from any ignoble trace—whose keen, search-
ing eye seemed to look righ: through what it rested on.

This man of such. graceful form that he has been often
termed the Apollo of the Plains, was dressed from head to
foot in a suit of buckskin, tastefully trimmed with beads
and fringes, and looking the. true nobleman of nature
that he is, drew that imperial gaze upon himself at once.

“Who is (wat—general??? asked the Grand Duke, the
moment he stepped from the car. {

He glanced at the man in buckskin, who stood with his
Yifle in the hollow of his left arth, leaning against his
horse.

“That, your Highness, is BUFFALO BILu!'’ said General
Sheridan. ‘He is the best hunter, scout and guide in all
this region, and he has been selected to arrange and head
our hunt!’

“Be so kind as to introduce me to him!"? :

“Mr. Cody,’’ said the general, as he beckoned to the
hunter to advance. ‘This is the Grand Duke Alexis, of
Russia. He wishes to know you!’

. The Grand Duke frankly extended his hand, and Buffalo
Bill, grasping it, shook it warmly.

“T have heard of you and I am glad to meet you!’ said
the duke.

“T’ve heard of you, sir, also, and have been told you
like hunting. We will try to show you some sport, though
the season is late!’’ replied the scout, with as much ease
and politeness as any Officer in the group around could
have shown. ‘
oe turning to the lieutenant-general, the hunter
said: ‘

“The horses are all out in camp, general—on Willow
Creek, and we are ready for astart. I thought you’d like
the ambulance best on the start!”

‘You are right,’? said the hero of Winchester and a
hundred other winning fields—‘‘we will have enough of
the saddle when we-get to camp!” :

Now all was hurry for the departure.

_ The general and all his guests had ambulances ready
for them—there were baggage wagons for the baggage,
and the horses of the escort pawed the earth impatiently
for a start. ;

A half hour more and away across the quick-sand ford,
where Buffalo Bill and the writer once had arace on an
Indian raid to see which would be first to the northern
bank—away over the plains with rapid gait until night
closing in found them at the camp on Willow Creek.

 

 

c CHAPTER XXXI.

The morning came, clear and beautiful, and when the
Grand Duke at dawn took his coffee with his host, the
lieutenant-general, he glanced with pleasure at the cloud-
less sky in which the stars were fading from view.

“Buitalo Bill tells me that what with Indian arrivals
and the noise of camp, we have startled the game in our
vicinity and will have’a two hours’ ride to reach it,’? said
General Sheridan to his guest.

“Tam fond of riding—the distance is nothing!’ said the
Grand Duke. “But willthe Indians hunt with us?”

 

* The writer only takes the lioerty to alter the time slightly.

 

Senate for the last time.

He gives facts in this sad ending of the life of one of the bravest
little scouts that ever served his country.

Pieeses

  

, “Only afew of their chiefs. After tie hunt I will give
your highness a fair look at them as they are!” ~
“Thank you, general. lam anxious tosee alk of the
characteristic features of your great country while I am
shere. Ah—ladies here? I did not know we were to be

| honored by their presence}?

“A special party from Fort. McPherson, your highness!’
gaid the general, ‘‘Of course they are anxious to see you
—but as our horses are ready we must make them wait
till this day’s hunt is over!”’

A minute later and the Grand Duke with all who were
to join in the hunt, were in the saddle and off—not a
brilliant—but a serviceable party in looks at any rate.

The Grand Duke ina plain hunting suit, the officers in
undress uniform, the scouts,and hunters ‘all in buckskin

| —Buffalo Bill leading all—it was a glorious party.

General Custer, with Spotted’ Tail the ‘chie!, now well
and fit for work, rodein company with Buffalo Bill, taking
the start to see and announce when & buiialo herd was in —
sight. ve

On over the short ridges, through the marrow canyons,
for full two hours, and then, opening into a fine plain—
the buffalo were in sight and close‘at hand. :

Now the Grand Duke, with Buffalo Bill for his guide,
was given the place of honor in front. s

Generals Sheridan and Custer came next, and with ail
ready —the word to start was given. é

Away, without a word, flew the noble-visitor and his
guide—quickly the rest followed, for feeding not 4 quarter
of a mile away were a thousand or more of. the wild
cattle of the plains—the far-famed buffalo—or ‘Bos
Americanus.”) :

On—on, pressed the Duke—the trained horse furnished
by Buffalo Bill heeding neither spur! nor rein when the
game wasin sight, and soon, with the herd all alarmed
and on the run, they were closing up.

A fine cow was within the reach of Buffalo Bill’s hand,
but he did not fire. He knew that courtesy should give the
Grand Duke the first shot, and pointing to-the body just
behind the shoulder, hie cried: i

“Let her have it there!” eee Ae ‘

The duke, sitting like a Centaur on his horse, raised his

| short rifle, ne he had brought from Home and the ball

went to the heart of the animal. THO TES

One bound—one wild shout and the‘first buffalo, at the
first shot, went down. — pees u
Then for @ mad, swift half. hour itijvas slaughter,
nothing more or less. Sete idk

A few mishaps, atumble here and there, but nothing
serious, and then that day’s hunt was oyer.-

The Grand Duke was delighted. To him it was the
grandest sport he had ever seen.

To Buffalo Bill—it was.play,

Why he had killed sixty-nine of those great beasts. in
one day, alone and unaided, tiring out three horses in the
run. (A fact.) The whole party this day had not killed
more. Yet if they were satisfied, he was.

Night had set in when the party returned tocamp,
tired enough to eat their suppers and go to bed, ‘

 

The dawn of another day, and now the Grand Duk
wasto see the American Indians—the red:men of the
land, as they are. : : Ba

Spotted Tail, with his family—his sub-chiefs—Fast
Bear, Yeung Beaver, Red Leaf—Two-Strike and others,
and witha large band of his warriors} would ‘show him
some of their peculiarities in the shape of a war
dance, &¢, pif tf

This day, like'the one before, was clear and propitious.

The Indians crossing from theircamp in all the show
of paint and feathers, were drawn. up near the camp of
the visiting pale faces, and for.atimethe Grand Duke
and his escort passed about and among them on a toyr of
inspection. . : ;

Dove Eye—sad, thin and pale, sat on a horse near
her father when Buffalo Bill rode up.

He greeted her kindly and told ner that the Little
Brave had been killed and scalped. ;

“T shall now see himin the happy hunting grounds,”
she said sadly. ‘‘Dove Eye willsee the spring flowers
once more and then she will die!’ 4

The scout felt sad to hear her: speak thus, for he knew
well thatit was that strange mystery, love, and hopeless
love, which was thus eating up the roots of life. Buthe
could not help it. :

The Grand Duke now fell back into the line of officers
and visitors, and the Indians gave their entertainntent—
a novel one to him, and one which he never wiil forget.

To describe it all would be a waste of time and: space,
and we have something better for our readers, which it
would be sinful to keep back any longer. ....

Grouped in the rear of the Grand Duke and his suite,
and back from the Lieutenant-General an@ his staff and
friends, was the party of ladies whohad come from Fort
McPherson to see the hunt and the hunters:

We will not name all—in fact, but two claim our espe-
cial attention just now.

One of these, mounted on a fine horse, was Cindah the
Sunflower—gloriously beautiful in the dress of civiliza-
tion. Next her, sitting her horse gracefully, was pretty,
jaunty, saucy-looking Belle Boyd—looking as if she would
like to be a rebel again, just'to be contrary, if she could.

Near General Sheridan, standing within a yard indeed,
was the elderly gentleman and his two sons, who ha&
mét the general at Omaha and begome his guests.

The Indian show was oyer, and General Custer now
said to his superior officer: | if ; ‘

“tf have some ladies to Introduce to the Grand Duke
and yourself, general. You remember the little romanc@
about a rescued captive from the Blackfeet, which I
wrote to youabout, do you not?’ ore

“Yes, yes; and that reminds me of another thing. If
have a letter from the President, introducing to me a
gentleman who has an interest in that romance, if there
noist—Genera) Custer! ee. pre
_ “benoist /- is yourname Benoist ? asked the general,
in surprise. i ;

“Yes, sir—Hdouart Benoist.”

‘“‘Heayens! Excuse me a moment!’

Géneral Custer rushed away to the group of ladies. He
was gone but an instant, and, when he came back, he
bore the morocco cases which Yellow Bear when dying
gave to Buffalo Bill. :

“Do you.know these?) asked General Custer, as he
opened the cases. :

“Oh, Heaven! . My wie—mygenild—muyself!) cried the
oid man, trembling from head to foot. ‘These pictures,
eighteen years ago, were iu. the bosom of my wife when
she was on her way.to join me at my trading-post. She
was killed by the Indians—her body was found, but I
never saw my child again.” : :

young general, as he beckoned Cindah to approach.

The lovely girl came, and. the old man with his two sons
gazed. at her in mingled wonder and hope. :

“Who—who are you??? the old man asked, and he
trembled from head to foot. ;

one Benoist/” she answered, proudly—for nature
spoke. :

‘‘My child—my child!” he cried, and the arms of the
grand old man were about her form in a second more.

And she, for the first tim. in all her memory, wept with
him, not knowing why she wept. :

For she had been: reared to scorn tears | to hide all
semblance of human weakness—of nature’s feeling. :

“Your brothers,’ said the old man, as soon as he could
recover himself{—“your brothers, my Cecile. They are
twins, and three years older than’ you—ARMAND and
GERALD.”? ;

“TI willlove them and you. Can Inow go out into th
grand world and live like a queen ?’’ asked Cecile. :

“Yes, my child—thank Heaven J have a fortune to meet
the desires of all three of my children,’’ said Mr. Benoist.
“Oh, how much Ihave to ask and how much to tell
you. ; :

“Well, introduce me to that prince first, and then we
Will taik. Red Plume, why do you stand’so close.’?

Poor Red Plume fell back from her whom he wor-
shiped stung by the manner of her expression, but si-
lent and sad, wnile the heroine of one of the strangest ro-
mances of modern times received the introduction she
desired.

“Whatis the matter with Red Plume?” asked Belle
Boyd, as he stood by her side, his eyes downcast and his
breast heaving With ill-suppressed emotion. ‘

“Red Plume is sick. His heart.is heavy like lead. He
used to have a hold on the heart of Cindah the Sunflower,
He learned in secret from her teacher how to write on
the speaking paper, so he could teil her when ske knew
it not that he loved her. And he would watch the color
came and go as she read, and happy thoughts. danced in
her‘eyes. That time has gone. She has found her kin:
dred. She does not want Red Plume near her. I will
go back to the mountains—and die!”

“Go back and live, like the, true-hearted warrior that
you are, and I will go with you,” said the strange girl.
‘Thad rather be the wife of a hero red-man than the
gazing stock of insolent white men.”

“Good! Red Plume puts his heart on his lips and
thanks you. ‘There shall bea warm fire in your lodge
always, and plenty of meat for youtoeat. You shall
have: warm furs in winter and ‘good clothes for summer.
Red Plume will do all this and- more for his pale-face sis-
ter, He will do all. but forget Cindah. the Sunflower.
That he cannot do. Her blue eyes will tcok into his
through the mist of dreams when he sleeps. He will see
them ‘when he looks at the first flowers of spring, when
he gazes upon the deep. water or up Into the still summer
sky. But she, his heart’s spirit, has gone with her kin-
dred. Come—we will go back to the‘hills,”’.

Slowly and sadly Red Flume .turned away and Belle
Boyd, mounting her horse, followed in his trail. ‘

Buffalo Bill cast a wondering glance atthe girlas she
rode off, haughty and beautifulin her pride, and then
turned to join General Sheridan to make arrangeménts
for the return of the party to the railroad.

As he did so he saw Spotted Tail adyaneing toward
him.

There was a strange and moody expression on the face
of the Sioux chief as he approached the scout, a wild and
angry fire in his. eye. 5

“The old cuss looks stormy,’? muttered Bison William,
as Spotted Tail drew near. “If he wasn’t temperate 1’d
think he’d been indulging in Jerome cocktails. Jhun-
der—he has war-paint on his face’?

{TO. BE CONTINUED.}

Ot
Ned’s New Story.

The New York WEEKLY will soon commence one of
Ned Buntline’s great stories of Living Heroes, entitled
“Rep DICK, THE TIGER OF CALIFORNIA.”’ Red Dick, the
hero of this story, is residing now in California, and Ned,
in the course of the narrative, will describe some of his

 

 

thrilling exploits.

 

 

 

is any reality init. I will introduce the bearer... Mr. Be-

“You see her now, sir—you see her now! cried the .

 

 

 

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V EBSTER’S USINESS MAN; or, COUNTING.

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| several times, but we again give place to it to oblige you:

 

 

 

 

 

—_—____.
SEAR

PHOTOGRAPHS OF BUFFALO BILL.

On receipt of Firry CENTS, we will mail to any address, an
Imperial Photograph of Buffalo Bill, the

Daring Scout. — Py

ltisa life-like picture, by the best photographer in the world,
the celebrated Sarony. :

It is the same style of likeness that we forward sree to all per-
Sons sending three dollars for a year’s subscription to the NEW
YORK WEHEELY. :

As there are many who are anxious to possess a picture of the
dashing scout, without incurring an outlay of three dollars, we
are willing to gratify all by sending it on receipt of Fifty Cents.

Address STREET & SMITH,

w23 55 Fulton street, New York city.

M 6) NE Yy MADE RAPIDLY with Stencil and Rey-
p ad Check Outfits. Catalogue, samples, and full

particulars of the business FRex. S. M. SPENCER, Brattleboro, Vt.
wHl-52t

 

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for us than at anything else. Particulars tree. G, STINSON
& CO., Fine Art Publishers, Portland, Maine. w5-52t

SAVE 20 DOLLARS.

BUY THE CELEBKATED
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Broadway, N. ¥. w25-126

 

 

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Also, very useful Glossary of Words and Phrases, used in Com-
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This book contains over 200 pages, bound in boards, with a
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A handsome and durable edition of this work, bound in cloth, |
elegantly iettered in guilt, price 75 cents.

Single copies sent, on receipt of retail price, postage free.

Address
é R. M. DEWITT, Publisher,
, No. 33 Rose street, N.Y.

 

NOOD WAGES AND CONSTANT EMPLOYMENT.—500 Agents
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OUR KNOWLEDGE Box.

A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering.

 

 

 

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Belle Violet.—CURE FOR CANCER.—We have published this agree
‘Boi
fine Turkey figs in new mikk, which they will thicken; when they
are tender, split and apply them as warm as can be borne to the
part affected, whether broken or not. The part must be washed,
every time the poultice is changed, with Some of the milk. Use
afresh poultice night and morning, and at least once during the
day, and drink a quarter of a pint of the milk the figs are boiled
in twice in the twenty-four hours. Ifthe stomach wil bear it,
this must be persevered in for three or four months at least. A
man aged 105 was cured, about six years before his death, with
only six pounds of figs. The cancer, which began at the corner
of his mouth, had eaten through his jaw, cheek, and half way
down his throau; yet he was so perfectly cured as never to show
any tendency to return. Should it ever do so, the figs should be
again applied. The first application gives a great deal of pain,
but afterward each Qressing gives relief. A woman cured by this
remedy had been afflicted ten years; her breast bled excessively ;
ten pounds cured ber.”...... ed ews B..O. N.—See No. 27.05. 0..05.
It's Only Me, Sir !0—1. To MAKE ARTIFICIAL HONEY.—Mix eight
pounds of refined sugar and two-thirds of an ounce of alum in
ene pint of pure soft water. Add to one pint of alcohol five
drops of oil of roses. Four tablespoonfuls of the alcohol and oil
of rose mixture will-be sufficient for eight pounds of honey, 2.
Norecipe. 8. ERASIVE SoAP,—Two pounds of good castile soap,
half-a-pound of carbonate of potash, dissolved in half-a-pint of
hot water. Cut the soap into thin’slices, boil the soap with the
potash until it is thick enough to mold in cakes, also add alcohol
halt-an-ounce, camphor halt-an-ounce, hartshorn half-an-ounce;
color with halfan-ounce of pulverized charcoal. 4, What do you
‘vish the solder for?......2lla.—l. We cannot say. 2. Yes........
Payless Boston Fraveler.—SiRUP OF COFFEn.—This preparation is of
great use to those who have long journeys to make. Take half a
pound of the best ground coffe; put it into a saucepan, contain-
ing three pints of water, and boll it down to one pint. Cool the
liquor, put it into another saucepan, well scoured, and boil it
again. As it boils, adi white sugar enough to give it the consist-
ency of sirup. Takeit from the fire, and when it is cold put it
into a bottle and seal. When traveling, if you wish for
a cup of good coffee, you have only to put two teaspoon-
fuls of the sirup into an ordinary coffee-pot, and fill
with boiling water. Add milk to taste, if you can get it.......
Lorillard.—To Dygz VARIOUS COLORS.—Io dye green, take of verdi-
gris and verditer, each one ounce; gum-water, One pint; mix them
well and dip the materials (they having been first dipped in hot
water) in the said mixture. To Dys BLUR.—Take of indigo and
vice, each one ounce, and a piece of alum the size of a hazel nut;
put them into gum-water and dip the jnaterials into it hot; hang
them up to dry, aud, by changing the colors, the materials may
be in this manner dyed of any color. FoR PURPLE, use lake and
indigo. FOR CARNATION, vermilion and smalt. To DyE Rep.—
Take one.ounce of Brazil wood in powder; half an ounce of alum;
quarter of an ounce of vermilion, and one pint of vinegar; boil
them up to a moderate thickness, and dip the materials (they hay-
ing been first soaked in hot water) into the said mixture:.......
Curious Girl.—Chocolate was first made by the natives of Mexico,
from whié¢h country it was introduced to Spain as long ago as
1520. The cocoa fruit, from which it is made, issomething like a
cucumber, containing from twenty to thirty beans. These are
removed when the fruit is ripe, dried by various methods, and
roasted in a device resembling a rotary eoffee-roaster; they are
then sifted from their husks, and pounded, or pressed to
a paste with sugar and alittle vanilla. See “Correspondence.”....
Bulifinch.—TlO TAKE. GRBASH OUT. OF THE LeAVES or
Books.—Fold upin two small bags made of fine open muslin,
some ashes of burnt bones, finely powdered, or of calcined harts-
horn, which is always prepared at the druggist’s. Lay the bags
of muslin, containing the powder, one on each side of the greasy
leaf, and having heated a pair of tire-tongs, or hair-dressers pinch-
ing tongs, of a moderate warmth, press with them the two bags
against the greasy spot, and hold them some time in that situa-
tion, Repeat the process, if necessary. When the irons cannot
be conveniently used, the powder may be heated over the firein a
clean earthen vessel; and while hot, applied with any muslin, on
each side of the grease spot, and a weight laid on it to assist its
effect......@. W. @—We advise you to consult a physician.......
TiS La Mort.—See No. 62........ Kitty Lambert.—Apply to some
experienced artist. We have failed to see where you were in er-
ror. Weare sorry we cannot help you....... Lizzie R.—To MAKE
YWOLASSHS OR PEANUT CANDY:—Boil the molasses over a mode-
rately hot fire, stirring constantly. — Waen you think it is done
drop a little on a plate, and if sutficiently bolled it will be. hard:
Add any flavoring ingredients you prefer. Strew your peanuts in
buttered tin-pans and pour out the candy....%. N.—No recipe....
Ludlow Street Jailand E. Dupont.—TO TRANSFER PICTURES TO
GLASS, WOOD, CHINA, ETC.—This is the only process we have:
“The process of trausterring pictures to china, glass, wood, or any
smooth surface, is called Decalcomania. The varnish used in
transferring, kuown as ‘Decalcomania Cementing Varnish,’ can
be obtained where the pictures are for sale. The pjctures for
wood are prepared differently from those for paper. . the process
of transferring to wood is the same except that you have to use
another varnish to go over the painting when dry. Thés varnish
can be procured where the paintings are sold, or at a carriage-
maker’s. To transter the picture, in the first place, varnish the
painting all over, applying the cementing varnish with a camel’s
hair pencil; do not get any on the white paper, if you can: avoi’
it. Then with a brush and clean cold water wash the card-boar.
around the picture and over it lightly. Lay the picture on the
article to which you wish to transfer it; be very careful and not
move it after being once laid down. Then press it down with a
moist cloth evenly and firmly all over; then lift it up carefuly,
beginning at one edge. Before you remove it entirely, see if any
of the painting adheres to the original picture; if it does, it will
show that that place was not properly covered with varnish. Lay
the picture down again carefully, and press again. If you are
careful and get the varnish over every part of the painting it will
transfer in the most perfeet manner. An hour or two after trans-
ferring wash the paintiig over with cold water to prevent its
eracking.... ... Josephus Orangeblossom.—We cannot tell you......
Britannia.—To SILVER BRass.—The best way to silver brass is
to get one ounce of nitric acid, and in it put half an ounce of mer-
cury; place it in the open air until the mercury is thoroughly dis-
solved, as while dissolving it will give out yellow fumes, which
have not at all a pleasant smell. When this is done your liquid
is ready for use; but we should always recommend you to dilute
it with as much again of water, as it will answer just the same
purpose. Then take a flannel and pour about four drops of your
liquid upon it, rub your article with it, and you will find that it
has the desired effect. Repeat this process until you have silvered
your article all over. A sott dry cloth is better than a chamois to

rub with........ J. & G.—For various inks see No. 20........ Nettie
Goss.—We cannot suggest a remedy. 1t is probably constitutional
with you...... Texas.—We cannot tell you......... -H. T. Howe,—

COLORED Fir#s.—Red: 61 per cent. of chlorate of potash, 16 of
sulphur, and 23 of carbonate of strontia, Green: per cent. of
nitrate of baryta, 22 sulphur, 28 chlorate of potash. Yellow: 61
per cent. clrlorate of potash, 16 sulphur, 23 dry soda. White: 64
per cent, niter, 21 sulphur, 15 gunpowder. Purple: 61 per cent.
chlorate of potash, 16 sulphur, 23 chalk. Dark Blue; 60 per cent.
chlorate of potash, 16 sulphur, 23 carbonate of copper, 12 alum.
These dangerous compounds are used for fireworks and theatrical
iduminations, and great care is necessary to avoid accidents,
They should not be meddled with, unless by some experienced

person........ Fernande.—Apply glycerine to your hands after
washing them. ..,...-. 2. Ignorant and M. O. .—Consult a good
family physician.......... G. R. H.—We cannot inform you......

Bugulo Jim.—1, To Remove SuparrLuoys Hair.—Freshly slaked
lime, six ounces; orpiment, haif an ounce; mix thoroughly, and
keep in well-closed bottles. When used apply as a paste with
water until it begins to burn the skin, and shave off with an or-
dinary paper-knife. Use this depilatory with care, as it contains
arsenic. 2. Use castor oil. 3. Try borax..:.. Ichabod Squash.—
We have never heard of any good substitute....,.... A. B.D. and
W. R.—1. TO BRONZE GUN BARRELS.—One part of nitric acid to
five parts of water. With this moisten a piece of sponge or
eloth, and apply to the gun-barrel. Repeat the eperation several
times, then wash with water. Dry, and then rub with boiled lin-
seed oil, The shade deepens according to the number of times
the operation is repeated. 2. No reeipe for the other color,......
Ola Bachelor.—fo Dyk THE HarR.—All hair dyes are injurious
but wegive you the best recipe we have: To one drachm of
lunar caustic add enougi) aqua ammonia to dissolve the caustic:
then add two ounces of distilled water. This dyes the hair black.
By adding double the quantity of water a lighter or brown shade
will be produced. Apply to the hair with a tooth-brush, and be
eareful not to touch the skin........ Young Idea.—SHAmMPoo
LiguoR—Bay rum, three quurts; spirits of wine; one pint; water,
one pint; tincture of cantharides, half an ounce; carbonate of
ammonia, half an ounce; salt of tartar, one ounce. Rub it on,
and @fterward wash with water....... DL. M. M.—See No. 25......
B, XEZ—To GILD GLASS.—Take an ounce of the strongest hydro-
chloric acid and half an‘*ounce of the strongest nitric acid.
These, mixed, are then known as aqua regia, in which you are
to dissolve two books of leaf gold. Ji a few days add an
aunce of sulphate of iron; then with the filtered and dry precipi-
tate mix one drachm of borax, and turpentine enough to make a

 

 

  
   

TEMPERANCE ANTHEM.

Respectfully Dedicated to the Members af the Dashaway
Lodge, 927, I. 0. G. F.

 

BY KATE LUBY.

 

The Temperance Star is shining
With radiant beams to-night,
And we in joy combining
Now hail its glorious light!
Our banner is unfurled,
And Dashaway still sings
How to the earth she’s hurled
The fetal bow! that stingst

We have seen the pride of ages,
The gallant, noble, great,—

With proudest of earth’s sages,
Forget their high estate.

We have seen fair woman scorning
The charms of modest pride,

And, reckless of each warning
Plunge in the fatal tide!

Oh! Sisters, cast forever
The tempting cup aside;
‘Dear Brothers! do not sever
From Reason,—heavenly guide!
Ring out through vale and mountains
Your Temperance Anthems bold,
And drink from sparkling fountains
As Sampson did of old!

The Temperance Star is shining
With radiant beams to-night,
And we in joy combining
Now hail its glorious light?
Our banner is unfurled,
And Dashaway still’ sings’
_ How to the earth she’s hurled
The fatal bowl that stings!

 

Dashing | Charlie.

THE TEXAN WHIRLWIND!
By #. Z. C. Judson.

(“Dashing Charlie” was commenced in No. 16, Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]

CHAPTER XLIV.

Moonlight on the mountains. Oh how much more
grand grandeur becomes in the intensity of contrast
which strong lights and deep shadows make. Even as
the flimsy landscape of a tyro in art sinks beneath the
mightly work of a Church or a Bierstadt—or the faces of
to-day on canvas look puerile beside those imperishable
works which left by Vandyke, Rubens or Titian, remain
a wonder forever—so does moonlight in the forest or on
great hills fill the soul with the depth of artistic feeling.

Even with a terrible death imminent before her—her
doom now seeming but a matter of brief time, Josephine
Dubois looked from cliff to cliff,and on the glittering
streams that leaped and foamed among them, and on the
great wierd forest trees, brought out in strong light, or
Sinking away in shadowy gloom, with a feeling of won-
der and awful admiration. Shesaw and felt that it was
the handiwork of the Creator, before whom she would
soon appear.

For she saw this, asa band of Indian women, with a
rude wail, her death-song, led the way from the village of
One Hye, up the mountain toward a small lake wherein
they had decided to cast her.

She had been crowned with wild flowers, and now led
onward by Red Rose, while some women went in front
and others followed behind, she looked, as indeed she
was, like a victim decked for sacrifice.

It was a strange picture—one which if it could be cor-
rectly painted would give an artist imperishable fame.

Those women, bronze-hued in face and form, with
scarce & womanly look about them—scantily robed in
skins and furs, with theirlong black hair streaming on
the wind—their eyes wild with hate and fierce excitement
—flinging their gaunt arms about as they sung, or
taunted their intended victim. That victim, beautiful in
her pallor, looking up to Heaven with her dark tearful
eyes, her white hands clasped together, with the flower
wreath above her brow, going to the bridal of Death.

At last they stood upon a rocky eminence—the last be-
tween them and a beautiful lake—a basin of sea-green
water scooped out in the mountain top by Nature’s
mighty hand.

“Let the White Lily look around her, for the last time!”’
said Red Rose. ‘Let her say good-by to all things in
this world. ' She is about to goto the land of Spirits.
Has she a song tosing before she goes? Or must the
women of the Kiowa sing the last song for her!’ °

“T have no song to sing—no fayor to ask!’ said
Josephine, with that calm courage which belongs to
woman more than man—a courage born in faith and a
trust in Him who makes our present and our hereatter
according to His own will.

“Does not the Lily feel faint of heart when she looks
down into the water which isto be her grave!” asked
Red Rose. : :

‘“No—for she looks beyond it to peace from persecution
—to rest from a life of sorrow and trouble. Why do you
keep me standing herein the chill night wind. Why do
you not finish what you have begun ?” said Josephine.

“The pale-faced maiden is brave. She craves to die,
Let her listen to her death song. When itis flnished and
Red Rose lifts her hand, the White Lily will have seen the
last of life!”’ ;

Tne Red Rose spoke a word tothe squaws around her
and their voices rose’ in a wild wailing song which rung
out strangely loud over the water and among the shadowy

lens.

. Josephine heard it, but she took no note of it, or of
time. Her thoughts were of her dead parents—would she
meet them in that world to which her spirit would so
soon be hurled. ; :

Suddenly, she felt the grasp of Red Rose tightening on
her arm—then. another grasp on her left shoulder—she
glanced right and left and saw only two stern, merciless
faces looking back into her eyes.

She knew her time had come. :
‘Wilder, louder rose the wail of the women—then led
forward to the edge of the cliff, Josephine with an invol-
untary shudder looked down into the waters, far, far
below!

‘The song ceased—Red Rose hissed out these words :

“One Hye will not find the White Lily there!”

She pointed down into the waters, which, dancing in
the moonlight, seemed to mock the victim doomed to
sleep ‘eneath them.

Josephine smiled.

The Indian woman was astonished. She looked for
tears—for prayers for life. Not even a warrior could face
death more calmly. Revenge lost half its pleasure in such
adeoth. Could she not torment her in this hour ?—bring
out a groan, or draw a tear from her meek eyes? One
more trial. :

“Hag tie Lily no word to speak before she makes her
last great jump ?’’ asked the squaw.

“None wut to ask the Great Spirit to forgive you asf
do: Free my arms, and I will save you further trouble.
Iam rez ly to die!’ said the heroic girl. '

‘We will help you!’? said Red Rose, and her grasp tight-
ened, and Josephine felt them raise her from the earth,

CHAPTER XLY.

To any but one so situated that life is valueless, the sit-
uation of Josephine, lifted by those rude, strong, arms
over the watery abyss, would have been terrible. Closing
her eyes, she breathed but these words:

“Heavenly Father, receive mel”.

For she felt that she was gone; but at that awful mo-
ment she heard a stern voice speak, in a tongue which
she did not understand, and at the same instant knew
that a strong arm was thrown about her waist, and she
was forcibly drawn from the cruel hands that had lifted
her up for sacrifice. .

She opened her eyes in amazement to see the Kiowa
women cowering down in fear before Loud Thunder and
a party of his well-armed warriors.

“The Grea Spirit is good!’ said Loud Thunder, ever
reverent when he spoke His name. ‘I came by His help,
in time to save the White Lily from:an awful death.
What shall I do with these panthers who so nearly
wrought her doom? Shall I cast them from the high
rocks, or strike them dead at her feet???

“Neither. Forgive, and let them go!” said Josephine.
“But, oh’ take me quickly away from here, before their
terrible chief comes back! Ifear him more than death.
Twice I hav: escaped from his power; if I fall into it
again he will have no mercy."!

“Let not the White Lily fear! Loud Thunder will pro-
tect her now. He will carry her to his own village, treat-
ing her as if she were his sister, and there he will show
her two maidens as fair as herself and as good, whose
destiny is written. They are to be the wives of the great
Comanche chief; they are to be mothers to a race of war-
riors who shall teach all the red race of America submis-
sion to one head, so they may become powerful. Now,
there are too many chiefs, too few. warriors. Were alt
warriors, under one leader, the pale-faces would not dare’
to kill buffalo on our hunting-grounds, or to build great
towns where our fathers are laid. But Loud Thunder
must not talk; he must carry the White Lily back to her
brothers, Their eyes are heavy in looking for her, and
they are hoarse calling her name and getting no answer.
We will go!”? E

The chief now took Josephine by the hand and led her
down the steep declivity, leaving the Kiowa women as-
tonished ata mercy they knew they did not deserve, and
which they. did not understand. For in clemency the In-
dian never reads a right motive. They think it is dictated
by cowardice or by policy, which in most cases amounts
to the samme thing.

The moon, rising higher and higher, made the road of
the Comanche chief easier than when he came; but he
and his warriors were on fout, and the young girl was too
faint and weary to move forward even at a slow pace
Without frequent rest. ‘ :

Loud Thunder found that she must be carried, or he
Would be very long in reaching the camp of, his people,
and in restoring her to her brothers. So he had a, litter

 

 

paste,

made from the strong lances of his braves, crossed and

 

  
 

 

self carried on ata more rapid pace than she could have
taken even if rested.

Loud Thunder walked in silence by her side, steadying
the litter in steep and dangerous passes, and constanty
watching over her safety.

When her beayers rested to change hands:andto drink
water ata sinall cascade, Josephine told Loud Thunder
that she felt strong how and she would try 'to walk.

‘No!’ said the chief. “The White Lily is very tender,
like all the maidens of the white race. When the Great
Spirit made women he made three kinds of women. One
is Coarse and strong, fit to bear burdens. © She is like the
trees which bend when the wind’blows, but do not break,
She may groan when the load is heavy, but when it is
lighter, she straightens up and is right again.. The next
can cook food for her brave—she can fetch him drink, or
watch over him when he is on his back with many
wounds. But the white woman is like the flower—
beautiful tolook upon, sweet to the scent, but no good
for work, for travel, for anything but to set up as a
picture to feast the eyes!’

Josephine smiled. She knew there was truth in the re-
marks of the chief. t

And now she sought light on the one thought which
haunted her.

“Has the body of the White Whirlwind been found?’
she asked. ; 2
- “No. Norisit certain that he isslain. Did not One
Eye speak of him ?’’? said Loud Thunder.

; ns . He would not even answer whenI asked about
nim .

“Then he is alive. Had he been slain, One Eye would
have boasted of it. He would have shown his scalp. Hg
may be a prisoner—yet you would have heard of it in the
villaget”’ .

“He may have crept, sorely wounded into some moun-
tain cave to die!” said Josephine.

“If it be the will of the Great Spirit that he lives, the
White Lily will see him again. If not, she must bow her
head, for it is not for us to murmur at His will!’’

ee a truel”? said Josephine, and she remained
silent, :

Not long after, it was seen by the grayish tinge of the
eastern sky that day was near at hand. And when from
the gray the rosier hue of coming sunrise met their. eyes,
they had reached the last point above their old place of
bivouac. The descent toit was not difficult, forit was
now made bya direct route instead of by that ascent
which the crooked trail they hac followed made necessary
when they went up.

Far down in the valley they could see the horses graz-

ing which Loud Thunder Knew belonged to his party.
The white filly Snow Drep Was'there, keeping apart
from the rest yet not seeking to deave the camp.
, Loud Thunder now hurried on,*forhe wished to be with
his people to know what discoveries they had made. In
his haste he did not pause to examine trails, or he might
have learned that he was ona fresl track—that before
him was @ party he had missed in going up, but which un-
wittingly he had followed fast on his return.

This was One Eye and about twenty of his’ warriors,
all that he could take from his village, when he left
Josephine to the care of his women.

And he too had seen the party below and their horses—
had counted their numbers, and without looking back
where he had no thought an enemy could be found, was
creeping on to surprise them. . For he wanted the horses,
as well.as the scalps of the Comanches.

Of but one thing was One Eye fearful. If these people
had struck the trail of his two white captives, for as such
he regarded the twin girls Lulu’and Lota, and of The
Listener, they would have them now in their company and
in an onslaught they might be slain.

Therefore he determined to proceed with great caution
and to see who was in the camp before he attacked it.

This very caution, in checking his speed, enabled Loud
Thunder toso gain on him and his men, that the quick-
eyed chiefsaw them while they were yet a mile at least
from his people. When Loud Thunder did see them and
felt satisfied from their actions that they were enemies
creeping up to surprise his people, he knew it must be
One Eye and his gang. :

Therefore sending a brave with ared blanketin his hand
to wave a signal of danger from a tree top near by, he hur-
ried on to strike the Kiowas in the rear before they could
strike a blow at his people.

To do this, he had to move with less caution than the
Kiowas were doing, and in spite of his care, so much of
an alarm reached their ears that they glanced back and
saw the red signal waving from a tree-top even before it
was seen by the Comanciies in front.

One Bye, in a second, knew that there were enemies be-
hind as well as in front. That to surprise those last
named would now be impossible, but if he could surprise
and capture the feeding stock, he would have both parties
at an advantage—or if that could not be done, he could
equalize his chance by stampeding the animals.

Therefore he made a swift, bold rush forward for this
object. It was done under cover of a range of bushes
skirting the stream which ran from the mountain, and as

/ the Comanches looked to where the flag was waving and

saw their own footman near it rushing forward, they did
not see or expect the nearer danger.

One Eye, acting so quickly, was completely successful.

Coming on the herd, where it fed near the water and
bushes, his warridrs each had'a horse in less time then it
would take to describe the act, and mounted -with One
Kye in the lead, they dashed away not through the camp,
but to gain by a wide circlethe rear of those who were
yet behind them, and then to strike for the spot where
One Eye expected to find The Listener, Dashing Charlie
and his two maiden captives. This he could do through
a pass well known.to him, which he could reach by this
circuit.

The animals which were loose, with that strange nature
which makes them close rather than scatter in a panic,
followed those which the Indians iad mounted, and Loud
Thunder angry and mortified, saw all his animals sweep-
ing swiftly away out of his reach. Even the white filly
atter the rest heid gone almost from sight took after them,
rushing on like a cloud before the wind.

Loud Thunder had left Josephine in charge of the war-
rior who waved the alarm signal, s0 that she would not
be in danger when he attacked the Kiowas in the rear,
and he had felt alarm wien he saw the’ mounted Indians
pass very near the spot where she had been left. But as
they kept on without halting fora single second, he felt
relieved. She had been passed unseen. He waited for
the warrior to bring her up, while he saw some of his
people from in front hurrying to meet him.

But while he watched, even so far off he heard a shrill
ery. It came from Josephine, who saw -her beautiful
Snowdrop bounding away, and who sought by that ery
to recall the animal so precious because it was his present.

But too well did she succeed.

The filly recognized the cry. She swerved in her on-
ward course, stopped and listened till the cry reached her
ears again, then like an arrow speeding from the bow, she
flew to the spot where Josephine waited.

Without a thought, Josephine sprung on the back of the
glad and willing steed.

“Away!’ she cried, for she thought now quickly to re-.

join her brothers in the camp, so near at hand.

Away! But not toward the camp with almost lightning
speed flew the swift skimmer of the prairie seas.

Away—in the wake of the flying herd—away in the
track of the mounted Kiowas—while terror-stricken,
vainly trying to change that headlong course the poor
girl clung to the snowy mane.

On—on at such speed that it would have been death for
her to fall, poor Josephine was borne—first among the
herd of loose horses—then through the column of
astonished Kiowas, until the filly led them all.

Then slacking her speed a trifie, the beautiful animal
kept her course, which to the delight of One Eye, who
had recognized her as she passed, looked. directly to the
mountain glen where he had left The Listener and his
captives.

For the wily chief believed she would halt or be halted
when she reached that camp, and now with all his war-
riors mounted, he could easily carry her and the twin
eaptives with him where dismounted men could never
follow—or if they did, be so long in coming that he
could elude pursuit, or turning confront it with superior
force.

Away—away, now at their fullest speed flew every

horse behind the white leader—away up the mountain |

gorge, leaving the Comanche camp and Loud Thunder
and his braves far behind, and the two brothers of poor
Josephine in a new agony. ;
Rescued, but to be lost—it seemed asif they should
never see her more. :

 

CHAPTER XLVI.

When Loud Thunder, almost stupefied at this new mis-
hap, went on to meet his:warriors and the two brothers,
and to upbraid the first with the careless guard which
had lost them all their horses, and caused the White Lily
too to be lost almost aS soon as found, he was presented
with two prisoners—the wretches, Dave Brimstone and
Skinny Jack being the two.

“Who are these white-faced cowards, who stand here
and tremble before Loud Thunder?” he asked.

“That is the wretch who caused all our trouble—the one
who followed my sister to steal her away and who mur-
dered, or caused the murder of my parents and my
brother!’ cried Chicot Dubois, pointing to Dave Brim-
stone. ‘They are those who consorting with and bribing
the Kiowas, caused the war which has given Loud
Thunder such annoyance! They tell a strange story. We
do not believe it!”

“We have no time to hear stories. The White Lily was
found, was saved, and is lost again, We must get more
horses and go and Jook for her. But first we will punish
these murderers. They are not warriors to be shot, or
women to be: drowned. They are dogs, and must be
hung!’ said the chief. ; :

“Mercy !?? cried Skinny Jack in piteous tones, for at a
sign from the Comanche chief, a noosed lasso was
thrown over the necks of both men.

“Fool! . Die a cussin’ as I willl’? cried Dave Brimstone,
who had no reason to expect mercy and deemed it useless
to ask it.

“To that tree!’? said Loud Thunder, and he pointed his
warriors to a tree a rifle shot away.

“Gentlemen—will you see white men hung before your
very eyes !’? pleaded Skinny Jack, appealing to the
brothers. . . ‘

“Hanging is far too easy a death for you to die!’ said
Jean. ‘But we have no time to roast you now!”

“At least @ ve us time to pray!’? moaned the wretch, as
he and the oti er gambler were led to the place of doom.

Loud Thund2r, who was.about to give the order to run
them up, paused:

“Does he ask to speak to the Great Spirit ?”’

The inquiry was addressed to Jean Dubois by Loud
Thunder. /

‘“Yes—he says he wants to pray before he dies!”

 

fastened with thongs, and on it Josephine soon found her-

an Indian, and two beautiful white giris.

 

 
 

 

2— dl

o

LPR DC i may
Ss SS

 

 

‘Then he shall have time. Loud Thunder will not
stand betwéen a dying man and the Great Spirit. Let
himespeak his prayer, but he must not waste time. We
are in hastel?

The white wretch moved his lips, but the words, if he
even thought words, were inaudible. All he cared for
was time. He Knew not howto lift even a petition to
Heaven for meréy. Sin-hardened, his spirit was all evil.

His companion seemed all unmoved, and the Indians,
admiring his bravery, almost wished to give hina better
death. \

“Have youa single word to speak?’ asked Chicot Du-
bois of Dave ‘Brimstone, as he saw that the chief was
about to give the signal.

“Yes. My hand drove the knife home to your mother’s
heart! Would ‘it had been as swift to reach that of your
pretty sister!’

“Dog! Iwill not wait for him!’? cried the enraged son

and brother, and his own knifecame like a lightning
flash from its sheath. ;
. His up-raised hand told too well his intentions, and the
gambler smiled mockingly—for he sought to die. thus,
rather than by the noosed cord; but Loud Thunder caught
the descending arm.

“Brother,’’ said he, ‘‘you must not interfere when Loud
Thunder speaks the talk of doom. These men must die
like dogs!”

The next instant he spoke to his warriors, and, as a
wild, despairing shriek broke from the lips of Skinny
Jack, both men were run up, struggling in the agony of
strangulation, to the limbs overhead.

Fastening the ends of the two lassos to the tree-
trunks, the men were left to dangle in the air, while Loud
Thunder, mustering every warrior, Selected. ten of those
most skilled to hunt horses on the plains, while, with the
others he intended to strike a course over the mountains,
which he hoped might intercept some of the flying herd,
if not, indeed, the Kiowas themselves.

Naming a point of rendezvous for the ten left behind,
he at once dashed up the hill, on the course just spoken
of, with the two brothers and the rest of his braves.

Upon reaching the crest of the hill, and then a descent
beyond; they found the trail which led to the little gien
where Dashing Charlie and the twins had been surprised.

“Women, with small feet, neither Comanche nor Kiowa,
have been herel’’ exclaimed Loud Thunder, as he paused
by the sands which bordered the spring. ‘They have
peen here within a single sun, for the track is fresh.”

“Then the story of the villains we hung may have been
true,’? said Jean Dubois.

‘What was the story »? asked the chief.

“They said they had met a party in a grove where they
were encamped when robbed by One Eye, the Kiowa, of
horses and arms; that the party consisted of an old man,
Tiey stole the
horses of this party and carried off the girls. Butin the
very spot where we found them tied hand and foot, they
had been surprised by unseen parties, knocked senseless,
and the girls carried off. That the old man, the Indian,
and a*man, Buck Hays, who had been their comrade, was
even now on the trail of the girls, but had left them to

_perish, because they had abducted them.”?

‘““White maidens, so far from the borders, with so small
a party! Loud Thunder cannot understand it,’ said the
chief. ‘But these are their tracks. Yet there are many
tracks. There has been a large party of horsemen here;
some came by avery little time ago. Some were shod,
as are the horses of the white warriors; otliers are bare of
hoof, like the Indian horses. Loud Thunder is at fault.
He cannot read the signs he sees.’? :

“There is ‘something which we can read,’’ said Jean.
“T see on yonder ridge three men. | They stand by their
horses, as if they were watching us.”? ,

And he pointed to a hill not more than a mile away to
the north.

“They stand by horses which hold their heads low, but
do not feed. Their animals are tired. We will soon see
who they are!’? cried Loud Thunder,.and strode swiftly
on followed by the two brothers and his warriors. ;

When he came near enough to see that one was an old

‘man with long white hair, the steps of the chief were

quickened almost into arun and his face wore a look of
unspeakable wonder. 5;

“itis the White Prophet of my village!’ he cried to
the surprised brothers. ‘He stands there with another
pale face and with Monaco the mute!”

A moment later and he stood before the old man.

“What is the White Prophet doing here, with animals
which Loud Thunder once owned—what does this mean?
Why has he traveled so far from the Comanche town in
the great mountains?’

“Because the angels of the Great Spirit told him to do
so. But evil spirits have chased him for three nights and
three suns back, and the White Prophet has seen much
trouble and has met with a great sorrow!’

The old man looked the chief fearlessly in the eye as he
spoke.

Then the chief seemed to realise what cowld bea great
sorrow to the old man, what could make dumb Monaco
look so miserable. He looked at him sternly and said:

“The White Prophet did not leave the home of the Co-
manche alone. Who beside Monaco bore him company?”

“The two maidens, who Loud Thunder loved so well,
The twin lilies that he bought of the Kiowa so many
years ago!’

The eyes of Low Thunder gleamed like sparks of fire.
His hand flew to the handle of his tomahawk.

“The White Prophet had best look up quickly to the
Great Spirit!’ cried the angry chief. ‘He has stolen
away the light of the Comanche’s heart, and then has lost
itfrom his own hands. The White Prophet shall die!’ ,

And his hatchet gleamed in his uplifted hand.

“Tam ready!’ said the old man. ‘‘Strikel”

A cry of horror broke from every Comanche brave.
They had long looked on the White Prophet as the bless-
ing ef their nation. Tothem he was a sacred being. Not
one but would now die in his place, rather than see him
sacrificed to the anger of their chief. It would bring some
fearful curse upon them all. :

This cry and their looks recalled the senses of Loud Thun-
der. He had so long looked with reverence on the old
man, so long listened to and been benefited by his councils,
that even anger tempered by thought could not now out-
rage his safety.

His armed hand dropped by his side.
replaced in his belt. :

“Where are the twin stars of Loud Thunder’s sky?’
asked the chief. ‘Why has my father let them get out of
his sight???

“They were in our sight not long since!’ said the old
man. ‘Buta large body of Indians from the north, Si-
oux or Pawnee, have borne them away with them. We
were on the trail, but our mules were worn out and we
could not travel. Just now, on the same trail, a band of
Kiowas flew by, led by a white gitl on a white horse!”’

“My poor sister!’ said Chicot Dubois. ‘Powerless to
stop that wild horse, She led the chase whither the horse
chose torun, when it is run down, then only willit stop,
and she will perhaps be beyond all earthly help.?’

“Not beyoud the help of the Great Spirit!’ said the Co-
manche. ‘But we must move on.. The Pawnees may be
in camp—if they are, even on foot: we can reach them,
and get back the twin stars of Loud Thunder’s life.’

“The Pawnees are many!’ said the old man. ‘‘Many

The hatchet was

‘and well armed!”

‘What cares Loud Thunder for that?’ said the Co-
manche, proudly. ‘The Pawnees are children when they
standin his way. Let him but reach their camp and they
shall give him back his own!”? ;

‘Without horses we can travel but a little. way!’ said
Jean Dubois.

“The weak-hearted cannot travel far without horses!’
said the chiel, sternly. ‘‘But Loud Thunder will not tire
—he will go. Let those wno are tired wait 'for horses.
He cannot wait now, for his life is with the Pawnees!”?

And without looking behind him, he strode on.

Not one of his warriors, not a man of all who were
present remained. All followed lim—the old man,
Monaco, and Buck Hays included.

* [ro BE CONTINUED.]

 

A Merchant's Danghter Marries a Baronet,

A marriage, to which much romantic interest was attach-
ed, has lately taken placein St. John, New Brunswick, the
bride being Miss Maggie J. Anderson, the daughter of a
retired merchant of that city, and the bridegroom, Sir
Harry Burrard of England. Froma lengthy acceunt of
the brilliant occasion, sent us by acorrespondent, we con-
dense the following particulars;

“About three years ago some English officers arrived in
St. John, attached to the Fourth Battalion of the Sixtieth
Rifles. They Kept their social rank and position very quiet,
and rather affected great plainness of costuine and gen-
eral exterior. They gave themselves up to fishing, hunt-
ing, etc., frequented the Rink in the winter months, and
mingled with the elite of the city generally. Among their
number was Lieutenant Harry-P. Burrard. Those who
knew him best, spoke of him as a lover of sport, a skill-
ful composer, aS well as apracticed musician; an expert
photographer, and an adept at the turning lathe.

“After having been some time in the city, Lieutenant
Burrard became acquainted with Miss Maggie J. Ander-
son, second daughter of John Anderson, Ksq., a retired

‘merchant of our city, who livedin affluence without os-

tentation. How and when the young lady and the Eng-
lish officer first saw each other itis notforus particularly
to relate, but we have heard of a silver brook noé far from
St. John, whose gentle murmurs have been set to music,
and whose banks, now considered classic, have been pho-
tographed by the officer as the scene of some pleasing and
memorablerecollections. The officers, who were in search
of perch for bait at the brook, did, not then know who the
gentleman, whose frightened horse pawed and pranced as
he passed, was, but they concluded that the delicate blonde
by his side was his daughter, and they were anxious to see
her again, one ofthem in particular. After diligent inquiry,
their zeal was rewarded, and Lieutenant Burrard, after a
good deal of time had passed, discovered the unconscious
object of his admiration. Their formal introduction took
place inthe Rink. They saw a good deal of each other from
time to time, and seemed to be inspired by the tender pas-
sion, Madame Gossip, however, decided that the affair
was a flirtation, nothing more. The faimily of the young
lady.probably regarded it inthe same light. Inthe mean-
time, important events took place in the family of Burrard,
the father of Lieutenant Burrard—Sir Harry Burrard—
having died, and the lieutenant succeeding to the title and
family estates, which are of great value. He returned to
England and sold out his commission. ea :
“Now that his rank and the distinguished position of his
family became known, there was much speculation In
social circles as to whetheror not he would return to
claim a New Brunswick bride, Madame Gossip’s opinion
being that he would not. The Anderson family maintain-
ed a discreet and creditable reserve, which greatly
puzzled the gossips. It was known, however, that the
young lady continued tobe the recipient of very costly

SO STREET

 

gifts from Sir larry, and from his mother. These gifts
seemed to some to admit of but one inierpretation—one
that was fully borne out, when the marriage took place
af the residence of the bride’s father. The facts already
stated are sufficient to explain the great interest which
this marriage excited in the community. The ceremony
took place at the early hour of: six o’esock, a. m., in the
presence of a large number of the friends of the parties,
but chiefly of the family of the bride. Soon after the ap-
pointed hour the bridegroom and his groomsmen, being
in wailing, the bride, supported by her father, and at-
tended by her bridesmaids, entered the apartment in
which the marriage ceremony was to be performed. Her
fair and graceful appearance excited the greatest interest,
and indeed, touched every heart. She was attired in
white satin, trimmed with honiton lace; overskirt of
tulle, looped with large clusters of orange blossoms and
lilies of the valley. Her hair was very prettily arranged
with a cluster of orange blossoms. The traditional bridal
vail was oftulle. She wore a set of diamonds and pearls,
the gift of the bridegroom. The bridesmaids were three
in number. They presented a very lovely appearance.
The dresses of the bridesmaids were of white muslin,
trimmed with puffing, and flounces edged with folds of

forget-me-nots in their hair. They each wore a haudsome
bracelet, the gift of the bridegroom.

“After the marriage ceremony was over the bridal par-
ty proceeded to the breakfast-room, which was gay with
the choicest flowers, where an elegant and sumptuous re-
past was provided.

‘After the good things placed on the breakfast-table had
been pretty well discussed, Mr. Anderson, father of the
bride, ina happy speech, asked the company to prepare for
the toast which he was about to propose. The good feel-
ing shown by the friends whom he saw around him as-
sured him that it would be warmly received. He might
that morning be considered to have lost a daughter, but
he had found a son, and believed they would all follow
both with their good wishes. She had been a dutiful and
affectionate @aughter, and if she manifested the same
spirit in the new relations in which she was placed, her
husband might have no reason to regret his choice. He
gave the health of the bride and bridegroom. The. toast
was duly honored, and cheered to the echo.

“Sir Harry Burrard, whose appearance was eminently
prepossessing, in a few modest, unaffected remarks, re-
turned thanks. He said he had been much affected by
the unmistakable manifestations of kind feeling which he
saw around him, and would never forget them. He felt
this the more as he had to admit that he was about to car-
ry away from them one of the fair daughters of New
Brunswick. He was, however, consoled by the thought
that if he took one away, he left many more behind.

“Soon after the various toasts had been honored, the
bride and bridegroom retired to prepare for going in the
steamerto Portland. They soon reappeared in their tray-
eling attire, and, after many adieux. and followed by @
good shower of slippers, drove away rapidly to the steam-
boat wharf, accompanied by groomsmen and other
friends.

“Sir Harry and Lady Burrard, after visiting near rela-
tives of his mother in the Upper Provinces, inciuding Sen-
ator Allen of Toronto, will return to St. John before going
to England. The principal estates of the Burrard family
are at Walhampton. ‘They have also a residence in the
Isle of Wight, called ‘The Morent,’ and a place of summer
resort Called ‘The Lodge,’ on the Tweed, in Scotland.”’

—_—___++@>+—__—_
PERSONAL.

A. D. A. writes from Sheboygan, Wis.: “I have taken the New
YORK WEEKLY over three. years. I began with the commence-
ment of ‘Alice Blake; or, The Ferry House Moeting,’ and have
been a constant reader ever since. I was deeply interested in
‘Reginald’s Fortune,’ ‘The Lady of Grand Court,’ ‘The False
Heir,’ ‘fhe Sister’s Crime,’ ‘Bertha, the Sewing-Machine Girl,?
‘The Boy Gladiator,’ ‘The Charmed Rubies,’ and now my choice is
‘Wedded for an Hour.’ My favorite authors are Mrs. Mary J.
Holmes, Mrs. Schuyler Meserole, the Peerless Author, and’ Ned
Buntline. I could not-get along without the New YORK WEEKLY,
and J shall take it as long as-I have money to buy it, as I believe
it is the best paper in America. There are 300,000 that take the
NEw YORK WEEKLY now, and I hope next year the number may
be increased to three times that figure. Every house should
have the NEw YORK WEEKLY.” :

We make the following extract from a letter written by Private
Dailzell, of Caldwell, Ohio, who is laboring so efficiently to pra-
mote the interests of the rank and file of the army, and the wice
ows and orphans of deceased soldiers: ‘I do not‘know any other
paper in the United States that isread by so many soldiers as
the NEW YORK WEEKLY. The soldiers are very grateful to you
for your courtesy in publishing their mammoth petition to Gon-

ress, and their:call tor the National Soldiers’ Convention of May

, 1872, at Washington city. ThisITjearn from thousands of lJet-
ters received from your readers from every State, within the past
month. And right here let me say tomy brother soldiers that
the NEw YORK WEEKLY has proved itself our friend this winter,
and it is our duty and our interest to patronize it.”

W. G. #H. writes from’ Clintonville, N. ¥.: “Allow an old

 

Ihave taken itand other papers fora numberof ‘years, but
always found yours the best, andI have now dropped all the
others entirely. I think May Agnes Fleming is your best writer,
and as for her story ‘Wedded, Yet No Wife,’ it is the best I have
ever read. May the NEW YORK WEEKLY always prosper, and
prove a blessing to our land.” :

G. D. Spear writes from Springfield, Mass.: “I have read the
NEw YORK Wi#EKLY since ‘Hazel Eye’ was published. Iam read-
ing several other papers, but the NEW YORK WEEKLY is at» the
head of them all. Ned Buntline is a brick, but May Agnes Flem-
ming is a splendid author, I think ‘Dashing Charli¢,’ ‘Buffalo
Bill’s Best Shot’? and ‘Wedded, Yet No Wife’ are some of the best
stories ever published, and shall continue to take the paper. as
jug as Ned Buntline and M. A. Fleming continue to write
or it. :

Kate H., and others of our readers who have perused “‘Weddcd
for an Heur,”’ will welcome the intelligence that Mrs, Meserole’s
new story has been completed and is now being prepared for im-
mediate publication. The new Ory tar surpasses in interest
either of her previous efforts, and will greatly add to the reputa-
tion of the talented young author, whose success in her brief ca-
reer as a novelist has been unparalleled, and has exceeded even
our most sanguine expectations. We shall place the new serial
berore_ our readers at the earliest possible date, and bespeak for
it in advance a most enthusiastic reception. j

B. D. writes from Schralensburgh, N. J.: ‘Ihave readthe New
YORK WEEKLY since ‘Wedded for an Hour’ was commenced, and
like iu very much. J also read two other story papers, but I do
not like them nearly as well. I borrowed the volumes of 1870—
71 of a friend, and was so much pleased with their contents that
I afterward purchased them. ‘Wedded for an Hour,’ ‘Dashing
Charlie’ and ‘Buffalo Bill’s Best Shot’ are my favorite serials.”?

A. A. M, writes from New Orleans, La.: ‘I commenced reading
the Nuw YORK WEEKLY with the first chapter of ‘Bertha, the
Sewing Machine Girl,’ and was so much pleased with the paper
that since that timeI cannot do without it. In fact the whole
family isthe same. Aslongas you will have such stories as
‘Wedded for an Hour,’ ‘Wedded, Yet No Wife,’ ‘Strangely Won,’
the ‘Forger’s Sister,’ and so many others that it would take five or
six pages to name them. all, youmay depend upon me as one
of your assiduous readers.”

_ O. K. writes from New Orleans: ‘‘We have seven young ladies
in our house, and take a whole host of papers every week, but
they all think the NEw YORK WEEKLY is the paper. I know itis

and above all the ‘Knowledge Box.’ That’s my first dig, to use
the expression. I have a whole lot treasured up on that account,
as I have seen so many valuable recipes there, many of which
have been very useful to me.” >

A, J. B. writes from Newark, N. J.: “I have read the NEw
YORK WEEKLY for four years, and. am so well pleased with the
investment, that 1 would rather undergo any privation than give
itup. Ned’s last serial, ‘Buffalo Bill’s Best Shot,’ I think is one
of the best he ever wrote. ‘Wedded, Yet No Wife,’ ‘Wedded for
an Hour,’ and ‘The Forger’s Sister, including Ned’s last, are the
four best stories lever read. ‘The ‘Pleasant Paragraphs’ are very
amusing, and the ‘Historical Sketches’ are very instructive, as
well as interesting.” :

J. T. Cullen writes from Bridgeport, Conn.: “I ama reader of
the NEw YORK WEEKLY, and think its stories, and sketches can-
not be beat. My favorite stories are ‘Dashing Charlie,’ and ‘Buf-
falo Bill’s Best Shot.’ Ned isa brick. The ‘Pleasant Paragraphs’
and Josh Billings’ Letters are first-rate. With such a list of con-
tributors as you have, the circulation of your paper must increase
to ahalf million. You have my best wishes for-success.’’

John McD. writes from Lindsay, Canada: ‘Having taken the
NEW YORK WEEKLY for a couple of years, 1am prepared to say
that it is,in my opinion, the best literary paper published in
either Canada or the United States. There is quite a number of
persons in this town that take it, and I believe they would all
give the same opinion if called on for one.”

J. P. C. writes from Jackson, Miss.: “I take this opportunity
to say, that I think the New YORK WEEKLY is THE story paper
of America. Ned Buntline is my favorite; but all of the writers
. are so good, that I can’t really furm an opinion as to the best.”

G. S. A. of this city writes: “I have taken the New Yorr
WEEKLY since the beginning of ‘Ramon the Outlaw,’ and I think
it is the best paper in the world for boys. I love to read ‘Dashing
Charlie,’ and allof Ned Buntline’s stories.”

W. J. Donnelly, of Milwaukee, writes: ‘I have taken the New
YORK WEEKLY tor the last six years and will continue to take it,
for the reason that it is the best paper pubiished. I hope your
circulation may reach a million, and still increase.”

NEw YORK WEEKLY is the best paper published. The serials are
suited to all, no matter what nature of story the reader may re-

quire.”

W. McC. writes from Albany, N. Y.: ‘I have taken the NEw
YORK WEEKLY since ‘Hazel Eye’ commenced, and I think it a
perfect success, Ned Buntline is my favorite,”

 

REPS

 

New Stories.

The stories named below, all first-class serials, from
some of our ablest contributors, haye been prepared for
publication, and- will be commenced in the NEw YorE
WEEKLY 4S soon as space will permit:

A Silver Brand; or, The Secrets of Schwar.

CHARLES IT. MANNERS, author of “The Lord o
* Tyle.??

The Suspected Wife. An Interesting Domestic
Tale. By Mrs. SCHUYLER MESEROLE, author of
‘Wedded for an Hour.”

O’Connor’s Child; or, the Harp of Innisfail.
A Tale of Erin in her Days of Glory. By JoHN F.
CowAN, author of “The Patriot Spy of Brandy-
wine,” “The Broken Dagger,” etc.

Robert Rushton; or, Brave and Bold. A Story

_ for Boys. By Horatio ALGER, JR., author of
“Abner Holden’s Bound Boy,’ etc.

Gaspard the Scout. A Tale of Western Life. By
Wa. A. SINCLAIR, author of “Gray-Hawk, the
Half-Breed,’ etc.

Peak. By CLEW GARNET, our new contributor. .

Winifred’s Diamonds. . By MARGARET BLOUNT, au.
thor of ‘Strangely Won,’’ ‘‘Heir of Balfour Hall,”

 

ete.

white silk, interspersed with clusters of pink roses, with .

subscriber to say a few words for your dear NEw YORK WEEKLY. —

for me, not only for continued stories, but also for short sketches; °

C. M, Wilkins writes trom Philadelphia: ‘Without a doubt the

zenburg. A Tale of Germany and America. Br -

Barnacle Bill; or, the Secrets of Devil’s .

 

 

 

 

 
 

aesorenmncennners incre itttaaattoam iiceinens

 

 

 

 

 

WHAT ARE WE?
f Written after hearing a lecture on the Immenstty of Spas: j
BY BELLA FRENCH.

Stupendous universe! so-great, so vast,

That earth compared with thee is but a dot;
{try to comprehend the mighty past

That gave thee birth; but J, alas! cannot:
Thy million worlds and suns so far away, —

That only thought can reach their misty shores
{n human life—what can I think or say

Of them ? My lips are dumb. My soul implores
The Spirit of the Universe, whom we

Call God, to give me purer, better light,
That I His works may more distinctly see,

And thereby learn to worship Him aright,

if Earth is but a dot upon the map
Of this great universe, oh! what are we?
An atom with no weight at all, mayhap;
A nothingness in the immensity!
Yet, when I look upon the good and great-~
The minds that wander out through space, at night,
To measure worlds, I think there must be weight
To them, just as there always is to light,
That falls upon the earth with mighty power,
Is telt and seen, but never moves the scales,
Although it tints and brightens every flower,
And robes in beauty all the hills and vales.

And what are we? A great God-given mind,

Bar, far too large for this small planet Earth;
Expanding, wandering out that it may find

The greater things, which God has given birth;
Aspiring high, ay, even to His throne,

Tt crosses space like sunbeams; up to Him
Ascending, timid, fearful and alone—

A light that time and change can never dim,
Because it is a ray from that great sun,

The universal soul, whence all are fed—
A drop of Time’s great sea; whose mission done,

Returns once more to seek the fountain head,

—

THE RIVER OUTLAW.

BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.

“J really think it was just the neatest thing that 1 ever
did in that line,’ said the grizzled oid Captain Gapsill.

“To whatdo you allude?” I inquired, knowing that I
was about to near something interesting.

“That little affair I had with Black Ben.”

“Black Ben! Who is he???

“Hain’t you ever lieard tell of him??? demanded the
captain, in amazement; and then recollecting himself, he
added, “I forgot; that was before your time—at least you
must have been quite a younker then. Black Ben, next
to Mike Fink, was one of the greatest pirates that ever
infested the Mississippi twenty-five or thirty years ago,”

“What became of him ??

“J was going to tellyou. In the first place, you mustn’t
imagine he was a negro because le was called Block Ben.
He had askin as dark as a mulatto’s, and a fearful lot of
great, black, bushy hair, which stood up like bristles;
and, as he always went without a hat, I can tell you he
was just about the most villainous-looking creature you
ever saw. Beside that, he had jet-black whiskers, short
and sticking out like needles, and growing up almost to
his eyes; so that when you looked at him you saw abont
abushel of black, bristling hair, and inthe midst his
great eyes glowing like coals of fire. He wasn’t more
than five feet in. hight, he had short legs, very long arms,
and. immense muscular power. He generally went
dressed as a backwoodsman, and had two comrades—or-
dinary-looking men, but as bloody and merciless cut-
throats as he.

“Black Ben had been seen as far up as Cairo, and as
low down as Natchez. He was such a queer-looking

_ creature that it wasimpossible for him to disguise himself

enough to go among the towns, or where he would have
run any danger. His primcipal hunting-ground was from
the mouth of the Arkansas north to the Tennessee line. Here
he had all the opportunity he wished for hiding himself,
and I don’t believe a party of red Indians ever could have
hunted him to his hole. If he hadn’t met his fate in the
queer manner he did, he might have hunted there until
he died of old age.

“In those days a great many flat-boats used fo pass
down the Mississippi on their way to New Orleans, and
these were the favorite prey of Black Ben and his men.
As the river navigation, with its snags and sawyers, is
always so dangerous, these boats often lay to under the
bank @uring the night, when the chances are.ten to one
that the sharp eyes of these pirates detected them, and,
at the dead hour of midnight, they stole out as silently as
shadows, crept over the boat, cut the throats of the un-
suspicious sleepers, gutteu the craft, then scuttled it and
set it afloat. Out in deep water, it would sink, and that
would be the last ever seen or heard of that flat-boat.

“Black Ben was a horrid dog, and it was no wonder
that there was such terrorof him all along the river.
Captain Hallongton, an old friend of mine; had his boat
served in this manner, but the night was so dark that he
managed to swim off, although his three men were every
one of them murdered. The captain had a hard story to
tell, and he offered five hundred dollars to any one who
would shoot this bloody cut-throat.

“T had been from Cincinnati down to New Orleans fwily
a dozen times without once encountering this redoubta-
ble Blue Beard. I had lain to at a place where, it was
said, he would be sure to find us; but never once did we
catch sight or sound of him, and I would have doubted
his existence but for the testimony of Captain Hallongton
and his triends, whom I could not refuse to believe.

“ It is strange that I never meet him,’ I once said,
when he aud I were conversing together regarding this
river outlaw. ‘It must be that he is either afraid of me,
or else has a feeling of friendship toward me.’

“Don’t congratulate yourself too soon,’ replied my
friend. ‘Depend upon it, Black Ben will yet pay youa
visit.’

“ T have heard so much of him, that I must say my cu-
riosity is really greater than my terror.’ :

4+ ‘See here!’ interrupted the captain, starting up in
sudden excitement; ‘you’re going to start down the river’
next week ??

‘* CA week from to-morrow.’

“Good! You take Dick and Tom, your usual help ?!

“Of course.’

«¢ 4191] ship with you a8 @ common hand, just on purpose
to help you to a sight of Black Ben. What do you say?’

“The proposition struck me very favorably, and I urged
the captain toit. Ashe was ten times asrich as I was,
XY didn’t exactly like the idea of his going as a common
hand, although on my flat-boat there was no other posi-
tion for him. It was finally agreed that he should pass
himself as one of my assistants; but as there was no need
of his work, he was to do little more than dress himself as
such, to deceive any one whom we might encounter
while he might accommodate the labor to himself,

“We made all our arrangements as if certain of en-
countering this fellow. We went more fully armed than
we ever did before, and it was agreed that when we
reached that part of the river where we had reason to ex-
pect the appearance of Black Ben, or where there was
the least likelihood of his seeing us, that nobody should
show themselves above Geck except Captain Hallongton
and myself. This was for the purpose of making the pi-
rate believe there were only two of uson board, and thus
luring him on to what we hoped would be his destruction.

“Well, we swung loose froin Cincinnati one fine morn-
ing, and in due time reached the Mississippi, and lay to at
Memphis, Tennessee, one stormy night, where we fixed
everything to our satisfaction. When we started next
morning, Tom and Dick were sent down in the cabin with
the understanding that they were not to show themselves
antil tirey had permission to do so.

“It was late in the autumn of 1838, and I remember that
the weather was quite chilly, So much so that both Hal-
longton and myself kept on onr overcoats all the time.
We passed to-and-fro, plainly showing ourselves to any
one who might be along the banks. ‘om and Dick were
allowed to come up only when the night was dark, and
then they exchanged places with us so that under no cir-
cumstances were more than two of us visible at the same
time.

“Down below Helena onthe Arkansas side, we had
fixed as the place where we might reasonably look for
the appearance. There was a long stretch of wooded
country, where the wretch’s most inhuman deeds had

been located.

“Tt was a cold, blustering night that we worked our
boat under the wooded shore and made fast to the
identical spot, where my friend had ‘had his memorable
adventure with Black Ben. He recognized it by severai
landmarks and assured me that we would hear from. the
gentleman before many hours had passed over our head.

«For the jast few miles, before tying up, we had kept
up a sharp scrutiny of the shores in the hope of detecting
some signs of the outlaw. Isaw nothivg; but Hallong-
ton was positive he caught several glimpses of a man

- flitting along the Arkansas bank, and maintaining a

sharp watch upon our movements,

“After we had securely tied up our boat, we went
below, ate our supper, and then made our final arrange-
ments. Ishould state here that my flat boat was one
made after a fashion of my own. It was long and quite
narrow, the cabin being, as usual, in the rear. This was
made of double thick planking, immediately adjoining
the cargo, which stretched away to the bow. A small
orifice had been bored through this planking, so that
onein the cabin could talk in a whisper to one who was

- 4n the main body of the boat among‘our cargo of pork.
- ‘hig was done at the suggestion of Captain Hallongton,

in accordance with a plan which we had formed between

-  ccwhen it was fully dark Tom and Dick crept carefully

over the cabin, in among the pork, and took their position
iene the hole ‘which I have just ‘mentioned. When we
had chatted together awhile, eS did the same,

ile I maintained my place near the cabin.
wwe were so close under the bank that a long limb
jung directly over the eabin. As it looked quite thick
and strong [ grasped it with my hands, and swung my-
self upon it. The next moment I had climbed to the top
of the tree, and seated myself near the trunk astride of a
large limb where I patiently awaited whatever was to
come. :

“Our plans were fully agreed upon, and I knew that I
might ee gat there until morning without hearing a

word from them, or detecting an impatient movement
upon their part. .

“The night for atime was pitchy dark, but the moon
soon came up over the river, shedding alight which made
the opposite shore visible, and gave me a little uneasiness
as to whether I would not be detected from the ground
below. However, as our line of action had been agreed
upon, it was now too late for us to make any change in
our part of the programme.

“I was speculating on: these matters, when a slight
noise below attracted my attention, and looking down
I could discern a dark body, moving cautiously toward
the boat. In the shadow of the wood, the gloom was too
great to make out its identity; but, while I was looking,
it leaped as lightiy and dextrously as a monkey upon the
gunwale, and the next minute I saw that Black Ben was
on the flat boat. :

‘In the bright moonlight, he was plainly visible, and
answered perfectly the description which I have given.
He circled around the boat with the silence of a
phantom, and finally halted near the cabin and listened
as if to hear the breathing of those within. Having fin-
ished his reconnoisance, he sprang lightly ashore and
disappeared.

heard when he was on the boat, satisfied me that he had
one companion at least with him, and I was sure that
he would speedily return.

“T was now anxious to hear whether Captain Hallong-
ton had seen the pirate and whether he was ‘posted.’ To
satisfy myself, I gave alow whistle. It was immediately
replied to—a fact which convinced me that my friends
were ‘all right.’

‘It was plain that Black Ben had no suspicion of the
little plan which we had concocted for his benefit ; but
whether that same little plan of ours would miscarry or
not was another question, for we knew that the. outlaw
was a desperate character, who would play the mischief
if he should ever get into close quarters.

“Now came a period of watching and waiting, continued
So long that I had great fear that Black Ben had scented
danger and concluded to give us a wide berth. Fully two

the tree ; but I had resolved to stay there until morning
the outlaw did not make his appearance before that
me. :

“It could not. have been far from midnight when I
caught the rustling of bushes beneath me, and I felt sure
that Black Ben was there ; but, as I peered down, I -was
disappointed in discerning not a man, but a large black
bear that was lumbering along the shore and awkwardly
approaching the flat-boat. Reaching it, he waded into
the water, snuffed around the boat, poked his nose against
it, Struck his paws against it, and made a racket which
Struck me as singular upon the part of a bear.

“““f would soon stop your sport,’ I reflected, ‘if I were
not watching for bigger game.’ :

“I was watching the brute, when something in his
manner of moving about attracted my suspicion, and I
scanned him more narrowly than Thad yet done. My
heart gave a great leap as I penetrated the ruse and dis-
covered that instead of the object under me being a bear,
it was only a man disguised as-‘such. His object in mak-
ing such a tumult around the boat was evidently to learn
whether the men on board were asleep.

“Occasionally the creature paused and was perfectly

 

‘still, as if listening; but nothing but the sullen surging of

the muddy Mississippi, or the dipping of some overhang-
ing branch was heard, and becoming satisfied that every-
thing was in the shape desired, the bear withdrew from
the water, and tumbied away into'the wood, in a style
which he hardiy would have dared to use had he been
aware that a patr of eyes were intently scrutinizing his
every movement. :

‘A half hour later, a form sprang from the dark line of
wood which lined the shore, landing on the gunwale of
the boat at a singie bound. One glance was sufficient for
me to see that Black Ben had boarded the ‘General
Jackson,’ and that the critical moment was at hand.
“The hideous-looking creature glided as swiftly and
silently as a shadow from one part of the boat to the other
in order te assure himself that no one was watching in
any of the out-of-the-way places. He then glided back to
the cabin, and then turned his terrible face toward the
shore and made a single motion with his arm. The re-
sponse was in the shape of another dark form, which
leaped beside him with all the agility of a monkey.
“From where I sat I had both of these precious scamps
in range, and I could have sent a bullet crashing through
both of them; but, as that was not the plan agreed upon,
I concluded to wait.

“As lhad always understood that Black Ben was ac-
companied by two men, I looked for the appearance of his
companion, but, .as the bushy-headed chief turned his
head upon the shore the instant he was joined by his
friend, I supposed that he was absent, and would not ap-
pear in this matter, which pleased me greatly, as it could
not but make the matter afl the more easy for us.

“The two villains put their heads together and seemed
to converse awhile in the same manner that you fre-
quently see horses or cows do. Agreeing upon their
course of action, Black Ben quietly drew back ‘the slide
which covered’ the door which communicated with the
cabin. Flashing a sort of bull's-eye lantern down into the
gloom, he leaned his head forward and scanned every
part of the cabin.

“And I know what he saw. That were apparently two
human forms wrapped up in their blankets and sound
asleep. The next instant the sharp report of two pistols
in immediate succession broke the stillness, and Black
Ben and his comrade sprang down iato the cabin.

“Just what we wanted. Hardly a second had elapsed
when I was on deck, and had slid the door back to its
place, at the same moment that Captain Hallongton and
Tom and Dick hurriedly clambered up beside me.
“We've got em!’ exclaimed the captain, delightedly.
‘Be quick and fasten that down.’

“Everything had been prepared for such a denouement
as this, and not ten seconds passed ere we had Black Ben
and his friend firmly imprisoned.

“The next proceeding of Captain Hallongton was to
danee a double shuffle upon the deck and exclaim,
‘We've got him! we've got him!"

“ «Keep still,’ I said; ‘you act like a crazy man.’

‘“*Do you know there is a thousand dollars offered for
his head in New Orleans?’ said he. :

“T didn’t know that,and I felt somewhat like making as
big a fool of myself over it, but I did not.

“The next thing we heard was a terrible rumpus be-
low—swearing and yelling enough to raise the hair on
your head. But what cared we? We had the mighty
river pirate, Black Ben, and one of his comrades in our

ower.

y “Not Knowing but what some of his friends might be
in the neighborhood, we untied the fastenings of the boat
and swung out into the stream. We ran considerable
risk in so doing, as this was a dangerous part of the river,
but Captain Hallongton understood the current. better
than I did, and we decided that this was the safest and
best thing that we coufd do under the circumstances.

“The tempest and tumult continued below until we were
in the middle of the Mississippi and gliding rapidly down
the stream. Then asilence came and Black Ben called
up to us and asked us what this all meant. We told him
that we had caught him trespassing on our -boat and in-
tended to take him down to New Orleans and sell him.
The answer to this was a couple of pistol shots fired at
the spot where he supposed I was standing. It struck
beneath my feet, and no doubt he imagined it would pass
through the planking and kill me; but it was bullet-proof
and there was no danger. Finding he could do no harm,
he took a different course of action. He tried to bribe us
to let him go, and made us repeated offers until he reached
a figure as high as ten thousand dollars. We told him
we would take time to think about it, but we were not
quite fools enough to accept any offer which he could
make. We Knew that all he wanted was to get out on
deck, and then there would be the tallest kind of a rum-
pus. Our only safety was in keeping him .just where he
was and not give him the slightest advantage.

“Finding his efforts in this direction useless, he fell upon
his first plan, of swearing. Ihave heard some terrible
profanity in my time, but I don’t think I ever heard any-
thing to equal that of Black Ben. He kept it.up until
morning, and then all was still again.

“l suppose you understand the way in which we trapped
our bird? Captain Hallongton had taken the trouble of
finding out.Black Ben’s manner of doing business and
had laid his plans accordingly. It was his custom to wait
until the crewof the boats he intended to rob were
asleep, and he then stole’ aboard and quietly. dispatched
them either with the knife or pistol. Knowing this, we
had arranged a couple of dummies, which, as we intend-
ed, were mistaken by the river pirate for the entire crew
of the General Jackson. The small orifice which I first
spoke of as connecting the cabin with the main body of
the boat, had been made by Captain Hallongton, so that in
case there was parley between him and Black Ben before
surrendering the boat the latter personage could thus be
made to believe that it came from one of.the forms inside;
but his course of action rendered this precaution unneces-
sary. s
“We ran agreat deal more danger in ‘capturing this
renowned outlaw than any of usimagined. We had care-
fully removed everything in the shape of a knife or hatchet
or any kind of a weapon from the cabin, and yet we had
every reason to believe that both of these dogs would have
their knives with them; but by a purely providential cir-
cumstance, neither ofthem carried anything with them
except their pistols. How it came about, I cannotsay,
for it certainly was odd. Had either of thein their
weapons, it would have taken them but afew hours to
cut their way through the planking, thick as if was, and
we would have been compelled to shoot them to save our-
selves from being shot.

“ff they had become satisfied that there was no hope
for them, the next thing in order would have been the
bottom ofthe boat. They would have made a ieak which
would have carried themselves and the flat-boat to the
bottom, and likely enough ourselves, too, for you must
know it is no easy matter to make your way through the
Mississippi at high water.

“We did not feel easy when we heard them thumping
and rubbing the side of the boat, for we were well aware
what wonderiul things these desperate characters do,
when they find themselves in such desperate straits,

“Captain Hallongton stood with his loaded rifle, ex-
pecting almost every moment to see Blacs Ben burst out
to view like a raging fury. By placing our ears against
the cabin we could hear a peculiar, grinding noise which
told us that the gentlemen in there were doing something,
although what it was we could only guess. We could
hear them muttering and talking to each other, but I
could not catch any of the words uttered.

‘Toward the close of the second day, just as we came
within sight of the Crescent City, two pistol® shots broke
the stillness. Weeould only conjecture what it meant.
My supposition was that they had shot themselves, but
Captain Hatlongton suspected it was only a stratagem to
get us to open the cabin door to give them a final chance

 

‘“] had seen no one but Black Ben, but aslight noise |-

to escape, or an opportunity to puta bullet. through some
of us who might look down. So we paid no heed, but
kept on floating down the river.

“When we had tied up at the wharf, we brought a num-
ber of police officers, acquainted them with our prize,
surrounded the boat, and then removed the door of the
cabin. We waited along time, but no one came forth,
nor did any sound betray the presence of the men within.
At last one of the officers, more venturesome than the
rest, ventured to steal up to the cabin and look down.
The next instant he uttered a shout and sprang down,
while we rushed toward the cabin.

“One glance Showed all. Black Ben and his comrade
had both shot themselves, and were stone dead. They
had no knives, as I Said, but with their simple pistol bar-
rels they had almost cut their way through the planking.
1 do believe that if New Orleans had been a hundred miles
further off, these two precious scamps would have gotout
the cabin and, perhaps, effected their escape. :

“However, we had the satisfaction of receiving one
thousand dollars reward, and of knowing that we had
cleared the Mississippi of one of the most desperate out-
laws that ever infested its banks.??

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THE JOSH BILLINGS PApmrs.
Latest Nuzepaper Tatlings.

Ebenezer Smith haz sold out hiz tannery at Pordunk
hollow, and bout a honse on 5th avenew.

The lovely Bridget McGuire (nee chambermaid) wiil be
brought tew the altar, sum time this'seazon, by the bril-
liant Dennis O’Toole.

Proffessor Norris haz just returned from the north pole,
and reports the size ov the pole to be one foot in diame-
ter at the base, and 94 feet hi. He also brought back with
him a pair ov web footed duks.

The Miss Simphonys, ov Providence; are on a visit tew
the Miss Sinbads, ov Lexington avenew—lovely creatures
all ov them.

Mocking birds’ tounges on toast will be on the bills ov
a, a“ summer, at the Kontinental Hotel, Long
ranch.

The Rey. Namby Pamby asked for a 4 thousand dollar
hoist in his salary, or dismissal. The congregashun
voted unanimus to let him went. (Bully for the kongre-
gashun.)

Mrs. Ulrich Nikodemus haz changed the hour ev her
resepshuns from haff past 2 o’klok P, M. on Wensdays, to
a quarter of 3 on the same day, a change ov 15 minnits.
Exchange papers wil! pleaze coppy. :

Obadiah Bunkum sold hiz hameltonian pup Jerry, last
week, tew Richards, the jews harp solo, for 50 thousand
dollars, reserving the collar. This iz. spoken ov az so
mutch ov a dekline in prices az tew shake the pup mar-

‘Ket tew its center.

It iz sed (but not offishall) that Mr. and Mrs. Punchinello
Will not visit the White Mountains thissummer. Their
dauter, Betsy Punchinello, iz sed tew be affianced tew
the Baron Von Chaulk, and the family will enter seklu-
shun on this account.

- Dick Blister waz arrested yesterday bi offiser Pinkerton
for trieing tew pass a counterfit omnibus on a 50 cent
driver ov the 28 street line ov stages.

Paul Burdok advertizes for a lost poodle ov the Sanco
Panza breed, and offers 40 dollars “‘for hiz uncerimonious
return” (‘“Uncerimonions return” iz Kussid good.)

Rum and tanzy, a popular gargle a hundred years ago,
iz being revived among the hi toned cirkiés. One man in
Na Jersey haz drove all the musketoze oph from a thou-
sand akers ov.land, and planted the whole ov the land
with rum and tanzy, in antisipashun oy the sharp rally
in bitters that may be looked for.

Jaw Bone Bill a selebrated brave ov the Ninkumpoop
tribe ov injuns, on the June Bug river, Californy, waz
lately bit apart bi a grizzly bear. Jaw Bone died pretty
soon after the occashun, but the bear lived in grate agony
for 4 daze, when deth put an end tew hiz sufferings.

Miss Rosa Peachblow, ov Madison avenew, sez she iz
not affanced tew a prominent Wall street broker, and
will giv 5 dollars or thareabouts tew. find out who started
the fancy sketch. (City papers pleaw copy.)

G. W. Carleton, the publisher, will soon issue a book
for Josh Billings, entitled “Eggs ov Comfort Laid by the
Hen Consolashun.’? (This iz a kussid no sich thing.
—J. B.) e

The cirkulashun ov the NEw YORK WEEKLY haz all-
ready reached three hundred thousand, and still iz sing-
ing that same old tune, ‘Excelsior.

The lovely McFizzles (twins) ov “‘snob place,” will hav
a klam bake,sum time this seazon, at their sea side
place, *‘Goose Nook,” to whitch the Van Doodles are in-
vited. (Doubtful.)

Mr. William Pierpont, ov Goshen, Orange County, haz
a sucking colt, ov the Hambletonian breed, which lately
followed the mare one mile around the trak, in 2 minnits
and 23 seckonds, ona trot. This iz sed tew be 8 seckonds
the best mile made yet by enny sucker.

Report sez that the staunch widdow, Angeline Beeach
nee Brown, nee Jones, nee Beckwith, nee Smith, nee
McPherson, nee Miss Angeline Spraker—5 times a widder,
will soon lead tew the altar Walter Roundout, Esq. (Good
bye, Walter.)

On dit, that Dick Manchester haz qnit the cork minstrel
bizzness, and iz starring’it legitimately at Sing Sing, on
a 2 years engagement.

On ditto, that the peanut krop ov North Karolina iz a
failure, and that starvashun must foller.

On dittimus, that George Washington Vinegar will
spend sum time this year at the 5th avenew hotel.

New Jersey wants tew be admitted into the Union.

Itiz stated that it kKosts 13 hundred. dollars tew civilize
one injun, and then the injun aint worth but 250 dollars.
Loss on each injun tew the government, in money, about
1 thousand dollors; but, the moral results are sed tew be
heavy. (Let the good work go on.)

Mrs. William Hoboken haz had her clarence nuly paint-
ed. The nu coloriz chesnut sorrel—the old color waz
dapple grey.

We are authorized tew state that Mrs. Alanthus haz
just returned from the state ov Injunanny in full bloom,
having resided thare one year, ackording tew law, ahd iz
now reddy tew receive proposals.

A writer in Blackwood magazine estimates “that thare
haint been over 250 fleas killed since the flood.”

We are pleased tew notiss the growing popularity ov
Mr. and Mrs. Jibboom; their respektibility iz now fully
established, they having appeared on the avenew with a
2 horse carriage, and a slitely coloured driver, with a vel-
vet hat band and sum yeller brass buttons,

The latest agony in poodles iz saffron, with steel col-
oured eyes.

Matilda O’Brine, four daze in her Jast place, with a Kar-
acter, will receive proposals at her residence, in Albany
street. No objekshuns tew going into the country for the
summer az companyun tew a lady, provided suitable ref-
erences are given! Lessons on the pianno will be.ac-
cepted insted ov the usual presents expekted from the
family.

Enny one wishing tew adopt male or female children,
kan hav their pik out ov 16 bi calling on Mrs. Patrik Mc-
Fergurson. All. the children hay got thru teething, and
hay had waaccina-hun.

THE LADIES’ WORK-BOx. .

A ‘department designed especially for ladies, wherein will be an-
swered all questions which may be asked by correspondents re-
jating to fashion, the different styles of dress, combination of
‘colors, needle-work of all kinds, the arrangement of the hair,
etiquette—in short, anything of especial interest to ladies.

‘Dora P.2’—Braids and coils are very much worn now..
The large chignons are not in style; they were too heavy
and uncomfortable to be fashionable long. Twelve yards
of alpaca will not admit of much trimming; the present
way of making suits requires from eighteen to twenty-
two yards, for skirt, polonaise and cape. You can havea
plain skirt, and trim your polonaise with a plaited rufiie.
Get an Alpine hat, and trim with a coil of black gros
grain ribbon; have a cluster of pink roses and buds at
the side, and a spray of the buds and leaves exténding
over the crown and down the back. For outside garment
make a cape of black cashmere or alpaca, and trim with
fringe and gimp. Hoops are still worn. The ‘‘Work-

Box” feels very indignant! ‘An elderly lady of thirty-

two,” you say. Why the ‘Work-Box’’ is over that age,

and it considers itself young yet. A sack and cape would
suit “thirty-two’’ for ‘outside covering.’!' A black alpaca,
or a Mosambigue, will make a suitable traveling dress for

 

a lady of seventy. Some very: pretty suits for a child are

errr ee

made with the dress in sack shape, braided in white of
colors, and the overgarment, with a regular apron front
and full tunic back, forming a complete garment, that can
be put on like a child’s apron. It is sleeveless, and is
Supported by the arm-holes and shoulder pieces.

“Waldean.’—A great deal depends upon the degree of
acquaintance. ‘I shall be pleased to accept your kind in-
Vitation for next Monday evening,’ or ‘I am Sorry that
a previous engagement will prevent my accompanying
you,’ is all that is necessary. ‘‘Will my friend please
accept this slight token of regard from ene who esteems
her??? Upon reception of a gift you may say, “Many
thanks for the book you were so kind as to send me.”

“Eivelyn.’’—Make your blue opera flannel sacque half
fitting, and slashed in the back; trim with a bias piece of |
the flannel, scolloped and pinked out, with a narrow piece
of white over it, and a blue cardin the middle of the
white, letting the under edges of the blue show on both
sides of the white.

“A. J.”—Leghorn hats are still fashionabie. Yes, tur-
ae Will be worn this season. All kinds of straw are in

avor,

“E. F. Johnson’’—must send the name of the State as
well as the city. Itis so strange that our friends forget
we do not know. where they live as well as they do them-
selves. One lady said she lived in West Point, but ne-
glected to say whether it was in New York, Jowa or Ne-
braska. Another sent a post-office order for $50, and ne-
glected to give her name.

‘“Winona.’?—We are glad you like the ‘‘Work-Box.”’
Just imagine what a large family it has to dress—over
300,000. Sometimes the material, thread and patience of
the poor little *‘Work-Box”’ gives out entirely, and it says
in despair, ‘It is impossible tor me to make another
dress." Then comes a cheering letter from some kind
friend, and tne ‘‘Work-Box”’ takes heart again and goes
to work bravely, knowing that others appreciate its
efforts. ‘Yes, the cashmere polonaise, rose color, will be
very pretty with your white skirt trimmed with black
lace; and also with your brown silk, provided the brown
1s not too dark. Rose is a favorite color this season. Why
not geta ‘Dolly Varden?’ Everybody will have one.
Get foulard silk and make it yourself; the cost will not be
over $25. A cape and sacque of cashmere will be useful
during the spring and next fall. Trim with guipure lace
and passementerie. Cashmere is not warmer than alpaca,
but it is more expensive; and besides, a beaver mohair
looks so much more like silk than the cashmere, and will
be far more enjoyable.

“OC. L. D.’—The catalogue of patterns will give you all
the new styles. The Quarterly Review of New York
fashions contains information as to how to make the
garments as well as cuts of the different styles. We will
mail one to any of our friends who send stamp and ad-
dress to the Work-Box. Ruffles and bias bands are used
for trimming calico dresses.

“AdaS.’)—We wish we could suggest something for you
todo. New York is full of people seeking work, and many
are literally. starving because. employment cannot be
given. Those who do not know how to work must starve
or beg here in this city of millions. Wax flowers do not
sell well—we see but few of them here. You might get
sewing to take home from some of the large manufactur-
ing establishments. :

“Mrs. S. E. H.”—No itis not so. Married ladies much
older than you are wear hats. A higi crown turban pret-
tily trimmed, Will be appropriate and pretty for you. You
can wear either a half-fitting sacque or a postillion
basque for outside garment, or why not get a polonaise,
and loop it so you will appear slender. Thatis, have the
loops about a half a yard below the waist.

“M, E. D.’!—Negiected to send name for the catalogue.
Yes, itis our business to be troubled. The patterns for
boys’ suits are in the catalogue. It contains patterns for
ladies, boys, girls, and little ones,

“Subscriber.’’—A very handsome black alpaca we saw
very recently had about twenty-four yards of material in
it.” The skirt was trimmed with two small ruffies, a puff,
and a heading of standing plaiting. The polonaise had
postiliion, and small cape, all trimmed with fringe, and a
harrow box plaiting of the alpaca. The fringe need not
be used unless you desire it, as the plaiting is sufficient to
trim the dress. The sleeves should be half-flowing.

“Marah.’?—Dress according to the age you look. Take
out a width of your dress, and use with the new you have
to make a flounce for your skirt. The catalogue was sent
some time ago.

“Mrs. Minnie Tree.*’—For your green silk you can have
two narrow ruffles on the bottom of the skirt, and above
them a waved flounce put on in scollops, headed by a
narrow ruffle. Have your overskirt trimmed with black
or white lace, and a ruching of white silk. Your basque
can be either with or without postiliions, and ornamented
to match overskirts. Flowing sleeves, with quilling of
ribbon inside, and outside to correspond with basque and
overskirt. The black silk may be trimmed with box
plaited flounce, headed by a puff, and narrow side plaiting.
‘The polonaise should be jong and very much puffed in the
back, with draped apron front, half-flowing sleeves, all
trimmed with lace or fringe and passementerie. :

“Mrs. Mary H.?'—Infants’ cloaks cost anywhere from
$6 to $25 and $50. Merino costs from $15 to $80. Mar-
sielles from $8 to $40. Embroidered richly in merino,
cashmere or pique—from $25 to $50. We, liowever, con-
sider those ccsting from $8 to $15 pretty enough for any
baby. A pretty spring suit can be made of the colored
mohair, in some of the light shades. The suit will consist
of skirt, polonaise, and a stylish cape, all neatly trimmed
With the material. Bathe your eyes well in warm water
three or four times aday. Gold neck-chains cost from
$10 to $25. Yes, your letter came allright. If you will
send your address, we will send catalogue of patterns.

“Lilian.’—A pretty fancy dress for you would be that
ol a flower girl. The dress should be of white lawn or
Swiss, with a garland of flowers extending over your
shoulders, and down under the opposite arm. The over-
skirt should be looped with sprays of flowers and leaves,
and a wreath upon your head completes the pretty cos-
tume. You should not be impolite to the Jad for liking
you. Ifyou really dislike him, then try and avoid hii as
much as you can without forgetting your politeness. No,
itis not. wrong for you to. ride out with a young man, if
your mother is willing. The lady from Brownville sends
stamp, but no name. The hats that sell for 50 cemts are
very interior, and scarcely worth buying. We cannot
recommend them. You can get cloth for sacques, for any
price, from $1 to $2 per. yard in single width, the double
ranges from $2to $5 per yard. ;

“Lottie. ’—A very elegant light brown poplin we saw
very lately was trimmed upon the skirt with a chester
flounce; that isa box plait, and then six side plaits, each
plait held in place by a large button. The overskirt,
basque, and circular were trimmed with a bias band of
velvet, two inches wide, and a fringe of silken twist.

“Mrs. T. H. L..’—In sending for a polonaise pattern to
the ‘“‘Work-Box’’ it is only necessary. to give the size of
the bust—for waist it is best to have waist size too. For
instance we say, bust measure 36 inches, waist 21.

“Nellie St. Clare.’—Make your Swiss. with overskirt
and jacket or basque. ‘Trim with ruffles of the material,
edged with valenciennes edge. Ruffle the skirt. Youcan,
if you prefer, use polonaise instead of the overskirt and
basque. One, to-day we saw, at an ‘“‘opening’’ had the
edge of the skirt of polonaise trimmed with inserting
representing tulips and a side plaiting of Swiss. These
garments should be very full and Jong to admit of con-
siderable puffing. “Doily Vardens’’ of brightly colored
lawns and muslins will be exceedingly popular among
young people this summer. They can be worn over either
white skirts or any colors that contrast or match well.

“Rena H.’’—Make your pique dress with a plain skirt
and polonaise. Loop the overdress at the sides with a
band, fastened underneath to the waist, and buttoned on
the outside, forming a loop for the sides; have the back
a good deal puffed. These plain pique dresses are very
popular this season. Black ribbon sashes are worn.
They should be about three yards long. The hair switch
would cost you any where from $8 to $20, according to:
weight, length, color, and quality.

“Mary Hunter.’—There is no prettier way to make a
linen cabric dress, than to have a deep fluunce on the
skirt; trim the overskirt with a narrow ruffle, and also
the half fitting basque, without lining, which will be cool
and stylish looking. A linen traveling suit, will be easier
to do up if you box plait the flounce, and fasten it down
at about half way, with a bias band, about half an inch
wide. The over garment of this suit should be a polo-
naise, trimmed with plailed ruffles. A pretty polonaise pat-
tern would be 1994. The half fitting basque 2117, and the
over skirt 1877, will be suitable for the other dress; or if
you preferred to flounce the cambric, and have the gored
sack with a flounce 2026, then you will not require an
overskirt. You do not need any more trimmings in your
black silk. If you desire you can make a low necked
overdress of white swiss or tarlatan, and then you
need not change the style of your black silk at all, as the
oyerdress will cover all faults, No. 1840, is very pretty
and stylish for an overdress. We would advise you to
make the overdress of white swiss or organdie, which
will cost about fifty or sixty cents a yard, a little more
than the tarlatan, but it will wash, and be far more
serviceable than the other. You will need from ten to
twelve yards. Black velvet hats are too heavy for sum-
mer.. Get straw, one will cost from $5 to $7. The styles
of shoes have not changed since last season. Walking
shoes are both laced and buttoned at the side.and on top.
Very few head dresses are worn now, a simple bow of
ribbon, a tip, or a flower is all. So much hair is used in
the arrangement of the head, that there is no room left
for head-dresses.

“Jessie.’'—‘The Work-Box” tries very hard to get ail
the latest styles, but has this difficulty to encounter. So
many of our friends want to know the newest styles of
making garments, and then state they have, say, ten
yards of material, when perhaps twenty yards will be re-
quired. You ask how much it will take to make a pretty
swiss overskirt and basque. About fifteen yards. Trim
the edge of the skirt with inserting, and edge that with a
plaiting of the swiss. Have the basque haif fitting, trim
with the inserting all around, and up the fronts, edging
the skirt of basque with the plaited swiss. The muslin
frills for the neck are either gathered or plaited in a band.
Can be from aninch to two inches wide, and trimmed
with narrow lace. They should be long enough to fit the
neck of the dress. The catalogue of patterns were sent
last week. Ihope some of them may please you. Your
letter was directed all tight. Shall be glad to serve you.

““Dispute.’—We see no impropriety in your aceepting a
pair of gloves from the gentleman. We can scarcely
wonder that he felt ‘‘vexed’’ at your refusal. Under the
ciroumstances you mention, it would be perfectly proper
for him to show his appreciation for you, by giving any
small token of regard, such as a pair of gloves, flowers,
a fan, a book, or any simple present.

“Claudia.’—You sent such a small ‘curl,’ that we can
scarcely see to tell What.color it is, but we think it shines
like golden. You write a very pretty hand. We are glad
the Work-Box gives you some information. We hope to
make it more interesting in the future. No, you are just

 

tallenough. Turbans will be very stylish this summer.

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. >> _

They can be trimmed with lace, ribbon, and clusters of
flowers with drooping garlands. Why hot geta black
lace sacque for summer wear? They will be exceedingly
fashionable, and can be bought at any price from $15 to
$50, for different qualities of the Lama lace. Of course
the thread will be more expensive. i

“Country Girl.’—You are downright. foolish! We will
quote a portion of your letter just to show how your
notions look in print. “Do youthink that a person can
fall in love witha lady or gentleman who wears false
teeth? Do you think that a person can love another just
as well with false teeth as with natural ones? Do you
think if a young lady was to wear false teeth that she
would be justified in giving up her interest in herself,
and the advancement of her home and _ herself, thinking
that others disliked her, because of her false teeth 2”?
Now how do your questions look? Of all the false items
which form the make up of a fashionable fair one of the
period, teeth only, can be considered serviceable, and
their value cannot be estimated. It is a misfortune not a
fault, to lose them, and a great blessing to be able to re-
place what we cannot well.do without. The idea of one .
person not liking another, because of false teeth! never
heard of sucha thing! no! The Work-Box has not any
false teeth, but it would have a beautiful row of them, if
they were needed. ‘False hair?’ Now that is just a
way you have, of askingif the Work-Box is a man or a
woman. So we reply, the gentleman part of the Work-
Box does not wear false hair, but the lady does, a braid
and two long curls. The watch will cost you from $30 to
$75, according to quality. Rings from $5 to $10. Peneil
and pen-holder from $2.50 to $6. Pen about 50 cts. to$l.

“Edna's” letter has just reached us. We will answer
itin full next week. If she will send her address we will
send the catalogue of patterns, and then she:can see how
to make “‘our boy's” short clothes. We feel proud to
Know that the Work-Box did you service when you need-
ed advice. You should have told ushis name. Let us
hear from the boy often, for we shall always take a great
interest in him.

“Fairy Nell.’—And so the young gentleman put his
arm around your waist and kissed you! Well, under the
circumstances, we don’t blame him. You like him very
‘much, and hé seems to like you; then, such things will
happen. The ‘Work-Box has a human heart, and we
confess—with a littke blushing, it is true—that we think
the young gentleman is very skillful, if he conducted him-
self as you describe. He certainly deserved the kiss.
Give him another, and give him—yourself. Only please
don't cross your letter when you write again, because we
have so many to read, and you know when the lines
of writing cross each other it is rather difficult to deci-
pher them. We hope all of our friends will remember this.

“Annie,’—Sent catalogue some time ago. The only
difference to be made in your sister’s suit and yours
should be in the looping of the polonaise. Your loops
should come lower down on the skirt, and need not be so -
full as your sister’s. Trim the skirt with bias bands of the
material, and the polonaise with side plaitings of pieces
of the material, cut bias, so the stripes can run across.
All styles of hats are fashionable. There is the ‘‘Dolly
Varden,’? which is a leghorn or soft straw, looped at the
side and trimmed with ribbons and flowers. The Alpine
or Swiss hat has a steeple crown and narrow brim. The
turban has only a roli forthe rim. There are quite a
number of other shapes, all pretty, and modified forms.
of those mentioned. All other letters will be answered

next week.
————__ >-@-<4-—_____—.

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

Say The French chemists are going to do away with
cows. They are making artificial milk from sugar, dried
whites of eggs, carbonate of soda, olive oil and water. By
substituting gelatine for whites of eggs, and with less ad-
mixture of water cream is obtained. Monsieur Gaudin
states that good artificial milk can be prepared from
bones rich in fat by purifying this fat by means of super-
heated steam, and combining the fat thus obtained with
gelatine. This milk is, he says, almost like that of the
cow; and when kept, acquires first the odor of sour mikk,
then that of sour cheese. The gelatine in it represents the
caseine; the fat, the butter; the sugar, the sugar of milk.
{t serves for the preparation of coffee and chocolate, of
soups and creams of excellent flavor, and its cost is but
trifling.

Sas A lady of Bath, Me., has in her possession a bouquet
of flowers which she gathered in 1859 from the garden on
the Isiand of St. Helena. The bouquet consists of ger-
aniums, heliotrope, moss-roses, and flowers of different
kinds, many unknown in this part of the world, and con-
sidering the fact that no extra means have been taken to
preserve them they are in a wonderful state of preserva-
tion, each bud and flower being as perfect now as the day
they: were gathered, excepting the dried look which
pressed flowers have. One of the moss roses was pluck-’
ed from a bush planted by the great Bona parte himself
while a prisoner. ~*~

St. LUKE, the evangelist, is BLS! path to be the ‘‘be-
loved physician? mentioned by St. Paul. In_ other re-
spects, Scripture is silent about St. Luke. Tradition,
however, says he was one of the seventy; that he preach-
ed the Gospel in Evypt and Greece; that he was an artist,
and took the portraits of the Virgin Mary and of Christ.
He livéd to the age of eighty-four, and was then hanged
on an olive-tree. The only things about St. Luke of
which we are tolerably certain are that he wrote the
Gospel which goes by his name, and also the Acts of the
Apostles. His saint-day in the calendar of the Roman
and Enogtish Churches is the 18th of October.

.£a- Dr. Prime, in his “Travels in Japan,” says: ‘“‘Pass-
ing through a street I saw some forty or fifty coppers
hanging on as many nails at the front of a shop (the
copper coin has a hole in the center.) I inquired what
they were for, and was told they were placed there by
the shopkeeper to save timeand trouble in answering the
calls of the mendicants. When one came aleng he sim-
ply took a copper and passed on, never abusing the char-
ity of the shopkeeper by taking two.”

| &a> In the State of New Hampshire, during the year 1871,
sixty-six persons died who were 90 years of age and up-
ward. The oldest was John Fay, of Dover, aged 103.
Thirty-one of these deceased nonagenarians were men
and thirty-five women. .

4@- The Palestine survey corps have found many an
cieut tombs at Duagr-Tarif, oblong openings cut in the
solid rock and covered by a stone slab flush with the
surface. Cisterns of bee-hive form, also subterranean
era Still used by the natives, have been dis-
covered.

4a Two hunchbacks celebrated their nuptials in Paris
the other day, in the presence of thirty invited guests,
also hunchbacks. At the wedding ball all the musicians
were hunchbacks—as was every dancer,

#ay7 There are almost as many black men as white in
the Florida militia, the numbers being 12,066 and 13,298
respectively. E

ka There were nine hundred marriages per day in
Paris during Carnival week, the happy couples desiring
to be united before Lent.

&as- Musical boxes are coming into fashion again, and
we find them concealed in chairs, albums, cigar-cases,
work-boxes, and all sorts of unheard-of places.

ae A religicus sechis announced in St. Louis which
compels women to cut off their hair.

aay The last South Carolina Legislature paid $1,000 for
spittoons.

4a5- The last of the “‘trees of liberty’ planted in Paris,
in 1848, has just been cut down.

4a- In Marysville, Ohio, a robust German woman sup-
ports herselfin luxury by driving a dray.

kas- A woman namen Sarah Pinckney is captain of one
of the fihest steamboats on the Mississippi.

 

 

A GRAND TREAT.
2 New Stories,

Spye

2 Great Favorites.
Mrs. May Agnes Fleming,
Mrs. Schuyler Meserole.

We will shortly commence a new story by Mrs. May
Agnes Fleming, entitled

A Wonderful Woman.

Mrs. Fleming thinks that “A Wonderful Woman”
Will surpass “‘Wedded, Yet no Wife.”

Also will be commenced a story by Mrs. Schuyler Mese-
role, entitlec

THE MIDNIGHT PROPHECY ;
The Heir of Strathspey Towers. :

We think, and so does Mrs. Meserole, that this story is
the best one she has yet written. Our readers cannot fail
to be pleased, as both of these ladies are trying their best
for the NEw YoRK WEEKLY, and both add that they hope
to assist us in gaining acirculation of |

ONE-HALF A MILLION,
500,000.

When such brilliant contributors as the two ladies men-
tioned lave the interest of the paper for which they write
at heart, it is no wonder that its circulation should tend
constantly upward.