L8SQ00W 500 200 600 |} 300 || 700 | =400 800 | *500 8501 550 | | \ ) : ; é $4 an ve Entered According to Act of Congress, an the Year 1887. oy Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C. *S = a “A TBRRIBLE PENALTY,” a New Story by Mrs. Be Burke Ch NK 4 AN llins, Will De commenced Next Wee Entered at the Post Office, New York, as Second Class Matter. ae al oe Vol. 42. Office 31 P.O. Box 2734 N.Y. Rose St. New York, July 30, 1887. Two Copies Five Three Dollars Per Year, No. 39. Dollars. MY LITTLE WIFE. BY SAMUEL: - MINTURN PECK. My little wife! my little wife! When first I saw her face I wished the minstrel’s art were mine To tell its peerless grace. Had fancy touched the sweetest harp By fairy fingers strung, Oh, who could twang a lay for her ‘Whose charms could not be sung! ‘My little wife! my little wife! I gaze into her eyes, And as I watch the love-light there. What tender memories rise! Ah, some are glad, but most are sad, or oft, from day to day, Grief hid his cruel thorn amid The roses by the way. My little wife!- my little wife! I know she’s growing old; But what care I if silver gleams Have kissed her locks of gold? Her beauty foils the hand of Time, And shines despite his art— The vine that wreaths my fireside, The blossom of my heart! ot THE CRESCENT MOON, BY EDITH M. THOMAS. When this new moon is old, And all the shadowy space Her slender arms embrace Hath been filled up with gold, What fortune shall we trace— When this new moon is old? Now crescent is her light, And crescent the young leaves, While May, the charmer, weaves Through all the dim-lit night, And half-seen bloom deceives— Now crescent is her light! When this new moon is old, And.clearer on our ways Hath bent her lamping rays, Whit rate shall we behold, ~ As} face to face we gaze, When this new moon is old? Now crescent is her light, And still the violet blows, The orchards hold their snows; Sealed are the lilies white, Undreamed of is the rose, Now crescent is her light! When this new moon is old, The lily then shall yield What in the bud lies sealed, The rose shall then unfold, The heart be full revealed, When this new moon is old! ‘reas Me c | RS NNN ANNAN le y \\ ig | HII NN a TAURI ut un SS ; \y ~ a AN ————— ee N i A) is ) Mm {THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK FORM. ] SATUCOR: BEN, (OER. THE ROMANCE OF AN INHERITANCE. BY J, ALEXANDER PATTEN, Author of ‘‘The Gamester’s Daughter,” “Footprints of Seventy-Six,” etc. CHAPTER I, THE TWO MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS. The stanch American ship Patrick Henry was homeward bound to the port of Boston, Massachu- setts. She-had reached a point where land had been sighted, and now, with a fair wind, was fast drawing hear the end of her voyage from Liverpool, which had been, from first to last, a speedy and pleasant one. She was a sailing vessel of large tonnage, and, as she now plowed through the deep, with every sail set and filled, she presented a grand sight. It was night, but a full moon lighted up the ocean in lunar splendor. The waves gently rolled one after the other like billows of silver, and the great ship sailed along in a seeming,race with its own far-ex- tending shadows. The Wind vas strong, but it was not a gale, and to the officers and sailors, who were scattered about the deck, was inspiring, for it was bearing them to homes and families. Whenever an order was given to change a sail, the men jumped to the work with cheerful exclamations and the songs of the sea. Z “This has been a most remarkable voyage,” re- marked the captain to the pilot, who had been taken on board a short time before. ‘There has not been a bad gale during the whole voyage, and most of the time favorable winds. I have not torn a sail or broken a rope. My erew have acted splendidly. I shall touch the wharf in Boston, according to present “arances, without the loss of a dollar in damage to ship or cargo.” The captain rubbed his hands with glee, and the pilot remarked in return: “Captain, I congratulate you. Your owners will be delighted. Other craft have gone in which have not been so lucky.” “And yet I hardly expected it,’ resumed the cap- tain, ‘for I have two very singular passengers on board—mysterious people—who generally bring ill luck wherever they go.” “Who are they,” asked the pilot, in some curiosity. “Hang me if I know. The Liverpool agents told me Iwas to take them in thé first cabin, that they were inyalids, who preferred to travel ina sailing 2 < a s vessel, and day by day they have grown more mys- terious and uncommunicative, and here we are off Boston, and I know no more about them than I did when we left Liverpool.” “That’s strange for a Yankee,” said the pilot, with a@ smile. “You can’t imagine,” continued the captain, “how these folks have bothered me. I’m superstitious, like most sailors, and I have been fearful during the | whole voyage of some disaster to the ship or cargo, because I had such mysterious people on board. Hang me if I haven’t dreaded to go into my own cabin. So TI was glad enough to sight land, and shall be to reach the wharf, and see my passengers ashore.”’ Let us descend to the cabin and seek to penetrate some of its mysteries, which were of a nature so strange and terrible that the superstitious captain, had he known of them, might, indeed, have trembled for the safety of his ship. Within one of the large state-rooms were two people—a man and a woman. “The ship is fast nearing port,” said the man, ina low whisper. ‘We must act quickly.” The answer was a sob from the woman, who buried her head upon the pillow of the berth, and caught something close to her bosom. “You have promised this,’’ urged the man. “Yes,” replied the woman, raising her head and showing a pale, anxious face suffused with tears— “ves, Lhave promised it; and asIam fully in your power by reason of other crimes, I must also aid you in this one, the most awful of all.” Now the faint cry of a babe was heard. “Listen,” hissed the almost frantic woman, ‘‘to the imploring voice of our child !” “Fool! replied the other, ‘‘would you listen to it 2 Would you spare it, and hear its voice, some years hence, demanding of us all our possessions as its own? If it lives, according to the terms of that ac- cursed will of your father’s, we shall be stripped of wealth, and made dependents on the bounty of our own child. A pleasant prospect, truly!” The woman made no reply, but moaned as she pressed he,face upon the pillow. “Everything has favored us,’ resumed the man. “This child has been born on board this ship on the ocean, and no human soul except ourselves is aware of its existence. My education as a physician has enabled me to attend to all your wants, and the plea of sea-sickness has been sufficient toaccount for your illness. Now, all that is required is a little tirmness on your part, and all danger to our fortune through its existence will be over.” “And—we—will—be—guilty—of—murder !”’ slowly said the woman, as she lifted her head again and gazed upon the man. He was usually a self-possessed man, and calm in the execution of his plans, whatever they might be; but these slowly pronounced and fearful words of his wife startled him and made him turn pale. Finding that she had moved him, she instantly fol- lowed up the advantage by saying: “God has given us this child. If we destroy it, His vengeance will surely fall upon us.” By this time the man had recovered himself, and felt irritated that he had, for even a moment, shown any weakness. “Tf you are going to be a fool,” he said, angrily, ‘I am not. , There is no time for this folly. The ship is flying before the wind to her port. That child, the embodiment of misfortune to us, if it lives, must be i left behind in the ocean. Give it to me.” The mother did not move, but groaned loudly. | “Well, I must act myself,” said the man.” As quick as thought he seized the tiny thing from its mother’s kisses and embraces, wrapped a shawl about it, and, despite the woman’s efforts to prevent | him, threw the babe from the window upon the bo- som of the wide, wide sea. “Oh, Heaven!” screamed the mother, as she be- came unconscious from grief and terror. “The deed is done,’ muttered the man. ‘Our title to our fortune is now good again against all the world.” The ship sailed proudly on her course, lashing the waves in graceful spray from hersharp bows. Look- ing aloft the white sails were trimmed to catch the full force of the favoring wind, which was freshen- ing asthe night advanced. Far back in her wake floated the bundle which had been thrown from the state-room window. It had not sunk, but glided like a little boat from billow to billow, and gradually, with the ocean current, was also moving in the direc- tion of the land. The next morning the ship Patrick Henry reached her wharf in Boston. When the two mysterious pas- sengers went ashore, and rode away in a Carriage, the captain snook his head, and said: “T don’t know anything, but I believe these two are pusy at the devil’s work.” CHAPTER II. THE STRANGE RESCUE AT CAPE COD. How wonderful is the sea. Though sometimes swept by the mighty tempests, which can rend and destroy the strongest ships that man can build, still life, drifting and tossed at its mercy, is often mirac- ulously preserved. The most boisterous and ter- | Yible of all natural powers, it is not less a gentle and reliable efficient agency of Providence in human affairs. : Thus it was that the infant cast upon the waters from the ship Patrick Henry floated unharmed. It rose to the top of the waves, and it was hidden in the Loren: beneath them, but it was not ingulfed, nor ' did the water penetrate sufficiently to seriously en- | danger it. The child slept on the bosom of the ocean, rocked by its waves, and sung to by its winds. | The currents were carrying it in the direction of | the shore at Cape Cod, Massachusettes. Slowly, but surely, it approached the land. | Cape Cod is chiefly inhabited by fishermen and their families. The men are engaged in the cod and mackerel fisheries, and here, with the thrift natural to New Englanders, have built neat houses in sight of the sea. Large fleets of vessels, manned by brave and hardy men, go forthfrom the harbors to the fishing grounds, to come back laden with profitable cagoes, or to report their own bad luck. In the first case, in every habitation throughout the cape, there is rejoicing at the prospect of something to be added to their savings and comforts, and in the other there is the disappointment coming from hard work and perils without pecuniary return. Sometimes, too, grief and ruin throw a pall upon the fishermen’s settlements. The wives and children at home know from unerring signs that a great storm has prevailed upon the ocean. With tearful eyes they watch the angry billows, and try to discern the sails of the returning fleets. Days go by, and they come not; but at length some craft, with sails torn, and otherwise damaged, comes in, and reports disaster to the fleets. Some have lost husbands, some sons, some one relation or another, and from one end of the cape to the other ascends the wail of lamentation. The sea, so vast and sublime before them, which yields them its treasures for profit, has become also the grave of their beloved. Two women chanced to be on the beach. The fleets were away, and the thoughts of all on shore were with those on sea. These two women naturally bent their eyes sea- ward. Far away in the blue expanse of water they hoped, before many hours, to see the sails of the re- turning vessels. One of the women was elderly, while the other was younger. Their garb was plain, but scrupulously clean and neat. “Mother, said the younger, ‘‘it would kill me if any- thing should happen to Ben. Iam in dread all the time now.” “You are the daughter as well as the wife of a fish- erman,” returned the other, and the dangers of their life have been known to you from childhood.” “True,” replied the young woman; ‘“‘but since the death of my babe I feel more timid, and cannot bear to have my husband away from me in the midst of dangers. Oh, that my little one could have been spared to me!” “The Lord’s will be done!” said the elder woman, reverently. At this moment both of them saw a peculiar object floating toward the shore. “What is that thing ?”’ said the young woman, “It is some sort of a bundle. It. looks like a shawl rolled up,” said the other, shading her eyes with her hand and looking intently at the object. “How queer! I wonder if we can get it?’ “Oh, yes; the wind and current are bringin’ it in. Some passenger on a vessel sailin’ by has lost her shawl overboard, probably.” Up and down rose the bundle. Sometimes the re- ceding waves carried it. away again, but the next re- turned it nearer and nearer to the shore. The curiosity of the two women was thoroughly aroused. They watched it with a fixed gaze, and, in their anxiety to get possession of it, walked to the water’s edge, and even into it. “Tt is the first time I ever saw anything like that float ashore,” said the elder woman. “My sakes! Sarah Jane, I’m all curiosity to know what is rolled up in it!” . “Nothing, I guess,’ replied the daughter. Look! there comes a big wave which will bring it within reach.” The majestic wave came rolling on, and when it reached the bundle it elevated the buoyant thing on its spray-tipped crest, and then tossed it on the beach, and fled back witha a roar to its kindred waters. The women ran to the object of their curiosity, and both seized it. “What in the world is it ?’’ said the elder. “Itis a baby!” cried the younger, hastily folding back the wet shawl. “Great heavens! Why, it is a little beauty !” “Tt shall be mine! mine! in the place of the one in heaven.’’ As the excited women unrolled the shawl and ex- posed the sleeping and unkarmed babe, they gave expression to their feelings in the language here) given, and finally the younger clasped the little creature to her bosom and claimed it for the future as her own. : Then they hastened homeward. The sea had that day given up something which was to fill all Cape Cod with wonderment. | CHAPTER III. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. The carriage with the two passengers of the ship Patrick Henry was driven in tlie direction of the East Boston ferry. After crossing, the journey was continued for some distance to the outskirts of the place, and finally terminated ata large and oddly constructed, but lonely looking, mansion. It had extensive grounds, and was approached by a circular road, now much overgrown and out of repair. At the entrance there was astone gate-way of rather imposing appearance. From all the surroundings it could be seen thatthe property was originally a place on which much money had been expended, but was now in a State of decay. “At home at last!’ said the man, as they passed the gate. “A place where fearful deeds have been com- mitted,” replied the woman, with a shudder. “Croaking again, are you?’ muttered the man, with a sneer. The woman made no further reply, for at this mo- ment the carriage stopped before the door of the mansion. Anold man of very singular appearance stood ready to open the door of the carriage. “Welcome back,” he said. He shook hands deferentially with the pair, and then assisted them to alight. “You appear weak, mistress,” he remarked, as he found that the woman was scarcely able to stand. “Sea-sickness, I suppose.” : No reply was vouchsafed to him, and he busied himself looking after the baggage, while the man and woman walked into the house. The hack at once started on its return to Boston. “Poor thing,” said the old man, looking at the tottering woman, ‘how miserable she looks. Worse than when she went away. What will she do when she hears the wails through the house at night? It is worse now than ever before.” Let us describe this man. He was very short in stature, in fact a dwarf; but he was broad-shoul- dered, and had a very large head and face. He evidently had unusual muscular strength for a man of his size, and though now old, still possessed it in unusual vigor. His face was quite wrinkled, and his eyes were small and sunken, while his high cheek-bones and large mouth were very prominent. His eyes had a fixed, staring expression, and they were also treacherous and sinister in the highest degree. In his manners he was very bland and polite, unless he chose to be something different, when it was not difficult for him to be rude and cruel. By birth he was a’ German, but he had resided at this place for many years. The father of the woman who had just entered the building, and who was its former owner, had ‘brought him to this country, when a young man, as a body servant, and he had never left the employment of the family. He had one great passion. It was to hoard money. For money he was ready to do anything, and when he had obtained it, he gloated over its possession. No one knew how much he now possessed, and he did not know himself, but in a secret place in the old mansion, he had various receptacles filled with it. In a short time after his own return to the house the dwarf heard a bell ring. “T hear it,” he muttered, with a significant smile. “He wants to talk with me. I wonder if there is any new deviltry to be done. I hope so, for then the money will come. Ha! ha!” With a sound which was a laugh that ended in a chuckle deep in his throat, he hastened to answer the bell. Going up a flight of broad stairs, he passed along a wide and high hall, and then stopped before a door, and knocked.- “Come in,’ said a yoice from within. ~ ‘4 x - de. . leer at his employer. oo THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. => VOL. 42—No, 39, Then he entered, and closed the door securely be- hind him. “Master, I am here,” he said, with a low bow, as he stood before Royal Butler, the same man who had thrown his child into the sea, and who was the wealthy proprietor of this mansion. “JT have been absent in Europe two years,” said Butler. “I do not observe any change in the old place, except that it looks more ne ed and lonely.” ' “Everything is the same,” replied the old man, “except what you mention. Not a room has been disturbed—not a piece of furniture moved from one spot to another. You left me in charge, and I have guarded all, I hope, faithfully.” “No doubt,” cried the owner, ‘‘and you shall be re- warded. ‘Has any one called here ?”’ “Not a living soulin all the time you have been away. In truth, master, the house has such areputa- tion now as a haunted and evil place, that every one is afraid to come near it. When I go to the shops for supplies, they seem half afraid of me.” “All this is as I would have it,” said Butler, ‘for reasons that you know as well as I do. I wish no one to come here, and do not expect to remain long myself.” “You come unexpectedly now, master,” said the old man. “I know TI do,” replied the other. “At this par- ticular time it became necessary for me to cross the ocean.” . The old man was a partner in much of the guilt of his employer, but he utterly failed to comprehend the motive for the ocean voyage. The crime which had been there so secretly and successfully executed on the broad sea, was as yet, as the reader is. aware, known only to Butler and his wife. He was too shrewd to allow the knowledge of it to extend even to one so devoted to him as the old servant. “How is——” Here Butler gave a meaning look at the old man, and then stopped. “Very poorly,’ promptly replied the old man. “You would not know him.” “Ts he boisterons 2?’ “Worse. every day. curses.” “What does he say 2?’ “He curses you and his daughter. Calls both of you by terrible names, and generally finishes by beating and punishing himself.” “Do you think he is really crazy ?” “His troubles and treatment have broken him down in every way. Sometimes he seems to have sense enough, and at others he is a madman.” “And yet,’ said Butler,in a somewhat irritated tone, “he lives on. ‘‘Why in thunder doesn’t he die?” “Itis strange,” said the old man, with a peculiar ‘Nothing has been done to help him to live for many.a day. Notone man in a hundred, I am sure, could have lived through all that he has.” “Curse him!” said Butler, springing to his feet, and pacing the apartment. ‘He ought to have died years ago. Imprisonment, starvation, ill usage have failed to bring about his death. All this time I have stood in apprehension—terror, I may say.” “Years ago,’ said the old man, with a slight smile, “T helped to carry a coffin out of this house, which the people at the funeral supposed contained his dead body, and in the cemetery is the handsome monument which you had put up over his grave. I declare, master, it is funny to think of it all.” The old man laughed, and as he did so, his natural- ly ugly-face became much more hideous. “Yes,” said Butler, as a smile overspread his own features—“‘yes, it is funny enough, but it required nerve and adroitness in the execution of so bold a plan to get possession of the property.”’ “You have plenty of both, master,’ said the ser- vant, bowing. “True, Rudolph,” returned Butler, ‘but uncer- tainty and apprehension are wearing me out. Until the breath is actually out of that man’s body, I stand in peril. He is nof dead, although there was a fu- neral and there isa monument over his supposed gvave in the cemetery.” “No, he is not dead,’ repeated Rudolph. fault of mine, though, master.” “Well,” replied Butler, with a tixed look at the other, ‘‘a poor old crazy man ought to die very easily in the course of nature. And yet this one lingers on through months and years. What shall we do with such a fellow, Rudolph? What shall we do 2” The two men looked earnestly at one another, and were not at a loss to understand each other. It was evident to the one that he was required to commit a further crime, and to the other that the instrument was willing for the work. “There are ready means, master,” said the old mah, “by which his end might—mighi—be has- tened.”” “Think of the best, and let me know,” returned Butler. ‘Here is money for your past services, and you may expect much more in the future.” Thus speaking, he placed in the old man’s hand a small bag of coin. “Thanks, master—many, many thanks!” cried the old man, as he clutched the money. “You ean go now. To-morrow I will talk further Supjevtes Be ready with some plan.” “¥will, master,’ said the old man, as he retired, bending low, and hugging to his bosom the precious old. : When night came. strange and unearthly sounds were heard in the old mansion. Long and agoniz- ing wails, sobs, and then terrific shrieks sounded through the halls. For a time they would cease, and then they broke forth afresh, and with increased variety and power. Jas the house haunted ? ghostly visitants ? : Throughout the neighborhood this matter had been thoroughly discussed, and it was the general belief that the house was haunted. He raves, and cries, and “Tt is no Were these the cries of CHAPTER IV. REVELATIONS. Royal Butler was seated in the library of the man- sion writing.* The hour was late, but he did not seem to notice it, and kept busily at his employment. At length, however, the sounds of which we had before spoken penetrated to the room, and he suddenly paused and listened. : “That old wretch, my father-in-law, is at his mid- night racket. No genteel ghost would make half as much noise.” The door opened, and Butler’s wife rushed into the apartment with terror in her-looks. At the same time the most fearful shrieks could be heard resound- ing through the house. She “Royal,” cried the woman, sinking into the nearest ehair, ‘‘do you hear those terrible sounds ?’ “Why, yes,” replied the man, with much unconcern. “How can I help it ?”’ “Are we then so wicked that demons are sent to torment us ?’ - ‘ “You are, possibly.” “No—no,” replied the woman, springing to her feet, and pointing her finger at her husband. ‘‘ You are the guilty one. You have tempted and driven me—you have made me what I am.” : : She stood majestic and beautiful, a striking im- personation of womanly dignity and beauty. She was tall, with a faceof great expressiveness, though it was now pale with sickness and grief. Royal Butler looked at her quite unmoved, in fact a contemptuous smile overspread his features.. He was aman of striking appearance. Not less than six feet in height, he was large in his whole figure, with a massive head, covered with a heavy growth of black hair. His face was not pleasantin its expres- sion, being habitually serious, except when a peculiar and sneering smile passed over it. Again the wail and sobs broke upon their ears. Neither spoke, but the woman trembled, and finally sank into the chair again from absolute weakness. “Let us leave this terrible house,” said Mrs. Butler, at length. “Of late,” replied Butler, “you have complained of melancholy and grief everywhere.” “Yes—yes; conscience iseverywhere. The memory of crimes and the remorse for them, will never leave me.” The woman strained her jeweled hands upon her bosom, and then burst into a flood of tears. “Tisten to me, Laura,” said Butler, in a softer tone. His wife looked up and said: “Go on.” “Twenty years ago we were the envy of all Bos- ton,” said Butler, leaning over his desk toward her, “T had just returned from completing my education ‘in Germany, and you were the beautiful daughter of one of the richest men in Massachusetts. On the very day on which we were to be married, you know, a letter was placed in my hands showing that you had held imprudent relations with a student at Cam- bridge.” 3 “No more of that. Oh, spare me!” implored the woman. “I was young, I was foolish, I was impru- dent; but I was not criminal.” “Well,” continued Butler, ‘‘the story was enough to make me nearly frantic on that wedding-day. There was no time for investigation, but there was time for me to refuse to proceed another step in the matter. You and your family were in peril of everlasting dis- grace. What did I do?” “You married me.” “Yes; I could not resist your tears and the love which I then felt for you. But you remember on what terms I consented to go to the church, where the people were already assembled, instead of making ou the gossip and scorn of the whole city.” : “T bound myself to obey you in all things, on peril of future exposure.” : pape “So you did,” cried Butler, in atone of triumph. “You made yourself my willing slave, and I have simply exacted the terms of the agreement.” : “But you have forced me to crime—to participation in the forgery of a will, to the poisoning of my tather, to the murder of my infant.” The wretched woman groaned and sobbed, and, joined with it all, came the sobs and shrieks from without. ‘ “One necessity,” said the husband, ‘‘has led to an- other. Satan has tempted me, fate has driven me, and Ihave been compelled to use you; that is all there is about it.” “All!” screamed the woman. ‘It is enough to ac- curse us in life and death! Hear now how our abode rings with the cries of the lost and suffering spirits !” Mrs. Butler covered her face and crouched in her chair, as if fearful that the grasp of some unnatural thingswas about to seize upon her. Mr. Butler him- self, who knew well the cause of the disturbance, smiled in his grim way, but said nothing. It was really strange what a net-work of crime en- tangled these people. They were both respectable and well educated in life; but the woman, as has been seen, fell into the absolute power of the man, and he was utterly without moralrectitude. Tempt- ed by the hope of wealth, he undertook a forgery of the will of his own father, forcing his wife to assist him in the execution of the scheme; and, stimulated and excited by his success in this case, he engaged in a still deeper plot to remove his father-in-law by poison. By some extraordinary circumstance, when in his coftin, the supposed dead man revived. Equal to even this emergency, Butler, with the aid of Ru- dolph, secreted him in a room in the house, filled the coffin with clothing and stones, gave a plausible ex- cuse for closing the coffin, and allowed the funeral to take place, subsequently erecting a monument in the cemetery. The will, however, proved different from what he anticipated. The income of the most valuable part of the property was given to himself and his wife for the period of ten years, but any children born to them in that time were to inheritit absolutely. Tssue having failed for the time named, they then became the heirs in equal shares. Such a child was born, and, of course, after what had been already done. Butler did not hesitate to remove it from his path. Mrs. Butler did not know that her father was really alive, for her husband had thought it wise to keep this fact from her. As for herself, he was wearied with the prolonged life of the old ian, and, as he had told Rudolph, now desired some opportunity to get him finally into his grave. Such was the situation of matters when, the inci- dents of the night about which we are writing oc- curred. “Royal,” said his-wife, abruptly, “how do you ac- count for the sounds which we hear at night?’ ‘Possibly most of it is your imagination.” “You have said that you heard them yourself.” “Well, I hear something. Perhaps itis the wind. Itis astrangely built house, you know, with oddly arranged rooms and out-of-the-way passages.” ‘Your explanation cannot possibly satisfy your- self,” returned Mrs. Butler, with an incredulous look. “The sounds are too distinct and regularly repeated. On my soul, I believe,” said she, with sudden energy. “that evil spirits are haunting us for our misdeeds.” “Well,” said he, with one of his smiles, “I defy them. They will neither frighten me nor deter me from anything I propose to do.” A long wild ery could now be heard. “Listen, Royal, and beware,” cried the woman, in a state of great terror. “He! he!” laughed the other. Then he whispered to himself, “I will not stand this nonsense much longer from that old fellow.” Nowy there was a noise like blows upon some resist- ing object, and then there came a heavy fall. “Oh, Heaven!” exclaimed the woman, “what is that?’ “Itis strange, surely,” said Butler, now surprised hinself. “Oh, Royal, let us fall upon our knees and ask for- giveness for our sins,” cried the terrified wife. Divine judginent is at hand.” “Silence !”’ cried Butler. burglars in the house.” . The scene inthe room was certainly a dramatic one. The woman had fallen upon her knees, and with clasped hands and uplifted eyes began to pray. Butler had risen to his feet, with a scowl upon his face, and made astep to reach a gun which hung suspended on the wall. Now scream after scream was heard. They seemed to come from some one who was approaching. ‘Heaven have mercy on me!” prayed the kneeling wolan, i Then the door of the room was thrown open, and a figure stood on the threshold. Mrs. Butler involun- tarily gave a glance at it and then screamed : ‘My father! my father! The ghost of my father!” Butler for the moment was unnerved. Though he knew that the person before him was the victim of his own persecution, still he was not prepared to see an object so utterly miserable and unearthly. There stood an old man, with shaggy white hair and beard, emaciated almost to a skeleton, and clothed in rags. His face was deathly pale, and his eyes were so deeply sunken that it was difficult to see them at all. His face was one mass of wrinkles, and as he lifted his hand it shook with feebleness, “Wretch!’ cried the intruder, pointing his trem- bling finger at Butler. “At last I have broken from my prison, and have come to meet you again face to face. It is along time—a very, very long time—since we met.” Mrs. Butler was insensible, and did not hear a word of this, but her husband was fast recovering himself from his surprise and confusion. He reached. aut and took down the gun. For the inement he contem- plated using it. : “Would you shoot me?” asked the old man. “Have TIT not suffered enough? Remember I was once the acknowledged master here.’ “Begone!” hissed Butler. “Viper!” retorted the old man. ‘Look at your work in both father and daughter, for I know full well that she is not less a miserable creature than myself.” “Tsay begone!” returned Butler; and then, in pee Oe tone, ‘Where is Rudolph all this time, I won- er? ‘Here, master,” said_a voice, as the huge face of the old dwarf appeared at the door-way behind the other figure. “Do your duty—seize him !’’ said Butler. Strong hands now seized the weak old man, and in an instant he was lifted from his feet and hurried away. He gave a wild scream. It was his last on earth, for the dwarf grasped him so tightly about the throat that after this no utterance escaped him. The scream somewhat aroused Mrs. Butler. She opened her eyes and asked : “WhereamtI? Ob, what a terrible dream I have had! Isaw my father!” “The hour is late,” said her husband, helping her torise. ‘We have talked too much on our troubles to-night. Goto bed now. Good-night, my dear.’ He led her to the door, and embraced and kissed her. The woman was half bewildered, and still faint, so that she asked no further questions, but went on her way to bed, as directed. Her steps had hardly ceased to be heard when the door again opened, and the head of the dwart ap- peared. “Master, he is dead !”’ were his whispered words. “Can it be possible?” inquired Butler, with bated breath. “When I got him up stairs he was dead—quite dead! He is old, and the excitement was too much for him.” “Certainly,” said Butler; “it must have occurred in that way. Dispose of the body, and then come to me for your reward.”’ “T will obey, master, said the dwarf, as he with- drew. When in the hall, he added: “These strong fingers of mine on his throat did the business. Mas- ter must pay me well for this service. He is getting more and more in my power.” “Let me listen—it may be (TO BE CONTINUED.) Sie aoe THE PERILS OF THE RICH. Rich people have their troubles as well as the poor; even the Rothschilds, with their limitless wealth, do not always recline on beds of roses. A well-known Parisian, of considerable wealth, recently asked the Rothschilds to accept the care of a quantity of scrip. The Rothschilds replied that in the present unsettled state of France, and of Europe, they could not accept the responsibility. Once a week, in public meetings in Paris, Louise Michel mounts the platform to pro- glaim to the roaring mob that, when the great day comes, the first thing for the people to do will be to march against the houses of the Rothschilds, pillage them, and burn them to the ground. In view of forthcoming trouble, all the ‘Paris Rothschilds have had packing-cases made, lined with red morocco leather, each numbered, and labeled, and shaped to receive not only their pictures and objects of art, but also their precious eighteen cen- tury furniture. These cases, numbering many hun- dreds, are stored in the Rothschild houses, in con- venient places, so that at a moment’s notice the objects may be packed, each in its box, and conveyed to some place of security. The house of the Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, in the Rue Saint Florentin, was fitted last year with bullet-proof iron shutters. oo MAKING THE FLIES STEP OUT. I have only known of one instance where baldness. proved remunerating. A friend of mine who had a shining pate fell into the habit of watching the actions of his tormentors—the flies. He noticed that a fly always walks upward. Put a fly on a window and up he goes towards the top; he can’t be made to walk downward. So my friend hitupon anidea. Whynot use that habit against them? Forthwith he made a window screen divided in half. The upper half lapped over the lower, with an inch of space between. Well, as soon as a fly would light on the sereen it would proceed to travel upward, and would thus walk straight out doors. On reaching the top of the lower half he would be outside. Not being able to walk down he had no way to return to the room. By this means a room can be quickly cleared of flies, which always seek the light. My friend has got out a pat- ent, and proposes to begin a systematic war against the household pest. TWO AND FOUR. BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. They made a pretty picture— There, sitting by the door, Beneath the woodbine’s tender shade— Our girls of two and four. Sweet Maude is fair and sunny, ‘With cheeks like any rose— She is our little two-year-old, As everybody knows. But, ah! last year the darling ‘Came very near death’s sleep; She seemed just ready to take wing, And leave us here to weep. ’T'was then we prized the jewel We owned in little Grace, Our eldest-born, who, though quite grave, Has such a pleasant face. She loved her baby sister With deep and tender love, And every night her simple prayers Went up to God above, That He would spare the darling— And earnest was her tone— ** Don’t let poor Maudie die, dear God, And leave me all alone !”” Her simple prayer was answered ; And, as I said before, They make a pretty picture, friend, Our girls of two and four. to [THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBIASHED IN BOOK-FORM. ] ANOTHER MAN'S WIFE By BERTHA M. CLAY, Author. of “A Fair Mystery,” “For Another's Sin,” ‘A Heart’s Bitterness,” étc., etc. (“ANOTHER MAN’S WIFE” was commenced in No. 22. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ] CHAPTER LIIiI. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL THE TRUTH 2” ANNY gave a scream, > caught Ralph’s arm. “Do you mean to say it was not Mrs. Jerome was killed?’ “Just that, missis; it was “<4 her sister.”’ cid “Well, who killed her, and 4 | why ?” a “T can’t tell you. D6; know.” MED “And why didn’t you tell the truth at the time, man 2?’ “For several reasons. I could not bear to have poor Delia’s name and all her follies put in all the papers, as it would if all had been told; for Delia was not a girl that took to wickedness. Then, again, I had been very lavish to Delia, and I had nota pound to bury her as she ought to be buried. And, last of all, I knew Delia would have wanted to be put in the Abbey church-yard alongside of her father and mother. I’d often heard her say she wished she was by them. But her relations was proudish peo- ple, and they would never have let her as ran away with Sir Francis, sleep in peace among ’em, though Celia, that married Sir Jerome, would be welcome, so I let it go that it was Celia to get my girl the burying she needed. I haunted about and followed the funeral, and was at it, and after they set her up a grayve-stone, with CELIA in big letters along the top, I spent a moonlight night chiseling out with my knife the true name, DELIA, down ames tie grass on the bottom of the stone.” Z “T believe,” said Fanny, tearfully, ‘#25 son wight good man.” : “Well, my lass, I pe be. If you ts and IT don’t are @ you'll find how rear. [. saik$byaag-intentions. that wants a wife. J @on’t Want you to f¢dlings to give you, fer Delia's dead, az: she never cared for me, and it is not go on giving my feelings forever, and 2 back.” “But no one would have suspected =: murdering your wife,” said Fanny. “You see, I should have let Sir Jerome } it stood, but then the bark Elizabeth ti: on went - down with all on board; and so if made no difference, as I could see, and being hear ol F went off on a long voyage the day after [saw you. But when my feelings eased down a little I called you into my mind, and there you’ve been ever since.” The fact of the clearing of Sir Jerome’s memory from the stain of murder had made little impression on Fanny. She couldsee that charge of crime made a great difference to a living person, but she could not see that it made any difference to the dead. To be punished for evil was the greattrouble, in Fanny’s mind. To her the chief thing was to escape punish- ment, the second thing was to be free from guilt. Fanny’s nature was not high enough to set innocence first. So little did she regard the legal clearing of Sir Jerome’s name, that she never had thought, did not now think of mentioning it. All the singular circumstances about Sara Hunter lost themselves in the to her greater interest of the fact that Mrs. Soth- ron was not dead. “What had become of her? one had ever seen her since. ter??? “Oh, you’d never ask it if you’d seen the two. Why they were like as two peas, and loving as two doves. They beld ‘each other dear.” _ “But no one has ever seen Mrs. Jerome Sothron since.” “That is strange where she is to be sure. be dead.” ‘And who wanted to murder your wife ?’ “There again you have me. It is a fearful mys- tery. Some one must have mistaken her for her sis- ter.” “Now it is clear,” said Fanny. ‘It was Sara Hun- ter, the maid, did it, for money. She thought it was her mistress. Delia must have come in after Sir Jerome went out, and her sister must have given her the bank-note to look at or keep, and then Mrs. Soth- ron must have gone out, and Sara, taking your wife for her mistress, killed her.”’ “Yes, that is pretty plain. But where did Mrs. Sothron go? Sheiust have seen the news of the murder in the papers. Why did she not speak ?”’ ‘‘T’ve heard of people hiding themselves in London for years and years, and if she wanted to hide, no way was better than letting it go that she was dead.” “That is plain,” said Ralph. : “Pye made up my mind not to tell my lady,” said Fanny. ‘‘Sheis just getting more cheerful, and I won’t harrow up her mind with all this dreadful story. I can’t see as it makes any difference to her, Sir Jerome’s wife living. If Sir Jerome was alive, then it would be different. But he has gone, and I hope to see her live down all her troubles and get some good of her life. The less said soonest mended.” “In which case, I had better have said nothing.” “Oh, no; I wanted to know what you meant,” said Fanny; and as she had pinned the knot of ribbon at her breast, and opened the box of bonbons, Ralph ac- cepted it as a good augury for his suit. “And because [ had ill fortune about my first wife, you won't say me no for a second, my lass ?”’ “Perhaps not—after awhile,” said Fanny, coyly. “But you'll give me a good answer right soon ?”’ “T’ll think about it,’ said Fanny. “It is time I went back to the house; my lady may need me.” She rose up from the rock where she had been sit- ting, shook out her dress, and turned about. “There! If there is not that sffiake again! What mischief does she mean now 2?” “There’s no snakes on the sea sand,” said Ralph. “Well, you look ahead, and if you don’t see a snake coming this way, in a scarlet crape bonnet trimmed with jet poppies, and a black silk dress covered with bugle net, and a scarlet satin parasol with black lace, my name isn’t Fanny Hume.” “Which I hope soon will be Fanny Marshall.” “No matter what you hope,” said Fanny, brusquely. “Td give my best bonnet to know what that Mrs. Ranleigh is doing here! I just hate her!” Then Fanny, in a perfectly artless manner, moved along the sands, and exhibited her hate by smiling in a very sweet and humble fashion at Mrs. Ranleigh as soon as that lady’s black eyes fell on her, and she said ; “Why, Fanny, how are you, my good girl? And how is yqur lady ?” “She is well, ma’am,” said Fanny, leaving her rosy cheeks to speak in her own behalf. “Which is the nearest way to her villa, Fanny ?”’ “The nearest way is up those steps, ma’am.” “Then I will go that way, and I won't tell her I met you, Fanny,” said Laura, tripping on. “Consider the artfulness of her,” said the ingenu- ous Fanny. “She won’t tell! She thinks I’d be afraid to have my lady know I was here with you, and if she says she won’t tell she’ll put me in her interest, and ~erome of now how i put him Where was she? No Did she dislike her sis- She may make me afraid to go against her. I don’t have se- cerets from my lady.” “And I hope you’ll have none from me, Fanny.” “That depends whether you have any from me. But you have been fair enough to-day, and so, good- by,” said Fanny, going up the steps where Mrs. Ran- leigh had just passed. © She saw Laura’s slender figure moving up the villa |’ walk, erect, graceful; she saw her all at ease, furl her parasol, go up the steps to the piazza where Beryl] had brought her guests after dinner; she saw her fold Beryl in her arms, and say: “My own sweetest Beryl, it is heavenly to see you again !’”’ Then Fanny entered at the side door, and went up stairs to look over her lady’s lace, and make to her- self very unpleasant remarks about Mrs. Ranleigh. The guests had gone. Beryl and Laura Ranleigh sat alone in the moonlight, listening to the lapping sea. “Dear Beryl,” said Laura, in the sweetest tones, “I know you cherish hard feelings toward me. You feel that I have given you cause for complaint. Yours is the very gentlest heart in the world, but you are so good you are easily imposed on. There was a time, when in pity for your feelings, I could not speak, but now the hour is come to set myself right with you. You were first put against me by the falsehoods of a discharged maid. Dear Beryl, is it just foralady to take the gossip of an angry ser- vant as testimony against her best friend? Then T know, Beryl, the marquis said and did things to make you feel I was unfair to you. Oh, believe me, Beryl, [never said one,word or gave one hint that he did not wrest from me by sharp, close questions, and his jealousy over you made him unconsciously exaggerate to youand to himself every word Luttered. I always spoke for you, darling Beryl. It was be- cause I blamed his jealousy and upheld you, that he revoked that codicil. And JT am glad I upheld you, for I love you, though my truth caused me loss of what would have saved me from desperate embar- rassmnents. Beryl, I am in the most terrible distress. IT have been obliged to rent my home and resign half my income to my creditors. And then, Beryl, Sir Francis Sothron paid me attentions that, as he has not offered himself, as every one thought he would, place me in the most unhappy position. Dear Beryl, by you, ever my unconscious enemy and rival, I have lost my competence and my lover. Oh, Beryl, pity me!’ And Laura, in a passion of tears, knelt at Beryl’s feet. CHAPTER LIV. “LL LEAVE: HEAVEN TO RECKON WITH YOU.” The light, graceful pillars of the veranda were wreathed with clematis and passion-flowers that passed in a fragile and fragrant curtain from one to another. Screened thus by leaf and flower, Beryl and Laura were unseen by passers-by, and they themselves did not see a portly figure stopping at the entrance gate, hesitant about coming in, and finally passing on. Laurawould at once have known this figure for Sir Francis. But Sir Francis felt that the beautiful Beryl shrank from him, and that his call would be unwelcome. The sunset red was yet lingering, and Sir Francis, wandering idly along, passed the new modern cottage of Biarritz, and came to an open space, which lies between them and the ancient town, clustered about several large buildings once convents! Passing before him on this little moor Sir Francis saw a graceful young figure, ina floating blue dress and white shaw), and followed by a page-boy, who carried a leather music-roll. This was Lelia, who had been with Lady Beryl, and was slowly returning home. Atsight of her Sothron’s bored look vanished, his face lighted, his step be- came rapid, he pressed by the lad. and said, in a low tone: “Delia? The girl turned and looked fixedly at him, “IT implore you,” said Sir Francis, trembling, ‘to tell me who you are! You are, and you are not, Delia.” “T am her sister.”’ “Her sister! And so like.” “Her twin.” “She never told me she had sueli a sister.” “No doubt the poor girl could not mention to you a family heart-broken over her errors. When her soul was sick with longing for those she had loved and deserted, would she be likely to speak of 2s, whom you would despise as you did her and her tears ?”’ ; “T did not despise her. I swear to you it was only my poverty——” ‘ “Hush! It was your selfishness, your cruelty, your laziness, that would not take and support a wife, ac- cording to your promise.” “Do not be too hardon me. I am ready to atone —to share with her my name and all that I have.” They were walking slowly on. “YT cannot be walking or speaking with you out here,” said Lelia. ‘“I am at school here. This is my gate. As a parlor boarder I can receive a caller. If you have any news, or can help mein searching for iy sister, you may in half an hour ring this bell and call for me, for the first and last time.’’ Her tone was severe and firm; she passed within the low, heavily arched gate, and Sir Francis strolled out-toward the.sea to wait-his.halif-hour...When-he rang at tie Ifttle door he fwas led to a small, néat parlor, where a piano, a ‘stand of books, an em- broidery frame, and pots of flowers gave a home- like air. Lelia was reading at a table by a softly shaded lamp; in alow chair not far from her an elderly woman in black sat knitting. : Lelia rose and bowed coldly to Sir Francis, pointing him to a chair. “We are not alone,” said Sir Francis, in a low tone. “T wished to speak of private affairs.” - “Speak. She understands only Spanish.” But Sir Francis found it hard to speak. He found himself before this fair girl in the position of a crim- inal before a severe judge. “You are very like your sister,” he faltered. are you named ?” “Lelia.” “And your names are like ?”” “Because we were so alike, they named us so.” Sir Francis sat thinking, his face bowed. He dis- tinctly remembered that his cousin, Jerome, had married one of those Morris girls, with a name end- ing in lia. She had died a terrible death. He could not hint of that terrible tragedy. So, this pensive, lovely creature, so full of dignity and simplicity, watched him with high rebuke on her face. As he was silent, she spoke: “Can you give me any clew toward finding Delia?” “No—none, But one thing I can tell you, Ralph Marshall—the man she married, is dead. I have the statement of his perishing when his ship went down with allon board. If Delia is found, she is free to be my wife, and she shall be. I have looked for her diligently in London.” “She was not in London. She meant to come to the Continent. She knew if she remained where she could see you, she would be again persuaded to fly with you. She fied from temptation.” “A pity she did,” said Sir Francis, bitterly. ‘If she had come to me, the way would soon have been cleared to my marrying her.” “It is never better to sin,” said Lelia. “But to send her to the Continent was to drive her to ruin; she had nothing to live on.” “She did. It was in my power to give her plenty of money, and I gave it to her. An elderly French wo- ian that lodged where she did, was going with her. To save her, I gave her gladly alll had. Iloved my sister. And,” she added, in the deep voice of grow- ing passion, ‘‘as I loved her, I hate you—I hate you, Francis Sothron, destroyer of my sister, with an utter hatred. And I call on you vengeance! And it willcome! Mark my words, if there is one point where you can be wounded and driven to despair, there the dagger shall enter your soul. Evil, and not good, shall follow you all the days of your life!” “T am ready to repair any wrong,” faltered Sir Francis. “Some wrongs can never be repaired! This is one. I believe my sister is dead, for I cannot find her, al- though I have extended inquiries everywhere. Her death, then, lies at your door, and God will require her blood at your hands.”’ “Do you give up the search ?”’ “No. I shall seek her, my best loved one; and for a year and aday I hold your promisc, and when the year and the day are ended I will meet you at the tomb in the Abbey church.”’ Sir Francis found his way out of Lelia’s presence, feeling as if he had made some strange tryst with death. Lelia went up to her room, and panting and over- powered with excitement, threw open her window and sat down on the ledge. Her face, clearly re- vealed in the light of the lamp, came under the full gaze of Ralph Marshall. : : “It is Mrs. Sothron! and I’li prove it!” said the sailor; and finding his way round the large building to the gate, he asked for Mrs. Sothron. i An English-speaking servant explained to him that “No Mrs. Sothron was there. It was a school for demoiselles; there was no madame in the house but old madame, the chief of the establishment, and the cook, a widow. No gentlemen were admitted, and Ralph must not disturb the peace of the establish- ment by asking for some one not there.” __ “Curious how like people can be,” said Ralph, going away, shaking his head. ‘I made sure it was Mrs. Sothron.” : As he went back to the town, his head down, his hands in his pockets, he heard a cry from the moor for “Help!” Springing along in the direction of the cry, he saw in the moonlight three men struggling with one. | “Fair play!” roared Ralph, but as he came dashing up the central figure fell under a heavy blow. The others had not time to accomplish their purpose of robbery, for Ralph, standing astride the fallen body, and jerking a club from one of the assailants, so heavily laid about him that one fell stunned, and the other two fled. “Now, my hearty,” said Ralph, bending over the unconscious figure he had defended, “let us see if you are dead or stunned.” He turned the body over, and the wide white moonlight fell on the motionless, bloody face, of the man whom he had sworn to destroy, Sir Francis Sothron ! “How _tivo. sisters. His enemy was in his hands, white and helpless. Ralph staggered back. Could he lift his hand against an unconscious foe? To execute vengeance now would be sheer murder. Francis Sothron’s face had been well photographed on his jealous heart, in the days of his love for the dead Delia. This was surely he. And Delia had loved him, and her love had blighted all her life, and sent her down to a terrible death. The brown fingers of Ralph tightened on Sir Fran- cis Sothron’s throat. Then they relaxed. He rose from his bending posture. “No, no,” he said, “it is not for an Englishman and an honest tar_to take vengeance on a man lying be- tween life and death. For this time I’ll leave God to reckon with you, Sir Francis.” And he strode away, leaving two figures lying on the heath. CHAPTER LY. “I SAW HIM AN HOUR AGO. HERE IN BIARRITZ.” Beryl was the: tenderest, most forgiving, most easily moved of women. Traitorous as Laura had been, when Beryl saw her weeping on her knees, all her heart was touched, and clasping her satin-smooth arms around Laura’s neck, she bowed her fair face to that brilliant dark one, saying: SOhe Laura! Do not kneel before me. Indeed, I never hindered you of either legacy or lover.” “You never meant to Beryl! but, oh, you have!” cried Laura, clinging to her hands. “Beryl, [ lay my heart bare to you. Tam not a woman to live alone. Ihave a warm heart; I want a home and wedded love. I married so early, and was wedded so soon, that it is like a dream; and my heart was left, free as a young girl's, for a choice. Oh, Beryl, you know how good and noble the marquis was. His one blemish was jealousy, and that never would have developed married to a woman who loved him better than all the world beside. You know that, Beryl.” “I know,” said Beryl, faintly, for this was to her a keen remorse. “Oh, Beryl, Iwas that woman, T loved, I adored the marquis. He cared for me, Beryl, till your sweet _child-face, your gentle mien, came between us. But for you, poor child—say, rather, but for your family—I should have been Percy’s wife; and Percy would, I believe, to-day, have been a happy husband.” ; Here poor Beryl, artfully placed as a criminal, whose lack of adaptability had shortened her hus- band’s life, burst into bitter weeping. She remem- bered the words of the marquis, “Perhaps I chose wrong.” Oh, why had he not saved all this misery by choosing right ? “Darling,” said Laura, generously, ‘I don’t blame you; you did the best youcould. I loveyou. But feel- ing as I did for Percy, I could not refuse to answer what he asked for, But I never, never betrayed you. Well, Beryl, that is passed. I am now a wretched woman; my beauty and popularity with men gave me enemies in bitter-tongued dowagers, who have daughters to marry. Iam poor; miserably in debt. My few relations are angry because Sir Francis’ at- tentions have ended as they have, in nothing defi- nite. In my joy, for lreally care for him, Beryl, I had given up Perey. I know it would have been wicked to care for another woman's husband’—(at this stab poor Beryl winced)—‘‘and, indeed, I care for Francis. I would make him the best of wives. In my joy, I was too lavish, and I am in a terrible strait. Oh, Beryl, I come to you for love, pity, and help.” “What can I do for you, Laura? And then, what did you tell Sir Francis?—that: I believed Jerome alive, and came here to find him 2?” “No, n0, my love. Either you misundcrstood him, or he misunderstood me. I never said that. But men like Francis are so hasty, and apprehend so strangely. I should be glad if Jerome lived, for your sake, love. Francis, as heir, took the alarm, but he would not begrudge Jerome his life, though, of course, he is gone. But, somehow, Beryl, you have rivaled ime, or set Sir Francis against me, for from the day you went to the abbey, I have lost his affec- tion. He came here to see you—he is here now.” “No, he is not. Did you come for that, Laura?’ “Oh, how cruel you are! Beryl, I came to you to save me.” “I? What can I do for you, Laura?” “You can love me—you can beimy friend, T hunger for love. Iam so heart lonely, Beryl. You, too, are alone. Oh, let me stay with you. You" position, your name, your character, can be my shield, my stay, my defense, from cruel, triumphing tongues. I cast myself on your bounty. Help me! Saveme! Love me! If you have anything against me, forgive me! But, indeed, indeed, [ never knowingly did you wrong. Beryl, so innocent and guileless, so tender and for- giving, relented toward her former friend. _Laura’s passion of protestation carried her away, and made her feel that she herself, in some way, had been wrong, and Laura right. She drew Laura closer, kissed her, and said: ‘Dear Laura, I will do anything—everything I can for you!” “Oh, you blessed angel!” said Laura. ‘Whatever comes Over, if you will only love me, an@ be true to me, Beryl, I can have courage and behappy. Dear, I know you have been dull and lonely... *. < .viil be as We shall be harpny toge: it not?’ How surprised was Fanny, next day this unexpected guest remained in the and that Mrs. Ranleigh’s trunks arrived. Ranleigh, on the level of the warmest 4 timacy, remained with Lady Medford. Itis true that the warmth, the in suddenly renewed relations belonged Laura; Beryl was hesitant and troubled. But Lara ignored this, and was all effusion, brightness, caresses. : The shrewd Fanny detected one motive of Mrs. | Ranleigh’s movements. Reduced to sharp straits by her extravagance, and criticised for her light con- duct, she took refuge under the wealth and dignity of Beryl. A reason, unknown to Fanny, was that Laura believed that, living with Beryl, she should see her truant love, Sir Francis, and not let him escape a third time. Fanny, who loathed dullness, and longed to see her lady back in society, appreciated what would be Mrs. Ranleigh’s success in this direction, and, to Beryl’s surprise, very amiably offered to be maid to both. “You are the best of girls, Fanny,” said her lady ; “for I know you do not like Mrs. Ranleigh, but I think we have both misjudged her.” Fanny said nothing; but as she went into the ward- robe for a black net dress with a delicate trimming of lavender ribbons, smiled to herself as she con- sidered that serving as maid would give her oppor- tunity to keep Mrs. Ranleigh closely watched. Phere was no harm, thought Fanny, in letting Mrs. Ranleigh think that she only was cognizant of those beach meetings with Ralph Marshall. If Laura thought the maid in her power, she would be less guarded before her. The presence of Laura brightened the little villa. Beryl went out much more now that Laura was with her. With a ‘tiger’ on a perch behind them, they drove about the lonely moors and the roads, all fruit-bordered and glowing under September suns, That gave Fanny time, which she was nothing loth to improve, to take her sewing to the beach and talk with Ralph, who yet lingered about Biarritz unwill- ing to leave his Fanny. He hastened to meet her, as she tripped down the rocks to a favorite seat under the cliff. “T was nearly coming up to the villa to see you, my lass,’’ said Ralph; ‘‘I was in such haste for you.” “Why, dear me!” cried Fanny, ‘2 never care so much to see you, Ralph!’ “You would, my lass, if you knew what I had to tell you to-day.” : “Eh? More secrets ?” said Fanny, all attention. “Ay, more and more. The queerest ever I heard.” “About ?”’ “About Sir Jerome Sothron.” “Oh, tell me quickly !” “The fact is, my lass, he wasn’t on the bark Eliza- beth at all!” Fanny gave a scream. “Consequently he couldn’t have sunk in her, as he wasn’t on her. And, moreover, he may be alive at this minute, seeing he wasn’t drowned then.” Oh, Ralph, speak out plain! Don’t tantalize me!” “Tam speaking plain. Moored next the Elizabeth that night lay the Mary Anne, going with the tide to sail forthe Azores. On the-Mary Anne, whose cap- tain I knew, was_ his brcher, # devil-may-care leay- ing England. Whether sir: JGrome distrusted me or not, I don’t know, buthe stepped on the Mary Anue, changed coats and vest with the captain's brother, gave him his watch and his pocket-book, with a hundred pounds in it, and changed berths with him, and so Sir Jerome went to the Azores, and the captain's brother was drowned off the Maas and buried for Sir Jerome.” “How did you hear it?” “T met the captain of the Mary Anne and he told me.” “And where is Sir Jerome ?”’ “He lett him at Fayal, and never saw him since.” “Then he may be alive.” “Verv likely heis alive.” “And his wife is alive. All is back where it was. Heaven send my lady never hears of either of them more. Ralph, you must keep quiet.” “And let Sir Francis inherit? Not I,” “But for my lady’s sake!” “But for Delia’s sake !” * « * ; ii WILE, and Mrs. s of her in- sity, of these yesterday, * * * *x The next morning Fanny was cutting roses, when. Ralph came up and seized her arm. “Hark you, lass. Sir Jerome is alive. I saw him an hour ago, here in Biarritz.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) te eee 0 Do not be disheartened because you have failed once, twice, or three times, but press onward; make up your mind to gain a certain point, and gain it. Do not rest till you have. Do not stop till you see failure cieappeadns and peices fairly in your hands. It must come sooner or later, if you only make up your mind not to be beaten. ~ se He ro THERE is nothing more contemptible than a sham sort of religion in which a good deal of preaching is done without any attempt at practice. 3 ee : VOL. 42—No. 39, emit THE NEW YORK. WEEKLY. ee TOMMY AND ME. BY TB: In the days of our fun and our folly, On the playground I met Tommy Lee; I thought he was “awfully jolly,” And Tommy thought just so of me. We were happy as kids in the clover Together the long summer through, And with tears, when vacation was over, At parting we swore to be true. Oh, the swallow flies back to his mate, And the sailor comes home o’er the sea ; Nor waiting nor doubt could ever wear out The love between Tommy and me. Again, in the town, one December, We met; he was turning sixteen; And my hero I scarce could remember In the stripling so bazhful and green. Our greeting was cool as the weather ; Not a single old charm could I see ; I thought him ‘‘too fresh altogether,” And Tommy thought just'so of me, Oh, the swallow flies back to his mate, And the sailor comes home o’er the sea; But the dew in the noon never vanished so soon As the love-dream of Tommy and me. Once again, at a quiet tea-party— I was twenty, and he twenty-two—. Tommy Lee and I met, He was hearty, And T was—well, what could I do? We supposed our acquaintance had ended, But now—I blushed red as could be, For I thought the young man was ‘‘just splendid,” And Tommy thought just so of me. Oh, the swallow flies back to his mate, And the sailor comes home o’er the sea, And the stars in the blue are not half so true As the love between Tommy and me. [THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM.] VAN, The Government Detective: 9 THE BASE-METAL COINERS. By the Author of ‘‘Old Sleuth,” “The American Monte Cristo,” “Old Sleuth, the Detective,” ‘‘Night Scenes in New York,” “Old Sleuth’s Triumph,” “Iron Burgess,” “*The Shadow Detective,” etc., etc. [fVAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE” was commenced in No. 33. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ] CHAPTER XXVII. A TRAIN-LOAD OF CLEWS. “You never heard any noise in our house!” said Van. “Oh, dot vos allright!” and again the Dutchman assumed a wondrously wise look as he continued: “T vos no fool. I know vot vos going on in dot house, but dot vos none of mine business. I never gifs nuffin avay, only it vos better dot you vos more ¢care- ful, and ven you vos murdering a voman shust do it dot she don’t haf a chance to holler morder so loudt. It vos all right, I know, but may be it vos not so goot if de bolice vos tumble to it, eh ?”’ “Aha!” thought Van. ‘Here is the whole business. This Dutchman has ferreted out the fact that some- thing queer is going on below, and is trying to get a hold on the strength of his discoveries.” The Dutchman was a smart fellow, and as shrewd and cunning as could be; but for once he was pitted against a Yankee who knew more in five minutes in one line than it was possible for the Dutchman to hope to acquire during the whole course of his natural life. “When aid v av those cries, John?” i -nd dot vos enough.” hear them ?’ Tinae.” “ “You cannot go, sir.” At this moment aman appeared in the hall-way, and in a gruff voice demanded to know what was the matter. F “Here is a telegraph man who wishes to pass through our house to the roof to examine the wires.” “Well, have you an objection ?” “He has been very impertinent!’ said the wo- man. “Then don’t let hit go!’ “Can I speak to you a moment, sir?” ashed Van. The man came forward and asked: “What do you want?’ “T have discovered a break, sir, and I think the difficulty is in the wire crossing your house. I hope you will permit me to go to the roof.”’ “IT have nothing to do with it. There is the lady of the house.” “T shall be compelled to go upon your roof from some of the adjoining houses.” “You can do as you please,” said the woman, “but you cannot pass through my house?” With a look of pretended anger and annoyance upon his face, the detective backed out of the hall and descended the stoop to the sidewalk. Our readers may ask why the detective did not go up from an adjoining house from the start; and we answer that he had an important purpose in not doing so. He wished to first impress the people in the house that he wasatelegraph man; that accomplished, he knew very well that he would have no difficulty in reaching the roof. He had not for an instant anticipated gaining admission from the peo- ple of the house. The detective went to one of the adjoining build- ings and received permission to ascend to the roof, and he spent more time tinkering around the wires of the house he had passed through before going over to the house he was ‘“‘piping.” The detective performed all his little moves in the most quiet and deliberate manner. Haste never caused him to make a false step, and, as a usual thing, by his method he caused an enemy to show a hand in advance. The detective had been tinkering away for some moments, when he saw the scuttle lid on the adjoin- ing house raised just a bit. He saw it; but permitted no sign to indicate his discovery. . In the most natural and mechanic-like manner he went to work, Van was no novice in telegraph machinery. He was not only an expert operator, but a first-class mechanic, and in order to carry out his game he had provided himself with a full kit of genuine tools. The detective knew that every movement was being watched, anu he was glad. of the fact, know- ing that it would, result in aiding his eventual pur- pose. Fully half an hour passed, when the detective passed along to the root of the house where he had been refused entrance. As he stepped upon the roof the scuttle lid slowly closed down. There was an old-fashioned sky-light on the house, and as Van passed along beside the glass sky-win- dow he performed, a most singular and unexplain- able feat. He was within afew feet of the window when he a the roof and fell forward. To his pre- nis whole kit of tools went flying PS BE CEoNTE f2D.) gee Pertenece ra (THIS STORY WILL NOT BE P? ED IN BOOK-FORM ] MAGGIE, THE CHARITY CHILD. By FRANCIS S, SMITH, Author of “Bertha, the Sewing-Machine Girl,” “Little Sunshine,” “Daisy Burns,” etc., etc. (“MAGGIE, THE CHARITY CHILD” was commenced in No. 22. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ] CHAPTER XXXVI. A REVELATION AND A RECONCILIATION. On a,bright morning in the early part of Septem- ber, three persons were seated in the library of Mr. Andrew Seymour, These were the gentleman just mentioned, his brother, Mr. Henry Seymour, recently arrived from Kentucky, and Charles Hollister. The faces of the two elder gentlemen wore a look of pain- ful thought, while upon the countenance of the young man dwelt ‘a look of eager expectation, not unmixed with melancholy. “You desire to learn from me, Charles,” said Mr. Henry Seymour, in a gentle and somewhat tremulous voice, ‘‘all that I know concerning your history, and Tam about to gratify your desire; but I warn youin advance that the narration which I shall utter will contain some things of a painful nature.” ‘‘Be it so, ” replied Charles, firmly yet respectfully, “anything is better than the doubt which now tor- tures ine.” “Your mother,” continued Mr. Seymour, inamourn- ful tone, ‘‘was, as a girl, one ot the sweetest creatures that the light of Heaven ever shone upon—umild, duti- ful, and loving—and had she not unhappily fallen under the influence of a specious villain at the age when the female mind is easily led captive by ful- some flattery and subtle sophistry, she would with- out doubt have carried the commendable character- istics which I have mentioned with her into later life. The tempter found her, however, and before her father was aware of the fact, the villain had succeed- in rendering her. obstinate and unfilial. Her father loved her tenderly, for she was his only one, and he strove by every means in his power to break the spell which her yile enehanter had thrown about her, but allin vain. The villain led her, by what species of jugglery I know not, to regard her father as an enemy instead of her best friend, and against the arguments and implorations of the latter, she fled from her home and wedded with one who was a compound of villainy and selfishness.” » “Her father was a proud man, and the conduct of his daughter bitterly grieved him, but with a strong will he bore bravely up against the cruel blow, and lived in the hope that his child would return to him when she had proved the worthlessness of the man with whom she had linked her fate. The hope was a delusive one, however, for the schemer had her too surely in his toils, and her father never saw her again.”’ The voice of the speaker wavered somewhat here, and turning his back toward the youth, he passed his hand across his eyes. His emotion was but moment- ary, however, and he soon continued: ‘About two months passed by before the bereaved father heard from his erring daughter, and then he received a letter from her. He broke the seal with eager expectancy, and his heart revived within him as he began to peruse the epistle, for it commenced with an acknowledgment of her fault, and continued with expressions of the deepest contrition, followed up by an earnest prayer for forgiveness. Had the letter ended here, although there was nothing said about a desire to return home, the father would have received much comfort from it, but there was a post- script, and this, though it comprised but_a few words, furnished the key to the whole letter. The first por- tion was, without doubt, the outpouring of a sincere heart, but the postscript had been dictated by the fiend who ruled the writer. cuniary assistance. “Smarting under a sense of the wrong this man had done him, the outraged father answered the letter while his anger was warm upon him. Had he waited till he was cooler, perhaps he might have written differently, although I am inclined to think the result would have been the same. He wrote his daughter to the effect that the postscript was to him proof positive of what he had all along told her, namely— that her husband had married her on account of her father’s wealth—that he had no love for her, but hoped, through her, to live in ease and idleness on the money with which her father might supply her, but that he (the husband) would find himself egre- giously mistaken—that he should never, under any circumstances touch a farthing of his money—that his daughter would be welcome under the parental root whenever she felt inclined to return alone, but that he would hold no intercourse with an impostor and a scoundrel, such as he knew her husband to be. “To this letter no answer was ever returned, nor did he ever hear from his daughter again. Her hus- band when he found out that his motives were clearly seen through, and that he had, nothing to hope for from his victim’s father, threw off the mask which he had assumed and commenced a course of the most cruel treatment, but still the infatuated girl, unheed- ful of her parent’s exhortations, clung to him, till at length he deserted her in a strange city just as she was on the point of confinement. Her father was ignorant of these facts atthe time. He was even ignorant of her whereabouts, and she was too proud to let him know her true condition. For years she bravely struggled to support herself and her infant son, but sickness overtook her at last, and she was reduced to the very last degree of poverty. You have too much reason to remember what her unhappy matriage eventuated in—starvation and death among strangers.”’ “Oh, I have—I have!” exclaimed Hollister, weep- ing bitterly at the sad recollection, ‘nor shall I ever forget it. My poor mother’s last look will haunt me to my dying day'’”’ He mourned in silence for a few moments, and then he ventured to ask, ina tone of hesitation, which showed plainly enough that he dreaded, even while he wished for a plain answer to his question. “But what of my father, sir?” ‘**Dead !” returned Mr. Seymour, in a tone of agony, “for a long time he traveled around the country under the assumed name of Colonel Morgan and you closed his eyes in prison a few days since.”’ “T feared it,” groaned the afflicted youth, “and yet I clung to a hope that it might not be so. Oh, it is dreadful to think that such a man was my father!” “Grieve not over a matter which throws no shadow of blame upon yourself, Charles,” said Mr. Seymour consolingly ‘Your conduct through life has been such as to prove that youat least are noble, generous, and trustworthy. *All which your father was not, you are; and it would almost seem to me as though Heaven had purposely raised you up to be the prop and stay of your grandfather’s declining years.” “My grandfather is still living then?’ said Charles, inquiringly. “He is!” returned the old gentleman, with warmth, “and thus he welcomes you to his aged arms !” “What, you /” exclaimed the young man, with a look of bewilderment, as he gazed from one brother to the other. “Tt is even so, Charles,” said Andrew Seymour, with a gratified look; ‘Henry is your grandfather and I am your grand-uncle. It was some time after I was so singularly brought by you to the death-bed of your unfortunate mother betore I wrote to notify Henry of the fact. I thought it best to let him remain in blissful ignorance of her sad fate, unless you should bid fair to supply her place in his: heart. Knowing well your father’s character I was apprehensive lest he might have transmitted some taint to you, and I was not willing that my poor brother should be sub- jected to the agony of a second disappointment. I strictly kept my own counsel, and it was not till you had: been for five years beneath your grandfather’s root that I, satisfied of your strict integrity and purity of character by the many encomiums which he showered upon you in every letter which [received from him, sent him the cheering intelligence that you were the son of his dearly cherished daughter.” When Hollister had embraced his grandfather and grand-uncle by turns, and the tumultuous feelings of his heart had somewhat subsided, his thoughts naturally reverted to Maggie Martin, and a sigh of regret escaped his-lips, as he said, addressing Andrew Seymour: “Why did you not keep Maggie informed of my whereabouts, sir? Could we have been put in cor- respéndence with each other, it would have saved us both many unpleasant moments.” “Had I thought it was important, my dear boy,” was the reply, “I should have managed in some way to have done so, but I did not, and so [ remained silent for the reason that Mrs. Seymour, from the fact that I superintended the burial of your mother, and subsequently took such a lively interest in your welfare, imbibed certain suspicions against me, and she could not bear to hear your name mentioned. I could have ¢leared myself in her eyes, of course, had I chosen to speak, but I kept her in ignorance, for the same reason that I refused to enlighten your grandtather. I did not wish to tell her who you were till I was satisfied that you would reflect honor and not disgrace upon us all.” A little further conversation ended the conference, and Hollister took his way down stairs, where he found Edward Wrexham awaiting his appearance. “My dear fellow!’ exclaimed the latter, as the formier entered the drawing-room, “I was informed It was an appeal for pe- herve Svith the most commendable patience, I don’t know how long for you. [ have bat just arrived from home, whence I was summoned by a telegraphic dispatch. By the way, I may as well say, en passant, that I have prepared the way for an interview between yourself and a certain young lady of your acquaintance—and I have the pleasure to inform you that Mr. Henderson and my Hattie are in the city. I left them at the Astor House not an hour since, and it is already decided that they will accompany me home to-morrow. My object incalling upon you now is to beg that you will make one of the party. Will you oblige us ?” : “If I were at liberty to accept your kind invitation, you should not ask me the second time,” replied Hollister, with a sigh; ‘‘but I cannot leave the city to-morrow. I have some business of importance, which will keep me here.” “Sorry for it,” said Wrexham, regretfully, “very sorry—should like to have had you along; if you can’t go, however, you can’t. But, a word in your ear, Hollister—you have pledged yourself to help me out of a difficulty, and I shall require your services in just one week from to-day. Do you understand ? Maggie, backed up by a number of other young ladies, is to assist Hattie; and, besides yourself, I have enlisted our mutual friend, Gilbert Farmer, and some other men of nerve and determination under trying circumstances. Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Sey- mour and Mr. Henry Seymour are to be present to see fair play, and we shall, without doubt, have a right merry time of it. When can you come up 2?” “T will endeavor to be with you the day after to- morrow,” replied Hollister. “Good!” exclaimed Wrexham, ‘then we shall ex- pect you without fail. Good-morning!” : The day following this conversation Charles Hol- lister might have been seen, accompanied by two officials, examining the graves in Potter’s Field. They found the one of which they were in search, without much difficulty, and at once put a man at work to open it. A man had just finished digging a grave but a tew yards from where Hollister had taken his position, and now stood carelessly wiping the sweat from his brow as he waited the coming of the corpse which was to occupy the narrow house which he had been preparing. He had not to wait long, for very soon the poor-house hearse drove up, and a rough pine coffin was taken out and carelessly placed upon the ground. Actuated by curiosity, Hollister stepped a few paces forward to read the rough lettering upon the cottin lid, and an exclamation of surprise escaped him as his eyes fell upon the well remembered name “Barak Jeffries.” “Do you know how that man died 2?’”’ he inquired of an official who stood near. “He was found lying dead ina gutter near Wash- ington Market,” was the reply,. ‘‘and the verdict of the Coroner’s Jury was that he came to his death from want and exposure.” “Truly,” murmured Hollister, as he turned away, “the way of the transgressor is hard.” A few hours later the young man saw his father’s remains decently interred by the side of his deceased mother, and then with a sorrowful heart he again turned his face homeward. CHAPTER XXXVI. CONCLUSION. Maggie Martin, now no longer ‘the child of charity,” sat in the observatory which we have once before in the course of our story alluded to. The sun was fast sinking in the west, throwing his last rays aslant upon the quiet bosom of thesleeping Hudson, and bur- nishing the windows of the humble-farm houses on the opposite bank with a gorgeous. golden light; the birds were chirping merrily their last ‘“good-night’’ upon the branches of the overhanging foliage; the sweet south wind laden with the odor of countless flowers came murmuring on its way, kissing the leaves which seemed to whisper their gratitude in response; and the countenance of the girl seemed to catch its expression from the serenity of the scene which surrounded her, for it was very tranquil, and contented, and happy. A few days of freedom from torturing anxiety had done much toward restoring Maggie’s natural health- ful appearance, for although she was still somewhat pale and thin, the light of hope again beamed in her lustrous blue eyes, and the rich blood was again be- ginning to find its way to her faded cheeks. But she had reason to feel happy as she sat there in her favorite retreat, for that day was to witness her reunion with one whom she had supposed lost to her forever, altho igh she had never ceased to love him. Charles Hollister was expected that day, and she looked for his coming momentarily with eager eyes and wildly beating heart. By the kindly inter- position of Edward Wrexham all had been satis- factorily explained, letters had passed between the estranged ones, and now they were prepared to “Meet again like parted streams, And mingle as of old.” “He loves me!” she ejaculated, ecstatically, as she gazed down upon the silent’ river, “and. ‘oh, how bright and beautiful seems the world again! That world which but a few short days ago I would will- ingly, nay, gladly, have taken leave of. Heloves me! It isa short and simple sentence, but oh, to me it ém- bodies all that I can ever know of life, of hope, of happiness! He loves me, and sorrow henceforward is dead! He loves me, and all is peace and sunshine in my heart!” A quick footstep upon the dry leaves without sud- denly tell upon the ears of the musing girl. She turned. A look—a bound—a short, sharp ery of ec- stasy—and she lay weeping for joy upon the bosom of her lover. We shall not attempt to chronicle what the long- parted couple said, nor how they acted, nor how they felt, after their first transports were over, for the reason that we doubt our ability to perform such a task, and for the further reason that no especial point could be gained if we should succeed. Suffice it to say that they acted, and felt, and spoke as most young people of ardent temperament would have done under similar circumstances, and that when Edward Wrexham sought them an hour afterward, he found them sitting very close together in front of the little window, Hollister with his arm around the taper waist of Maggie, while her head rested upon his shoulder, and both were watching the bright stars as they stole forth, one by one, into the deepening twilight, and both were sighing pro- foundly, and both were looking ‘‘unutterable things” —all which went to show that although their gaze was cast heavenward, their thoughts were very, very near the earth.- And who willblame them? Noone, surely, who has ever loved. The marriage of Wrexham and Hattie Henderson took place, as per arrangement, and a right happy event it proved for all who participated in it. There was not a face present that was not wreathed in smiles—there was not a heart among the assembled guests that-did not sincerely wish all health, happi- ness, and prosperity to the generous, mainly bride- groom and his fair Kentucky bride. Even the deeply prejudiced Gilbert Farmer was forced to admit, in the exhilaration of the moment, “that an American wedding, in refined society, was fully equal in point of interest and magnificence to an English one, after all.” The wedding over, the happy couple, accompanied by the bridegroom’s mother and his two sisters, the . bride’s father, Maggie, Charles Hollister, and Gilbert Farmer, started immediately for Mr. Henderson’s residence in Kentucky, there to spend the honey- moon, after which it was the intention of the whole party to make the tour of Europe. Maggie’s pres- ence was necessary in England in order to settle her claim to the property which had been left her, and it was this fact which had determined the others to make the trip. A little incident happened while the wedding party were en roule from New York to Philadelphia, which it may perhaps be as well to mention. The conversation between Farmer and Hollister during the whole trip had been concerning the pro- jected European tour, and just as the cars were ap- proaching Camden, the Englishman felt himself touched upon the shoulder by some one sitting im- mediately behind him, and at the same time a sharp voice of nasal intonation ejaculated : “‘Sa-a-y, yeou, look o’ here!” Farmer turned around and beheld a shrewd-look- ing face, well tanned by exposure to the weather, which he thought he had seen before, but he could not at the moment remember where. “Recon I hearn yeou talkin’ ’beout goin’ teu Eng- land?’ continued the voice. “Well, sir, what is that to you?” asked Gilbert Far- mer, testily. f The Yankee took a huge plug of tobaceo from his pocket, and deliberately biting off about an inch of it, he said, before he replaced the weed in his pocket. “Kalkilate yeou don’t chew tobacker ?’ “No, sir, Ido not!’ replied Farmer, with a look of disgust. “Wal, I wouldn’t myself,” said the Yankee, as he turned the savory morsel over and over in his mouth, as though to test its flavor, ‘“‘on’y it keeps off the dratted teuthache. ’Spose yeou’ve made out pooty well sence yeou’ve bin in this country 2?” i “Sir, you are impertinent!’ exclaimed the English- man, fast losing his patience. “Think so?’ asked the Yankee, innocently, ‘‘wal, neow, I swan to man, I deon’t want teu be. Guess yeou don’t want teu buy no notions nor nothin’ teu take along hum with yeou?” “T do not,” asserted Gilbert Farmer. “Ya-as, wal I didn’t know but what yeou mought ;” drawled the Yankee. ‘I’ve gota heap o’ things to dispose on which would make the English stare, I tell you! Mebbe yeou’d better examine my stock?’ Just at this moment the steam whistle gave thi. signal for applying the brakes, and turning upon thé intruder a look of fierce anger, Gilbert Farmer ex- claimed: “You are an impudent scoundrel, sir, and if you annoy me any more, I shall teach you a lesson which you will not soon forget !”’ “Consarn it!” exclaimed the Yankee, in a tone of expostulation, ‘don’t get so pesky rily abeout it, Major! Yeou’ve already gin me a lesson which [ shan’t soon forget. I don’t want a repetition of that i € my | liek ve rin me in the tree fight o » Ohi j that you were up stairs, and I have been, waiting | lick yeou gin me in the tree fight on the Ohio, and if yeou're a goin’ teestrike cout, just lét nre-hiiGW, mand Pll save yeou the trouble. There’s one thing, How- somever, that I’d like to say to yeou afore I go, which is this ere. If you wantareal cur’osity to take home with yeou, I’ve got jest the pooliest jar o’ presarved Seeters to dispose on that ever was collected !” Josh Soper did not wait for areply. He saw dan- gerin the enraged Englishman’s countenance, and was consequently out of the car and off like a shot alnost before he had finished the last sentence. In six months from the time that the marriage of Edward Wrexham and Hattie took place, they, to- gether with all who had accompanied them—except Gilbert Farmer, who could not beinduced to return to Americaagain—arrived home from their European trip, greatly improved both in health and spirits. Maggie’s claim to her property had been established with very little trouble, and leaving her affairs entire- ly in the hands of Gilbert Farmer and the firm with | whom he was connected, she returned to Kentucky with Charles Hollister; and when the latter had taken his position as one of the firm of Oscar Farmer ; & Co., and was fast making a fortune independent of | the one which awaited him at the death of his grand- father, another wedding took place, but this time the ceremony was performed in the elegant mansion of the wealthy Henry Seymour, in Kentucky. Nearly the same parties, however, attended it—it was con- ducted in the same style of magnificence, and the same hilarity and genuine good feeling prevailed. The last difficulty had beensurmounted—the ceremony had been performed—and the two ‘waifs” had at length gained, permanently, ‘‘a local habitation and a name”’—one in heart, one in soul, and one in name, they had come to understand that definition of love which is rendered— “Two minds with but a single thought— Two hearts that beat as one. Some six years after the marriage of Hollister and Maggie, Henry Seymour prevailed upon his brother — Andrew and Mrs. Seymour to take up their residence with him in Kentucky, and here, exchanging visits occasionally with the Wrexhams in New York, they lived happily till late old age. Attheearnest solicitation of Charles Hollister, Dick Blinker went to live with him, and he died in his service full of years and honors. The estimation’ in which he was held by the family may be best judged of by the fact that the little Hollisters—there were three of them—never let a week pass without scat- tering fresh flowers upon the grave of ‘‘dear old uncle Dick.”’ What became of ‘Phil, the philosopher,” is not known, but it is pretty certain that he never sueceed- ed in establishing his grand system.of dietetics. He may be still living, however, and if so, there is a chance that we may yet hear from him. Our story is ended, and we must reluctantly bid the reader good-by. In doing so we must be permit- ted to remark that we have been guided by a higher motive in our labor than simply grouping a series of incidents together in pleasant narrative form. Our © design has been to show that the road of preferment is open to all, and that even the poorest of God’s creatures by the exercise of industry, perseverance, and strict integrity, may attain a position of wealth and distinction; that worth and not wealth is the standard by which to judge humanity; that the practice of good deeds will surely bring with it its meet reward, while crime will invariably as surely bring with it its own punishment, -~ If the perusal of this simple tale should be the means of reviving hope within the bosom of one toiling, despairing brother or sister, thus raising them from the slough of despond and stimulating them to renewed exertion, the object of the writer will have been accomplished. (THE END.) ro AMUSING A SILLY KING. Peasant shooting is the favorite amusement of the mad King Otto of Bavaria. But no peasants are killed, although his majesty fancies that he has— brought down several. The way they manage the royal sport is very simple. A fine hunting rifle is handed to the king, and he immediately posts him- self in one of the windows of his castle. The rifle is _ ‘ loaded with a blank cartridge. A man is hired to» post himself in a thicket and to emerge fromit at a + given signal. Immediately on hisappearancearoyal bead is drawn upon him. The king fires, the man falls, and the servants put him upon a stretcher and carry him off, while his majesty rubs his hands in de- light. The peasant receives his pay and puts in his application for another job. It is a fine thing to have a crazy king. ts THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3 VOL. 42—No. 39. DILDO DOOM rmrommwmmrmOOMOO””” NEW YORK, JULY 30, 1887. Terms to Mail Subscribers: ‘ (POSTAGE FREE.) é8months - - - -.- 4months - - - - - $1: eYOOr 2-2 5 = Ss 28, Remit by express mon registered letter. We employ no traveling agents. All letters shonld be addressed to STREET & SMITH, P. O. Box 2734. 29 & 31 Rose St., N. Y. A STORY OF LOVE AND HATE. 75c. | 2 copies - = $5.00 4 copies 10.00 8 copies” - - - = 20.00 y order, draft, P. O. order, or Cc. 00 00 e. In the story we are to begin next week, the author impressively portrays how a naturally tender- hearted woman, maddened by cruel indignities and persecutions, became so embittered against her foes that she was lost to the warnings of con- science, and lived only to gratify her revenge. The romance is entitled: A TERRIBLE PENALTY. By MRS. E. BURKE COLLINS, Author of “Bonny Jean,” “Married for Gold,” etc. The plans pursued by the wronged woman to level the pride of her enenies; the adroitness with which she brought about AN UNEXPECTED MARRIAGE, and thus caused the bitterest disappointment to all concerned; the remorse and punishment sure to attend evil deeds—are all pictured with vigor and dramatic skill in this thrilling story. “A TERRIBLE PENALTY” will be commenced neat week, LET ME ALONE, BY HARKLEY HARKER. “T wish I could afford to say to the whole world, ‘Let me alone.’ But, of course, I cannot.” “No,” replied the aged lawyer to his disgusted young friend, “nor can any man afford to say it. Why, don’t you know that that’s just what the whole world would be glad to do, if you would only agree to it.” And that last phrase had a volume of truth in it. All that the’eusy, selfish, ambitious world wants is any man’s consent to get on without using him. If a young man will only agree to it, his place is wanted ; the honors, the riches, the comforts, that he would claim others are anxious enough for. He has only to slip.one side and lie down, surrendering his claims, giving up his chance to push and get; and the world will thank him and forget him. The world seems crowded when all hands are outin the field and swinging the sickle. Every dunce who will go and lie in the shade makes more room for the other reapers. There is no greater mistake that some sensitive isnted souls make than to suppose that this -sitered world is sure to miss them if they go ;the dumps. Nota bitofit. Tobe sure, genius ibe sought out. Certainly, conceit and egotism are offensive: Yet itis the man who pushes himself to the front who is noticed and used, after all, if he also has merit. Modest merit is well enough in story books; but in actual life, it is self-offering merit which gets recognition. One need not be offensive aboutit. There is a becoming self-offer. Surely in these busy days we are not going to hunt long for the hyper-sensitive recluse when the efficient man stands right before us, taking off his coat and offering to roll up his sleeves and go at our task. Men who want work must be on hand. Dreamers will surely be lett behind, as things are now. Skins must be thicker than once they were. 7 A part of the opposition and obstacles in the way of success to-day is over-sensitiveness, and unwil- -lingness to endure the sneer, ‘Ah, he is always pre- senting himself for honors.” Of course he is, if he ex pects position. And so long as he has abilities and is tit for the place that he seeks, if he be good- natured about his self-push and does not deal in mean tricks to get himself recognized, men smile and take him. When he is fairly in the saddle the over-modest fellows that sneered at him prove to be as glad to do him honor, generally, as the world is. Itis an age of push. Itis a time when goods are sold by the drummer; the old days of waiting for buyers to come to the counter are gone, probably for- ever. He who wants to be let alone, can be; and when he is starving let him blame himself. I advise every young man to banish that selfish ex- clusiveness that is too often the result of superior birth or social exclusiveness. The young rich youth must not shrink from the crowd; he must travel with the people; he must be willing to knock elbows with the rabble if he wishes to do anything in this world. The educated young man,. just out of college, who reads poetry, and dreams that his flesh is finer flesh than that of the general mob and mass of us, has peen educated into sure failure. If his aristocratic mamma and sisters are able to turn him aside from “pitching right in,” because of his family, 1t is cer- tain that he will always be let alone by the great needy mass of employers, the world at large. Young men who, up town, belong to art clubs, must look to it that they do not bring any of theart club exclusive- ness down town. Itis ‘the rabble’ who buy goods, and employ lawyers and physicians, and “‘therabble’”’ elect the President. How many a young fellow has failed in life be- cause he ‘‘couldn’t bear” the people. The people, forsooth! Why, they made his father rich! The society ways of Newport and Saratoga are poor schoolmasters for young, earnest men who have their own ambition to meet or their own bread to earn. And not a few young men whose fathers have died bankrupt, havesimply acquired this simpleton’s languishing longing, “I wish I could say to the world, ‘‘Let me alone.” There is a danger in a too exclusive love of books, or of the studio, or the laboratory. Knowledge is like eggs ; it must be hatched out. Mere love of study never made more than half a dozen great men in all modern history, while it has ruined thousands of bright minds. The eneryvation of excessive self-cul- ture is as bad as any other effeminate practice. And it grows on a youth. He gets to the point at last that he is as unpractical as a girl. He wants only quiet and—more reading. The seductive habit of selfish pursuit of any fond and favorite study, by a literary youth, is very hard to break up, or rather to rightly direct into practical channels. Such a young person must be shocked out of his reveries. The world will surely get along without him if he allows it to do so. He must do something for others with his music; he must amuse, instruct, serve for charity or mercy. Let him go play to the sick with the favorite violin ; let him help his church social; let him offer to teach the poor. Or, perhaps, he should be sharply asked, “What are you going to do, any way, in this busy world, you who thus far seem only to be happy when shut up and let alone with your art? Is it worth the sacrifice? Is it worthy to be used as asword with which to carve your way through life?” It may well pe questioned if not a few of the esthetic recreations of fine spirited young people, in these times of a riper culture, are not sapping the energies of youth- ful growth. An esthetic recreation is always hard to keep within due bounds of temperance. In Amer- ica, at least for years to come, the useful must take precedence of the ornamental. : j The heart of man needs the society of its fellows. ' Without it the generous instincts wither and die. To be let alone is not as dangerous to the virtuous as to ‘the vicious, for the vicious mean preying on the in- ‘dustrious. Yet the virtuous are bound to keep near ' us, to preserve contact with us—not only for our! sakes that we may share their good, but for their own sakes, lest they grow selfish in virtue. The ‘‘I-am- holier-than-thou” sentiment is execrable! Such a man, living apart from and above the world, will be laughed at, and hated, and neglected. His influence will dwindle to nothing. But he himself will deteri- orate into a mere sanctimonious growler, hating the world that has snapped its fingers on him. For bet- ter or worse, here we all are, together on the planet. The wise good make the best of it. ee ee Humor and Philosophy. BY GEORGE RUSSELL JACKSON. A Crushed Serenader. I stood beneath the window of my lady, At night and sang a Spanish serenade. I meant it a surprise for charming Sadie, To whom I long had my addresses paid. Oh! she was beauteous as a Summer morning, When from the deep the steeds of Phoebus spring, And pearly drops the roses are adorning, And in the groves the birds their matins sing. My love for her was deeper than the ocean, And truer than the stars that gem the sky ; I hoped that she would smile on my devotion, And answer me, if only with a sigh. And so I sang, my love and hopes revealing, And as for one sweet word or smile I prayed, I fancied her behind the blinds concealing Herself, to listen to my serenade. At last I heard my darling softly raising Her window, and my heart went pit-a-pat, And while intently I was upward gazing, She threw at me a vase and shouted, ‘Scat !” Holding Up the Wrong Train. It was in the State of Missouri. The train was passing through a lonely section of country, when, as it turned a sharp curve, four men, masked and heavily armed, stepped out from behind a clump of trees and commanded the engineer to stop or they would shoot. The train came toa stand still and two of the men entered the front car with cocked re- volvers, the other two remaining to guard the en- gineer, who, instead of having any appearance of being frightened, was actually indulging in a hearty fit of laughter, In a few minutes the men who had entered the train emerged from the rear car and ap- proached thrir confederates wearing a look of deepest disgust upon their faces. “Blamed fraud this is,” said one. “What’s the matter? Hain’t you got no boodle?”’ “Nary a red.” “But the train’s full of passengers?” “Oh! there’s plenty of ’em but they hain’t got any money.” “That’s blamed strange. Who are they ?’ “It’s an editor’s excursion, pard. Go ahead, en- gineer.” ‘ A Jilted Lover's Wail. Her lovely face, her golden hair, Her eyes of heaven’s enchanting blue, Her graceful form, her modest air, Love’s witching spell around me threw. But she has jilted me, alas! “The spell is past, the dream is o’er, The thing I feared has come to pass, The maid I loved is mine no more. Another praises every charm,, Another his affection tells, She leans upon another’s arm, She eats another’s caramels! For this I never gave her cause, Oh, fickle fair! oh, cruél she! She asks that all that ever was Between us shall forgotten be. Can I forget the charming hops, When we were dreaming “LLove’s young dream,” The oyster stews, the mutton chops, Topped off with strawberries and cream ? The clambakes down by sunny coves, The night I took her to the play, The picnics out in rural groves, .* For all of which I had to pay ”’ Not much. While memory endures, The thought of these, through every scene, These profitless expenditures, Will wring my soul with anguish keen. He Was Too Quick. He was sitting brooding in the parlor, waiting for news from the upper regions. At length the nurse appeared, with the baby in her arms. “A beautiful b’y, God bless him!’ she said; ‘an’ just the very image of his——” “Yes, yes,” he exclaimed, impatiently; “I know the old story—the very image of his father; has my nose and Ee “The image of his mother, I was going to say,” broke in the nurse. ‘The hivins furbid!” she added, fervently—‘‘the hivins furbid that he should ever drink enough to have a nose like yours!” And he wished he hadn’t spoken so soon. Epitaph on a Noble Man. ‘With cheerfulness he bore life’s ills ; For heaven he was fit; He paid his wife’s dressinaker’s bills, And never growled a bit. Too Bad. “Boo, hoo, hoo!” wailed the widow. “Control your grief, madam,” said the “T’m sure he was a good husband.” “Too good,’ sobbed the widow. “Too good?” “Yes, he never said an unkind word to me.” “So [have heard, and that thought ought to con- sole you.” “It doesn’t. It was cruel of him to treat me so well. It he had abused me I couldymarry again within a year, and nobody could find fault, but, as it is, I must remain a widow for at least thirteen months. Boo, hoo, hoo?’ A Genial Girl. I sought to kiss her hand when she Upon my bosom laid her head. “Don’t kiss my hand,” she said to me; “My lips, you know, are nearer, Ned.” minister. Appearances Are Deceiving. “You have a very handsome office here,’”’ said the lady visitor to the editorial rooms, ‘‘and a fine- looking staff of writers; but I notice you have some very disreputable-looking callers. That, however, I suppose, you cannot avoid.” “We have all kinds of callers,’ smiled the editor, “but really have you observed any one that comes, in your opinion, under the denomination of disrep- utable looking ?’ “Certainly. The man who came in and spoke to you a moment ago; the one with the red nose and— and—well, I should say he was here on business connected with a pugilislic combination or some- thing or that sort.” “Oh!” laughed the editor, ‘that’s Jim. He’s all right. He’s the editor of our ‘Golden Grains’ and ‘Words Fitly Spoken’ departinent.” They Give Us No Peace. Oh, what is sweeter than a summer day, When golden sunshine on the landscape lies! How sweet the odor of the new-mown hay! How green the meads where merry lambkins play ! This earth indeed would be a paradise, If we could lie and dream the.-hours away Upon a flowery bank, neath cloudless skies, While list’ning to the robin’s roundelay, Untroubled by musketoes or by flies! Equal to the Occasion. First TRAMP.—‘‘What would you do, Bill, if things should turn out so that you would be compelled to go to work at something ?” SECOND T. (cheerfully).—‘‘I would look about for a light job in a brewery or distillery.” Still Waters Are Often Stagnant. “Still waters run deep.” We have heard that before ; ‘Tis often a misleading notion; : For the turbulent waves in their majesty roar O’er the deepest parts of the ocean. A Boston girl never says, ““You make me tired.” When she is bored by any one, she rémoyes her glasses and gravely observes: “You cause in mea feeling of excessive weariness.” A fashion paper says there is no danger of the corset going out of fashion. No; when the corset came, it came to stay. There is a bright and dark side to every dollar, says a sentimental financier. No doubtof it. A dollar shows its bright side when it is coming to us, its dark one when it is going away. Aman will getup in meeting and tell his neigh- bors that he is a miserable sinner, but itis not safe to take him at his word. If you should meet him on the street next day, and say, ‘‘How do you do, you miserable sinner?’ he would in all likelihood be very much offended. There isa good deal of difference between being a miserable sinner in meeting and one on the street. The model husband and the model wife— ‘Tis strange—no one has ever met in life. Always keep looking ahead hile This is no doubt very good ax put it is never- theless a pleasant thing te fie duwn at night en- tirely ignorant of the troubies tha. await you on rising. says a philosopher. equal to hard ically to such an 21 have met with mid think about yeur meals with THERE is no remedy for work—labor that will tire you extent that you mustsleep. i: 3 losses, you do not want te lie awar: them. You want sleep, a0 © an appetite; but you cannet, 1% su work, ‘1 on the business to make a}l the custom CITY CHARACTERS, BY ELLIS LAWRENCE, No. 25.-THE CITY WAITER. Most people who live outside of the cities indulge in the luxury of waiting upon themselves at table. The countryman can talk to his wife about his very nearest neighbor, if he likes, without fearing that his remarks will promptly reach the said neighbor through the. back doors of the two houses, and the family can discuss and adopt plans that will not be the talk of the whole town before they are put into execution. There is something more than aristocracy in being able to eat your meals without a waiter at your el- bow—there is genuine independence. But there is no such luck for city people who want to live well, and make as good an appearance as their neighbors. They must have a waiter in the dining-room whenever a meal is Heing served, even if there is nothing more substantial than coffee and rolls to pass. As meal-time is almost the only time of day in which all the members of such a family are together, itis theonly opportunity for a general inter- change of opinions and confidences. All the conver- sation is heard by the waiter, who knows all the other waiters on the block. And yet there are city people who still wonder how their family affairs hap- pen to be known to some of their neighbors to whom they never spoke a word! But there are other waiters in large cities besides those who serve in private houses; among them are the restaurant waiter and the hotel waiter. It is dif- ficult to decide which of them is the more distinct “character,” but nobody doubts that both are utterly unlike any other servant in existence. The restaurant waiter is occasionally bright, and oftener very stupid, but one thing he is pretty sure to know very thoroughly; it is his own business. Biographies and cyclopzdias tell of some men ot won- derful memories, but does any one imagine that one of these famous people could take orders from a dozen different guests, rattle off the whole list cor- rectly at the kitchen window, and serve each person correctly. But thisis only a fact of the restaurant waiter’s fine work; he will bring back at a single trip all of the dishes ordered, piling them up on one arm like a lot of sticks of firewood, and not dropping a single one, or even soiling the outside of a single plate. There is another remarkable point about the res- taurant waiter’s memory—he never forgets the face of the guest who at the end of a meal gives him a small coin, or large one, for himself. The tables may all seem full, everybody in a hurry, and nobody able to get a waiter; but when the man who “tips” the waiter appears, he instantly has a seat, his order is taken, and he is half way through his meal before the man infront of him has even a knife and fork to rattle on the empty table. Sometimes the restaurant waiter is a girl, and if she has sense enough to snub the young monkeys and old scoundrels who*pretend to be in love with her, she can serve a meal as well as any other waiter in the world. But just as she gets ago00d ehough grip Ss. grateful, she is likely to throw herself away on sopud good-for- pothing fellow who, wv ants somebody. Legge aut on bin * ‘Phe hotel waiter is an entirely different character. Whether his work is in the dining-room, or the lobby, or answering calls from: guests in the rooms, he never loses sight of the fact that the traveling public gen- erally have money, and that money is what he is after. He is not going to steal it; you may leave your pocket-book in your room at a good hotel almost as safely as in your own house. Butif there is any way to make you bestow small change frequently, the hotel waiter knows it, and he may be depended upon to keep your memory stirred up. Operations begin trom the moment he shows you to yourroom. He doesnot go out as soon as he has dropped your wraps and hand-bag on a chair; he lingers an instant, respectfully, as if waiting for an order. If you express a wish for anything, he attends to it promptly; if you do not—well, the pleasantest way to dismiss him is to hand him ten cents and admit that you guess you are all right now. There is no law requiring you to give him this small fee; the landlord pays him wages, and would be very angry to hear that any waiter neglected a guest, yet the weight of evidence of old travelers is to the effect thet the man who fees the man who shows him to his room gets more comfort for a given amount of money than any one who does not “remember the waiter.” In the hotel dining-room your waiter, the first time’ he sees you, cannot do too much for you, and if you leave a little silver beside your plate, his devotion will last as long as yourstay. There seems to bea Freemasonry among waiters, for no matter how often your table may be changed, you are sure to be well treated by all the waiters if you fee the first one—and don’t forget his successors. But if you object, on principle, to feeing waiters, provide yourself with an air-tight can of crackers and cheese before you start on a journey, and don’t forget a bottle of whatever digestion-assister is most beneficial to you. I know a most generous and good- natured millionaire who objects on principle to fee- ing waiters, and he admitted, on his return from a two-weeks’ tour of the principal cities, that he never had been able to promptly get anything but ice- water. Just like the dining-room water is the man who answers your call-bell at the hotel. It does not mat- ter whether you want a Bible or a brandy and soda, the waiter into whose hand you drop a bit of silver returns promptly, while he who gets nothing, and believes there is nothing to get, will be so late in re- turning that you will have wearied of thirsting after righteousness long before he fills your order. All the way from your room to the hotel lobby you will find the waiter in one capacity or other, and if you do not chance to think of his necessities, you will not lack reminders. Be particular about the man who rushes at you with a broom-brush and makes the dust fly from your coat and hat; he is likely to brush off a good deal of the fabric also, un- less you stop him with a small fee. There are some men in this world who are paid to work, but others who have to be paid to stop, and generally the man with the broom-brush belongs to the latter class. Some travelers think they will get along by simply ignoring the subject of fees and being kind and friendly to the waiters. I have seen this plan tried; so has the waiter, and he is quite equal to it. Before he is through with you, he has told you so much about what other guests have done for him, and about his large family and small pay, that unless you are a wretched: miser you end by giving him a great deal more than the customary ‘‘tip.” 5 : If every one were as able as the average city waiter to take care of himself, there would no longer be poverty in the world. a 0 8 JAPANESE FASHIONS. Japanese young men of fashion visit young ladies just as they do in this country. They have balls and parties where waltzing is freely indulged in. The waltz, however, is a recent innovation, but is very popular. The costumes worn by Japanese ladies are more in consonance with the dress-reform move- ment than those of American and European girls. First of all, no corset is worn. The long silk sash supplies the place of steel and whalebone. This sasb is wrapped round and round the waist loosely, and the ends hang down behind. There is no large, elaborate bow pinned against the back, like those seen in the representations of the “Mikado” on our stage. Some of the ultra-fashionable girls of Tokio, however, have adopted a method of making their waists look smaller, but no corset is used—simply a belt buckled round the waist. Japanese girls attire themselves in pretty much the same undergarments as European women, but their stockings are made more like a mitten for the hand, there being a sepa- rate receptacle for the big toe. A SMALL GIRL’S COMPOSITION, BY KATE THORN. DEAR MISS THORN :—Our teacher has askt me to write a composition for our last day at scool, and I have writ this on Man. I sent it to you because my paper says that you are one of them old mades that’s been looking for a Man ever since you was 16. Yourrs truly, EMMA B. W. MAN. A man is tke only thing except billy-goats and cats that wears whiskers. He is the masculine gender of women. He wears trousers except when his wife bosses him, like Mrs. Brownson bosses her man, and then she wears ’em. His buttons is always coming off. They can’t be sowed on so stout that one won’t come off just as he is going to start for church and his wife has got on her seven-button kid gloves, that is so tight that it takes half an hour to squeeze into ’em, and swells her veins all up like the garden hose when the water is let on. Men can swear when they’re vexed, and nobody thinks the less of ’em. They stay out nights at the clubs, and come home too tired to take their boots off. I should think their corns would ache. _Men like punkin pies and doughnuts. A good- sized, helthy man can eat 11 doughnuts without stop- ping to rest. Men never have any money when you want to buy dresses, and hats, and things. that time. Out West must be an awful place! [’m glad Tommy Springer don’t live out West, for he owes me five cents for three. sticks of chewing gum that I let him have, and he’d certainly fail if he did, and I should lose it. Men has a grate menny rights that we don’t hav. They can spit any where they want to, and at any time, and no questions asked. They can tuck their trouser legs into their boots and wade after pond lilies, and not get mud on their petticoats. They can whistle and folks won’t be shocked, and ask ’em where they expect to go to when they die. They don’t have any snarls in their hair, ’cause they have it cut as tight as the hair on pa’s old sealskin trunk in the attic that his grandfather had in the Revolu- tion. Men don’t have to have small waists. They don’t have to wear bustles. They can go a-courting when they want to. They can be sweet on another woman besides their wife, and there ain’t much said about it; but, my! don’t it intirely bust a woman up if she goes and get sweet on any man but her husband 2 Men that owes their tailors for the clothes on their backs, and that ain’t worth two cents in the world, can git together and vote away all the rich women’s money they ’re a mind to, to bild town halls, and sidewalks; and this is what they call sufferage. Men don’t havé to set up with their wives’ colicky babies nights. They don’t have to mend stockings. They don’t have to go to sewing societies. They don’t have to fry griddle cakes when the mercury is up to a hundred and fifteen! They don’t have to crimp their hair, and keep it crimped through Dog days, or run the risk of losing their beaus. Men ain’t nice about a great many things; but my mamma says we have got to have’em to see to the bulls and bears; and of course they must be seen to, or else there won’t be no circuses—and that would be too dreadful for anything ! Josh Billings’ Philosophy, Happiness konsists in being happy. This iz the quickest and best definition I kno ov. To play a fust-rate game ov lawn tennis, a yung man don’t want to be able to do anything else well. Noman kan ever be a good talker until he haz first learned to be a good listener. The man who ain’t prepared, at enny time, to for- get at least one-haff he haz learned, never will be- come very wise. Nature never makes enny mistakes or blunders that mortals kan remedy. She often puts an extra crook in a dog’s tail, just for fun; but the crook can’t be straightened without spoiling the tail. We can’t help but envy thoze who allways appear to be happy; and yet to be allways happy a man must be a phool, Thare are plenty ov people who seem to hay been born just on purpose to ask questions, and never be satisfied with the answers. When they reach the celestial gate, and Saint Peter tells them to enter, they will wonder if he haz got it right. The fury ov a great man iz less to be feared than hiz-familiarity. = mae Thare are too many in the world who would rather do a kunning thing than a kind one. All kunning iz not wicked, but it iz on the way that leads to wickedness. Whenever a woman undertakes to play the clown, she makes a phool ov herself, and the business too. Culture iz good in the right quantity and on the right soil; but all the culture in the world won't make the cabbage blossom like the rose. ‘The top round of the ladder iz not only a most diffikult place to reach, but a most diffikult place to stick to. You can’t stake out a claim there. You kan find plenty ov people who kan easily im- prove upon what others have written, but can’t write even a mediocre line ov their own to save their lives. My dear boy, don’t forget that there are many pi to miss the bull’s-eye, but only one way to it it. A beautiful man (if there ever was one) would be a monstrosity. Happiness iz ov that subtle natnre, that though all seek it, but few kno it when they find it. Men ov genius generally have poor memories. They can invent something new easier than they can re- member something old. The men who are the most fit for solitude are the last ones who ought to become solitary. /Thare iz no man so poor but he can afford to keep one dog, and some are so poor that they can afford to keep three. rt UTILIZING HIS GUESTS. A restaurant keeper in Berlin recently invented a new way of getting a piece of hard manual labor done without paying for it. In his garden lay the stump of a tall acacia, which he intended using for firewood. This could only be done by chopping the tough wood —a task which could not be done without incurring some expense to the parsimonious owner. His gar- den was much frequented. Why not save the money and make some of his sturdy visitors do the work ? “Practice in cutting wood may here be had without payment’ appeared in large letters on a board near where the acacia stump stood, and an ax lay invit- ingly on the ground. The result was instantaneous. Nearly every visitor who saw the board tried his muscular power on the stump, and before many days were over the enormous task was done. 0 THE GAMBLER’S PLOT. The gamblers of the Monte Carlo casino recently formed a “combine,” as the New York aldermen phrase it, to break the bank. From the facts which transpired, a croupier was bribed to pack the cards at trente-el-quarante; and at a certain moment, when the queen of diamonds appeared, such an unusually large sum in notes was placed on the table as to arouse the suspicions of the proprietors. On subse- quent investigation it was discovered that sixty cards had been added to the packs by the incrimi- nated “operator,” who was sent to prison forthwith, and has since been sent across the frontier on the discovery of asum of sixty thousand francs at his residence. The loss to the proprietors is said to amount to half a million francs. ee eee ee A THOROUGH BUSINESS MAN. The following touching notice was recently placed in the window of a Western village store. “This store will be closed from two until half-past five o’clock this afternoon on account of the funeral of the wife of the proprietor. When open at half-past five o’clock we will display the finest line of spring dress goods ever seen in this town, and on account of being compelled to close this afternoon, this store will be kept open until half-past nine to-night, that our patrons may haye an opportunity of seeing the magnificant line of dress goods just received.” oo THE vulnerable point of one’s character is much more speedily discovered by our inferiors than by our equals, BETTER to be despised for too anxious apprehen- sion than ruined by too confident security. Somebody out West, | that owed them lots and lots, always failed just about | Boil two ounces of isinglass in four te Correspondence. GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS, t= Communications addressed to this department will not be noticed unless the names of responsible parties are signed to them as evidence of the good faith of the writers. Geraldine, Petersburgh, Va.—ist. The common sumach of the United States is the smooth sumach, a shrub which grows ten to twelve feet high, with greenish-yellow flowers and sour crimson frnit, growing in clusters. The leaves are often bright scarlet and yellow in the autumn. Poison ivy, or poison oak, is also a kind of sumach. There are two kinds, one of which is a vine. and the other a shrub. What is commonly called poison sumach or poison dogwood grows usually in swamps, and is a shrub ten to fifteen feet high. The flowers. are greenish yellow and the fruit greenish white. It hasa milky juice, which dries like a black varnish. The Japanese make their lacquer varnish from a poison sumach very similar to this. A small kind of sumach grows in Sicily, the crushed or ground leaves of which are used for tanning light- colored leather and for dyeing cotton cloths of a bright peor The leaves of the smooth sumach and of some other kinds are used in this country for the saine pur- pes 2d. The strawberry plant is so called perhaps trom d: 8 5) raw-like stems; bui some think it should be stray- berry, from the Straying of its vines. Newland M., Boston.—ist.—Coffee ice-cream may be thus made: Make a boiled custard. While it is boiling, por in two tablespoonfuls of roasted coffee, in grains. Stir it for a little while; then strain off the grains and ee custard. 2d. To make frozen custard, beat up he yolks of five eggs, with ei Q j ‘ : 288, with eight ounces of white sugar. nee e cues of milk; stirin it one tablespoonful of corn starch ; a nen it is thick let it cool, and then add one quart of cream, and the eggs and sugar. Season with lemon or vanilla. Plain custard is also good frozen. 3d. To make Italian cream, put two pints of cream into two bowls. In one bow] mix Six ounces of sugar, the juice of two lemons, and two wineglasses of wine. Then add the other pint of cream, and stir it altogether very hard. Bo ing acupsof water until it is reduced one-half. Then stir it arene into the other ingredients, and put it into a glass dish to cool. 4th. Whips may be made with the whites of eight eggs and one quart of cream. Season to taste, b 1 } C : é eat the whites very light, and stir the cream. : ' M. A, Ry Rochester, N. Y.—The epithet, turncoat, it is said, took its rise from one of the first dukes of Savoy, Latin eee lying open to the invasions of the two contending houses of Spain and France, he was obliged to temporize and fall in with that power that was most like- ly to distress him, according to the success of their arms against one another. So being frequently obliged to change sides, he humorously got a coat made that was blue on one side and white on the other, and might be worn either'side out. While in the Spanish interest he wore the blue side out, a i i ae French, , and the white side was the badge Reader, New Haven, Conn.—Culloden House is a family seat in Scotland, four miles from Inverness, which gave its name to the battle that ended the career of the pre- tender in the rebellion of 1745, fought April 16.1746. The English troops were led by the Duke of Cumberland. The prince’s army, commanded by Charles Edward in person, had little or no artillery, with which arm the enemy were well supplied. The highlanders made a des- perate attack, but the English troops stood firm, and af- ter great carnage on both sides, the highlanders, unsup- ported and unofficered, broke and fled. L. W., Albany, N. Y.—Croton oil is expressed from the seeds of a plant which is anative of Ceylon, Molucca, Hin- dostan, and other parts of Asia. It was known in Europe as early as 1630, but attracted little notice. A dose con- sists of one or two drops, and on account of the prompt- ness of its action, it is employed where other medicines would be difficult of administration, especially in the case of patients in a comatose state. It has a bitter, burning taste, anda slight odor. The color is yellow. B. M. N., Darien, Ga.—Schooley’s Mountain is a post village in. Washington Township, Morris County, New Jersey, about eighteen miles west of Morristown, and 50 miles west of New York. It is four miles from Hacketts- town Station. The mountain is nearly 1,200 feet high, Among the attractions of the locality is a medicinal spring containing carbonated oxide of iron, with several salts of soda, lime, and magnesia. The village has hotels, board- ing-houses, churches, and seminaries. Irke.—The balm of Gilead is another name for the bal- sam of Mecca or of Syria. The balsam has a yellowish or greenish color, a warm and somewhat bitter aromatic taste, and a fragrant smell, and is the product of a tree in- digenous to Arabia and Abyssinia. It is valued as an odoriferous ointment or cosmetic by the Turks. The term balm of Gilead is also applied to a species of American poplar; also toa fir tree, from which a resin is obtained and sold as Canada balsam. A. J. W., Philadelphia.—The famous Damascus blades, as described, were particularly distinguished for their keen edge, their great hardness, toughness, and elasticity, and the-splendid play of prismatic color upon their sur- faces, especially when viewed in an oblique light. Mod- ern science was long taxed in vain to imitate this varie- gated or watered appearance, which is now accomplished by a solution of sulphate of iron. Emeline, Lancaster, Pa.—Sealing wax, first made in India, was once in very popular use, but is now seldom enployed, except in fixizig seals Wicgai wad State papers. It is made of lac mixed with a little turpentine and resin and some coloring matter. The red sealing wax is colored with vermilion, and the black with ivory black. Golden ae wax has powdered yellow mica mixed with the ac. Alida, Newburgh, N. Y.—To make glycerine soap balls, to any recently made toilet soap, sliced, and melted by a gentle heat, without water, if possible, add the purest glycerine, in the proportion of one ounce to the pound. Thoroughly incorporate them by vigorous stirring, which should be continued until the mass has cooled consider- ably, when it should at once be made into balls. ‘ Richard Slater, Richmond, Va.—William R. King, of Alabama, was elected Vice-President of the United States inj1852. Being in Cuba for his health, under a special act he there took the usual oath before the Ameri- can Consul-General at, Havana. Returning home, he died on April 18, 1853, without, in fact, entering upon his duties as Vice-President. S. M. B., Brooklyn, N. Y.—1st. Deal Beach is on the coast of New Jersey just north of Asbury Park and south of Long Branch. Distance from New York, 49 miles. Railroad fare, $1.10. 2d. Monmouth Beach is just north of Long Branch. Railroad fare 90 cents. 2d. The distance trom New York to Long Branch is 45 miles. Fare by rail- road $1. Excursion $1.50. L. M. C., Norwalk, Conn.—To pickle one gallon of cher- ries, to two quarts of vinegar put one pound of sugar, one ounce of mace, cloves, and cinnamon mixed; boil and skim it, and when cold, pour it over the cherries; then draw off the vinegar in two or three days’ time; boil it, and pour it again upon the cherries. This is done twice, to pre- serve them. Aunt Judy, Whitehouse, Ohio.—The “People’s Cook Book,” which contains numerous recipes for canning vegetables, fruit, etc., will be sent to you for thirty cents. It gives recipes in more detail than we could possibly find space for. If you wish it, write direct to the NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. New Subscriber.—There are two works which will be found very useful for the purpose in view—‘‘The New Ready Reckoner,’ price 25 cents, and “‘Wentworth’s Arithmetical Problems,” price 50 cents. If you wish them, write to the NEW YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency. M.L.S., Brookhaven, Miss.—Vinegar can be made in three weeks by mixing, in the folowing proportions, one quart of molasses, one pint of yeast, and three gallons of warm rain water. Put the mixture into a keg or barrel with the bunghole open, but protected with gauze against insects. Lawrence Mills, Lawrence, Mass. — Mt. McGregor, where Gen. Grant died, is one of the Adirondack moun- tains, and is situated ten miles north of Saratoga. The point is reached by the narrow-gauge mountain road that branches from the Hudson River Railroad at Saratoga. 0. T. D., Springfield, Mass.—ist. About five thousand kinds of buttertlies are known, of which nearly a thou- sand are in the United States. One kind is used for food in Australia by the savages. 2d. Butterflies fly only in the day-time. Mabel B.— Conservatism is aterm used in American politics to denote the opposite of extreme views. Thus & conservative is one who wishes to maintain existing in- stitutions and customs; opposed to anything revolution- ary or radical, Olney Fairbanks, West Point, Ga—French’s “Mental Arithmetic” will cost 50 cents. In it combinations of nume bers, solutions of problems, and principles of arithmetical analysis are based upon the laws of mental development. wm. B. S., Augusta, Ga.—The Covington, Ky. and Cin- cinnati suspension bridge is 2,252 feet long. Height of ier, 80 feet ; width, 45 feet; size of cable, 12 inches; cost, 1,750,000. : Lorenzo G., Schenectady, N. Y.—The Fahrenheit ther- mometer is the one most commonly used in England and the United States. Walter Richardson, Flushing, L. IT.—A “lame duck” is a stock-broker’s term for one who fails to meet his en- gagements. N. C. H., Correctionville, Ga._We know of no country in which all the conditions to which you refer exist. A. L. H., Newark, N.J.—The Auditor of the Territory of Dakota is E. W. Caldwell. Address, Bismarck. P. H.—We can send you ‘‘Winner’s Accordion Primer,” containing numerous popular airs, for 50 cents. A.C. B., Plainfield, N. J.—Barnum’s old museum in this city was burned on July 18, 1865. C. C. B,, Mount Vernon, Ala.—We do not give business | addresses in this department. ane VOL. 42—No, 39, x A REASON. BY NORMAN GUNNISON. “There ts always a reason in the man.””—EMERSON. For good or bad fortune, which smiles or which frowns, For poverty, riches, ill-feeling, or ease, For all of our ups, and for all of our downs, Good coats on our bodies, or holes in our knees ; You-will find it is ever as Emerson says, Tf closely the springs of our being you scan ; For clouds or for sunshine, for good or bad days, There is always a reason resides in the man. You may grumble, and say that your fortune is bad, That ill overtakes everything that you try ; "Tis as easy, my friend, to be merry as sad, And a laugh may be managed as well as a sigh. Make your way as you choose, make your life what you will, Vex your heart with your efforts to study and plan ; You will find at the end of your managing, still, There is always a reason resides in the man. Should your efforts to woo the blind goddess prove vain,’ And adversity smile and prosperity frown, There is always a turn at the end of the lane, And you may go up when the others come down. You may scoff at the maxim, and deem it unwise To do every day just the best that you can; But whoever will try it will open his eyes To find that the reason resides in the man. Tt is always the same, both in love and in war— In love with a woman, in warfare of life; Whoever regardeth the soul of this saw, Shall conquer in wooing, and wed her his wife. But to do it, you never can be in the rear, But always march on in the fore-front and van. Let me quietly whisper this truth in your ear: There is always a reason resides in the man. There is much in the wisdom of Emerson’s pen, There is food for deep thought in the words that we note, ; And never a line has he written for men More truthful than this which I copy and quote. You may make your life joyous, or sadden your days, Have shadow or sunshine, in fact, as you plan ; You will find it is ever as Emerson says, There is always a reason resides in the man. se SONS CE Oi eas [THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM. ] TORN FROM HOME: OR, THE Child-Stealers of New Haven. By BURKE BRENTFORD, Author of “‘Florence Falkland,’ “The Steel Cas-= ket,*? etc. [TORN FROM HOME,” was commenced LAST WEEK. } CHAPTER IV. THE ADVENTURES OF AJAX AND THE STOLEN BOY. Ajax, in his desperate leap from the rushing rail- way train, was very fortunate. He ‘fell soft,” as schoolboys say. That is, he came down, feet foremost, on a soil of sandy loom just out- side of the ties of the track, staggered and fell toa sitting posture, but without material damage to him- self beyond the rudest shaking up he had ever ex- perienced, and without hurting the slumbering child severtheless felt stiff and “tottery’’, as he i his feelings in a subsequent conversation; ae scertaining that his frame-work was whole, and becoming ablq to distinguish objects quite distinctly in the clear starlight, he walked vigorously after the vanishing train alongside the track, the light form of the dru i little one being but a feather’s weight + from the cars about ad Windham, and that hé 01 6) rossing of the turnpike jeading south-westerly through Columbia, Hebron and Colchester to East Haddam, whence, after cross- ing the Connecticut River, he could make his way by little frequented roads toSachem’s Head. The entire distance was something over forty-five miles, as the roads wound; atremendous piece of pedestrianism with the burden he carried, but he set out with a firm and dogged step, determined to accomplish it, his object being now to avoid observation as much as possible. : He soon came to where the railway crossed a small stream, the Hop River, over a deep ravine, where he had to step gingerly from beam to beam, with the sound of far-below waters ringing disagreeably in his ears. But he made the crossing in safety, and soon eame to the turnpike branching off to the south- west, when, keeping at the side of the road under the shadow of the trees and fences, he pushed on with a mind considerably relieved. “What if I struck the detective too hard?’ he thought to himself, as he trudged along. ‘I didn’t mean to; but he started the row, an’ he was breathin’ sort of free when I left him. That way train keeps on with only a few stoppages, an’ it’s ten to one they won't discover him afore they get to Worcester, at daylight, which’ll give me a fust-rate start, and no one knowiw at what point I shook the train. Why, I’m as good as safe with the ‘kit’ already, if my legs will only hold out.” i He pressed on over the ionely road, whistling softly to himself, and occasionally shifting his burden from one arm tothe other. But with every mile he grew heavier, he had miscalculated the strain which even his stalwart frame had undergone in the desperate struggle with the detective, and soon after passing the little village of Hebron, a distance of but five or six miles, found himself compelled to sit down on a stone to rest, which discouraged him not a little. He was presently cheered by the rumbling noise of an approaching vehicle. : “Pll beg a ride if it costs me my neck!” said Ajax to himself. E : The vehicle proved to be a covered light wagon, which was, however, heavily loaded with something, drawn by two vigorous horses, and driven by a man ot suspicious appearance, with his head and face nearly concealed by a high collar and slouching hat. Ajax stepped boldly out in the road and requested a lift. “Who be you, and why are you here?’ said the driver, eying him narrowly, but nevertheless bring- ing his team to a stand. es Of course the ready-witted fellow had a fabrication for the occasion. He had sought a free ride on the railway to take his sick brother to Windham, and thence to his home at New London; but, upon arriy- ing at Andover, had been ejected by the conductor on account of having neither ticket nor money, and was now footing it southward as best he could. He had, however, fifty cents left, which the man was more than welcome to if he would give them a lift as far down as he was going. : The fellow trifled with his whip, and hesitated a moment, when he said : : “T don’t want your money, but you can jump aboard. Vll take you as fur as Colchester, when I turn off to the east; but I take ye on the condition that you ask no questions, d’ye understand?” he add- ed, and the glance with which he accompanied the words was threatening as well as suspicious. “T’ll be as dull as a tombstone,” was the reply, as Ajax gladly swung himself by the driver’s side and laid the sleeping child across his lap, while his com- panion, without a word, drove on. Ajax strove at first to be companionable with a few unimportant remarks, but as he received no answer, soon relapsed into silence. Presently he heard some- thing like a stifled groan, which he was sure pro- ceeded: from the covered portion of the wagon just behind the seat, and which seemed to cause the driver considerable uneasiness, for he whipped up the horses, and endeavored to make them cause as much noise as possible. Ajax, whose mind was naturally an inquiring one, could not restrain his curiosity, and, watching his opportunity, peeped through the corded canvas at his back. He had enough light to see that the wagon was heaped with sacks and chests, ard nu- merous nondescript articles, among which his gipsy eyes detected here and there something that gleamed like silver plate; while stretched at full length upon a heap of straw at one side of the wagon-bed was the figure of a man, who was evidently either sick or wounded, as he occasionally moved his limbs and groaned as with excessive pain. “Oh, ho!” thought Ajax; ‘I see how the wind blows. Cracksmen with their swag!” bs 118 SOGH COME to But his investigation had not escaped the wary eyes of the driver, who at once stopped his team. “You kin git down an’ off, stranger,” said he, with amenacing scowl. ‘i didn’t grant your request fur to have you pryin’ into what’s none o’ your con- cerns.” _ Ajax laughed, and boldly answered in the thieves’ Jargon, which is universally understood by almost all English-speaking criminals, and which, trans- lated, meant: ““Pshaw, comrade! do not desert a fellow who’s in hard luck. I’ve as much reason to keep dark as yourself.” _The man looked at first astonished, and then re- lieved, while his scowl vanished. “Is that it?” he asked, speaking in the same gib- ae and glancing down at the child. “Is it a “yes,” “Well, your secret’s safe with me, if mine is with ou. y ‘A creed.”” _The horses were whipped up again. They ques- tioned each other briefly respecting their nationality and so forth, it turning out that the driver was also an English “crook,” who had been but a short time in the United States, when they once more relapsed into silence, each evidently satisfied to mind his own concerns. But when they began to skirt the village of West Cen eet daring to pass through it—the driver said: “T’ll have to drop you on the other side. You may have to steal a boat when you get to the river, an’ you can’t be too careful, for we did a job in East Haddam last week, an’ the folks is dreadful shy ever since.” “T’ll trust to luck,” said Ajax. trifle of bread and cheese in your pocket? drugged, an’ill be hungry when he wakes. “Yes,” said the man, and he drew some food from one of his capacious pockets, which Ajax gratefully accepted. They soon came to the cross-road, and Ajax, very reluctantly, had to dismount. There was, however, no help for it, so, bidding the burglar good-by, he trudged alongin the light of the moon, which was now rising slowly behind the hills, and the team was speedily whipped out of sight. The road, which was [rocky and. difficult, now rose and fell through wild and rugged hills, some of them almost mountainous in character, and the toilsome trudge soon began to tell upon the young man’s strength, but he keptto his work with an uncom- plaining fortitude worthy of a better cause, until, upon reaching a little rill of water that gushed brightly from a rock at the road-side, little Harley Cross awoke, and began to cry with terror and pain, for the reactionary effect of the fell soporific began to work an agony in his childish brain. His abductor anticipated this, and, at first, without making any effort to still the cries, he seated himself by the water, and bathed the little fellow’s head, which seemed to relieve his pain, though he still maintained his terrified complaints. “Where you take me, bad man?” he cried. “I want to go tomy mamma and papa. Oh!" “Hush!” said Ajax, consolingly; and the voice was gentle enough to lead one to suppose that, if he had really had a little brother, he would have proved.a protector far. from unkind. “You're going in the country for your health. After awhile I will take you home. Are you hungry? Here is food.” Harley, who was really very hungry, ceased sob- bing long enough to devour, with avidity, the large slice of bread and cheese that was given him, and slacked his thirst from a leather cup which Ajax drew from his pocket and filled at the spring, when his lamentations broke forth afresh. Ajax reserved no morsel of the food for himself, but produced a well-filled flask, with which he stimulated his droop- ing energies, after diluting some of its contents with cold water. In the meantime, though the spot seemed lonely enough, the cries of the child grew so loud and persistent that he feared they might be heard, and resolved to terrify him into quietude. “Be silent!” he sternly exclaimed, at the same time producing a shining pistol—the one he had captured from the detective—from the hip-pocket of his trousers, and frowning ominously. “Have you gota The ‘kit’s’ ” secant ae x Mite 55" aot iy ase G mie Saeed AJAX PULLED AWAY, THOUGH THE; IMPROVISED OAR RASPED HIS LEFT HAND PAINFULLY. The cries of the poor child sank into stifled sobs, and he drew crouchingly away. His captor’s threat- ening looks naturally terrified him beyond measure, and the pistol filled his infantile mind with horror, for he had seen such a weapon used at a target, and his memory was excellent. “Listen, my boy,” said Ajax, still sternly, though it evidently cost him an effort, the child was so pretty and helpless, and his terror was so pitiable. ‘I?m going to take you to a nice place on the sea-shore, where your mother will some day call to see you again. Butif you attempt to run away, or to make any outery to any persons we may chance to meet, I will certainly kill you. Do you understand me?” The child shivered and ceased even his sobs. Only his tears flowed silently, and he looked up with trem- bling lips and dilated eyes. Certainly there was not much manhood in cowing such an atom of human- ity; but it was necessary, and he was most effectu- ally cowed. z “Will you be a good boy, and promise to obey me in what I have said ?”’ “Oh, yes, if you only won’t be cross—cross to—to me,” was the feeble reply. “Not at all; I will be as kind to you as I know how, only you must be sure not to speak to_any one, or”’— and Ajax ominously patted the revolver as he re- turned it to his pocket. ‘‘Now, do you think you can walk a little? ve carried you ever so many miles.” Harley, who was more robust than his delicate ap- pearance would have led one to suppose, signified through his tears, which were still flowing silently, that he would even prefer to walk; and they were soon trudging along side by side. The road, though still hilly, was of smoother surface as they proceed- ed, and Ajax occasionally strove to enliven the tedium of the way by afew catches of gipsy song in a rather musical voice, and the child, in the curiosity of listening, began to lose something of his terror, and went patiently along, until at last he began to complain of fatigue. “Keep up for a mile further, and then we'll come to the river, where I'll give you a nice ride in a boat. Afterward Ill carry you on my back,” said Ajax, cheeringly. As their road led them among the few scat- tered cottages that marked the outskirts of East Haddam, Ajax made a detour around the village, in- tending to strike the river some distance below it. As near as he could reckon, it then wanted two hours to daybreak, and the moon was at its brightest and fullest. He knew there was a regular ferry between Goodspeed’s Landing and Tylerville, about a mile down the stream, but wishing to avoid observation as much as possible, he eut across a wood and some open pastures, and soon came out upon the river- bank, perhaps a quarter of a mile below the vil- lage. The bank here was broken and rocky, though not high, while the opposite shore was bold, hilly, and abrupt, with wild and wooded ravines opening grim- ly out upon the swift and moonlit stream. He took his charge by the hand, helping him over the rougher places, and proceeded cautiously along the bank, looking anxiously for some means of crossing. At last he came upon a steam saw-mill, with a small house, probably that of the owner, standing on the hill-side behind it, and, to his great relief, he descried two small boats drawn up just at the foot of the mill. He hastily descended the bank, but could only find one oar, and that a wretched, weather-worn one, apparently long since cast aside as of no use. But he selected a long board, much larger at one end than at the. other, which he thought would answer the purpose of a second oar, and choosing the better poat of the two, pushed out into the stream, after seating the child in the stern. He made slow but sure progress, allowing the boat to partially drift with the current, but had scarcely reached the middle of the stream when a voice hailed him angrily from the mill. : “Bring back that ’ere skiff, you infernal thief roared the voice. s : g Lights at the same time began to glimmer in the Children Gry for Pitcher's Castoria. 199 cottage behind themill, and some dogs barked. It was evident that the inmates were aroused. Ajax said not a word, but pulled away, though the rough edge of the uli oar galled and rasped his left hand painfullygat every stroke. “Be you goin to br back that ’ere boat?’ bel- lowed the voice again, with an oath or two to give it emphasis. “No!? was the laconic reply, and Ajax pulled away. A moment later, and a boat—evidently an excellent one that had escaped their notice, and provided with worthy oars—swept out from the shadow of the mill, and pressed in pursuit. It was occupied by a very large, powerful man, who handled the oars with teli- ing vigor and skill, and by a huge Newfoundland dog, which kept up an incessant and savage barking. Everything was distinctly pictured in the clear moonlight. The child began to cry. “Hush! Remember what I told you!” said Ajax, sternly. “That man and his big dog are after you to eat you up, but I swear that I will kill them before they shall harm a single hair of your head.” aE a 4 fo ZED Li a Na Nae a fe SUDDENLY DROPPING UPON ONE KNEE, AJAX GRASPED THE MAN BY THE ANKLES, Something in the quiet, dauntless tones seemed to reassure the hapless child, and he crept from his seat closer to him, as if relying upon his protection. This movement caused Ajax to smile, and the smile soft- ened the hard, bold lines of his face wonderfully. The pursuer was gaining rapidly, but the fugitives, notwithstanding the disadvantages under which they labored, had had a start which was not to be quickly overcome. The shore was at hand. Ajax bent to the rude oars with indomitable pluck. The bow of the boat bound- ed upon the rocks. The next instant he was speed- ing up the steep bank, holding in his arms little rene Cross, who clung to his neck in an excess of error. : He stopped at the top of the. cliff, breathing hard. At that moment the other boat touched, and the fierce ey up the bank, open-mouthed, to the as- sault. CHAPTER V. THE ABDUCTOR TURNS PROTECTOR. Tn this emergency, the early training of the young gipsy stood him in good stead. “Be not afraid ?’ he whispered to the terrified child, at the same time placing him in the branches of a low-hanging larch tree neax at hand. He had brought the oar with him, which, after snapping the blade under his feet, formed a formid- able club, and as the ferocious brute bounded over the summit of the ridge, he reéeived a powerful blow with this full in the muzzle, which rolled him over. Before he could recover, Ajax jumped with both feet upon his stomach, which proved fatal. With a dying yelp, and the blood gushing from mouth and nose, the dog rolled down the bank at his master’s feet. The latter, whom I have described as a very large, powerful man, shouted for vengeance, and rushed up the bank, also grasping one of his oars. “Keep off!” cried Ajax, brandishing his bludgeon, and not @ little disconcerted by the superior size and vengeful appearance of his human assailant. ‘I only wanted to cross the river, and you’ve got your boat again. What more do you want?” “T hain’t got my dog, though, blast ye!” roared the other, aiming a sweeping blow at him with the long oar. Ajax parried it, but in doing so, his own weapon was Shattered and went flying out of his grasp. The man pressed him close, and struck another blow, which he avoided with difficulty, but as the by palest the trunk of the Jarch, he seized it, and, 4 by y dextxous twist, burled itt from the ono grip, y th viii 4 thit-disasmine tr, and “rendering the penecs more equal, ; But his opponent was a giant, and rushed upon him with clenched fists. Ajax thought of the pistol, but, with admirable coolness, hesitated to use it, pre- ferring to depend upon his pugilistic skill, and, as the other rushed upon him, he dealt him a stinging blow in the face, and managed to slip away from a return. But neither was the other any novice with his fists, and the next moment he succeeded in getting in sev- eral body blows, under which the chest of the youth sounded like a drum. “IT must butt him,” thought Ajax. too many for me.” To think was to do. As the huge fellow rushed upon him, with a triumphant cry, Ajax dropped his arms to his side, lowered his bullet head like a bat- tering ram, and hurled himself forward with the force of a catapult, the upper arch of the frontal bone striking the man fullin the mouth and nose. Then, suddenly dropping upon one knee, he grasped him by the ankles, as he staggered back, stunned and sur- prised, and brought his full length upon the grass in an instant. Then recovering his club, just as the fel- low had regained his feet, he-dealt him a tremendous stroke on the forehead. There was a narrow ravine, twenty or thirty feet deep, so near that some of the branches of the larch overshadowed it. The man reeled back, and fell headlong into this ravine with a hollow groan. Ajax threw away the club, and leaned against the tree to breathe. He looked down into the ravine, but could hear or see nothing. The moonlight could not pierce its shadows—all was black as pitch. He looked across the river; there were no signs of any one stirring about the mill or the house. “He’s a card A MOMENT LATER AJAX WAS SEATED IN AN EASY- CHAIR, AND THE WOMAN WAS BATHING HIS ARM. “Come,” said he, reaching up and placing the child upon his back, and drawing the little arms together about his neck. _Trusting to soon come upon a road, he moved rap- idly through woods and across the fields, breathing hard and with a wild alarm about his heart, for he made no doubt that he had killed the miller. He did not pause in his flight until he came out upon a dirt road near a guiding-board, bearing the words, “To Chester, four miles,’ which he at once followed, slackening his pace a little from sheer fatigue, but still struggling on. , He now knew his way, having carefully studied a chart of the country beforehand. From Chester the road ran through the Guilford road, which would take him to North Guilford, whence a cross road ran due south, intersecting the New Haven and New London railroad, only three miles from Sachem’s Head. Still the entire distance was over twenty-five miles. He was almost exhausted and half-starved. But to loiter was now, perhaps, not only a prison buta scaffold. He pushed on, and, after skirting the vil- lage of Chester and regaining the road, the dawn of | the new day began to streak the sky. He had almost prayed for its approach before crossing the river, but now, with the doubt and probability of a ghastly crime upon jis soul, its appearance shook his breast with vague alarms. He pressed on. The child, who had been almost paralyzed with terror at witnessing the dreadful fight at the top of the bluff, had, nevertheless, come to look upon Ajax with a sort of awe and admiration. From abductor he had advanced to the stage of a protector and a hero. And now, as Harley felt him stagger with extreme tatigue, he said: : “You tired. I think I walk a little now.” Ajax was grateful, but set him down, without a word, and, taking his little hand in his, he pressed on. They passed around North Madison, and it was broad day, though still early morning, when they skirted the village of North Guilford, taking the southerly road, with ten miles still between them and Sachem’s Head. But Ajax was so weak from fatigue and want of food that all of his resolution had to be brought to bear to enable him to go on. He drank some more of the brandy, but it only afforded him temporary re- lief and stimulant. He felt that he must soon obtain more solid sustenance, or he could not keep his feet. But where to go tor it?) He dare not apply at any of the farm-houses, but -slunk by them, dreading lest he should be observed. & At every step the road grew more lonely, rocky, and picturesque. Atlast when he was almost in de- spair, when his stomach seemed a hollow, aching void, he saw a queer-looking log-house, apparently ready to drop to pieces with extreme age, standing at the head of a wild glen at some distance from the road, and only approached by a rocky path, which wound up in the rayine as rough and difficult as the bed of a mountain torrent. Two strange-looking men were leaning upon a rickety gate, and as Ajax, still leading Harley by the hand, turned, without hesitation, up the path—for he felt thathe must have relief at whatever cost—a huge Siberian blood-hound, the largest and most ferocious he had ever seen, bounded menacingly at him. Har- ley screamed with terror, and seemed about to faint away. But Ajax snatched him up in his arms, and motioned to the men to call off the dog. This they did, though not with a very good grace, and eyed him with scowling and inhospitable looks as he slowly ‘advanced, taking his time to examine them keenly as he did so. They were both sinister-looking and roughly dressed, but, with one at least, the rug- gedness of his garb seemed buta disguise. He had a delicate complexion, a black mustache, small, piercing black eyes, and upon the third finger of the white, well-shaped hand, which he carelessly ex- tended over the pickets of the gate, there glistened a cluster diamond ring of much value. “What! more robbers?” thought Ajax to himself. “Atany rate, a counterfeiters’ den, or I’m a baby.” He spoke aloud as he neared them, telling the same story about Harley being his little brother, whom he was taking to the railroad, in the hope of begging a ride to their home in New London, adding that he was faint from lack of nourishment, and could go no further without food. The men exchanged glances and laughed, one of them muttering, ‘Too thin,’ in a scarcely audible voice. Ajax then boldly addressed them in the peculiar Ecce which had proved his passport with the bur- glar. “I’m in hard luck, and almost rubbed out. Give me a lift, comrades,” said he. They looked at each other in surprise, and putting their heads together, seemed to confer anxiously. Presently the younger of the men—the one with the diamond ring, said : “You are no comrade. had better be off.” Then, in sheer desperation, Ajax gave them a brief sketch of his adventures, of his leaping from the train, of his obtaining the wagon-ride with the cracks- man, and of his fight on the river-bank, only leaving out the fatal result in which he feared the latter had terminateds _ They listened interestedly, but still seem unsatis- We don’t believe you. You ed. “We can’t trust you,” said the older and rougher “POKER AND WHISKY ALL NIGHT; AND I CAME OUL EIGHT DOLLARS AHEAD.” of the two. “You ain’t strong an’ brave enough to have gone through with all that’ere.” “Come!” cried Ajax, losing all patience; “so that you give mea mouthful to eat, put my strength and courage to what proof you will.” ‘ ‘ The younger man laughed in a peculiarly cunning and disagreeable way, and drawing a handkerchief from his bosom, tossed it to the blood-hound that crouched a few paces off, with the single command, “Guard it, Wolf!” and then turned to the supplicant for food. ; “You have your wish,” said he, with another laugh. “Restore me that handkerchief, and I will believe and help you.” : “But you mustn’t hurt the leetle dog,” said the other, with a brutal laugh at his own joke. § Ajax coolly set little Harley on the other side of the fence to be out of the way, and advanced toward the monstrous brute that held the handkerchief be- tween his paws and glared threateningly with his pblood-shot eyes. / Ajax moved forward without a tremor, lithe and graceful as a Polynesian savage, with his black eyes fixed movelessly and with burning intensity on the blood-shot ones. His absolute fearlessness seemed to puzzle and disconcert the brute. Suddenly, with a movement as quick as a wild- eat’s spring, he snatched the fabric from the mighty paws and leaped back. Almost at the same instant the hound sprang with a hoarse cry full at his throat. But Ajax swerved to one side, warded off the charge with his left arm, and the assailant missed the mark and went flying to one side, but not without carrying in his teeth a long strip of the coat-sleeve, and leay- ing on the young man’s arm the bloody imprints of his cruel fangs. : : The older of the men dashed through the gate, with a shout of admiration, and secured the dog before he could turn fora second charge. Ajax strode up to the other—his cruel challenger—and returned the handkerchief without a word. The whole demeanor of the man altered. “Forgive me for having subjected you to such a cruel test,” said he. ‘But I never dreamed that you would go for the rag, and we live in such perpetual dread of pryers here that we know not whom to trust. Come into the house and have your arm dressed ; everything in it is at your disposal, and no questions asked. Tll lead in the little boy.” Fainting now from another cause than that of hunger—the loss of blood, which was flowing unin- terruptedly from the gash he had received—Ajax complied at once. A tidily attired, still handsome woman—one who might once have been a lady—was busying herself with certain household duties in the interior of the cabin, which was tar more prepossess- ing than its external appearance. A few words of explanation were all that were necessary, and a mo- ment later Ajax was seated in an easy-chair, and she was bathing his bare and bleeding arm with a gentle and dextrous hand. She then applied liniment, and binding it in soft linen bandages, set to work mend- ing the sleeve of his coat, which he had taken off to submit to the operation. : : Ajax began to remonstrate against this, but the man who had entered with him bade him be quiet, and pushed the chair in which he sat up to a table, which he had provided with an ample supply of cold meats and bread and butter. Little Harley was also brought to the table, and together the fugitives —if we may apply the word to both—began to eat with amazing appetites. “I'll put the coffee-pot on the fire, and have a cup of strong coffee for you in a jiffy,” said the man. Ajax raised a grateful glance to him. “Curse it! don’t look at me that way,” said the man. “I ought to be ashamed of myself for the way in which I treated you.” And he moved toward the fire and out of sight. ; The other man now came in. He cast a kindly glance at the guests, and moved, whistling about the room, with his hands in his pockets. : “How was it—very ugly?’ he asked, addressing himself to the woman. : “No; broad, but not deep,” was the reply, in a very Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castoria. pleasant voice. “It will be healed in twenty-four hours.” So Ajax went on eating like oneina dream. By a single act of courage he had made himself one of a very pleasant family group, whatever their secret character may have been. As for little Harley Cross, he had passed so rapidly through scenes so seldom witnessed by one so young, that the reader is left to conjecture his emotions. The mind of a little child is hard to decipher wnder any circumstanees. Suffice it to say that he was satisfying his hunger with a will, and they gave him all the sweet milk he could drink. “Here’s your coffee, comrade,” said the younger man, bringing to Ajax a smoking and fragrant cup of the beverage as black asink. ‘Would you like a drop of brandy in it?’ “Yes, but I won’t rob you,” was the reply. ‘Vve got a flask in that coat which the lady is so obliging to mend.” “Nonsense! I want you to try some of this,” said the other, with a laugh. He went to the cuphoard, and produced a bottle of Martel, a goodly portion of which he poured into the smoking cup. And then Ajax, fortified as he was with wholesome food, enjoyed an exhilarating draught and sprang up, temporarily invigorated and refreshed. “Madam, and you, comrades,” said he, with a cer- tain grace, for Ajax, with his class, had always been successful in gallantry, “lam simply incapable of expressing my gratitude to you, and shall not make the attempt. But I shall never forgetit, on the honor of aman. If you will now help me on with my coat I'll go on my way. eraeuy He was very white, a mist was before his eyes, and he clutched the back of a chair for support. “T reckon you’ve lost more blood than you sup- pose,” said the younger man, kindly. And taking him in his arms, he placed him again in the easy- chair. “It’s safer for you to travel by night, is’nt it 2’ he added, in a\whisper, as Ajax slowly recovered himself. i A nod for a reply. “Then come right in the next room with the young one, and [ll put you both to bed. Come,” he urged, as Ajax hesitated. ‘No one will dare to come tor you here; and after what has happened, we’ll treat you as a brother.” There was a ring of genuineness in the tone of the voice that uttered these words, and Ajax hesitated no longer. In a few moments thereafter both he and the stolen child were undressed and fast asleep, snugly en- seonced in a comfortable bed in the adjoining room. “TI must have slept like a dead man,” said the for- mer, when he awoke, for the day had fleeted by, and the twilight of another night was setting down upon the earth. He dressed himself, and awakening Harley, also assisted him to dress, in the meantime not failing to impress upon him a necessity of a continuance of the silence which he had preserved the preceding day. “We've only got about eight miles to go, and then we'll be at home,” said he. Home! At the mention of the word,. which meant so much to the lonely little heart so lately bereft of the comforts of a beautiful and luxurious home, of the love of parents and the caress of friends, the child’s tears flowed afresh ; but remembering the les- sons he had received, he made no complaints, Supper was being prepared when they came out of the bedroom, and the two men were leisurely smok- ing and looking over some old newspapers which seemed yellow with age, while the woman—probably the wife of the younger one, Ajax thought—was al- ternately busy at the fire and the table. ‘They all greeted the guests with pleasant looks, and the men hastily put the papers out of sight. “How much better you both look,’ said the wo- ebay glancing up, with a smile. ‘‘And your arm, sir?’ “T searcely feel that it is injured, you took such fine care of it,’ replied Ajax, pardonably prevari- cating a bit, for his arm still pained him greatly, though the swelling had gone down and he was no longer disabled ; ‘‘and T think I never slept or rested better in my life. I am anew man.” “Well, youll havea fine night for your journey,” said the younger man. Ajax knew the names of neither of the trio, since, in addressing each other, they seemed to take especial care to make use of none. “It is dark and stormy. But you'll have to stay to supper. Sit down, and give the little fellow a seat on those rugs over there. By the way, while you were asleep, a fellow came along the road from the saw-mill, and gave us word of your adventure at the river-crossing. Why, man alive, it was Big Bur- dock himself you fought!” Ajax grew pale. “Ts—is he dead 2” was all he could say. Both men burst out laughing. — - “Not a bit of it! A dozen such tumbles wouldn’t do for that brute. Butif you’d served him the way you did his dog, you’d deserve the thanks of the neighborhood. He’s the brother-in-law of the owner of the mill, and the big fighter and bully of the whole country-side. Gad! I think more of you than I did before. But you concealed this from us in giving an account of your adventures.” Z “It was because I thought I had killed him,” said Ajax, with a brightening face. “Comrade, you can’t think what a weight you’ve relieved me of; but, be- fore Heaven, when I clipped him on the head with the oar and he plunged headlong into the ravine, I made sure he was done for.” “As I said before, he’s hard to kill. Let us all make -ariid-onthe table now. Um bunery nibssk” The guests, being both hungry once mor loth to obey, for the repast was smoking hot and ex- cellent. The residents of the cabin als» ate heartily, but said nothing to each other during the meal, and no more to their guests than the courtesies of the table required. Ajax was about to bid them a formal adieu upon donning his hat and coat for departure. But they would none of it. “We've asked you no questions, mate,” said the younger man, shaking his hand, while the others turned away and seemed to ignore him completely. “Only be sure to forget us. That is all we ask of you. Good-by.” But little Harley ran up to the woman and begged akiss. She slightly blushed as she gave him one, but quickly turned away. “JT wonder what’s their line,” said Ajax to himself, — when he was once more on the road. ‘Is it fencing | bonds, or shoving queer? Howsomever, they’re a knowing lot.” CHAPTER VI. THE CABIN AT SACHEM’S HEAD. It was a dark and stormy night, with a heavy gale from the south-east, but no rain, and Ajax walked so fast that the child was soon tired out. But he took him on his back, and even then scarcely slackened his pace, he was so freshened and vigorous. They crossed the railroad in a little more than an hour, just as an express train went hissing and rum- bling by. “Sha’n’t we get in some nice cars ?”’ said Harley. “No. Be quiet now, and hang. on; we’ve a hard road to travel.” The road, in fact, ceased altogether at the railway. There was no such convenience to Sachem’s Head, which had to be reached across country, rough, wild, andro¢ky, and interpersed with scarcely a farm, there being hardly enough herbage to support other than goats. It was pitch dark; but Ajax had per- formed the journey more than once before, and knew the way, though he had to go slowly and with caution. It was about ten o’clock when he lowered himself over the abrupt headland of the promontory, and saw the lights of the cabin shining at its base—a spot even wilder and more remote than the one to which the reader was first introduced. “Good!” said Ajax. ‘“They’re expecting us.” Yes; they were all-in the cabin, looking anxious and worn, as though they had slept but little in their expectation; and they started toward him as he staggered in with his burden—both drippiug wet, for the rain began to fall during the last mile or two. i “Pshaw !” eried Ajax, in reply to the numerous and excited questions that were hurled at him alternately by Bascom and Binks, while Nancy silently took charge of the “kit,” and relieving him of his volumin- ous duster and hat, began to dry him out at the fire. “It’s a long and strange story; but you, pop, mix me a nobbler with hot water, an’ ’ll give it to youina few words.” He then gave a running and detailed sketch of everything that had happened since his separation from Bascom. “Aren’t you satisfied?’ said he, scowling, as they sat silent when he had concluded, without at once offering comment. “More than that, my boy,’ said Bascom, smiling. “T only wonder that you're here now, and alive to tell your story. Gad! to-morrow we can begin to work up the business in earnest.” p “Youre a trump, Ajax! though I says it as shouldn't,” said Jerry, coming over to the table upon which he had set the bottle of spirits, and muttering something about ‘making a night of it.” Little Harley, his terrors newly awakened by find- ing himself in such a wretched place and with such rough company, began to cry, and running over to Ajax, pressed his way between his knees, as if for protection. The movement did not escape the others, and caused Nancy Binks to smile; but her ruffianly hus- band only scowled. “Shut up your infernal whine!” said he, savagely ; and then, turning contemptuously upon his step-son; “You don’t mean to say as’ow you’ve been soft on the ‘kit’ ?”’ said he. ‘ “Do you want a dose, old man ?” was the significant reply, accompanied by a threatening glance. : : Jerry was evidently not anxious about the article suggested, and, grumbling under his breath, gave his attention exclusively to the whisky. oa “Mother,” said Ajax, turning his head, ‘‘you’d bet- ter get the young one a little more to eat, and a cup of tea, before sending him to bed. Perhaps, if Reggy was here, they might strike up an acquaintance on the spot.” e, were not | ee pees oe een eee con p 7 . mapped. eos THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3 1 Nancy smiled her approval, and having set the tea- pot on the fire, she disappeared, and returned in a moment, leading in Reggy, who was rubbing his eyes, and seemed to have been just awakened. ¥rom his own bitter experience, he readily divined the mystery of little Harley’s presence in the hut, and advanced toward him with extended hands. Something in the silent, melancholy manner of the English child attracted the new-comer, and in a few moments they were together. “My name’s Reggy. What’s yours?” ; ‘Harley Cross,” was the reply, with an intonation of infantile pride. ‘And my mother’s a lady, and my father’s a big judge.” : : “Your name’s nothing of the kind now,” said Ajax, sharply. “It’s simply ‘Harry’ now, and nothing else. Don’t forget that.” The child looked up, frightened, and then drew more closely to the other, who was not much larger than himself, though nearly four years his senior. “Now, come and eat your supper,” said Nancy, set- ting Harley up to the table. “Reggy, you can have a eup of tea, also, if you wish.” Reggy was not averse. ai “What sort of a young ’un is it?’ queried Bascom, addressing Ajax in a low voice, when the children dad been taken owt of the room. “A deep’un for his years,” was the reply. ‘He’s s0 solemn and thoughtful, an’ says his words so slow an’ deliberate, that you might know his father was a judge.” “Rayther oneasy like, though,” putin Jerry. ‘But @ little trainin’ an’ thrashin’ will fix him, I fancy.” “Let me find you beating that ‘kit,’ an’ I'll beat you,” spid Ajax, angrily. ‘‘He’s too young to run ‘away,’ he added, turning to Bascom ; ‘‘an’ if he cries ta bit now an’ then ’twon’t hurt him. But may [ask @ little information concerning your plans, Mr. Bas- com 2’ “Certainly,” was. the reply. ‘‘We are so secure there that I have no fears of even that foxy detective unearthing us as he would like to do so since your en- ‘counter with him. The Head here is seldom or mever approached from the interior, and the fishing is so poor off shore that even the fishermen give it.a wide berth. To-morrow [I shall make my way back to New Haven, and our bereaved friends, the honor- able judge and his wife, will begin to receive sundry anonymous epistles concerning their lost darling, ‘and requesting an answer through the columns ot the daily press. Of course if I should commit myself Dy going to the post-office for replies, I would run the wisk of beink nabbed.” “Hexcellent! hexcellent!”’ said old Jerry, rubbing is hands. ‘‘And the swag, Mister Bascom, the ‘awag, the swag! Ah! ’ow we will make it fly, eh ?”’ He was about to apply himself once more to the liquor ‘with a trembling hand, when Ajax snatched it from chim, and placed it in the cupboard, locking the door, and putting the key in his pocket. “You've had enough,” said he, shortly. Jerry looked as though he had just been deprived ‘of his last friend in the world, but subsided, grum Aling and out of sorts, in a corner. “T’ve got more than one wire to work on,” con- Ninued Bascom, who had paid no heed to this little episode. ‘Did you ever see Judge Cross’ nephew ?”’ “Yes; the bushy young swell you’ve won so much from at billiards and pin-pool. Isn’t Carper his mame 3”? “Exactly—Ralph Carper,” said Bascom, with Smile. ‘‘Heis a particular friend of mine, and has already introduced me to anumber of young friends | “of his who have put shekels in my purse. don’t understand everything, Ajax. Well, you with the brace of young ones, one of which is the spresent ‘kit.’ He, Ralph, is as unscrupulous as he is fast, and is by no means pleased with the altered | ~~ a ’ j ; . E ; ; enough to-day—tell me some other time.” condition of affairs, though he has in his own right a modest fortune, or what he hasn’t spent of it, and I fancy his relative ‘stakes’ him now and then. Gad! I would wager that he would give a pretty plum if @he younger child would suddenly disappear as his *rother has.” The young man’s countenance fell a little at this. “*But it won’t do to kidnap two out of one family,” ‘said he. ‘‘One is all we can take care of.”’ ‘How stupid you can be! and who is talking of kid- Mapping the otker?’ said Bascom, dryly. ‘But don’t you see that by acting upon the young man’s charac- ter, which has no strong points, and whose weak- nesses Iam aware of, I can use him at my will, and make him act as go-between in my secret negotia- ‘tions with the family? Leave it to me.’’ “Yowre a deep’un, Mr. Bascom,” said Ajax, ad- mniringly. “And you are as game and sturdy a fellow as ever fought the world of honest. fools,” said Bascom, ex- tending his hand, which the other warmly pressed. Now let us to bed. To-morrow, if the storm abates, you'll have to take me to New London in the sail- boat, and from thence I can go to New Haven in the ears.” All arose bright and early. The storm had fallen ‘somewhat, though the waters of the sound were still trough, and Ajax, after having his wounded arm dressed anew by his mother, signified that he was ready for anything. The children were well break- fasted, and permitted to move about the house pretty much -as they pleased, the new-comer having proved ‘quite docile except when they exchanged his hand- ‘g0ine Clothes for an old ragged suit formerly belong- ‘ing to Regey, an operation which he had bitterly and tearfally resisted, and only at last submitted to on and Ajax were afloat at an early hour—the nuimber of Commilsstons trom nis niother ses to be made, for Bascom had placed a Sipe ef money in her hands—and the small goat fairly bounded over the sharp, cutting waves, ‘appearing to brush clear of the dangerous reefs and wocks as if by a miracle. ‘They reached the mouth of the Thames without ac- , tion and Ulcera- EY tion, Falling and 4A Displacements; & consequent spinal Weakness, and te 5 particularly The Woman’s Sure Briand! nce or ive (rir Is A BLESSING TO OVERWORKED WOHEN. IT REMOVES FAINTNESS, FLATULENCY, ALL CRAVING FOR STIMULANTS, AND RELIEVES WEAKNESS OF THE STOMACH, CURES LEUe CORRHGA, MENSTRUAL PERIODS PASSED without PAIN, te Sold by Druggists. Price $1. per bottle. AN AUDACIOUS ROGUE. At one of the Tuileries balls given by Napoleon III. a lady lost two ear-rings of great value. The report of her misfortune circulated through the salons, ang it was generally conceded that she had been robbed, Just as she was leaving she found one of them caught in the lace of her shawl. She took it to the head of the police bureau, M. Claude, to enable him to iden-. tify the other. The next day that official was turning the matter overin his mind. There were certain reasons why it was not desirable that the lady’s name should get into the public prints as being connected with the affair, or even being atthe ball at all, she having been carefully masked the entire evening. Just as M. Claude was debating how to secure the jewel while not exposing the lady, a card was brought te him, on which he read: “Comte de X, Officer of the Legion of Honor.” He gave orders to have the gentleman admitted. The visitor was tall, distinguished-looking, an@ faultlessly dressed. He bowed to the police official and sank into a chair with the utmost sang froid. A “Tam,” he said, in reply to M. Claude’s questions, “the brother of the Comtesse X, the emperor’s favor- ite. Last night she was robbed of an ear-ring, which she prized, both from its associations and its intrin- sic value. The emperor has ordered you to make every effort to recover it, and they have brought you the other ring, which, no doubt, the thief was unable to detach from the lace.” . “You are right,” replied M. Claude, taking the jewel from his desk. “Well, Monsieur the Chief of Police, you need not trouble yourself further. This morning my sister re- ceived the missing ring in an envelope, with many apologies from the culprit. There itis. If you will give me the one you have, I will take them at once to their owner.” M. Claude, delighted at finding such an easy way out of a difficult situation, handed the ear-ring over to the soi-disant comte, and bowed him out with many regrets that he should have been compelled to put himself to the trouble of calling on him. The visitor was the thief, and his boldness came near costing M. Claude his position. cig See pei “PVE GOT ’EM!” A certain English gentleman occasionally exceed- ed reasonable limits in his potations. After a fare- well dinner at his club, he joined his wife on the steamer that was to sail in the early morning, taking the upper berth. Sudddenly his wife, in the lower berth, and those in the adjoining state-rooms, were alarmed by his exclaiming, in drunken tones: “T’ve got ’em! I’ve got ’em! Black things are crawling all over me!” “Go to sleep, and you'll be all right!” sternly re- plied his better half. k But by this time he had risen to a sitting posture, and was hurling to the floor black, squeaking objects, which caused his wife to exclaim: “Steward! lights! lights!” Steward and lights arrived, and disclosed the fact that the ship’s cat had deposited a litter of kittens in the berth occupied by the gentleman, whose pres- ence between the sheets had caused them to investi- gate the surroundings. Oo HUMAN nature is much the same everywhere. Sun- shine, love, home, peace, contentment are common to all of us, and are confined to no mode or condition of life. The pleasures which rich men purchase with their money—such as gambling, horse-racing, yachting, luxurious living, and late hours—most of us can do very well without. The joys that cannot be purchased are of the dearest, the sweetest, and the best. 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ONEY to SSaday. Samples worth $1.50, FREE. Lines not under the horses’ feet. —— eS AYTEE ‘alo,N.Y¥. For 10 cents in silver I @ will send you my receipt Ad- AND PLENTY OF IT! #16 every day. Don’t wait. Send @e. stamp for outfit at once. J.R. SLOANE & CO., Hartford, Ct. Write BREWSTER’S SAFETY REIN HOLDER CO., Holly, Mieh. aa ; A MONTH. Agents Wanted. 90 best sell- » ing articles in the world. One sample, Free. Address Jay Brongo LC DEEVoOK, Mich. +2 3 M hi s bx) Peed) 1M oo ale a J Dr. J. Step f yee 3 ana .E SMARKING “29 Ladies. Add., Roop Magic Sk g 8 a F? casa «THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3== VOL, 42—No, 89, DRIFTED OUT TO SEA. Two little ones, grown tired of play, Roamed by the sea one summer day, Watching the great waves come and go, Prattling, as children will, you know, Of dolls and marbles, kites and strings, Sometimes hinting at graver things. At last they spied, within their reach, Au old boat, cast upon the beach. Helter-skelter, with merry din, Over its sides they clambered in— Ben, with his tangled, nut-brown hair ; Bess, with her sweet face flushed and fair. Rolling in from the briny deep. Nearer, nearer the great waves creep, Higher, higher upon the sands, Reaching out with their giant hands, Grasping the boat in boisterous glee, Tossing it up and out to sea. The sun went down ’mid clouds of gold, Night came, with footsteps damp and cold, Day dawned, the hours crept slowly by, And now across the sunny sky A black cloud stretches far away. A storm comes on, with flash and roar, While all the sky is clouded o’er; The great waves rolling from the west Bring night and darkness on their breast ; Still floats the boat through driving storm, Protected by God’s powerful arm. The home-bound vessel, Seabird, lies In ready trim ’twixt sea and skies; Her captain paces restless now, A troubled look upon his brow, While all his nerves with terror thrill At shadow of some coming ill. The mate comes up to where he stands And grasps his arm with eager hands. ‘A boat has just swept by,” says he, “ Bearing two children out to sea. ’Tis dangerous now to put about, Yet they cannot be saved without.” “ Naught but their safety will suffice ; They must be saved,” the captain cries. ‘“ By every thought that’s just and right, By lips I hoped to kiss to-night, I'll peril vessel, life, and men, And God will not forsake me then.” With anxious faces, one and all, Each man responded to his call; And when at last, through driving storm, They lifted up each little form, The captain started with a groan— “My God!” he cried, ‘they are my own!” THE MISADVENTURES OF AN AMATEUR CONJURER. BY ANGELO J. LEWIS. It is unnecessary to state why I, Algernon Biles, the junior partner in a London banking house, was induced to take lessons in the art of magic, and become an amateur conjurer. I will pass over the time I spent with the dextrous gentleman who taught me—or tried to teach me—a number of sleight- of-hand tricks. His professional name was ‘“‘Chimborazo, the wiz- ard of the Apennines,’ andhewas about the coolest fellow lever saw. The mountain of icy cheek he displayed when, after ten weeks’ tuition, he inform- ed me the* my skill was almost equal to his own, passes before my Memory how like a cold wave. At last I bade adieu to Professor Chimborazo, and did my best to carry out his instructions as to prac- tice—econstant practice—particularly in reference to palming. I nearly always had a half-crown or other object concealed in the palm of my right hand. I Segud however, that this had its inconveniences. For instance. thevery first Sunday after I commenced practicing, in putting my csstomary shilling into the plate at church, I accidentally dropped in a penny atthe same time from mypalm. I saw the church- warden’s look of amazement, and I know that to this day he believes I only gave a penny. Of course I might have explained; but I hadn’t the moral courage to do so at the moment, and by the time I had pulled myself together the opportunity was lost. On another occasion I was unfortunate enough seriously to offend one of our county magnates, Sir Gregory Harbottle, by transferring half a crown to his hand (quite unintentionally), In shaking hands one evening after I had been dining with him. For some time nothing would persuade him but that I intended to insult him by offering the half-crown in payment for my dinner, and though I did my best to explain, he has treated me with marked coolness ever since. On another occasion, in the parlor of our bank, I accidentally let fall a new-laid egg just at the feet of one of our best customers. He drew out the greater part of his balance the next day, and I don’t think he has ever regained complete confidence in our firm. However, I felt that by degrees I was acquiring a certain amount of familiarity with the movements taught me by the professor, and I took the first opportunity of a visit to London to make a fair start by purchasing the requisite apparatus. _ My outfit was attractive and costly ; but the article upon which I prided myself most was a demon’s head, fixed on a brazen pillar, and warranted to do unheard of things—to nod for ‘yes,’ move from side to side for ‘no,’ tell fortunes, perform card tricks, smoke a pipe, blow a whistle—in fact do everything but talk. [also purchased sundry pieces of appa- ratus specially adapted to the tricks I had seen Pro- fessor Chimborazo perform; an inexhaustible bottle, a magic saucepan wherein to cook a Welsh rabbit, an elegant brazen star for the production of chosen cards, bowls for the performance of the gold-fish trick, and other minor matters. My new possessions stirred me to fresh enthus- iasin. I practiced assiduously all the movements which Chimborazo had taught me, and found, to my great satisfaction, that I was really acquiring a Certain amount of dexterity. I took my groom, Jem Stokes, into my confidence, and did my best to train him to act as my assistant; but I found him desper- ately thick-headed. Nature clearly never intended him for a conjurer. At last, after three months of pretty constant prac- tice, I felt as if [ might venture to make a beginning, and accordingly took an opportunity, at a small even- ing party, to volunteer a little legerdemain. I suc- ceeded tolerably well. I was conscious of a good marx, shortcomings; but as nobody made any remark ‘upon them, I flattered myself that they had escaped notice. One good old lady flattered me immensely, by shaking her head, and audibly hoping it was ‘all richt,’ with an expression which conveyed her pri- vate conviction that it was all wrong, and that I was in some way aided by unlawful powers. I repeated this performance on two or three different occasions, in each case, however, only attempting small draw- ing-room tricks. Iwas gradually gaining confidence, and tasbly determined one morning to make the plunge, and attempt a regular stage ‘show.’ : The committee of our Mechanics’ Institute, of which I was a vice-president, were desirous of giving a charity concert; but the local talent was getting rather stale, and they found great difficulty in mak- ing out an attractive programme. Here was my op- portunity. I took heart of grace, and bodily offered to fill up the second part with a magical entertain- ment. My prestidigitatorial studies and my lavish expenditure on magical apparatus (much exagger- ated, by the way) had been talked about in the town, and some of my neighbors seemed tofancy that I was about to devélop at-once into a ‘professor’ of the first rank, avival of Hartz or Hermann. Such being the case, the announcement that ‘our talented towns- man Algernon Biles, Esquire,’ was about to give a magical entertainment at the Mechanics’ Institute excited the liveliest interest ; and when the eventful - evening arrived (whichit did much too quickly for my comfort) the town hall was positively crammed. The sight of such an assemblage was very gratify- ing, but at the same time rather trying to a nervous man; and now I began to realize for the first time that I was nervous, painfully nervous. I had been practicing diligently for the last fortnight, and had been doing my utmost to coach up JemStokes to the proper performance of his duties; but he was a most unsatisfactory, assistant. He had an unhappy knack of always pulling the wrong string, or, if he by a happy chance got hold of the right one, he was pretty sure either to pull it at the wrong time, or to forget to pull it at all. However, I had so carefully written down his duties, and hammered them so persistently into his head, that I thought he could hardly make any mistake. That I myself should make any I deemed amuch more remote contingency. But pride comes before a fall. : ‘The first part of the programme consisted of vocal and ingtrumental music. As all present had heard _ the same performers sins the same songs, &¢., many , times before, they could hardly be expected to re- ceive them with any great enthusiasm. And they didn’t: Nobody was encored, the universal desire be- ing to have the musie¢ over as quickly as possible, and get to the conjuring. Such being the case, the first part was quickly disposed of; and, after a short in- terval, the curtain rose, and I came forward, wand in hand, and was received with a tremendous round of applause. I must say the appearance of my stage was all that could be desired. I had hired, at considerable ex- pense, an elegant drawing-room scene from a crack London firm. The background was in cream-and- gold, flanked by a crimson curtain on either side, against which my elegant tables and chairs made a very splendid appearance. I myself was extensively got up, my very shirt (the latest fashion, with one diamond stud) being a new purchase in honor of the occasion. : I had prepared a neat little opening speech, which I had rehearsed some scores of times before the look- ing-glass, and which I felt would earn a well-merited round of applause. And Ihave no doubt it would have done so, but I never delivered it; for when it came to the point, I really couldn’t remember, for the life of me , Whatit was. WhatIdid say was some- thing like the following. “Ladies and gentlemen—that is, respected friends and fellow-townsmen, or, I should rather say, Mr. Mayor, ladies, and gentlemen—I have come—I mean to say Iam here—in point of fact, Il am going, with your permission, if you will allow me, to show you this eveniug a few experiments, illustrating the superiority of mind over matter,” (this was a frag- ment of my original speech), ‘‘which I propose—that is, I intend—with your permission, to show you this evening. You are probably aware, ladies and gentle- men—that is, you know, or possibly you—you may not know—that the quickness of the hand, when very quick indeed, deceives the eye, because the eye—no, I mean the hand—travels faster than the hand—I should say the eye, can follow. If your hands are quicker than ny eyes—that is—no; I mean if your eyes are quicker than my hands—why, of course, you'll see exactly ‘how it’s done.’ But, if, on the econ- trary, your eyes—I mean wy hands—are quicker than your eyes, why, then—why, then, of course, my hands being the quickest, you won’t see anything at all. I will not detain you further, ladies and gentlemen, with introductory observations, but will at once pro- ceed to—to—in point of fact, to show you a few con- juring tricks.” I felt myself getting hotter and hotter, but every one applauded, and I plunged desperately into my first trick. Its effect was, or rather ought to have been, as follows: five cards being drawn, and placed in a pistol, and fired at an elegant five-pointed star, when the five chosen cards are seen to attach them- selves one to each point of thestar. Thisfeat mainly depends on the performer being able to ‘force’ the right cards in the first instance—not a very easy mat- ter even for a professional conjurer:. I succeeded with three, but failed as to the other two. When the pistol was fired four cards appeared, but twoof them were wrong ones; and the fifth card, fromsome cause or other, did not appear at all. This made me hotter still; but the audience applauded, and I went on. My second and third tricks passed without any serious hitch, and I proceeded with increased conti- dence, to perform the well-known, but always pop- ular trick of the inexhaustible bottle. My bottle was of large size, and of the very best construction. It was arranged to give port, sherry, rum, milk, a con- siderable variety of liquors, and, finally, a small quantity of castor oil, which I intended to administer to some small boy by way of finish; and in order to bring the demands to a termination I had produced sherry, rum, and milk with success, end was begin- ning to feel quite happy, when, asill-luck would have it, Sir Gregory Harbottle, the president of the insti- tute, and the yictim of the ‘half-crown’ incident, en- tered the room. In the hope of propitiating him, I invited him to take a glass of prime old port, which I knew was a special weakness of his. He assented, and I poured it out accordinglyg but, as ill-luck would haye it, or from some carelessness 01 My Own part, a Small por- tion of the castor oil flowed into the glass with it. He took a mouthful, made a grimace as if he was go- ing to have an apoplectic fit, then spat it out on the floor. Bursting with rage, he said : “This is the second time, sir, you have made me the victim of your confounded practical jokes. If youtry it a third time, by Heaven, I’) horsewhip you!” I endeavored to apologize, but it was useless; he marched out of the hall, and I could hear him vow- ing vengeance half-way up the village. After this little incident I thought it better not to offer any more refreshment out of the enchanted bottle ; and this time everybody was too horrified to applaud. J said a few words expressive of my regret at the accident, and passed on to my next trick, which was one I had learned of Chimborazo, and con- sisted of mixing the ingredients for a ‘Welsh rabbit’ in a tin saucepan, cooking them over a fire made in a borrowed hat, and then producing, not the cus- beh eevee ‘Welsh rabbit,’ or ‘rare-bit,’ but a real living rabbit. If the trick is properly performed, the hat runs no risk of injury; but my nerves had been so shaken by the previous conlretemps that I omitted to extinguish the flames at the right moment, and I saw, tomy hor; ror, that the hat (a,new one belonging t® the locad doctor) was frizzled internally in a most alarming’ manner. I tried to convey to the owner, in return- ing it, that I would set matters right with. him the next day; but I could not make him understand my signals, and I saw him, with a very lugubrious ex- pression of countenance, pointing out the damage to his immediate neighbors. This did not tend to re- store my equanimity. My next trick was that of the well-known ‘fish- bowls.’ This I had practiced in private till I felt that I had thoroughly mastered it; and had I not been up- set by my previous misfortunes, I am quite sure I could have performed it with complete success ; but T had by this time lost my nerve, and thought of noth- ing but getting the wholethingover. Theresult was, that in producing the first bowl, I shot the entire con- tents—water, tish, and all—over the legs of the vil- lage clergyman, who sat in the front row. The good old man, I honestly believe, felt more for my shame and confusion than his own discomfort. He entreated me not to mention it, assured me that accidents would happen, and so on; but his Christian forbearance could hardly be expected to extend to sitting out the remainder of the performance in wet trousers, and he retired to change them accordingly, first thoughtfully picking up a dying gold-fish, and laying it on the edge of the platforin. Had he entertained the most vengeful feelings, he might have been fully satistied with the Nemesis that immediately overtook me, for, in endeavoring to produce the second bowl, I accidentally pulled off the cover in my pocket. There was an instant rush of water, and the audience were edified by the spec- tacle of a miniature Niagara proceeding from the region of my coat-tails. : : T could have sunk into the earth; indeed, ,if the platform had suddenly opened and swallowed me, I should have regarded it as the greatest boon that could have been conferred upon me. But no such refuge was open tome. Shakespeare tells us that a man “may smile, and smile, and be a villain.” I dare say he may. To my wind ‘to smile, and smile,” as Thadtodo, while conscious of a meandering stream running down my right leg and making little. pools on the floor wherever I paused, 1s a far more diflicult achievement. I reflected with delight that I had now come to my last trick, the Enchanted Head, which was to con- clude the performance, and this being chiefly mechanical, I had a faint hope that here, at any rate, there would be no failure. To my horror, however, I found, on going behind the scenes, that Jem Stokes, on whom this item of the programme chiefly depend- ed, and who was as nervous as myself, had been keeping his courage up by means of the liquors I had provided for the inexhaustible bottle, and was, in plain language, decidedly tipsy. My misadventure with the fish-bowls had occa- sioned, very naturally, a good deal of laughter among the audience, and this Jem Stokes, in my interest, ‘resented with drunken indignation. — “What are they laughin’ at, Ish’ like t? know, th’ thick heads? Let’em come up on the platform and do better ’mselves; that’s what I says, drat ’em! And-there’s that gashly big fool Bob Simmons” (the parson’s servant) ‘‘laughin’ more nor any on ’em. Just let me get at him, and I’ll make him grin t’other side of ’s ugly old head.” ; : I pacified him as best I could, and making him rub his head and face with a wet towel to sober him as far as possible, I placed him at his post, with a strongly worded caution, and taking up the demon’s head, went forward, and placed it on the table. The artistic cxcellence of the head, which was really a model in its way, produced an instant round of applause, and I began to hope that I should at any rate score one success to tinish up with. I said: “The head will now salute the company.” Instead of making, as it should have done, a suc- cession of graceful inclinations, the confounded thing opened its mouth to its utmost extent, and rolled its eyes from side to side in a grossly impertinent man- ner. The audience, however, rather enjoyed this act of rebellion, and applauded lustily. I said boldly. “Ladies and gentlemen, the head will now answer any questions you like to put to it, nodding for ‘yes,’ moving from side to side for ‘no,’ and blowing this whistle” (which I stuck in its mouth accordingly) “to indicate numbers.” Questions were accordingly asked, and the head proceeded to answer, but quite on its own hook, so to speak, and without the smallest regard to my previous instructions to Stokes. Tt gave the age of Mr. Horrocks, the dentist (rather a swell in his way, and very sensitive on this point), at seven years more than he himself owns to; and repeatedly maintained that Mrs. Toller, the saddler’s wife, had three children, the known Toller family consisting of only two. ‘ Toller, who is unfortunately of an extremely jeal- ous temperament, showed so much annoyance, not diminished by the universal laughter around, that Mrs. T. was ultimately carried out in hysterics. In fact, the head behaved in such a disgraceful manner, that it was quite a relief to me when some- thing or other suddenly gave way, and its manifesta- tions ceased altogether. How the performance termifiated I scarcely know. T have a dim idea that. I punchéd Jem Stokes’s head behind the scenes, that he cried ‘‘murder,” and that the audience in a body came rushing over the stage to see what wasthe matter. I left the town early the next morning, and remained absent for three months, until I felt that I could a little better bear to face my friends. I suppose, in time, I shall “live it down’ somehow, but never, if I live to be a hun- dred, shall I lose the memory of that awful night. Let me conclude with a parting word of advice to the noble army of amateurs. Be an amateur any thing you like—but don’t, if you value your peace of mind, if you desire to retain your sweetness of tem- per, the respect of your fellows, and the natural color of your hair—don’t, don’t, DON’T attempt to be an amateur conjurer. A RUDE AWAKENING. BY MRS. E BURKE COLLINS. “She is the daintiest little lady alive! Beautiful as a dream, highly educated, a splendid musician, Sings like an angel, dances like a sylph—the most graceful woman I have ever met! In fact, she is— well, simply perfection !”’ And Harry Moody drew along breath of rapture, and proceeded to light a cigar. His friend, Will Carter, glanced up, with an amused smile. “Pretty hard hit, I see!’ he exclaimed, lightly. “Your Lilly is a very seraphb in your sight; but really —’pon honor, you know—I wouldn’t give little Miss Annie, the Cinderella of the family, for a dozen of your tall white lilies. Harry, old bey, if it’s a fair question, did you ever see your divinity except in the most favorable light, under the fairest auspices ? You are wont to meet in gay society. She is becom- ingly and expensively attired, gotten up expressly to dazzle, and—don’t look at me with such a savage glare, my friend, but listen. My sister Nell is very intimate with your sweet Miss Lilly Somers. She has dropped a stray hint occasionally, which I have not torgotten. And, in short—though I expect you will annihilate me for the heresy—in my humble opinion, Miss Somers is a delusion and a snare, and, to tell.the plain truth, a fraud! She is lovely in society; but, my friend, glance behind the scenes, and it’s my opinion that you would be astonished.” Harry: Moody was very angry, but he had cause enough to realize that his friends meant well, and as Harry was not yet engaged to Miss Somers; he had no right to resent the words which (ah, there was the sting!) might, after all, have some truth in them; for he well knew that Will Carter was not a man to speak the truth lightly. The more that he consid- ered the words to which he had just listened, the more importance did they assume in his eyes. At last, thinking so much about the matter, impressed him with the desire to see for himself, and prove the meaning of his friend’s mysterious warnings. And at last, fate—sometimes a very valuable and unexpected assistant—threw a chance in his way that might never occur again in a life-time. Strolling one lonely summer morning in the vicinity of the home of his beloved, Harry Moody caught a glimpse of a small side gate standing wide open. To do him justice, at the moment the thoughts which had preyed upon his mind for days had slipped from his pene and he involuntary passed through the gate. “T will go into the garden,” he thought, with a smile. Lilly is often there in the mornings, she says, and as she does not expect me until to-night, I will surprise her, and she will be glad to see me.” Alas! the real surprise was destined for himself. He was lounging around, as these thoughts slipped through his brain. Even as they flitted away, he came to a sudden halt, for the sound of voices fell upon his ear. He was standing behind a tall hedge ot arbor vite, and was consequently screened from observation, yet he could hear distinctly. Do not despise him as an eavesdropper. I doubt if there is a man in the world who would have acted otherwise. “How dare you say such a thing, Annie Somers?’ screamed a sbrill, high-pitched voice, which made the unsuspected listener start as though hehad been shot, “how dare yousayit? Apologize thisinstant, or I will make you! You wretched little nobody, inter- fering in my affairs !” “But, sister Lilly,” returned a soft, sweet voice, in a tone of deprecation, “you know that I am right, and that it is not honorable for youtodo such things. You did say that you would marry the wealthiest one of your suitors no matter which one. T heard you. And you said also that you would accept Mr. Moody if he asked you, simply because he has plenty of money. You said, too, that you hate him, positively hale him; Oh, Lilly, how could you 2’ How could she say the words, or how could she hate him. Which was? Harry sélt tis heart tyeaiy @ little» It is aa nice toi tere a. sehpnton, to—Wyo ve»! that @ne person in the world is everready to détend and approve you, in your absence as well asin your presence. And shy little Annie would have almost died of shame had she dreamed that the man whose cause she was pleading, was even then within hearing of her words. But Lilly spoke, and Harry listened eagerly. “Yes, I said it,” returned Lilly Somers, in a lower key, but her voice was sullen and defiant, “I said it, ‘T admit, and I repeat it— I hate him, and that’s more than you do, and you know it.” Harry Moody started in utter, incredulous amaze- ment. A low sob was heard,and again the soft, low voice of Annie Somers fell upon his ear. “Tam not ashamed to—to care fora good man!” she panted; ‘‘and I do care for—tor him. But I would be ashamed to marry a man whom I hated, just for his money. If you do that, Lilly—if you marry Harry Moody for his money, you will both be unhappy to the end of your days.” “She will never marry Harry Moody !” cried our hero, sternly, stepping suddenly around the hedge and confronting the sisters. Annie, slight and pretty, neat and dainty as a household fairy, glanced quickly into his eyes, and then, covering her face with her little hands, darted away like a frightened fawn. Lilly Somers staggered to her feet in wordless hor- ror and astonishment. Lilly Somers, in a soiled and ragged wrapper, with a pair of slippers very much down at the heel, and her hair in untidy curl-papers; Lilly Somers, minus powdered rouge, and all the thousand and one little arts which go to make up the toilet; Lilly Somers, a very plain and unlovely Lilly, indeed. : : The young man took in the situation at a glance; then, with a profound bow, quietly withdrew. He had seen enough. i : It was a long time before he met Miss Annie again, and then she was so shy and retiring—so almost cold—that he began to almost despair. But the memory of that. confession to which he had listened nerved him, and at last he was able to conquer all obstacles and ask her to be his wife. : They were married, and lived together happily ; while Lilly, the wife of an old millionaire, is now the acknowledged leader of fashion in the great city. And Harry Moody never recalls that rude awaken- ing without a shudder, followed by a prayer of heart- felt gratitude for his narrow escape. The Ladies’ Work-Box, Edited by Mrs. Helen Wood. FASHION NOTES. Bustles are being worn larger than ever. Boys from eight to thirteen years of age wear Scotch wool suits for general use, Walking-dresses of all descriptions barely clear the ground. Mantillas of lace, bodice wraps, and shoulder-capes of jet and lace, form the popular summer wraps. Leg-of-mutton sleeves, tight to the elbow, and puffed above it to the shoulder-seam, grow in popularity. Beige color is employed extensively for summer trayel- ing and walking suits. Capots and hats are covered with flowers this season, white and yellow being the favorite colors. The popularity of point d’esprit increases daily, and is always made over satin of some delicate hue, of rose, blue, and heliotrope. Necklaces formed of flowers are now the fancy for din- ner and wedding toilets, and are made so as to allow the sprays and heads to hang down to the edge of the low bodice. Panama hats grow in popularity, and the trimmings are larger and more like the styles of 1830, a pretty one being trimmed with huge upright loops of rose tulle, in which is set a cluster of wild roses and white lilacs. Black surah is now considered the proper silk for half mourning. The most popular costume for small boys consists of a rough straw sailor hat, with stiff brim, long black ribbed stockings, and high buttoned gaiters or laced shoes. For boys just in trousers, sailor suits are the most fashionable, made of white serge or linen, with blue square-cornered sailor collar, and shirt of blue and white stripes. Challie dresses are in favor for misses and small girls, those of cream-white grounds, strewn with roses, or with sprigs of blue, green, ordrown, being made with a basque and slight drapery, with velvet ribbon in rows around the skirt, and vest and revers to match. Girls from eight to fourteen wear white flannel or striped wool dresses, made with a Norfolk jacket and kilt-plaited akirt. These jackets are of frilled flannel. with many ' rows of narrow white or wide Hercules braid for trim- ming, and are buttoned with big pearl buttons. Soft cloth hats, in English walking shape, with sloping crown and rolled brim, are being imported to wear with traveling dresses, the pliable brims being stitched or eae eed in shape, and the only trimming being a cloth and. Embroidered white muslin dresses have a short skirt of open-worked embroidery in squares or stripes, simply hemmed, the drapery being of plain muslin or surah, and the basque of the embroidered goods, with the vest of silk or Roman ribbon, while the bishop sleeves are of muslin, gathered to acuff of ribbon. Little girls wear gingham dresses with a plain low waist, pointed front and short puffed sleeves, over a white gimp. Tennis blouses, to be worn with either woolen or mus- lin skirts, are made of striped white and blue flannels, or any of the fancy tennis cloths, and have belted gathered waists, with a basque-like piece falling on the hips, mak- ing them as long as a Norfolk jacket, while they havea deep sailor collar of plain white or blue flannel, opening over a white shirt plastron, on which tennis bats are em- broidered, the collar being tied with a ribbon, and the slightly full sleeves gathered into a deep cuff of the blue fabric. The latest style in silk hosiery is a spiral stripe, which encircles the stocking, running around it from the knee to the ankle, and usually in a lighter shade of the same color as the ground upon which it is woven. _Pretty dresses for bride-maids are made of moire an- tique, with the old-fashioned rippled designs, over which is draped gold or silver net, arranged in full, careless dra- peries, while the white moire bodice is cut low, made without sleeves, and the waist of net is gathered at the throat, the gathered net sleeves ending at the elbow, and tied with narrow moire ribbon. Morning dresses for the country are made in tailor fashion of white serge and camel’s-hair. The round basque or Norfolk jacket is simply stitched or finished with cord-like edges of braid, while the skirt is in wide kilt or box-plaits, or they have vests, collars, and cutis of gray-green moire, and sometimes of gray, blue, or heliotrope. A late novelty is to edge the hammock hanging upon the veranda with wide coarse lace, and run bright-col- ored ribbons of two or three contrasting shades through it, tying large bows of the same upon the hooks by which it swings. Children’s dresses are being made with longer waists than those of last season, and come down to the waist- line, and sometimes below it, while the skirts are full, with ahem and tucks, or deep embroidery below a clus- ter of tucks, or two frills, one plain and one of em- broidery, and most dresses have a sash of the material ste in the seams under the arms and tied in a large Ow. Some of the new traveling cloaks for summer wear are very handsome and stylish, those of dull soft tones of green and blue lined with pink and lighter blue being ex- tremely pretty, while among the most serviceable are those of dull gray, biege, mohair, or cashmere. ‘The simple little parasol so long used by children has disappeared, and in its place comes one whose frame is modeled after those used by ladies, with its ten long ribs, its stick of natural wood and handsome carving, whose silk, lace, or tulle covering is of the same material and in the same colorings and patterns, “Miss Helen A.”’—A rich and handsome dress for a slim, girlish figure has the skirt of thick white moire antique, without trimming, and laid in heavy double folds in the back; the bodice is half high, and the fichu, of delicate lace, is held in place by a cluster of yellow roses, while a long sash of white crepe de Chine, the ends embroidered with tiny buttercups, is knotted about ne meh and makes a pretty finish to this charming oilet. “Frankie B.”—A pretty morning gown has the loose front of point desprit, laid in tiny plaits from the neck, and has a double watteau plait, and several loose plaits at the outer edge, where it falls open over lace. It is tied at the throat and waist with white and scarlet ribbons, yee bows of the same are upon the loose, half-open sleeves. or Paragraphic Pleasantries. BY J. H. WILLIAMS. A Thrilling Balloon Adventure. “Speaking of thrilling balloon adventures,” said the President of the Truth Tellers’ Club, “I have made a number of ascensions pyself. On one occa- sion my companion was an Englishman, not long in this country, and his hair turned white in a single minute. The balloon was a large one, and was inflated to its full extent. We had a thousand pounds of ballast in the car. When all was ready, the ropes were cut and—the balloon didn’t ascend an inch! It. oscillated to and fro, as if it was held to the earth by some unseen monster. I was dumfounded. With the same amount of gas I had ascended, with three companions, 15,000 feet above terra firma. I poured out one hundred pounds of ballast, but the air-ship refused ‘to move. Another bag of bal- last was thrown overboard, and then another, until the thousand pounds were gone, and then our bal- loon slowly ascended to a height of about fifty feet, knocking down chimneys and bumping against stee- ples, as it sailed, or rather dragged itself, over the city. dashed trim the cay to the earth. | {then threw | out every\movable thing in the car—s¢me scientific instruments, a basket of lunch, my shoes, and even my heavy coat—and the balloon arose about ten feet higher. ‘Heave over your heavy overcoat!’ I cried to my English companion. He demurred, and. I insisted. At last he concluded to sacrifice his garment, and it had no sooner left the car than the huge balloon shot up into space at the rate of a million miles a. minute, and in a very brief period we would have bumped against one of Prof. Proc- tor’s ‘other worlds than ours,’ but just as I was losing consciousness I succeeded in grasping the cord and letting the gas escape. When I returned to my senses I found myself in a farm-house, five hundred and thirty-seven miles distant from where we started. The great fright, and intense cold experienced at so great a height, nearly proved fatal to my English friend, but after lying abed tive weeks he fully recovered, and now the wealth of the Vanderbilts would not induce him to take another balloon trip.” ; “But what made the balloon shoot up so rapidly when the Englishman threw his coat overboard?” asked a new member of the Truth-Tellers’ Club. “Why, you see,” replied the President, in a tone full of truth and sincerity, ‘‘in the inside pocket of the coat was a copy of the London Zimes containing a four-column editorial weighing six tons.” “Oh!” gasped seventeen members of the club, and the meeting adjourned. A Chinese M. D. A Chinaman doesn’t have to fool away two or three years at college and graduate with a diploma gar- nished with a big red seal in order to become a doc- tor. He simply goes out and corrals a lot of spiders and snakes, which he puts in a bottle for a sign, and then makes a raid on wasps and centipedes, and toads and scorpions, and herbs and things, which he dries and grinds up and mixes with honey, and he has a stock of medicine on hand warranted to cure anything froma torpid liver to an ingrowing toe- nail. That he fully understands his business is shown in the fact that the death-rate in China is frightfully large, and the placard “Standing Room Only’ is posted on the gates of nearly all the grave- yards. Fortunately the population of China is large, and those who succumb to powdered scorpions and hellebore, can’t come to America, the land of the Free—with a big F—and get hammered to death by enlightened foreigners from other countries—and that ought to afford them much consolation. Vice Versa. The author of a number of rules entitled ““How to Get Rich,” was taken “Over the Hills to the Poor- house” one day last week; and the man who wrote “Poverty a Blessing,” has $750,000 invested in stocks drawing eight per cent. interest. Cranks Among Animals. A physician who has been investigating cats and dogs, claims to have found just as many cranks and fools among them as among the human race. We believe him. A cat that will court death by sitting out on a back fence o’ nights, howling Wagnerian airs, is certainly the crankiest kind of a crank. And the dog that will stick by a cruel and poverty- stricken master, receiving a score of kicks and not one bone a day, is the champion fool. A Sudden Relapse. Old Alexander Jones, who was ill, The doctor to health did restore; __ But when old Jones saw the M. D.’s bill, He was ten times sicker than before. The Woods are Full of ’Em Not one woman is perfect,” says a cynical writer. Ain't, eh? Why, the name of the perfect woman is legion. You might invent a convincing machine, loaded to the muzzle with forty horse power argu- ments, and it would fail to convince the young man reveling in his first love that the object of his affec- tions was not perfect. Reminiscences of Lincoln. “But I never heard of Lincoln, nor any of his fam- ily,” protested the person appealed to by an author for some reminiscences of the ex-President. ‘What! you have never heard of Lincoln!” exclaimed the author. “Then you are the very man I want to see. You must give me three or four pages of remi- niscences of the great man and his family for my magazine History of Lincoln. It is not necessary to know anything about him, as he doesn’t figure in the work.” A Good Word for the Piano. A scientific writer says: ‘The piano is the family vampire.” This is pretty rough on the piano. “The instrument is as innocent and harmless as a new- born babe, and not half as noisy, when it is not mo- lested. It is only when the fourteen-year-old daugh- ter flops down on the piano-stool with a dull thud, and runs her fingers over the keys of the instrument, and tortures it two hours in one inning, that the T expected every minute that we wouid be |: < piano gets up on its hind legs, and howls and acts like a vampire. it wants is to be let alone. A Foolish Man, A manin Macon, it is said, has provided his mule with an artificial throat. What for, bray? It is best to let well enough alone. Next thing some mis- guided man will supply his mule swith a pair of artiticial heels, and then the animal will kick the universe into chaos. No Encore. Ry A clergyman says that ‘‘one prayer is worth more than a dozen operatic airs.” It may be;.and then there’s another excellent thing to be said in favor of the prayer: no matter how good it may be, itis never encored by the boys in the gallery. A Warning. “A sixteen-year-old girlin Franklin is learning to play the ftiddle.’’ If she doesn’t drop the fiddle she’ll never get a beau. (0 Rt NO PAINTINGS FOR HIM. : : dismally, The piano is all right. All “T reckon we'll have to give up the idee of puttin’ picturs in the parlor, Miranda,” remarked Jeremiah Turnipseed, as he threw the bridle under the table. “Why ?’ asked Miranda. ‘Too dear! Why, I priced one at the city to-day, and the dealer sez, sez he: ‘That's an old master; it’s price is $5,000.’ ‘Why,’ sez I, ‘it looks like a second- hand pictur.’ ‘Yes, it is,’ sez he. Then, thinks I, if a second-hand pictur’ costs that much, it’s no use to price anew un. So, Miranda, I reckon we'll have to hang up a few mottoes, ‘God Bless Our Home,’ and the like, and let the picturs go.” -_e- A LITTLE TOO GLIB. Fluent shop girl—“Ma’am, did you ever see a rib- bon more charmiug? Look at the exquisite shade of this one! It is just suited to your complexion. Here isa bright garnet. Isn’t it splendid? Or this soft fawn-colored one. What could be more lovely 2?” Lady customer (to floor walker)—“Be so kind as to send another clerk to wait on me.” Floor walker—‘‘Why, what’s the matter, ma’am 2?” Lady customer—‘“T want to do a little admiring myself, and to show my taste, if there’s a chance given me.” > a FOUR-HORNED SHEEP, A curious breed of sheep exists ina park near Bedale, in Yorkshire, England. These sheep are about the size and weight of ordinary sheep, but have four horns, one pair growing upward and curving slightly outward, the other pair curving downward and almost surrounding the face. The owner originally purchased a few of the breed in the Island of North Uisk, one of the Hebrides, The skulls of sheep having four (and sometimes more) horns have been found in different parts of Ireland by antiquaries. i oor Items of Interest, In a California town a man dug a well 25 feet from a eucalyptus tree, lined it with cement, and placed over it a substantial cover.. The water was carried to the house from the wellin a wooden pipe. In that wooden pipe was a knothole. In time the well began te give out. The water, too, had acquired a strange taste. Explora- tions developed the fact that the well had been filled up with masses of eucalyptus roots. The tree had run a root straight for the knothole, 25 feet off, and by that method gained the well itself. Paper doors are coming into use, and, as compared with those of wood, possess the advantage of neither shrinking, swelling, cracking, or warping. They are formed of two thick paper boards, stamped and molded into panels, and glazed together with glue and potash, and then rolled through heavy rollers. After being covered with a waterproof coating, and then with one that is fireproof, they are painted, varnished, and hung in the usual way. In a small town out West an ex-county judge is cashier of the bank. ‘The check is all right, sir,” he said to a stranger, “‘but the evidence you offer in identifying yourself as the, person to whose order it is drawn is scarcely sufficient.” “I’ve known you to hang aman on less evidence, judge,’’ was the stranger’s response. ‘‘Quite likely,” replied the judge, ‘“‘but when it comes to letting go of cold cash, we have to be careful.” Near Beaver Falls, Pa., dwells a young lady who is 80 Charged with electricity that a hairpin wiicnysue Wore in her head all day was magnetized enough to hald sixty- nine needles by their points. When the young) woman’s hair is stroked in the dark it emits sparks, and ‘to touch her is to receive a shock as from a magnetic battery. She isquite popular; but the young men who pay Her atten- tions prefer to court her by daylight. A young lady in Paris attempted to drown herself, and was rescued by a young man who proposed to her on the spot. She declared she did not love him, but loved another gentleman, who did not care for her. Because of ‘her hopeless admiration for the latter person, she had at- tempted to commit suicide. At last accounts the rescuer was considering the last means to bring his unhappy life to an end. . A popular superstition in Geneseo, Ill., has caused considerable pedestrian exercise’ on railroad tracks in that vicinity. Most of the young ladies there believe that any girl who walks nine mules on the railroad track without falling off, the next man she speaks to will be her future husband. Smart girls take the right fellow along and halloo at him as soon as the ordeal is past. An Ohio legislator, who is notably a hen-pecked wretch, recently voted for the passage of a law declaring that ‘‘the husband is the head of the family.” His wife heard of it, and when he came home he was made to wish that he had torn that law to ribbons ere voting for it. A rolling pin has convinced him that there is one family of which the husband is not the head. An artificial throat has been suppled to a Macon mule. He was sick with something like laryngitis, and the veterinary surgeon seeing that it would soon be im- possible for the animal to breathe through the windpipe, a portion of the pipe was removed and asilver tube was inserted, and now the animal breathes freely. An Albany school-teacher is determined to have pure air, no matter at what cost. A member of the State Board of Health was inspecting her room, and she said to him: ‘‘No; I haven’t any ventilators. I don’t see any use for them.” “But how do you keep the air pure?” “Oh, I’ve got a thermometer.” The heaviest locomotive in the world weighs 160,000 pounds, and ison the Canadian Pacific. The next heaviest is the Southern Pacific’s, 154,000 pounds, the third weighs 145,000 pounds, and is on the Northern Pacific; and Brazil owns the fourth, weighing 144,000 pounds. While stooping over a spring, near Guntersville, Ala., to drink, a boy named Samuel Scott was startled by a rattlesnake, which suddenly struck him in the face and clung there until the boy tore it away and stamped 1t to death. Then he ran home, and in eight hours was a corpse. A Chicago Sunday-school teacher impressively re- marked to the scholars: “You, yourselves, when you grow older in years and experience, will learn how true the lines of Shakespeare are: ‘The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they get there just the same.’ ” A blue-grass Kentuckian of sporting proclivities. was standing in front of Willard’s one day last week, watching the stream of lovely women float by. “Gad!” said he, ‘‘woman is the prettiest thing God ever made— except a horse.” ; Frank Dorman and Mrs. Douglass were recently married, in the town of Unity, Me., and their neighbors have been discussing the match ever since. The groom is a sedate young man of 23, while the bride is a lively lady of 78. A Providence man astonished his friends by saying that he was considerably interested in flowers and in- tended to plant some “Christian anthems.” He meant chrysanthemums. Cremation is fast becoming popular in Milan, Italy, where from twelve to fifteen bodies are daily burnt to ashes. ‘The cost is $15, and gas is the only fuel used. While in the act of nailing up a gate, Jacob Baul- knight, of Jonesboro, Ga., was killed by lightning. The bolt struck the hammer and it melted in his hand. India now produces, it is said, far better tea than China; consequently a heavy and enduring drop in Chinese teas is anticipated.