New York Weekly, Vol. 28, No.15

ENTERED ACCORDING T» ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1873 BY STREET SMITH, IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, WASHINGTON, D. C.
vol. xxviii, New York, February 17, 1873. no. 15.
A ROMANCE OF ENGLISH SOCIETY.

Florence Falkland;
------- OR, -----
THE SHROUDED LIFE.
BY BURKE BRENTFORD, Author of “SQUIRREL CAP,” “GOLD-DUST DARRELL,” etc.
CHAPTER I.
ROMNEY MARSH.
The plover’s seeam rings shrill and harsh: xhe mists are r^ng above the Marsh, L\ke the labonn- breath of the battle-affair, . W^n the souls c the murdered thicken the air. with hl’ S1.?amin£’ sarsely-wooded, desolate marsh, unon lbw J? en seauP(1\oue hand, ami a lonely road to irain aud marsh, toiling laboriously His •mnLloa''the solitav figure of a man.
shoeless .,ndeeribably wreiched. He was
clnhg?;dd?^ in A broken manacle still ing am\ moon J wlbave an^1^ whose fellow was fester-
His roS te ”ad been.
hollow amiI bh%m^^ emaciated, his eyes
frame shoft and and his
lifen of this & w,th rhea^of the swamp.
captured in thes^R^ sought after and
The convict shinq An u\nty Marshy, as they are called, coast. aiK off ‘,H8 >»'tion °r the Kentish
to the 'and •md nin? cH,nmals made their way
P^efforr Jo WOraSS’lUablW?s-
Thimsel? and cursed to h.mself as he dragged
of™ v^ ^lh when within sight
of forf, utter?y ex^^ sank dowu upou a IitUe mound
DighKe groined from my pal last
he might have piloted us boll tV ,eaa^nd ready wit bet my head he’s S Saley- Curse IT never a thought of me ThnVHMn8efMy tllis time» with on this road if t n, 1 I toM hie there was a smithy enough “git wm* bid°X^ Iknow I’ve
aU0
But, at this point, he heard the clatter of hoofs, and found himself pursued by a horseman, who came galloping furiously after him, and shouting at the top of his voice:
“Help! help! murder! murder! Stop the ruffian!”
The poor wretch made a weak attempt to plunge into the morass once more, but he was ridden down beneath the trampling hoofs, and the rider—who appeared to be of quality, by his dress and mien—springing from the saddle, placed a heavy heel upon his throat.
“Help! murder! halloa!” roared the gentleman, using his lungs as though his life depended upon their power, though in exactly what peril he*sfood from the battered being who writhed helplessly under his heel, and seemed utterly bewildered bv the violence and suddenness of the attack, it was difficult to understand.
| The gentleman continued to hallo lustily, and the smith । himself, hammer in hand, followed by several men, came running out of rhe shop and down the road.
“What be the matter, sir? Did this ’ere tramp try to rob yer?”
“No; but I fear he has done murder. Secure him at once, and give me time to catch my breath!”
“Ay, that we will, sir! Get up, you vagabond Like ; enough it’s from the prison-ship to the gallows you’ve . got this time!”
Released from the heel of his first assailant, the convict staggered feebly to his feet, to be surrounded by the smith and bis fojnrades, who pushed him roughly about, and threatened him with their brawny hands.
“Holloa!” cried-ope of the men. “There be some men coming through tlie fog. They man be the marines from' rhe*priaon-siiip, comrades!”
They were the marines. Their measured tramp grew louder, their forms loomed, out more distinctly from the now thickening mists, and presently:An-officer and half-a-dozen soldiers formed part of the group.
“That is the fellow!” said the officer,’advancing with a grim smile, and snapping a pair of handcuffs upon the
°r U>e wretch, who as yet had said not a word, and still appeared completely bewildered. “He escaped with a pal last evening, and, though we have missed the Keener 01 the two, we must be content with what we have caught.
There’s a guinea reward due the captor. Which one of you is he?”
“That is the gentleman, sir,” said the smith, pointing to the horseman, who had had ample time to recover his breath, but who still appeared to be greatly excited.
“I was riding up from Folkestone,” said the. gentleman, “and just after entering the marshes, about a mile beyond there, 1 heard repeated cries of ‘murder!’ issuing from a heavy clump of timber between the road and the sea. A few moments later, I saw this ruffian dash out. of the thicket. He threw away something like a bludgeon as Ue did so, and, dashing over the marsh, disappeared in a lesser thicket, near by. Satisfied that some dreadful deed must, have been committed, and more intent upon capturing the apparent perpetrator than investigating the nature of the supposed crime, I followed him as well as the nature of the soil would permit. He escaped me in the lesser thicket, however, ami I searched in vain. I was making my way back to the other thicket, from which I had heard the cries, when luckily I saw the fellow, or one like him, near this spot, and making toward the road. 1 regained the road myself, dashed down it, and trampled him down, at the same time giving the alarm which brought these worthy men to my assistance. I could almost swear that this is the identical person whom I saw run out of the thicket, and throw away the bloody stick.”
“Bloody! How do yer know it was bloody, 11yer didn’t have it in yer own fist?”
Every one started.
It was the prisoner who had spoken.
Desperate, hunted down as he was, he had in some degree regained his self-possession, and the terrible suspicions which were thus deliberately and circumstantially being thrown upon him seemed to inspire him with sudden nerve and acumen.
His accuser seemed taken aback, and then turned red with anger; but the simple question was so sudden and pertinent that every eye was at once turned upon him.
“Well,” said he, with a short laugh, “if this is a court of inquiry, and I must answer such a respectable examiner as you, my Prince of Convicts, I do not know that it was bloody. My excitement made me throw in the adjective unwittingly.”
“Any one might do so,” said the officer, satisfied; while the prisoner appeared to relapse into his former state of bewilderment.
As he did so, however, he growled, speaking to himself rather than to any one else.
“I don’t know nothin’ what the gent’s been talkin’ of. I ain’t been near outer no thickets, butcome straight over the marshes from the sea.”
“This must be looked into at once,” said the officer, brusquely. “Men, it’s too late to return to the ship tonight, as tjje tide is out, and the quicksands bare by this time; so we’ll quarter in rhe village until morning. The prisoner shall be guarded in the smithy there, while three of you accompany this gentleman and me td the spot he speaks of.”
“With all my heart,” cried the horseman. “Let us unravel the mystery at once.”
“Might I ask your name, sir?”
“Guy Falkland” replied the other, after some hesitation,
“Falkland! It is a noble name in these parts, sir.”
“1 know it, and am, therefore, proud of it,” said the stranger, imperiously. “I have been abroad for many years,” he added, with more condescension, “and was on my way to Falkland Towers, to visit Lori Falkland, my uncle, when this troublesome interruption occurred.”
Everyone fell back with that instinctive respect which the lower and middle classes of Great Britain accord to the born gentry.
“Will you honor us by leading the way, sir?” said the officer of marines, while the prisoner was being conveyed toward the shop of the smith.
“Certainly!” And the gentleman leaped lightly upon his steed.
The smith, upon regaining his shop, blew up the fire brightly, but did not resume his work upon the anvil.
The prisoner was guarded by t he marines in one corner of rhe shop, and maintained a sullen silence, while the cronies of the smith gathered about him in half-whispered consultation.
”An’ think ye there ha’ been real moorder done, Smithy?” said one.
The smith shook his head mysteriously.
“An’ tf rhere’abe moorder done,” said another, “the prisoner’ll na* be sent back to prison-ship, bur’ll be ta’an up to the castle, to be examin’d by my loord, eh! Smithy ?”
The smith nodded his head.
“They ought to be’in here soon naw,” said another, looking out of the door. “The fogs be heavy on the marshes the night, an’ it mun be dark in an hour. Ah! an’ by Jove, 1 believes they be coomin’ iww! I see the flash of the sodgers’ lanterns in the hollow.”
No others looked out, but all awaited in silent suspense. Mingled with the sound of approaching hoofs, they heard the tramp of men, heavy and dull, as if they bore a burden among them.
They entered the grimy little place, and lay upon the ground a lifeless body, over whose face a handkerchief had been cast; but locks of snow-white hair struggled out from beneath its folds.
Every one stood around it for some moments in speechless horror. Then all eyes were turned instinctively from the body to the forlorn creature under guard.
A flash pf the nerve he had formerly displayed seemed to return to him. Not being restrained, he walked forward as steadily as his feeble condition would permit, until he stood directly at, even touching the feet of the corpse, and looked down upon it without flinching.
“I’m a poor, miserable cove what never had no learnin’, and as was brought and bred up all my life in wice and crime,” said he, lifting a gaze which came strong and earnest from his hollow eyes; “but, as God is my witness,
I never killed no one in my lite, and I never before set eyes upon this poor, forlorn body. Amen!”
‘Friendless, tatterdamalion as he was, there was a species of dignity in his utterance; aud even the rough smith regarded liim with some respect.
“I’m near dead with cold, hunger and want of sleep,” continued the prisoner, speaking more feebly, “and whatever ver do with me, if yer’ll let me sleep for a few hours before this warm fire, I’ll bless yer in my heart.”
He did not wait for permission, but threw himself at length upon the blackened earth, alongside the corpse, and between it and the fire; and in a few minutes was breathing heavily in the profound slumber of extreme physical exhaustion.
The slumber was no counterfeit. He semed to sleep as soundly—almost as solemnly and sacredly as the still figure of the murdered man beside him.
“Can no one recognize the body?” said the officer of marines, breaking the silence with an effort. “I have not yet deemed it advisable to examine it for any papers that may be upon it, and the face is disfigured out of all hope of recognition.
“Oh. iris horrible! too horrible!” groaned the stranger, whose face was now noticed to be white as a sheet. “From his garb he was also a gentleman of high quality.”
“Gentleman?” said the smith, advancing slowly to the side of the remains, and now for Hie first time opening his lips; “the prisoner will neither be taken back to the prison-ship nor up to the castle. The murdered man is, or was, my lord, the Baron of Falkland !”
“What! the baron—my und^!” almost screamed the stranger.
He clasped his hands t® his brow, and then fell back in a swoon.
CHAPTER II.
FALKLAND TOWERS.
Still, as of old, the sunbeams ghi tice Along those towers of old romance; Still, as of old, those towers fling back The sunbeams from their bastions black* As down was flung the knightly gaze In the long-vanished feudal age;
Nor modern maid nor modern dame
Can e’er those ancient towers reclaim From the old memories that full. Like ivies, ’round each massive wall.
In the dull October weather, the shadow of death still seemed to linger about the dark old edifice of Falkland Towers, though the pomp of the funeral oi its murdered lord was over, and the old baron himself slept with his fathers in the gray chapel at the lower end of the stately avenue that swept up from the marshlands to the wooded hill upon which the castle itself was situated.
Seated in one of the broad oriels that opened directly upon the melancholy woods, ami sadly watching the sere leaves in their flight, was the figure of a lady in deep mourning dress. She was scarcely t wenty, and her graceful blonde beauty would have attracted attention among many thousands of beautiful women.
A firm step on the deep carpet of the Chamber caused her to turn her head. The blush which suifusea her cheek, was not one of pleasure.
“Well?” said she, in aweary, mechanical tone.
“My dear cousin,” said the gentleman who had intruded upon her—and who was none other than the horseman who figured in the first chapter—“I learn, with the utmost regret, from good Mrs. Prunes, that you are dissatisfied with my course respecting yourself. Now, any explanation that you may desire to make I shall be happy to hear. Come, let us be familiar and cousinly, aud not so formal and distant, in our interviews.”
“Sir! I------”
“Pardon me! You will address me as ‘my lord,’ if you are too ill-natured to call me ‘cousin.’ ”
“Z cannot realize that you are my cousin ” broke out Lady Florence Falkland, impetuously. “True, I was but a child when he left us, ten years ago, and you somewhat resemble him as he should be; but he was blithe and merry, while you are dark and stern. I—I do not believe that you are my cousin Guy—in spite of your proofs, Z believe you are an impostor, str!”
She had arisen as she spoke, her eye kindling, and her frame vibrating with passion.
Lord Falkland Threw himself upon a sofa, and indulged in a low, sardonic laugh. He was a singularly handsome man, not over thirty-two or three, tall and strongly built, classic features, and a small, well-shaped head covered with close-curling, jet-black hair. But his laugh, though by no means harsh, had something peculiarly unpleasant about it; and a certain sinister, unsympathetic atmosphere surrounded him, and went with him.
“An impostor! Here’s a jolly go, as sure as I’m a live lord!” he chuckled, as though talking to himself. “Now, how creditable a thing It would be for me just to forego my dignity for once, and humor and pet the mettlesome little ladv as I used to do ten years ago! Gadi 1’11 do it!—I’ll do it!”
“My lord seems to be so amused with himself that he will probably be best alone,” said Hie lady, moving toward the door.
“Ha! ha!” chuckled Lord Falkland, stepping before her, locking the door and putting the key in his pocket. “Hal ha! the same as when a child—the same wild aud wayward one, as I’m a lord!”
Lady Florence stood still, white to the lips, and quivering. Then she gave way, and, bursting info teal’s, sank back into her seat.
“Now I know you for an impostor!” she sobbed. “My
“Cousin Guy, wild and reckless as he was, was always a gentleman!”
“Lady Florence, listen to me calmly,” said Lord Falkland, speaking slowly, but ©ot severely, “Whatever I may have been, it is not my isuit that years of a rough and desperate-life have changed me to the moody man 1 am. Yotiyourseff acknowledged the genuineness of the letter from my poor, poor smcle, urging me to return from my wanderings and-be once more near and dear to him. The ether proofs I furnished—my clear and thor oughlycorroborated -account of -my early past, even to the minutest detail—-satisfied 'the 'Officers of the crown that I was the next male heit to Wie ancient barony of Falkland; so do not let me hear.you insult me again by calling me an imposXbr.”
“I was thoughtless, my lord. I—I did not mean to insult you,” stammered the poor-young lady.
“Thank you!” said Lord Falkland, with a wave of his hamd. “And now-let me sayto you, what my respect for yo®r sorrow—and my own, I may add—has restrained me from saying, since the death of your beloved father and my honored uncle, the late Lord Falkland. Over a month lias passed since that terrible, that indescribably terrible, event; and we sliouldboth be sufficiently composed to consider out worldly affairs. I was not quite twenty-three when my uncle disowned and cast me from him. I do not say that he did so unjustly. My extravagance, the enormous debts* contracted, and the disgrace I brought upon a noble name, may have been enough to incense even such a kind and forgiving benefactor as he to pitilessness. Penniless, with nothing but my wits and bad habits, I tchauged my name and roamed abroad, leading the free Jifoof an adventurer. It was a wild and precarious one, ;the mere epitome of which would fill a volume. There is scarcely a clime in which I have not roamed, with vary-*iug fortune; scarcely a phase of existence with which I Ihavcnot been made intimate. Trust me, it has been a -life well-calculated to change the lighthearted, careless fellow, you remember into the sad and perhaps austere Hyeing you now find me. If it has even changed my features somewhat from the reckless, care-free face I once presented to the world, it is not remarkable. Tears of suffering may channel down the smoothest cheek, and long anguish may compress an average lifetime in a dozen -years. At last my beloved uncle’s letter reached me in Paris by the merest accident. It was over two years old, but it breathed forgiveness and love, and besought me to -come home. Home! home! I scarcely knew what it meant; but, even with the letter in my hand, I remember reeling into a secluded spot to hide the tears that gushed from my eyes as its strange sweetness crept like a caressing -hand to my heart.”
Lord Falkland paused, and seemed to struggle with emotion; and Lady Florence looked at him with both ■curiosity and interest. She could not like the man—he -repelled -her constantly; and yet his emotion seemed genuine. His voice was low, but with an eloquent intensity, a swift passion, in its tones, which more than made up for deficiency in volume. She felt that he was to be to her either an enigma or an enemy—which, she knew not.
“I hastened home,” continued Lord Falkland, “and need not dwell upon the harrowing events connected with my arrival. Now, to business. The trial of the miscreant who murdered Lord Falkland developed a number of facts, or rather mysteries, which I am anxious to unravel. It was proved that Lord Falkland, always eccentric, was subject during his later years to fits of almost positive aberration; and that on the day he last quitted his castle here he did so unattended, with the avowed purpose of proceeding to Falkstone, and thence to London, to consult with his legal adviser, and transact other business. His going entirely unattended was considered by the Court sufficient proof that he was laboring under one of these moods of total or partial aberration at the lime. Another, and even more convincing proof was,
“A spot of red ink in dne corner!” he cried, with a forced laugh. .
“It was never there before my father’s death,” said Lady Florence, resolutely, but with a secret, half-defined terror at her heart, for she felt that Lord Falkland could no longer be all an enigma to her.
“Enough of this nonsense!” said Lord Falkland, returning the will to the drawer, and relocking the cabinet, with a thorough recovery of his self-possession. “Lady Florence,” he added, “the vulgar intrusion of this busy-body here gives me the opportunity to observe that her services are no longer required. Mrs. Prunes, a worthy woman, whom I have engaged to take your place, will arrive this evening. Yrou will surrender the keys to her, get your wages from my steward, and take your departure before morning. Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once!”
He almost pushed her out of the room.
“My lord,” said Lady Florence, “do you forget that this good lady has been in the service of our house from her childhood, and that her mother before her found a shelter under our roof?”
“I would further state, Lady Florence,” said Lord Falkland, speaking as though he had not heard her speak at all, “that in Madame Le Grande, the lady who will arrive this evening, you will find a companion not only more suitable to your age than the meddlesome and gossipy old creature whom I have just dismissed, but one calculated to be a wise preceptress and a prudent friend. She will also bring a new lady’s-maid for you, and you will therefore dismiss your present maid at once.”
“I shall do no such thing!” exclaimed Lady Florence, with flashing eyesand burning cheeks. “And I would have you to know, sir, that whoever and whatever you may be, with your unknown antecedents at your back, anti your blood-spotted will in your possession, I at least am an English noblewoman, with rights that you are bound to respect,”
“Furthermore,” continued Lord Falkland, “it is highly improper that you should persist in treating the new servants of the castle with supercilious contempt. At least, I am informed that you so treat them by my steward, Mr. Locksley.”
“A low ruffian, whom my father would not have employed as an under-groom.”
“Furthermore, when you wish to quit the castle-grounds hereafter, you will please to ask my permission first. I doubt not but that it will always be cheerfully granted.”
“Lord Falkland!” cried the lady, tears of mortification and indignation gushing from her eyes, “do I understand that Falkland Towers, in which heretofore I have had my will—is my own father’s house henceforth to be my prison?”
“You can make it a pleasure-house or a prison, cousin, whichever you please,” he answered, with a meaning look, and a sudden earnestness in his tones.
She remembered the will, and the red stains upon it, and the terror returned to her heart. She quitted the room, and went—almost fled—away.
“So far, well!” muttered the new Lord of Falkland Towers, pacing the room. “Strange, though, that that little speck upon the will should have escaped my first inspection! It will be easy enough to erase it, however. By heaven! the girl’s beauty almost drives me crazy, even when I speak harshly to her. I thought I almost detected some tenderness in her eyes when I gave her that romantic and emotional illusion to my past life. At any rate, with such power as I shall have over her until she comes of age—more than a year—I shall indeed be a fool if she slips through my fingers. If she should succeed in defying me until then, she coming into property left her by her mother, can afford to let the ten thousand a year slip, and laugh me to scorn. But it must not be.”
He rang the bell, and a servant appeared.
“Bring me wine, and tell Locksley to come to me at once.”
The wine was brought, and, a few moments later, the new steward appeared. He was a short, thick-set man, low-browed and small-eyed, but with a certain shrewdness of air and manner which one often meets with in born bailiffs and jailers—a mixture of the-bully and the slave.
“What is my lord’s pleasure?” said the man, bowing low, but at the same time with a mock-humility twinkle of the-eye.
“Everything goes well, does it not, Locksley?”
“Couldn’t be better, my lord.”
“You must have paid personal visits to all the tenantry by this time. How do they stand the twenty per cent, increase of rent?”
”Oh, of course, there’s no end of squealing and growling on that score,” said the steward, affably. “I’ve always noticed, my lord, that a jackscrew grunts the louder the more you screw it up. When 1 was at Botany Bay with your ’ ’
“Silence 1” cried Lord Falkland, saVagely. “You know that I have you here for a purpose,;and must get over that.habit of alluding to your infernal past life. What else have you to report?”
“Nothing as will particularly please you, my lord. The folks are all agog down in the village of Falkland there. What do you suppose they saw, or say they saw, in the streets of their town last night?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nothing more nor less than the ghost of that poor chap as was convicted at the last assizes, and scragged day before yesterday, for the murder of the old—of your late lamented uncle, my lord. They say he walked up and down the street in his old rags, wringing of his hands, and moaning out: ‘It warn’t me as killed him! Zhad nothing to gai n by i t! Mebbe as how the Lord of Falkland Towers hadf ”
“Curse them!” cried Lord Falkland, springing to his feet, and striking his fist upon the table till the decanters and glasses danced. “Who has been putting such fancies into their muddled heads? Of course I had something— have something to gain by it; but does that excuse the red deed which the nameless rascal expiated on the scaffold? What else do the bumpkins say ?”
“They say that there’s no telling what kind of life the present lord may have led, or into what sort of company he may have fallen. Indeed, there was one old buffer— a sort of old inhabitant like, as has outlived all the rooks in the parish—who said as how he had his doubts about your being the real lord at all.”
“Keep that fellow in mind, and learn his name and everything about him,” cried Lord Falkland, white with rage. “I’ll have him in jail, or the poor-house in a week! Whoever heard of such absurdity ? You don’t have any doubts about my being the real lord, have you?”
“Not in the leastwise, my lord,” said the steward, humbly. “You have been Guy Falkland ever since I knowed you, and you was always talking about your lamily, and- as how something in your favor would turn up in the long run. I remember now, in Hobart's Town for instance, as how you said--”
Lord Falkland interrupted him by clutching him by the throat, and pinning him against the wall.
“Villain!” he cried, with anoath; “will you never forget the past while you are under this roof? If adverse fortune cast me in the -company of such scum of the earth as yourself, was my blood any the less noble? Bridle your tongue more effectually in the future!”
“Yes, my lord, yes!” sputtered Locksley, clearing his throat as the strong hand of his master relinquished its grip. “I meant no offense, my lord; it was a pure accident, I assure you.”
Lord Falkland walked moodily up and down the room.
“Bring me the accounts alter dinner,” he said; “and we will look over them together.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied Locksley, rubbing his hands. “I have already looked over the accounts carefully, and, with the twenty per cent, added to the rent-roll, the estate will foot up a clear one hundred thousand pounds a year.”
“Good! and the other properties ought to bring in as much more. Leave me now, and order covers to be placed on the table for three.”
The steward had hardly departed when a servant announced the arrival of Madame Le Grande.
Lord Falkland hastened to the drawing-room. A quick glance of intelligence passed between him and the lady seated in it; and they had barely time to restrain Hie expression of a more cordial greeting when Lady Florence swept into the room.
that lie bore with him a small casket, containing the family jewels, with the avowed intention of depositing them in the Bank of England. Such remarkable conduct on the part of a personage of hist rank and wealth wasi alone considered incontrovertible proof of his being more or less demented at the time.. Another even more convincing proof was that he must have dismounted near the spot where his body was found, left his horse standing in the road—the horse returned riderless to the castle—and gone into the thicket. For what purpose ? Did his crazy fit suddenly assume a feature of cunning and secrecy, and inspire him to bury his treasure out of sight? That was left to the conjecture of the Court, and the hardened murderer on trial either would or could tell nothing about it. At any rate, the body was found, and the casket was not; leaving us to conclude that our unfortunate relative had successfully secreted it before his murder.”
“Oh, my lord, spare me these cold speculations on my poor father’s death,” exclaimed Lady Florence, shuddering. “It is a perpetual nervous shock to me.”
“But it is necessary, and you must hear me out,” said Lord Falkland.
There was a different sort of eloquence in his voice now. It was keen, quick, eager and hard, aa though his own nerves were strung up to their highest tension.
“Noihmg was found upon the person of the murderer,” he continued; “and though I have had the thicket thoroughly searched, the inference is that the jewels are buried there. It would not be the first time that the cunning of a madman has baffled the shrewdest quest. The escaped convict, and convict murderer of your father, was hanged day before yesterday. By the way Cousin Florence, I have to call you to account some time, and I might as well do so now. I learn with regret, with astonishment, that you have expressed your sympathy in the vulgar belief that that horrible miscreant was inno-cent of this crime.”
“I am accountable to no one for my sympathies and convictions,” said the young lady, her cheek flushing; “but as you are so curious I do not for an instant believe he was guilty. His trial was rushed through with indecent and feverish rapidity, and with the exception of his previous criminal character there was not the shadow of proof of his guilt. He had everything to lose by a profitless murder, everything to gain by pushing forward and shunning all observation. His conduct in the smithy alone convinces me that the poor wretch was innocent of the crime lor which he was hanged.”
She spoke with spirit and heat, for the manner of her cousin had aroused her indignation.
“Indeed!” sneered Lord Falkland, with an attempt at cool irony, though Lady Florence noticed that he was almost livid. “Why, my dear cousin, you display quite an amount of legal talent. Who, then, was the murderer of the Lord of Falkland Towers?”
“My lord, you surprise and startle me. How should I know ?”
“But perhaps you have guessed
He looked at her as keenly and hungrily as a hawk as he spoke, and the livid change to bloodlessness on his cheek.
“You mistake; I have not even guessed,” she said, but after a considerable pause.
“Oh, then, to resume from where we left off,” he said, speaking with much less effort. “We will drop the subject of the missing casket, which is disposed of for the present, though I don’t intend to lose family gems worth one hundred thousand pounds, if they’re on top of this earth. In addition to the casket, my uncle is said to have taken with him his will, for the purpose of having it revised, altered, or, perhaps, replaced by a new one.’*
“I saw him take it with him—he showed it tome,” said Lady Florence, quickly.
“Slowly, slowly! You have told me before that you have often read • that document. By that will you were left ten thousand pounds per annum in your own right, on condition that you should wed your cousin, Guy Falkland, to whom you had been betrothed. At any rate, in event of your father’s death, you were to remain under your cousin’s guardianship until of age. Am I correct ?”
“Yes,” exclaimed Lady Florence, looking at-him with a frightened expression; “but how you should know the purpart of a document which is missing with the casket is most mysterious. The will was made years ago, and
, it was to have it so altered that I should remain my own mistress and independent of my Cousin Guy, that my poor father placed it in Iris breast when I last saw him
“^n earth.”
“Indeed!”
“The alteration was never made, but the will is gone, and it is as though it had never existed. The law may impose you upon me as my guardian, Lord Falkland, but
, can never compel me to marry you.”
“But the will would have compelled you to do so, or forfeit your ten thousand a year.”
“I tell you that I saw my poor father place the will in his breast just before quitting the castle.”
Lord Falkland shook his head coolly.
“All a mistake, my dear cousin—all a mistake!” said Jie, rising, and unlocking the door. “Be so good as to follow me, and be.convinced of your illusion.”
He led the way through several corridors, unlocked and ■opened another door, .and entered a small library, followed by the Lady Florence.
“This, as you are aware,” said he, “was the late Lord Falkland’s private room, and in yon old secretary he kept all his papers. 1 have explored the old cabinet thoroughly; and now, U .convince you of your error, here is the will.”
He opened a drawer, drew forth a document, brushed it open with a swift hand, and handed it to her.
“You have seen it so often before, you will hardly doubt its genuineness,” said he, coolly.
“No, no, I cannot doubt it,” said she, looking over the will slowly, and speaking despairingly.
Suddenly she dropped it on the floor, and started back from him with a face white with terror.
“What is the matter, cousin?” he exclaimed in surprise.
“This must have been taken from the body of my murdered father I” she almost shrieked. “There is blood on the will t”
“Blood on the will!” exclaimed another voice.
CHAPTER III.
CHANGES IN THE CASTLE—MASTER AND MAN.
The snares are set, the plotters met, The plans securely laid;
God help the wight who feels their might, Or unsuspecting maia.
’Twould seem that some by fate become
Of wicked ones the prey;
But through the’ murk ot devils’ work Shines God’s eternal day.
The echo to Lady Florence’s frightened ejaculation came from a prim, elderly lady, who had just entered the open door of the library, and to whom Lady Florence instinctively turned, as if greatly relieved by her presence.
Lord Falkland snatched the will from the floor, and it shook, like an aspen, in lais hands as be bent over it, with । blanching cheek.
CHAPTER IV.
RALPH ROMNEY AND GIPSY JOCK.
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.”
As You Like It.
Lady Florence had descended from her apartment, sick at heart, upon hearing of the arrival of Madame Le Grande.
She was completely taken by surprise at perceiving the handsome, graceful woman, who rose respectfully to meet her, as she entered the room.
“My dear cousin,” said Lord Falkland, “let me present to you Madame Le Grande, the lady of whom I made mention to you. She comes to the castle under the highest recommendations, and, I trust, will prove herself worthy to be your friend.”
“As well as your very dutiful and humble servant and housekeeper, lady,” said Madame Le Grande, couitesying low, and speaking in a very musical voice. “I hope I may have the honor and pleasure of winning your friendship, likewise.”
“My friendship was never difficult to gain, madame,” said Lady Florence, prepossessed In spite of her anticipatory prejudice. “Shall I call my maid, and have you conducted to your room at once? You can see Mrs. Prunes after dinner, and receive the keys from her.”
“I—I brought your new maid with me,” said Madame Le Grande, with a blushing hesitancy of manner, which increased Lady Florence’s liking for her.
“I suppose, then, I shall have to dimiss poor Richards, though I know it will break lier heart,” said Lady Florence, with a sigh. “But I might as well see the new person at once.”
“I will call her. Annette! Annette!” called Madame De Grande, going to the door.
The young woman who entered was as swarthv as a gipsy. She had intense^ flashing black eyes, and a swiftly changing smile which displayed beautiful teeth of glittering whiteness.
“Annette,” said Madame Le Grande, “this is your noble mistress, the Lady Florence Falkland.”
Annette courtesied so respectfully and gracefully, and she was so pretty withal, that Lady Florence could not but be prepossessed in her favor also.
So the changes were at last thoroughly effected in Falkland Towers. The old faded out, and the new came in; until at last there were scarcely half-a-dozen familiar faces left in the numerous household.
At the dinner-table, Madame Le Grande, by her grace-I fui and well-bred manners and intelligent converse, man-
aged to. still further ingratjpie herself K the good graces of her mistress. 1
They had just retired to tile drawing-room, wnen a visitor was announced. X
“Mr. Romney.” X
Lady Florence’s cheek flushed with pleasure, but Lord Falkland could with difficulty ionceal a frown, as a young gentleman of manly presence was ushered into the room.
“I am so glad to see you, Ralph!” said Lady Florence, extending both her hands to him wRh almost childish cordiality. “This is Madame L<b Grande, our new housekeeper, with whom I am alreadw delighted.”
The gentleman bowed, shoola bands with Lord Falkland, and then entered into-a lively conversation with Lady Florence. He was the onlykson of Sir Henry Romney, whose large estates adjoined those of Lord Falkland, and he and Florence had been Way mates in their childhood. 1
Lord Falkland soon excused hipself, and adjourned to his library to smoke.
He was not long alone. Then was a tap at the door, and, immediately following it, Madame Le Grande entered. /
“I thought you would come,V said Lord Falkland, almost embracing her in the exuberance of his greeting, and conducting her to a seat beside wm. “Well, how like you our lordly towers ?” \
“I have never given you half the credit you deserve for your cleverness,” said the lady, pattwig his head playfull v. “And you are a real live lord atiAst, eh ?”
“Don’t I look the part 1 play?” sakl Lord Falkland, laughing. “But what do you think of hk)' ?”
“She is the prettiest girl I ever saw, and you will have a high spirit to tame, if you would master her.”
“Oh, but I will master her?” cried the other. “Her beauty lias turned my brain! She shall yet be mine!”
A cloud swept over the woman’s handsome face.
“And what of me?” she mutturefl; “you were ever turned by the last new face, Guy.” ;
“What! jealous?” said Falkland, laughing. “Tut, tut ! how you have come prepared to plAy your part? Why, is it not a part of the programme? IWhen she is mine, she will be but the plaything of an/hour, and the wealth and power of Falkland Towers will be for you and me, my old sweet love!” /
“How about the casket of jewels of which you wrote me? The jewels were to be mine, remember. That was part of the compact between us.”
“So they shall be, if I can ever find them. By heaven! I can’t comprehend it. The old loon must have succeeded in planting them before—before—liis—his death; and yet I have had the copse searched again and again, under my own eyes, without-success.”
“Guy,” said the handsome woman, holding him off, and looking him straight in the eves, “he hardly could have had time. Are you deceiving me?”
Her glance was keen, but he met it unfalteringly.
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, with impatience; “have we been companions in iniquity for years, and yet cannot trust one another?”
“Well, I believe you,” she said, after a pause. “Who is the young gentleman who is now in the drawingroom?”
“A young upstart whom I believe Florence to be in love with. He is the eldest son of my neighbor, Sir Henry Romney; and, trust me, he shall have speedy notice to come no more to Falkland Towers. Now tell me of London, and the world from which you freshly come.”
Mr. Ralph Romney had left his horse in the village, in order to enjoy the pleasant walk up the grand avenue leading to Falkland Towers.
It was after ten o’clock when, having concluded his visit, he set. forth upon his return to the village. The night was clear and bright, and he walked briskly down the avenue.
But, as he passed into that portion which skirted the borders of the marshes, over which the moon shone dimly through the rising vapors, he saw the figure of a man standing motionlessly beneath a tree at the side of the avenue, as if waiting for him.
“My lord!” exclaimed Romney, drawing back in much surprise—for the man was Lord Falkland.
“Ay, Mr. Romney,” said the latter, looking at him sharply, and speaking in cold, even tones. “I had something to say to you, which would scarcely have come gracefully from me while you remained under my roof; so I chose this place and time—strange as they may be.”
“What is your desire, my lord ?”
“That you from this moment discontinue your visits to Falkland Towers.”
“Why, my lord!” exclaimed the young man, within-creased surprise; “though in old times, I understand, there was a feud between our houses, we have been on friendly, even intimate -terms for generations. In what way have I offended?”
“You have not offended me, young sir; but, as the guardian of my young-cousin, I must request you to discontinue your visits. Her mind is yet unformed, her affections, I trust, still unengaged, and I would keep them free until she is of age.”
“So far as the Lady Florence is concerned, you may rest easily, my lord; and what you have said impels me to a confession which-otherwise I should be loth to make. Know, then, that prior’to her father’s death 1 made her the offer of my heart and hand, and both were kindly but firmly refused. -Now, we are simply friends—nothing more.”
“Nevertheless,” said Lord Falkland, who was secretly rejoiced at what he heard, “I beg that you will discontinue your visits—at least for a season. I distrust her— she may wish to send messages to others.”
“Shame on you, Lord Falkland!” exclaimed the young man, indignantly. “Your, cousin is twenty years of age, a woman grown, and a noble lady in every lofty accomplishment. Such espionage on your part is mean—dastardly!”
“Dare you speak thus to me?” cried Falkland, furiously.
“Yes; and I mean all I say. Oh, despite your barony, I am as well born as yourself, proud man!’ You cannot trample upon me as you have upon your tenants!”
“Ha! perhaps even now you bear some message from my cousinl”
“I do not; bnt were I honored with such a trust, be sure it should be faithfully delivered.”
Lord Falkland uttered an oath, and thrust his hand in the bosom of his vest.
“Ha!” shouted Romney; “report says truly, then, that your unknown life abroad was that of a blackguard!”
He sprang forward, and, striking a powerful blow upon Falkland’s wrist, the revolver, which the latter had been in the act of drawing, fell from the paralyzed hand.
“I shall keep this as a keepsake of my Lord Falkland’s hospitality,” said Romney, picking up the weapon; and he passed swiftly down the avenue.
Lord Falkland turned away with a bitter oath, and began to retrace -his steps in a very unenviable state of mind.
He was skirting the swamp, when a figure sprang out of it, and confronted him with the suddenness ot an apparition.
“The devil!” exclaimed Lord Falkland.
“No, my lord;; only a poor gipsy, who may sometime be able to do you a service,” said the apparition, touching his cap, and bowing obsequiously.
He was a spruce-looking young fellow, quite the dandy for one of his tribe, with eyes that twinkled and glittered like glass beads, and a thin, wiry form that seemed instinct with vigorous health.
“Who are you ?”
“Anything you will, my lord—an honest man or a thief; acut-tliroat or a snake in the moonlight; just what you will; in other words, Gipsy Jock, at your lordship’s pleasure.”
“And pray what do you suppose you can do for me ?”
“Well, I can do that snob, who just quitted your lordship so unceremoniously, a bad turn, if need be.”
“Can you, my lad ? Well, if you ever can and do, just consider that you have done me a good turn, and send in your bill in guineas—do you hear?—in guineas!”
“That 1 will, as I’m a Rommauy blade. And perhaps I Can be of even more important service to your lordship. Every one in these parts has heard of the missing casket.”
Lord Falkland pricked up his ears, and his breath came quick.
“Hal” he cried; “do you know anything about it ?”
“Not I; but perhaps Mother Judith does.”
“Whois she?”
“The queen of our tribe. She knows almost everything that goes on in these marshes; and sees pretty much everything, too.”
Lord Falkland started at the word emphasized, and peered eagerly, anxiously into the face of the speaker; but the latter presented to this scrutiny a visage as stolid as a rock.
“Do you think she can give me any clue to the missing casket, my lad ? Where can I see her ?”
“You cannot see her at all; but I can for you, and will bring you word at the castle to-morrow morning.”
“Do so, my lad, and I’ll feather your nest with golden plumes,” exclaimed Falkland. “Here; let this be an earnest of what I shall yet do for you.”
He pressed several broad, yellow pieces in the gipsy’s palm, and passed rapidly up the avenue.
The dapper gipsy stood looking after him, with a broad smile upon his brown features, and then exclaiming: “Oh, Jupiter! if he only knew what a guy he really is!” sprang among the trees and disappeared.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
RECENT PUBLICATIONS.
Old Times. By Miss Mary Dwinnell Chellls. Published by the National Temperance Society, No. 58 Reade street, New York. The reputation of Miss Chellis as a writer of religious and temperance stories is too well established to require indorsement at our hands. All her works are very readable, and in “Old Times” she displays much of the talent that has marked her previous productions. The volume is highly creditable to the House by which it is published.
The Hole in the Bag, and other stories. By Mrs. J. P. Ballard (Kruna). Published by the National Temperance Society, No. 58 Reade street, New York. Dedicated to Mr. J. N. Stearns, “the earnest and untiring advocate of the Temperance cause.” This book is especially adapted to children. The tone and style of all the stories are unexceptionable. The volume is handsomely bound.
Social Charades and Parlor Operas. By M. T. Caldor. Publishers, Lee & Shepard, Boston. This will be found a very entertaining as well as useful little book. It is replete with interest to those who take delight in the social enjoyments indicated by the title. A glance at the table of contents will induce almost anyone to purchase the work. It is neatly and attractively bound,
THS SILVER HABE
BY ROSALIE E. GRAVES.
There is a harp in each human breast. The strings of which are never at rest; Where music forever breathes and lingers. Awakened by thousands of viewless fingers, That play like the hum of fairy wings,-Their notes on its thousand quivering strings.
This heaven-born harp is a priceless boon, In its mortal frame, with its strings in tune; But, whether tunes of this living harp Are gentle and tender, flat or sharp, Where louder dirge depends always On the.ear that hears and the hand that plays. How touchingly tender is its moan As it gives to sorrow its monotone;
When touched by the palsied hand of fear It vibrates quick on the startled ear;
And its strong wrought frame in frenzy leaps While passion its diapason sweeps.
But happier spirits are hovering near, And the music they play we love to hear; They throng each heart with the grave and gray, And many a note I’ve heard them play— So often too are they playing the same. That we know their touch, and call them by name. There Is Love who comes on his fluttering wing— And how it thrills when he touches the string! Fame thinks he is heard all over the land As he strikes the chords with a master hand; But to Faith and Hope is the mission given To touch the notes that are heard in Heaven.
They linger still when the rest are gone— And left the frail harp broken and lone! And when Death plays the last sad strain, Breaking the chords he shall ne’er touch again, They bear it away with joyous wing, And string it anew where the angels sing.
A Wonderful Woman.
By Mrs. May Aynes Fleming9
[TT7io Writes Exclusively for This Paper.]
“A Wonderful Woman” wa£ commenced in No. 34. Back numbers can be had from any News Agent in the Unite States.]
P A B. T I I.
CHAPTER XXIX.
BETWEEN THE OLD LIFE AND THE NEW.
and
The drawing-room door opened as he sat there ____ Lady Cecil came in. She wore one of her .white summer dresses, the dresses she liked best, and in which she
looked her loveliest. A knot of fairy roses in her bosom, a rose-hued ribbon binding back the hazel hair; and the pearly face, ever colorless, blanched, as it had been since the revelation first came upon her, to a dead white.
The soft rustle of the muslin robe, the faint, sweet odor of the roses reached the earl. He lifted his head and looked at her; the haggard, tortured expression of his face made her recoil.
“Papa!” she cried, the name that for twenty years had been familiar to her lips would never be resigned, “what has happened—any new ?”
“Yes—something new—something very hard to believe, very hard to bear. Queenie, the grave and the headstone in Castleford churchyard are falsehoods and cheats. Katherine Dangerfield never died!”
She stood and looked at him—speechless with surprise.
“Yes, Queenie—she lives. My—that I should say it!— my daughter, Katherine Dangerfield, did not die; she lives under another name. Can you guess it ?”
“I can. It is Helen Herncastle.”
He placed the letter he had just read in her hand.
“Read that,” he said; “it is from O’Donnell, and explains all. I think I could have borne anything but this.”
Even in that moment she shrank a little at the sudden mention of O’Donnell’s name. Lord Ruysland placed the lengthy epistle in her hand and rose up to resume his walk.
“Sit down,” he said, “it is along affair to read, and you don’t look fit to stand. Are you ill, Queenie? Your lace is the color of your dress.”
“Ill? Oh, no—lam very strong. I feel in someway stunned—as though I were in a dream from which I should awaken. For my paleness, I never have much color, you know. How odd that Captain O’Donnell, of all men, should be the one to discover this.”
She read the letter over very slowly—the facts were placed so clearly in order there could be no doubt. Katherine Dangerfield lived in Helen Herncastle, Lord Ruys-land’s daughter, whose rightful name and place she herself had usurped so long. Lord Ruysland’s daughter, wronged beyond all reparation, maddened by wrongs un-til she had turned at bay and done unto others as site had been done by, hunted down, driven from Scarswood, from Castleford, forced outt once more to face the pitiless world, friendless, penniless, alone.
“Oh, it is hard, it is cruet it is bitter!” she cried start-
“Papa, let us go t
ing up.
ing up. “Papa, let us go t o her; let us find her—at once, at once! I will resign everything—I will makb what rep
aration I can. But who oh earth can ever compensate her for what she has suffer
?d? How shall I ever dare io
look her in the face? (And to think—that my—my mother----”
She covered her face with both hands in .a passionate outbreak of tears—the first she had shed.
“What had she done that life should deal with her so hardly—that her troubles should begin in her very cradle? And how bravely she has borne and lived through it all— When one-half the misery she has endured would have driven most women mad. To think of her being here-treated as a sort of upper servant, while I—oh, papa! let us go to her to-day—let us find her before it is too late.”
“Be quiet, Queenie,” was Lord Ruysland’s answer, a touch of impatient pain in voice and face, “there is no question of our being too late—she is with her friends, the Otises, no doubt. Fate has dealt hardly with her, I allow—with us all, if it comes to that. Think of the scandal, the gossip of the world—the talk of the London clubs and drawing-rooms! Good Heavenl it is enough to drive a man wild! My daughter a New York actress! Confound Mrs. Harman!”—mentally his lordship used a much stronger word than confound. “I beg, your pardon, Queenie, but of course, living or dead, such a wretch as that could have been nothing to you. Yes; I suppose you are right, and so is O’Donnell—she has been more sinned against than sinning, and we must look her up. I can only wish that the secret, having been kept so long, had been kept altogether. I was satisfied; as a daughter La Reine Blanche suited me exactly; Miss Herncastle does not. It is a horrible story to make public. I say again, it would be infinitely better for all concerned—yes, Miss Herncastle and all—for I can never have any feeling toward her but aversion—to have kept it secret to the end. One thing about this wonderful turn of events strikes me as most wonderful of all, and that is, that at O’Donnell’s interference she should give up her revenge, burn Mrs. Harman’s confession, restore Sir Peter his money, and throw up the game the moment it was hers. That I don’t understand. What was the chasseur to her?—they were at daggers drawn from their first meeting. If she had been in love with him now.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders. “Who is to understand a woman ? This one moves heaven and earth, sticks at nothing to compass her ends, rises Trom the very dead as it were, returns here as governess, playing the most daring game ever woman played—plots and counterplots until the battle of six years is won. She has parted Sir Peter Dangerfield, her arch enemy, and his wife, robbed him of his idolized money—brought Mrs. Harman here from Paris—extorted a confession, and lo! when all is her own, the power and the triumph, at a few words from Redmond O’Donnell, she throws up the sponge to fate, and flies ignobly from her victory. Women are a riddle; it’s a hackneyed aphorism, but for sound truth might be affixed to the Four Gospels. I say again, if she had been in love with the fellow—but I thought Sir Arthur—” he stopped judiciously and glanced furtively at Cecil.
She was standing, her eyes downcast, a lovely rosepink flush on either cheek. Perhaps by some inward intuition her woman’s nature understood this other woman’s—perhaps‘some glimmering of that truth to which O’Donnell himself was blind broke upon her. To Cecil Clive it seemed a very easy thing for any woman to love Redmond O’Donnell.
“You look as if you understood, Queenie,” the earl said. “Solve this riddle if you can.”
“I think the solution must be the innate nobility and generosity of—how shall we call her?—Miss Herncastle then, herself. For she is noble—she is great almost beyond belief. What other woman would have cared for that most unhappy man, Gaston Dantree, as she has done. Through all these years he has been her care—supported by her labor—forgiven and pitied in spite of the terrible wrong he did her. Captain O’Donnell is right. It is a noble nature warped in spite of her; others in her place, with her genius, would have done far worse. You must learn to love her, papa; to look upon her as your daughter —to let her take the name I bear—the place I fill when I am----” Her voice broke.
“Sir Arthur Tregenna’s wife. Is that what you would say, Queenie? Well,” an impatient sigh here, “1 suppose I must try.”
“When I am gone—that is what I meant to say, papa. For I will go—it is only just I should go back to the life to which I was born; And I will never be Sir Arthur Tregenna’s wife.” , , x
“Queenie! Cecil!” Lord Ruysland cried, sharply, what rank nonsense is this? Do you think it will make any difference with him? That he will withdraw his plighted faith for a circumstance with which you have had nothing to do ? That he will jilt you in a word in cold blood as a butcher might his sweetheart. Can you think so badly of Sir Arthur as that?”
“I think nothing of Sir Arthur but what is noble and just. I think he would keep the faith he has plighted, though the truth were ten times more revolting than it is. But still 1 think it will make a difference. Sir Arthur is a very proud man—he comes of a very proud race. It is their boast that no bar sinister has ever crossed their Saxon shield—that women with princely blood in their
veins have entered Tregenna Towers as brides. And the last of bis race shall not be the first to demean It. To marry the daughter of the Earl of Ruysland, noc loving her, is one thing—to marry the daughter of a servant woman, and such a woman, quite another.”
“This letter”—she took it up—“1 see is from Sir Arthur to me. When I answer it, it will be to give him his freedom.”
Lord Ruysland listened—his old weary calm returning —his habitual expression, half-cynical, half-indifferent,> back.
“Quixotic, but correct, perhaps. You will offer Sir Arthur his freedom—very generous on your part; and he will refuse it—equally generous on his. You are right, Queenie—go through the form by all means; it is what I would do myself in your place. But you will marry Sir Arthur, nevertheless.”
“I will never marry Sir Arthur. In all likelihood I shall never marry at all. You need not smile like that, papa— I mean it. Sir Arthur loves your daughter, and one day he will marry her. Her faults have been many, but when he knows the truth., such love as his will find it easy to overlook those faults. He asked me to become his wife because, through no fault of his, he felt he stood in some way committed, and I—oh! I was base and ungenerous whes I accepted him. I thank Heaven that I know the truth before it is too late. If he loved me, even, and if I loved him, I would still refuse to become his wife now. As it is, all the power on earth would not force me to marry him.”
He saw that she spoke the truth—that ail argument was useless here.
“You don’t love him,” he replied quietly; “then perhaps you do love some one else—the free-companion, the soldier of fortune, the Chasseur d’Afrique, for instance ?”
She looked at him steadily, the color deep on her cheeks, a bright light in her eyes.
“Yes!” she said, proudly, resolutely; “I love him!—I have loved him from the hour I saw him first!”
“And he has told you all, no doubt—the story of Torry-glen and his youthful presumption and folly, tolerably outlived in six years’ campaigning, if I judge him rightly.”
The glow deepened on her face—“the light that never was on sea or land,” the light of love that knows itself beloved again.
“He has told me,” she said, under her breath, “and he has not outlived it—thank Heaven! Yes, though I should never see him again on earth—thank Heaven! Papa, do you think you did right then?”
“Well. no. Morally speaking, perhaps I did not; socially speaking, I am very sure I did. You couldn’t have married him, Queenie—I hope you know that. And you can’t marry him now either, that I can see. Think of roughing it out in Algiers, grilling alive under an African sun; no society, a camp follower, and sooner or later an Irish officer’s h;tlf-pay widow. He’s a fine fellow—always was—the sort, by gad! if I were a woman, I should like to marry myself. But you haven’t been brought up to rough it, and—it won’t do, Queenie, it won’t do.”
The color had faded from her face, the happy light from her eyes; a wistful weariness and longing had taken their place.
“I am not likely to be put to the test. Captain O’Donnell is as great a stickler for les convenances as yourself. He will never ask his wife to rough it in Algiers or elsewhere; he has given me to understand that plainly enough. And if it were otherwise—he has a sister dependent on him—I would be the last alive to add to his burden and drag him down. And so—I repeat it—I shall never marry. What Katherine Dangerfield has done for six years, I can do—earn my own bread. The lesson I have learned from her courage and endurance shall not be learned in vain.”
Lord Ruysland smiled faintly—smiled skeptically.
“Well, well; we won’t discuss that question at present, Queenie. Take your letter and answer it. We will have Sir Arthur directly after, and you and he can settle these heroics between you. Still, I think, if I were you, I would marry him, Queenie.”
She smiled in answer, stooped and kissed him as he sat down.
“You ought to hate me for my—my mother’s sake if not for my own,” she said. “You are very good to me, Lord Ruysland.”
“Ami?” he answered, rather drearily, “being ‘very good’ to any one has not been the besetting virtue of my life. We’ll not talk about my goodness, Cecil child; it’s a subject that won’t bear discussion. As to hating you— well, I am not given to flattery as a rule, but 1 think tliat would be difficult thing for any man, young or old, to do.”
“And gad,” he added mentally, as the slender, graceful figure left the room, “if I were O’Donnell I’d marry you out of hand, and trust to luck for the rest—‘all for love and the world well lost.’ But that’s an exploded maxim, I'm aware. The young man of the period, with his hair parted down the middle and his eyeglass charged doesn’t fall into love; he calmly walks in if the lady has twenty thousand and upwards. And, Irishman though he be, O’Donnell has learned the lesson, and is no better than the rest.”
With her letter in her hand, Cecil went up to her room, that pretty azure and ormolu chamber, to which she must soon bid adieu.
Then she opened and read her lover’s letter. It was very little like a lover’s letter, though you could see he conscientiously did his best. He told her of Tregenna—of the alterations and decorations he had planned. He spoke of the day—very near he hoped—when he would see her there, its^mistress.
He did his best, but the spirit of love that would have warmed and rendered him eloquent was wanting.
“Another mistress will reign in Tregenna,” she said, as she laid it down; “another, who, with all her wrong-doing, will be a far worthier mistress than I. She does not love him now, perhaps, but she will—I feel it. Lord Ruys-/ laud will one day have his wish—his daughterAwill be Lady Tregenna.”
She began her answer without delay, it was easy enough to write, knowing what she knew of him.
“If he loved me the task would be a difficult one. As it is—though he may never own it, even to himself—his release will be a relief.”
It was necessarily a very long letter, since it comprised the whole story of the treble discovery—the discovery that Katherine Dangerfield had never died, the discovery that Katherine Dangerfield was Lord Ruysland’s daughter— the discovery that Katherine Dangerfield and Miss Herncastle were one and the same.. She dwelt at length on the noble self-abnegation she had shown in the end—of all she had been made to suffer; of her pity, her forgiveness, her generosity to Dantree; of her last flight and renunciations. Lastly, she spoke of herself, telling him her own story and releasing him from his plight.
“In any case, even had we loved one another, I would still have said this—that I release you. In that case, it might have meant nothing—been but a form—words I was bound in honor to say—knowing how far beneath you in birth I was. But it is no form now; when I say this letter is my farewell, I mean it. You must not try to shake my resolution. You do not care for me—in that way. 1 knew it from the first, and knowing it, was base enough and mercenary enough to accept you. I might have gone on to the end, and done you and myself the still greater wrong of marrying you. The woman you honor with your hand should love you as you deserve to be loved—as you will yet be loved, I foresee. Again, I entreat you, do not, from any mistaken idea of honor, endeavor to shake my resolution. It is not to be shaken. Farewell. Your wife I can never be—your friend I shall be always. Cecil.”
* * * «
Three days after, and the remains of Harriet Harman and Gaston Dantree were laid side by side in one of the Castleford cemeteries. Two new and nameless graves, beside which no one lingered, except her whom all the town looked upon as the Earl of Ruysland’s daughter. Why she should kneel by the grave of the dead woman-why she should linger there in the gray of the summer evening, when everyone else was gone—Castleford could rot understand. And .vhy, from the gray slab at the h?ad of Katherine Dangerfield’s grave, the brief inscrip-ti n should be obliterated, and the stone left nameless, Castleford could not understand either. By order @f Henry Otis, who six years ago had put it up, this was done.
The young man had returned to London with Nurse Hannah, to find Katherine there before him. What transpired at that first interview, no one ever knew. The dream of his life was at an end. The day might come that would make her a wife, but never his. Perhaps Cecil Clive was not the only one to whom some inkling of the truth had come—that her love for Redmond O’Donnell had, at the eleventh hour, been her redemption.
“I will make my home here if you will let me,” she had said. “Your mother has been the kindest of mothers to me, you the most faithful of friends, the best of brothers. I should like to have a home—the thought ot a lodginghouse and strangers is terrible to me. I am tired, Henry-tired in body and soul with my long and sinful struggle Thank Heaven that it Is over—over forever—that it is sti/1 not too late for repentance and a new life Det me sW here if you can—if you can look upon m? as a sister, not else.” I
A week ago he could not have given for the assurance. He could give it to her in all truth t^ay« Eve» suci7 love as his must starve and die wlth^t hope to feed He had hoped against hope for six years—all that vas over now. „
“Whilst my mother and I have a tome, Katherine, ne answered, “I don’t think I need tell you that 1 yours. But surely you forget thee is another tfnoi claim upon you now. You arejo longer a free agen You are the daughter of the Ear’Of Ruysland. f. at
“I am Katherine Dangerfield. The deal oId oame t was mine in the days when Iwas i
shall be mine again until I die. For Lord Itoy ‘ l w will never be more to him tm now. He woul last to desire it, and his pr/de shall bears
through me. Lady Cecil Clive honors the name.she> beara. I would disgrace It. I go my own way, foigetung all that is nast if 1 can. Nothing can alter me. .
chaii^ed in me,” with a smile, “the old obstinacy, I fe^ will remain unchanged to the last.”
And the day after, when Lord Ruysland and Lady came, Henry Otis found she meant to keep heJ^RavS.
have been. Forgive me if you can, and let me oe youv SiS^JvS I for twenty years have usurped mother have
your birthright! Forgive you, who, by my mother, have been wronged beyond all reparation. When I think oi it all. of all you have suffered, of——” .
“Don’t tbinK of it»” Katherine interposed, gently, I
THE NEW TORK WEEKLY
67
never shall again if I can help it. Of you my thoughts are all sweet and tender. You were kind to me when ---V
“Others who had a better right were not,” the earl said. “Katherine, what shall Tsay to you? What can I say---?”
“Sav nothing,” she interrupted, hastily; “neither were you to"blame in the least. The fault, the blame, is all with the dead. Let the dead rest. The day may come when I can even forgive her. It has not come yet. You thought me what I was—an adventuress, and you treated me accordingly. You did your duty. Have no fear from me. The secret shall be a secret through all time. The world shall never know. Lady Cecil is still your daughter. For me my life shall be peaceful and harmless—at least here with my friends. I think I know what you have come to say—it will be useless to say it. Nothing can shake my resolution. I remain here. Lady Cecil returns with you. When you come to visit me, I wil! gladly welcome you; when you are away, I will hear from you, I hope, and rejoice in your welfare. Make the story known, take her place, claim you as my father—1 never will. And the laws of the Medes and Persians,” with her old, rare, bright smile, “were as reeds to be broken compared to my will,”
They remonstrated, they argued, they entreated, in vain. Nothing could move her. All should remain as though Katherine Dangerfield indeed had never risen from among the dead. She would remain with Mrs. Otis, they return to their own world.
“And what will you do?” his lordship asked, in a broken voice.
Something in her grand renunciation touched him, as nothing perhaps in his whole life had ever touched him before. It won for her what else she might never have won—his honor, his love.
“I will teach music. Not a very hard life after all, and 1 will live with my mother and brother—here. Ahl never were mother and brother in this world more loving, more faithful than they. And as I said, you will come to see me sometimes, and you will try to believe this—that I shall not be unhappy. The knowledge that I am doing right—that I am atoning for the wrongs of the past, will be hapniness in itself. One reparation I should like to make—reconciling Sir Peter and Lady Dangerfield. I have written this letter; you will give it to him, my.lord. See him I cannot. And 1 think—I hope—even he may relent. Ask Major Frankland to forgive me—and.—Lady Dangerfield”—a great gulp here—“I think I have regretted that most "of all.”
The tears of Lady Cecil, the earnest urging of the earl, were alike in vain. Katherine remained. There was a smile on her face as she watched them drive away, a smile that made her the Katherine of old. Her dark, earnest eyes lingered last on the sweet “flower face” pi La Heine Blanche.
“She will be happy as Sir Arthur Tregenna’s wife,” she thought. “It will beau easy task to learn to love him.”
Lord Ruysland and Cecil came back to their stately rooms, at Fenton’s, St, James’ street, to find Sir Arthur Tregenna in a fever of impatience awaiting them. On the receipt of Lady Cecil’s letter, with its extraordinary intelligence, he had hurried up from Cornwall, followed them to London, and stood before them now, still wondering, incredulous, almost indignant.
The earl left them alone; he knew what was to come.
“It was all perfectly true,”" Lady Cecil told him calmly. “Miss Herncastle, or Katherine Dangerfield, as she chose henceforth to call herself, was Lord Ruysland’s daughter. She herself—but what need to repeat that story. And he was free—nothing could alter that.”
He pleaded as though he had really loved her. The story made no difference to him, she was worthy a ducal coronet. Let all the world know it, it would be the great happiness of his life to make hers.
“Ah! hush!” she answered, wearily. “You know it can never be. You are all goodness, but you cannot deceive yourself nor me. You do not love me—you never have. No—do not speak—it is no fault of yours; only why try to make yourself believe you do? And I do not love you. My pride, my ambition, would not let me tell you before. To gratify them I would have married you. You deserve better than that, Sir Arthur. If my heart were free, I might, in spite of all, yield to the temptation, and accept your generous offer. But it is not. It is due to you to tell you I love one from whom I have parted forever, one whom I never expect to see again. I have loved him with my whole heart for six years.”
He was not surprised. He would not acknowledge it to himself, but a great, a sudden sense of relief filled his heart at his freedom.
“I think I must have dimly suspected all along,” he said. “It is----”
A pause.
She finished the sentence quietly:
“It is Redmond O’Donnell.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
H®rs. Fleming’ s New Story,
entitled
“A TERRIBLE SECRET,”
will be commenced soon after the completion of “ A Wonderful Woman.”
JUST COMMENCED
Wildcat Ned;
-- OR, -
The Mountain Men of Oregon,
By dames L. Bowen\
(“Wildcat Ned” was commenced in No. 13. Back numbers cad be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.!
CHAPTER VII.
A BATTLE.
Four men were left in the bbugh-house to defend their property and persons against near six times that number of Indians.
It was to meet a desperate alternative, therefore, rather than with any real purpose of showing fight, that the word was giveu, and all those present who had weapons put themselves in readiness lor a deadly fight, if need <iros0»
Clara and her aunt crouched in one corner, where they would be to an extent sheltered from any bullets that might be fired; and here they clasped each other’s hands and waited with painful suspense for the coming of the red men and their heartless leaders.
John Stevens was standing in the doorway, while Luther and the other young men took stations where they could watch all that transpired outside.
Captain Ryan led the advance, and he was closely followed by a score of villainous-looking savages, who evidently thirsted for a carnival of blood.
Their thirst was to be quenched.
“Where are those men?” Ryan demanded, stopping some ten or twelve yards away.
“They are not here.”
“They are. We have been watching, and they have not 1G “They have left, as you can see for yourself by looking inside.” . , ,
Both the Englishmen, accompanied by some lialf-a-doz-en of the savages, pressed up and began to crowd in through the door.
“Stop!” said Stevens, when the two Englishmen had passed? “There is nothing here belonging to you, and you are not welcome visitors.”
The Indians paused for a moment, uncertain what to do. Their leaders were inside, and they could see several rifle-muzzles looking out through the openings of the hut—not a pleasant sight for Indians’ optics.
So engrossed were the defenders by the movements ot those outside that they scarcely heeded the doings of Ryan and Jones, who seemed to be taking observations of the way by which the trappers had eluded them.
A cry of alarm startled every one; and on looking around they were enraged at beholding Clara struggling in the embrace of Jones.
Luther sprang toward them, but was met by Ryan with a leveled pistol.
The young man struck up the weapon at the same moment that it was discharged, the ball passing out harmlessly through the roof.
The Indians outside hearing the report and the outcries, rushed upon the hut in a body, yelling and firing, and receiving two or three shots as they came.
The walls of the frail structure were thrown down at the first onset; and before the ruin thus unexpectedly created the Indians paused for an instant in indecision. But it was not for many moments.
Their victims were under, or in, the shapeless pile, anhwith wild yells they set to work tearing away the net-, ting of boughs. It was but a momentary task for a score of infuriated savages.
Tlw bough-house had been built at the foot of a gentle little knoll, which rose just behind it, Long Ab having •taken ^vantage of the fact that a very slight ditch upon either s’Ae, and meeting tn an apex behind the hut, would prove sifficient to turn away the water, leaving the ground u^n which it stood Quite dry.
This pecxiiar location proved very favorable for the Xi imposes of the trappers. Making an opening through t\ie rear of tig hm, they crept around the knoll quite unseen by their-ed enemies, and were soon gathered in a knot scarcely en rods from the structure.
.“Now, boys,’ said Zeb, when a hasty survey had satisfied them that, urangely enough, no Indians were upon that side of the tamp; “now, boys, we’re in fer a sharp fight. I haint hei one in in so long that I declare if it don t seem good. Git all ready; then we’ll creep out the 11111 Sive t0 the confounded skunks afore they know wkat’s goin’ on!”
iJo . was a liast^ examination of weapons, repriming, ng knives> adjustment of pistols, and such other arrangements as migkt, be of service in a life and death encounter like that they proposed.
Only Abner Norton made no such preparations.
“Boys,”, he said, “it doesn’t look right to me for yon to such a fight. As long as you can get away I aon’t see why that isn’t what ye should do.”
nnJf raJ001’ a3 fur a3 Injius ia consarned,” said Zeb, ; ^contemptuously. ’
said WUdcat Ned, seeing the 111-feelinsr likelvto partV1 ’“V we g0 we shaI1 Ieave 11113
wSJ ^^v6 befriended us, to be murdered, the red fiends Tnh the worst purposes of these
ends, and finally to die at their hands. I understand
your motives, but you do not yet understand these redskins as well as old trappers.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Abner. “But the light is your own-—1 shall have no part in it.”
“Jest as ye like,” said Zeb, rather shortly. “But if you don’t fight lor us yon needn’t expect any help when you git in trouble.”
“I have learned that the peaceful man shall obtain peace.” said Norton.
“Don’t know whar ye war brought up—sartin not among the redskins.”
At that moment a sharp cry, followed by reports of firearms, shouts and yells, came to their ears. Every man sprang to his feet.
“Come boys!” shouted Wildcat Ned, “the redskins are murderin’ them poor folks! Come on!”
There was no more weakness or hesitation. Even Abner Norton with rifle closely grasped, followed in the rear of his more enthusiastic comrades.
Around the base of the knoll they swept like so many mad men, as they were, and before the redskins were aware of their presence, the work of carnage was going on.Wildcat Ned, with a bound like the animal from whom his name had been derived, sprang full among the yelliug Indians, just as the covering of the hut was being torn away. With one sweep of his clubbed rifle he made room for further operations, and then the battle waxed furious.
Pistols and rifles rang out in sharp chorus, knives and hatchets and clubbed guns swept through the air, now filled with sulphurous, maddening fumes. Men fell to the earth, groaning, cursing, gasping, bleeding, dying. White man and red grasped each other with an embrace that was to part only with death, tearing, biting, stabbing each other, like so many fiends let loose!
For a moment it seemed as though the desperation of the trappers would be in vain, and that they would meet a fearful fate at the hands of the swarming red men.
Abner Norton had received a knife-thrust in the breast, and was gasping out his life under the feet of the contestants.
Jolly Tom, jolly no longer, had been knocked down by a blow.from an Indian’s gun.
Long Ab had received a blow upon the left shoulder which quite disabled the arm upon that side, but with the hand which was yet available he brandished his long knife in a manner particularly dangerous to the savages.
Only Zeb and Wildcat Ned, the two most terrible of the attacking party, had thus far escaped uninjured, and the savages were closing about them.
“Wildcat Ned, we’re gittin’ whipped!” shouted Zeb, as he aimed a blow at one of the Cayuses.
“Not yet!” answered Wildcat Ned, never turning his eyes from the deadly work in which he was engaged.
A savage sprang up, presenting his gun almost within a foot of Wildcat Ned’s face, and pulled the trigger. But he did not accomplish his purpose.
Before the gun could be discharged Wildcat Ned had grasped it, elevating the muzzle above his head, and, while it was still smoking in the air, the Indian fell to the ground as Wildcat Ned’s knife was driven through his heart. ;
At the same moment two struggling forms swept up against Wildcat Ned. It was Long Ab, in the grasp of a Cayuse. The former’s arm was held by his gigantic antagonist, who was struggling around for an opportunity to deal the deadly blow.
One quick motion of Wildcat Ned’s right arm, and the Indian sank back, his head nearly severed from the spouting trunk. Long Ab recovered himself, snatched up the hatchet of a fallen savage, having lost his own knife in the struggle, and was immediately mingling in the thickest of the fight.
Zeb, as stated, struck for a savage. The blow was parried, and the redskin struck in return. This Zeb disposed of without any damage to himself, and then they closed, the two blows having brought them almost breast to breast.
The savage was considerably the larger man, but his muscles had not t he toughness and iron quality acquired by such long and terrible training as Zeb’s had experienced.
An instant they struggled together, as though for the fall, and then, before the red man could comprehend his purpose, Zeb broke the grasp of the Indian, and with the same movement drove Uis knife through and through the savage’s neck.
Zeb could not withdraw his weapon, but catching the uplifted arm of the Cayuse with both hands, he threw him violently to the ground.
Another Indian, with knife and hatchet, rushed upon Zeb, dealing a deadly blow, which the latter, by dropping almost to the earth, barely avoided.
But Zeb succeeded in grasping the arm which held the hatchet, and, with all the vehemence of which he was master, planted his foot in the Indian’s stomach. The savage doubled up like a jack-knife, receiving his deathblow a moment later from his own hatchet.
Up to this point the whole fight had occupied much less time than will be required to read our partial account of the struggles which took place. It is scarcely necessary to say that it had been hot work for the trapners, and the prospects of their obtaining a victory looked* exceedingly dubious. But just at this moment help came.
The four men from within the hut, who had been overthrown and considerably confused by the destruction of their shelter at the Indian onset, had now gathered themselves up, worked their way out at one end of the ruins, and now fell upon the savages with fury.
A panic happily seized the remaining redskins. They scattered and fled in all directions.
The three trappers threw themselves upon the ground amidst the dead and dying, to wipe the blood from their faces, examine injuries, and recover breath.
Both Zeb and Wildcat Ned had received some slight cuts, and not a few bruises, but none of them were serious. Long Ab was more severely injured. His shoulder was badly bruised, and the arm was now quite useless. But he only laughed at the injuries, declaring that he was more than a match for any Indian still.
Abner Norton was dead, having been stabbed near the heart.
To the surprise of all, Tom staggered to his feet, gazing around upon the bloody scene with his usual serio-comic air. “What, boys, ye got the reds thrashed so soon?” he asked. “Blamed if they didn’t come near thrashin’ me with a vengeance. ’Twas a cowardly hit 1 got, but no matter. I’ll get even with them next time we happen to meet.”
“Ye war careless—careless as time,” growled Ab, with a pat upon Tom’s back. “Ye see, one of the pesky fellers tried the same dodge on me; but I couldn’t see it. I jest took it on the shoulder, and saved my head.”
“That was careless, too,” remarked Wildcat Ned; “you shouldn’t have taken it at all.”
“Fact is,” returned Long Ab, in a more confidential tone, “I didn’t see anything of it until I had taken it, and found myself tumbling around here all sorts.”
Of those who had been inside the hut, James Brainard had received a slight bullet wound, and Luther Stevens had been somewhat injured by the fall of the structure; but beyond this all had escaped unscathed.
The principal loss had fallen upon the Indians. In front of the ruins, within a few yards space, nine of the Cayuses lay dead or dying. The ground was slippery with blood, and the appearance of the entire scene horrible in the extreme.
The men gazed on the spectacle for a moment, and then John Stevens remarked, hurriedly:
“I forgot that all this time the poor girls must be in an agony of terror. Some of you, who are not too bloody, come with me, and we will assure them that all is well.”
When the hut had fallen over, or partially fallen, an opening presented through which the women crawled out to the rear, sheltering themselves beneath the overhanging bushes.
This was the safest position which presented, and having seen them there, their natural defenders had hastened into the fight. To this spot they now made their way. But what did they behold?
Jerusha Stevens was lying upon the ground, bleeding from a wound on the head, and almost insensible. Not only was Clara not there, but no traces of her were to be found.
A terrible fear came over the father’s heart. He bent over Jerusha, saw that her eyes were open, and said, in excited tones:
“Where is Clara ? What has happened ?”
But the woman did not comprehend, or did not know, or could not speak; for she shook her head very slowly, and then closed her eyes, as though the effort was too painful for her.
Both Luke and his father sprang to the summit of the knoll, and ran their eyes quickly through the forest, far as they could reach; but, though all had transpired in so short a time, none of the parties were< to be seen. The forest seeemed as peaceful and as silent as though no shouts of conflict had ever rang through its arches.
The* news of Clara’s disappearance had spread, and when her father and brother hastened down from the elevation they were met by all the other men who were in the vicinity.
“Clara has gone,” Mr. Stevens said, in agitated tones. “I fear she has been taken off to meet her death at the hands of our enemies.”
“No fear of that,” said ‘Zeb. “If the infarnals had wanted to kill the gal they didn’t need to carry her off. She could hev been killed here as well as anywhar. It aint that that the'y are up to.”
“Quick for the horses, boys!” the father exclaimed. “We must follow and rescue her!”
“Yes, I hear that,” remarked Long Ab; “but I think when we find the one we’ll find the other. That’s wy idee.”
“Surely the stock is not gone!”
“Everything, Stevens!—horses and cows!”
“Then we are ruined, indeed! What does it mean? What cm we do?” Mr. Stevens found breath to say.
“It means just this,” Wildcat Ned said. “The two officers who came to take us were very careful not to git into this fight. They slipped away, and have made off with your darter and the stock. All we’ve got to do is to foller ’em, find ’em, and then punish ’em if we can.”
“But can that be done?”
“There can’t anything else be done. I think that kin,” replied Zeb. “Wildcat Ned, and Tom, and me’ll take the trail, if you say so, and do our tarnal biggest to find your gal. Case we do, we’ll take her right down to Cayuse Mission, and if you ain’t thar we’ll wait for ye. Long Ab can take care of your party.”
“Bet you can. But I’d like powerful well to go with you chaps arter Miss Clara. ’Cause she was more’n sweet one, now, and no mistake.”
“No need for you, Ab. We three can do all a regiment could on such an errand. You tend it and get these folks to Cayuse in good order, and I imagine we’ll not be long behind with Clara.”
“May Heaven grant you success, and reward your bravery and kindness. Ask us for any assistance nve can give before you set out.” ----
The trio of trappers conferred with each other fora moment. I
“We shan't want to dew milch shootin’on the way,’ Zetf remarked, “so what of that dried meat ye can spare it may be as well for us to takefalong. Beyond that w^ve got ail the supplies we need.” J
The meat was brought outl and a generous ratio distributed to each of the men. [
•e
Meanwhile they were busy) with their weapons, clean ing the blood from knives, reloading tire-arms, and replenishing their supplies from those of the fallen Cayuses.
”” ’ ’ ------»t, if not an affectionate fare-
Tills completed, an earm
well was spoken, hands shaken, and then they took the
trail which had been mark
CHAj A PEEP B’j It wag a little after noon ofl attacked, as described in ci
l, meantime, by Archie Train.
VIII.
Ill ND THE MASK.
PMay on which the emigrants were i/ast chapter. A lone horseman Lyion, leading a second horse with °fhe horseman was Captain Luke
was riding toward Sampson
a lady’s saddle. The name — ---------------- ------------------
Ryan. His clothing was roi j^. and soiled, ayd from all appearances he had experienced JJ^my of the discomforts attending mountain travel, since leavigS’ the mission.
Drawing near the place jne glanced back several times, as though apprehensive of. pursuit, but did not pause till he drew rein before the dwelling of :Rev. Jonathan Sampson.
That personage and Jos’/iua were at the door, and the other members of the family sooii gathered there. From all save Su&an the officer received a cordia’|greeting.
Nettie, with her womanl curiosity aroused, stepped outside the door, and commenced to pat the led horse’s neck.
“What a nice creature 1’4 she said. ’ ' ' ' ”
to be sure and tell you, if anybody talked of corwiw out, that you’d have all you wanted to do to loofc out for home.”
“Well, parson, what are we going to do in such a case'?’'’' asked Sam Roberts, the blacksmith, a tall, powerful man, wholiad seen something cf border life.,
“Come into my houses gentlemen,” Sampson said, Jet Us talk over this matter. It is a serious time; beyond all dispute”’’
Accordingly those present adjourned inside the dwellm©,-and a council was opened. AS first its tones seeded earnest anil' war-'ike. Their settlement hacli been invaded almost at full middhy,-and one of the fairest of fts women abducted. This was an cutrage; and ought to be punished. But it could not be changed upon the Indians. Evidently it should not. There liad been no espe^af enmity exhibited by those of the Cayuses who1 had recently visited the mission, and the Nez Perces were unmistakably friendly. There might haw been some inciting cause for this-outbreak upon the mountains; It is almost certain there must have been. It would be well to see that all weapons m the settlement were kept in a condition for use; to arrest and hold either Ryan or Jones if they should again appear; and to keep a sharp lookout for anything of a supicious-nature.
These were the final conclusions of the counselors}-and this the line of conduct it was decided to carry out.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
Beautiful Tempter
captain, who your lady co
‘•Alas, I have none,” th; ward the fair speaker. “I above, who had obtained tl their way to Cayuse Missi
--------- ‘But you do not tell me, anion may be.”
worthy replied, with a sly look to-et a party of Nez Perces in the forest se horses from a party of settlers on n. I made a trade with the Indians
in turn, and as I have present use-for the animals, I brought them, to this place, thi ing I might leave them in your care, Mr. Sampson.”
“Certainly, certainly; as long as you please,” was the ready rejoinder. “Joshua, yoii take the horses and take care of them.”
Joshua edged forward to do the bidding of his master, but Captain Ryan restrained him.
“One moment first,” ihe said, with a very pleasant smile. “One of these is a lady’s horsp, as I see, and has the appearance of being a very gentle creature. I shall stay in this vicinity but a very few days, at most, and I have no need or use for any such animal. I would much prefer to leave! it, to encourage memories of me after I have gone.” /
“You surely need do nothing of that kind, captain,” said Mr. Sampson. “We have enjoyed this casual acquaintance, and I am sure you are not afraid that we shall forget our friends. Friends are not so plenty in tlifts vicinity that we can afford to drop their memories thus lightly V
“So it-would seem, parson. Yet strangely enough you did not remember me when I came to you this time.”
“Strangely enough; nor can I now recall your features.” “Well, no matter for that. You will know me in future.” “You are right. Always.”
“Come, Nettie. You are something a horse-woman, 1 am sure. Be pleased to try this beast for a few furlongs, though We have no pike or course for the exercise.”
Then in a lower voice the villain continued, addressing the father:
“You must understand my purpose, and will not object that the young lady tries the'horse.” *
“By no means. Come, daughter, as our friend wishes you to try his new purchase I am sure you cannot object. Such favors come seldom to us here in the wilderness.”
“Yes, father. Thank you, captain; if you will excuse my rough attire, which is poorly adapted for riding, I will accept your offer with much, pleasure.”
“I declare,” said the gallant captain, “I had in my head a sentence concerning unadorned beautj7; but for the life i bear I could not now recall it. Speaking of attire, I am very sure that several days in the mountains have not improved my own appearance. But in this wild region I am certain we must not be- fastidious in such matters.”
While Nettie was making the preparations which she could make under the circumstances, Ryan rode back to the outskirts of the settlements, and took a hasty survey of the mountain route by which he had come.
Apparently satisfied with the prospect he returned.quite leisurely, just as Nettie emerged from the house.
“I partially expect Lieutenant Jones,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But it may be he will not come this way. In case he should come here before our return, which will be very soon, please ask him to stop, as I wish to see him.”
Assent was given, and then Ryan sprang to the ground, assisting his fair companion to her saddle. Then bounding into his own seat, the pair rode slowly away from the homestead.
“Father.” said Susan, when the family had returned to the in terior of the house, “I am surprised that you should have seconded that man’s request. I really think if it had not been lor you she would not have gone.”
Mr. Sampson raised his spectacled eyes slowly.
“I can see no reason why she should not go. I would not be so unkind as to refuse a friend so smal'. a favor And then you may not be aware that he intends making your sister a present of the horse she rides. I am very glad that Nettie showed herself sensible.”
“Perhaps no harm will come, father; but you know it is neither prudent nor proper for a girl like Nettie to ride about in this country with an entire stranger.”
“If ’twas you and Wildcat Ned ’twould be all right,” muttered Joshua, from his crouch beneath the old clock.
Susan turned upon him with flashing eyes.
“Please say that once morel” she exclaimed. “It sounds well, coming from your lips! Perhaps it would be as well, while you are studying theology, to study awhile the rules of good breeding.”
Again the student left his crouch, and rushed into tbeopen air. It was close and stifling in the house, although doors and windows were open wide.
“She knows I’ll bear anything from her!'1 he muttered, throwing himself upon a log of wood not far irom the door.
“SusanI Susan!” exclaimed the father, reprovingly.
Susan turned toward him, her attitude expressing willingness to hear what further ho might have to say. But with the words the missionary’s lips closed, and he did Dot again open them upon that subject.
Susan did not attempt to conceal the anxiety with which she waited for her sister’s return. Seated near the door, or walking about outside, she kept her gaze fixed upon the- point where their forms had disappeared from sight, and where it was natural to suppose they would re-appear.
But neither Nettie nor the Briton appeared.
When the hour had nearly lengthened into two, the uneasiness of both father and mother began to be manifest, though, they evidently strove to conceal it so far as possible from each other, but more especially from Susan, who saw it all.
“I wonder Nettie remains away so long,” Mr. Sampson finally remarked, with an air of impatience.
“I cannot see why you should wonder, when she went away at your own bidding with an adventurer whom nobody knows,” I said Susan, bitterly. “I am sure, father, all is not right; and the sooner you raise an alarm and berfin to search, the better it will be.” 5
“Hush, child—daughter, hush! You will drive me distracted. Yonder comes Wildcat Ned. I wonder what he is acting so strangely about ?”
Wildcat Ned was indeed approaching the house, and his movements showed a deal of energy and anxiety. His clothing was soiled and bloody, and his general appearance almost frightful. He strode directly up to the door of Sampson’s house, and entered without ceremony.
He was at once confronted by all the family who were present, but none of them breathed the fears that ran in chaotic confusion through their brains. Wildcat Ned spoke first.
“Has Cap’n Ryan, as he calls himself, been here?” he asked, placing one hand upon Mr. Sampson's shoulder in his earnestness.
“He has. What of him!”
“Has your darter gone away with him?”
“She went to ride with him. Why do you ask?”
“Let me tell you, sir, that your girl had better be in hergrave!”
Aery from all present announced the surprise and terror which the declaration created.
“Speak sir! Explain yourself I” exclaimed Sampson, growing red and pale by turns, as he gazed into the blood-marked features of his interlocutor.
“Well, parson, I will tell you,” Wildcat Ned said, becoming calm in a moment. “Early this mornin’, twenty or so miles from here, on the route to Cayuse Mission. Captain Ryan and Lieutenant Jones, with twenty Cayuse Injins, opened fight yvith an on-offendin’ emigrant party, and would have killed ’em all, but for four trappers what jined in with the White folks, and finally whipped out the redskins.”
“But these officers didn't jine in the fight. Oh no! There was a girl very like your darter with the train, and when the fight was hottest these Britishers, as they call themselves, carried her off, and run off the horses and. stock so they couldn’t be overtaken. That was where Captain Ryan got his horses. That is where your poor girl has gone!”
“Heaven help her”’ the father groaned. Ho could not doubt the words of his informant
“Yes, you well may ask Heaven to help her,'- returned Wildcat Ned4 with much earnestness. “She’ll need it, and the help of man too. But we do wrong to waste one moment’s time. I will off and try to find her, but the task ain’t an easy one. If I only knew which way they went-----”
“I know—I’ll show ye!” cried a voice; and on looking around Ned beheld Alfred, who with features partially aglow, yet full of fear, stood close behind him.
“I watched him, as you told me,” the boy continued, “and when he went away I was Out in the woods and seen the course they took.”
“Good boy,” said Wildcat Ned, encouragingly. “Such boys as you are worth somethin’. Come, now, show me where they went, and it may be I shall foller the scoundrel- to some purpose alter all.”
Wildcat Ned turned away, but Jonathan Sampson sprang and grasped his hand.
“Before you go, may Heaven bless you, mj' dear sir, is my fervent prayer,” Mr. Sampson said, with an earnestness which came from the heart. “You are showing yourself a true friend to me and mine. I fear I have done you injustice heretofore. I was prejudiced against you.”
“No matter,” said Wildcat Ned, with a gratified smile upon his face. “We won’t stop to talk that over now. Every minute is precious, and more. Sometime I may seo you again—if 1 live!”
And with the words he was gone, Alfred running along at his. side, and pointing out the direction taken by Captain Ryan and his companion.
Susan had longed to speak just one word with Wildcat Ned, but she knew how precious time was, and that a minute’s delay, even, might be fatal to her sister, or worse. But she saw the heartfelt action of her father, and she felt happy, even .though the .last words of Ned brought a deadly pallor to her face.
“Did I do right, Susan, in what I said to him?” the father asked, when the scout had disappeared from view.
“Oh, yes, yes, dear father,” was the glad reply, as she hurried forward, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him fondly. “I knew you would think better of him some day, father.”
“I see, I see, Susan. I begin to think you were very nearly right after all. But we must attend to these men. They want to know something of what has taken place.” .
A number of men had already gathered about the doorway, and more were coming. A report had spread that one of Mr. Sampson’s daughters had been abducted, and everyone was on the alert to learn the truth in regard to the strange story.
The father, pale and agitated, stepped outside, and very soon the entire male population of the settlement, with many of the women, had gathered closely about him.
“Tell us all about it,” said one after another of those who came up.
“So I will, my friends,” the man returned.
When all were silent and attentive, he related how a few days before two men calling themselves British officers came to the mission, claiming an acquaintance which he could not recall. But he had credited their stories, even to the prejudice Of a brave mountain-man, Wildcat Ned—who saved one of his daughters from a watery grave. And then he related the incidents of that day, as they had been transacted before his own eyes and described by Wildcat Ned. He dwelt especially upon the nobility of Wildcat Ned, and freely confessed his own unjust prejudices.
Exclamations of admiration for Wildcat Ned, and of indignation toward the traitor were freely given, the latter even being threatened with a summary lynching. But it was not practicable to lynch a man evidently several miles away, until he should have been brought back, or overtaken.
At once the question was raised, should not a party be formed to set out immediately in pursuit ? Such seemed to be the general feeling, and at once a call was made for volunteers.
While the matter was still under consideration, Alfred returned.
(“The Beautiful Tempter” wag commenced in No. 2? Back Nos. can be obtained’Iwm any News Agent in the United States.]
CHAPTER XXVIL
LOVE AND OAT-MEAL PORRIDGE.
Meantime, how fared it with the pooryoung things shut up in Bramblethorpe- Villa, with the gloomy Novemlber weather, alone, sad,, and apparently deserted by their friends? Clare, young, bright and abounding in animal spirits, threw off trouble as a bird throws off the rain from its glossy plumage. Every day she would have a crying-spell; but it would not last long; and after the shower she would brighten up at onee. She played, and sang, and drew, and raced over Uie great house like a little girl— played with her kitten and dog, and rode on her pony when the weather permitted.
But Lady Augusta could not thus lightly ignore their real situation. Quiet and Dale, she almost awed her younger sister by the deep gravity of her looks. She, indeed, had a double trial to bear. Not only the loss of name and position, but of the man whose wife she almost Was. Yes, a few weeks-more would have made her the wife of Mr. Douglass. Her wedding garments met her glance every time she looked in a wardrobe or bureau. Everywhere she encountered some sign of the approaching wedding to remind her of her grief and misery. She tied from her own room, and staid with Clare, to escape Irom the sight of the preparations she had made.
Her brother had been gone two weeks. It had been three since she began to expect Mr Douglass, and in that time she had not received even a letter from him.
On this particular afternoon she sat in the great empty drawing-room, leeiing as lonely and deserted as ever girl felt. Clare was off with her dog, having a race in the grounds; for the lowering weather had at last cleared away, leaving a cool, bright day. “Tears, idle tears” welled up in her eyes, dropping unnoticed down her cheeks. Leaning back in the blue-velvet easy chair, her fair, bright hair and sweet, pale lace made a lovely picture .urainst the azure frame, but she was not “posing” for effect. Little she recked how she looked now There was no one to see or to care whether or not.she were pretty
As the tears dropped faster and faster, she shut her eyes as if to keep them back.
A carriage drove up4o the gate-why, its wheel sounding on the drive; but poor Lady Augusta was so absorbed in her unhappiness that the noise did not catch her attention. Some one was admitted to the hall,and came, without1 ceremony, into the drawing room. Mr Douglass, in his traveling great-coat and gloves, stood there, suddenly yery still and silent, gazing at the wan, worn, tear-wet lace.
“Poor child!” ,he murmured, gazing on her in a rapture of love and sorrow—sorrow to see, so plainly, what she was suffering.
The murmur startled her; she unclosed her heavy lids, looking straight at her lover, as if not at all surprised to find him standing there. She had been dreaming of him, and waking at the sound of his step in the room, knew that she was awake.
“Too cruel! too cruel!” she whispered. “Heis breaking my heart, and he does not care even that it is broken.”
“Augusta, my darling! are you speaking of me?” reproachfully, advancing, as she started to her feet, now fully awakened.
“Mr Douglass!” Shee semefl to have frozen in that moment.
She had been pale, but now she was white, cold aud haughty He would not be repelled, but advanced and took her in his arms
“You wiwrtnot!” she cried, struggling in his clasp. “Release me I All is changed between us I”
“Is our love changed ?” he asked, tenderly, trying to look in her eyes.
“0,1 do not know! I suppose so. Why have you kept away from us in our trouble ?” And now she met his gaze proudly and fully.
“I have been ill—very ill! Too ill to write. Did you then doubt me, Augusta ? I thought you knew me too thoroughly.”
A sudden splendor broke over her face.
“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I did doubt you. You re-mained absent and silent at the time of our trial. Ah ! you have been ill! You are pale and thin. What aHed you, Mr. Douglass ?”
“‘Mr. Douglass!’” he mimicked her, smiling. “It was an attack of fever, which went to my brain. I was not feeling well in Scotland. I was afraid that I was threatened-with something of the kind, but hoped to feel better when I got with you, my sweet. On reaching London I got very wet in a drenching storm to which, by accident, I was exposed; that, with the worry and excitement of hearing of your great trouble, brought me down. I went to bed with a severe headache, and after that, for some days, time was a plank. My servant was a faithful fellow, knew my doctor in London, and the two did everything necessary for me. I recovered with astonishing rapidity, as you may guess, to see me here. It was with difficulty I coaxed the doctor to let me out to-day, and, indeed, I do tremble a little on my legs, I believe.”
“And I have kept you standing all this time,” she said, pushing him gently into a chair. “Ah, how ill you look! I will ring the bell and have something hot brought to you as soon as it can be made. Tea or coffee—which ?”
“A cup of coffee will restore me. Meantime I will lie on the sofa, with your permission. I did not realize that I had so little strength. Sit close by me, darling, and let me hold your hand.”
How could she refuse him ? Her whole soul went out in yearning love to him, as he lay there, so languid and pale, gazing at her so fondly, proving his love by the exhausting effort he had made to get to her.
Yet she had vowed to herself that she would never marry Mr. Douglass, and that, before his absence had aroused her scorn.
She had said to herself that she would release him from his obligations. That, let him plead as he might, she would not go to him a portionless and nameless bride. No! not though he should suffer nearly as much as herself. Never 1 never I
This resolve was not shaken as she sat there, allowing him to hold her hand, her whole frame kindling and thrillihg at his touch. The more she admired, respected, worshiped him, the less would she permit him to enter into an alliance not consonant with what he had a right to expect and could command. He had wooed her as the Lady Augusta—he should not wed her as a nameless and portionless girl.
“Never!” she repeated it to her own heart, as she watched him lying there so feebly, and answered his smile wjth one almost as cheerful. But this was no time to tell him so. Exhausted by the effort to reach her, he could bear no more excitement at present. ■ To-day she would nurse and tend him—she would not too much repel him. To-morrow she would make known to.him her resolution.
Mrs. Perkins came In with the servant who brought the coffee.
“\Ve are glad to see you, Mr. Douglass,” she said, heartily, as she saw him properly served. And she darted a triumphant glance at her young mistress, which said; “He could not shake you off, my beauty I”
Lady Augusta answered the affectionate glance with a pensive smile. Although it could not shake her resolve, it was a satisfaction that she was at least to have the privilege of rejection.
Her power over her lover had been greater than that of hisselfinterest, and what sweeter triumph would a woman crave than that?
“He looks miserable, Lady Augusta. I’ve ordered a fire In his room. He must go to it, and to bed. He’s not fit to sit up. He’ll have a relapse as certain as can be.”
“Oh, do nut say that!” cried the young lady.
“He will. He’s feverish now—his fever’s rising. I wonder at the doctor letting him travel in such a state I”
“He did not let me! I just came,” said the invalid, laughing.
“Well, you must to bed now.”
“Do you order me, ma’am?”
“I advise you, sir. And 1’11 give you a fever-powder. I'm pretty familiar with the medicine-chest. To-morrow we will see whether you are to be allowed the society ot my lady.”
A footman supported Mr. Douglass up the stairs to his bedroom. He had over-exerted himself, and now felt quite prostrated.
Mrs. Perkins was a good nurse. She attended upon him until, late in the evening, he fell into a refreshing sleep.
“He’ll be aH right in the morning, I dare say,” she replied to Lady Augusta, who was hovering in the corridor to get a message before she retired. “The danger of a relapse is over—if he don’t get too worried or tired again. You must bo very careful what you say to him at present, my dear.”
The old lady was cunning in giving this caution. She guessed at the girl’s purpose to break her engagement,, and she meant to prevent it for a few days, hoping that* in the meantime, her love would get the better of her scruples.
For several days a threatening fever hung about the young gentleman, who had been so imprudent as to- leave his bed without his physician’s permission; but it never amounted to a serious relapse. After the first week, Mr. Douglass began to mend very rapidly; the bracing weather of the early winter, as well as the gentle attentions of the girl he loved, brought him up wonderfully fast.
As soon as he could craw! down to-the dining-room he began to teaze Lady Augusta to fulfill her engagement at the time first set —between Christmas aud New Year’s—a period now only some two or three weeks in the future. Then,, indeed, the poor girl had a struggle with her own heart. With her lover there in the house, and ill, and showing his feeling for her in every look and action, it grew hourly hard and harder for her to deny him. But her pride was equal to the emergency. She wished at first to break the engagement entirely. Then, when she saw how that wounded him, she was Obliged to compromise. She would not marry him until the impending suit was decided, which was now, she understood, set for February.
The lover fought stoutly against this decision. He argued that she needed his love and protection through the trial more than ever; and that he should be much freer to devote himself to her service, if he had a husband’s right to labor in her behalf.
These arguments brought sweet blushes to her cheeks and bright tears to her eyes; but she would not yield. They had not been engaged so long, she said, but that he could afford to wait.
While things were in this state at the Villa, Lord Harry came home. The sisters who clung about him, the friend who greeted him so warmly, did not need to be told that he had been unsuccessful—his weary, care-worn countenance betrayed the truth.
That evening his experiences in Naples were thoroughly discussed; he related his adventures from beginning to end.
“You ought never to have left until you had extorted the desired information from that cunning priest,” remarked Doug lass, thoughtfully “From his conduct, I do believe he had something to tell.”
“That is just the inference my lawyer drew.”
“You say Hawkseye has gone to Brazil T”
“Yes. He is well out to sea by this time. And what do you think he discovered before he sailed? Why, that the enemy had already forwarded a man to the same port. It shows, at all events, that their testimony is not so overwhelming but that they would gladly add to it.”
“I can think of nothing but the priest,” continued Mr. Douglass.
“How strange that my aunt should die just a day too soon,” mused Clare. “I should like to go to Naples and visit .the very places where she died and where our mother was born and married.”
“We will live there, my pet,” said her brother.
When the one most important topic had been discussed, Mr. Douglass began to make a complaint of the w-.y Lady Augusta was treating him. But, if he hoped for an ally on the brother’s side, he did not gain one. Lord Harry evidently admired his sister’s decision.
“She is right,” he said, “let the matter rest for the present. You are acting from impulse now, my dear Arthur. Alter the suit is legally decided—if. it is. decided against us—if you still hold to your present mind, then I shall not deny you my influence.”
It was then definitely arranged to defer the wedding. It was
; the library to look them1 over, while the rest of the family dis persed to their rooms. There we^e several friendly missives frefiv
I acquaintances, making offers of continued regard, and hoping i that he would not be cast down under life present trying circuni-stances-»a very few of these showing him that the entire world!
i was not at? selfish as it had seemed to him of late. There were business letters of no great importance, only Lord Harry noticed : that all the tradesmen with' whom, at th'eir own request, he had chanced to^tttike a biil, had been in a hurry to send it in a fort-
• night In advance of the regular time.
At last he came to a creamy,-delicately-scented envelope lying at the bottom’of the heap. It was directed1 in a lady’s hand. A soft thrill ran through him as he held it—he did not recognize the writing, yet he knew, by magnetism’ from- whom ft came. He felt it before the monogram on the seal attracted his- eye. It was ’ Agnes’ initials. Agitated at the very thought that this had been ■ touched biT her—that she had written to him- he tore open the ; wrapper and spread out the dainty sheet within:
“My Lord Harry:'
uMy Dear Friend':—My aunt wishes me to address you a question > Why do you pass us without a visit when you are in London? She feels hurt'at your neglect. She has an idea that you ought to be able to recognize your true friends, and J am of the same opinion. Will' you not honor us with'a call the next time you are in town?- I am remaining here on purpose to see you.’ If I did not hope to meet you soon; I should go home;
“With my aunt’s regards, and my own, I remain, sincerely, your friend, Agnus Adele Ma'cLeod ”
The reader kissed the signature; he was alone,-and did not blush at such a foolish act. He knew thof Agnes meant, by this little note, to convey to him the intelligence that hen feelings had not been changed by the misfortune which bad overtaken him.
“How noble, how high-minded she is’” lie whispered.
Then he bethought him to look at the date—it was- ten days back. What would she think of his silence?—that be meant to insult her by a total rejection of her offered triemlship Sbe could put no other construction upon it: Arad she had spoken of going home! Perhaps she had already left tPie city Perhaps she would go home and marry Hutt giant cousin ot hers’, who, at least, never treated her with such apparent contefnpt.
All night Lord Harry tormented himself with such fancies. Ue was up early the next morning, preparing tor a trip to London. He did not wait to breakfast with the family, as ne desired cP get the early train; but went down and obtained a cup of tea; an egg and slice of toast from the cook. He was dressed wnh more care than he had lately exhibited in his attire. It w as :hs intention to make a morning call before the dandies ol Loauan were out of their beds. Leaving word that he would be ‘j-jnie die nest day and apologies for his abrupt departtire, lie was ml in aoo I reason.
i Clare laughed when she heard, at the oreakfast tub e of ‘‘is ib-1 sence.
“It was that letter from a lady which took him a wav,” she-said. '“I studied the monogram, it was from Miss McLeod "
“Then we will not complain of his desertion.-’ smiled Lad# Augusta.
At noon Lord Harry presented himself at Mrs. MacLeod’s. That lady was out on a morning round of shopping.
“Is Miss MacLeod at home!”
His voice nearly faltered, for he certMnly expected to hear that: she had returned .to Scotland. But no r the servant nodded. The-man threw open the door of the well known morning-room,
“The Earl of Bramblethorpe,” he announced, loftily,
Lord Harry had an instant’s sight ot Agnes, sitting with her head on one hand, the other, holding her embroidery, dropped-' listlessly in her lap, her beautiful lace very sad. before the announcement of his name caused her to rise quickly anchturn toward him.
He entered, and the servant closed the door upon theme
Agnes stood still, trying to appear less startled than slip was— summoning in vain her maiden pride and modesty to keep down the bounding of her heart and the colon which rushed to Iier cheeks.
Lord Harry, too, was making a tremendous effort. He had not meant to “tell his love” while his cloak of disgrace and expected poverty clung about him. But what worldly prudence can staad between two hearts that pant to rush together?
As he looked upon her in her living, palpitating beauty, saw the blush and the tremor, and met her tell-tale eyes, the barriers-were swept away like cobwebs in the storm ot joy and passion^, whidi overcame him like a whirlwind.
“Agnes!” he pleaded, holding out his arms.
A moment she wavered—then came to him.
“She half-inclosed him with her arms, She pressed him with a meek embrace. And bending back her head, looked up, And smiled into his lace.
” ’Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly ’twas a bashful art. That he might rather feel than see The swelling of her heart.
Then, for the first time, he kissed the rosy, fragrant mouHi. They stood there in a silence full of tumultuous bliss.
“O, Agnes! 11 did not mean to take advantage of your love! I did not purpose to speak at this time!” at last exclaimed her visitor
“You have not spoken,” she responded, recovering from her blissful confusion, and smiling with ravishing archness. “You have not said a word since you came into this room I”
“But I have betrayed myself!”
“And have not I ?”
“But lam a ruined man. I have no right to ask----------’’ She pressed her soft hand over his lips.
“Hush!” she said. “I love you a thousand times more now that you are poor, and need me! Why. I have always oeen poor I I shall know how to plan and economize splendidly If you had remained so lordly a creature as you once wece, I should have felt like an intruder in your coroneted family. Now I am—not— afraid—to say how much----” Here she broke down, hiding her blushing face on his shoulder.
“How much what, my sweetest Agnes?’’
“Hove you!” she concluded, with astonishing boldness. “Angel!”•murmured the lover.
“Far from it,” she responded; “besides, I would prefer being a woman just now. But really, my Lord Harry----”
‘'Plain Harry, now, as you know.”
“Really, Harry, I expected nothing less than that I should have to become a woman’s right disciple, and be the first one to declare myself. Your preposterous pride was nearly-fatal to me!”
“And would you have done it, sweet?”
“I believe I should have been driven to it! And what do you think would have given me the courage t”
“I cannot think. A woman’s desire to comfort me, I dare say.”
“Not entirely, sir. I should have dared to.have written—‘Come to me, I love you, because I know that—you loved met’ ”
“Oh!” .
“Why, of course! Otherwise ishould have died, silent.”
“I wish now I had stayed away and made you say it! I do believe it is sweet to be courted. Our sex loses that exquisite pleasure.”
“It has its compensations,’ was the arch response.
Thus, in the gayety of their great, new happiness the lovers jested, and teased, and flattered each other. Everything on earth was obliterated from their minds except their owii joy. The sun shone into that little morning-room with a glory so utterly new and beyond his previous efforts that the young couple could not conceive what had given him such a summer brightness in December.
For the day and the hour, love was exalted over all things’. The loss of an.earldom was like the loss of a Rower to the young; man on/that day—of as little consequence. He was almost glad that bis troubles had thus proved the depths of Agnes’ devotion. He could now be entirely certain that she loved himself aloue. Was he worthy of such love? Yes; for he paid it back with a love as unalloyed.
The first breath of the chilly outside world which blew upon their summer-bud of bliss came in with Mrs. MacLeod, who* bustling into the morning-room from her shopping expedition* almost sniffed.when she saw who sat on the sola by her niece, holding that young lady’s hand.
“Humph 1” she snarled. “How do you do, Mr. Bramblethorpe?’* The fact is, Agnes had used some dissimulation in putting forth her aunt’s name instead of her own in that note she had written. It was the prompting of maiden modesty, as she could not bring herself to say, “T desire you to visit me,” etc. He saw through, the girlish artifice instantly; but he was too thoroughly nappy "to be disconcerted now. He could hold his own against a dozen aunts, with that small hand nestled so confidingly m his own.
“I am quite well,” he responded, rising courteously, “and very happy, for your niece has promised some day to marry me.”
“And live on oat-meal porritch, I suppose, an’ briug up your bairns on the samel” growled the old lady, flouncing out of the room to lay off her things up-stairs.
Agnes blushed and Harry laughed.
“Even that will not be so dreadful,” he said, kissing her.
[TO BE CONTINUED.] ----------------------------
HISTORICAL ITEMS.
“Wildcat Ned doesn’t want any of you to come,” the boy said, observing the preparations being made. “He told me so. He said he could get Nettie if anybody could, and your best way was to stay here and watch, for he was afraid the Cayuses would make an attack upon this mission next.”
“Did Wildcat Ned say that.?” several voices asked.
“Yes, he did,” replied the boy, who was quite out of breath from the exertions he had made. “He told me that while we was ------------------------------------------------.................
, running up to the forks—I was running, he wasn’t. And told me I his absence. There was quite a bundle of these. He retired to
not until bedtime, and they had talked themselves weary, that Lord Harry thought to ask for tHe letters which had arrived in
The following are the circumstances under which Cap. tam Porter, of the U. S. frigate Essex, was challenged by Sir James Lucas Yeo, commander of the English frigate Southampton, during the war of 1812: A week after Jie declaration of war, a writer in a New York paper charged Capt. Porter with cruelly treating an English seaman on, board of the Essex, who refused to fight against his coun-trymeu,. pleading, among other reasons, that if he was-caught,, he would be hung as a deserter from the British navy.. This story reached Sir James Lucas Yeo, commander of the frigate Southampton, then on the West India station. By a prisoner in his hands, who was sent home on parole, he forwarded a message to Porter, which appeared in the following language on the 18th of September, 1812, in the Democratic Pres&, printed in Phila-' delphia: “A passenger of the brig Lyon, from Havana to New York, captured by the frigate Southampton, Sir James-Yeo, commander, is requested by Sir James Yeo to present his compliments to Captain Porter, commander of the American frigate Essex—would be glad to have a tete-a-tete anywhere between the Capes of Delaware and the Havana, where he would have the pleasure to break his own sword over his damned head, and put liim for-ward in irons.” To this indecorous challenge Captain Porter replied as follows, on the same day: “Captain.Por-ter,. of the United States frigate Essex, presents his-compliments to Sir James Yreo,.H. B. M.’s frigate SouLhamp-t®n, and accepts with pleasure his polite invitation^, L£ agreeable to Sir James, Capt..Porter would prefer meeting near the Delaware, where, Capt. P. pledges his honor io Sir James, that no other American vessel shall interrupt their tete-a- tete. The Essex may be known by a flag bearing the motto—free, trade and sailors’ rhsht^ and when that is struck to, the Southampton,,Capt.. K will deserve the treatment promised by Sir dames.” Here the matter ended^. The coveted tete-a-tete never occurred.
The English cotton manufacturers took their first great start in 1761, when the cotton weavers commenced using the “fly shuttle,” which enabled the workman to make twice as much cloth as he had done before. That was followed by the inventions of Watt with the steam engine, which placed an almost unlimited power at the service of the producing classes. These were supplemented by the invention, in 1767, of the spinning jenny, by James Hargreaves, a carpenter; of the spinning frame, in 1768, by Richard Arkwright, a barber? of the mule, in 1779, bv Samuel Crompton; and the power-loom, by Dr. Cartwright, which superseded hand labor in weaving.
John Jacob Astor, was born at Waldorf, near Heidelberg, July 17, 176S, and died at New York, March 29,1848. He left by his will $400,000, to establish “a public library in the city of New York.” Dr. Cogswell was made librarian, May, 1848, went to Europe, and in four months bought 20,000 books for $20,000, and in a short time afterward bought 50,000 more, and the library was opened, with about 80,000 volumes in all, Jan. a, 1854, in the present building. In January, 1856, William B. Astor, son of the founder, gave the land to double the size of the building, which has since been done, and it has now room for over 200,000 volumes.
The portrait of Anonio Paiearfo, a distinguished re former of the sixteenth century, and executed for heresy at Rome in 1570, has lately been discovered at Veroli, in Italy.
The Ashburton Treaty was concluded at Washington, D. C., August 9,1844, by Alexander Baring (Lord Ashburton), and Daniel Webster, then Secretary .of State, plenipotentiaries.
Mr. Disraeli was Premier of England exactly 281 days.
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The Public Schools.
The importance of general education—indeed its necessity to the maintenance of free democratic republican institutions and to the successful solution of the problem of popular self-government—is so well recognized that, at this late day, a treatise on the subject would be quite superfluous, It is therefore not from any belittling of the value of the educational interest that the New York Weekly offers a word of criticism. Neither is it from any underestimate of the educational system now in operation. That system is, as a whole, remarkably comprehensive, well considered in its methods, and satisfactory in its practical results. Nor is it from any lack of appreciation of the labors of those charged with the execution of the system. Throughout the length and breadth of the land there are thousands of teachers who add to skill and careful preparation for their work a continuous enthusiasm in its performance— whose ample knowledge is accompanied with tireless zeal. When we remember what vast numbers of people have been educationally provided for, and fitted to engage in competition for the highest rewards of intelligent industry in whatever calling, who, but for the public schools, would have matured in ignorance and fallen into a vicious and wretched way of life—when we remember this, we can only refer, with respectful admiration, to the system and its faithful, self-denying exponents.
Still it is of our public schools as of many other excellent institutions—they must be closely watched and judiciously criticized if we would preserve them from the abuses that inevitably tend to decay. “Eternal vigilance is the price” not only of “liberty,” but of the agencies by which liberty is made a living reality. It would be strange indeed if the public school system, extending so widely as it does, involving the expenditure of such large sums of money, for which the people are taxed, employing great numbers of persons, and controlled as to its machinery by meja in public, official, political life—it would be strange indeed if the system were wholly free from abuses; if evils did not occasionally creep in and crop out, impairing its usefulness, if not threatening Its permanent existence.
We have just used a word which suggests the chief danger to which the public schools, in great cities at least, are exposed—“political.” That their management has sometimes fallen into the hands of the politicians cannot be denied. A Board of Education ought to be composed of the very best men of the community—men of cultivation and executive ability, and, above all, men unselfishly devoted to the public service, having no end in view but the promotion of educational interests. An analysis of the Boards of Education of some of our cities would show how rarely these conditions are satisfied. Instead of the best citizens, the members are sometimes the worst-rude, uncultivated pot-house politicians, frequenters and keepers of bar-rooms considerably beneath the first class, kt is no secret that membership of the Board has often been sought, not because the applicant had any taste or aptitude for its responsible duties, but because it was a stepping-stone to political preferment. A vulgar leader of the ward primary would have himself made a member of the Board of Education, because the patronage thus secured would enable him to have himself made an aiderman, a supervisor, an assemblyman, and so on. And thus many a coarse ruffian, rising gradually to high position, has begun his career by assuming to take charge of the important, delicate and difficult interests of education, while himself wholly destitute of education. The mere statement of the practice sufficiently exposes its burlesque character.
The result, of course, has been the political management, or mismanagement of the schools. They ought to be as free from partisanship as a church or a charitable society. There is nothing that should be so jealously guarded from the curse of politics as the school. It has, as a matter of fact, often been a politician’s machine. Teachers have been appointed, not because of their qualifications, but because of their political availability and pliability. The consequences are incompetency, indifference and neglect of duties, with which only the most skillful and conscientious should be trusted.
There is a reason other than political for the unfitness of many of the teachers of the public schools. A large proportion are women, and they engage in the business, not as one they intend to pursue steadily, making it a life work, but as a merely temporary expedient. Young girls who are waiting and hoping for a domestic settlement, support themselves in the ante-mairiage interval by teaching, because it is apparently easy and is more “genteel” than manual labor. Others, compelled to live in a narrow and economical way at home, find in the teacher’s salary the means of supplying ihe dress-elegance the feminine heart craves, and gratifying other luxurious tastes. For these and other reasons women address themselves to teaching, not as a regular business, but as a passing occupation.
The effects of this incompetency are seen mainly in the primary department. The higher positions cannot be filled at all without something like adequate preparation, but it is thought “anybody can teach in the primary.” A mistaken notion. Peculiar skill is needful to the intellectual care of children at the time when they are most impressible. Until the notion is eradicated and a reform in the system of appointing teachers is accomplished, the pubMc schools will not be what they should and might be.
Thanks to Our Mail Subscribers.
During the past two months the subscriptions to the New York Weekly have been more than double what they were for the same period of last year. And few of our mail subscribers forward money without expressing words of encouragement and praise—sincere eulogy of what they consider the best story and sketch paper in the the world. Many of them inform us that they have induced acquaintances to subscribe for the New York Weekly; and, in proof of the assertion, send the best possible evidence—the names and money of the friends to whom they refer. All this is very gratifying, as indicating that our readers are not only satisfied, but delighted, with the literary entertainment regularly placed before them. Should our mail subscriptions increase at the same rate for two or three monUis longer, they will soon swell our circulation, which is at present the largest of any paper in the United States, to the number we desire-400,000- We return our heartfelt thanks to the voluntary workers for the New York Weekly, and trust they will persist in their efforts until our chief wish shad have been attained—a circulation of 400,000 copies. ________________________________
Mrs. Fleming' s Now Story,
entitled
TERRIBLE SECRET"
will be commenced soon after the compleiion of “ A Wonderful Woman.”
Rough Sketches
OF
ROUGH CHARACTERS.
BY FRANCIS S. SMITH.
Alexander Pope has said that
“The proper study of mankind, is man,” and I reckon he was right, although, to say the truth, I fear it is a study with which no human being, however severe a student, has ever yet become thoroughly familiar; for the reason that it takes “all sorts to make a w’orld,” and lie is an able man who can analyze in a lifetime even one sort.
For myself, I do not pretend to be a student of human nature, nor do I claim to look very far beneath the surface of things in any regard, but I seldom go on board a ferry boat or railroad car that 1 do not meet with some character who amuses me.
Fifteen or twenty years ago, when beggars, peddlers, ventriloquists and vocalists had full swing on board our ferry boats, the passage to and from the city, was a never-failing source of amusement to me. At that time I lived in the Eastern District of Brooklyn, and well do I remember many of the characters whose peculiarities at that time broke the monotony of an hour’s voyage from South Seventh street to Peck Slip in the commodious and fastsailing steamer Minnesota, which is still running on the Grand street ferrv. There was old Cooley, the negro whitewasher, who lectured regularly, morning and evening, whose imagination took a wide range, and who discoursed on every imaginable subject, “from grave to gay —from lively to severe.” Then there was the negro ventriloquist, and the man without arms, who carried his hat around in his teeth to collect pennies, and who invariably said when a passenger refused a pittance: “Oh, well, never mind—if you haven’t the change with you just now, to-morrow will do as well,”—and the blind man who would exclaim at intervals, while being led through the cabin by a dirty-faced tatterdemalion, in a voice “short, sharp and decisive:” “Help the blind!” as though each person present was obliged to contribute his mite on pain of instant death in case of refusal.
But the parties who interested me most were two boys who traveled together—the one to sing—the other to pass the hat around.
One of these boys—the vocalist—was about sixteen years of age. A gaunt, raw-boned youth, with unkempt red hair, freckled face, sickly blue eyes, and pug nose. His companion was some two years younger and not a bit better looking, and both were ragged and dirty in the extreme-perfect marvels of nastiness, in fact.
The elder boy—the vocalist—had a most extraordinary voice. It was different from anything to which I had ever listened. It was a cross between the rasping of a file and the croaking of an antiquated bull-frog, and when he opened his mouth one was always fearful that his jaws might become set—caught on the center, so to speak—and remain extended.
One beautiful morning these two worthies entered the ladies’ cabin, and while the younger one assumed a subdued and rather pensive expression of countenance, the elder struck an attitude in the center of the cabin and commenced business. This is what be warbled; and about the style iu which he warbled it:
“I want to De an angel. And with the angels stand,”
(Here he scratched his head with his right hand.)
“A crown upon my forehead,” A harp within myt hand
(Here he vigorously dug his nails into his body with his left hand.)
“There, right before my Saviour, So glorious and so bright,”
(Here he again scratched his head.)
“I’ll wake the sweetest music, And praise Him day and night.”
(Here he drew the cuff of his sleeve across his nose.)
Thus he went on, and before he had ended his somewhat mournful hymn his companion had finished his collection and made a break for the door. I could see that the vocalist was excited. There was something like irenzy in his fish-like eye, and biting the last stanza in the middle he bolted after his companion. I was curious to see what would follow, so I left the cabin close upon the heels of the vocalist, just in time to hear him exclaim, as he seized his partner in business by the nape of the neck:
“Timmy Dolan, you bloody snoozer, if you don’t rake fair I’ll take and bust your snoot! I want my whack! D’ye hear that, s-a-y ? D’ye s’pose I’m a-going to do all the chin-music and let you get away with all the soap?”
1 could not help thinking, as I contemplated the scene, what a sweet-scented angel that boy would have made if, like Enoch, he could have been translated to Heaven just as he stood.
While on the subject of singing, I am reminded of an incident which happened once in a public house kept by an eccentric old fellow who was known as old Leatherhead. Poor fellow! as Dick Swiveller would say, “He has gone to that thingumbob from whence no—what-d’ye-call-it—ever comes back again,” and may he rest in peace!
I drooped in at old Leatherhead’s establishment one night, and witnessed a scene which I shall never forget while life lasts, always provided that I do not die non compos mentis. It was a scene, moreover, which words will very inadequately describe. It should have been witnessed to be fully appreciated.
There were but two persons, beside the landlord, present. One of these I will call Old Hilarity. He was a man some fifty years of age and about as big as “all out doors.” He was of medium Hight only, but he was as broad as he was long, and had a stomach of huge proportions—“a fair round belly with good capon lined.” He would weigh at least three hundred pounds. His face was as full, and round and red as the setting sun, and he wore a beard which, like that of Aaron, fell “his garment skirts unto.” He would, in appearance, have made a splendid sign for the door of a toy-shop during holiday times. He was a perfect representation of the Santa Claus which you see in the story-books. He was “a fellow of infinite jes’t and most excellent fancy”—was well educated, had a keen appreciation of wit and humor, and was brimful and overflowing with fun at all times. His companion I had never seen before, but I soon discovered that he was a character. He was a weather-beaten, rough-looking man, perhaps fifty years of age, with a lit tie bullet-shaped head and a stolid-looking countenance.
“Frank,” exclaimed Old Hilarity, as I entered, “you’re the very man I wanted to see just at this moment! Allow me to introduce you to my old tried and true friend Captain Tom Salt. Tom, this is Frank Smith. I want you to know him because I am certain he will appreciate you! Frank,” he continued, turning to me, “you wouldn’t believe now that that old porpoise—that old weather-beaten hulk, to whom I liave just introduced you, is in his way, one of the greatest men living ?”
“Indeed!” I replied, as I eyed the captain over. “I am happy to make the acquaintance of so distinguished a person. May 1 ask in what particular direction the captain’s genius shows itself?”
“As a vocalist,” replied Old Hilarity, without a smile on his countenance—“m early life he adopted the sea as a profession—he is a great sailor—a navigator second to none—a man of prodigious enterprise, indomitable pluck and wonderful perseverance. He has plowed the raging main for thirty years, and has made lor himself a record of which he may well feel proud. But he never should have gone to sea. The stage is his proper place—the lyric stage. He is a vocalist as far superior to the Italian vagabonds who strut and howl before the elite of our large cities as the moon is superior to a farthing rush-light. But he is an American—that is his misfortune—native talent is never appreciated. But you shall hear for yourself. The captain will give you a taste of his quality. He wouldn’t do it for everybody, but when I tell him that you are an American born—that you believe in fostering American genius—that you have a keen appreciation of the grand and beautiful m every branch of art and science, and that vou are connected with that mighty engine—the press—when 1 tell him all this, I know he will oblige you with a song. Cap,” he continued, turning to his companion, “give us that affecting little djity of yours, ‘Three times around went our gallant snip.’*”
The captain did not seem to think that Old Hilarity’s encomiums were at all extravagant. He received them in an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, although at the same time with a pleased expression of countenance, as who should say, “There’s a man, now, as understands me. He don’t say any more of me than what I desarve, but everybody don’t do me even that justice, and it’s pleasant when one has oue’s genius recognized and commented onto.”
“The captain isn’t in very good voice to-night,” continued Old Hilarity, apologetically, “but he is not like most singers. He never stops to complain of a cold or other indisposition. He is too obliging for that. If he intends to sing at all, he sings at once and does not keep his audience iu suspense. Now then, cap, go on, old boy. We are ail attention!”
The captain rolled his quid around once or twice—then he coughed to clear his throat—then he threw his head back and opened his mouth, and the music poured forth. Great Caesar, what a voice! What intonation I What gesticulation! What enunciation! It was terrific! It was fierce! It was absolutely stunning! And he had, -withal, an impediment in his speech. As though his tongue were double the usual thickness, or as though his mouth were full of something besides tobacco and melody.
* Oh, landsmen, listen unto me— A story I will tell.
About the good ship Rover Aud the late that her befelL
* On Friday morning we set sail. And we’d not got far from land. When there we spied a fair mermaid With a comb and a glass in liaiuL
* Now, we had not sailed very far Before we struck a reef.
And there was not a sail in sight To bring to us relief.” i
“’Vast heaving just one moment, cap,” here broke In Old Hilarity. “1 want you to understand, Frank,” he continued, addressing me, “that these mermaids you read about are not entirely mythical characters. I always supposed they were till the captain taught me differently. He captured one himself once, somewhere in the South Pacific, and intended to bring it home for Barnum; but it caught the measles from a monkey on shipboard and died, and they were forced to bury it at sea. There is one singular thing about these mermaids—a ship never sights one but what she is sure to be wrecked. Now go on, cap., and give us the rest.” The captain continued:
“ Then up spoke tbe captain of our gallant ship. And a well-spoken man was he.
Saying, ‘I’ve got a wife in New York town, Aud to-Bight she a widow wul be.’ ”
“One moment, cap/ /—just one moment,” broke in Old
Hilarity. “1 want ye contained in that last men know about the c
)u to reflect a little on the matter [ verse, Frank. What do we lands-tangers of the sea ? There was that
rart, brave, noble-hearted fellow,
captain now—a stab vi without doubt. He ------------------o-------------- -----
town, who would lot >k for his coming, and look in vain. The captain idolized I) ;er, and in that moment of terrible peril he could only thir ik of her heart-agony and her forlorn widowhood. The. reflection is a bitter one—too bitter —1 cannot bear it Le\t us all take a drink.”
The glasses were repl( enished, and then the captain eon-
had a blooming bride in New York
tinued: >
“ Then up spoke t he cabin boy of our gallant ship, And a well-spo\ ken boy was he,
Saying, ‘I’ve got 11 mother in New York town, And to-night sh{ e’s a weeping for me.’ ”
“Avast there, cap!” ex claimed Old Hilarity, “I must say one word about that I oor boy. 'Think of it, Frank! Think of it, and restrain y! pr tears if you can! The only support of a widowed mot er! A promising lad! A good boy! I’ll bet two dollars i \id a half he was a good boy, but what did that avail li n at that trying hour ? You
must excuse these tears.
are tributes no less to
humanity than to genius. 1 The story in itself is harrowing enough, but the pathe^ p tones of the captain’s voice, the exquisite melody andtb\ e sentiment combined, knock me crazy, and that’s the ttH th of it. Go on, cap.—go on, and draw it as mild as you <i/an. You always do get me bellowing like a baby.” [
“Then up spoke a pa ger of our gallant ship, And a mild-spoken |man was he,

Saying: ‘I would give I ten thousand pounds To be with my family.’ ”
“Poor fellow!” interjected would, but of what use wa well have made it ten milli on the subject. I am not ma Go on, cap.”
Id Hilarity. “Of course he money there? He might as pounds. But I can’t dwell e of stern enough material.
our gallant ship, he,
“Then np spoke the cook o And a greasy old dog ~
Saying: ‘I care more for n*y
Than I do for your family.1
ly pots and my pans
upted Oid Hilarity, with
“Stop right there, cap,” inter w a look of bitterness. “I must say one word concerning
that verse. Only think of that dirty, despicable, contemptible old scoundrel!-—amiid all the tribulation and agony of that dreadful moment his debased mind is on his pots and his pans! The diabolical old reprobate! If I had been captain of that ship the last act of my life would have been to hang him to the yard arm! The vindictive old scallawag, to weigh his pots and liis pans against a score of immortal souls! Go on/ cap. I have no patience to dwell longer on that verse!”
“Then three times around went our gallant ship, And three times around went she,
And three times around went our gallant ship, And she sank to the bottom of the sea.”
“I can’t stand it!” exclaimed Old Hilarity, as the
cap-
tain, now thoroughly warmed to his work, roared out the last line of the last stanza; “it is too much for me. Only think of that gallant ship, after spinning around three times, like a cork in a whirlpool, going down with her precious freight on board. The noble captain, the brave cabin boy, the heroic passenger, the greasy old cook, all going down, down, ever so many fathoms deep. It is too much for me. Other men are more stoical, Frank. You can stand there with un wet eyes, but I—I—I ” And here Old Hilarity placed his handkerchief to his eyes and burst into an agony of tears.
“There you go again!” exclaimed the captain. “You’re a-runnin’ over at the scuppers again! I knew you would! If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times, that I never would sing that song for you again, and now I’m determined on it! There, stop your blubberin’, can’t you, and let’s all take a drink!”
There was a world of sympathy and commisseration depicted on the captain’s face as he said this, nor did it vanish till Old Hilarity buried his nose in a pewter of ale, emptied it almost at a swallow, and was ready to smile again.
Historical Anecdotes.
THE DEATH OF CICERO.
BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
Cicero was the Edward Everett of ancient Rome. Could we accept the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, we should believe that the spirit of the Roman orator was again developed in the distinguished Massachusetts senator. The resemblance between the two men is extraordinary. They were both perfect gentlemen, men of the highest culture, of great moral worth, of most att ractive powers of eloquence, enhanced by the minutest attention to all the graces ot expression and action, aristocratic in their tastes, and neither of them strong In moral courage.
In the great conflict in Rome, between aristocratic usurpation and popular equality, Cicero was in warm sympathy with the aristocracy, carefully avoiding a too decisive committal as he anxiously watched the fluctuations of the times. Some successes of Pompey in Spain led Cicero to allow himself to be placed at the head of the aristocratic party. The purity of his private character gave him great influence. He was accused of being accessory to the assassination of 0®sar, the imperial head of the popular party. He prepared a speech, in his own defense, called the.Second Philippic, which is still read with admiration. But he dared not deliver it, lest the senate should rise against him, and the eloquent, scholarly, but timid man sought a retreat amid the shrubbery and flowers bf his villa. Indeed the poet Cowper was hardly less adapted to the storms of State than was Cicero. And yet the orator was ever consumed with rhe desire of grasping that scepter of power which he was quite incapable of wielding.
Mark Antony was the representative of C^snr. He delivered his eulogy; and ail plebeian Rome was carried away with enthusiasm for their martyred leader. The funeral of Usesar was one of the most extraordinary of earthly scenes. It was Ilie custom then, in Rome, to-burn the bodies of the dead. At the funeral there was some dispute as to where rhe funeral pyre should be erected. The body was on a bier of ivory, decorated with scarlet and gold, in the Campus Martins, beneath a gorgeous canopy. Two soldiers stepped forward and set fire to the bier enwrapped in rich, thick, and inflammable drapery. A scene of wild enthusiasm ensued. The ladies rushed forward and threw upon the flames their scarfs and mantles. The soldiers, by tens of thousands, cast upon the pile their javelins and war clubs. The populace rushed into the adjoining temples and dwellings, and, seizing all combustible articles, upon which they comd lay their hands, tables, chairs, altars, heaped them upon the blazing pyre. Never before or since was mortal body consumed in such a volcano of flame.
The populace, now roused to frenzy, were uttering cries against the murderers of Caesar, which sent terror to al! hearts. The leaders of the aristocratic party fled, in dismay, to the distant provinces. Antony was all-powerful in the senate and in the streets of Rome. But the old aristocratic party, the Emigrants, rallied in their wide dispersion, under Junius Brutus in Greece. Thus a powerful army was organized in favor of the old aristocratic regime of Pompey. But the patricians were crushed, in Rome and elsewhere, beneath the iron heel of the plebeian’s foot.
It was a just, but a dreadful recompense, for the ages during which the nobility had rioted in luxury, at the expense of the starving poor. This forgetfulness of the ties of brotherhood, this disposition of one class of men to live at the expense of another, has been, through ail the ages, a fruitful source of woe. A law was passed that all implicated in the assassination of Caesar should be arrested and brought to trial. The aristocratic party was still menacing. A list of the proscribed was made out, with a proclamation which said:
“While we are hastening to attack our enemies abroad, we cannot, with safety, leave so many other enemies behind us in Rome.”
The name of Cicero was on this proscription list, with more than three hundred senators and nobles. The severest penalties were denounced against any who should harbor them. Large rewards were offered for their heads. Cicero was at Tusculum, with bis brother Quintus, when he heard of the proscription. Not a moment was to be lost if they would save their lives. They set out immediately in litters, borne by their slaves, for the sea coast, intending to embark for Macedonia. In the haste and terror of their departure they had forgotten to take rhe means of support. It was decided that Quintus, in disguise, should return to Rome for supplies. It was a perilous undertaking. The two brothers embraced each other and parted in tears. The vigilance of the police arrested Quintus. They first seized his son and put him tn the torture. The lather heard the shrieks, which unendurable agony extorted, and surrendered himself. A heart-rending scene ensued, as both father and son were immediately pur. to deat h.
Cicero reached the coast and entered a small vessel. Suddenly he changed his mmd, and returned to the shore, probably to await the arrival of his brother. He spent the night in Cicerii, a sleepless night, filled with alarms. Receiving no tidings from his brother, and seeing nothing before him in exile but beggary and final arrest, he despairingly decided to return to Rome, there to commit suicide. But his slaves, who loved their kind master; so earnestly remonstraied, that he again set sail. But the wind was contrary, the sea rough, and he became deathly sick. He was then off the harbor of Gn^ta. “Let me die,” he said, “in my country which I have so often saved.” He insisted, against all remonstrances, in being put onshore.
It was ihe seventh of December, forty-three years before the birth of Christ. He owned a villa nearby, which he reached in safety. But his eagle-eyed foes had got track of him. His watchful slaves received intelli-gence that his pursuers were near by. They almost forced him into the litter, and hurried along through the thick but leafless woods of his own grounds toward the shore. The executioners had already reached the villa. A centurion, named Herennias, led them. They pursued the fugitives, guided by some miscreant, and soon overtook their victim. Cicero heard the rustle of their approaching footsteps, and knew full well the doom which awaited him. He ordered his defenseless attendants to put down the litter and forbade them to attempt any resistance. Drawing back the curtain of the litter, and puttingout his head, “Stroking his chin,” writes Plutarch, “as lie used to do, with his left hand, he looked steadfastly upon his murderers, his person covered with dust, his beard and hair untrimmed, and his face worn with troubles.”
“Here veteran,” said he, addressing Herennias, “if you think it right strike.” Even the brutal Roman soldiery were moved to pity at the sight of his silvered locks and pallid countenance. They covered their faces with their lands, as Herennias stepped lorward and, with three blows, sawing rulher than cutting, severed his head from
1ns body. Thus fell this extraordinary man, whose renown has already survived the lapse of nearly two thousand years. He had attained the age of sixty-three years, eleven months, and five days.
His hands and head were cut off and sent to Antony in Rome. The promised reward was eagerly paid, an enormous sum being added to it. His eloquence was more to be dreaded than any sword. Antony’s wife, Fulvia, took the ghastly trophy in her lap, drew out the tongue, “whose sarcasms she had so often felt,” and pierced it with her bodkin. The head and hands were then nailed to the Rostra, there to be consumed by the elements. Rome had witnessed many a tragic scene, but perhaps no sight more sad than this.
GOING TO CHURCH.
BY REV. ALFRED TAYLOR.
It is recorded that once upon a time the heart of a minister of rhe gospel was made exceedingly glad by the regular and punctual attendance at church, of a man clad in rather plain garments, who seemed to be a very attentive hearer. Having lor some time enjoyed the encouragement which the presence of such a hearer cannot fail to afford, he one day congratulated the man on his faithfulness in attending, and in giving such reverent heed to the services of the sanctuary. The man replied, “Yes, it’s a good thing to be regular. I always like to come to church. I’m tired when my week’s work is done, and I like to come on Sunday and take my seat in the pew, and put my feet up on the stool, and just sit there, and think of nothing!^
The good minister’s gladness was changed to sadness when he found out the true state of affairs with his apparently faithful hearer of the Word.
It is not safe to assume that this gentleman’s reason for enjoying church services, is a fair index of the motives of the church-going public. The great mass of peonle who attend church are led thither by an honest desire'for the receiving and the giving of that which is good. True worshipers may be counted by the hundreds of thousands. The great family of the varied denominations composing the Christian church embraces myriads of those whose convictions are honest, whose purposes are pure, whose zeal for doing their duty pervades their whole character, and whose present life is made happy by firm faith in a golden hereafter, which shall be infinitely better than the best things we now enjoy.
It is the glory of the Christian religion that it is adapted to all people, and calculated to reach all. True, it has not yet reached everybody; nor have provisions yet been made to carry it to all men. There are nor church sittings enough in any of our great cities to accommodate the whole population. But there seem to be more than enough to accommodate all who have as vet been induced to come. The churches which are crowded to overflowing are rhe exceptions. Those which are from half to three-quarters full, are the rule. Yet it wouid be uncharitable to call them failures, on that account. The whole population of a city floes not simultaneously turn out, either for religious or for secular attractions. There are sick and infirm people, who cannot go to church. There are very old people, and very young ones, who need not be expected there. And there are a great many who have never been educated to go, and for whom no church has any attractions.
For the latter class, the duty of the church is obvious. Church-going must be presented to them in such attractive forms as to win them. There is a responsibility resting somewhere; and it is not entirely on those who stay away. To many of them, the idea of paying pew rent is odious. Others allege—some with good reasoning, and some without—that they cannot afford to dress in as good style as their church-going friends and neighbors, and that they must therefore stay away.
There are some people so const ituted that it affords them no pleasure to listen to the pompous platitudes of the Reverend Doctor Fogg. Others are strange enough to refuse to be comforted or edified by hearing Doctor Deadmensbones expound the difference, as he understands it, between the doctrine of Sublapsarianism and that Of Supralapsarianism.
If these learned preachers, from force of habit, keep on in their well-worn tracks, it is but natural that they faii to add to the numbers of those who come to hear their pulpit efforts, or to be led by them in the worship of Almighty God., They will probably continue to retain those to whom they have been accustomed to minister, or those who from mere habit, or from a half-praiseworthy disposition to do penance, prefer to sit under the sound of their voices. But, for anything like compelling the masses to attend their preaching, they cannot be called a success.
We throw our church doors open, and, after a fashion, invite the public to walk in and make themselves at home. But there is a queer incongruity between our invitations and our workings, in the matter of securing the attendance of those whom we invite. There are hundreds of churches in which the prayer is uttered every week, that the Word of the Lord may have free course and be glorified, where all hands, from pastor to organ-blower, would be frightened out of their propriety by the sudden incoming of a crowd which would fill the empty pews. They would think it was pernicious sensationalism, and would be horrified at the prospect of the result of such irregularity.
If the crowd were still to increase to sneh an extent as to require the placing of benches in the aisles, the preacher would be declared guilty of pandering to the depraved taste of a godless multitude, eager for novelties. The fact is that there are some good people who are more afraid of what they call sensationalism than they are of the devil, and who are willing to let the church sleep on and take its rest, even if it sleeps itself to death—provided only that it does so decently, and has a strictly respectable funeral.
It is well that we manifest an interest in the state of religion among the islanders of Terra del Fuego. We may have a wholesome zeal lor the success of missions, from Ashantee to Abyssinia, including both slopes of the Mountains ol the Moon. We may rejoice when all the people of Tongabatoo and Juan Fernandez, and all the other faraway islands of the Pacific, have experienced religion. But meanwhile and firstly there is a mighty work to be done, somehow and by somebody, in reaching with the , gospel the masses of our own native and imported heatheti.
Would that all the churches, of evhry variety of name, । of every shade of complexion of religious belief, wottl-d unite in making mightier efforts than ever to show the public the loveliness of religion, in such a way as lo induce the public to come.in and partake of it. If half the brains and money now lavished on costly competition were put into generous and economical co-operation, we should soon see better results for the capital expended. ' Let us trust God, and be very hopefut Better days are i coming.
mothers often fall into the error of preparing too many garments for infants. Of course it is impossible to judge if the child will be large or small when it is two or three months oid, and in many cases we have known mothers to be obliged to prepare an entirely new ouifit for a babe of four months, the little one having entirely outgrown • the garments first made for it; while in other cases we have seen small children almost lost in their little clothes. It is much better to make just enough to do the little one for a time, and then prepare more costly garments as they are needed. In these days of sewing-machines, when a dress can be made in a day, the making of infants’ wardrobes is comparatively easy.
“Mrs. H. A. B. G.‘” Ripley, Ohio.—All letters addressed to the Work-Box are read and answered. We proposed having orders for catalogues, patterns, hair, &c., in sep-erate sheets from merely questions, to expedite matters. For instance, we get letters of inquiry and orders together. They must lie taken to our order office, and if the orders cannot be filled at once, the letters must be filed until they are. Thus the delay, for questions are not an-. swered until the letters go back to our editorial rooms af-. ter the order is attended to. If our friends write in different sheets, we can divide the questions from the orders, and take them to their right places at once. We are glad you like the New York Weekly, and shall be pleased to serve you at any time. You write a plain, neat hand.
“Mary.”—Black cashmere is considered more elegant than merino and alpaca, and is higher priced, but it certainly requires more care, as the material is light er, and catches dust and lint easily. Yes, you can wear cash-mere at any season. The twill is different as cashmere from the merino.
“Anna H. G.”—The “Fruit of the Loom” is considered about the best muslin for wear. Get organdie muslin for your white dress, by all means, it is much prettier than tarlatan, and far mere useful, as it can be washed when soiled. Wear a muslin of coarser material underskirt with it, and under that a cambric. You can procure a ■ linen slipper or shoe, which will look as well as kid. Cambric morning robes, in white or delicate colors, will be most comfortable then. You may have one of light cashmere in merino for cold mornings. Use silk for full dress.
“Mrs. Addie F.,” of Mo., writes ns just such a letter as we like to get, because she lets us know we are of service to our readers. She says: “Dear Work-Box, I must again thank you for your kind words and advice in regard to dress and fashion. I have made my dresses to look so neatly by your aid, and your patterns, at so little cost, that my husband has bought me a sewing machine, and now I can do all my work without hiring any out. I must thank the Work-Box of the New York Weekly for my invaluable gift, for if it had not. been for you, 1 should not have had my machine. The Work-Box'helps me to make everything 1 wear, and my wish is that the dear old New York Weeki y shall soon have a million readers.” It is now almost too late to make up velvet hats, or any winter material. In about a menth you will be able to find spring hat shapes, and in that time we will know how they shall be trimmed, so if you will write again and remind us of the promise, we will tell you how to make up your spring hat.
“Mrs. C. F. B.”—The material will make a very pretty polonaise. The catalogue sent will give you the desired information in regard to stylesand prices.
“Oki Country.”—No, the buttonhole worker should be called a “guide for working buttonholes nicely,” for it simply indicates where the stitches should be taken, and can only be used by the hand. The price is 50 cents. Sent catalogue as ordered.
“Minnie.”—The rubber bustles are generally liked, but they are more expensive than the steel. They cost $2 and $2 50 each.
“M. W. B.”—We do not confine ourself to any one establishment for our ideas in regard to style. We visit daily large importing establishments, and not contented with those, we have free access to some of the most, fashionable quarters of the private modistes in New York, who not only import fashions, but design to suit the fastidious tastes of the fashionable circles of New York. Ruffled skirts and basques are worn, and are very much in favor, but they are not so popular as the polonaise.
“Lucy A. B.”—Your letter is scarcely appropriate to publish either in the Work-Box or any portion of the New York Weekly. We are sorry for your lonely condition, and hope you may be able in time to find ,a husband to suit you. Do you remember the lines:
M There swims no goose, however gray,
But soon or late, She’ll find some honest gander For her mate.”
“Flora May.”—A very pretty basque is 2,507, price 20 cents. This pattern requires three yards of material. Most of the basque patterns require more velvet than you say you have.
“Mrs. F. J. L.”—Yes, the waists of polonaises should be lined, if made in any winter material, but not the skirls, as they hang more gracefully without lining. Your patterns were sent some time ago—hope they reached you safely and gave satisfaction.
“Ruby Cross.”—We should think pompadour style would be very becoming to you. Square or heart-shaped necked dresses cannot be worn to advantage by thia delicate figures. Such a braid as you mention if all long hair will cost yon about $30. The long stem switches are just as nice looking, and far cheaper. Your sample of hair was lost, so we cannot tell the color. The national trimmings come only in black.
“G. W. Kelley,”—A narrow hat band of crape is quite sufficient.
“Mrs. Mollie Clinch.”—It depends entirely for whom you are in mourning. If for a husband or parent, a year is the length for wearing deep black. If for a child, you can use your own judgment in regard to patting on or raking off mourning. Some do not approve of wearing garments of woe at all, and only do so because ol regard for public opinion. If you wish to wear your gold earrings and chain do so. The brown vail is appropriate at anytime, to protect your eyes from the sun. During the’ summer, light dresses, those with whiteground and purple or black figures will be pretty for you.
“May Clair.”—We cannot advise you what to do in the matter, we can but think t hat you are rather romantic iu your attachment, and it you become well acquainted wJtli • the gentleman you would laugh at your own folly.
“Fannie DeSoto.”—No, we have no patterns for fancy dress cosiumes. You can wear the dress of Undine. Make it of green crepe, trimmed with sea-weed. Your friend will look well as Aurora. Her costume should be of pink gauge or crepe,
ITEMS OF INTEREST.
The Ladies’ Work-Box.
“Evangeline.”—A plain dress is supposed to have but little trimming, if any, and you should have mentioned if you intended your silk for street or house wear. For house, make the black silk demi-train, without flounce, have the polonaise tight-fitting, with basque, and as a finish, use a side plaiting of the silk. Have the sleeves half-flowing and trimmed to match polonaise and basque. For the changeable silk, you can get a fringe containing the colors of the dress, or for ordinary wear, black velvet, or bands of black silk would look handsome, and will not be so expensive as fringe. Your drab and black make with a double flounce in skirt, headed by a quilling or side plaiting of the same. Overskirt and basque will be stylish.' Yes; black basquescan be worn with any colored skirts—so can a black polonaise.
“A. 0. R.”—Night-dress pattern 627 will cost you 15 cents; slip, 2,310,15 cents; yoke robe, 450, 20 cents; shirt, 2,339,10 cents. If you had sent stamp, name, and address, we would have sent, catalogue of patterns.
“Maude and Ella.”—The following patterns will prove of advantage to you in making up your trousseau. Chemise, 2,423, 25 cents; drawers, 1,025, 25 cents; night-dress, with yoke and full sleeves, 2,047, 35 cents; sacque, 1722, 20 cents; unkerskirt, 2,049, 35 cents: corset-cover, 2,198, 15 cents. In order to make a satisfactory selection of styles for your dresses, you had better send stamp, name and address, and get a catalogue. Maud can wear ashes of rose with blue and pearls, and Ella will look well in fawn color and coral.
“Flora.”—There are quite a number of methods said to be efficacious for the destruction of insects on hot-house or room-plants. One is to smoke them with tobacco in the following manner: Place the P»ts on a stand, and around them chairs, or something higher than the plants, and cover them with a quilt or carpet, which shall reach to the floor. Place under the stand a jar or, furnace of live coals, and throw in the fire a handful of moist tobacco, which must be dampened from time to rime, to prevent a flame. Allow this to remain ten or fifteen minutes, and the' insects will drop off. Another way is to take a tub oi soft water, either in the sunshine or in a warm room, invert the plant, holding the hand, or tying a piece of cloth over the soil in the pot, put all the branches in the water, keeping the pot in the hand, drawing it to and fro a lew times; take it out and shake it. If any insects remain, take a small, fine brush, and brush them off, giving another dip, which will clean them for the present. As soon as they appear again, repeat the process—nothing, however, will totally extirpate them. Large pots should not be given to small or weak plants, lor the earth in a large pot to a small plant, with frequent watering, soon becomes sour and stagnated, and utterly obnoxious to the roots of even the strongest growing plants. In watering plants in the right-sized pots with suitable soil, care must be taken to moisten them properly, rs it injures them just as much to give too great a quantity of water as too little. The earth or mold on top of the pot should not be allowed to be perfctly dry, but if made too wet t he roots will decay.
“Mrs. J. C. D.”—A package of infants’ powder will cost you 25 cents. A box containing puff and powder costs from $1 to $2, according to quality of box. It takes about one and a-haif yards for inlants’ slips, and two yards if you wish them a yard long.
“Mrs. A. N. C.,” Beaver—Wishes patterns in full for infants’ wardrobe. We have sent a catalogue from winch she can select those most appropriate. The price of each pattern she will see marked distinctly under the picture.
For infants’ outfit we suggest the following patterns: Bib, 2,150, price 10 cents; drawers, 225, 15 cents; high-necked night dress, 627, 15 cents; high-necked day shp, 2.319, 15 cents; low-necked slip, 761, 20 cents; robe, 450, 20 cents; skirt with bib, 434. 10 cents; flannel skirt and
4®” The monument to Thaddeus Stevens, at Lancaster, Penn., is completed. It is in Schreiner’s Cemetery. The material is Conewago granite. The base weighs six tons. The plinth (lowermost part of the pillar) is 8 feet 6 inches by 4 feet 9 inches. Ou the sides are panels of Italian marble, with simulated drapery of black marble. The inscriptions are as follows: “Thaddeus Stevens—born at Danville, Caledonia county, Vermont, April 4, 1792; died at Washington, D. C., August 11, 1868.” “I repose in this quiet and secluded spot, not from any natural preference for solitude; but, finding other cemeteries limited as to race by charter rules, I have chosen this that I might illustrate in my death the principles which I advocated through a long life—equality of man before his Creator.”
4®* Rufus Mitchell, of Millbridge. Mass., aged 30, recently bled to death from a slight cut. The physician in attendance says: “There is something remarkable about this family, who are here termed as belonging to the bleeding family. None but the males bleed, and they are Hie sons of the females of the same family. For instance, this man has left children; none of them will bleed, but if the girls should have boys in their families they will be of the bleeding kind, but the boys are themselves tree and their families will be the same. I cannot explain this. I have practiced in the family for more than twenty years. During this lime a number of them have died from this z cause, and others have bled, often dangerously.”
4®” A memorial tablet just set up in Winchester Cathedral, England, bears this inscription: “Jane Austen, known to many by her writings,endeared to her family by the many charms of her character, and ennobled by Christian faith and piety, was born at Steventon, in Hants, December 16,1775, and buried in this cathedral July 24,1817. She opened her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness.”
4®“ An important improvement in the manufacture of horse-collars lias just been devised by a Philadelphia mechanic. The collar being stuffed with elastic cork, is light in weight, and adapts itself io the shape of the animal as if it were molded. It. is highly elastic, does not chafe or gall the neck, and, the cork being a non-conductor, injury from heat is prevented.
4®“ A plan is broached in Boston to supply heat, power, and protection from fire to all buildings within 2,000 feet of some huge central boilers, to be located in Winthrop square; and a bill has been introduced in the State Senate to incorporate a company for the purpose, with a capital of $500,000.
4®=“ One of the most remarkable telegraphic triumphs of the age has just been achieved by the recently-constructed cable to Australia. Intelligence of Gen. Grant's re-election on the 5th of November reached Melbourne, via London, at 8 P. M. of the 6th, and was published in the Argus of the 7th.
The new State Capitol at Albany, when completed in 1877, will have cost over ten millions rf dollars, and will be without an equal in dimensions, grandeur. beauty and splendor, except, perhaps, the Nagual Capitol M Washington.
4®- Mrs. Sewell, lately deceased nt Newburyport Mass., was one of a company ol chidren that, some years ago or more, greeted WasbingdG with singing on the occasion of his entrance into thattown.
4®- Bloody Run, Penn., has clanged its name to
Everett City.
Over 23.000 white children M South Carolina do not attend any school.
4®- Mrs. McMullen, of Moline, DL, burnt her bedsteau, the other night, io keep her children from freezing.
4®» Ebenezer Colwell, of Derry, N. H., has tolled the bell at 2.000 funerals win*in 32 years.
4®“ Dr. C. Spier, of Visalift, Cal., has collected upward of 14,000 coins. He has spent 50 years in the work.
4®“ The Countess of Skenns. a Swedish lady, will lead, in person, an expedition in search of Dr. Livingstone.
4®“ Mrs. Mary Chadbourn, of North Berwick, Me., is
100 years old.
a®- Three thousand feet by seven hundred is to be the
7^ ** i wrapper, 1.489,’ 15 cen.s; circular Three th^
with hood, 81«, 35 cents; sack, 2,149, 10 oeais. Young I size of the World’s Pair Duuuiug at
THE NEW YORK WEEKLY 03^
SHAKESPEAEE CONDENSED—MACBETH.
BY JOSEPH BARBER.
On a Caledonian prairie, three beldames, wrinkled, hairy, And as ugly as old women diabolical could be. Were gossiping together, in a style that Cotton Mather Would have moved with loop and tether To accommodate the three.
When under stress of weather came pricking o’er the heather, Tricked in tartan cap and feather, Two Scotch knights of high degree;
Macbeth, the Thane of Glamis, for his pluck and prowess famous, And Banquo, in a shindy, just as good a man as he.
Said Banquo to the ladies, “Are ye of the Earth or Hades V You seem women, but each jade is Hairy-visaged, like a man.
If you’re gipsies, and are willing to tell fortunes, here’s a shilling.” Cried Macbeth, in accents thrilling, “Speak, ye hussies, if ye can I”
“Hail, Macbeth 1” crooned the bearded three, “Thou artGlamis and Cawdor, and king shaft be 1”
Quoth Banquo, “Your prediction, be it fact or be it fiction. Has my partner flabbergasted, but to me, old girls, you’re mum; I’ve a dollar here in specie; take the pewter, I beseech ye. And Just look into my future, though I guess ’tis all a hum.”
“Hail! all hall!” shrieked the skinny crones, “All the little boy Banquos shall sit on thrones. And that lot of sovereigns shall quite weigh down The prize Mac covets—a barren Crown.”
Macbeth at this seemed troubled, but said Banquo, “Mac, you’re bubbled,
Earth’s ebullient, like the billows when they play at pitch and top.”
Then they jogged along to Fores, a town that now no more is. And while comparing stories Two young earls they came across.
One of whom reined up politely, at the same rime bowing slightly,
And with the grace styled “knightly,” Said, “Allow the Earl of Rosse,
By King Duncan’s royal order, to salute as Thane of Cawdor, Macbeth, of all our fighting men the paragon and boss.”
Never Scotchman was more taken aback, nonplussed and shaken Than Mac was, though lie prated as sententiously as Bacon.
Soon, alas! ambition dreadful filled his homicidal head full Of thoughts that made his pulses beat the Beelzebub tattoo.
Then said he (aside), “Should Satan to a scepter change my baton, I could sit the throne of State on Just as well as—I know know who.
As to regicide, what is it but a coward’s bugaboo ?”
With such dreams die dared not tell ’em) coursing through his cerebellum.
With Banquo, Rosse and Angusto the monarch’s court he fared, Where lie found that he’d been bulletined, vice his predecessor guillotined—
Thane of Cawdor, as the witches on the prairie had declared.
But life’s sweets are mixed with acid. When King Duncan, mild and placid,
Rose and named “Our Eldest, Malcolm,” as successor to the throne,
Macbeth his liege devoted to a place we’ll leave unquoted, Resolved to “cook his goose” for him, and cook it very brown.
Filled with such thoughts unchristian, that much-bewitched Philistine
Invited the good sovereign to his hold in Inverness,
Saying, “Sire, as avant courrier to my spouse I’ll speed, and hurry her,
To be unprepared would worry her Considerable, I guess.”
Next day he reached his castle, and prepared with wine and wussel,
As became a jolly vassal, To receive his Suzerain;
But both he and his fair lady, though they kept their ailment shady,
Were suffering from a sudden rush of murder to the brain.
The king arrived, they toadied him, and though no good it boded him,
Their flattering he swallowed, and then supped and went to rest. Whereupon, with pluck uncommon, that cast-iron-hearted woman
Bid her husband put a knife into their unsuspecting guest.
Said she, “I’ve been a mother, but when baby was a bother I’d just as lief have throttled the young incubus as not.
E’en when nursing or ‘a-goo’-ing,’ not to mention when boo-hooing,
Had I sworn an oath as thou hast, I’d have smashed it on the spot.
Therefore, firmly grasp thy dagger, don’t change color, stare and stagger.
Screw thy courage to the sticking place, and stick it into him! We’ll look solemn as philosophers, and swear two royal officers, Who sleep in the same chamber, did the de® J so dark and grim.
To give color to our story, we will make their skene-dhus gory, And with blood, while they are sleeping, paint each lineament and limb.”
Said Macbeth, “I swear, my ducky, that a chieftainess so plucky Should produce boy-babies only—how I glory in your vim.”
Then turning down the gas in every hallway, the assassin, In dressing-gown and slippers, sought the chamber of the king;
But his head not being “level,?’ he conceited that the Devil Showed the way there with a poniard—though, of course, ’twas no such thing.
Having stuck the Royal Buffer, he collapsed, and like a duffer Forgot to smear the chamberlains with gore; but she was tougher: Before you could have whistled she snatched up her rouge and mizzled,
And returning in five minutes, said she’d “painted them to kill.”
But Mac’s hair stood out like bristles on the leaves of Scottish thistles,
And his dental apparatus shook and clattered like a mill.
Next morning, bright and early, came a precious hurly burly— Macduff, the Thane of Fifeshire, (who spoke French) yelled, “Rot est mortl”
Earls and grooms ran harum-scarum, pages sounded the alarum, And Macbeth“wiped out” the chamberlains his wife had smeared with gore.
But the king’s sons were suspicious of Lynch justice so officious: They scented a large rodent; so, with every loyal nob, Their roadsters they bestraddled, and quietly skedaddled, Lest tlwy, too, should be massacred to finish up the job.
Macbeth being crowned at Scone, he wasn’t willing that the throne he
Had obtained by a felony should to Banquo’s heirs descend, go he hired two roughs of Fores, and contra bonos mores. Instructed them of Bauquo and his son to make an end.
’Twas agreed—O, bargain sorry!—and that night, as to a soiree At the palace, they were hasting, sprang the murderers on the twain.
they soon laid out old Banquo, but young Fleance ran like Sancho, And the roughs being “heavy villains,” the spry youngster wasn’t slain.
Dead men’s ghosts, it seems, like curses, (vlde yarns of Irish nurses,)
Come home to roost, and Banquo’s, though decidedly de trop, From the ground floor to the upper rose and took a seat at supper
With the tyrant who had sent it all “unhouseled” down below. Its presence at the banquet of course was a wet blanket
To Macbeth, who didn’t thank it, and behaved so very queer That his wife broke up the sitting, on the plea of flts unfitting Her lord, that night for company, and converse, and good cheer.
Next day he sought the witches, whose assortment of fetiches
He hoped would yield him something to forestall all future harms,
And in a cavern reeky, cooking Satan’s cock-a-leeky.
Found the beldames, and cried, “Speak ye! I have need, hags, at your charms.”
In reply to his petitions, they raised suridry apparitions,
Who performed their ghoulish missions with a lofty air of scorn.
One roared, “Macduff beware of,” but the next one took the scare off,
With—“Macbeth the palm shall bear off from all men of woman born.”
Another exclaimed: “Care not, who chafes, who frets—despair not
’Till Birnam Wood shall leg it for the towers of Dunsinane.* This was highly satisfactory; but the nervous malefactor he
Must needs inquire if Banquo’s boys would e’er in Scotland reign,
When eight kings, led on by Fleance, filed in to elose the seance. Bearing photographs of others not included in the train.
Disgusted, disappointed, the old women he “arointed,”
But determined, notwithstanding, of tlveir warnings to take heed,
He dispatched to Macduff’s manor, several ruffians with a banner Who dispatched poor Macduff’s family with all convenient speed.
When they beard this news unwelcome, the bold Bart and young Prince Malcolm 7 s
Conspired the fierce usurper to attack and overthrow.
And how at last they nailed him, when his friend, the Devil, foiled This veritable story will in brief proceed to show.
The Banker’s Foe;
---OR, -
CLAUDE’S INHERITANCE.
By Carrie Conklin,
Author of “JLADY LEONORA; or. Til® FATHER’S CUKSK”
“The Banker’s Foe” was commenced in No. 5. Back numbers can be had from any News Agent in the United States.
CHAPTER XXL
AGAIN AWAY.
Under the guidance of a man less prompt than Paton Leitch, our hero and Claude could not have escaped so easily; but he was a skillful pioneer.
There were few localities in London with which he was unacquainted, and he led his young companions through a bewildering maze of streets and courts, till, seeing an empty cab within hailing distance, he beckoned to the driver.
“To the city,” he said, when the man drew up, “and let us see the best your horse can do iu the way of speed.”
“Which part of the city, sir?”
“Cheapside, or Temple Bar—anywhere where there is most traffic.”
“All right, sir. Fleet street’s the best if you want to dodge.”
Paton hurried Claide and Charley into the vehicle, entered after them, and shut the door.
Jehu saw that he had a profitable fare, and a dexterous application of the whip sent the slow anatomy he drove into something more rapid than the regulation pace.
“He couldn’t last at it,” said the cabman to himself, “but. it’s in him now and then, and he’s had uncommon little work to day.”
Paton sat revolving in his mind what was best to do under the unexpected change of circumstances. He was too thoroughly honest and straightforward to be at home in any kind of artifice, so his meditations resolved into a very simple form.
“We must keep out of the way,” he said, “until I see Derrock again, but I should not like to go too far out of town. The question is, where is there a good place to hhlein?”
He had time for reflection, for just then the cab was brought to a complete standstill.
Paton opened the window to ascertain the cause.
“All right, sir,” the driver said. “It’s only a jam—two busses and a Pickford grinding a little wehicle ’gin the kerb.”
“Then I would not give much for what will be left of the little wehicle,” said Paton, closing the window; “and I wish that the two busses had chosen some other time for t he experiment. Is not this your first visit to London, Charley ?”
He spoke and acted toward his companions with the familiarity of an old friend now.
“It is,” our hero responded, “and certainly I do not see much to wonder at or praise in this so-called great metropolis.”
“You have not seen it yet, nor are you in the mood to notice at present. You have an excellent opportunity of studying the manners and customs of the English out of doors. The most remarkable feature under view is the graphic energy with which the drivers compliment each other for being in each other’s way.
Claude smiled. The compliments exchanged were more graphic than instructive, and had that wide range of diction whose freedom from established rule is peculiar to the public whip-and-rein fraternity.
“The inns of court are good places when a fellow does not want notice,” Paton said, returning to his original purpose. “I have known a friend of mine—a briefless barrister, and a Bohemian every inch—to,sustain a siege against some of t he most inveterate duns in London. His retreat was only known to three, who dared not tell the rest, because he threatened that, if they did, he would not pay any.”
“He must have been very lax in principle,” said Charley, who only knew the golden rule of strictest honesty. “Why did he not pay them ?”
“He lost his check-book,” said Leitch, with a grimace, “and did not like to trouble the banker for another. You know Bohemians, as a race, despise notes, and gold has a melting tendency. In his case, as in many cases, the fact of his not paying was not to be attributed so much to laxity of principle as to want of cash.”
The driver of their cab, after a brisk exchange of flatteries with a fellow-Jehu, succeeded in making a short advance.
“What if we return to where we came frofn ?” Claude suggested.
“Perhaps we can do nothing better. I will see you safely off, and then communicate with Derrock.”
Charley seconded Claude’s suggestion, and Paton directed the cabman to drive to the railway station.
The man obeyed. He could move but slowlv, for the way was not clear yet, and while he waited an opportunity to go at a more rapid pace, a passer-by on the pavement peered curiously into the vehicle.
This man had been as curious during the whole of his walk down the street, but he seemed satisfied now.
He got into another cab not far behind the one in which Charley and his companions rode, and said to the driver:
“Keep that four-wheeler in sight, but do it quietlv.”
The man understood what was meant bv the second instruction—he was to follow without attracting observation.
But little was said while they were on the way. Their driver had left the throng, and was trying to make good the time lost.
Paton was silently consulting a Bradshaw guide. He carried one by the force of habit, though he rarely used it.
At length he looked up, and closed the book with a sigh of real relief.
“The compiler of this deserves public recognition,” he said, “and the study of the book would certainly be good for anyone who wished to go in training fora lunatic. There is a train to-night—I think I may venture to assert that—but at what hour it starts, and all else concerned with it, is a matter of doubt till I inquire at the station.”
Inquiring at the station resulted in their ascertaining that they had some hours to spare. The man who had followed them now hovered about like a hawk.
“Whatshall we do next?” Charley asked, as, with his arm linked in Claude’s, he strode gloomily through the waiting-room. “Fate seems to give us a hope of happiness only to leave us more wretched by plunging us back into this state of hunted misery I”
“The way of the world, Charley,” said Paton Leitch. ‘•Stick to our doctrine, though, and all will come right! ‘Pacing about like the lost man of destiny in a state of darkness and gloom,’ as they would say on a melodramatic playbill, is never a good thing.”
Charley stopped abruptly, and raised his handsome head. I He could never be despondent long.
‘ So kind a welcome marred by the treachery of that cold-hearted maul” Claude said. “I saw it directly we
wilds of America is not without romance, while it has utility, and produces gold.”
Paron Leitch broke out as though suddenly struck by an idea:
“I wonder why I never thought of it before,” he said; “and here have I been wasting years in a purposeless stroll about everywhere. Charley, will you take me with you?”
“Will you come?”
Paton grasped his hand.
“It is settled,” he said, “and in a few days we bid the old land a long farewell.”
John Beverly and his solicitor felt very grateful for the generous kindness which had prompted Paton Leitch to link our hero’s destiny with his own.
“And I,” said Claude, “repeat my intention. I shall go with you, Charley. I have no inheritance yet, and Uli it is mine I will not be an idler. Three years of work will teach me money’s value and its use.”
“A resolution which I must applaud,” said Beverly, “though as a gentleman of fortune, you will require different training to that which you will get in the woods.”
“There, with due respect, 1 beg to differ. As a gentleman of fortune I shall be all the better for having lived a life which will show me my value as a man. Do not seek to dissuade fne. For once yon will find me as Charley always is—inflexible, when he has said ‘I will.’ ”
“Come then,” Charley said; “but let us leave this country with an unstained name, free from the stigma of desertion. I will see Doctor Radcliffe ere I go, and as we part, so we meet in the time to come.”
That night, in company with Paton Leitch and Gilbert Derrock, they went back to the inn near the quaint old town by the borders of Devonshire.
They said adieu to the banker and Dyhurst, and took their seats some five minutes before the train started.
“Directly I receive the pardon from the Admiralty,” the banker said, “I will communcate. We shall meet again soon.”
The last passenger that went by the train was Richard Lee, and before going he found time to send a telegraphic message to the doctor.
CHAPTER XXII.
STILL IN THE COIL.
Not even one regret—no sense of remorse or whisper of self-reproach touched Doctor Radcliffe’s heart as he thought of the two gallant boys whom, for the sake of his own ambition and his avarice, he was hunting down.
He had remained unmoved throughout—subtle, watchful, and his whole lace a lurking, defiant sneer. When John Beverly spoke of Charley as the doctor’s son, the doctor laughed the thought to scorn.
No throb of human feeling brought a moment’s gentleness. He had shut wife and child from his door, and did not want to be haunted now by a face that would have made the memory of Ellen a living phantom; so he stood his ground, denying all—giving the lie even to his own strong conviction, and being all the time so cold, so sinister, and full of mocking sin, that Gilbert Derrock shuddered.
The doctor dismissed the officers, and Langton soon took leave. Evil men are rarely good company for each other, and after having done his malicious work, the exsecond lieutenant of the Triton found the proceedings slow enough to induce him to recollect an appointment.
Basil did not urge him to stay. His own real nature was in such strong contradiction to what the doctor had made him, that he despised all who in spite of interest, could do as Langton had done.
When Basil withdrew to his own chamber he paced the floor in bitter and irresolute meditation. In telling the doctor of our hero’s and Claude’s advent, he had acted on the impulse of a sudden fear; when lie saw the peril in which they were placed, he anathematised himself as a mean traitor.
He remembered Claude as his schoolfellow and cousin —a gentle-hearted playmate and companion, whom Basil had learned to love with an affection that lingered yet.
The clinging charm of old association can never be entirely sundered while the soul retains one generous sense; and Basil felt now that rather than have wronged his cousin so he would forsake his every hope, and be content with his own poverty, exchanging his dream of wealth to be worthy of one genial word and an honest pressure of his young kinsman’s hand.
It was too late now. He must go on in spite of what his better angel sought to instil into his heart. The grim specter Poverty rose before him like a demon, hushing down to silence the purer counsel.
And so he paced the chamber floor, while evil struggled for mastery over good; and while the angel and the demon fought there came an advocate who nearly drove the evil whisperer away.
The advocate who came was Allan May, a welcome visitor to Basil always, though the youth had shunned him of late.
“I have come to you,” the artist said, placing his hand affectionately on Basil’s shoulder, “for it seemed as though you would not some to me. Basil, you look worried. What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”
“I wish I were your physician; ‘nothing’ is the worst of all complaints, and 1 could cure you.”
“What would you prescribe?”
“Active occupation, less ephemeral excitement, good reading, and—will you pardon me?—a change of guardianship.”
“Why the latter?” asked Basil, with a smile, half curious, half bitter—“don’t you like the doctor?”
“1 have no personal feeling one way or the other; I judge of him by inference, through you.”
“How ?”
“There is such an alteration in you altogether. You were a gay, light-hearted boy a year or two ago; now you have a preponderance of heaviness that is certainlly not natural to your composition or your age. Look at you now—one might think you had the weight of the world’s affairs behind your brow!”
Basil paced the apartment restlessly, then stopped abruptly before his friend.
“1 am not well,” he said. “Mine is a malady of the main, and I would give th© world could I cast it out I”
“What is your malady?”
“The dread—t he horror of being poor—of having to toil with the plodding herd who work day by day for bread.”
“I am sorry to hear this, Basil,” said the artist, gravely, “for such a fear is the token of a false ambition. You surely do not dread to face ihe world and fight for what you want ? You have energy and yout h—sufficient talent, at least, to take you above mediocrity in anything; and there are a hundred ways to fame and fortune. You have enterprise and spirit—you want nothing but belter teaching.”
“Al.,” said Basil, grasping his hand, “let me come and see you. and talk to me again. I will throw off this lethargy—sunder the trammels of a false ambition—break the cloud of sin that is darkening with each day. Let us go from here—out of the doctor’s house; while its atmosphere clings to me, I am not master of myself.”
He opened the door to call his servant, and found himself face to face with Doctor Radcliffe.
Pleasant and courteous, with quiet grace—irresistibly prepossessing when he chose—I he doctor entered, and welcomed Allan May with much cordiality. He had heard every word of their con versa'ion, and now, like a smiling tempter, he said, with a peculiarly soft but emphatic intonation:
“If Mr. May will excuse you for a minute, I have just a word or two to say before i go out.”
As a matter of course, Allan bowed consent, and Basil accompanied the doctor to the library.
“You were listening at the doorP’ said Basil, angrily.
♦♦Why----”
“Hush—not so loud! Really, you grow so indiscreet that my time is more than occupied in watching and guarding you against yourself. How like a schoolboy you are, led away by the wordy nonsense of Mr. May I Say that you left this house—threw off my guardianship— what would yon do ? Have you friends who could secure you an appointment? Are you master of any art or profession? You would hardly think of the army or the navy.”
“There are other ways.”
“Why, yes; you might possibly have made an excellent mechanic had y«u begun young enough. Perhaps your friend would teach you his art. Picture-making is not a bad business. Or you might try at literature—it is a light and profitable occupation. You have only in these days to write your book or paint your picture; then hold a levee, while the publishers or dealers come In carriages and throng your street, check-book in hand, all anxious to secure the wonderful creation which is to make their fortunes and your immortality.”
His grim and cold sarcasm was almost withering.
“I am gifted for none of these,” Basil said; “I have neither capacity nor inclination.”
“That you have no gift, thank the star beneath which you were born. Bethankful also that you have a guardian who will save you from drudgery or want. Retract what you have done in our work, if you like. I will not say denounce me, for that,I know yoii would not do. Be simply passive. Leave to me all the labor and the danger. When you want money, come to me. When I have won the game, the stakes are yours. This much 1 will do, and you shall be rich in spite of yourself. I have a trust to keep, and I will keep it. I swore by your father’s dying bed that his boy should not live or die in penury; and those who know' William Radcliffe know that he never broke his word.”
“Enough,” said Bash, touched by the last Allusion. “Keep me from anything the doing of which may bring remorse, and 1 will go on. What is to be done next ?”
“I think Beverly’s people are on the scent, and will discover the hiding-place of Milly Lee. If she iafound and brought forward, we are lost.”
“What is to be done, then ?”
“The discovery must not take place,” said Radcliffe, slowly. “How it is to be prevented, rests to some extent with you. If you fail or hesitate--”
“Weil,” said Basil, as the doctor paused, “what then ?” “Then,” said the doctor, with chilling quietude, “she must be left to me.”
[TO BE CONTINVED.J
j The Queen she took to walking, in her sleep, and wildly talking In that state somnabulistic, about blood-spots on her hand.
At Dunsinane this happened, when Macbeth stood in the gap, and
Defied from its strong battlements Prince Malcolm and his band.
“Hang from our walls exterior,” he remarked to an inferior, “Our biggist bit of bunting, and beat hard our biggist drum.” But just then he heard a screeching, and to know the cause, beseeching,
Was informed her sacred majesty had gone to kingdom come. Misfortunes still come double, on the heels of all this trouble Came the news that Birnam Wood was enroute for Dunsinane. For, by way of sun umbrellas, the insurgents, funny fellows,
Had lopped off the green branches ere they marched across the plain.
Macbeth, enraged, distracted, like a raving madman acted, Then out from his defenses led his weak and wavering train.
He carried all before him, ’till the tide of battle bore him Where Macduff, his mortal enemy, stood spoiling for a fight.
“Come on, thou bloodiest villain I” cried the Earl, but quite unwilling
Was the murderous usurper to respond to that invite.
“Too much blood of thine already,” whined the humbug, “has been shed. I
Would prefer some other gentleman on whom to wreak my spite.
Besides, thou losest labor, ’twere as easy for thee, neighbor, To wound Scotch mist with thy saner as to make my person bleed.
Do not challenge me to ‘come on,’ for no man that’s born of woman
Can conquer me in combat—so the witches have decreed.”
“Ho! Ho! thou’rt humbugged greatly,” laughed Macduff; “done brown completely,
For know, to thy discomfiture, I wasn’t born at all!
By the process—quite a scary ’un—known in surgery as Cesarian,
I made my first appearance on this sublunary ball.”
Said Macbeth, “I will not fight with thee, thy words my soul appal.”
But the Earl so fiercely taunted the assassin that, though daunted,
His foe’s request he granted—and stood savagely at bay: Whereupon right through his torso- it will happen oft in war so— Went the sword of the avenger, and:concluded the affray.
What need is there to say more—from the clay he drew his claymore,
And with it from the body hewed the dead man’s sinful head. Then to Malcolm on a pole lie conveyed that nob unholy, Shouting out: “Long live our new king, for the other fellow’s dead!”
MORAL
ADDRESSED TO MONARCHS IN GENERAL.
Eschew ye the counsel of all sorts of witches, Especially that of “old women in breeches.” Fight only ycur equals, don’t pit the blood royal ’Gainst men by your villany rendered disloyal. Lest some noble of Nature should royalty baffle, Who instead of being born, p’raps was won in a raffle.
entered the room. I have seen the glitter of his cruel eye .before!”
“You know him, then?” said Charley, in surprise.
“I used to think he was my father,” replied Claude. “He taught me to believe so, and I was known by his name. What can our friend mean by saying that you are his son ?”
“It all seems very strange; but Mr. Beverly spoke the truth, I am sure. He loved my mother before she married Doctor Radcliffe. It appears that he gave her this chain. 1 know my mother wore it to the last; beside, there is her picture and her name.”
“The lady knew me,” said Claude, recalling, with a flush of pleasure, Louisa's welcome. “I felt rather astonished.”
“I would have given all the rest,” Charley said, “to have seen little Milly.”
“Who can have taken her away ?” said Claude. “And how strange, if true, that she is iny sister!”
“I cannot comprehend it quite,” rejoined Charley, “nor shall I till I hear the whole story over again.”
Paton Leitch here suggested that they should adjourn to the adjacent hotel, while he telegraphed to Mr. Beverly.
Assenting to the proposition, they accompanied him, and as the party left the station, the stranger’s observation was so persistent and marked that it attracted Paton’s attention.
But he said nothing, though he resolved to be on his guard. /
“I wonder where I have seen that face before?” he thought, while proceeding to the office to have his message sent; and while he was wondering, the stranger had proceeded him. Curious to know what business he could have there, Paton followed. The stranger took a printed form and filled it in.
He evidently wrote in haste, for his caligraphy was somewhat obscure.
“ ‘To Mr. Radcliffe,’ ” said the clerk, repeating the writing, to avoid mistake.
“Right.”
“ ‘They are at the Eastern Counties Railway Hotel with a stranger, waiting for the next train. Shall I watch or follow, or will you come?’ ”
“Right.”
“‘FromR. L.’”
“Right again. How much ?”
''More than you need spend!'1 said Paton Leitch, placing his heavy hand on the other’s shoulder. “Do not send that message, Richard Lee!”
The adventurer turned round with an oath half-muttered.
“Why?” he said, “and who are you?”
“Set your memory at work a little. Recall the name of Paton Leitch, and the promoter of the Silver Mine Company. limited—to the rogues who set the scheme afloat, and the fools who subscribed to it. We were excellent representatives of either class.”
“Take your hand from my shoulder. I neither know nor understand you!”
Leitch maintained his grasp, and, putting his hand through the pigeon-hole, took the form which Richard Lee had filled.
“Be wise,” he whispered, crumpling the paper in his hand. “Keep your own counsef, and I will keep mine; otherwise I will have you detained, and send for Gilbert Derrock!”
The threat was sufficient. Lee became submissive.
“Your disguise is bad,” said Leitch—“inartistic. Such a mustache and beard never grew in company with such whiskers. Put them in your pocket, Richard. They are badly enough matched to excite the suspicion of an ordinary constable.”
The adventurer ground his teeth with savage spite. He did not think his disguise would have been so easily penetrated.
“As a parting caution,” Paton said, “I advise you to keep out of Derrock’s way. He has a debt to settle, and you know he hates being under obligation. Be careful not to increase that debt in any way; it is already heavy enough.”
Baffled so far in his purpose, the adventurer turned away and left the office. He went from Paton’s view, but lingered near, determined not to be thrown entirely off the scent
Paton dispatched his message to John Beverly, and, long before he expected a reply, tlie banker’s carriage dashed un to the hotel.
Beverly was accompanied by Derrock and Lawrence Dy hurst.
“I knew we could depend upon you,” Derrock said, shaking Paton warmly by the hand; “we shall outwit the enemy yet.”
Paton handed him the crumpled paper on which was penned the message Lee had intended sending to the doctor.
“I suggested to him that he had better not,” said Paton, dryly; “and he took the hint.”
“In which he showed wisdom,” said Mr. Dyhurst. “And now let us see what is to be done. It is useless to conceal from our young friends that, in the event of their being arrested, the difficulty of proving Mr. Hargrave’s parentage would be materially increased.”
“We have indisputable proof,” said the banker—“evidence that cannot be refuted.”
“Such evidence and proof as is satisfactory to ourselves,” Dyhurst said, gravely; “but, under the most favorable circumstances, there are many legal points in the way. In the first place, and with regard to Milly. her identity rests solely on what is known by Mr. Warren. We will speak of him by his mother’s name, to avoid confusion.”
“Always,” said Charley, with emotion; “for if the doctor is my father, I have no wish to urge my claim. I never knew him—never saw his face or heard his voice before, and my heart recoils from the man whose cruelty drove my mother from her home.”
“But he is your father, nevertheless,” said the banker, gently; “you must forgive him.”
“1 cannot!” said our hero, dashing away a passionate tear. “I think of my mother—so pure, so beautiful, so patient in her suffering—driven forth and left to the world’s loneliness, protected only by strangers, and dying far away—dying—destroyed before she knew how much I loved her. How bitterly I have missed and yearned for the gentle voice that 1 must never hear again!”
The banker turned aside to hide his own emotion. He could not urge the claim of duty to a father wito had so forgotten what was due to his wife and to his child.
“He never sought me,” Charley said again—“never cared what became of me. I am an orphan—motherless, and worse than fatherless; for, when I met him so lately, what reception did he give me?”
“He did not know you then,” said Dyhurst, wishing to soften the doctor’s pitiless conduct; “had he known, he would have acted otherwise.”
“But you have told him since.”
The soVcitor was silent.
“I see you have. Do not fear to tell me the result. I never had his love, and do not mind his callous indifference. He repudiated my claim ?”
The sad, sympathetic faces of his listeners assured him that his conjecture was correct.
“Be it so!” our hero said. “Let him forget the exile from his hearth, as I shall forget the man whom I must ever look upon as the destroyer of my tnot her! I have the world before me still, and if your generous intercession is successful, I can begin my life anew.”
He alluded to the pardon from the Admiralty, for which the banker had applied.
“It will be,” said John Beverly, “and then your troubles will be ended.”
“I can go to sea again,” said our hero, his brilliant eyes kindling at the thought, “the happier that I know henceforth Claude’s way is clear.”
“You will not leave me, Charley?”
“Not till I see Milly safe, and yourself in possession of your property.”
“And then?”
“The sea—till I have worked my way from before the mast to the deck.”
“Never! What! leave your friend—your brother—to the selfish enjoyment of the good fortune that but for yon he would never have known? No, Charley; I will say as you have said: ‘If you go, I go tool’ ”
“Noble fellowsl” said Jolin Beverly, aside; “even the doctor might love the gallant youth he will not own.”
“Our paths are different,” said Charley, holding close the hand of his companion, and speaking with deep feeling—“you are rich—have only to be happy in the society of the friends who iove you. I have my way to make— my bread to win; when that is done I can come back.”
“Nay—you will share with me my plenty, as 1 have shared your slender store.”
“And be a poor dependent on my friend? You must see that it is impossible!”
“Charley is right.” said the banker kindly. “He has the energy of spirit that will take him upward; but the sea is not the place to give it scope.”
“Noether,” Charley said, when Beverly’s grave smile checked him.
“Let us see,” he said, “what your chances are, and why you should choose the sailor’s life iu preference to any other.”
“The excitement^—the adventure.”
“Imaginary both, in a time of peace—wrong and sanguinary in a time of war. I do not purpose preaching against the law of nations. Warfare is recognized as justifiable, and lean enter with you into the wild spirit of the battle’s heat—the glory of winning honor amid the roar ol cannon and the roar of sea; but the picture’s greatest majesty is in the red glare of devastation and the redder tint of blood. In the background you have the hideous wreck and human death—the awful sacrifice of fellow-creatures; and deeper in the background still we have the desolate home—the gray-haired sire, sorrowing mother, widowed wife and helpless children, dropping bitter tears upon the ashes of the hearth. Surely there are other paths to wealth and honor than by treading' such a one, when every step tramples a pyre vf destruction or a tomb.”
Charley was struck by the truthful force of what the banker said. He had never gone so deeply into the subject.
“What would yon advise?” he asked.
“Work—patient industry; it is the widest road to noblest hight. The man of work is the benefactor of his kind. He may not have a monumental record of his good set before the world, but he has a place in every heart, a shrine by every fireside.”
“What work can 1 do?”
“What you yourself suggested,” Derrock said. “There is room in the New World for any and all who are ready and willing to grapple with and overleap the barriers they cannot break. There is adventure, too—the freedom of broad expanse and boundless forest—scope for the exercise of brain and muscle. You would like the life.”
“I think I should—I am sure I should.”
“A little capital would make you monarch of as vast a tract of land as you could survey. You would find work for the rille ami the ax, and surely even your iove for adventure would be satisfied, lor a settler’s life in the
Attention All! A
We wish our Mends would send us the addresses of such of their acquaintances as would be likely to be pleased with the New York Weekly. Specimen copies will be sent to them gratuitously, as we are confident that bj' this means we can greatly extend our circulation. The New York Wbrkly contains such a variety of reading matter that every person will be certain to find in it something of especial interest By speaking to tlseir friends of the merits of the best story and sketch paper of the age, our subscribers may do us a grate!ul service; and it is but a reasonable request on our part considering what we have done, and shall coutmue to do, to receive the approbation of the pubhe.
BETTER MOMENTS.
BY NATHAN UPHAM.
There cometh to all, whether high or low. Whether rich or poor, in the dross of earth,
Whether one goes where the scoffers go To revel with them in jest and mirth, Or e’en if he plunge into lust and crime, And drain to the dregs the cup of woe, Still, still to each one there cometh a time
When the heavens open and blest thoughts flow:
When the soul is lifted above itself,
Above the fetters that drag it down,
Till it hates a life of greed and pelf,
And hates the haunts the vicious love,
And, catching a gleam through the gates above. It longs for the pure and the starry crown.
These are the moments, when man is man;
The “better moments” that reach toward life. When we fill in part the Creator’s plan,
Aud banish the demon of sin and strife.
When the soul, the spark of the love divine That glows within in oui heart of flesh,
Seemeth with purer ray to shine, As if from Heaven enkindled afresh.
And I have thought some spirit above,
Dwelling beyond the starry sphere,
Coming earthward on missions of love, Coming, perchance, to a friend once dear.
Made of his earthly heart a shrine, And kindled the spark into love divine.
BOISSEY,
INDENTUREtoAPPRENTICE.
By G. Bickens Alcott, U. S. A.9
Author of the “BOY GLADIATOR,” etc., etc.
[“ Boissey” was commenced in Nos. 11. Back Nos. can be had of all News Agents throughout the United States and Canadas../
, CHAPTER XVI.
THE U. 8. RED TAPE BUREAU. WASHINGTON, D. 0.
“Give the ‘middle-men’ the go-by, Ned,” suggested Captain Blount, as the young locksmith shook his hand at parting. “Dodge the paient agents, my boy, and go straight to headquarters, at Washington, yourself.”
“It you think this best, I’ll do so. sir.”
“By all means. That’s mp notion, Ned. When abo’d ship, if a sharp gale comes up, I t ake my trick at t he helm, reg’lar. What’s worth doin’at all,’s worth doin’ well. Steer your craft, in this breeze; and if you run her under, it’s your lookout. Do your business yourself, an’ you’re surer it’s done to your likin’ whatever comes.”
“1’11 go to Washington, and see to it all, personally, cap’n,” said Ned, witii a cheerful, “good-by, sir. I’ll shortly see you, again.”
“Good luck to you, my boy. Never say die. Get out your patent, an’ then up an’ at ’em. If you want more money, don’t forget that old Joe Blount’s got a shot in the locker still; and never let the want of another thousand— ; two, three, five, if you need ’em—prevent your making a sure thing o’ your patent. Good-by. Here’s the coach. * A pleasant trip to you, and a happy return, my boy.”
Ned reached Boston drew the money on his check, took his model, packed a change of linen in his little carpet-bag, put on his common brown tweed suit of clothes, (lor he was economically disposed, and desired to save his nicer “freedom” suit,) badeold Boissey good-by, and entered the mail-stage for Providence, en route for Washington.
He stopped at the City Hotel (then a new house) over night; was frightened out of a year's growth there, at the ten o’clock supper summons of the gong, which he had never heard before, and next day went on board Captain Bunker’s old steamer “Providence,” for New York.
Rounding “Point Judith,” he experienced the peculiar sensations that young travelers in that lough region of “chopned seas” usually do, and wished he were sale back at home, on the land, once more, with his patent-papers in his pocket!
Arriving at New York, he tarried there one night, placing his money under his pillow, for he had never had so much in his possession before.
Two hours after leaving New York while changing horses at the t wenty-mile station—he felt for his pocketbook containing Blount’s one thousand dollars, in fresh Boston bank notes. He couldn’t find it. It was gone!
He reflecied—and then remembered that he had forgotten, when he got up to take the early coach, to withdraw his pocket-book from under his pillow, at the hotel.
Tnree hours afterward he was back in New York, and sadly disturbed.
Meanwhile, an hour or so previously; the hotel chamber- • girl had discovered Ned’s pocket-book in his room. She took it out, went to the door just as a bummer chanced to be approaching, in the opposite direction, whom the servant ,supposed was the late occupant of the apartment, and she asked:
“Is it yours?” showing the wallet.
“Yes,” said the sneak-thief, coolly. “Thank yw Where’d you find it.?’’
“Under the piller, shure—as I was makin’ the bed, sir, “All right,” says the thief, aud he disappeared wit Ned’s thousand dollars.
He was professionally on the watch for anything of this sort, and made a big haul on this occasion.
When Ned arrived, he posted up to the room he had occupied on the previous night, and met the chambermaid Uiere.
“I left my wallet behind me,” he said to her.
“Did yer? An’ 1 found il, thin.”
“0, I am very glad. 1 was afraid I’d lost it.”
“Who be you?” asked the girl, gaping at the newcomer.
“I’m Mr. Corson. I slept in this room last, night. My name’s on the books. It’s my wallet. If you found it, all correct. I thank you. 1’11 reward you lor your honesty. Let me have it, please.”
“I •haven’t got it at all.”
“You said you lound it here?”
“Yis; an’ I giv it to the ginlleman as come to the door an’ said it was his, to be shure—on the shpot, w’eu I tuk it out o’ the bedcio’es,” said the girl.
Ned rushed down to the hotel office, told the story of his loss, and the affair was at once pur into the hands of. the police—though, on Ned’s part, without, the slightest hope that he would ever hear a word further from his missing thousand dollars.
It chanced that the second floor hall-man, whose duty it was to have an eye to such questionable looking fellow’s (who were frequently found hanging about the hotels,) encountered this scamp descending the stairs rapidly, and having met him before under suspicious circumstances, halted him.
Finding that he was not a house guest, he took him into a side-room, and was conversing with him when the door was hurriedly opened by the chambermaid, who was in search of her servant associate.
“That's the feller!” she exclaimed at once.
“Who?” asked the hall-man.
“Him! As 1 giv the wallet to. He tould me it waa his. That’s him—an’ I’d sware to him anny day.”
Ned found his way to this apartment shortly afterward, upon a summons from the girl, who gave information be-low-stalrs; and the result ol all was he recovered his pocket-book and funds, t he hotel-thief coming up and delivering the property intact, wheu Ite was summarily kicked down the stairs, and got off very cheaply, for Corson could not tarry to appear against him in court.
He rewarded the servants handsomely, secured his money, and went toward Washington again, rejoicing.
Ned took good care of his money from that hour, and four days subsequently our ambitious hero arrived in the capital, intent upon the business iie had embarked upon, and registered himself at Willard’s Hotel.
The city of Washington was at this period a busy place, and Ned found himself surrounded by new faces, new objects, new associations, altogether.
He was not favorably impressed with the sights he encountered there; but he entered at once upou the prose- ' ciuion of his purpose, and proceeded the next morning at an early hour to the Pal ent-Office building, t hen more familiarly known as the “Red Tape Bureau,” of the United Stales Mechanical Department.
Ned was there three hours before any body else put. in an appearance; but by ten o’clock the hard-working clerks began io drop along, and at eleven, A. M., our ardent young inventor found a man who directed him to a. desk hunH>ered 1. in Room 4, at which sal a Mr. A., lazily poring over the morning paper.
Ned had his working-model under his arm, and politely informed Mr. A. that he desired to take out letters-pateut for a new invention of his.
“A what?” asked Mr. A., without raising his eyes from the news-column he was reading
“A new invention, sir,” said Ned.
“Well, what of it? Where’s your papers?”
“I want to get them, sir; I haven’t any, yet.”
“What’s the use o’ your bothering me, then? Mr.
Bagg’s the man you want to see.”
“Beg pardon, sir; I’m a stranger here from Boston— where ia Mr. Bagg. il you please?”
“Bagg? Up-staire; second floor; turn to the right; room 42; left hand; beyond second angle; foot of corridor; west,” said Mr. A.
Aud he wheeled his rotating stool about, presented his back to his visitor, and went on reading bis paper.
Ned turned about, sought the door, and started to find Mr. Bagg. He went in the wrong direction, and having traveled half-an-hour unsuccessfully, came back, and was put in the right way to find Mr. Bugg.
Afier a few minutes’ talk with this gentleman, Tie directed him down stairs, to Mr. Cagg; through the arch, lefthand passage, fourth door from corner, room 12. He would tell him where to go to find Mr. Dagg, Receiving Clerk, who was the man he wanted to begin with.
Ned found Mr. Cagg. a very pleasant man—who referred him promptly to Mr. Dagg, right across the hall, third room on the left.
Mr. Dagg heard Ned’s story, and sent, him to Mr. Fagg, a played-out fellow, with a very red nose, who had just come in—al 12 o’clock—after his mid-day IuucIl He look-
THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.
*e<i at Ned. glanced at his little model-box, and pointed him to the other room, east.
“Mr. Gagg’s your man, sir. Yes, yonder; No. 46,” and 7te turned on his heel.
The young man soon discovered Mr. Gagg, who vouchsafed the remark that “the machine was not included in the class of implements belonging to his section; but Mr. Hagg, No. 78, down stairs, would attend.to the case.”
Down went Ned to 78. Mr. Hagg was out; but he learned that his associate-clerk, Mr. Jagg, would look in-.to it. Mr. J. appeared, put on his glasses, glanced at the box, and sent Ned to Mr. Kagg, who “had his hands full lor three weeks, at the least,” lie said, and sent the patient young stranger to Mr. Lagg, who was a moping, slow-moving man, very hard of hearing, and slow of speech.
“Who’d you say?” he inquired.
“Corson—Edward Corson, sir.”
“Well, what is it, Mr. Crowson?”
“Corson, sir,” said Ned again, in a loud tone.
“What’s a corson ? What do you want?’?
“That’s my name!11 shouted Ned. “1 want to get the papers for a patent for my new invention here.”
And he opened the box, and drew out his safe-lock model.
“Oh—ah—I see! Yes. Well, Mr. Groson----------”
“Corson, i said, sir.”
“Oh, I hear you. You must go to Mr. Magg—up two flights, Mr. Gershan. Overhead, No. 124. Mr. Magg’ll attend to you, Mr. Grosum.”
“That’s a valuable man, for a small party, I should say,” observed Ned, as he left deaf Mr. Lagg. “I should think if the U. S. Government had a good many of his sort things would go on lively here!”
He had no difficulty in finding Mr. Magg. He knew nothing about Ned’s little matter, however, (and evidently didn’t want to!) He thought “Mr. Nagg—down stairs, again—was his man.”
Down went Ned. The weather was hot, and he had worked himself into a reeking perspiration by this time. He found Mr. Nagg, who took some notes of Ned’s wish, and sent him forward to Mr. Oagg—a German, who spoke English indifferently, but who was very civil and polite.
“You vill ’ave to consult Mishter Pagg.” said Oagg. “Ee’s on the vurst vloor, apove shtairs. Ee vill kiv you a baper as vill boot you in ter right vay to kit vot you vant. Mishter Pagg, iv you bleese. *Noomber zheveuty-vive— Eggshaminer.”
Away went Ned to 75. Mr. Pagg heard him patiently, Wrote a line on a card, and said, briefly:
“Take this to Mr. Quagg, sir.”
“Where is he?”
“Over the way, sir. Yonder—room 97.”
Easily found.
Mr. Quagg was the man, evidently, at last. He turned the lock over, looked into it, made more notes, handed Ned another slip of paper, and told him to “call on Mr. Ragg, who would set him along.”
Mr. Ragg was close by. He turned Ned over to Mr. Sagg, and he named a new party to Mr. Corsoa—a Mr. Tagg—who thought the model a good thing, “though it was none of his business to pass an opinion on any thing in that department. But Mr. Vagg, on the lower floor, large room in the east corner, up three steps, glass door, front—could inform Mr. Corson all about it.”
Mr. Vagg was discovered—but he didn’t happen to be the right man for this particular description of invention. Mr. Wagg was the individual he should have gone to. He was at desk No. 31, section 5, overhead.
Mr. Wagg was a jolly old boy. He had been appointed to office by President Jackson, and was a little in years— but he was able yet to eat a hearty meal, swallow his jorum of punch, and to vote the clean ticket, sir—every time; and draw his pay, monthly, (two hundred dollars,) for his valuable services; which he had done, steadily, for a quarter of a century.
“All right, Mr. Crewson.”
“Mr. Corson, if you please,” suggested Ned.
“Ah, yes. I see. Cawsing--Mr. Quagg had it right.”
Mr. Wagg then wrote his name on Quagg’s slip of paper, and directed Ned to Mr. Xagg—a respectable “exiled Pole,” who told the applicant he must “take his parcel to Bureau 6, where he would meet Mr. Yagg; who would take charge oi the model, and report.”
Mr. Yagg had gone to dinner. He wouldn’t be back till next day. It was then near three o’clock. The desks were being deserted. But Ned was informed in Bureau 6 that if he hurried, “he might catch Mr. Zagg, who would answer his purpose all the same.” And he “hurried” accordingly— though he was pretty nearly fagged out with this day’s work.
Mr. Zagg was the last man in the building. It was “past hours,” but he took “Mr. Gowerson’s” name and address, relieved Ned of his box and model—told him it was “all correct, and he could call again—it would be attended to in due course,” and locking his door, he wriggled briskly down the stone steps and away in the distance.
Ned Corson was not a happy man at the close of this, his first day’s experience in the Red Tape Bureau, at Washington, D. C.
However, he had run the gauntlet of clerks in that department, from A to Z, but all he had learned so far was, that “he could call again, and that his little matter would be attended to in due course!”
“When?” he asked himself.
If this was all he had achieved in a whole day’s running, sweating, querying and badgering, from piller to post, and back again—when would he be able get possession of the desired papers ?
As he asked himself this question, aloud, in a somewhat excited tone, the echo of bis voice came from the now deserted walls of the great department building— “WHEN?”
And the anxious seeker after information, under difficulties, at the Red Tape Bureau, went to his iiotel to rest, alter his weary and unsatisfactory round of excitement.
But lie bad so far barely commenced to encounter tbe arrogance that awaited him, in his effort to secure his letters-patent.
CHAPTER XVII.
“Z. Z.” (ZIG-ZAGG) EXAMINER.
Ned retired early. His slumbers were uneasy and fitful. He dreamed of walking barefoot, on a long journey, over hot paving-stones, and breathing unwholesome air. while at every angle he met offensive countenances, odd faces, .suspicious-looking beasts, and after these a host of reptiles, anacondas and cormorants.
Then he reached a strange edifice of immense proportions, a huge factory—whicli he entered, where he found queer men, big and little—white and black—old and young; ten thousand! an army of them. And each was striving to outdo his neighbor in the details of the art they practised there, as to how they should contrive to work the least and be paid the most. Ned looked around him, but recognised no one until he saw the face of the last man who left the Patent Office building, on the day before, who took charge of the “box and model of his burglar-proof safe lock.”* It was the same individual whose initials, Z. Z., he saw placed upon the slip of paper given him by Mr. Quagg. And suddenly he fancied himself back in the Red Tape Bureau—and this man was Mr. Z. Z. himself, otherwise Zig-Zagg, Examiner.
When he rose next morning he breakfasted late, as everybody in Washington does, but he went about the citv first and saw that “still life” in the Capitol. Few people were up, but he had a very pleasant stroll; and, at eleven o’clock, he ventured to drop in at the office of Mr. Zagg, to see what progress had been made toward the preparation of his letters-patent for “Corson’s Improved Safe Lock.”
Mr. Zagg was at his post. Indeed, tb speak truth, this clerk was usually at his post—in office hours; to wit, from ten till two, or three. He was now at his desk, and Ned bade him good morning. Mr. Z. did not evidently see the zealous would-be patentee. At any rate he did not reply.
Mr. Zagg was an old clerk there. He too had served a long apprenticeship at his profession. He had been in the Patent Office (or rather in the Red Tape Bureau of that Department) four-and-twenty years, come Michaelmas. And if Mr. Zagg didn’t “know the ropes,” who should?
Mr. Zagg had gone up and down those stairs and in and out that department, about a fourth of a century, daily, and had toiled (in his way) every day, from three to four hours. For this service he had been paid by the U. S. Government, never over three thousand dollars per annum (tiis present salary), and for several years, at first. Mr. Z. had performed this arduous round of duty for the contemptible sum of only twenty-five hundred dollars a year. Poor fellow!
He was a nervous man; angular—crotchety—but civil to strangers, if they did not annoy him with unnecessary questions.
His Christian name was Zenas. He signed most of his office papers “Z. Z.” He iiadn’t time to write it out in
He;was known in the
full, he had to do this so often. _____ Department familiarly as Zig-Zag, from his everlasting
habit of twitching and squirming as he talked. He was appropriately named. All he did, every motion he made, everything he performed, was done in a zig-zag style.
Ned knew that Mr. Zagg was the twenty-fifth clerk in the Red Tape Bureau to whom he had been sent, after being bandied about till he was well-nigh clean off his legs, and he observed that Mr. Z. made a brief memorandum the day previously upon his safe-lock model, and then placed it away in one of the innumerable pigeonholes back of his desk, where it would remain to take its “due course” at some future day—if nothing happened to prevent, and Mr. Zig-Zag had 'time, or should chance to run across it again, as he probably wouldn’t for many months.
So when Ned made his appearance the next morning after Mr. Zagg had condescended to go thus far in “Mr. Gowerson's” business, (for this was the name he had endorsed upon Ned’s parcel,’erroneously,) the cross-grained, fidgetty examiner of new inventions at the Red Tape Bureau thought it a very extraordinary piece of effrontery on the wood-be patentee’s part, to push himself under his notice again so soon. But he didn’t say so; and Ned proceeded once more to investigate his chances as to the prospect of getting his papers.
Unfortunately, the freed apprentice was very plainly dressed. He thought his rather frowsy and well-worn suit of brown tweed “good enough to travel in;” while Mr. Zagg, and the rest, looked upon the threadbare ‘.lothes ol the active Yankee as a pretty sure indication hat, like most young inventors, “Mr. Gowerson” was iort of funds!
“Good morning, Mr. Zagg,” said Ned, for the third ie, catching Z. Z.’s eye at last.
‘Ah, yes—good morning. Well, sir, what can I do 'or ’ ?” (Zagg didn’t appear to remember him at all.) Ibout those papers, Mr. Zagg.” That papers, sir?”
“The letters-patent.”
“Who for?”
“Edward Corson, sir.”
“When applied for?”
“Well, sir, I don’t know exactly,” began. Ned, who wished to state that he didn’t yet understand what more he had to do toward putting in his application in regular form. But Zagg cut him short.
“Don’t know, sir! Who are you ?”
“I’m Mr. Coison, the pat------ I mean inventor, sir.”
“And you don’t know when the papers were applied for?”
“Oh, yes, I began yesterday, sir.”
“Ah—well. You don’t expect there’s been anything done so far to-day, do you? It’s on’y ’leven o’clock, sir!”
“I didn’t know bub I might expedite the matter by calling this morning. I’m here at the hotel at some expense, and I want to get away as soon as possible, Mr. Zagg.”
“You can leave as soon as you like. I don’t think there’s anybody in this department who will interpose the slightest objection to that, Mr. Crawson.”
“Corson, if you please, Mr. Zagg. Don’t make a mistake in the name. Now, won’t you give this matter your early attention?”
“In due course, yes, Mr. Corson.”
“How long before 1 can hear about it?”
“What is it?”
“I’ve told you twelve times, Mr. Zagg, that it is a newly invented safe-lock.”
“Specifications made out, Mr. Curson?”
“The what, sir?”
“Are your specifications filed yet?”
“No, sir. That’s what I want to get here.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted letters-patent, sir?”
“Of course I do.”
“How are we to commence on your case till you deposit the specifications, fees, nature of claim, and declaration of invention?”
“I am ready, sir. To whom shall I apply to arrange these preliminaries?”
“Oh, now you talk sensibly, Mr. Cowson,” said Zagg, seeing a prospect of getting rid of this persistent New Englander. “Yes, you must go to Mr. A., over the way, down stairs, round to the right, Room 4, Desk 1.”
Ned reflected as he went out, and, approaching the spot to which he was now directed by Mr. Z., he found, a moment afterward, that Mr. A., at Desk No. 1, was the identical person he had called on first in the list on the previous day!
Arriving there again, he soon learned that he hadn’t commenced right at all, and what he had so far done amounted to nothing whatever.
Mr. A. kindly heard his story over again, however, and at last put Ned upon the track that promised, after awhile, to conduct the young pilgrim-mechanic toward the Mecca of his hopes, which he had been so earnestly endeavoring to get sight of.
But the road to the goal, through the Red Tape Bureau at Washington, was still a tortuous and weary one.
After the youth’s ample explanation, to the recital of which Mr. A. listened with becoming patience, that smooth-tongued gentleman started Ned away with a briefly-prepared document to Mr. Bagg.
Mr. B, looked the paper over leisurely, and sent his applicant to Mr. Oagg again. Mr. C. referred him to Mr. D. D. pointed him to E., E. to F,, and F. forwarded him to G. So he went resignedly through the department alphabet of clerks again without a halt, until he found himself at last before the counter of Mr. Z. at three o’clock P. M.
Pop, pop! slam, slam! went down the desk-covers as he entered Z.’s room. Time was up, and the hard-working clerks were hastening out, as Ned came in hastily and approached Z.’s desk with two or three printed and filled-up formula, which he presented in triumph to Mr. Zagg.
“Got ’em at last,” he said, cheerfully. “Now, Mr. Zagg, if you please, I would like you to attend to my case here.”
“Three o’clock, sir. What is it?”
“The papers—all ready for your inspection, sir.”
“Ah, yes—Edward Corson. Well, Mr. Corson, you know we can’t toil here all the time without some relaxation. We must eat, sir; and I’m just goin’to dinner. I’ll take the papers, and examine them as soon as possible.”
And Zagg wriggled down from his stool, took the documents, threw them into another pigeon-hole, and put on his hat and gloves.
“When shall I look in again, Mr. Zagg ?” asked Ned, submissively.
“Any time, sir. Always happy to see you.” “To-morrow?” persisted the applicant.
“No; that would be useless trouble to you. Say two weeks from to-day. You understand that everything must take its course in this Department, Mr. Cawsum.”
“Can’t we hurry matters a little?” said Ned, pleasantly. “I am willing to pay for any extra trouble this may give you.”
“Well, no, Mr. Gershom-------”
“Corson, sir, if you please.”
“We don’t hurry much in this department. We can’t, you observe. Justice to all parties requires that we should take our time, you see. You are in line, sir. But there’s five-and-eighty before you now on the docket; and we can’t reach your case, possibly, for fifteen or twenty days, I think.”
“What ? To begin on, do you mean ?” exclaimed Ned. “Couldn’t you come over after dinner,” urged the tired young man, “and look at my case?”
And he slipped a twenty dollar note into Zagg’s hand quietly, as he spoke.
“This is for yourself, and I won’t mind another similar fee if you’ll help me out.”
“That’s against the rules o’ the Department, Mr. Grow-some,” responded Zagg, putting the hand containing the twenty dollar note into his pocket quickly. “But I’ve got a friend down street,” continued Z., “who is a solicitor and patent agent, to whom I will hand this little douceur of yours, and he has access to the Department under certain restrictions. He makes a business of this sort o’ thing. And I reck’n he’ll push matters for yom But it’ll cost you something.”
“Who is he inquired Ned.
“Mr. Grindem, on D street.”
“Grindem?” said Ned. “Can he help me?”
“Yes. I’ll see him to-day. Call on him to-morrow at his office. He’s a claim agent also, and he’ll assist you.”
Mr. Zagg retired, and Ned went to his hotel again, to dine and rest his weary limbs.
Next morning ou» hero waited upon Mr. Grindem, and found that obsequious gentleman “ready to do anything in his power” for the young locksmith, “for a reasonable compensation.” He had conferred with his friend, Mr. Zagg previously, and he understood Ned’s case to a dot.
“You have had some slight experience already, I believe, Mr. Corson,” he said, blandly, “with the difficulties that lie in the way of the novice here in Washington, in his intercourse with the Department, and who may desire to avail himself of Government privileges.
“Yes, Mr. Grindem. And I haven’t made much headway, either, thus far in my mission.”
“No. That’s the result always with beginners. I understand what you want, clearly. I will give it my personal attention, and I can aid you.”
“What will be your charge, sir?”
“I can’t say till we see what we’ve got to do. It’s a long job, at the best. You may leave me a retainer to commence upon, and I’ll fix your matter up to your liking as soon as I can,” said Grindem.
“Well, how much to begin with, sir?”
“Oh, a couple of hundred dollars, say, Mr. Corson,” rejoined Grindem, as if this were a mere bagatelle, any how.
Ned drew out his wallet, handed the agent the retainer, and requested him to hasten out his safe-lock patent papers at the earliest moment.
“This is upon my account, you understand,” said Grindem. “The regular Department fees will be in addition to my charges, you know.”
“I comprehend you, sir. What I desire to accomplish is the obtaining of my patent as soon as possible. I’ve had enough of Washington—I want to go home, sir.”
“Ah,” replied Grindem, “Washington’s a very nice place, Mr. Corson.”
“For some people it may be,” ventured Ned, who didn’t exactly fancy advancing this round fee of two hundred dollars for he really knew not what.
“When shall I call on you again, Mr. Grindem.”
“To-day is the tenth, I believe. Ou the twenty-fifth of the month I’d like to see you, Mr. Corson.”
And the anxious young inventor went his way.
CHAPTER XVIII.
NED COMMUNICATES WITH CAPTAIN BLOUNT.
The young locksmith found himself at leisure now. He had had two or three days’ lively experience in the attempt to do for himseli what he found could be done only through channels with whose tortuous windings he had no possible acquaintance, and he left his matter in Mr. Grindem’s hands, satisfied that that dapper gentleman would grind all the money out of him he possessed, probably, but content to “face the music” when hecouldu’tdo otherwise.
He concluded to employ this season of leisure in writing to Katrin and Captain Blount—informing his friends briefly how he was getting on in the “city of magnificent distances,” sharpers, and lazy placemen. To his affianced he wrote:
“I am here at the Capitol, dear Katrin, for the first and I hope the last time. It is a beautiful and at the same time a horrible place. I have toiled and traveled, talked and worried as I never yet did before in my life. The hard work and rough treatment I experienced with old Boissey was but boys’ play in comparison to the fatigue and annoyances I have encountered here.
“I have done nothing yet. My ‘patent’ affairs are in the hands of the officials, being superintended ‘in due course’ by one Lawyer Grindem, of this city, who 1 am informed is a proper person to ‘put the thing‘through,’ after a while. When this may be consummated, Heaven only knows. But I never yet conceived of the disheartening series of delays that meet one at every turn, or the enormous sums of expenses, first and last, that an inventor is subjected to to induce anybody to undertake to aid him in such an enterprise as brought me here.
“There is no end to the backing and filling, the squirming and dodging of all these people when they have a stranger to their complicated modus operandi. to deal with. I hope it will all come out right in the end; but, up to this time, I have not had the slightest intimation in any quarter as to when I may be so fortunate as to possess myself of the necessary papers to protect me hereafter in the matter of my invention.
“I trust you are well, dear Katty, and that you often think of me, as 1 do of you, dearest. You need not reply to this—here. I shall get away as soon as I can, and will write you again. I can only hope to get through in two or three weeks perhaps, and will communicate with you from Boston at once on my return.
“In the midst of all this harassing business I shall, however, constantly remember you above all else, and trust we shall soon meet once more, to laugh together over all the troubles I endure here. Meantime accept the assurances of my great love for your own sweet self, and trust me I remain your devoted lover always.”
To jovial old Captain Blount he penned a longer epistle, in which he set forth his experience in the pursuit of letters-patent under difficulties, as follows:
“Washington, D. C., 18—.
“My Dear Captain:—Have you ever visited the Capitol of the United States in the course of your extensive voyaging and travels? If not, you have yet, I think, a surprise in store, should you ever conclude to come to this handsome but peculiar place, with its magnificent buildings, its hordes of politicians, its elegant women, and its nuisances in the way of official and departmental routine.
“I have had what you would call a ‘jolly time’ since I’ve been here! In the whole course of my experience I never yet toiled as I’ve been obliged to do in this city. Old Master Boissey, with all his roughness and exactions, is a better average man than I have met here yet.
“Such a nest of cormorants, hucksters, and dead-beats as I found in the Red Tape Bureau (where I was obliged to go to begin the process of obtaining my letters-patent) was never before beheld, I solemnly believe, under one roof. You have no conception of the sickening delays, the hearties? treatment, the supercilious effrontery these muffs in the ‘department’ service extend toward a stranger.
“I spent two whole'days going from one room to another, and from one desk to another, applying to almost thirty diflerent clerks, in the different sections, the initials of whose names ranged from A. to Z., in search of somebody, or some one place where information could be had that would point me to a commencement in the prosecution of my project, but without the slightest approach toward success.
“They called me, as I went, by all sorts of false names— as Mr. Cowson, Croson, Curson, Gershom, Gowersom, Carson, Crewerson, Cresson, Growsome—and I don’t know how many more, in similar mockery (I thought), and sent me from ‘Dan to Beersheba,’ and back again, forty times over, until, disgusted, I ‘threw up the sponge,’ cap’n!
“I don’t mean to say that they’ve beat me yet. But I was forced to give up the attempt to do anything by myself. So I was introduced to a reputable man here, Griudem by name, (though I confess I don’t like his cognomen!) who has undertaken to get my papers through the Department twistifications, and, of course, will charge me accordingly. He is acquainted here, probably has in-' fluence, or associations it may be with the leading clerks and Patent Office people, and I reckon he’ll fix it up, after awhile.
“How long he will be about it I cannot say, nor can I divine when I may be put in possession of the documents I am after here. We must wait their convenience—but I trust that things are slowly working now toward their completion.
“I think you might venture to answer this, addressing me at Willard’s Hotel. I shan’t leave for two weeks or more. I do not intend to quit Washington anyhow till I get my patent papers, if it takes me six months to do it, unless my money (yours, thanks!) runs out.
“The expenses here for everything are frightful. Four dollars a day for cock-loft room at a hotel; five dollars for a hack to carry your agent-friend from one department to another—(for nobody ’ll walk here if he can ride at somebody else’s cost)—two hundred dollars patent fees so far; two hundred more to the ‘helper’ outside; and so on to the end of the worsted. They are abominable—such charges!
“I don’t mean they shall beat me, though. I will get my patent, and if I have to wait, I must. I can’t leave it undone now. I should never get it if I were not here onlhe spot, I verily believe.
“I hope this will find you well, and the young ladies too, your daughters. My regards to them. I can only say, at closing, that I shall do my best to burry my affair along, but you may rest assured I find it ‘hard sledding’ among these people, who don’t like a Yankee anyhow, and who won’t go out of their tracks to help a young man-unless he can put up the brads, as they call money, very generously.
“Once 1 get my letters-patent I am all right. Without them my invention, as you suggested, isn’t worth a dime. I hope I shall be able to write more encouragingly shortly; but I am not able, to-day, to say when I shall have the pleasure of meeting you again. Till then, believe me. your grateful friend, Ed. Corson.”
The captain received this missive, smiled at it, answered it in a most encouraging tone, and Ned continued to wait for something to “turn up.” But the month passed by, and no “report” could be reached by Mm, even through Grindem’s exertions, from the office of the U. S. Red Tape Bureau, upon his looked-for patent upon “Corson’s Bank Safe-Lock.”
On the tenth of the following month he had been absent six weeks from home, and Mr. Grindcm informed him one morning that “things was working,” but he wanted some more money.
“How much ?” asked Ned.
“Two hundred dollars will answer to-day ” said Grindem, without winking.
“How is it going on, sir?”
“Everything is right so far, Mr. Corson, and you’ve got a big thing in vour Safe-Lock, sure’s you’re alive.”
“I hope so,’f said Ned, again drawing out his wallet at hearing these encouraging words.
“You may calculate safely on a fortune out of your invention, in my judgment,” continued Grindem, counting the money; and then pocketing it. “Still the examiners seem to entertain some shade of adverse opinion as to the entire originality of your principle of motion, though nothing like it has as yet been discovered, or announced at least, in this country.”
This was a poser for Ned Corson.
It opened up doubts! Would they throw him upon the point of leasibili ty or question of originality of his process ? This was a bad business—he fancied.
He was very anxious now.
“When would they report?” he asked.
“Who?” said Grindem.
“These gentlemen you speak of.”
“Oh, the examiners?”
“Yes—yes.”
“1 can’t say.”
“Is their decision final as to my getting a patent at all ?”
“Not precisely. That is to say—it may be managed so that a favorable report can be had, and then you can take your chances among competitors who may make claims similar to yours. The department may issue you letters-patent, and you can put your locks on the market. If others can show that you really infringe upon their inventions, they can put an injunction upon you, until you or they can establish priority of claim. The issuing of your patent is not affected by this state of things. It is best, however, to get “a clean bill of health” from the department at first. This is most satisfactory and surest.”
“That’s what I want, sir.”
“And what I’m working for-rin your behalf.”
“You say it can be done ?”
“I think so. But it will cost money yet to push it through, Mr. Corson.”
“Never mind that—I’ll pay. I must have a clean patent. Pll take care of competition, infringements, injunctions, and all that, afterward.”
“Well, we shall know something definite next month, without doubt. The examiners are about it now. It is a very ingenious contrivance. The principle of action, I say, is entirely novel. They are looking into it. And we shall have their first report now shortly.”
This was something tangible, but it wasn’t exactly what Ned was hoping for! The raising of a doubt about the originality of his studied invention had never once entered into his calculations.
What, he thought, were these men, Grindem. Zagg, et. als. up to? Had they combined to attempt to frighten the inexperienced artizan? Or, were they favorably disposed toward some rival, who, perhaps, at that very hour, had in their hands some similar process for a bank or safelock?
He became more and more anxious daily. Grindem got one hundred dollars more from him before three weeks had expired after Ned paid him the second two hundred.
His Iiotel bill and traveling expenses, his fees at the department, legitimately, his hack hire and incidentals, had in three months absorbed over three hundred and fifty dollars. Thus eight hundred and fifty of Captain Blount’s thousand had been absorbed—and no letters-patent yet. And he had been absent from New England near a third of a year.
Ned was hopeful—but he was very anxious now, and he frankly told his “friend,” Mr. Grindem, that his funds were getting low, and he must bring matters to some conclusion.
Three days after the announcement by Ned that his money had run out, Grindem sent for him, at his office.
“It is finished!” said the agent, as soon as the artisan entered his apartment.
“Well—what is the result?”
“Your claim is recognised fully. The Report of the Examiners is entirely in your favor. I congratulate you, Mr. Corson. The patent for your Improved Safe and Bank Lock will be issued to-morrow—and a fortune is before you, I think I may safely predict.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grindem. You have served me well. I shall not forget your valuable aid in this matter.”
And Ned went to his hotel that day delighted.
Upon his return there, he found a letter from Captain Blount, containing a most important announcement, and requesting him to post back home at once without fail.
A sensation had very lately occurred in the village where he formerly lived, with Boissey. He secured his papers, at the department, complete—and the next evening he was on his way North, in the “fast mail,” with his letters-patent and sixty dollars in his pocket.
The event which so suddenly summoned the young locksmith back, related to his early history. A discovery had been made that very nearly concerned the widow’s sou, who had been thrown on the hands of the Overseers of the Poor of the town—eighteen years before—the particulars of which we will now recount; and which will both astonish and gratify the reader of this story, who has thus far followed the varying fortunes of the poor locksmith’s apprentice.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
To News Agents Removing*.
News Agents changing their places of business will confer a great favor on- the proprietors of the New York Weekly by forwar ding notice of the change of location at the earliest moment after such change has been decided on. We make this request in the interest of News Ascents as well as for our own benefit. It is nothing unusual for us to receive letters from News Agents complaining that in their cards, published in our Supplement Sheets, their bld places of business are advertised and the card does them no good, as they have removed. If News Agents do not keep us posted as to their movements, they alone are to blame for not being properly advertised in the New York Week-> ly Supplement Sheets.
THE BUIITED HOME.
BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.
Oh, my home! my onqe fair home!
Now ruined and forsaken!
Its altars crumbled in the dust. Its dearest idols taken!
The forms I watched with jealous care
And held in such fond keeping
Beneath another roof to-night Far, far away are sleeping!
I gaze upon the scattered pile-Each dear remembered token.
Oh, God! I cry, why must I live So Avretched and heart-broken ?
Why, when the wolf has entered in, And severed love’s sweet tether, Why must I daily strive to keep j Life’s broken threads together ?
And yet I know in reasoning thus My fretted soul is sinning—
Better than I my Father sees
The end from the beginning!
And though we may be parted here—
Each golden link be riven—
We’ll meet, perhaps, to part no more— In yonder home in Heaven I
RED-HELM;
-----OR,-------
THE FEMALE PILOT.
JRoger Starbuck.
" was commenced in No. 9. Back Nos. can be ob-L. -v News Agent in the United States.]
CHAPTER XXL
THE WATCH.
Both Faith ancl the cabin boy. who were by this time quite hungry, were glad to obtain the fruit, and also to hear that it was so plentiful in their vicinity.
The three ate heartily; then Brenton and the cabin boy went forth to obtain leaves to make a couch upon which Faith might obtain the rest she so much needed.
There were plenty of large leaves to be plucked from trees, which, in some places, grew quite low on this island, and a sufficient number having been at last collected by the two seamen, they returned to the cave, and had soon prepared a couch lor the young woman.
“We will keep watch outside, while you sleep,” said Brenton.
Faith, however, endeavored to persuade Brenton and the cabin boy to first go to sleep, while she stood watch.
Brenton would not consent to this, and with the boy he left the cave to stand watch.
The two had not been long at their respective posts, when both fancied they heard a rustling in the shrubbery not far distant.
“Stay where you are,” said Brenton, in a low voice, “while I go forward and ascertain the meaning of that noise.” .
Accordingly he hurried forward, and, creeping through the shrubbery a short distance, lay still and listened.
At first he heard ho repetition of the noise, but soon he fancied he caught t he gleaming of a pair of eyeballs, which were like sparks of fire in the shrubbery.
Clutching his dagger firmiy, he rushed toward this object, and, stretching out his hand, caught at the cuff of a jacket to which he held firmly.
“Let me go! me no make harm? Me lost way in the woods!” croaked a boyish voice.
Brenton drew the speaker into the moonlight, and discovered that he was a Malay stripling not more than thirteen years old.
“You sav you lost your way in the woods! Why, then were you sneaking about here, watching us?”
“If you let me go, me tell! Me too much frightened while you hold me.”
Brentbn at once released the lad.
“Me lost my way,” repeated he. “Me hear somebody walk here, and so me look to see if not my friends.”
“I have no doubt your friends are lurking somewhere about here,” said Brenton, “and are only awaiting your return and report to come here and pounce upon us.”
“Nq—not so,” answered the boy, in a truthful, ingenuous manner, which almost dispelled the suspicions of the young man.
“Where were your friends when you last left them ?”
If the boy at first seemed a little disconcerted at this question, he quickly recovered his self-possession, and answered calmly:
“Three miles away from here, going back to the ship. They not find you, and so they say they go back.”
Brenton looked the boy steadily in the face, half-doubting the truth of his assertion.
He turned aside, reflecting on the subject, when he was suddenly startled by a wild cry from the cabin boy—a quick, sharp, warning shriek.
TUHllflg QfliSWtlie perceived that the Malay had drawn a dagger, Which lie was in the aetpf plunging into hh side!
He had but just time to escape the thrust by springing back; then he made a grasp for the lad, who, however, eluded him with the quickness of lightning, and darted into the shrubbery.
Brenton pursued a short distance, but he did not care to follow far from the place where he had left Faith.
The boy soon disappeared from his sight, doubtless to join his friends who, Brenton now concluded, could not be far distant.
“You had a narrow escape, sir,” said the cabin boy, when the young man returned.
“Yes, that fellow was as treacherous as a cat. But for your warning cry, he would doubtless have accomplished his purpose.”
“I saw him just In time. I had my eye on him from the moment he appeared. After you last spoke to him, he thrust his hand in his breast pocket, and, seeing him draw it quickly forth, I at once divined that he had done so in order to obtain a knife.”
“We must get away from here as soon as we can,” said Brenton. “The fellow will inform the other Malays, soon, and they will be after us.”
“So 1 think,” said the boy, “but where can we go, now?”
“There is a boat here, fortunately. We will take to that, and trust to the chance of being picked up.”
The two entered the cave, and waked poor Faith, who, worn out by her late exertions, had sunk into a profound slumber.
Ou hearing the bad news Brenton had to communicate, the girl shuddered.
“It seems as if there is no rest for us,” said she. “I am afraid they will overtake us, after we put to sea in the boat. But what are we to do for paddles or oars ?»
“There are, fortunately, some oars in the boat,” answered Brenton, “and the boy ancl 1 can pull easily. Alter we get out of sight, of this coast, which is the main' thing, we can let the boat drift on. We can do no better, as we have no sail.”
“True,” said Faith, “and may Heaven, which has watched over and befriended us thus far, continue to do so.”
“It will,” said Brenton, confidently, for his was one of those natures which always “look on the bright side” of danger or difficulty.
“You have slept none,” said Faith, tenderly. “You need rest.”
“Never mind me,” answered the young man, “I can go without my share of sleep, occasionally.”
They left the cave and at once proceeded to the boat, in which they were soon seated, Brenton and the boy exerting theinselves at the oars with right good will.
They had thus proceeded about a hundred fathoms from the shore, when they heard a fierce yell, and beheld about fifty Malays on the beach, yelling and screaming at them and brandishing their knives and spears.
They soon disappeared, however, to seek their vessel, probably and start in pursuit.
Meanwhile Brenton and the lad continued to ply their oars with such right good will that, in a short time, they were out of sight of land, the current being now in their favor.
“The wind at present is against the Malay’s pursuing us,” said Faith. “1 wish it would hold so, until we can be picked up.”
“So do I,” answered Brenton, “and I think it will hold as it is until morning.”
“By that time we may see a sail,” remarked Faith.
“Yes, we may,” answered the young man. “I believe we are about in the track of East India vessels.”
“We are. I know that from observations I have made.”
“What is that away off there ahead of us,” inquired the cabin boy.
“That is a sail,” cried Brenton, after he had risen and taken a good survey. “I am sure of it, and I hope it may prove a friendly one.”
With renewed vigor the two seamen again took to their oars, heading the boat directly for the stranger.
As they drew nearer, however, a fog settled on the water, hiding the welcome object from their sight.
“That is too bad,” said Faith. “I was in hopes we would reach that vessel without any trouble.”
“So was I,” answered Brenton, “but we may as well cc ntinue pulling, as the fog may clear before long.”
“It does not often last many hours in these regions,” said Faith.
The fog, however, instead of lifting, seemed to become .thicker every moment.
CHAPTER XXII.
A SAIL.
Before morning Brenton and the cabin boy stretched themselves in the bottom of the boat to seek repose, while Faith stood watch.
So deep was the slumber of the twain that they did not wake until sometime after morning.
“How, now?” inquired Brenton rubbing his eyes. “Have you seen anything more of that sail?”
“Nothing,” was the young girl’s sad reply. “The fog has not cleared yet, but doubtless soon will, I dare say.”
“Hark!” cried the cabin boy, bending his head to one side in listening attitude. “I thought 1 heard a noise like the creaking of yards off there in the fog.”
All listened intently to soon distinguish the sound to which the speaker had alluded.
Faith turned pale.
“I don’t like that voice,” said she. ’ “I may be deceived, but it seems to me it sounds like the creaking of the yards aboard one of the Malay vessels.”
Brenton smiled.
“There is usually but little difference in that sort of noise,” said he.
“Yes, but the shape of the Malay’s yards, and the way they are fastened in the slings, cause them to make more noise than those of American craft.”
“You are doubtless right,” answered the young man, “but I hope you may be deceived in this instance.”
The cabin boy rose at this moment, peering through the fog.
“There!” he cried—“there she is—a vessel of some kind. I can just make out her sails, looming up through the mist.”
“Ay, and she is coming this way. Down to your oar, boy, down!”
The lad at once betook himself to his oar, Brenton doing the same, and the boat was directed out of the track of the approaching craft.
As she came on. her yards and masts soon were quite plainly visible.
“It is one of the Malay schooners,” said Faith.
“Pull ahead!” whispered Brenton to the boy, at the same time making such a powerful stroke with his oar that the boat shot ahead some fathoms.
“They cannot see us now,” said Brenton, “we had better stop pulling.”
This they did, lying on their oars, and watching the half-shrouded hull of the Malay schooner as she dashed on, her crew unconscious of their vicinity.
“We are safe now, I trust,” said Faith, when the craft had vanished in the fog.
“Now, if we could only come across that other craft, I doubt not she would prove a friend,” remarked Brenton. “But ‘there is no evil without its good.’ for this fog hides us from our enemies, who will doubtless be out of sight before it clears.”
The fog showed some signs of clearing, for it was now lighted by the rays of the sun, which was high in the heavens, and the wind was blowing freshly.
Half-an-hour later, it began to break here and there, revealing patches of blue sky.
“I hope it will last a quarter of an hour longer,” said Brenton, “in order that we may be so far astern of the Malay as not to be discovered.”
Eagerly the occupants of the boat watched the mist, as it gradually receded from the surface of the sea.
At last it cleared, and the horizon was visible on all sides. •
Far away to leeward a mere speck, evidently the Malay vessel, now was seen, while to windward, distant about a league and three quarters, was the other sail which had been observed on the previous night.
Brenton at once took to his oar.
“Come, my lad, a few more pulls and then we will signal yonder craft, which I have no doubt will pick us up.”
The boy readily obeyed, and the boat jogged heavily on * her course through the sea.
At length Brenton ventured to make a signal by fastening to the end of his oar a kerchief, which he waved about his head several times.
Ere long this signal was answered by the appearance of the distant vessel’s flag at the mainmast head, where it was waved up and down several times.
“We are seen!” cried the boy, joyfully.
“Ay, and yonder vessel is friendly,” said Faith. “I know that by the manner in which she answers our signal.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Brenton, “and I trust we may soon be picked up.”
The vessel now was seen heading toward them.
As she drew nearer Brenton pronounced her a full-rigged ship—a merchantman, and Faith coincided with him.
“Whether she be American or English, I cannot determine,” remarked the young man; “but that she will prove friendly, there can no longer be a doubt.”
The occupants of the boat watched the ship as she came on. When she was within a league of them, they made her out to be an Englishman, as it was the English Jack she had hoisted at her main.
On she came in stately majesty, scattering the water from her noble brows, while her tall masts bent beneath her great spread of canvas.
Faith clapped her hands as joyfully as a child.
“She is doubtless homeward bound,” said the young woman, “as she was heading to the eastward when we first signaled her.”
“I think as you do,” answered Brenton, “and am very glad for your sake, as you will thus see old England again.”
Soon after the ship was close alongside, when she came up into the wind with her mainyard aback, and several seamen standing in the waist, one of them holding a rope ready to throw to the fugitives.
Brenton caught the rope as it was thrown, and secured it to the bow of the boat.
“Castaways?” inquired the captain, when the three were aboard.
In a few words Brenton explained to the captain, who, being one of those hearty, good-natured old tars often met with in the merchant service, at once sympathized with him.
Soon a pleasant woman came up from the cabin, and was introduced to Faith and Brenton as the captain’s wife.
While they were conversing the vessel’s mainyard was braced forward, and she was kept on her course tow^Id East indies, whither she was bound.
“I tmt vur perys over for the present,” said Bren:-ton to Faith, vnieii neTound himself alone once more with the young girl.
“I hope so,” she answered; “but that i^ something one is never sure of at sea.”
Three days later a terrific gale pounced upon the Lion, the name of the merchantman.
Her fore and mizzen topmasts were carried away, and the captain was obliged to run in under the lee of a promontory in the bay of a pleasant island, to save his craft.
While here, all hands, including even the cook and steward, went ashore for a supply of fresh water.
They had not time, however, to fill their casks, when they suddenly beheld the ship drifting away from them out to sea.
She had parted her cable, which was not very strong, owing to some defect in the links, and was now being carried rapidly off by the current.
Brenton, the captain’s wile and Faith were the only persons aboard.
There was no boat left to them by means of which they could gain the shore, and they were therefore obliged to stand and see the vessel fast leaving their shipmates behind, without the power to get to them.
Brenton, however, had the presence of mind to take the exact bearing of the island, and to jot it down in the ship’s log-book.
Meanwhile the craft, carried on by a strong current, continued to drift with great velocity out to sea.
“My husband I my husband!” cried the captain’s wife, wringing her hands. “What will become of him ?”
The faithful creature, woman-like, thought nothing of her own peril, but only of that of her husband, left on;a far-away island in mid-ocean.
“Don’t despair, madame,” said Brenton. “The wind may soon change, when, I trust, we will be able to get back to the island where your husband has been left.”
This'afforded consolation to the poor woman, and when Faith also comforted her, she dried her eyes and strove to seem cheerful.
Meanwhile the wind was blowing a strong off-shore breeze.
Brenton watched anxiously for a change of wind, but he saw no prospect of this at present.
He went aloft and lowered the main-topgallant sail and the topsail with his own hands, that the craft might gain a good offing, so as to be brought up toward the island when the wind should change.
Ere long and heavy fog, which had been gradually gathering, settled on the sea, hiding the shores of the island from sight. .
The captain’s wife then seemed more despondent than ever.
Brenton went up on the main yard to peer through the mist, thinking he heard a noise not far distant, as of another vessel approaching.
Leaning far over, with one hand grasping the shrouds, he suddenly beheld the outline of the Malay schooner scarcely three ships’ lengths distant.
CHAPTER XXIII.
'A FALL.
Ere the young man could give the alarm, a loose ratline, upon which he stood, gave way beneath his feet, and he was precipitated to the deck.
Faith ran to him, and raised his head on her knee.
“Speak!” she exclaimed; “speak to me, sir, are you much hurt?”
But the closed eyes opened not, while a stream of blood now was seen trickling down from the temple.
“Dead! he is dead!” moaned the young woman, clasping his wounded head with both arms.
“No,” said the captain’s wife. “I trust he is only stunned. We must try to get him into the cabin.”
They succeeded, with much difficulty, in drawing the young mail to the companion-way.
Then he opened his eyes, and his lips moved as if he would speak, but no sound came from them.
He, however, contrived to stagger to his feet, when he stood a moment leaning against the companion-way, his hand pressed to his brow. ,
Suddenly recollection seemed to flash on his mind. He pointed off to the quarter.
“The Malay I the Malay!” he gasped.
Faitluturned as pale as death, for, following the direction pointed out, she could see the outline of the vesseL
Nevertheless her first care was to get Brenton into the cabin, which, with the assistance of the captain’s wife, she finally accomplished.
A little brandy and water then was given to Brenton; who soon after sank into a deep slumber.
Faith then went on deck, and watched the Malay craft, the occupants of which, however, it was evident had »o yet seen the merchantman owing to the greater thickness of the fog in this direction. vnnnc
“You look anxious,” said the captain s wrfe to the y<ran girl. “Why is it? Yonder is a sail; can we not make a sitrnal to let them know we are here?”
“Heaven forbid!” answered the young woman
Then she explained to Mrs. Brown, the captain s wife, the character of the vessel seen. /.han
“Now, Heaven help us!” gasped the poor woman, clasp-ino- her hands. ‘‘We will be captured and muidered, alter which the wretches will doubtless find my poor husband and crew and serve them in the same manner!
“We must hope for the best,” said Faith, drawing her
W NEW YORK WjpWf
lithe form to its full hight. “Of myself I care but little, but they must not get him into their power.’
“My hushana?^ said Mrs. Brown, wondering at the interest manifested by Faith in that person.
“No ” answered the young woman, blushing deeply.
“I did’not mean him; I meant Brenton!”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Brown, and she at once put her arm around Faith, and said as she kissed her:
“1 read your secret. But 1 don’t blame you, for he is a noble fellow!”
Faith blushed deeper than before; then changed the subject.
“Yes,” said she, with eyes gleaming like stars. “We must save this ship, and I will do it—at all events I will try hard.”
She then took her place at the helm, keeping on a bee line the craft, which had hitherto been yawing from side to side.
“Where did you learn to steer so well ?” inquired Mrs. Brown, nwucli surprised.
Faith explained.
“You are a remarkable girl,” added the other, “and a brave one, too.”
• iQQKsd at tllQ ^lalay craft, which was fast being left astern m the fog. ■ — ' 1
“Do you think they will see us she inquired.
“No,” was the answer, “not while this fog holds; but when it clears I am afraid they may. That is why I want to get as far away from her as I can.”
Toward noon the fog had somewhat cleared.
Far astern, almost hull down, the Malay schooner was seen.
“There is a difficult task before me now,” said Faith, “to manage this ship with the few sails she carries. Will you piease go and bring up the captain’s chart that I may see what island that is, so far away ahead of us.”
The captain’s wife readily complied.
Faith looked at the map a moment; then uttered a cry of dismay.
“That island is the one which of all others we should avoid—the one from which I have recently escaped.”
“Alas!” said Mrs. Brown, “I see no hope for us.”
“Our prospects certainly look dark,” answered Faith, “but we must not despair for all that. He must and shail be saved!”
Ever thinking of Brenton. The ship and her cargo had, it was plain, but a small share in the thoughts of the young woman, so anxious to prevent the man she loved from falling into the hands of the Malays.
Mrs Brown watched her with undisguised admiration.
Standing there at the helm, her lithe form swaying with the motions of the craft she steered, her round cheeks glowing with the bloom of health and with an ardent purpose, her bright, soft eyes watching every motion of the ship’s head, she seemed the very personification of feminine beauty and resolution.
On went the stately ship. Faith endeavoring to keep her as close to the wind as the state of her canvas would allow, that she might give the island a good offing.
“If I could only brace that maintopsail a little,” said she, gaztng wistfully toward the sail, “it would help me much I”
“Cannot you and I do it together?” inquired the captain’s wife.
“We might move it a little, it is true,” said Faith, “and that little might be the means of saving us.”
They pulled on the main brace, and succeeded at last in moving the yard.
“That is good,” said Faith, “and now this top-gallant brace!”
Pulling on the brace,they soon succeeded in getting this light yard in the required position.
Then Faith returned to the helm.
“What is that?” inquired Mrs. Brown, suddenly pointing toward the island.
The face of the young steerswoman turned pale, but she 'compressed her lips and her eyes flashed.
“It is a canoe!” said she. “They see us and are doubtless pulling this way.”
“They will overtake us then,” said the captain’s wife, “as we do not go very fast.”
“No,” said Faith, resolutely, “they shall not overtake us; they cannot, if this wind holds as it is.”
She redoubled her efforts at the helm, now steering the ship with a steadiness which could not have been surpassed by the best man that ever stood at a vessel’s helm.
Not a wrinkle in the canvas, not a quarter of a point swaying by the head, the ship stood bravely on her way, with a speed which promised that an excellent offing would be obtained.
Meanwhile, there was the canoe still coming up, the crew pulling with might and maittj but not as yet gaining a single fathom.
“I don’t know what I should have done without you,” said Mrs. Brown, admiringly, to the young girl. “I believe you will save the craft, after all!”
“We cannot always tell these things,” was the answer. “If the wind holds, I hope to get such a good offing that I can run down before it, which will at least enable me to keep away from the canoe; and I trust also that I will succeed in keeping clear of the Malay. We may stand a chance of falling in with some other craft.”
■“Heaven grant we may!” answered Mrs. Brown, fervently; “and that the captain will run down to the island where my husband is, and pick him up!”
Meanwhile, the Malays in the canoe had not yet given up the chase, but were pulling with might and main after the ship.
“They do not gain on us, I hope ?” said Mrs. Brown.
“No; not yet. If this wind holds we will soon leave them far astern.”
The wind continued to freshen, and the ship made good headway with so small a spread of canvas.
Suddenly, as the-eraft passed under the lee of one of the lofty island headlands, the wind died away, and her sails flapped heavily against the masts.
A cry of exultation was heard at the same moment from the dusky Malays, who, not more than half-a-league astern, now anticipated easily making the merchantman
their prey.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Mx’S. Fleming’s Hew Story,
entitled
“A TEHEWLE SECRET,” .
Will b6 commenced soon after the completion of “ A Wonderful Woman.”
Our Knowledge Box.
simple sirup, four ounces. Mix. Dose, from a teaspoonful to a tablespoonful, every hour or so. Several other remedies are used for asthma, with more or less success, such as electro-magnetism, smoking stramonium leaves, burning paper dipped in a strong solution of nitrate of potash, and inhaling the smoke. In grave cases it is always well to seek the aid of a physician in good standing.
Far West.—Costiveness in Children.—We have received a number of letters, recently, requesting recipes for costiveness in adults and children, the latter especially. Among the letters is the foBwung from “Far West,” which we publish for the purpose of eliciting from some of our million of readers who are interested in this Department simple but reliable remedies for the complaint. Castor oil and other similar purgatives sometimes aggravate rather than lessen the trouble, whereas stewed prunes, and apples, raw or baked, are often of great and lasting benefit. We shall be pleased to hear from any one who can furnish a recipe for the following case. We prefer $ remedy that does not necessitate the use of drugs;
“Dear New York Weekly:—Having great confidence in the . advice given in your valuable paper, I venture to trouble your Medical Department. My child, now ten months old, has been from her birth continually costive. Two doctors, whose advice 1 asked, each recommended castor oil. Now, 1 am sure it cannot be well to be constantly giving purgatives to a child whose health seems otherwise perfect, and besides I feel convinced that it rather increases than lessens the sluggishness of her bowels, for within the last couple of months since I have begun to teed her on bread and milk, she is still more constipated, seldom or never Jlgying a motion without oil, and if I leave her to herself for a goilble Of days Suffers very much, her straining frequently bringing blood. I think that you will be able to tell me of some better remedy than ordinary medicine; if possible something in the way of food fit for a child of her age, which instead of purging will regulate the bowels at the same time. She has not yet begun to shed her teeth. Anxiously awaiting your reply I remain a sincere admirer of your valuable paper. Far West.”
T. W. Smith, Negative and Tonic.—1. Your malady, if long continued, is, as we have before said to others, very difficult to cure, it sometimes defying or baffling for a long time the greatest medical skill, but time and patience will achieve wonders, provided you do nothing to aggravate the ills of which you complain. Use the cold bath night and morning, if you have the proper bathing conveniences; if not, use the sponge freely. Keep your thoughts off the subject. Avoid late suppers. Be regular in your habits. Let your diet be simple and wholly free from spices of every description. Don’t touch alcoholic liquors. Mingle in cheerful company. Attend theatrical performances that please . the ear more than the eye. Rise early and take a great deal of exercise, if possible, during the day and early in the evening. In bed lie on your right side—never on your back. Let the covering be light. Don’t be discouraged if you don’t get well in a week or month. Persevere and relief from suffering will eventually crown your efforts. 2. We cannot name any particular physician. There are a great many good ones in the city. Apply to one in good standing—a regular family practitioner. 3. Avoid quacks as you would a pestilence. Place no confidence in the circulars they send through the mail.
Florence.—If you wish to get rid of pimples, etc., and preserve a clear, fine complexion, don’t eat fat meats, avoid also the use of rich gravies, pastry, pickles, spiced sauces, or anything of the kind in excess. Take all the outdoor exercise you can, and never indulge in a late supper. Retire at a reasonable hour and rise early in the morning. Sulphur to purify the blood may be taken three times a week—a thimbleful in a glass of milk before breakfast. It takes some time for the sulphur to do its work. Therefore, persevere in its use till the humors, or pimples, or blotches disappear. Avoid getting wet while taking the sulphur.
Young Drug Clerk.—A. new febrifuge, said to be an excellent substitute for quinine, is reported to have been discovered in France. It is much cheaper than quinine. This substance consists of the green leaves of the laurel, or “Laurus Nobilis,” which are dried in a close vessel on a fire, and are afterward reduced to fine powder, of which fifteen grains may be taken as a dose in a glass of cold water. Forty-five grains, it is asserted, three doses in all, are sufficient to effect a cure, and it has ever been successful in African fevers of long standing, against which quinine was ineffectual. Consult an experienced associate in your business before using it.
Mountain Tom
A TALE of the NEW DIAMOND FIELDS.
A Few Paragraphs Worth Kememberlng.
Questions Answered and Information Wanted.— Adorer.—Stains.—If you have been picking or handling any acid fruit and have stained your hands, wash them in clean water, wipe them lightly, and while they are yet moist strike a match and shut your hands around it so as to catch the smoke, and the stain will disappear. If you have stained your muslin or gingham dress or white apron, with berries, before wetting the cloth with anything else, pour boiling water through the stains, and they will disappear......H. C. Richmond.—Castor oil and brandy will darken and thicken the hair...Irish.—Bay rum is a very pleasant toilet article, but it is no better than common alcohol for the purpose named. Outdoor exercise is the best cosmetic for the complexion ...Old Connecticut.—Use a little mercurial ointment.... De witt.—Hair Dyes.—We have repeatedly expressed the opinion that all hair dyes are more or less injurious, but as people will use them, be the consequences what they may, it becomes us to recommend a substitute for the salts of lead, etc., which en-' ter into the composition of most of the hair restoratives—so called. Among organic dyes which can be prepared by any one is that obtained from the green walnut burr, the epicarp of the fruit of the juglans regia. For this purpose the burrs are soaked in water and pressed. The liquid thus obtained is then evaporated, and the dye precipitated as a black powder, which can be used in any convenient form of hair-dressing. An eminent Greek chemist says that large quantities are used in Greece, and are also exported thence for this purpose. The Greeks also make a dye by adding alum to the expressed juice, and use this to give a Sark and marketable color to the cattle exported to Marseilles and other places where light-colored stock is at a discount......R- B— Bathe the eyes with weak salt and waterZ. R., A. and G. B. B.—To Gild Picture Frames.—The surface to be gilded must be carefully covered with a strong size, made by boiling down pieces of white leather or clippings of parchment, till
I they are reduced to a stiff jelly. This coating being dried, more I size must be applied, the size being mixed with a small quantity of whiting. The last coating is composed of size and massicot, or I sometimes yellow ochre. Let it dry thoroughly, and then I dampen the surface a little, at a time with a damp sponge, and
I apply the gold leaf before this dries. It will immediately adhere,
and when dry those parts which are to be brilliant are to be burnished with an agate or dog’s tooth burnisher.Armenia.— 1. To Clean Picture Frames.—Take a little raw cotton in the state of the wool and rub the frames with it. This will take off all the dust and dirt without injuring the gilding. 2. To Clean Pictures, take the picture out of the frame, lay a coarse towel on it for ten or, fourteen days, keep continually wetting it until it has drawn out all the filthiness from the picture; pass some linseed oil, which has been a long time seasoned in the sun, over it, to purify it, and the picture will become as lively on the surface as new...Beautiful Tempter.—'ro Preserve Flowers.—
1. Mix a tabldspoonful of carbonate of soda in a pint of water, and in this place your bouquet. It will preserve the flowers for a fortnight. 2. Sprinkle the bouquet lightly with fresh water, and then put it in a vessel containing soap suds. This will keep the flowers as freshly as if just gathered. Then every morning take the bouquet out of the suds, and lay it sideways—the stock entering first—into clean water^keep rothere a minute or two, then take it out and sprinkle the flowers lightly by the hand with water, replace it in the soap suds, and it will bloom as fresh as when first gathered. The soap suds need changing every three or four days. By observing these rules (says a lady who has tested them) a bouquet may be kept bright and beautiful for at least a month, and will last still longer in a passable state. 3. We have heard that the natural color of flowers may be preserved for any length
* time d’PPing them for a moment in clear glycerine. When Vie glycerine dries the various tints are seen almost as bright as the flowers were plucked,...........IF. F. F.—Near-Sighted-tlw liave known near-sighted persons aided by holding nnf b£ok theY were reading as far off as possible, with-walkini thf ^h^8' Also’ by keePing their eyes directed, in viStA rt Jtl®e^atrlar'off objects. Don’t be discouraged if Lk immediate benefit from these suggestions. You
eve^wp ie for months. For strengthening the
®yes we know of nothing better than table salt and water. tei D.— Rub your hands with glycerine.
Medical Department.
mainly in Asthma has its cause
a system. The air tubes are encircled with
cS up the
puckering string eft thTmS Iery muc? as the
little air can maa mouth of the work-bag, so that very
cultv andXwnTi ie aiF;cells and that little with great diffi-th^is DraS and
which has been regarded asSrV^ai^ Thls dl^ase
brought on by any of those difficult of cure, may be
turb or irritate the bronchial
ous causes which mysteriously un^ numer-
A fit may be brought on by whatever UhJT°US-following recipe is considered very good for • JAe
Ethereal tincture of lobelia, two
w ottBoe; laudauum, oae ounce;
K ■ ■
By Ned Buntline,
[“Mountain Tom” was commenced in No. 7- Back Nos. can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.]
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Amidst the pelting of the terrible storm, which almost overwhelmed the parties which were so near to them, all unknowing of their vicinity, the body of men under charge of the veteran in experience, Arizona Bill, bore up nobly; for, with the exception of the Tombs lawyer, Prindle, and Bloody Mike, his mate—the rest were used to storms of the kind, and knew how to face them.
And when the storm swept on, they were not so drenched and disheartened as to sink down like the gamblers in Sally Grim’s party, to shiver all the night long in their wet garments, and wait for day to come before they could And comfort.
They rode on a while till the blood circulated warm with action, and then coming to a clump of chapparal, where fuel could be found, halted and soon had fires by which to dry, and over which food and coffee could be prepared.
So, when day did dawn', they were in a comparatively fair condition to move on again, and did so at an early hour, taking for a guide a column of smoke rising directly ahead ?f them and not far distant.
Arizona Bill had recognised the mountains before him already as the boundary which separated the plains from the valley in which he had seen diamonds and rubies lying broadcast on every side. /
And knowing that if Tom followed the course laid down in his man, and the gamblers had followed his trail, they must be * ahead now, he asserted that the smoke seen came from the encampment of one or the other, for the desert over which they had traveled for days back was not the region which Indians would infest or even travel over.
Riding on, the old man at the head of his column, they soon came within sight of the gamblers, who, huddled about the remaining wagon, were breakfasting on the last of the provisions which it contained, while they talked about the disappearance of Sally Grim and the girls, and the non-return of Mountain Tom.
When the party under Arizona Bill was discovered, the gamblers were at a loss to know who they could be; but soon they were recognized, many of them as old acquaintances, and then, by the explanations of the gamblers, Arizona Bill soon knew how near he had come to overtaking the girls and Mountain Tom.
“We must follow their trail and find them it possible,” said the old man. “If once they are through or over that mountain range, they are not only in the valley of diamonds, but where death will almost surely be their fate; for they are too few to resist, and not well versed enough in cunning to hide from those who will seek out intruders.”
To a proposition to unite the entire force under command of Arizona Bill, the only one competent to guide and direct, there was now a general assent.
Therefore, after a short halt, the united party moved on, leaving the useless wagon behind, but carrying the extra arms and the powder that Phelim O’Laugherty had so boldly saved the night before, on pack mules.
Finding the trail made by the horses which Mountain Tom and his friends rode, Arizona Bill followed it up until they came to where the horses had been left. Here too they had to leave their animals.
Soon after, still pressing on, they reached the defile where the girls, with Sally Grim and Toni and his mates, had afterward been surprised by the people who came out of the secret passage.
The traces of many feet could be seen here in the sands, which had washed down the mountain side, and a close examination of the rock soon told the old man that there was an opening which had been made and closed artificially.
For some time lie and others sought to move it—for they could see that a huge rock in the way was movable, if they could but get properly at it—but their efforts were made in vain.
There was quite a chasm under this rock—a fissure which seemed to have been rent by some convulsion of nature rather than by the wash of water, and into this Arizona Bill determined to pour as much powder as he could and then to sand-tamp it for a blast.
He was aided by men who had cayoted into many a hill for Its golden treasure, and before an hour had gone by all was readv for the attempt to blow open the passage.
Prudently sending all back out of danger, the old man fired his fuse, and getting out of range waited the result. The explosion which followed was tremendous, in both noise and effect, for it shook the ground and cliffs like the shock of an earthquake, rending away the rock which had closed the passage beyond, so completely, that there was nothing to hinder the party from entering the vault.
Lights still burning there, shields and spears of gold found in the passage way, told the astonished party that they were on the road to strange discoveries—perhaps the path of peril, but surely one that told of gold and that which they sought.
Forming his men, with the trustiest in front, leading the way himself, Arizona Bill entered the passage.
Firing a volley bv his order, to give signal to Mountain Tom that help was”near, if he could hear it, Arizona Bill’s partv‘followed their leader swiftly on, finding, as they pressed forward, trophy after trophy dropped by the guards who had fled in terror when they heard the strange thunder in their rear.
After a rapid march, Arizona Bill and his men emerged into open day and an open country, seeing far before them a body of men with glittering arms flying as if terror-stricken, toward a group of buildings. Another scattering volley was fired to still highten their terror.
“This is indeed the Valley of Diamonds!” cried Arizona Bill. “I recognize it well. The people are in alarm. We had best be cautious and we may be able to rescue those I seek, make ourselves rich, and retire in safety. Halt here, and while I try with a white flag to induce the people to treat with us, you can throw up breastw irks behind which we can protect ourselves and where wt can cover outline of retreat.”
The party all were inclined to accord with the views of Arizona Bin, but when some found precious stones scattered here and there, and specimens of gold, they seemed more inclined to scatter in search of these than to labor in preparing defenses.
This brought out an indignant appeal from Arizona
“Without we remain united, and have the means to reprovision ourselves for return, all the jewels vou may gather will be useless to you!” he said. “Eithefobey me fully, and act in unison, or consider yourselves as good as lost!”
Hhs appeal(was listened to,though some were grumblers, and while Arizona Bill hoisted a flag for conference, others reared a breastwork of rocks, which 'would aid them much in resisting an attach
None too soon were thsse preparations for defense made.
. For large bodies of m were seen gathering together m a cluster of bulidipgs, which Arizona Bill called the chief could be seen glittering in
the sun as body after oody joined the column with movements which indicated order and discipline.
Tills column, numbering to the eyes of the party at least several thousand, at last got into motion, and marching toward the intrenchment seemed to be strong enough to overwhelm them.
Some of the men—not the old hunters, but the gamblers —urged a retreat to the pass in the mountain, as that would be more easily defended.
But Arizona Bill would not turn back afoot.
‘(Ii’ we stand our ground, armed as we are, we can at the first Ure (each them such a lesson that they will fear and respect uS, and let ug have our own way. Leave me to manage them, afid we will get away rich in gold and jewels and provisioned fof the return trip.”
Again the counsel of the old man had its effect? and the party agreed to obey his orders.
But they all saw with anxiety, and many with fear, that the army which was moving toward them, augmented as it came on by continual reinforcements, was large enough to crush them by mere weight of numbers, even if hundreds fell by their fire.
On it swept, breaking from column into a massive line as it moved forward, the wings moving up as if to surround their party ere they strove to crush them.
“Keep cool, every man” and while one-half fires a volley into the air, let the other half be ready to fire low and send death into their ranks if they do not halt!” cried Arizona Bill, when this vast body, silent yet, were within long range of his guns. “Let t he first half fire—elevating your guns to do no harm—at the word—Fire!”
A volley loud and sharp rung over the valley, and sent its echoes back among the stupendous hills.
In an instant that moving mass stopped as if rooted to the ground; then there was wavering in the ranks as if there was an intention to recoil and tall back from before that handfull of men.
At this crisis, a person who seemed to be borne on a platform covered with a canopy, was carried swiftly along the front, and loud words of command were heard.
The commotion ceased, and then from the place where this person was halted, a man richly dressed was seen leaving the line, carrying a white flag in his hand, and coming toward the intrenchment.
“They know what a white flag means!” said Arizona Bill.
“Let three or four volunteer go with me to meet it.”
The first to move out after the old man was Prindle, the I next Bloody Mike, and then two of the old miners.
Arizona Bill, already moving on, did not look back to see who volunteered. -----
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Arizona Bill, leaping over the breastworks with his white flag in hand, hurried forward so as to meet the messenger from the enemy before the latter was near enough to count his men or note the nature of the defenses thrown up.
The old man thus hurrying forward did not look back to see who followed, but lie saw the one who bore the white flag from the enemy halt, wave his flag four times, and that then four persons came swiftly from the opposing ranks to join him.
‘‘They mean that we shall be equal in conference!” muttered Arizona Bill, moving slowly on until he reached a spot midway between the nvo parties.
Here, halting, he looked back to see who were his followers.
A glance of contempt at two of them spoke his dissatisfaction, but no time now Dp change his followers, for the bearer of the truce-flag from' the ‘ other side was close at hand.
This person, a young man, resplendantly dressed an'd ornamented, armed with a golden sword, supported on either side by two young warriors almost as richly dressed as he, halted when within almost a spear’s length of Arizona Bill, and said:
“The Prince of Oriole has seen the flag of the intruders in his realm. He has sent me, Bellanah, his general, to ask what ye want, for he is merciful, and would not destroy the strangers while they pray for mercy.”
“We have not prayed for mercy,” said Arizona Bill. “Have you ever seen me before?”
“Yes. You were a prisoner, and escaped with the Mexican female slave a long time since.”
“You are right. I escaped from your priests when they had doomed me on their altar-fires. I do not fear them,or him you call your prince, now. I, and those under me, are not here to ask mercy or crave favors. We have questions to ask—you can answer if you will. Then we will talk of war and peace, I am ready for either.”
“Ask—if it is fit that I answer, I will speak,” said the young general, haughtily.
“Have you in your power three women prisoners—two young and fair, one older than they ?”
“We have four women in our dungeons. One was your accomplice in escape—the Mexican. Two are young and beautiful, another is older than they.”
“Isadora Benita here and retaken!” cried Arizona Bill. “It cannot be. How came the Mexican woman to return?”
“Like an Indian warrior, painted and clad in skins of beasts, she came with two men who are captives in the temple.”
“With Mountain Tom and his friend! The infatuated fool! I feared as much when she refused to go East with me!” said the old man, trembling with excitement.
“So you have six prisoners in all V’
Bellanah bowed.
“Then tell the Prince of Oriole that if he will release to us these prisoners, all—male and female—unharmed, we will go back to our homes and never return here again to disturb him or his people.”
“He will close his ears to all but this. -Go back as ye are before he strikes, or he will slay those who are before him first, and the prisoners next. He bade me listen to no words but those that spoke-retreat.”
“Then we will fight!” said Arizona Bill, and he turned toward his people.
“Hold and listen!” cried the young officer. *‘The Prince of Oriole told me to say that the first shot which fell among his people, would be the signal of death to all his prisoners. The moment a red flag is seen above his head, the executioners have been told to strike.”
Arizona Bill paused. He had no doubt that those helpless girls were in the power of these heathen men. That Mountain Tom was also where death could reach him. And poor Isadora Benita, too. Could he save them ?
He would try.
•Twill write a message to him whom you call your prince, and until it is answered, no shot shall be fired,” said Arizona Bill.
“It will be vain. Yet I will carry it. The prince will hear of nothing but that you go back whence you came,” said the young general.
“He may change his mind when he has read what I will write,” said the old man. “Can you read the tongue you speak so well?”
“No. I have been taught to speak, but not toreador write it.”
The old man seemed pleased to know this, for he wrote his message on the blank page of a memorandum book, and handed it open to the messenger.
“Take that to him and tell him I wait for his reply,” he said.
Bellanah went alone, leaving his flag and attendants where they were.
Arizona Bill paced to and fro, in front of his flag, waiting for the return of the messenger.
He had not long to wait. The answer came in writing, and without thought he read it aloud.
“Though the Prince of Oriole does not credit the story which has been written and sent, he will permit the strangers to remain where they are for one day and night, and that they may not be exposed to danger by being obliged to seek for food and drink, both shall be sent to their camp. In the time thus given, the Prince of Oriole will consider what shall be done, and give full answer to what the chief of the strangers has written.
• “To insure peace on both sides, two hostages from each side shall remain with the other side. Bellanah, our general, will leave two of our best men, and take charge of such two as you may send. The Prince of Oriole.”
“Hostages? Well, two that are good for nothing else are here and can go!” said Arizona Bill. “Mr. Prindle, you and your missionary friend, Bloody Mike, will go with the officer, while I take back the two he sends. No excuse—go and be thankful you can be of some use. You’ll be safe there while we hold these men here.”
Prindle would have refused to go if he dared, but he did not, and Mike sullenly went where he went.
The white banners remained standing side by side to indicate the truce, and the messengers with their respective hostages returned.
The threatening army, after Bellanah went back, was seen to countermarch toward the city, and soon after a half dozen bullocks, carrying^provisions and drink were driven to the intrenchment made by Arizona Bill and his party.
The latter explained to his people that he hoped by delay to compass the release of Mountain Tom and the other captives, and to make such terms that, laden witli gems, they might all leave the valley in safety. He could not explain further then, for he must treat with the ruler of the valley in person, and he hoped it would yet end well for all engaged in the expedition. But to avoid treachery, all must be ou their guard, day and night.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[“Texas Jack, The White King of TUe PawNEHS,” by Ned Buntline, will be commenced very soon. The hero is a living character, at present traveling through the country with his mate, Buffalo Bill, and his biographer, Ned Buntline. They are accompanied by real Indians, and their exhibitions of savage life, in the drama entitled “Scouts of the Prairie,” have attracted admiring audiences in every city they have visited.]
---------->^^4------------
Mr. Greeley's Will and. the Children’s Aid Society.
Children’s Aid Society.)
19 East 4th St., New York, Jan. 16, 1873. J
To the Editor of the New York Weekly:
Sir:—In view of the many rumors in regard to this society and Mr. Greeley’s will, permit me to say that the Children’s Aid Society are not now, and have not been, contesting Mr. Greeley’s will. The only contestants are the executors of the will of 1871.
Your obedient servant, Charles S. Brace, Secretary.
--------------------------
Some New York widows are endeavoring to win the consideration and favors of a certain political party. A death announcement, which appeared in the Herald of Jan. 17, closes by inviting the members of the “Democratic Widows’ Society.”
Pleasant_Paragraphs.
(* KroEte—Dead Broke,”
As I wander through the valley, As I clamber up the steep, As I sail upon the ocean, And gaze into the deep, All nature seeks to taunt me, Though ne’er a word is spoke, But voices gently murmur:
“He is broke, he’s broke, dead broke.” The flowers by the roadside,
The songsters on the tree. Bow their heads in seeming pleasantry, And strangely wink at me.
Meaning more than words would utter, If the air was wilder rent,
With the voices of creation crying: “He hasn’t got a cent.”
My tailor, when he duns me, , ,
x Comes in with fierce display;
My washerwoman bellows:
“I say, sir, can’t you pay ?” I blandly smile and answer, Heedless of their din and rant;
“ I should really like to settle, But indeed—indeed I cant.”
’Tis true my tailor’s very poor;
Has a family besides.
My washerwoman bellows Because her child has died.
My butcher then complaining comes— I laugh as t’were a joke—
Until he t^ells of wife near dead.
But what’s the use—I’m broke.
My money’s gone, that’s certain.
Dad has some “rhino” still, And two or three fine houses
Not subject to my will.
I’ll settle with my creditors;
For by the aid of tact, Displayed by other worthy men, 1’11 run the bankrupt act. Harry C. Duke.
Al Matrimonial Serenade.
Bill Stoker resided in the town of C., on the coast of Maine. He was known as a man of few words, and a crusty old bach. Finding an ancient maiden lady suited to his years, Bill quietly married and took her home. There were game young men in C., and ere the news was fifteen minutes old, cow bells, tin pans, ram’s horns., and such like euphonious instruments, were heard approaching Bill’s cabin from all directions. It was late in the evening when the news got out. An old forty-pounder, dragged from the fort hard by, with its shocking explosions, capped the climax of the horrible din, while rattling glass indicated mischief, as well as fun. However, a treat they must have. But hour after hour passed, and the house gave no more sign of life than a last year’s tombstone. Of a sudden Jack Whipple started for the nearest apothecary’s shop, saying: “1’11 start ’em!” Back in a trice, he began blowing asafoetida smoke through the keyhole! Mean time bang, toot, toot, toot, rattle, rattle, rattle went gun, horns and pans, as though no side play was being enacted. At last the door opened, and Bill Stoker appeared. All was hushed as the grave.
“Gentlemen,” said he, addressing the crowd, “your music is charming, but d—m your perfumery! Here’s a V., I’m beat.” Captain Crostree.
Not a Word.
During a protracted meeting held at Tumbleson’s Run, an old sinner took it into his head that he would go to the “mourner’s bench” or “anxious seat,” become converted, and endeavor to lead a new life. Accoidmgly, during one of the urgent appeals of the minister, the old fellow, whom we shall name Jake Blobbg, came forward and knelt down. Jake had been considered a hardened sinner and a reckless man, and when he came to the anxious seat the praying ones surrounded him instantly, and commenced to pray, shout, and raise a noise generally. Jake kept silent, and the brethren besought him to pray and make supplication for himself. The old fellow was getting a trifle angry, and he finally growled out:
“I can’t pray!”
“Yes, you can,” they answered. “Open your mouth, dear brother Blobbs, and the Lord will put the words in.”
“ ’Tisn’t so!” said Jake. “I’ve been sittin’ here with my mouth open for half-an-hour, and the Lord hasn’t put a word iu yet!” H. Elliott McBride. I
.A. Strange Interruption.
The “culled pussons” hold weekly meetings in the little town of C---. The minister on one occasion grew eloquent, and got off the following: “We’ll cross the river Jordan, mount the eternal horse, and ride to glory!” An intoxicated negro in the congregation, jumped up yelling: “1’se the ‘eternal hossl Ride me!”
Al Pondy Place.
The first station east of Bushwick, on the South Side Railroad, of Long Island, is in a very swampy place. In winter it affords excellent skating. A number of skaters, after an afternoon’s fun, went into a hotel, and while refreshing the inner man, one of them asked the host the nanie of the village. “Fresh Pond,” was the reply. “It is rather ‘pondy’ around here,” remarked one of the strangers. “Yes,” returned the host; “if it wasn’t for the little land that’s visible, it would be all pond. But when the weather gets fine, we expect to cartout a few more loads of earth. We must have a site for a school-house.”
SNOOKS. How Changed!
My love she wore a simple dress, Her hair in waving curls;
They called her lovely black-eyed Bess, Queen rose among t lie girls.
I left her, far away to roam;
She vowed she’d ne’er forget;
But everything, alas! had changed Before again we met.
My love she had become a blonde When next I saw her lace,
And where the curls once graced her head Rats, frizzies, chignons, lace.
She was the belle of skating rinks;
The joy of a fast set;
I sigh’d: Do you remember me ?” She winked and cried: “You bet!”
A—m. W—R.
A Boomerang Jump,
Sam B. was an inveterate story teller. One time, while out hunting, he came to a very wide brook which he wished to cross. He said: “I went back about thirty feet, and getting a good start, gave a leap; but as I was going through the air, I saw a snake coiled up on the bank where I was about to strike. It gave me such a start, 1 turned'’round and lit on the same side 1 started from!”
Americus.
Speechless.
Two Irishmen were working in a quarry, when one of them fell into a deep hole. The other alarmed, rushed to the brink of the hole and called out, “Pat are you kilt entirely? If you are dead spake!” Pat reassured him from the bottom, by saying in answer, “Nd, Tim; not dead, but knocked spacheless.” F. A. F.
A Disappointed Milesian.
An Irishman received from a friend a letter, which stated, with other information, that two of his former companions sent him their best regards. “Best regards!” said Mickey, soliloquising; “what’s thim? Oh, it must be some of their owld duds. And mighty handy they’ll come in, this cowld weather.” Each morning, on three successive days, he visited the express office to see if there was a package for him. “Mighty queer it hasn’t come,” he said to the express man on the third day. “What did you expect?” questioned the express agent. “A box or package wid some best regards, and I thought there might be an overcoat among the other things.”
Mickey looked rather stupid when the express-man explained to him the meaning of best regards.
Theodore S. Weber.
Crowding Him.
“Where is your house?” asked a traveler in the depths of one of the old “solemn wildernesses” of the West. “House? I aint got no house.” “Well, where do you live?” “I live in the woods, sleep on the government purchase, eat raw bear and wild turkey, and drink out ot the Mississippi. And,” he added, “it is getting too thick with you folks about here. You’re tlie second man I’ve seen this last month, and I hear that there’s a whole family come in about fifty miles down the river. I’m going to put out in the woods again.” Geo. B. Clarke.
The “T.ay” of a Young Benedick.
“Awake, my son! Why thus inglorious sleep On this the first morn of thy wedded life ?
Mu Dick was up before the first gray peep
Of dawn, afield with the sharp harvest knife; While you, here sleeping by Jemimy’s side,
Not caring for the yellow-bearded grain.” “ Say, ma.” a faint voice from within replied, “Go burn mv clothes, I'll ne'er get upagain!”
S. A. Paddock.
A Meal-Chest.
Some time after the demise of her husband, a widow residing at Clifton Springs, New York, had reason to believe that his body had been removed. An investigation revealed that such was the case, the rough board box usually inclosing the coffin alone remaining. As the grave was about to be filled up again, a bright idea struck her, and she said, “That box will make a first rate mealchest, and I’ll take it home.” Said box is used for that purpose at date. Southworth.
A Ruined Merchant.
“I’m not used to begging,” said a little girl to a lady of whom she had asked alms, “cause only two weeks ago my lather was a merchant.” “Why, child, how could you be reduced to poverty so soon?” “My father took a bad two dollar bill at his peanut stand, and it ruined him,” sobbed the child. B. Hopkins.
Rows.
Kows are vary useful any miles—more so then a horse. Kows give milk, but horses don’t. People give milk to babies and yung pigs, and it dos a heep of good toward maken em phat and noizy. When I waz a yung man my fokes alius kept a kow, and I alius tooke grate delite in teezen her. She had a most gentel dispozision except when you got her dander up, and then she waz a regler hurry-kane. She alius had a grudge agin me lor teezen her so much. One day as I was walken in the medder with my a-door-a-bull Hanner Jane, that kow perseeved us, and we got skairt, and we started akross the medder like tew crazy mainyacks, Hanner Jane ahind and me
ahed; but it twant kno uze; that awphul kritter run ker smack inter the appel of my I, or, in other words, inter Hanner Jane, and sent her kerslap intew a frogg pond; and after dispozen of Hanner June she Rum for me like all pozest, her I’s shinin like fire, and her mouth all kiv-ered with phroth. I am natraly a limbur feller, and the way I tear over the ground waz a kausion ana a whonder; and I reely think I wud have eskaped if I had not kaught the toe of my boot—knumber knine—on a trechurus stik, which sent me tew grass; but bie an allmoste superumen effort I regained my feat; but. a-lass! it waz tew late. I followed my belqved in the direkshun of the frogg pond, and after sevral summer-settes I alited kerflummux agin Hanner Jane, who bad by this time kum to her senzes and her feat. But she lost both when I planted my hed in her boosum. We imegitly exploored the bottem of the pond. Alter rekivering frum this awphul kerlamity, dr aksydent, I perpozed to Hanner Jane tew bekum my lawfull weded wife, but she remembered that orful, dyaboly-kal adwenture, and she wud not aksept of my hand and hart. I am almoste nigh distrakted, and I fear 1 will ko-met sueyside. Yourn in anguish, Awphulsoar.
To P. P. Contributors.—D. C. McR.—“I’ll Hire Another Man” is reserved for the Phunny Phellow.“Prize Problems” from the followimr persons will appear in the Phunny Phellow. Chas. H. D., T. J. S., J. P. C., J. C. C., O. N. C., E. J. H. The following MSS. are accepted: ‘The Squire’s Bull,’ ‘Delinquent Boarder,’ ‘Lover of Fleas,’ ‘Chinaman and Sharper,’ ‘Free Shave,’ ‘Dean Swift and the Cobbler,’ ‘Buffalo Bill as a Lawyer,’ ‘A Little Lame,’ ‘Hadn’t an Introduction,’ ‘A Skunk,’ ‘A Rare Shot,’ ‘Has the Thing Lit,’ ‘Sharp Remark,’ ‘A Broad Hint,’ ‘Bully Gamecocks,’ ‘Ask Father,’ ‘A Useful Vest,’ ‘Large Eel,’ ‘Turned in his Religion,’ ‘Freeze the Baste,’‘Sah,’ ‘Tim’s Present,’ ‘Reminiscences of the War,’ ‘Good Indigo,’ ‘Is That Right,’ ‘Wouldn’t Play Any More,’ ‘Old Clothes/ ‘To the Cemetery,’ ‘There She Is,’ ‘Cheap Stuff,’‘Boy’s Prajrer,’ ‘Sunny Bane,’ ‘Who Was Beaten,’ ‘Negatives,’ ‘Smith’s Mistake,’ ‘Hand-Car,’ ‘Good Advice,’ ‘43 and 45..The following are respectfully declined: ‘Tim Brown,’ old, ‘Musketo’s Lantern,’ old, ‘Go West,’ ‘Old Jokes,’ from M. L.» ‘Spliced Rope,’ ‘Aunt J.’s Ambrill,’ ‘Best Man I’ve Met,’ ‘Old Dobbin,’ ‘Other Side of the River,’ ‘Spilled Milk,’ ‘My Song,’ ‘Take Yer Pick,’ ‘Mount Carmel,’ ‘Uncle David and Aunt Betsey,’ ‘House Fly,’ ‘Muddy Bend Epistle,’ ‘My Sorrow,’ ‘Miller and the Fool,’ old, ‘J. R. P.’s Answer,’ ‘Sold,’ ‘Baked Custard,’ ‘Fish Market,’ ‘Stop My Paper,’ ‘Old Maid’s Soliloquy,’ ‘Chap,’ ‘Slippery,’ old,‘My Friend Heber,’ ‘Ran Away,’ ‘Laughing Cow,’ ‘Red as a Sheep,’ ‘Model Neighbor,’ old, ‘Boy Lost,’ ‘Prize Problems,’ frem S. W. A., J. P. C., T. T. T., Job, Shrewsbury, ‘An Indiana Belie,’ ‘Review of the Poets,’ ‘A Coon Story,’ ‘Honorary Titles,’ ‘Tough Yarn,’ 'Billy Buzzlebee’s Composition,’ ‘What They Raised,’ ‘Charley’s Revenge,’ ‘Kill Mice,’ ‘Done It,’ ‘Johnny, the Stutterer,’ ‘Schooner Scout,’ ‘Jersey Dutchman’s Speech,’ ‘Dandy/ ‘Vot You Tinks,’ ‘Schoolboy’s Experience,’ old, ‘De Forrest’s Will,’ ‘Doubtful Woman,’ ‘Basket of Fun,’ ‘Diamond Cut Diamond,’old, ‘Six and Five,’ ‘Pounding Mace,’ ‘Which,’ ‘Lost His Hand,’ ‘Latest Love Match,’ ‘What He Said,’ ‘A Presbyterian.’
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DEE MOST FUmNTYISH BOOKS VOT NBVER VAS!
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KUMS OUT RITE AVAY MIT HIS
1873
Vedder Brognostdikador Alminick Kalinder.
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—U. S. G.
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FAIR IMOGEN.
DRUMMOND.

Amid the ballroom’s whirl and glare Glides fairest of the dancers there, The-peerless Imogen.
My heart beats high, my hopes are bright, For she has smiled on me to-night.
And oh, a world of wild delight
Is in her winning mien.
I cannot tell how bright she seems, For fancy in her wildest dreams Ne’er pictured one so fair.
Her step is like the bounding fawn; The tints that glow her cheek upon Are like the hues which early dawn
Flings through the dewy air.
Nor can I tell how beauty’s hue Lies ’prisoned in her eye of blue. Nor how the rose-bud twining In the soft splendor of her hair Has caught a tint more rich and rare Than ever it was wont to wear
When in lone beauty pining.
Yet lightly as she floats along Amid the mute, adoring throng. At each footfall I sigh.
I cannot smile, but sigh I must, For each s-tep fall on hearts that trust, And presses them into the dust,
As helpless fhere they lie. She smiled on me and hope rose high. But others too can claim her eye, And feel that witching smile.
Ob, Imogen, fair Imogen.
Your glance is clear, your brow serene, How can that snowy bosom screen
A heart so full of guile ?
THE PHANTOM SKIFF.
A LEGEND OF COLONIAL DAYS.
BY ROBERT F. GREELEY.
The nights are dark and drear in the forests of Nansemond. Even on midsummer evenings, when the glowworms swarm and the tree-toad croaks in the swamp, it is drear and lonely, but when the winds howl through the avenues of the wood and the trees clash together their pendulous branches, and the crash of the thunderbolt frightens the . panther from his lair, the spirits of evil seem to have taken possession of the land, and the voices of a thousand demons shriek in the gale, lending an additional value to the comfort and security of the warm fireside.
On just such a night as that we have mentioned, the district in question was ravaged by a tempest surpassing in violence ibe fiercest storms of many preceding years. Great trees that had withstood the blasts of centuries, until time had covered them with funereal mosses, convening them inio so many monumental records of a buried past, were torn up by the roots and scut hurtling high in air, or were shivered into splinters by the red lance of the angered storm-king, while higher and still higher the walers rose and surged, as if nothing less than a second deluge had been impending. But, presently, like evil passions that are soon exhausted by their own violence, tlie winds subsided and a lull occurred in the tempest. Dark figures seemed to move about restlessly, like forms of tortured spirits, within the sedgy covert. Then a peal of thunder of unwonted violence reverberated through the arches of the forest, and as it subsided, leaving the scene more dark than before, a pale blue spear of flame glimmered steadily for an instant above the waters of a torrent Unit had been but an hour before a hillside stream, and then shot suddenly and swiftly down the foaming waters in the direction of the Dismal Swamp.
Just at this moment three heavy raps resounded upon the door of one of those crumbling relics of ancient lime, which answered the purpose of castle and homestead to the isolated population ol provincial days. The sound created more terror apparently than the thunder-stroke which had preceded it. The little lamily group, at that moment gathered about the hearthstone, huddled closer, but no one stirred.
“Hallo—within there!” shouted a manly voice from the portico. “Has the lightning paralyzed your tongues and your hearing also?” And the knocks were redoubled.
John Overton, whose quiet premises had not been blessed by a stranger foollull for a quarter of a century, sprang to his feet.
“Travelers in the district, and on such a night, too? What business can bring them here? Never mind; I should be lacking in common charity were I to refuse them now.”
And as he spoke he threw wide the unboiled door, admitting two travelers in cloaks and broad felt, hats, who had stood there patiently holding iheir horses, while the rain was drenching ihein to the skin. Evidently I hey were no robbers, being both young and well-bespoken, although their attire vva^ disordered and soiled by the mire ol the road.
‘ Enter without fear,” said the host; “here you will And none but friends, whatsoever your errand. And, wife,” turning to the dame, who had risen with a confused blush at her awn tardiness, “get some supper for these gentlefolk. while I attend to the stabling ol their horses.”
“A welcome refuge,” said the elder traveler, as they surrendered their cloaks and hats. “1 doubt if we should have found ihe fords in condition to-night.”
“That you would not, and would have periled your lives beside,”*said a third member of the group—a man of middle age. who, as brother to Overton, assisted in the management of his plantation. “Did you see anything as vou came along?”
“Being dark as Erebus, that would have been no easy matter,” replied the younger, as they betook themselves to the great chimney corner, while Richard Overton handed them each a brimming glass.
“Because,” said Dick, “strange things turn up after nightfall in this same forest. Often, when storms are ragwig, a phantom skiff, of which the outlines may be traced in lines of fire, and containing but a solitary figure, may be seen descending with fearful velocity the troubled waters of Nansemond Creek, which you must, have passed as you came, ami vanishing anon in the darkness. The vision is said to presage calamity to him that sees it; and, at any rate, I had rather walk a good ten miles out of my way than meet with it, and 1 am not superstitious, either.”
“0. that, of course,” said the elder traveler, laughing. “People who believe in specters rarely are. Now I think of it, we did see a wiil-o-the-wisp, or something of that kind, on our way hither; but as it was in a great hurry to get away, being evidently more afraid of us than we of it, we took no especial note, but went on our journey.”
“Your names and business?” asked Richard Overton, bluntly.
“Mine is Walter Darnley, of Dunstable,” replied the eider stranger, without hesitation; “my friend is Francis Harlowe—officers, both of us, in the employ of the government. seeking a fugitive under the law, for whose apprehension a reward Ims been offered.” And he threw a printed placard into Richard’s lap. “Tell me, has the man Cuthbert Chester, or any one at all resembling him, passed by this road to your knowledge?”
“Save yourselves, no stranger has come withki sight or hearing fur many a day,” was the answer. “Your coming constitutes an epoch to be marked with a while stone. May I ask the young fellow’s offense?”
“Treason,” replied Darnly, briefly. “At least he is sus-pecied, and the circumstance of his flight would seem to confirm I he suspicion.”
John Overton at this juncture returned with his wife, bearing a smoking supper between them. While the guests were discussing this, a number of footsteps came clattering hastily up. the door Hew open, and three persons rushed breathlessly into the room.
One of these was an aged negro, so much misshapen as to resemble a goblin himsell, whose countenance had actually turned pale through tear. The others were shock-headed, st upid-iuoking lads—laborers, apparently, upon life plantation.
“The fire flitter!—we ’a seen the fire-flitter!” said one, excitedly; “an’ I’d a laid hold on it if they’d not been so mortal frightened.”
“Frahtened yerself!” replied the other boy, spunking up as the door closed them in. “A-touched the thing, but it was slippery and got off. A-thiuk it was arter old Scip, here.”
“0, golly! golly!” groaned Scip, clasping his hands, and casting his eyes up to the ceiling.
“There—that will do!” said John Overton, gravely. “Go in and ger. your suppers. The devil don’t come iu search of poor shotes like you.”
“Come, 1 like that!” retorted Hugh, whose pride was hurt by the mere suggestion.
“As likely tu make for us as other folk!” growled Mike, as the trio, somewhat reassured, made their way to the kitchen.
In a couple of hours, however, the storm abated, and the strangers, unable to force any pay upon Overton called their horses and departed.
It was still very dark, and they had not ridden more than a mile, when an exclamation from the younger caused them to rein up so suddenly t hat their horses reared upon their haunches and came near falling over them.
“Jesu! Look there!” exclaimed Frank, in a voice of absolute terror.
Walter Darnley looked to the right. They had arrived at the bank of the stream, and there, sure enough, came the phantom skiff, or, at least, what appeared to be such, distinctly outlined in pale, blue flame. In it stood upright tne figure of a skeleton, similarly portrayed, upon whose brow flickered and danced a tongue of flume.
Both discharged their pistols at the vision, but it rushed away upon the seething torrent, aud was instantly lost to the view.
“The Lord defend us!” ejaculated Darnley. “From such wills-o’-the-wisp as this may we be henceforth delivered!”
“1 am half-minded to return,” said Frank, who was unable to repress ashudder.
“Poh!”said his companion, who, notwithstanding, was similarly affected. “We are not schoolboys to be affrighted by shadows, and I doubt not that scumcu could afford us some explanation of the phenomenon." Let us push on, for to recede would be fully as dangerous as to go for
ward. Beside, we should only be laughed at for our fears.”
This decided the matter, and the two pressed rapidly onward, while the moon, rising, began to light their way.
Some ten miles distant from the Overton cottage, in the midst of the swamp, which was here a considerable lake, upon an island of which the almost impenetrable foliage concealed all else from view, stood a pretentious mansion, in the massive style of the early colonial days. In the spacious dining-room of this edifice, which was known throughout the country as Nansemond Hall, while these events were transpiring, a merry company of gentlemen was dining. The elder, and the proprietor of the estate, was Humphrey Ellaston, his companions being members of the squirearchy from the different districts around. All were beginning to feel more or less the effects of the generous juices which they had imbibed, and, the cloth being removed, Humphrey signalled to his daughter, Maysie, who was the only lady in the room, and who had all the evening waited behind his chair.
“Come, kiss me, Maysie, and then you may to your bower and your books; for these gentlemen and I have matters to discuss which it is not proper for feminine ears to hear.”
The damsel was a girl of scarce seventeen, with rich brown hair, falling in glossy tresses adown her back; symmetrical as Diana in form, fair in face and as beautiful as a Venus, with rich, vermillion lips upon which an enthusiast might wish to sigh away his life, and eyes that sent a thrill to the heart of one who gazed into them; pure as a vestal, withal, and with a voice the tones of of which were as rarest music. She drew to her father’s side, and, bending gracefully down, impressed a daughter’s kiss upon his lips. Then, with a courtesy, withdrew amid a volley of admiring glances, and at least one audible sigh.
But not to her bower did Maysie betake herself. While the company proceeded to discuss affairs of State, she hastily threw a light mantilla over her head and tripped through the moonlight to a rustice summer house which overlooked the lake. She had hardly crossed the threshold when she was enfolded in the arms of a young cavalier, who had entered the arbor before her.
“Darling, darling Maysie! Ahl little bird, how I have wailed ami watched for your coming!” And he imprinted upon the dewy lips a true love Kiss.
Uhe Phantom Skiff.—In it appeared a skeleton, standing erect, outlined in pale blue flame
fuge. Then and there he acknowledged that, pressed by enemies, he had fled to the swamps, where, availing himself of a popular superstition, he had, with the aid of a little phosphorus, enacted the part which had kept his tormentors at bay while proceeding in his skiff to his nightly rendezvous with Maysie.
“Not more eagerly than I, dearest Cuthbert!’’ was her reply, as she ties’ led within her lover’s sheltering arms. । “They are already deep in their conclave and in their cups, so that we may wiiliout fear dispose of an hour or two in dalliance. But. not longer, for new visitors arc expected to-night at the lodge, whose wants I must iu person attend to.”
“I was already aware of their coming and know them well—Walter Darnley, of Dunstable and Francis Harlowe, his cousin—gallant, spirited fellows, one of whom report has selecied in advance lor your husband.”
“In i hat mailer I choose for myself; so be not jealous,” replied Maysie, archly.
“Nay, ’tis an open list, and I cannot blame Darnley, but admire him rather, for bis judgment, while from the depths of my heart 1 pity his fate.”,
“I care nothing for Darnley,” said Maysie, seriously; “but rather for my father, wlio is not himself since lie fell into the hands of these designing men. I fear there is some vile conspiracy hatching, and that he may be the first victim.”
“I will guard him for your dear sake, and see that whatever betides, he comes to uo harm,” said her lover, tenderly.
“Alas, dear Cuthbert, you overrate your power. Are you not yourself a fugitive, and has not the county been overrun by a horde anxious to obtain the reward offered for your apprehension ? I know you’re the soul of honor, believe yoti innocent of all complicity in the scheme, as you declare, but in the heat of political passion men are not cool-headed as is tlieir want, and, without better proof than you can offer, might condemn you almost unheard; and the punishment for treason is death.”
“I have faith in my natal star,’’ replied Cuthbert, Chester, almost gayly. “1 have encountered many a risk and undergone many a peril, and it never deserted me yet. Had it not been for you, my own sweet Maysie, 1 believe I should have remained to abide my fate, although others have woven a net about me from which there was apparently no escape but in flight. As for my honer, it is worth the defending; as to my life, it is at tne disposal of my country whenever it shall please her to demand it; as for my soul, it is God’s alone; and for my heart, it is thine, dearest Maysie, even as it has been since the happy day I first laid eyes upon thee.”
And again and again lie strained her to his heart, while she returned with equal fervor the embraces which he bestowed upon Iter.
“My father is old and nearly in his dotage,” said Maysie; “at the worst he is but a lukewarm friend of these, his neighbors, and I doubt not could be, with a little persuasion. won away from them, but I am forbidden to speak of such topics, and you coulcj communicate with him only at great personal risk. They would slay you could they discover your hiding-place. Thus far not one of them dreams that, tills island ami these surrounding woods and marshes give you shelter. But there is the wraiiii of the swamp; have you no fears?”
Chester smiled as lie answered: “The only spirits I fear, my best beloved, are the evil spirits that dwell in human bodies, and they are even less tangible than the ghost, of the marsh, which is but an exhalation at the worst. Nay, dating, take heart of grace; in a few weeks at farthest, I shall have received ihe proofs which will clear my reputation beyond all peradventure, and in the meantime I shall set my wits at work for some means ol delivering Humphrey Ellaston from his perilous surroundings.”
“Hark!” she exclaimed, suddenly starting from his arms; “they are coming at last. 1 can hear the tramp of their horses on the opposite bank, and can even discern their voices.”
“Boat, ho !” came in the clear, ringing tones of Darnley at this instaht from the other side of the morass. “What—boat, I say I”
“Coming!” cried Chester, imprinting a last thrilling kiss upon Maysie’s lips, and springing away in an opposite direction io hide himself in the underwood.
Maysie gazed after him anxiously for a minute, and then sped away like a frightened lawn to the house. Alter a little delay, the old gray-haired porter. Geoffry, leaped into a boat, and, sculling across, brought the visitors over to Nansemond Hall, where they were heartily received by Humphrey Ellaston and his friends.
It had been Hie plan ot Walter Darnley and his friends, in pursuit of their object, to pass themselves off as neophytes in the cause to which it was supposed the old man had attached himself; and thus whatever suspicions he may have entertained were easily allayed. But he suspected nothing, and the young men readily ingratiated themselves iu his confidence.
Walter Darnley, as an old courtier of hers, had been promised Maysie for a bride, and therefore paid attention to her so assiduously that he came near forgetting the main object of his search, and Maysie, so closely was she watched by him, found no opportunity to console herself in the arms of her lover.
Days elapsing without the gleaning of further intelligence, the friends of Humphrey Ellaston prudently holding aioot until the visitors should have retired, Darnley and ’his friend, after a cordial leave-taking, withdrew from Nansemond Hall, the iormer promising in a short time to return and claim sweet Maysie for his wife, although it was no secret to him that lie yet lacked much of winning her love.
This time the young agents, with important documents in their portmanteaus, traveled by daylight, and, gaining
EDWIN mREST.
The death of the great tragedian brings to the.surface many things regarding him which otherwise might have remained unknown, and as everything illustrating his career is of interest, the following may not be amiss at the present time.
There was a man about here, some years since, whose name, however, was as well known in New York as in Boston, nicknamed “Governor Dorr.” He received this title from the fact, that he was an active participant in the Dorr rebellion, in Rhode Island, and was one of the prisoners at the Chepatchet surrender, which brought that famous struggle to a close. He was a queer fellow, of considerable genius, possessing some mean streaks, of fine humor, and in his companionable qualities much was forgiven that, was more attributed to the weakness of human nature than to willful depravity; though this latter was generally considered the source by those who were-not particularly moved by his demonstrations, and they were probably nearest right.
He had been an actor, and it was “as good as a play” to sit and hear him tell of his adventures on the “boards,” and his associations with brilliant members of the profession, of whom he had many anecdotes showing the exceedingly happy relations that had existed between them, and a familiarity of intercourse that probably would hardly be sustained by the facts.
Of these he knew Forrest. Knew Forrest! Well, we might doubt it, but he did. He had played parts with him, and been on the most intimate fooling with him, and Forrest had regarded him as one of his best friends, until an unfortunate affair at Pittsburg broke the bond that united them. It was in this wise:
“We were playing,” said he, “in Pittsburg, and were getting along verv finely—good houses every night.
“ ‘Gov,’ said Forrest, as we stood one night taking turns to peep through the green curtain, ‘this house is owing to you or to me—perhaps both; but I owe you a deep debt of gratitude for the able manner in which you have supported me.’
“Here he put his arm around my neck and looked down into my face. A super, who was near, wept.
“ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘Edwin, 1 have done the best I could, though you get all the applause and all the money.’
“He smiled grimly and then hopped off the stage as he does when Jie goes for the Volcians with the six soldiers composing the Roman army.
“The next day ‘Metamora’ was announced, and as I went, through the green-room 1 saw my name up for the Captain of the Puritans, against the playing ot which 1 i had many times protested, because it was not, 1 con-. ceived, up to my ability. I had only played it to oblige Forrest, and he had flattered me by saying that lie never saw it played with the spirit that I threw into if.
“I was about ten minutes late when I went on for rehearsal the next morning, and found that my part had been called. I was eating an apple at the time, and Forrest was walking the stage like a caged lion. Ashe spied me, he yelled out in a voice of thunder:
“ ‘When you have done eating your swill, you had better come and rehearse 1’
“I gave him a look. He turned as pale as death. I walked off the wings, finished my apple, and returned to the stage. Forrest avoided my eye, and I saw that my coolness troubled him. He made no apology, however, and allowed the rehearsal to come to a close without the friendliness of manner that usually distinguished him.
“That night the house was packed, the big Indian always attracting in Pittsburg, and before the performance began 1 endeavored to get at Forrest for an explanation, but lie avoided me. As I passed his dressingroom door, it was ajar, and I saw him before his mirror in all the pride of war-paint and a consclusness of his coming triumph. I peeped in.
“ ‘What is the matter, Ed. ?’ said I, ‘that should lead you to treat me thus?’
“He coolly slammed the door to in my face, to the great damage of my nose. I was thunderstruck.
“ ‘Well,’ said 1 to myself, ‘this is a game that two can play at; and, E. F.’—shaking my fist at the door of his room—‘I will make you repent of this outrage upon my devoted friendship!’
“I waited till the call-boy summoned me, and I went on the stage at the head of my command—six of the most villaiuous-looking, steeple-crowned fellows you ever saw —one of whom, on the extreme left, would have made his fortune exhibiting himself as a living skeleton. We were on an excursion to the woods in quest of the great Wain-panoag, and had found his inclosure in the bushes, where Mrs. Metamora received us.
“The interview was not satisfactory to the copper-colored lady, and some little movement of violence was commenced by the ‘unlicensed soldiers,’ under my command, when, suddenly appearing on the rocks almost above our heads, his handsome hundred-dollar gun at his shoulder, stood, the distinguished chief we were in quest of. He looked so terrible that he caused a flutter in the
the Overton homestead, took occasion to stop for their noonday meal.
On reaching the house they found everything in confusion, visitants of more substantial mold than the dreaded fire-flitter had been at work during the night, and drawers had been broken open and despoiled, the money chest emptied, and jewelry, which had been long in the family, carried off by the depredators. Hugh and Mike insisted that, the fire-flitrer must have done it all; but John Over-ton had convincing proof to the contrary, in a severe contusion which he had received from one of the marauders in the dark.
“Man or devil,” said Walter Darnley, his curiosity now thoroughly aroused, hI will secure this masquerading fiend, even at the risk of losing my own life in the essay. Give me your aid and consider the thing accomplished.”
But the fiend—if fiend he was—was a friendly fiend, for the robbers, having reached a convenient part of the wood, were proceeding to pitch their camp for the night, when, to their horror, a pale, sickly point of flame sprang up in the wood, increasing in size until the figure of a skeleton stood before them.
The sight was enough, and, in less time than it has taken to narrate it, the depredators, abandoning their booty, had taken to their heels and hidden themselves at a safe distance in the swamp. The next morning a note in pencil, from an unknown hand, directed John Overton to the spot in which he might find his missing treasures.
Darnley had got together such force as he might, and with it proceeded to explore the vicinity, taking Nansemond Hall In his way. Footsteps being discovered in the sands and mud of the marsh, he felt sure that he was on the eve of discovering the secret. These steps were traced to the arbor in which Maysie Ellaston had held her interviews with Cuthbert Chester, and thence about the Hall. Invading this suddenly, Darnley came unexpectedly upon a scene for which he was little prepared, for, in the old library, unsuspicious of such a surprise, he found Humphrey Ellaston, while before him Maysie and her lover were bending low in the act of receiving a blessing.
Humphrey had repented him of his late rash lolly, and having taken Chester into his confidence, had bestowed upon him the darling of his heart, the lovely Maysie; so Walter Darnley came loo late after all, lor Chester had received the papers necessary to the vindication of his character, and there was no longer necessity lor subter
hearts of my followers, while the house came down with thunders of applause, as he cried out, still holding his gun to his shoulder:
“‘Which of you has lived long enough?’
“It wasn’t a very easy conundrum to answer, as all probably wished to live as long as they could, but the spirit of mischief and revenge fired me, and as he asked tne question: •Which of you has lived long enough?’ I turned round so that the audience could see me, and, pointed to my attenuated soldier on the extreme left, said:
“ 'He has\'
“The house caught the point, and such a shout followed as rendered all the applause for Forrest a perfect calm. They kept it up, as it appeared, for five minutes, while Forrest, grinding his teeth, still stood with his gun at his shoulder. I think he would have plumped me with a good relish. When he came down 1 whispered, as he passed me:
“ ‘Is this applause yours or ours?'
“I didn’t see him again. 1 thought, for our mutual good, that our intimacy should end here, and the next morning, before the Pittsburgers were out of their beds, I was ‘floating down the river Ohio,’ cheered by the thought that I had paid off the debt that was due the great tragedian. I heard afterward that he inquired after me the next day at my hotel, with a big stick in his hand; but he didn’t pay mv board bill, and therefore 1 am free to suspect that his visit was hostile.”
A Historical Saber.
From the Albany Journal, January 15.
Mansfield Tracy Walworth intends shortly to deposit in the State Library in this city a saber presented to him by the Shah of Persia. Abbas Mirza, the ancestor of the present ruler of Persia, was the CroWn Prince, and commanded the Persian army at the famous battle of Echmiadzin, when the Russian army were utterly routed. This victory, so glorious in the annals of Persia, Mr. Walworth introduced with great accuracy of detail into his historical novel of “Delaplaine,” and forwarded a copy of the book to the present Shah. A generous recognition of the compliment extended to both sovereigns has just
.reached the author in the shape or . tne identical saber worn by Abbas Mirza in that memorable battle. The first saber worn by the prince in that conflict was so bent by a grape-shot that he flung it aside, a-nd took another from an officer of his staff. The bent saber is the one now presented to Mr. Walworth. The sheath is of chased gold, and the sword knot and tassal are decorated with, pearls estimated to be worth in gold about $3,500.
Our readers are aware that the author of “Delaplaine,” .whose ability as a writer has been recognized by one of the proudest princes, in the manner related above, is engaged exclusively for the New York Weekly. His new story, “Married in Mask,” written expressly for our columns, will be commenced in about two weeks.
What One Man Has Done.
Mr. L. L. Fairchild, of Rolling Prairie, Wis., lias been rolling in subscribers to the New York Weekly at a rapid rate. Since the first of January last he has sent us the names-and money of 656 SUBSCRIBERS. We commend his enterprise, and hope it will be emulated l>y other friends of the New York Weekly. Fairchild, you are more than &fair man, in doing within a month a fair year’s work. Your judgment equals your energy in inducing so many to subscribe for a live paper.
To Correspondents.
Gossip with Readers and CoNTRtBuTOftS.— James G. C.—Credit Mobllier (movable credit) was the name given to a.joint stock corporation, founded in Paris Nov. 18, 1852, on the basis of limited liability of its shareholders, and established under sanction of a governmental decree, with a capital of 60,000,000 francs. The objects of its organization were, generally, the absorption into one common stock of the shares and bonds of other trading companies; the buyina up ot railroads and other public works; the carrying on of banking and stock-jobbing on the most extended scale, and the promotion and performance of public enterprises and private contracts—all on the principle of limited liability. The operations of the corporation soon assumed colossal dimensions, out after a few years its earnings decreased, and the shares depreciated in value. It had many opponents, who characterized it as a grand gambling scheme, its operations in many respects resembling the transactions of the Wall street rings in this city. Similar corporations have been formed in other European cities, and also in this country.
Nosey.—1st. See reply to “A. A. W.,” in No. 7. The marriage of cousins is discountenanced by many because the medical profession differ in regard to the effect such unions have upon the offspring. The great majority conclude that while in the first instance no difference may be observed in the mental and physical condition of the progeny, intermarriages tor two or three generations are productive of weak intellects, scrofulous diseases and various other evils or evidences of deterioration. 2d. In the case mentioned there is no reason why the happiness or domestic relations of the parties should be affected by the discovery. 3d. See “Knowledge-Box.”
L. M. D.—Applicants for cadetship at West Point are obliged to pass a physical examination, as well as an examination iu the studies included in the ordinary grammar school course.
Otto Spannage.—Yes.
Lord Harry.—Ue published such a work, but under a different title.
Predicament.—Do not let your feelings overcome your judgment, and be very careful that neither by word nor action the object of your unlawful attachment shall even surmise that you regard her with other feelings than those parents have toward their children. Her residence in your family since childhood has no doubt led her to look upon yourself and wife as parents, and the knowledge of your, present infatuation would cause her to turn from you with disgust. It is infinitely better that you should suffer in silence than that the lives of two others should also be embittered by a confession which can do no good. Avoid being with the young lady as much as possible except in your wife’s presence, never forgetting the love and respect due the latter, and by the mere force of will you may conquer the temporary passion.
Spartacus.—1st. The fact alluded to will have no effect on the publication of MSS. in our possession. 2d. We cannot state definitely when either of the serials named will be commenced, but it will be as soon as possible. 3d. Probably. 4th. It is impossible to procure complete sets. 5th. Not at present. 6th. About two years. 7th. Of the serials, yes.
G. Thompson.—1st. We cannot inform you what the coins win bring, as the prices depend entirely upon the amounrof competition at such sales. 2d. We do not advertise dealers gratuitously. .
Myrtle.— 1st. The ideas are not original, although you may not be aware of hating appropriated'the thoughts °f. otn.e5®’ have probably read something similar, which becoming impressea upon your mind, you have unwittingly used nearly the same, language in expressing your own thoughts. 2d. lour penmanship may be readily improved with a little practice. .
& J. B.—1st. “Niek Whiffles” has never appeared in book iorm the papers are out of print. We may republish it m time. 2d. There is difference of opinion as to the correct way to spell Shakespeare. 3d. The latter form of expression is correct. _ w
Constant Reader, Cincinnati.—Write to the postmaster or consult a Pittsburgh directory. .
N. P. Ham.—1st. Write to the American News Co. 2d. The author referred to writes under her real name.
Eager.—1st. Spring Hili Grove is on the east side of the Hudson river, a few miles from Yonkers. 2d. See ‘ Knowledge-Box.
P jy- The French language can be learned in a few months by an apt scholar. When taught by a native, the pupil is more apt to acquire a good accent. __
Cabbage.—1st. The chairman or president of a debating society has to preserve order, announce the debates, appoints the participants, and during the argument sees that the himts botn oi time and language are not overstepped. 2d. Buffalo BUI is at present traveling'with a dramatic company.
Josephus.—The perpendicular hight of the largest of the Pyramids is 461 feet; St. Peter’s cathedral, at Rome, Irom the pave
ment to top of the cross surmounting the dome, 458 feet; the cathedral at Milan, 355 feet; St. Paul’s, London, 365 feet; the church of St. Genevieve, at Paris, 282 feet; Trinity church, New-York, 284 feet.
John Dusenbury.—The honesty of the transaction depends entirely on the arrangement made previously with the broker. If he sells for less than you authorized him to do vou can collect the difference; if he holds on to the stock until he procures an advance on what you expected, he might claim the difference without his honesty being questioned. But where no specific arrangement is made he is bound to render you the full price, less the usual commission.
R. M.—It is customary to date the commission and draw the pay from the time the duties were assumed.
American.—1st. A child born of American parents while the latter are temporarily abroad is deemed a native, and entitled to all the privileges of citizenship. The question as to whether such a person can be called a “natural-born citizen,” and therefore be eligible to the office of President., has often been discussed, and it is generally conceded that being born abroad under sucn circumstances does not debar him from holding the office. 2d. Roger B. Taney was Chief Justice of the United States from March 15, 1836, to the date of his death, October 12, 1864. He was a Roman Catholic, and was buried with the ceremonies incident to that faith.
Peter Pimpton.—1st. The question, “What is the law concerning wills?” covers a great deal ot ground, as it differs in each State in certain details. A person may will nis property in any manner he may choose, with the single exception that he cannot deprive , his widow of her dower right. 2d. The phrase came into use during President Johnson’s trip to New England and the West. 3d. Yes.
D. Dublin.—1st. “O. K.” originated with an illiterate individual who was in the habit of indorsing his invoices, receipts, etc.,, in this manner, and on being asked their meaning, replied that they were abreviations of “oil korrect.” 2d. The New York Weekly has the largest circulation of any journal in the United States. 3d. The title of the book is “Guy Earlscourt’s Wife.” We will forward it on receipt of $1.75.
Philadelphia.—See reply to “D. Dublin.”
J. IF. R.—1st. We will send you “Lena Rivers,” in book form, on receipt of $1.50. 2d. Fair. 3d. The Seven Sleepers, according to tradition, were seven young men of Ephesus, who, being persecuted for their Christianity, fled to a certain cavern for refuge, but were pursued, discovered, and walled in to perish by starvation. They were made to fall asleep, and two centuries afterward, about A. D. 479, were discovered, and on being brought out to the light, they awoke, much to the astonishment of the spectators. The tale is also related in the Koran, and differs but little from the Christian legend.
Belleville, Hl.—1st. When extracts are made in compilations from copyrighted works it is customary to obtain the consent of the author, and to credit accordingly. 2d. The estimated population of the globe is about 1,300,000,00. 3d. We do not desire any MSS.
Robin A.—The dose will not have the effect described, but the more serious one of producing convulsions and affecting certain organs of the system to such an extent as to produce disease of the kidneys.
J. H. FT.—It depends on how far you wish to go, and to what exten,t and in what manner you propose to cultivate the kind.
E. J. Cadwalader.—Gen. Zachary Taylor was born in Orange County, Va., Nov. 24, 1784. He was inaugurated President on Monday, March 5, 1849, an^ died July 9,1850, of bilious fever, after an illness of five days.
G. Sniff'.—1st. Marriages of first-cousins are not prohibited by law m any of the New England States, we think. 2d. The tariff on imported ale, beer, porter, etc., in bottles, is thirty-five cents per gallon; in casks, or otherwise than bottles, twenty cents per gallon.
Workman.—We cannot inform you. Apply at establishments where such assistance is required.
G. J. Candish.—Thank you for the information, but you have made a mistake as to where you saw the paragraph. It did not appear in our columns.
Scott.—1st. The Great Eastern was launched Jan. 31,1858, and arrived in New York on her first trip, June 28, I860, She was never wrecked on the Irish coast, but was on two or three occasions temporarily disabled during storms.
Young Tourist.—The distance from New York to Denver, Col., . is 1,980 miles; io Virginia City, Nevada, 2,800 miles.
Four Years' Reader.—1st. To secure a copyright it is necessary to send a printed copy of the title of the work to the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C., with $1, which will insure the return of a receipt. 2d. There is no international copyright.
Anxious Inquirer.—1st. Write to Judge Elliott, ol Greenpoint, L. I. 2d. Aiiv tailor will give you the other information.
Mountain Tom.—1st. Apply to the Congressional Printer, A. M. Clapp. A recommendation signed by the Member ot Congress from your district will be an aid to you. The wages is $4 per day. 2d. The fare from New York to Washington is $8. 3d. Copies of the paper may be obtained by writing to the office.
T. R. Goble.—Write to the Adjutant General of New York State, at Albany, and ascertain the names of the officers of the company at that time, and then take measures to ascertain their whereabouts.
P. M.-No.
E. L. B. V.—1st. See “Knowledge-Box.” 2d. We thank yon for your good opinion, and hope that all of the readers of the Nw l'ork Weekly can as heartily indorse so many of its features. We are aware that tastes differ, and for this reason endeavor to vary the senals and other matter so that each may have the full worth of the subscription, even if two or three of the serials are not of the kind to suit his peculiar taste. The articles referred to are considered by many the most interesting <>1 any which appear in our columns.
J. H. Wood.—1st. The Bible has been translated and printed in 148 languages and dialects. 2d. It is impossible to tell bow many tongues or dialects there are in the world. The number is variously estimated from 3,500 to 5,000.
The following MS. will appear in a new mammoth monthly: “Maxims for Young Men.”.......The following are respectfully declined: “Virtue and its Reward,” “Beautiiul Flower,” “Carl Esherwood’s Mistake,” “The Maniac’s Story,” “Hal Manfred’s Journal,” “Lizzie’s Dream,” “The Brother’s Crime,” “Lines to Carrie,” “Two Mutes,” “A Lover’s Vow,” “A Birthday Gilt,” “A Perfect Woman,” “The Future,” “Autumn,” “The Closing Year,” “Scotland,” “Ode,” “The Old Mau’s Lament,” “The Old Homestead.”
Etiquette Department.—Gertrude.- 1st. In very ceremonious visiting it is proper to send a eard by a servant instead of calling in person. The wives ot Senators, and Supreme Court Judges, and of officials high in position, are often forced to resort to this method oi returning visits; but it is only done on such occasions or in very large cities. It is necessaiy to call after being invited to a lady’s a house; and after the funeral of an acquaintance it is also, customary- to call within a fortnight or three weeks. 2d. Perfectly so. 3d. Each lady would use a card with her own name written or engraved upon it. 4th. Yes; if it pleases them to do so.
Ida C.—We would hardly consider it honorable to receive the attentions of a young man thus circumstanced. Remember the lines:
“It. is well to be off with the old love Before you are on with the new.”
You must be governed by circumstances, however, taking care to behave honorably by the other lady.
F. W. C.—You ask rather a delicate question, and it would be needful tor us to know the persons before we could attempt to give you advice. Generally, it is best that the husband’s age should exceed that of the wife; yet there are cases where marriages have been productive of much happiness when the wife’s age was even ten years in advance of the husband’s. Truelove must answer the question, and we trust you will not marry without it.
Foolish Question.—1st. Yes; it is considered proper, to say “Yes, ma’am” or “Yes, sir,” especially if the lady or gentleman is elderly or in a superior position of life. Children should be taught to say “Yes, ma’am” and “Yes, sir,” “No, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” in their youth to their parents, teachers and superiors, and then they will retain the habit in their age. 2d. No; quite the average; yet we would advise you to practice writing frequently as “practice makes perfect.”
Crazy Jane.— 1st. We wish we could help you in your trouble, but can only recommend patience, that heavenly balm tor mortals’ woes. But we think that young ladies cannot be too reticent or particular in such affairs, and that they should never receive caresses from the other sex unless words of betrothal have passed between the parties. When they are attempted, withdraw yourself gently. Probably he will write to you soon, and the tone of the letter wi I determine your future actions toward him. , From your account we should think that he means no evil, but it is well to have hun understand that you are perfectly correct and modest in your deportment. If his letters give you no key to Ins actions, when he returns if he continues the same line of conduct, say quietly, “I cannot permit this in our present relations.” This would undoubtedly bring about a denoeumeut, and matters would come to a crisis. 2d. Yes; you can become a very fine writer by practice, and your composition is good.
Genevieve.—1st. It depends wholly upon the position and character of the introduced and introducer. The latter ought never to introduce a gentleman to a lady, even in a ball-room, whose acquaintance she would not desire to acknowledge in the street; and if this rule were strictly enforced it would be indt eorous for you not to bow when meeting him, or to speak to him if met in a room. But now-a-days one meets all kinds of persons in a bell-room, and no set rule can be given, for if introduced to an b >u-est, well-disposed young man, it would be an unkindness to cut him, while if he were otherwise it would not be desirable to recognize him. 2d. When introduced to strangers it is not customary to shake hands, but tb bow gracefully, and the -gentleman expresses his pleasure at the acquaintance. Merely bow again or say “thank you.” . ....
Iva S. R— No, we do not. It is not every young man who is able to visit places of amusement, and if he seeks your society iu preference to them, we think you should feel yourself flattered.
R E Smith.—We can hardly answer your question. ‘Fortune favors the brave,” however, but it seems to us that you are too young to make such advances yet. Wait until you have established yourself in the great “Out West,” and then see what can be done. Y<m might tell her that you \/ere gpiug there and ask leave t.o write to her. ■ , ,• . . , t
H. W. H.—It is customary for a widow to take her owrt initials, or Christian name, after her husband’s decease, thus, Mrs. Martha F. Jones; but some ladies prefer their husband’s first name to their own. Either is equally proper.
L. C. H.—An amethyst ring would be quite as proper as a diamond or pearl, and amethysts are very fashionable now.
Inquisitive.— 1st. The gentleman precedes the lady. 2<i. It matters not, but usually -a servant carries it. Yet in small places such things are little thought of. 3d. Yes, perfectly proper, “Love at first sight” is not a myth, and in such cases time only strengthens the bond. . *
Wild Bill.—It is hard lines for you, friend, and yet better now than after the compact “for better or for worse” had been made. We hardly can advise you in this matter, for so much depends upon circumstances, which, of course, must be unknown to us. We think, hwevw, that plain speaking is always best in such cases, and should therefore tell her plainly that she cou d not nlav fast and loose in such a manner, and that the insult was worse than the injury. When one loses respect lor a person love qnon dies out and though you may still experience much emo-!ion concerffing her, it will not be-long-lived. i She may explain it all awav “as a joke, you know,” but s-uch jokes aie liui«i to be borne, and quite pointless, m our opiffion.
Stories Begun Within a Few Weeks.
The following stories have been commenced since the first of December:
Mountain Tom. By Ned Buntline.
Red Helm. By Roger Starbuck.
Boisscy, Locksmith; and His Indenture Apprentice. By G. Pickens Alcott U. S. A.
£100,000; or, The Innkeeper’s Crime.
Marah Crosse.
Wildcat Ned; or, The Mountain men ot
Oregon. By James L. Bowen. _ .-
Florence Falkland; or. The Sanded Life-
By Burke Brentford, autlipr of “Unmasked a tinee,” “Squirrel Cap,” etc^
The stories named below were commenced during the month of November?
The Beautiful Tempter. By Mbs- M. V. Victob.
Barefoot BiUy. By Gaffbb
The Dead Duelist. By Howa»» W Macy. .
Thi* Hanker’s Foe; or, Claudes Inherit-aiwe* B^Bnt’coxKbis, author or “Lady Leonora; or, The Father’s Cui.se*”
Persons desiring W bei?in u,e PerB3al ot tlie above 8tb‘ ries can secure the ‘>aeK numbers coi}taminff all ar them at any news