New York Weekly, Vol. 38, No. 34
MLA Citation
“New York Weekly, Vol. 38, No. 34.” Digital Gallery. BGSU University Libraries, 16 July 2024, digitalgallery.bgsu.edu/items/show/40479. Accessed 15 Feb. 2025.
Tags
Title | New York Weekly, Vol. 38, No. 34 |
---|---|
Subject | Popular literature -- United States -- 19th century -- Periodicals |
Source | Story papers collection; Browne Popular Culture Library; University Libraries; Bowling Green State University |
Publisher | New York : Street & Smith, [19--] |
Date | 1883-07-02 |
Rights | |
Relation | New York weekly |
Format | Published works |
application/pdf | |
Language | en-us |
Identifier | Vol. 38, no. 34 |
https://digitalgallery.bgsu.edu/items/show/40479 | |
Type | Text |
“THE BROTHER'S SECRET; or, The Beautiful Schemer.’' A Vigorous Sensational Story, BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE, will be commenced Next We Tfntered According to Act of Congress. in the Tear 1883, Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress. Washington,. D. C------------------Entered at the Poet Office New York. N. I.. as Second Class Matter. Vol. 38. c 1 Office 31 Rose St. Francis S Street, j p q Box 2734 N y New York, July 2, 1883. Three Dollars Per Year. I F is s s ith Two Copies Five Dollars.) No. 34. ANGLING. f BY JOHN RUSSELL FISHER. In the untransparent billows Of the troubled sea of life, Every man must cast his tackle Who goes angling for a wife. None may know the final outcome Till the twilight shadows fall; Some secure a life-long harvest, Others find a “water haul.” EVELYN RODNY; OR, The Irish Refugees. By GEORGE HENRY QUINN. CHAPTER I. A MESSAGE FROM HOME. •‘Lost! all lost! Once again have Erin’s hopes been crushed beneath the heel of her Saxon master. Oh, my poor, distracted country! I would willingly haver yielded the last drop of blood that warms my heart to havd made thee free. But, alas, the dream is past, and hope’s last faint ray of light is quenched forever—has gone down, down into the regions of despair!” X The speaker paused for a space, with head bowed upon his massive chest; then, suddenly erecting himself, he gazed over the landscape, a generous glow suffusing his face, and the light of a noble heroism flashing from his deep blue eyes. “No, no!” he cried, in a full, impassioned voice. “Though thy defenders of to-day may rot in prison cells, or be hunted like wild beasts through thy mountain fastnesses, though thy unhappy peasantry be forced to starve in myriads upon the fields which are not permitted to yield them bread, the fire of patriotism has never ceased to burn in the hearts of her impoverished sons. No, no, a thousand times no! We are not and never can be slaves!” Our hero was a man of about twenty-four years, Of a tall ^commanding iiguro^^erecl in suun, sive br^ls well-shaped head; soulful blue eyes, curving, somewhat haughty lips, and firm chin. . Born to comparative affluence on the green soil of his beloved Ireland, surrounded by her honest, hard-working, but poverty-stricken peasantry, and intimately acquainted with their grievances and educated politically in that “Young Ireland” school which gave so many facile writers, eloquent orators, and brave soldiers to the world, it is not strange that Robert Gormlay, young and ardent as he was, should have been one of the first to join the standard of William Smith O’Brien when that leader threw himself into the rebellion of 1848. But the rise and fall of that effort to redress the wrongs of Ireland, imaginary or otherwise, it is not within our province to describe. Suffice it to say that at the time our story opens, all the leaders of that rebellion had either been captured and thrown into prison, or were being pursued by the officers of the British Government through the mountain fastnesses of the land they would have given to its occupants. , x . Of the latter class was our hero, Robert Gormlay; and when we present him to the reader he was standingon one of the ruggedest and loftiest of Moher’s majestic cliffs—those cliffs which rise like fabled giants from the sea, and look down from their six hundred feet of height upon the resounding surges that, rolling in from the Western ocean, thunder at their base. , - The iron-bound coast, extending north and south as far as the eye can reach, presented to his vision an almost unbroken chain of natural ramparts. Away to the eastward his mournful glances fell upon the cattle-covered hills and fertile valleys which, with their rustic cabins and occasional hamlets. seem to smile up in peaceful security and gratitude toward the mountain that guards them from the encroachments of the remorseless waves that battle with its western side. Wandering over these fair, familiar scenes, his eyes gradually lost their fire, his face became tinged with a mellower tint of sadness, and when he spoke again his voice was tremulous and low. . “Fairest scene of the fairest land on which the eye has ever rested!” he exclaimed. “Home of my childhood’s happy, thoughtless days, and hope of my more serious manhood, must I then bid you a last farewell ? Alas, alas, my sea-girt home is mine no longer, and the peasant’s cabin, should I seek shelter beneath its thatch from the fierce blasts of heaven, would be instantly rent to atoms by the fiercer tornadoes of our tyrant’s anger!” He ceased suddenly, his gaze keenly bent on a point far down the mountain side, and his hand grasping the butt of a heavy revolver...... “Ha! ’tis Con Redmond who comes\” ho said, in a tone of satisfaction, as the object which had startled him became more clearly defined. “Now I shall obtain the latest news from the loved ones at home. I pray Heaven that my poor father may not be worse.” , . J By this time a youth of some nineteen years, leaping lightly from crag to crag, with the ease and grace of a mountain-cat, and drawing nearer with each agile bound, could be distinctly seen coming from the direction of the valley lying to the eastward of the promontory on which Gormlay stood. He was tall and supple, and straight as an arrow; his hair was dark, and it curled tightly about his well-formed head. His countenance was open, comely, and, above all, intelligent, and his eyes, brown and laughing, would have impressed one’s imagination with the fancy that they were the windows of a tremendous, though, perhaps, not really dangerous magazine of mi chief. Add to this a nameless grace, which became him well, and the reader will have a pretty accurate idea of the appearance presented by wild Con Redmond as, blackthorn in hand, he made his obeisance before our soliloquizer of the cliffs. “What news do you bring me, Con ? Is my poor father any better ?” anxiously inquired Gormlay. “’Deed, Masther Robert.” returned the youth, with a sorrowful shake of the head; “ ’deed he is that same, for nothin’s a throuble to him now, an’ the sight of the Sassenach dogs huntin’ his son through the mountains will harass his poor ould eyes no more, God rest his sowl!” “Dead! my father dead! and I not there to receive his last blessing, and cheer him in that dread, final hour! Oh, Heaven, the punishment meted out to me for my love of poor old Ireland is indeed severe!” His powerful frame shaking with convulsive agony, he staggered back, and sank, weak as an infant, upon a rude fragment of rock. “Thry to cheer up, Masther Robert.” said Con. his Like a —i -----------------------■ ------- voice broken-with sobs; "thry to cheer up. for ye know the good gintieman’s the hapniest wan among us all this minute,” , _ “At what hour did he die?” demanded Gormlay, mastering his emotion with a mighty effort, and rising to his feet. “’Twas exactly at midnight. Miss Evelyn tould me.” “Was Evelyn present, then, at the moment of his death?” . , . “ ’Deed she was that, an’ sorra wink wint on her eyes from afore yestherday. till she bade me come to ye wid the good gintieman’s last blessin’.” “At what time did you leave my father’s house ?” Gormlay asked, adding, however, without waiting a reply—“that house so soon to be the property of the rapacious blood-hounds now hunting for its rebel heir!” .......... “Sorra one of thim’ull iver nut a toe in it, cried Con, in an angry, yet triumphant tone of voice. “Narra toe itself, for yer father—Heaven be good to him—willed ivery ha’pworth to Miss Evelyn, an she is no rebel—or, rayther if she is, they can’t prove it, bad cess to thim.” “The good and evil tidings you bring me, Con, are strangely mixed,” said the young man, musingly. “Throth, thin, it’s aisy knowin’ I hadn’t the mak-in’ of thim, for, if I had. the divil a mixed they’d be,” was the sententious response. “Indeed, my dear boy,” rejoined Gormlay, m an earnest voice, “I am very sure that, even to an enemy, you would not be the willing bearer of ill news.” _ “ ’Deed, faith, Masther Robert, ye wrong me in that.” exclaimed the youth, quickly; “for if. ivery redcoat, wid a soger in it, in all Ireland, was in the bottom of the bog beyant, nothin’ would plaze me bether, this blissed minute, nor to carry the news to the she-divil on the other side of the channel.” “I don’t doubt.” rejoined the other, with a sad smile, “that your loyalty to our unhappy country would prompt you to do all you say. But what further news have you?” “Barin’ that ye must lave uz an’ Ould Ireland behind, faix the rest of me news isn’t so bad at all. The beginnin’ of it is, that yestherday, afther seein’ yerself, I wint to yer father in his sick-bed, an’ tould him wThere ye war, and thin he sint me wid a missage to the Frinch count, an’ the count, afther me givin’ him me message, consulted wid wan of his officers for a minute or two, an’ thin wrote a letther, an’ tould me to give it to ye as quick as iver I cud. So. widout stirrin’ an inch, I jist lucked at the writin’, an’ seein’ ’twas in Frinch, I up an tould him I cudn’t read a word of it. Wid that he run at me like a tarin’ lion, cryin’ out in the worst English ye ever heard: ‘Sacre bleu, ye’re not expected nor wanted to read it.’ Thin I asked him ‘what was I to do if a rigiment of p’alers was afther me, an’ I’d have to ate the letther, widout bin able to I tell ye what was in id?’ That seemed to stagger him for a minute. Then he tuck the letther from me an’ lit his cigar wid it, an’ pulled away for tin minutes so hard that I cud hardly see him for the smoke, an’ I was beginnin’ to think he’d forget all all about me, an’ didn’t mane to do anythin’ for us, whin, all at wanse, he stuck his black, shinin’ eyes right into me. an’ said: , “'MaVoi! I suppose I must thrust ye;’ an’faix I up an’ tould him back again—in Irish—that his betthers done that afore I iver seen his face; an throth I’m sorry for doin’ it, for he’s a rale gintle-man afther all, so he is. “Thin he tould me there would be no moon tonight—which I knew as well as himself—an’ that at midhight he’d be off the Moher wid his yacht, an’ sind a boat in undher the shadow of the rocks in the cave you an’ him was fishin’ in. whin he was here last year. An’ thin ye’re to go down the side of the cliff, get in the boat, an’ away to the Frinch coast—divil roast thim that’s makin’ ye do it! “This was yestherday, an’ I’d ’ave come to ye wid the news at wance, but for havin’ to stop an’ give yer father the bit of comfort I’d found for him in his sore need, for he hadn’t a minute’s peace wid thinkin’, thinkin’ all the time about your safety—or rather about your want of it. “Whin I reached the cottage, Miss Evelyn an’ Father Tom, both of thim wid tears in their eyes, tould me to wait, for it wouldn’t be long till I’d be able to carry the last blissin’ of the good gintieman —heaven be his bed!—to you in yer hidin’ place. So I waited, an’ an hour afore day, started wid it an’ the Frinchman’s missage, an’ so, here I am.” “What were my father’s last words ?” asked the young man, in a hoarse, choking voice. “He said to me: “ ‘Con, tell my dear Robert, that my latest breath was offered up to the Almighty in supplication for his safety here, and his happi ■ r »eyond the grave. Tell him to flee to France o^Viuerica. or where-eyer he will, but cid him not r- ^et the ground his sires are buried in—the land abcive which their souls will never cease t< hover! Heaven bless my darling boy! .u “An’ then he lay lack, an’ died as aisy as a baby sleepin’.” \ Again Robert Gormlay sank upon the hard, un-sympathizmg rock Hgain his powerful frame shook with an emotion whi^ no words, no tears could express, and for many ninutes no sound, save the soughing of the wave as they rolled themselves against the mountain tfoot, broke upon the stillness of that desolate p^ce. Con, the tears cours^ silently down his sun-swart face, leaned agaist the side of a towering crag ; and, feeling that is friend’s trouble was be-y2Pd t]16 Pale any w°l-sympathyhe could offer, offered none. A.t length, however, hong to change the current of the sufferer’s though. mastered his own emotion, and said: “It’s a black, black dayviasther Robert, whin ye must lave yer poor ould fher widout waitin’ to lay his bones in the grave ;buthere’s bright days in store for ye yet, an’ wid thfielp of Heaven they 11 not be long m cornin’.” x exclai™ed ormlay. rising to his feet, brighter days will su|y dawn upon our unhappy country I The heel o,he stranger shall not forever grind the soil benefi which our fathers sleep. He paused, his eyes for a sice flashing forth the patriotism that burned in k soul; then, with an effort recalling himself to the resent, he said: “Con, I have one more favor) ask of you, ere we part, perhaps forever. You vn^arry my farewell-may it not be the last—to Eym Rodny.” * Deod I’ll do that same wid tfe greatest pleasure, though it’s indeed sorry I am tit it’s not a more joyful missage. But I’ve sometp more to tell ye—I mane, I’ve sonifthin’ more to we ye afore I go Here’s a few sovereigns theysiiiye ” And he drewfrom the capacLs pocket of his trousers a hea^y canvas bag fityd with ROld and depositing it m a narrow ledi near Gormlay added: ‘’Ye’ll ?Jeed.!^in say, in France; an’ wid it ye’ll iot want till thimthat’s left behind can sind ye m<re.” “Evelyn Rody gave you this—’ “She did,” hstfiy interrupted he youth; “but she bade me td ye that yer father sint a week ago to Dublin for te goold.” It was well Jr the stability of Gormlay’s confidence in the vLacity of his companion that his eyes were bent upc the ground, for the prevarication Con’s lips wer uttering was but too plainly visible in his frank, Inest countenance. Though the untruth was notis own and despite the fact that the deception wamtended to benefit him it deceived Con knew it ys a he, and felt guilty accordingly; and his trutul tongue was, perhaps, the worst medium MisEvelyn Rodny could have chosen to convey to heiffianced—for such Robert Gormlay was the assance that her own private purse was not the sourdrom which the gold had come. But the ciscience of our rustic acquaintance, while it reUed at the thought of deceiving a friend, was, will be seen during the progress of our tale, ppsssed of quite sufficient elasticity to admit of covering very extensive draughts on his imagman when it was brought in contact with | an enemy, 'enabling foi the safety of Miss Rodny s secret hastened to turn his own thoughts as well as tie of his companion, into a more navigable cham * • above the mountain,” he said, an 111 haio more nor jist the bare time to go, an get bacln, to wish ye Godspeed on yer journey over tlvathers.” J “True!” claimed Gormlay, awaking with a start from Painful reverie intowhich he had fallen , truest tell me, Con, did Miss Rodny send me no mese—no letter—no word 9” “She toime that Father Tom Boyle-he bein’ yer fatherkecutor of his will-would go to Dublin in the il-coach that starts at tin o’clock today, an fr there wou d sind ye a few hundred pounds tee care of the Frinch count. Thin. : afther,. wbthe will *ud be proved or somethin’, she said Si sind ye the rest of yer father’s fortune to Anca, if it’s there ye wint.” “And sirote me nothing?” ‘‘Sorra ?d but what I’ve touldye-if it’s not in the bag.” , And heated to the little canvas bag which ; document, still remained on the lodge had first placed it. ' “Ah, yes, I had forgotten,” said the outlaw, beginning to loosen the carefully secured package; perhaps there may be something here.” “Faix, there’s goold in it anyhow,” rejoined Con, a humorous twinkle in his eyes; “an’that’s the best kind of a lether to have wid wan whin he’s goin’ among sthrangers.” . But this sage remark fell unnoticed upon Gorm-lay’s ears, for among the shining contents of the bag he had found, without address or signature, the following note: “Please find herewith the sum of fifty pounds, which is all we are able to pay you at this writing and which, we trust, will be sufficient to meet your more pressing needs until such time as we shall have been able to make the necessary arrangements to send you a larger amount. As soon as legal formalities will permit, the whole amount due you shall be transmitted to New York, where it will be placed to your credit with Brown & Co.. Bankers, of Wall street. Should this course, however, be unsatisfactory to you in any of its details, you will please advise us, pending the completion of arrangements. The real estate will not be disposed of without your special order to that effect. The bearer will make any further explanations that may be required.” Gormlay turned the little piece of paper over and over, and scanned it in every light, but without avail; no word of affection was there to feed the hunger in his aching heart. It was in the handwriting of her he loved, but there the resemblance terminated and became her antipode—ice. “One word of love, of condolence, in this hour of woe,” he muttered, “would have been a thousand fold more grateful to my heart than all the knowledge conveyed to me through this miserably frozen scrap of heartlessness. Love! condolence! ha! ha! What should a wretched outlaw have to do with these? .But, stay! my sorrows make me selfish and unjust!” “Did ye spake, Masther Robert?” Con inouired for the purpose of recalling the young man to himself, and terminating a delay which threatened to leave him but little time to execute his intended mission to the village, some nine miles distant, and then to get back to the cliffs before the arrival of tne hour appointed for the embarkation of the fugitive. \No—yes, Con,” returned the outlaw, in a dreamy Yes ’ Miss Rodny—stay; I will write.” Then, producing a pocket-book, he wrote with a pencil upon one of the blank leaves: ‘To essay to suitably thank you for your kind attendance at the bedside of the dear departed would be to demonstrate the poverty of language; therefore, I forego the attempt. The business arrangements —both that executed and those promised—are alike eminently pleasing to me. The hard, business tone of your letter—perhaps I am too sentimental—is alone unsatisfactory. Outlawed, ostracized, as I am, forbidden to look upon my dying father’s face, exiled from love, home, and country, one little word of aflection would have thrown upon my gloomy path a light far brighter and more acceptable than any that all the gold ever stamped by British sovereignty could reflect or procure. Please write me. under cover*to Count Armand D Honfluer, whose Paris address you know. Adieu! It U.” Tearing the leaf on which this was written from thepocket-book, he handed it to Con, saying: Deliver this to Miss Rodny. Good-by; and Heaven bless you!” Faix, there’s no need of biddin’ me good-by yet awhile, for, wid the help of Heaven I’ll be back in k° see ye sat0 in the Frinchman’s yacht.” No, no, my prave fellow; the distance you have to traverse is already too great; and to return would be simply to overtax your strength, without bringing any corresponding benefit.” But ye know it’s a gra’del betther to be a little tired nor to be ate up an’ eonshumed wid unaisy-ness. Sorra the wink I cud sleep, nor nara bite nor sup cud I swally, widour I knowin’ be the sight ot me own eyes that ye war safe aboard the yacht. bo; ot coorse, I must come back.” “Generous youth!” exclaimed Gormlay. a mist gathering in his eyes; “that you may enjoy the untroubled repose which you so eminently deserve, I suppose I must consent, not to your returning, but to your remaining here until you shall have witnessed my departure.” “That would be far the aisyest plan,” rejoined the youth, slowly and thoughtfully; “but I’m ; aieared it s not the honestest wan. Ye gave me a I letther for Miss Evelyn, an’, of coorse, it’s a kind wan, an’ to delay a kind missage would be to stale the j’yful minutes from thim it’s for. I’ll be back afore midnight. Masther Robert.” And, ere the latter had recovered from the astonishment into which he was thrown by the reception of a sentiment so lofty from a source apparently so inadequate. Con had disappeared around a spur of the cliff, and was rapidly descending toward the plain from which he had come an hour before. Gormlay, with the egotism of erudition, had imbibed the fallacy that an absence of mental culture implies an absence of the power to germinate fine sentiment. The shock which his erroneous ideas of “the fitness of things” had just received would have been much less severe, however, if he had known that, despite Con Redmond’s persistence in employing the dialect of his native hills, he was really almost an English scholar. Yet so it was, for Evelyn Rodny. loving the wild young mountaineer as a sister might love a very dear brother—indeed, he was her foster-brother—had devoted many an hour to the cultivation of his unusually capable mind. That he still adhered to the language of his unlettered associates was “beca’se ’twas th’ aisyest an’ the nathuralest. an’, forby that, beca’se. if he wint about spakin’ big English, his comrade boys would think he was puttin’ on airs.” CHAPTER II. CON AND THE BARONET. Evelyn Rodny, the heroine of our tale, sat alone in the parlor of a roomy, comfortable cottage that nestled amid embowering vines and umbrageous evergreens at a distance of something more than a mile from the village of Kilkray. The beautiful, cone-shaped Norway pines, with many a native yew interspersed here and there with trees whose blushing fruits peeped coyly out from amid the foliage that refused to wholly hide them, presented a lovely picture frorti the highway, which formed, on their northern side, the boundary of Miss Rodny’s grounds, and which separated them from the wide acres belonging to the ancient baronial Castle of Ormsby. Evelyn Rodny was slightly above the medium height, with a form perfect and a mien commanding as that of a Cleopatra. The matchless grace that actuated rather than attended her every movement was essentially a part of her being, and not a mere adornment which education had conferred. and which, like her jewels, could have been laid aside at will. It was an inborn elegance, and, from the unconsciousness of its possessor’s ownership of it, she gathered her chiefest outward charm. Her skin was fair, her eyes black as the sloe, and shaded by long, dark lashes. Her abundant hair, dark and glossy as the raven’s wing, and combed back from her full, azure brow, having escaped from its wonted trammels, fell in many an undu-lating/wave far below her fully rounded yet artist-ieally/slender waist; and, as she arose from her seat and movecrto ward the window, she formed a picture ’ * ’ anchorite might well be par- to gake upon which an dorv T1 appi for deserting his hermitage. , the reader _able to sciate the importance curjit vau be necessary that we here inform him of so cnuch of our heroine’s early history as was’ at Presen^in^ ^er to him known to l)er-On a dark tempestuous night, nineteen years previous to the date at which our story opens, a man, covered with blood and drenched to the skin JurJ0US storm, had appeared at the door of L>r. Kodny s cottage, bearing in his arms an infant of some six or seven months. The costly garments with which the little waif was clad were dyed in blood—the blood of her strangely wild-looking pro-tector, who thus drenched with a warmer tide the little person which he so tenderly guarded from the teeming rain that, mingling with the crimson stream, coursed in rivulets down his own habiliments. man had said, “you are famed throughout Clare for your sterling honesty and boundless charity. Your devotion to the cause of suffering innocence, to justice and religion, is known to all, and I conjure you in the name of these, and by your hope ol their reward in the great beyond, to guard in your inmost heart the sacred charge which 1 this night consign to your care. Bet no human being know how, whence, nor at what time she came. Shield her from all, that she may be the better secured against the machinations of him who would destroy her for the gold to which she is heir; conceal the garments she now wears, that, when the proper time shall have arrived, they may be produced to prove her identity, and aid in giving back to suffering Justice the rights of which she has been robbed. To him alone who shall bear to you a duplicate of the emerald ring you will find upon her person you may give your trust and confidence. The dfiy ot his arrival may be distant, but if there is justice in heaven it will surely come. Her name is Evelyn, and if you bestow upon her your own. the act will only give additional luster to the honor that already encircles it. Do this. James Rodny, and the Father of all will reward you. Adieu!” And then the man, all wounded and bleeding as he was, had gone back into the storm, leaving with the astonished doctor the sleeping babe, who is now the heroine of our tale, and who, in the years between then and his death, had twined herself so closely round the good man’s heart that he had blessed the hour which brought her to his arms. A few days afterward an unknown agent had purchased in the name of Evelyn Rodny the small estate in whose cottage we now find her. Here she had lived surrounded by every comfort, and in the enjoyment of a happiness which found its first interruption in the death of him whom, till a few hours before the occurrence of that sad event, she had firmly believed to be her father. On that day, less than a year before the date of which we write, the good doctor, after requesting all others to leave the room, had called her to his/ bedside, and told her as much as he knew of her history. had s?id- "I cou,d have wished that Heaven had spared me till your mysterious protector of that awful night—the bearer of the emerald ring—the copy of that upon your ■ sh°uld have returned; but Heaven has willed it otherwise—he has not come, and I am dying. When he shall rrrn. himself to you trust, Cv' fijp |t| him, as you would in me. and you will nut be wronged, for. though he was a stranger tome I feel—I know that honesty, truth, nobility had full possession of bis soul. I have already told you where you will find, when needed, the articles the stranger bade me guard. With them you will also find a written statement, attested by me in the presence of Father Boyle and Barrister John Gormlay. who are sworn to secrecy. It will satisfy the law regarding your identity, and assure the stranger that I have not betrayed the trust he placed in me. Now, dear child, remember that he told me your life’s safety depended on my silence: henceforth, till he shall speak, it rests upon your own. Heaven bless and guard you till we meet there!” A few minutes later the good man passed to his reward. When his will was opened, it was found, to the astonishment of all and the dismay of Evelyn that Sir Peter Ormsby, the owner of the vast adjoining demesne, was named as the guardian of her person during the remaining years of her minority. Why she was dismayed and all were astonished at her being made the ward of Sir Peter Ormsby the character of that personage, soon to be shown’ will ampiy explain. Fortunately, his guardianship extended no farther than over her person. Her es- V • THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. .nd personal, the latter being consider-placed by the terms of the will under the Barrister John Gormlay—the father of -and Father Boyle, the parish priest of m we present her. her Tears had been 'gotten; for the obnoxious guardian, up ie, had evinced no desire to take upon e execution of the functions with which d invested him, and she thought this fact promise that he would not in the future a self with anything concerning her. doomed to speedy disappointment, how-that the reader may learn without undelay how the illusion was dispelled, we ice proceed to take up the thread of our g restlessly from her seat to the window, ays intently listening and her eyes ever ion involuntarily seeking the busy little u time-piece on the mantel, it was not difli-see that she was expecting, or at least hop-ir some arrival of more than ordinary im-ice. mgth, as the hour-hand of the clock pointed figure six upon the face, she murmured, in a of soft melody: is six o’clock, and yet no tidings from my enger. I pray Heaven he may not have been cepted. True, I did not bid him return to me, he may not come till, having witnessed it, he d have made himself able to assure me of lert’s safe emoarkation.” uddenly she ceased; her whole person, pre-usly motionless in its expectant attitude, at once jame instinct with energetic life, and flying to > door, she flung it open, exclaiming: 'Come in, Con! Never mind your cap or your ickthorn, but for the love of our blessed Lady, •get all ceremony, and tell me at once that your ssion has not failed!” Make yerself parflckly aisy, Miss Evelyn, dear,” urned Con Redmond, as with cap and shillelah hand, he closed the door and advanced into the nter of the apartment; “make yerself aisy; I’ve aen him, an’ here’s the proof.” With these words he handed her the slip of paper on which, about two hours before, we saw Robert Gormlay write the lines then given to the reader. When she had devoured the contents of the little sheet, which was but the work of a moment, she exclaimed, in a voice that expressed both joy and sorrow: “Thank Heaven, then, he is safe! and will depart to-niglit in the-” “I beg yer pardon. Miss Evelyn,” interrupted Con, awkwardly dropping his blackthorn on the floor, and speaking in tones which completely drowned her voice: Then, bending his tall form forward till his lips were close to the ears of the astonished girl, he added, in a hurried whisper: “These are throublous times, Miss Evelyn, an’ the walls, an’threes, an’roses, an’, above all, the windows have ears that Ould Nick has sharpened till they can hear a body thinkin’. Of coorse, I don’t believe that any thievin’ rapscallion of a spy cud live widin reach of yer swate voice, no more nor a snake cud exist on Irish ground ; but, thin, it’s always betther to be sure nor sorry.” Con, who had learned caution from the frequent dangers it had enabled him to pass through in safety, had already begun to reconnoiter, and having examined the outward approaches to one of the windows, he was now proceeding to another, which, almost entirely screened by the many leafy vines which clustered around it. presented an unusually secure hiding-place to any one who might be desirous of prying into the affairs of Miss Rodney’s household. “Come out of that, ye rapscallion of satan!” he thundered, on reaching the window; and, taking a firmer hold of his shillelah, he prepared to leap through the opening, upon the concealed listener he had discovered beyond. “Come out of that! or, be the--- Oh, holy mother of Moses! it’s Sir Pether Ormsby himself!’’ And he reeled backward in the most intense astonishment and dismay; while, almost in the same moment, a dark, thickset man of some fifty years— though he appeared more than ten years younger— I stepped across the low window-sill into the room. ! The intruder’s shaggy, beetling brows, and the ' lalignant, ferret-like eyes, which scintillated like parks of greenish colored flame glistening far back t n the bosom of some dismal cavern, were indeed ^sufficiently repulsive, without the added ugliness vhich his square, massive lower jaw and coarse / inouth, with its severe, angular lines, gave to a r countenance from which cruelty, cunning, and a certain amount of animal courage had driven every sign of the higher attributes of man. Had a stranger met this man on a lonely by-way. his hand would instinctively have sought his pistol, and in passing he w’ould have been apt to give him all the space that the width of the road would justify. “Ah. Miss Rodny,” he began, “I have caught you at last in the act of holding communication with rebels and vagabonds!” “When I shall have ceased to remember.” retorted Evelyn, that Sir Peter Ormsby is a contemptible eavesdropper, and when he shall have learned that there is to my house a door through which gentlemen are allowed to enter, I may condescend to hold communication with him.” Then turning to Con. she added: “Show this individual out—out beyond the outer “I know but little of law,” she replied, with unbending hauteur, "but I suppose I shall be compelled to submit, physically, to the government of which you speak; but to accord respect to one who could stoop to the performance of so mean an act as that of which you have to-day been guilty, were simply impossible.” “Faix, Miss Evelyn,” broke in Con, “it wasn’t him that stooped to the mane act, but the mane act that had to stoop to him—an’ mighty low it had to get to retch him.” “Silence, fellow!” roared Ormsby. “Miss Rodny, order this clown from the room!” "Troth, if Miss Evelyn would only give me the word,” rejoined the irrepressible youth, “it’s yourself would lave the room, an’ that a mighty dale quicker too nor ye left Paris a year ago, whin the Frinch Count challenged you to a juel, for stickin’ yer spoon in other people’s porridge!” This was what is not inappropriately called "twitting on fact;” for not more than a year previously. Sir Peter had fled precipitately from Paris to escape fighting a duel with Count Armand D’Honfleur—the gentleman whose yacht was that night to convey Robert Gormlay from the shores of Ireland—whom he had grossly insulted. The thrust was, accordingly a very sore one, and the baronet, shaking with rage, turned fiercely upon our dauntless young friend. Silence, fiend, and leave the room, or by the heaven above us both I shall shoot you dead where you stand!” Evelyn uttered a low scream and rushed between Con and the enraged Ormsby, who was now nervously closing and relaxing his fingers’ grasp upon the butt of a pistol that protruded from the side pocket of his coat. “Go, Con, go, or this bad man will murder you!” she at last found breath to say. “Sorra fear of him,” returned the imperturbable youth, gently pushing her aside. "He knows a thrick worth two of it. Bastes niver 1’ep at the eyes that’s watchin’ thim, and’forby that, his pistol might miss fire, while me darlin’ ould blackthorn niver missed the skull it was aimed at. An’ whin he hadn’t the courage to face a bit of a pop-gun in the hands of the Frinchman, my word for it he’ll har’ly vinthur a bout wid an honest shillelah in the fist of bould Con Redmond.” Then, sinking his voice to the lowest of audible whispers, he hurriedly breathed into her ear: “I’m only sthrivin’ to delude him of his time wid me swagger; three hours more of delay, an’ he’ll niver catch the man he came here to look for; an’ thin what matther what he does wid meself ?” “Miss Rodny, will you or will you not obey me ?” now fiercely demanded the baronet, chafing under the infliction of Con’s presence, and especially anxious to prevent further private conversation between him and Evelyn, whom, for reasons known to himself, he hoped to be enabled to intimidate, if by any means he could separate her from her redoubtable young ally. She seemed not to have heard the command, however, or, if she did, evinced no disposition to comply with it, and therefore he iterated in a yet more brutal voice: “Will you obey my command, and send yon mountebank from the apartment ?” “I suppose I may as well hear what you have to say,” she answered, icily, after a slight hesitation. “Con, you may leave me, but do not go from the house.” “I’ll do yer biddin’, Miss Evelyn,” the youth re- I sponded, sadly; “but it goes agin me nathur to lave an innocent lamb wid a hungry wolf, an’ ye may depind that I’ll not go farther away nor the kitchen.” And. casting upon the young girl a look of warn-iug and encouragement, he quitted the room. CHAPTER III. EVELYN’S LETTER. When the sound of Con’s retreating footsteps had died away. Sir Peter turned to Evelyn, and, in a voice which was meant to be smooth, but which was exactly the reverse, said: “I came to tell you that I do not approve of the j company with which you have for a very long pe- i riod been surrounded. To associate with Robert Gormlay, knowing him to be a mere adventurer, i was bad enough, but to continue the acquaintance I since he has become a rebel against his sovereign I and a traitor to his country—a proclaimed outlaw, : with a price upon his head—is simply outrageous, i and in conflict alike with decency and the laws of the land.” He ceased for a space as if awaiting a reply, but she gave no sign, and he proceeded: “Notwithstanding your apparent insensibility to my kind intentions, I am here to-day only with the purpose of asking you to save me from the unpleasant necessity of awaking you too rudely from your young and—pardon me for adding—foolish d । earns. Robert Gormlay you shall never marry, and that his neck may not pay the penalty of his crimes, you will be required to dismiss him from your presence now and forever! For your sake I would save him from the scaffold.” “In America,” she replied, her cheeks now pale as death, "they do not award a scaffold to those who love their country.” hopes we once clierishde,au never be realized? You will doubtless meet, among the people with whom your fortunes will be thrown, sine one who will more than repay you for my loss; but I tear for myself, that I shall never again find any one t< esteem as I have esteemed you. Regrets are, however, seleis, and the sooner we forget the past the better it vlll befor both of us. “With many wishes pr /bur future welfare, I beg to remain your friend, Evelyn Rodny. “P. S.—I would like t hear of your safe arrival beyond the sea, and I assure yu that I shall look anxiously in the newspapers for thehmouncement of that event. When this precios document was completed, Con was summoned and the letter placed in his hand, with injunctids to deliver it as speedily as possible. He, howeir, hesitated, and, assuming an awkwardly innoc0 air, said, slowly: “Of course4 I’ll delyer it wid as much speed as is possible; but. yez knov, the mail-coach only laves the village at tin ofock ivery mornin’, an’ it’s a long road to th’ otheistation at Iiinistymon, where I cud get the midnigk coach, an’ thin a longer wan by it to where Mastht Robert is, if he’s still in the kingdom, which I’m fmost sure he isn’t.” "True.” rejoined Jvelyn, instantly catching the youth’s hidden meanpg, and resolving to favor the deception; "the dist^ice is great, and it will take you much time to coipass it. But--” “Whatever the distance he will not compass it by jawing here,” broke i| the baronet, angrily. “Come, sir, get you gone at ofee.” “Hould a bit, Sir Peher!” responded Con, with a contemptuous toss ofithe head. “I take ordhers only from me masthq, an’ that’s Miss Evelyn; so you may jist shut upver dhirt-house till ye’ve got some wan of yer om spalpeens to fling its contents at.” “Wretch!” foamed Ormsby; "I shall soon find means to repay you hr your insolence! I shall punish you with a lish of scorpions for this, and----” “Musha! will ye nov?’ with maddening derision. “Don’t ye think, nowuhat it would be more sinsi-ble in ye to keep yer ihreats for some coward that they’d hurt? For meself, I care as much for thim as I do for yerself, ai’that’s nearly as much as I do for the intilligent igabblin’ of Biddy Bulthrot’s ould gandher. But it’s far past nine o’clock, an’ there’s no moon to light the long road I have to thravel. Good-night.” And casting, as he hrned away, a quick glance upon Evelyn—a glance which told her that Gormlay should not be deeded MLhe letter’s contents, whatever they might k Ke passed, out of the apartment. out of Vale cottge, and beyond the grounds appertaining to it. t enter them again nevermore. After imparting to velyn the important intelligence that he would ;oon again call upon her. Sir Peter took his not uwelcome leave, and, proceeding at a rapid walk along the flower-bordered avenue, soon emerg^upon the high-road. Here he paused fojw moment, listening intently and striving to peei|| rough the gloom which had fojK moment, listening intently ei||rough the gloom which had -----------------w/B. the earth; then, entering his own demesne byi wicket-gate almost directly opposite, he turned nto a dense clump of ever- now settled down greens. Crouching behind fie hed^4hat bordered the highway, and peerinpthrough it, was the figure of a man. Toward this ii^ure the baronet was silently making his way. "Have you seen him,Carson ?” he asked, when he had penetrated to a point sufficiently near to the spy for the latter to heft the whispered words. “Yes, he passed up tie road a few minutes before you came out from MrsRodny’s grounds. He can have gone but a very litle distance yet, and-” Then mount and ayay to Innistymon at once! Tell Gowan that if theqiassj^should take the mail coach, he must not far to have Men accompanied by a detective. The y|ung villain’s wits are keen, and to follow him b the spot where the higher-game is concealed will require th& exercise of unlimited caution and pcessant watchfulness. Remember to impress thl upon GoWn. Mount now, and be off. Meanwhi| I shall proceed to the place where our party of cmstabulary awaits me. and. after making my homd acquainted with the kind of game he is to pursie-which I can do by means of the young rascal’s coat, so fortunately in our possession—start hir ----------1 “ TT baffle the ' kt once on the trail. He may the coach, । not travel by >ve a match for him, never fear.” The worthy whom Sir Peter had addressed was gate.” “Faix. whin ye’ve give th’ordher. Miss Evelyn, if it was the Queen of England, or the divil himself, out he’d go. or I’d know the raison, so Iwouljn Come, Sir Pether, march! March, I tell ye. or, lithe mimory of St. Pathrick, ye’ll soon be dancin’W the best chune I can play ivid (stick) d y^^^Lhe^h^rous light which evolved from no doubt but that it was his intention ttt speedqy and remorselessly carry his threat into execution. “Stay!” cried Evelyn, just in time to arrest the descent of the upraised blackthorn. “I would not "They award death to traitors everywhere!” he rejoined, sternly. "But your efforts to convince me that Gormlay has left the kingdom are utterly vain. I know the very spot in which he this moment lies concealed, and if you do not at onjje comply with my wishes—to dismlfg9 him unconditionally and forever—I shall go to^thecaptainof the con suM'Ai lary force t mitor. « akd Thus \he^.hundred pounds offered for I hiXS?^»aIne not senACon from ti.ie rooA ( now if she had svtria-hKmed him **•» uei Ipiesence, hj£> ko&a inteh/greuce vjould have penetrated, and his no less keen tongue have unmasked the un- soon proceeding at s full gallop toward Innistymon, which was some ten miles distant. He had traversed atout two miles when he overtook Con, wTho was plr^tiing his way at a leisurely gait. v “Where are you fd^now. Con ?” inquired Sir Peter’s messenger, in a peasant voice, and reining in his horse. “The sharpness X yer eyes, Tom Carson, might ’ave tould ye thauwidoqt axin’. But is any wan sick at the castle, t/at ye wpr ridin’ so quick a minute ago ?” was tie ha-ff-jeatiffg, wholly careless reply. t “No,” returned me other. ‘‘My reason for riding so rapidly is th? Sir Peter gave me a letter this morning to be .out into Dublin by the ten o’clock mail, and, havig forgotten it till a little while ago, I was hurryim forwardi that I might get it on the way as soon asllPssible. But you have not yet told me where you mng.” 4!Tt?s ’ go in ; buy mind tellufer^^^j^ likes of me does be ugh to ax. I don’t an’ brush- tn m me l u rayther be alone wid prevint the whole time. It’ll not do at all. at all, an’—be the’Mortial Powers, I’ve got it! Just the natest plan ye ever heard. Go you to the cave, an’ I’ll fix the baste. What an idiot I was not to think of it afore!” And breaking from his companion.,, he ran to the extreme verge of the cliff, as if to hurldiimself from its six hundred feet of height down into the madly raging caldron that roared and foamed beneath. A moment Gormlay saw him pause to place his cap upon the very edge, then boldly swing himself over the brink and disappear. “Oh. heavens!” groaned the outlaw, in a voice of horror, and he rushed forward to the spot where he had last seen his devoted young friend. . Quickly arriving at the place, he was in the act of bending down to peer into the mingled darkness and phosphorescence of the waves below, when he was joyfully startled by hearing from amid the gloom at his feet the half angry, wholly remonstrant voice of Con, saying: “For the sake of marcy, get away, Masther Robert, an’ let the baste have a clane run for it I’m as snug as ye plaze, on a bit of a ledge that stan’s out from the face of the cliff. Go to the cave, an’ don’t spoil the fun.” Gormlay, seeing that Con’s plan was an excellent one, and satisfied that he was in no great danger, immediately withdrew to a point, at some little distance farther to the northward, where he calmly awaited the denouement. The savage yells of the fierce hound could now be distinctly heard, as with rapid bounds he approached the summit of the cliff, Two minutes more and he swept across the mountain’s brow. With one terrific howl of rage, he snuffed the air and dashed down the short incline. The verge wTas now distant but three giant leaps. With a wild roar he seized in his foaming, blood-crimsoned jaws Con’s decoying cap, and disappeared forever into space, a victim to his own blind, insatiate ferocity. "Go it, ye baste of the divil’s hatchin’!” cried Con, in ecstasy; "yer last leap was yer biggest wan, an’ it’s only sorry I am that yer masther wasn’t wid ye whin ye tuck it. Keep me ould cap an’ welcome!” [TO BE CONTINUED.] SEVERE THREAT By Mrs. E. Burke Collins. [“A Severe Threat” was commenced in No. 25. numbers can be had of all News Agents.] Back CHAPTER XXXIV. A RING TO WEAR. “Dot, why do you not wear my ring ?” Dot glanced up with a start as Hal Dexter asked the question. She was still with the Dexters at the hotel, for although several days had elapsed since the attempted abduction, she had not yet fully recovered her strength; and Kittie and Mrs. Atherton, who had become greatly attached to the girl, had begged her so earnestly to remain for a time, that she had followed the dictates of her own heart, and consented. Hal was lounging in the window seat, this particular morning, the sunshine straying in and laying a caressing touch upon his curly brown head, in one hand a bunch of his favorite white roses, “I—I do not understand you!” faltered Dot. “I mean the ring that I sent you in the last bouquet that you received at the Coronet. I remember your thanking me lor (he gift, with as much gratitude as though it had b -en the Kohinoor; but somehow I never see you wear it. Tell me. Dot, do you despise the giver so greatly that you decline to wear his gift ?” Dot’s face was crimson as she bent her head; but the brown eyes shone like diamonds under their long lashes. “You know that is not the reason, Mr. Dexter!” she faltered, after a pause of silence. “I—I do not wear it because I never quite fancied the idea of receiving so cosily a gift from you, when I was performing at the Coronet. So many actresses accept such gifts from gentlemen, who speak lightly of them afterw;i rd, .and—an d ’ ’ She broke down entirely, and hid her face in her hands. “Dot,” whispered Hal, quietly removing the hands and retaining them in his own. “let me give you another; let me place a plain gold ring upon your finger, and ‘with this ring 1 thee wed;’ do you understand me ? Will you be my wife. Dot ?” She lifted her face, an I her brown eyes were brimming over with unshed tears. "Mr. Dexter,” she faltered, brokenly, “I did not think that you would speak to me like that! I never could believe that you would attempt to amuse yourself at my expense. Believe me. it is not a manly occupation.” Hal arose to his feet, and stooping, gazed right into Dot’s brown eyes. There was no avoiding that Dot’s head drooped. Hal have violence done in my house, even to so poor a travesty of manhood as this, if it may at all be avoided. Sir Peter Ormsby, will you leave me without compelling me to command your forcible expulsion from my grounds ?” “I would be extremely well pleased to gratify my haughty ward in this respect.” sneeringly replied the baronet, “were it not that my departure would be immediately followed by the occurrence of an event which would be to her far more painful than my presence is distasteful. I hold the life of Robert Gormlay in my hands. Shall I go hence and take it?” ‘Don’t believe a word of it... Miss Evelyn!” interposed Con, with an air whose truth was perfectly simulated; “for it’s meself that knows, bether nor ara wan in the country, that Masther Robert’s more nor half road to America be this time.” “If such were the case, this note should be dated from mid-ocean,” returned Sir Peter, with quiet sarcasm, and reaching forward to grasp Gormlay’s note, which lay on the table where Evelyn had thoughtlessly thrown it. But his eager hand was destined never to hold long that deeply-coveted piece of paper; for. like a wild-cat springing upon her prey. Con cleared at a single bound the twelve feet of space that lay between him and the table, and caught the precious document from the hand of Ormsby, “Faix!” he exclaimed; “it may be the latest fashion from London for gintiemen to go spyin’ about ladies' windy’s, an’ lepin’ in of thim widout ara invite, an’ to be thryin’ to read other people’s letthers widout axin’ be yer lave; but may the divil flyaway with me, if I’ll let any wan nose through my private corrishpondince while I’ve a shillelah to defind it, or legs to run wid it if I’m be’t!” “Insolent hound! you shall suffer for this!” roared the baronet, hoarse with rage. “An’if Ido. what mather?” replied the youth, in a voice of unusual earnestness. “So that they save me frinds, me heaviest suffrins’ll be me greatest j’y —do ye know that now ? But ye don’t; for the hole where yer heart ough’to be is too full of vinomous gases for such sintiments as them to grow in it,” “The joy which you contemplate with so much satisfaction.” returned Ormsby, “will be found extremely bitter when the proper time shall have arrived to give you a taste of it.” “Thim that haven’t clane consciences to sup it wid are bad judges of its sweetness,” was the ready retort. “We shall see anon, knave, how low diet, hard work, and heavy chains will agree with you.” ■^sMany a betther man nor me was rewarded wid weighty irons for not committin’any crimes; an’ many a worse wan”—and he regarded the baronet narrowly—“earned goold, an’ diamon’s, and broad lands for doin’ the divil’s blackest work.” “What mean you, fellow?” gasped Sir Peter, in a husky voice, a sickly pallor overspreading his countenance. “Judgin’ by yer yalla’, clay-colored face, wan would think, this minute, that yer conscience cud translate me mailin’ betther nor meself cud do it.” This and Con’s previous speech, which had so startled the baronet, were not altogether random shots; for the youth had heard, though in very low wliispers. that the present possessor of the Ormsby estates had won them by the murder of a near kinsman. “I would speak with you alone. Miss Rodny,” said the baronet, contemptuously ignoring Con’s speech, and fixing his eyes on our heroine, who had stood a silent but deeply interested and surprised listener to the foregoing colloquy. “1 have already told you,” she answered, frigidly, “that I can hold no conversation, private or other- scrupulous baronet’s designs, and she wTould have been saved from the commission of an act which was destined to entail upon her many an hour of sorrow, and enhance her other woes a hundredfold. Evelyn Rodny would have willingly ransomed Robert Gormlay’s life with her own, had it been necessary, and she in possession of the power to do so. She could no longer doubt in the face of Sir Peter’s emphatic and repeated asseverations, but that he was fully informed with regard to her lover’s hiding-place, and to save him by writing a letter coldly dismissing him could not surely be wrong, while the false impression created by such letter could be easily corrected by communicating with him at his Paris address. But had she known that Ormsby’s assertions concerning his knowledge of the young man’s retreat were utterly untrue, she might have fathomed some portion at least of his rascally designs, and this done, she would have freely suffered her right hand to be torn from her body, rather than allow it to indite the falsehood which he stood waiting to dictate. “How am I to dismiss him when he is not present. and when I know not where he is ?” she said, at length. “You can write, and he who knew how to bring you a letter from him will know how to return with an answer.” "Very well, then, I will go to the library and write the untruth you require of me. In the meantime you may, it it please you, remain here till I return with this evidence of my perfidy, when I will submit it to your superior judgment for approval.” “My judgment maybe superior, as you say, but in this instance, at least, it is to my penetration that I am indebted for my ability to comprehend the meaning of your desire to leave the apartment; and it is not my iiftention to allow you to do sq, unaccompanied by myself. You may ring for writing materials to be brought you here.” "I had no thought, in desiring to leave you,” she returned, bitterly, “to do other than your bidding; but I am a novice in deceit—though, under the tuition of so finished a master as yourself. I have little doubt that I shall soon become an adept. I will obey you. Sir Peter.” With these words she crossed the apartment and touched the tassel of the bell-mpe, and scarcely a minute thereafter Con, followed by his sister, who was Evelyn’s maid, appeared at the door. “Did ye call. Miss Evelyn?” asked the youth. "I rang for Mary,” she replied; "you, however, may remain in the hall, as I shall soon want you.” Then turning to Mary, she added: "Bring me lights, and pen, ink, and paper from the library desk.” These orders were quickly executed, and Con and Mary having withdrawn, she seated herself at the^parlor table, prepared to indite the demanded letter of dismissal. But as she was commencing it the baronet interrupted her, saying, in a keenly sarcastic tone of voice: “I prefer to dictate your letter in this instance. Miss Rodny, as, if left to your own judgment, you might be too severe—unnaturally severe, perhaps— and I would not that you wound the youwg rebel unnecessarily.” “Ah,” she exclaimed, with cutting irony, “so great was my ignorance of the art of lying—diplomacy, perhaps, would be the better word—that I had not the most remote idea of so far overdoing my work as to render it a palpable sham; but how can I ever thank you for so delicately informing me of the unpardonable oversights of those to whom my education was intrusted? Proceed, Sir Peter; I am ready to act the part of amanuensis.” After a few minutes’ further delay, she wrote, at his dictation, the following letter: “Vale cottage,-------, 1848. <^>h, 'VO^0?^ ing thekeeveoi on; t helfee^11^ 4 a ’’ masbe fpre^W^xCA wond to understand me own throubles.”" . “Well,” returned tJA«y, gathering up the reins and touching his animjrs flanks lightly with the rowels, “I wish you Gdspeed uponyour journey ; but 1 suppose I shall again see yni at Innisty- mon. “Wid Heaven’s heli Tom Capon, muttered Con, as the other gallo,ed away G Ajs brother’s errand. “Ye’ll naythei see me at Inmstymon nor anywhere else again, this blissed night. But will the Almighty iver parlon me fo ^H the lies 1 m tillin ? It’s betther at any rate t( not tell the truth to thim villyans, whativer bes th'consequence.” The horseman having now ^appeared in the distance, our young courier lo^ed anxiously and keenly about him for amomentand then turning to the left, vaulted over the lowicdge. There for a little time he again paused. T^u. apparently satisfied. he set forward at a rajd pace toward the towering cliffs of Moher, whic/lay in a direction almost diametrically opposite.) that he had been pursuing. x . “I wondher what’s in the ifther, anyway, he mused, as he sped on ben^A the starless sky. "Nothin’ good, I’ll be bound, hin the divil’s liften- ant was at the writin’ of it.” , , , , The foot of t he cliff was r^Aed at length, and he began the toilesome ascentbuf the rifts and cay-erns which yawned in hiP.a,h, and which his fresher strength had never^t^pd to impede his progress, now effectually the way, and compelled him to take many a^dious step to find an easier passage round thed , But he resolutely toiledff till he had gained the summit; then he pausedA rest ere sounding the call which was to annouie his presence to Gorm-........................... now the breath to utter. lay, but which he had ----- — And it is little wonder Bit he found himself ex- tat day had he compassed hausted; for three time>;hu- ------------ -—--------- the nine miles that intervened between the mountain-top on which he stool and the village of Kil-kray; and added to Ibis were the four miles of circuit which his just suspicions of Sir Peter Ormsby’s treachery had compelled him to triverse. The night was dark md the sky overcast, presaging a storm, and n ^ntle breeze iron the northward fanned the brov?f the tired youthas he raised his cap. Suddenly hestarted and gazes with both eyes and ears distendld. down the maintain side whence he had come.i , , “Oh. heavens!” hedaculated, turning pale, as a moment later the sha’P. angry baying I a hound straightforward gaze. ------------------— ------- laid his hands upon hjer shoulders, and calmly kissed her. wise, with such as you.” "I regret the necessity of again reminding you that I am your guardian,” he sneeringly returned. “True, I have not heretofore sought to exercise the authority which is legally mine, but the mere leaving of it in abeyance has by no means vitiated Robert Gormlay, Esq:—Dear Sir:—Your note is received, and I regret that the duty 1 owe to myself compels me, in answer, to write words that may possibly give you pain. Had the rebellion of which you were one of the leaders been successful, I would have hailed the new order of things with joy; but your standard has gone down, crushing in its descent all those who were \ its supporters, and, I think, in your generosity, you will ' for nnt. to aliare tAieir fate. N1 v was borne to his hea/ng. •‘What’s wrong, Qn?” demanded te voice of Gormlay. who had, ^observed, gained,] s side. “Oh, Masther RobH. I ve betrayed ?! Do wid meself as ye plaze, bit for the love of Haven, take the letther—here it ii—an’ Ay for yer nfd’ "Betrayed me!” maculated Gormlay I would as soon believe tbatmy mother had ansn from the grave to denounce ler only child. "Ohone! ohoneX”groaned the unhappyouth. “I cud ’ave chated an’baffled an’ blin fold! the very divil himself, but Sr Pether’s blood-hoid was too many for me. Thar the haythin brute nrs again! Clear away. Masther Robert, an’ lave mto the fate me stupidness desarves!” “Ah.” returned he to whom this »peal was addressed, calmly placing in his pket-book the letter he had just received from Con'rembling hands, “I think Ibeginto comprehend b cause of vour trouble. Sir Peter Ormsby has leloose his blood-hound—fit instrument of the bloodr tyranny it is now so ably representing—upon mr trail. But no, my brave boy. I would not that u should think me base enough to desert you in ts hour of “Faix, thin, it’s meself that’ll desart J’ned Con, starting to his feet. "H’s me own thracke brute’s foilvin’, an’ I’ll wager I’ll lade him far engh from yours afore he catches me yet. Ay, fa. though I’m tired itself. I’ll give him a fine dan oyer the cliffs an’ whin the Fhnchman comes yl be free to go wid him. Good-by. and Heaven bed ye!” Saying which, the self-sacrificing ydi would have bounded away but that, Gormlayught his arm, and held it firmly as it were in a vu “See!” cried the outlaw, producing levoIver; “see I am armed, aid shall be able tday this brute ere he shall lave come near en,4i to do roUhe sprang to her feet in a perfect tempest. Her ; a^e‘;-slw eye? blazed j pantociV>etwee£i: Dp Ater!” sb® “Oh, yes, you will. Dot.” he returned, wiKrprovok-ingcooluess; "for you know that I love you. You know that I hold in my heart the deepest respect for you. Dora darling, you are my ideal woman; I want you for my wife—say yes, Dot.” She buried her face upon his shoulder and burst into a flood of tears. Hal pressed his lips to the bright young head. “Don’t cry, dot,” he whispered, “but (please answer my question.” She glanced up saucily, drying her tears. “What question ?” “This: I, Halton Dexter, do ask you. Dora Wylde, to be my wedded wife, ‘to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in-” "Hush!” And one little hand was laid upon his mouth. Then, she lifted her eyes to his face, with a serious look in their brown depths. < "Halton Dexter.” she said, with slow emphasis, tell me the plain, honest truth; would you marry an actress ? Many men would shrink from the idea. They would believe that the woman whom they loved would cling to the stage life, and if once debarred from following the chosen and beloved profession, would never be happy off the boards, but would always have a secret longing for the forbidden life on the stage. Now, for my part--” She checked herself suddenly, and a burning blush overspread her face. “For your part, what, darling?” queried the young man, eagerly. “Go on. Dot; I insist 1” "Well. I was going to say that for my part, if ever —mind, I say if ever I should happen to learn to care for any man, and should become his wife, I would give up the stage willingly, freely, and would be only too glad to settle down to a quiet, domestic life. Home, love, who could reasonably ask more ?” He drew her to his side. “No one. dear,” he answered, “and they shall be yours, and 1 will prove the truest, fondest husband that ever lived! I will have no other hope or ambition save you. and—home.” He might have gone on in that way for an indefinite time, that being the fashion of lovers in general; but right in the midst of his rhapsody, little matter-of-fact Dot inquired, suddenly: “Hal, who do you think was at the bottom of the attempt to carry me off? Do you know anything about the matter?” His handsome face clouded. “Yes.” he answered. "I was about to tell you when I entered the room a short time since, but, somehow, it was forgotten. I have discovered, for the ruffian has made a full and free confession—by the way, he has been awarded a good long term in ‘durance vile’—he admits that he was hired by Sir John Sydney some time ago to remove you from the way, that you might not be able to appear against him as a witness of his crimes. The man confesses that he had been trying to get you into his power for some time, but was not successful until that memorable night. Oh, Dot, how grateful I am that I was able to help you!” She slipped her hand into his. “God bless you!” she whispered. And then, moved by a sudden impulse, she related to Hal her strange and romantic dream. “As true as I live,” she said, in conclusion, "it was your own face that I saw!” He caught her in his arms and would not let her go. “The dream revealed to you a glimpse of the future, my sweetheart,” he said, softly, “There is no use rebelling against fate. Dot. You are my little wife to be. Say yes, at once.” She smiled demurely, "Yes. at once,” she repeated. Hal laughed gayly. “There, I have caught you in your own trap, ma cherer he cried; ‘it shall be at once. Be my wife immediately. Dot, and you shall never go back to the Coronet, but shall go home with us to dear old America.” diamond ring suspended from it, where, out oi sight, she had always worn it—a talisman, she said. He slipped it on her finger, with a tender kiss; and so the engagement was ratified. CHAPTER XXXV. A SHATTERED DREAM. Kittie Dexter sat alone in her own chamber at the hotel. In her hand was a letter whose contents had driven all the *color from her chnek. and had brought a wild, hunted look into her eyes. Poor Kittie! It seemed to her that all the happiness of her life was ended; she could see nothing in the future but clouds, and darkness, and gloom. For the first time in her life, she had learned to care for some one; she had given the love of her heart to Howard Ashleigh; and there—there before her anguish-dilated eyes, were the words which shattered her bright dream and took away her hope, and made her life a waste, a barren desert of despair. The letter was from Howard, and in it he told her —striving to soften the blow as best he might, for his heart was full of pity for the girl—told her of the strange events which had so lately occurred; told her that his wife was still living, and that they were reunited; and Kittie understood, without any explanation, that he had never ceased to love Geraldine. It was all over, then—all her dream of life with Howard Ashleigh, and the glory of his love all about her. She bowed her head upon her hands, and wept long and bitterly. After a time she fell upon her knees beside her bed, and prayed most earnestly for strength to bear her burden bravely, and power to overcome this love which now had grown to be a deadly sin, and must be crushed out. When she arose from her knees, her pale face looked glorified; and though there was a look of suffering in her eyes, there was also the peace which follows suffering. She had conquered; the battle had been fought and won, and she wore the crown of victory. She went down stairs to find Hal, and there discovered that the strange tidings had already preceded her. Mrs. Atherton said nothing; but Hal met her in the door of their pretty parlor, and kissed her pale face without a word. But Kittie understood. “Hal.” she said, after a time, “would it be convenient for you to leave London soon—at once? I— I want to go—to—Waltham!” “This minute if you wish. Kittie,” he answered; “but do you think you are quite equal to the step ? Do you think you can meet her—Mrs. Ashleigh— you know?” Her face grew paler, and the look of suffering deepened in her eyes. “Yes.” she answered, calmly. “I—I do not begrudge the poor girl her happiness, although it has cost me dear. And Dot can accompany us, if she will. You have spoken to Dot, have you, Hal?” He nodded. “She has promised to be my wife,” he answered. “And, Kittie, I think—if it would not be unpleasant to you—that we had better have the affair over at once. Would you mind it, Kittie?” “Oh, no,” she returned, quickly. “I am anxious to see you happy. Let the • wedding take place as soon as you can coax Dot to consent. Dear little girl!” And warm-hearted Kittie, choking back her own sorrow, heroically set to work in her task of persuasion. For it required considerable arguing to bring Dot over to their side of the question; but at last all difficulties were overcome, and one evening the Dexter party, with Dot Wylde, entered a certain church in a retired part of London. And when they emerged, not long after, there was no longer any Dot Wylde, but a demure-looking little person, who, henceforth, would answer to the name of Mrs. Halton Dexter. The next day the party started for Waltham. Dot was full of joy at the prospect of seeing Lola once more; yet there were grave misgivings in her heart. For she had received no letter, no tidings from her friend in many days; and as Lola had hitherto been a prompt correspondent. Dot feared that she might be ill. But all fears, all unplesant thoughts were dismissed now as the train flew onward. Dot remembered only that she was with the man she loved, her own husband. She was sincerely grieved to observe Kittie’s pallor, and the quiet manner, which proved more plainly than words could have done how the shaft had struck home, and the arrow of sorrow rankled in the girl’s pure heart. But Kittie had crucified self. She had put away her own love, her own wishes, and thought only of the happiness of others. And, after all, this is the only true life to live. And believing this. Kittie unselfishly dedicated her future to the welfare of those about her. The train sped onward, and at length steamed into Waltham. It was nearly sunset of a lovely day. The quaint old town lay bathed in the golden glory of the dying sunbeams; every church-spire Avas tipped with gold, and the long yellow gleams . rested upon the white tombs in the old grave-yard. They fell athwart the group which was just entering at irs open gates, a solemn little procession with bowed heads. “A funeral,” exclaimed Hal, solemnly. I W’on-der whose it can be.” “None of our friends, I trust,” returned Dot. with unusual gravity. “Oh, Hal!” and she paused in wild alarm, clutching her husband’s arm with both hands in sheer desperation, “what—what—if it should be Lola?” Some one would have written or telegraphed to you, my darling,” he answered, “be sure of that. Wait. There (oh, I wish Kittie were not herewith us), there is Howard, and—and his wife, I believe. And—see. Dot. who is that beautiful lady ?” z .-.JmiAX^had not heard a word. She had/ darted breath less "to V. ft F etched, panting eager, her husband had spoken. ’ T “Lola! oh, Lola!” she panted. “I—I was afraidS that you were dead! Lola, is it really you, or—” Lola smiled sadly: “One does not often attend one’s own funeral” she returned; “at least not in the character of mourner. No. dear—where did you spring from anyway?—it is the funeral of Lady Veneta* Chandos.” “Mercy! When did she die?” Lola’s face was very pale. attempted to push me over Dead Man’s Cliff. You know the place, Dot. But in her blind fury she made a misstep, and went over the side of the ravine, down to instant death. Oh,” with a violent shudder, “it was horrible!” Then, after a pause of silence, Lola inquired; “When did you arrive. and who are your friends? I believe that you are keeping something from me. That’s not like you. Dot Wylde.” ‘‘Not Dot Wylde any more.” returned the little bride, with a blush, and laying a card in Lohrs hand as she spoke. Too astonished to utter a word, Lola glanced at the card, to find engraven thereon: “Mrs. Halton Dexter.” She caught Dot in her arms. “Oh, Dot,” she whispered, kissing her friend tenderly, ‘ how glad I am! Halton Dexter is a great friend of Lloyd’s—Mr. Vernon’s.” “Yes,” quoth Dot; “and—I think I can foresee another wedding looming up in the distance.” But Lola shook her head gravely, and turned away. The solemn little group gathered about the great Chandos tomb, and soon “ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” was said, and the door of the tomb closed forever upon the beautiful Lady Venetia, until that great day when the graves shall open, and all the dead shall come forth. They turned away sadly and slowly, and left the fair body to return to its mother earth, and the spirit to the hands of the great Judge of all finite creatures. Perhaps His judgment will be more merciful than man’s. CHAPTER XXXVI. AT LAST, “Kittie, what can I say to you. my poor wronged friend ? Will you believe me when I tell you—God knows that it is true—that I never meant to wrong you in any way ?” Howard Ashleigh’s face was very pale and grave as he uttered these words, his dark eyes upon Kittie Dexter’s white face. She bowed her head. “You are exonerated from any intentional wrong, Mr. Ashleigh,” she returned. “I do not attempt to imply that my life is not saddened—that I have not received a fearful wound: but all wounds heal with time, you know, and I shall not die, because strength to bear will be given me. God bless you. my friend, and—and—Geraldine!” Kittie laid her little hand in his. I know not how she controlled herself to meet Geraldine; but she did, and greeted her with kindliness, and the day eventually came when the two were firm friends. The day arrived for the trial of Sir Jolin Sydney. There was such overwhelming evidence against him that no one believed that he would escape with less than capital punishment. On the morning of the eventful day Lionel Vernon called at the prison to see the baronet. He was admitted, and a long conference ensued. He came forth pale and agitated, and a rumor crept abroad that at the very last moment he had quarreled with his friend, the prisoner. it I choose now to assume that authority, and de- I not Ulame me tor not desiring to snare tlieir late. My maud of vou vour respectful obedience to such laws i home, my property, my friends are here, wlnle your lot as I shall establish for your future government.” ’will now be cast in other lands. Need I add that the Time passed, and the hour appointed for the trial to commence had arrived. The prisoner was led forth to the court-room once more, and, as before, the crowd was immense. Public indignation was at its highest pitch, and it was feared that Sir John would suffer violence at the hands of the infuriated populace on his way from the prison to the courthouse. His face was exceedingly flushed, and his eyes, red and small, glittered with rage and hatred. There was no pity, no sympathy, evinced for him. and the miserable man felt all the horrors of his situation as he sat in the prisoner’s box and caught the angry glances shot at him from all sides. The trial progressed. Little new evidence was brought forward: but everyone saw that the case was going dead against him from the first. While Lola was giving her evidence over again, as But,” persisted Dot, “what will your sister and your aunt think about your marrying an actress?” “I am not marrying to please my sisters, and my cousins, and my aunts,” he quoted, laughingly; “but be at rest. Dot dear; they love you dearly, and are more than pleased at the prospect of my winning you. So, Dottie. all is settled. Will you wear ____________r-—____________________________ my ring now?” here, while your lot in’ him just where to find yerself.” ol»ted the For answer, she drew forth a tiny gold chain w nue xuom was giving uer evidence over again as Need I add that the other, “an’ that’s tie very thing we’re sivin’ to « which she wore about her neck and showed him the • required by the court, he seemed unable to control either of us harm.” ,, „ \ “But sure the pisltol shot’ll tell thim t’s folly-in’ him just where to find yerself.” ol»ted the ‘ nkhnv + I varv thinCP Wa’vA Qioin’ frx THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. his anger, and as he listened again to the fearful testimony of his own child, he foamed at the mouth like a wild beast. "It’s a lie!” he hissed, infuriated at her words—“a false, wicked invention, and she knows it! Furthermore, she knows that I never married Stella. Gilroy! Look in the record in St. Stephen’s church, Greenfields, and if you find there such an entry. I am willing to meet a felon’s fate! Where is the record of marriage between John Gordon and Stella Gilroy? I demand it!” Some one—a tall, clerical-looking old man—had reached the witness-stand, and was trying to make himself heard. The judge demanded silence in the court, and turned his attention to the new witness. After the usual formalities, the old man produced a folded paper and proceeded to read aloud from it. It was a record of the marriage of one John Gordon to Stella Gilroy; said ceremony having been performed bv the Rev. Andrew Channing, and properly witnessed. “This is my private copy of the record,” explained the old man, when he had concluded the reading of the document. “Some time ago the book containing the public record was stolen from the church, for some unlawful purpose, doubtless, by parties unknown.” Sir John Sydney knew very well that was quite evident, for he was tearing up and down the limited space where he was confined, as far as the two grenadier-like policemen on either side would permit. Suddenly he came to a halt. His red face grew redder, then paled to a dull, ashen hue; his eyes stared wildly into space; he pointed one shaking hand straight before him, while his dry lips parted. “Great Heaven!” he groaned, "she is there! Stella! oh. Stella! with the awful hole in her breast where the knife went in, and her great, staring, dark eyes fixed upon me; and, listen! she is speaking! See! her pale, blood-stained lips open ! “ ’Murderer!’ she says, "beware!” There was a gurgling gasping in his throat; his hands beat the empty air wildly ; then, with a muttered gasp, he fell forward upon his face; and. when they lifted him up, he was dead. Apoplexy had done its work, and the sinful soul was beyond the punishment of man. The last of the Sydneys ; had met a dreadful death. SCROFULA and all scrofulous diseases, Sores, Erysipelas, Eczema, Blotches, Ringworm, Tumors, Carbuncles, Boils, and Eruptions of the Skin, are the direct result of an impure state of the blood. To cure these diseases the blood must be purified, and restored to a healthy and natural condition. Ayer’s Sarsaparilla has for over forty years been recognized by eminent medical authorities as the most powerful blood purifier in existence. It frees the system from all foul humors, enriches and strengthens the blood, removes all traces of mercurial treatment, and proves itself a complete master of all scrofulous diseases. A Recent Cure of Scrofulous Sores. “Some months ago I was troubled with scrofulous sores (ulcers) on my legs. The limbs were badly swollen and inflamed, and the sores discharged large quantities of offensive matter. Every remedy I tried failed, until I usdd Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, of which I have now taken three bottles, with the result that the sores are healed, and my general health greatly improved. I feel very grateful for the good your medicine has done me. Yours respectfully, Mrs. Ann O’Brian.” 148 Sullivan St., N. Y., June 24, 1882. E3TA11 persons interested are invited to call on Mrs. O’Brian; also upon the Rev. Z. P. Wilds of 78 East 54th Street, New York City, who will take pleasure in testifying to the wonderful efficacy of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, not only in the cure of this lady, but in his own case and many others within knowledge. The well-known writer on the Boston Herald, B. Ball, of .Rochester, N. H., writes, June 7, 1882: his W. They buried him two days afterward, and the great tomb of the Sydneys was sealed up, never to be opened again. Geraldine stood near it after the baronet’s burial, leaning upon the arm of her husband. “To think that I should have been so mad, so wild with my own wrongs,” she said, softly, as to breathe threats against the poor dust lying here! Oh, Howard, how sinful it is for anv human being to attempt to avenge wrongs, no matter how bitter and deadly! I will never forget the lesson that I have learned, ‘Vengeance is mine!’ saith the Lord; I will repay!’” Sir John Sydney’s immense fortune reverted to Lola, as his child. She sold Sydney House at once, where Lloyd Vernon had been imprisoned by the baronet, that his presence might be prevented at the marriage of Sir John and Geraldine; for the wicked man knew full well that Lloyd would never permit the cruel sacrifice to take place. The estate settled up, the preparations for the marriage of Lloyd and Lola were hastened, and one fair morning in early spring-time they stood up in the old ivy-covered church at Waltham, and were made man and wife. After great darkness had come the light of perfect day. When the steamship Cambria sailed for New Orleams, a week later, she bore among her passengers Lloyd Vernon and wife. Halton Dexter and wife, Howard Ashleigh and the wife to whom, after so much suffering and strange trials, he had been at last reunited. There was a certain dashing young officer on board the vessel, who became so alarmingly attentive to Kittie that—I believe the report had some truth in it—that next fall there will be another wedding. us hope that Kittie will be happy. She has fought the good fight,” and has learned the rare lesson of self-conquest. Howard and Geraldine will not remain long in America; they will soon return to “merrie Eng-lvll% where a new &rave has lately been made in the Waltham grave-yard, in which Lionel Vernon a sorrowing, repentant man, has been laid away out of sight. Old Zingra follows the fortunes of her beloved Lola, who would not part with her old friend—she is more friend than servant—for all the world. And so we bid them all farewell—these actors in a life drama, whose effects are still felt in the lives oi those concerned. And the most appropriate words, it seems to me, with which I can close this heart history are those quoted by Geraldine Ashleigh—surely the most wronged of women—yet spoken in the face of death, the leveler, with a contrite heart: tun though ^e wicked prosper, it will only be for a little while, and Vengeance is mine—I will repay, saith the Lord.’ ” [the end.] “Having suffered severely for some years with Eczema, and having failed to find relief from other remedies, 1 have made use, during the past three months, of Ayer’s Sarsaparilla, which has effected a complete cure, I consider it a magnificent remedy for all blood diseases.” Ayer’s Sarsaparilla stimulates and regulates the action of the digestive and assimilative organs, renews and strengthens the vital forces, and speedily cures Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Rheumatic Gout, Catarrh, General Debility, and all diseases arising from an impoverished or corrupt condition of the blood, and a weakened vitality. It is incomparably the cheapest blood medicine, on account of its concentrated strength, and great power over disease. the eighth occurs in three days. He either knows nothing of her disappeaiance or affects ignorance, for preparations are now going on for that/c^e. “At such a time, you cm readily understand that the aid of a single servant ?ould not be dispensed with, much less one competent to hold a responsible position. You understaid me now, do you not? ’ It is absurd to think that ore of the lower servants would be chosen as Frrnois De Lorme’s confederate. It would be one ciiosm for his keenness and his wit at baffling the researches sure to follow— one of the higher servants.sir; and at such a time as this the absence of such a person cannot easily be concealed.” Mr. Karslake lifted her fluttering hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘You area brave and thoughtful girl,” he said, fervently. "I should never have been keen enough to think of these things, even had I known what was going on.” ‘‘Love sharpens the wits, sir,” Mignonnette replied, “and it is for Madolin’s sake Iwork. The story of her disappearance has not yet crept beyond the household, and the servants at Glandore Court will have little suspicion of a spy if one is dispatched thither from here. Madolin’s maid knows all, for I have this morning confided in her— I could not work alone, you know. Have the goodness. sir to pull the bell-rope beside you thrice, and in a moment she will be here.” Mr. Karslake arose anddid as she requested him, and a minute later Niehette came tripping into the room. In a few brief words Mignonnette made her acquainted with what she was to do. “You will act as though you have a holiday, Niehette,” she said, “and have come to spend an hour or two with those servants you know. Studiously avoid Francois De Lorine; and if he speaks to you of your mispress, give him no satisfaction whatever. Ask after all about the place, and, if any are missing, be sure and recollect their names.” In ten minutes N’ichette was hurrying down the dusty highway in die direction of Glandore. The hours dragged slowly to the impatient visitor, although Mignonnette did her best to entertain them. Just at nightfall, when Mignonnette was about to give up in despair, a quick, light footstep hurried up the oaken stairs, the door was flung open with a sudden whisk, and Niehette, breathless and flushed, sprang in and faced them. “Pardonnez moi. marmoyselle—a million pardons, messieurs!” she panted, breathlessly. “Ze lodge-keeper’s wife was out, ze gossip of ze county, and I haf to wait so vair long. I could not go into ze house, for all were in ze grounds—Francois and his lordship, too, were zere, and I no dare to meet zem lest zey question me of mademoiselle. I wait and wait until my head swim—I sink of how vair anxious you must be, but it no matter; ze woman not hurry von inch, and when she do appear, I haf to be so vair,zat I no let her suspect. She tell me all zat happen for ten—twenty mile about, but no gif me chance to speak von leetle vord. Zen I wait till she so vair mooch tired PREPARED BY Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass, Sold by all Druggists; price $1, six bottles for $5. MORPHINE HABIT. No pay till cured. Ten years established, 1,000 cured. State case. Dr. Marsh, Quincy, Mich. _____________ 28-13t LADY AGENTS can secure permanent employment and good salary selling Queen City Skirt and Stocking Supportei s, etc. Address? QUEEN CIT Y SUSPENDER CO., Cincinnati, O. 32-4t-eow T ADIES OR YOUNG MEN in city or country to take nice, light, and pleasant work at their own homes; $2 to $5 a day easily and quietly made ; work sent by mail; no canvassing; no stamp for reply. Please ad-34egS Reliable Ma’f’g Co., Philadelphia, Pa., drawer TT. A and Beautiful CHROMO CARDS, name M-1J New Type, and an ELEGANT 48 page, Gilt AUT°^BAPH ALBUM, all ^or 15cts. SNOW & CO., Meriden, Conn. HEE VER ELECTRIC BELT, “for men only,” V cures nervous debility, premature decav, etc. Sealed circulars for 3c. stamp. Address CHEEVER ELECTRIC BEL r CO., 103 Washington street, Ch^ago Ill lo-2b. zat she stop, and zen Ijoomp in von vord and say: ‘You mooch busy here at Glandore. madame,’ and zen she reply: ’Oh, vair mooch wiz ze fete for your lady. Ah, my lor’ vill make eet so grande zis time, and zere ees no von to direct boot himself.’ Zen I look surprise’ and say: ‘How zat ees? My lor’ moost haf vair manysairvants enough, madame?’ ‘Certain, certain,’ she reply, ‘but zey haf no von to direct—ve anrsttort hand, you know! Hees lordship vill be alone to attend for von week. Ze steward— Feelippo Bucarelli—ees in Loondon on bisnees!” With a gasping cry, Mignonnette dropped back in a chair. “It is light at last!” she uttered, huskily, lifting her beaming face. "The Italian steward is the man we seek! Brave Niehette, you have done your work well. Away, girl, away, and order out the carriage. We must catch the eight o’clock express for London, and before the daylight breaks again, with God’s help, we’ll run the monster down! Filippo Bucarelli! I remember that demon’s face. Ah, Heave»^J^Unk thee—it is dawning light, and the storm is g^ing by!” CHAPTER XX. A COINCIDENCE. Long before the eight o’clock express reached London, a murky darkness had closed over all the sky, and fitful gusts n^’win(I rattled the windows of the car. But Mlle. Mignonnette and the two kinsmen bestowed very little thought upon the storm. Matters of a far more serious nature held complete sway over their minds, and they were still busy laying out their plans of action even when the train thundered into the great, dark, gloomy station and the guard bellowed “London!” in a voice that might have roused the seven sleepers themselves. Mr. Karslake folded a soft loose wrap about the little cripple, and assisted her from the railway coach, while Mr. Dimisdale went away in search of a cab. It was long after midnight, and he hail some £.9 NEW ANO H luonnvcn " IMPROVED. ONLY LINFORD’S CHARCOAL LOZENGERS for purifying and perfuming the breath : no better ~ ~ —v — y xjivxjxuin VTJGjrvo uh puriiy mg 7. and perfuming the breath; no better * a’ c 109th St.. N. Y. City. $1 A new and patented scientific time-keeper, elegant nickel silver hunting case superbly engraved, and a fine plated ClX latest Ityle, for only M. five years to denote as correct time as a ^00 Chi on mAtcr Watch • can not get out of order and will last a li e time with proper care; steel works, glass crystal, size of a ladv’q watch They are as good as a high priced watch, in many cases more reliable, and are a necessity for every man bov farmer, traveler, and useful to all. Beware of “cheap and worthless humbug, which has been extern lively advertised. This is no toy, it is not a cnuas watch but made on scientific principles and every one is warranted to be accurate and reliable, and is destined to KX^eVo^fulabd reliable We JSrfte? which the price will be raised. Satisfaction guaranteed; no stamps taken. Address J. C. EMORY & CO., UTICA, MINNESOTA. If you will send us thirty orders for the above time-ni^e at $1 each we will send you a solid Gold Hunting Cased Watch FREE. Send $1 at once tor sample, and see how easily you can get up a Club of Thirty. A POPULAR SONGS, no two alike, for 15 "ShhO cents. Catalogue of 1,000 Useful Ai-ticles Free. Address H. WEHMAN, F. O. Box 1823, New York City. 34-2eow A GENTS Wanted to sell Dr. Chase’s 2000 Recipe Book. A Sells at sight. For further information, address Dr. Chase’s Printing House, Ann Arbor, luicli. 28-13t tzn lovely moss-rose, bird, mottoes, lilies, winter and OU moonlight scenes, all beautiful Chromo Cards, name on, 10 cts. Branford Printing Co., Branford, Ct.^ A AFA A MONTH. Agents Wanted. 90 best sell-/.^U ing articles in the world. 1 sample free. Ad-ytalwV dress Jay Bronson, Detroit, Mich. 27-52. Morphine Habit Cured in 10 to OrIIIM days- No n <l’ved Vm a w a™ dr. J. Stephens, Lebanon, Ohio. 32-4t _____________________________________________ 30 DAYS’ TRIAL FREE! MEN suffering from Nervous Debility, I^ost Vitality and Kindred Troubles. Also tor Rheumatism, Liver and Kidney Troubles, and many other diseases. Sneedy cures guaranteed. Illustrated pamphlets free. Address VOLTAIC BELT CO., Marshall. Mich. l-51t ____________ difficulty in finding one,,but after half an hour’s dil-ligent search, he drove bdek, triumphant, and sprang down to assist Mlle- Mignonnette in. Mr. Ka^iake remained on the wet pavement for a moment, fflow^veiv to give cabby the requisite direc-plained,v ioi if ^nW«4^^dpi rigisxering our names, and axreadyl furnished bouse, and a< 4^%^ overlook it, we will drive directly there, aJL^tronx ve gee that youp wants are duWpOO*^ Bv acting thus, our actions will be ky attended to.we are track- ing will not chance have rt'we are in London, should names familiar to him.” a week in your own town. Terms and outfit $66 tree Address H. Hallet & Co., Portland, Maine. 3L13t ______________________ 1 WEEK. $12 a day at home easily made. Costly $ / 2 Outfit free. Address True & Co., Augusta,Mame. 19-13t ____________________________— r Ann COLLECTORS.—A handsome set of cards for C AnD 3c. stamp. A. G. BASSETT, Rochester, N. Y. 31-13t ______________ iff; r dh A P er day at home. S amples w or th $5 free. $5 TO $20 Address Stiuson & Co., Portland,Mame 31-13t A HANDSOME PRESENT sent “FREE” to i^tro-duce goods Howard & Co., 9 Murray St., N. Y. 100 songs for 9c. Sheet Music 5c. C. Brehm, Erie, Pa. 32-4t Mignonnette. coincided with bis views, and leaned back in the ci^bions, thoughtfully staring into the rainy streets as though she half expected to see Mr. Bucarelli’s yellow face and angular body start up out of the storm and confront her. But if she cherished this hope, it proved to be a very vain one; for the half-dozen figures they encountered on the way—gliding along like specters through the fog and rain—bore not the slightest resemblance to the steward of Glandore; while the truth was, that Mr. Bucarelli was at that moment hard at work in. Mr. Thorndale’s city mansion, ripping up carpets, turning over pictures, and tearing open furniture, iu a vain hunt for certain documents he would almost have given his soul to find, and the hope of obtaining which, had been his principal motive for asking the keys from bis master that night of the tragedy in the library at Glandore. Very rapidly the cab rattled on, swung out of the business thoroughfares into the broad streets ot the aristocratic quarter and went clattering away in the direction of West End. Mignonnette gave up staring into tbe storm, for no pedestrians were abroad here, and there vas a calm, cold, stately grandeur about the place, even the tempest could not wake to any semblance oflife when the “London season” was not in. On past the grand old mansions, under the flaring lamjS) and the angry sky, the carriage rolled; and where It was stateliest and calmest, and grandest, rattledip to the curb and came to a dead halt. Before tleni stood a tall, gloomy looking building —gloomier Jian ever in the night and the storm— and qirectl]opposite arose a magnificent structure of spotless white marble with imposing colonnades lining the >road steps, and leading to a facade, en-, graved wifi armorial bearings you could not make out in tbelarkness, where nymphs in Italian mar- ern medicine,” renders thin, lean, and slender persons Stout. SPECIFIC MEDICINE CO,, 31.12t Box 2,345, Philadelphia, Pa. A Wonderful Discovery. TORANIUM will produce handsome moustache or whiskers on the smoothest face in a few weeks. Also promotes the growth of the Hair and Eyebrows. A sure cure for Baldness, Weak, Thin, or Falling Hair. 25 cents ner package; 3 packages for 50 cts.; post-paid. E E TRAINOR & CO., 75 & 77 Nassau St., New York. 3L4t-eow ______________ WEDDED WIDOW By T, W. BAAWtfW Author of “YOUNG MRS. CHARNLEIGH.” YOUR NAME . Printed on 50 Extra Large Chromos m nine colors, xxx boards, French and Swiss florals, remembrance & Good Luck, German, Floral, Motto, and Cai ds. Name in fancy script type, 10c. 14 packs SI. vuy Beautiful Bound Book of 100 styles for 1883, 25c. Reduced Price List with each order. Illustrated Premium List! 6c. Address S. M FOOTE, Northford, Conn. 31-4t ______________________ RUPTURE Relieved and cured without the injury trusses inflict by Dr. J. A. SHERMAN’S method. Office, 251 Broadway, New York. His book, with photographic likenesses ot bad cases before and after cure, mailed for 10c. [“A Wedded Widow” was commenced in No. 22. Back numbers can be had of all News Agents.] CHAPTER XIX.—(Continued.) Mr. Karslake looked at her; a feeble twitching being perceptible about his lips, and a light buin-ing down deep in his pale, sad eyes. He liked this little cripple who took his daughter s fate so much at heart—loving her with a sister’s affection, and fighting for her like a young heroine. "I am not over sanguine in the working of this plan, mademoiselle,” he said, with a half-despairing sigh. "According to your own story, Glandore Court is a vast estate; therefore there must be many servants, and the absence of one or two from a large household would scarcely be proof that they VA11D N A ME on 50 elegant new Chromo Cards, YOUK NA Wit io cts . 14 pk’s $1. Agents Sake 50 per cent. Please send 20 cts. for Agents Album of 100 aamnles and list of 200 Elegant Preiniunis, and Be-dwid Price List. We fill all orders promptly, aud «uarau-tee satisfaction. Blank Cards at wholesale. Established 1870 NORTHFORD CARD WORKS, Northtord, Conn. 23-13t ___________________ ble held chaters of lamps that were not lighted, and looked likelall, white ghosts in that eerie light. Cabby spang down from his box and opened the dooiof th( vehicle, while Mr. Dimisdale assisted the little cripjle to alight, and then carefully led her up the vet aid slippery steps, giving the bell a violent pull ay wy of rousing Mrs. Griggs from her peaceful flumhars. The housekeeper had been duly wa’ied that very morning to expect them at any hoir, and she had evidently thrown herself upon the bei without undressing, for in a minute after the sumnons had been given, she made her appearance, loo:ing flushed and sleepy-eyed, but attired ready to recive them, and muttering a few words of explana-tio, Mr. Dimisdale led the little cripple in, while his kimnan remained behind to settle with the cab-ma. Then the door had closed behind his cousin, and god Mrs. Griggs had waddled away to prepare a Chmber for Mlle. Mignonnette’s reception, Mr. Kars-lab alighted ami felt for his purse. Well, my good man, how much am I indebted to yc ?” he asked, quietly, and cabby touched his cap. Six shillings, sir,” he answered, rubbing his palms tcether,and eying the plethoric wallet Mr. Karslake ptduced. “ft aren’t too much, sir, are it.” I think not,” Mr. Karslake said, running over the rl of bank notes, and looking vainly for something sail enough to meet the demand. “Hello! I wasn’t aare I was so short of change. I’ll have to call my fmd to the rescue. I’ve nothing smaller than a five-und note.” Ie had started toward the steps as he spoke, but oby touched him gently on the arm. You needn’t bother, sir,” he said. “I can change t note, if you like.” md in proof of the fact, he drew out a fair-sized , :1 of bills and a handful of loose silver. Mr. Kars-;e tendered the five-pound note, and looked at him surprise as he counted out the required change. , j wasn’t prepared to see such an exhibition of .GOLD RING FREE. lGio Cards, positively best pack sold for 10 cents, (name in fancy script type) & we will send you 1 pack extra & this beautiful ring free. Agents Sample Book & 14p. Hous’d Premium List, 2oc. ReghtoStas for safety. O. A. Fowler & Son, Northford, Ct. 34-2-eow _______________ MORPHINE and whjlskey Habits easily cured with myDOUBLE CHLORIDE OF GOLD REMEDIES. 5000 cures. Books FREE. LESLIE E. KEELEY, M. D-. Surgeon C. & A. Railroad. Dwight, 111. 23-13t are accomplices in this desperate game.” “Ordinarily, no;” responded Mignonnette, but under existing circumstances, yes. ..Listen to me, sir. Ashton Thorndale loves Madolm and would wed her if he could—there can be no doubt of that. In this, at least, he is sincere, for he does not know that she is Lord s, wldoyf’ believes she is a mere friend of that unhappy count-pss and knowing she possesses the only proofs and is interested in gaining Lady Glandore s rights, he has a double reason for winning her. The flist because he loves her; the second, because wedded to him, he need fearlno discovery she may make. A wife cannot testify against a husband, and in a union with Madolin lies his only refuge from the strong arm of the law. He is aware of all these things, and he has spared no pains to win her esteem and love. Fetes have been given in her honor—garden parties, private theatricals, banquets—even whole opera companies have been brought down to Glandore to lend eclat to the entertainments he has given in the hope of rendering the place such a paradise that she will willingly consent to make it her home and wear earls°rEach entertAnmenThas beengranderthanfbreak, an’ I’ll gio yeTwenty Twenty~pun its predecefso” So far seven have been given, andnn’t made hewry night bin then veek, yer honor. I mey from a source that is proverbially “short,” d he could not help remarking it. ‘Cab driving seems to pay well in London, my end,” he smiled. “I had no idea it was such a lu-itive calling.” Lor’, sir, nor is it,” remarked cabby, dropping the ange into Mr. Karslake’s palm, and rolling the e-pound note up with the others. “It’s only when covy is lion time bin a hemergency that there’s ny show o’ inakin’ the needful. ’Tother times it’s d enough, I kin tell you. I was clean up and imped two days ago, but larst night I made a sed—reskied a young woman from a passel of aghs as vas a chasin’ hon ’er, an’ says she to me, ys she: ‘Cabby, drive me to Glandore ’Ouse afore HMMNl kin tell yer; so the hull on it vos, as I did the vork, and she corned down wi’ tbe ready. It vos a tough chase too! fori picked’er hup jest houtside o’ tbe ‘Burrer,’ a leetle arter four o’clock, ard made the run to this werry spot afore day was fairly hup. That’s Glandore ’Ouse right across tbe vay—if yer don’t know it—that tall white buildin’ wi’ the pillars, an’ lamps, an’ th’ statchers—and I arsk yer if that haren’t a bit o’ travelin’ as the nags bought to be proud of V’ Mr. Karslake had scarcely heard the final words. At tbe mention of Glandore House and the Borough, all the color had drifted out of his sad old face and left it white as marble. “One moment, my friend!” he breathed out, huskily. “Tell me more of this—you will find me quite as liberal as your former passenger, if you only tell me the truth. This lady you picked up—what was she like ? Was she young or old 1 well-dressed or shabby I Speak quick, man—in mercy, speak quick!” “Lor’, sir, I couldn’t no more tell vat she vas like nor I could count the spots hon ther moon,” responded cabby, briskly, “cos as ’ow she vore a thick vail; but ’er voice vas young soundin’-like, and shivered like she vas skeered, and ’er dress vas werry hold and dirty-gray, or black, or brown ; I don’t erzactly recall vitch now, sir.” Mr. Karslake caught his breath with one great gasp of joy. It was not so much cabby’s very vague description of the woman that let light into the darkness as tbe connection of circumstances and the mention of Glandore House. “Secure your horses to the lamp there, my good man,” be uttered, huskily, “and follow me into the house. I wish a few moments’ conversation with you regarding this woman. It is in quest of her I have come to London. I—I am a relative—give me the full particulars, and you shall have no reason to complain of my remembrance of the favor.” Cabby was only human, gentle reader, and the reward held out by Mr. Karslake tempted him to leave his vehicle for a few moments and follow him into the house. Trembling in every limb, Mr. Karslake closed the door behind him. and led the way to the parlors. Mlle. Mignonnette and Mr. Dimisdale were seated there, and they looked up in surprise as cabby—hat in hand, and his dripping garments making little pools over tbe carpet—was ushered in, but in a very few moments Mr. Karslake made them acquainted, with cabby’s marvelous story. The most intense excitement prevailed. Mr. Dimisdale walked to the window, tore aside the curtains, and glared through the night and the storm at the white walls of the building opposite. Mlle. Mignonnette grew very hysterical. Mr. Karslake began plying the man with all sorts of questions, and cabby, who was the only cool one in the whole party, broke into volumes of explanation, which, despite its broad cockney dialect, resulted in a concise account of how he had been stopped by Madolin in the dark passage, how she had told him she was pursued by ruffians, and begged him to lose no time in driving her to the Glandore House. “I did it. yer ’onor, jest as I tole yer,” finished the man, “but I never got so much as one look at ’er face, cos as ’ow she kept ’er wail down. But one thing I did see, and it struck me kinder curus-like, seein’ as she’d tole me she vas a servint and vas dressed in such bloomin’ ole togs, and that vas : Ven she paid me the twenty pun, I noticed as there vas a hopal ring hon ’er right ’and !” “’Tis she, ’tis she!” uttered Mignonnette, with a ioyful cry. “Tbe ring was a quaint old jewel I bought in Milan and presented to her with my own hands! Oh, Madolin—sister, darling—it is light at last!” She rose as she spoke, and tottered to the window. “It is under tbe roof of that stately pile, then, our darling is a prisoner!” she uttered, with a little sob, “but with Heaven’s help, day-dawn shall see her free if there is justice in Britannia’s laws !” A rumble of wheels broke in upon her passionate words; a low vehicle came rattling down the street, and paused before the mansion of Glandore. Tbe next instant, a brawny fellow sprang down from the seat, fished a large basket from his wagon, aud ran up the rain-wet steps. “ See, see, how wily her captor is !” uttered Mignonnette, breathlessly. “ Provisions are carried to him in the dead of night while the world without sleeps, yet, with Heaven’s help his secrecy will be all in vain. Draw back, gentlemen—draw back in tbe shadow of the curtains and watch. Hark! the heavy bolts are being drawn—the door swings open —a figure is tbere.” A crash of thunder struck through the stormy gloom, a blaze of lightning illumined the deserted street, and with a cry of thankfulness Mignonnette staggered back. “ ’Tis he—’tis Filippo Bucarelli himself!” she panted, breathlessly, “ and we have indeed run the tiger to his lair. No need of waiting now; no need of rest to-night, lest day-dawn sees our darling borne away. Go, sirs, go. The cab is waiting still—use it in Madolin’s cause. Away for the police at once. Glandore House must be entered to-night, and justice be done by tbe law’s strong arm.” And with something of the old dramatic fire that had made her famous, the little actress waved them to the door. CHAPTER XXI. AT EAST. mi the floor beside him, filling the w}1tbout «ie storm rSared The bliffvrts wemr^ucarelli was deaf to the voices cut; open at thv aud desolation, flooring had been raised m sectionsTTn for those missing documents. But nothing—still nothing; and the yellow face grew pale and full of passionate despair as Le worked savagelyon. “ They are here—they mzist be here. I am sure of it.” he ground out through his small, white teeth. “ He cannot have destroyed them, for since the very hour they parted in sunny Italy I have been upon his track. They are not at Glandore Court, for I have searched every nook and cranny without success, and yet I feel sure that they are hidden somewhere. While he was on his kinsman’s track in America I searched the house from end to end, and I would have searched this one, too, bad not fate drawn him back too soon. There is but one spot left —the room where Mlle. Violetta is confined. Dare I go there to-night ? Dare I let her see me searching tor those precious papers ? Yes—a thousand times yes. It is for her dear sake—for Paolini’s dear sake —and I can dare anything for that.” He straightened himself up from the floor as he ceased speaking, and moved softly toward the door. “I must remove mademoiselle to-morrow if I fail in tbe search to-night,” be muttered, as he passed from the room. “ I wonder that I did not think to search there before this, for when Ashton Thorndale was tbe creature of bis cousin’s bounty, that chamber used to be his own. Good Heaven, what a fool I have been. I should have made that the scene of my first effort. There are a thousand places there where papers might safely be concealed—the carved dragons on the panels, the old tiled fire-place, the hearthstone, and even the chimney itself, where fire has not burned since I have been steward at Glandore. Yes, yes, it is the very place, and God grant the documents may come to light. It will be life and honor to Paolini, ruin to Ashton Thorndale, and even Mlle. Violetta will have cause to bless me for saving her from a union with that perjured wretch.” He closed the door behind him, and passed softly down the stairs. The halls were black and deserted; no light save the one he carried played through the gloom about them, and dead silence reigned through all the lonely house. Yet thrice he paused in his descent, and looked about him with a swift and nervous glance. “ I could almost swear I heard footsteps and muffled whispers,” be breathed out softly, “yet when I stop to listen, all seems still again. It can’t be that —no, no, no! he sleeps. My nerves are unstrung; the fruitlessness of the search has made me fretful and uneasy, and my fancy plays me odil tricks. Doubtless it is the rats scampering through the walls. I am an idiot to allow my nerves to rule me so.” And holding the lamp above his head that he might better see the w ay, he glided silently down tbe stairs and paused before the room where Madolin was confined. He fumbled for the key. turned it in the lock, and softly opened the door. Madolin, clothed in ber rude disguise, lay sleeping on a sofa, her golden hair falling loosely about her, and one round, white arm thrown over her head. He paused on tbe threshold and looked at her. “She sleeps,” he murmured, softly. “ Santa Maria! how beautiful she is. Ah, mademoiselle, you know not from what I mean to save you, and you will bless me if you have stooped to love this miserable wretch.” He sat the lamp down and glanced at the quaint old chimney-place, where the ancient tiles glistened in the yellow light, and he had taken a step or two forward when he came to a dead halt with a sudden gasp. “ Am I drunk or dreaming?” he uttered, hoarsely. “ I will swear I heard a hand fumble at the lock of the outer door, and—Santa Maria! whaVs thatV, “ That ” was the tramp of many footsteeps, a sudden bang at the outer door, and then a cry that sent the blood reeling to his brain. “Open, in the name of the queen!” “I have been tracked—the house is besieged, and the police are here!” be shrieked out hoarsely, and Madolin, aroused by that sudden cry, sprang up with a piercing scream. “Open, in the name of the queen!” Once again it pealed out on the stormy horror of the night, and with a gasping cry, Madolin sprang toward the door. A sudden bound, and Bucarelli was by her side. “Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!” be panted, hoarsely. Mad woman, what are you about to do ?” “Admit them!” screamed back Madolin, struggling to free herself from his grasp. “Let me go—do you hear me 1 let me go! Fool! you have been hunted down, and I am saved—saved !” vxu BE CONTINUED. / 1 A Voice from the People. THE GREATEST CBMfflE SUCCESS OF THE AGE No medicine introduced to the public has ever met with the success accorded to Hop Bitters. It stands to-day the bestfknown curative article in the world. Its marvelous renown is not due to the advertising it has received. It is famous by reason of its inherent virtues. It does all that is claimed for it. It is the most powerful, speedy, and effective agent known for the building up of debilitated systems and general family medicine. ___________ Winston, Forsythe Co., N. C., March 15,1880. Gents—I desire to express to you my thanks for your wonderful Hop Bitters. I was troubled with Dyspepsia for five years previous to commencing the use of your Hop Bitters some six months ago. My cure has been wonderful. I am pastor of the First Methodist Church of this place, and my whole congregation can testify to the great virtue of your bitters. Very respectfully. Rev. H. Ferebee. tt Tk.xx Rochester, N. Y., March 11, 1880. Hop Bitters Co.—Please. accept our grateful acknowledgement for the Hop Bitters you w’ere so kind to donate, and which were such a benefit to us. We are so built up with it we feel young again. Old Ladies of the Home of-the Friendless. x _ Delevan, Wis., Sept. 24, 1880. Gents—I have taken not quite one bottle or the Hop Bitters^ 1'was a feeble old man of 78 when I got it. To-day I am as active and feel as well as I did at 30. I see a great many that need such a medicine. D. Royce. T , Monroe, Mieh., Sept 25, 1875. Sirs—I have been taking Hop Bitters for inflammation of the kidneys and bladder; it has done for me what four doctors failed tb do—cured me. The effect of the Bitters seemed like magric. W. L. Carter. If you have a sick friend, whose life is a burden, one bottle of Hop Bitters will restore that friend to perfect health and happiness. Bradford, Pa., May 8, 1881. It has cured me of several diseases, such as nervousness,sickness at the stomach,monthly troubles, &c. I have not been sick a day since I took Hop Bitters.” Mrs. Fannie Green. Evansville, Wis., June 24,1882. Gentlemen—No medicine has had one-half of the sale here and given such universal satisfaction as your Hop Bitters have. We take pleasure in speaking for their welfare, as every one who tries them is well satisfied with their results. Several such remarkable cures have been made with them here that there are a number of earnest workers in the Hop Bitters cause. One person gained eleven pounds from taking only a few bottles. Smith & Ide. Bay City, Mich., Feb. 3,1880. Hop Bitters Company—I think it my duty to send you a recommend for the benefit of any person wishing to know whether Hop Bitters are good or not. I know they are good for general debijity and indigestion; strengthen the nervous system , and make new life. I recommend my patients to us^ them. Dr. A. Platt, Treater of Chronic Diseases. Superior, Wis., Jan.vl880. I heard in my neighborhood that your Hop Bitters was doing such a great deal of good among theVck and afflicted with most every kind of disease, a^d as I had been troubled for fifteen years with neurak gia and all kinds of rheumatic complaints and kid-4 ney trouble, I took one bottle according to directions. It at once did me a great deal of good, and I / used four bottles more. I am an old man, but am now as well as I can.wish. There are seven or e^ht families in our place using Hon Bitters for their family medicine, and are so well satisfied witn it they will use no other. Ono lady here has been bedridden for years, is well and doing her work from the use of three bottles. Leonard Whitbeck. What It Did for an Old Lady. Coshocton Station, N. Y., Dec. 28, J8'S. Gents—A number of people had been usin^ your Bitters here, and with marked effect. A lady ofover seventy years had been sick for the past ten years; she had not been able to be around. Six months ago she was hapless. Her old remedies or physicians being of no avail, I sent forty-five miles, aud got a bottle of Hop Bitters. It had such an effecon her that she was able to dress herself and wal about the house. After taking two bottles more she was able to take care of her own room and wdkout to / her neighbor’s, and has improved all the tinY:8^^ My wife and children also have derived gre/ from their use. W. B. Hathaway, Agt. Honest Old Tim. Gorham, N. H., j feel Gents—Whoever you are I don’t knov adul- J Fq_vquJ;o know that in this wo^7 H Four years ago I hafTa^^ 3 more, unnerved me to such au extern t?yfo.W which ment would make me shake like excite- 7 I was induced to try Hop Bitters, r Last May \ but did not see any change; another one ) my nerves that they are now as v as"tlm4TvS were. It used to take both handsS wHte but now my good right hand writes this. 1W if ‘you continue to manufacture as honest and-mod an article as you do, you will accumulate an honest fortune, and confer the greatest blessing on your fellow-men that was ever conferred on mankind. Tim Burch. Anna Maria Krider, Wife of Tobias K- Chambersburg, July 25.1875. This is to let the people know that I, Anna Maria Krider, wife of Tobias Krider, am now past seventy-four years of age. My health has been very bad for many years past. I was troubled with weakness, bad cough, dyspepsia, great debility, and constipation of the bowels. I was so miserable I could eat nothing. I heard of Hop Bitters and was resolved to try them. I have only used three bottles, and I feel wonderful good, well, and strong again. My bowels are regular, my appetite good, and cough gone. I think it my duty to let the people know how bad I was, and what the medicine has done for me, so they can cure themselves with it. My wife was troubled for years with blotches, moth patches, freckles, and pimples on her face, which nearlv annoyed the life out of her. She spent many dollars on the thousand infallible (?) cures with nothing but injurious effects. A lady friend of Syracuse, N, Y., who had had similar experience, and had been cured with Hop Bitters, induced her to try it. One bottle has made har face as smooth, fair and soft as a child’s, and given her such health that it seems almost a miracle. A Member of Caiadian Parliament. A Rich Lady’s Experience. I traveled ail over Europemd other foreign countries at a cost of thousands of dollars in search of health, and found it not. I returned discouraged and disheartened, and was restored to real youthful health and spirits with lesi than two bottles of Hop Bitters. 1 hope others miy profit by my experience and stay at home. A Lady, Agusta, Me. I had been sick and miserabe so long, causing my husband so much trouble aud dxpense.no one knowing what ailed me. I was so completely disheartened and discouraged that I got a bottle of Hop Bit- ’ ters and used them unknovn to my family. I soon •began to improve, and gainel so fast that my husband and family thought it grange and unnatural, but when I told them what hai helped me they said, i "Hurrah for Hop Bitters! lonk may they prosper, / for they have made mother welnnd us happy.” / •r<lHE Mother, j ' My mother says Hop Bitters is the oAy,thing the/ will keep her from her old and severe Attack' paralysis and headache.—Ed. Oswego Sdn.^ Luddington, Mich., Feb. 2, I have sold Hop Bitters for four years, am is no medicine that surpasses them for bili< tacks, kidney complaints, and many disease dent to this malarial climate. H. T. Alexai What She Loved. Some children are singularly dull at the very ment when they are expected to make the showing. A nurse in a pious family who took casion to put her little charge through a soi catechism every night, called in her mother on occasion to let her see how nice her pupil was ting along. “Come, now, darling,” she said, "who is it you love better than father or mother, or broth sister—better than all the world put together With a look of innocence that might have borrowed from the angels, the Christian chert sponded: “Pie!” Thoroughy Cured. A gentleman noted forehis extravagant asse. contended that the flogging of children was m injurious, and went on to prove it. “My father,” he said, “once flogged me verely when I was telling the truth.” "Well, now,” observed another at the e table, “J you aince you groweci it appears to me that your father cured you.’ -------------------------------- THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. TRUE WORTH, BY J. H. LOOMIS. ewYorkWeeHy NE IF YORK, JULY 2, 1883. Terms to Moil Subscribers: 3 months (postage free) 75c I 2 copies (postage free) $5.00 4 months...........$1.00 p —: ~ 1 Year.............3.00 | 4 copies 8 copies 10.00 2O.Oo Any person who sends $20 at one time, for eight copies, is entitled to a ninth copy free. Getters up of clubs can afterward add Single Copies at $2.50 each. Postage Free to Canadian subscribers; but postage to all other Foreign Countries must be added to the subscription price. Remittances from Canada should be in United States Money. Canadian postage stamps are useless to us. We prefer that all Remittances for Subscriptions should be in Money or Post Offce Orders ; but persons who are compelled to send Postage Stamps, will favor us by forwarding only One Cent Stamps. All llloney Orders should be made payable to the FIRM NAME of STREET de SMITH. Great trouble, delay, and annoyance are caused by addressing Money Orders to the individual members of the Firm. We therefore hope that in all cases they will be piade payable to STREET &; SMITH. All letters should Ue addressed to FRANCIS 8. STREET, FRANCIS S. SMITH. P, O. Box 2734. STREET & SMITH, Proprietors. 25, 27, 29 & 31 Rose St.. N.Y. I know a maiden, lovely, fair, Whose graces were they told Would seem more rare than jeweled crown-More worth than mines of gold. She hath no lands of which to boast. Nor courtly name to sing, No shining gold nor diamonds bright Which fame and honor bring. Oh, no! she hath no wealth like this— No rubies red and rare; But hers the wealth so few possess Brings gladness from despair. She hath a form of queenly mold, And eyes of heavenly blue, And trembling blushes hover ’round Her cheeks and temples, too. A treasured wealth of golden hair Floats on the evening breeze, More lovely than the setting sun When seen on stormy seas. But what are these? Base things indeed, If nothing else remained, For no true wealth from these alone Has ever been proclaimed. If naught but these made up her worth— Were naught but beauty there, I ne’er would join in singing praise. Or aught of wealth declare. For many a one these charms possess,, But few will prove, when tried, That honor, love and beauty, too* Together are allied. into fire and flood to rescue the perishing, and whose names we sing. In that black camp are those others who would destroy life, the camp of haters and murderers. Can it be that these are human beings like the others? Which camp is yours? Under which flag? Sacred human life, That means your own. Lift no hand against yourself. You are not your own. It may be doubted if the suicide is ever sane. But let us suppose that lie is, and deliberately plans his own murder. He leaps from the ferry-boat, hating himself. A noble scul springs in after him struggling for the rescue, moved by love and self-sacrifice. Suppose they both go down. Then they both go up, to meet their Judge on high. What a contrast! Who can describe it ? “Great God, I came by self-murder.” “And I by self-sacrifice.” “ I came hating my life.” “But I came loving my life, which was happy, and never happier than when I sought to give it for another.” What the Judge would say I attempt not to write. But which man’s shoes I should prefer I have no doubts. A NEW SENSATIONAL STOHY, NEXT WEEK! NEXT WEEK! We are endeavoring to give our readers the very best stories it is possible to procure. Several excellent serials—all by popular authors—are now running through our columns. We shall add to the list, next week, a sensational story of deep interest, by an accomplished and graceful writer. It is entitled A Check to Intemperance. BROTHER'S SECRET: We are not responsible for manuscripts sent to this office, and wish it understood that they are at the author’s risk. MANUSCRIPTS WILL NOT BE RETURN Ell, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. Subscribers who receive the New York Weekly in a BLUE WRAPPER will understand that their Subscriptions expire in four weeks. This will remind them of the importance of promptly renewing their Subscriptions, to avoid missing a single copy of the paper. Change of Address.—Subscribers who desire us to change their Post-office address, will please give us the old address in full, as well as the new one. When first wc met 'twas years ago, I loved that gentle maid, For truth and virtue, joy and peace, O’er all her features played. I loved her then, I love her still, ’Twas lesson easy learned, And joy and gladness fill my heart, For love has been returned. The Marriage Question. The marriage question presents itself in a variety of shapes in this progressive age. There is a disposition in certain sections of society to reconsider the old-fashioned views of marital contracts and responsibilities, and to reconstruct the moral and civil laws relating thereto—by no means for the better. BuLitls not this distasteful topic that we have jusyat present under consideration. We refer now to ffiie original marriage question, the question ^rtiich young people ask themselves in deter-mitting their course of life—whether to marry at Ri?/. And it cannot be denied that a decided change of opinion in regard to this important proposition has been going on in recent years. In times not \ very old the question used to be answered in the aflrmative. as a matter of course. A domestic S setlement and a business settlement were colnci-deit steps at the outset of a young man’s career. Safes and philosophers, as well as practical per-sois, have united in commending the married esUe as that best calculated to assure success in ■witever path, and in pronouncing the cares and prvieges of a family—serving both as a discipline anQ delight—a guarantee of the largest measure of ^piness. But while the reasons for this con-clust remain in full force, the conclusion itself is notsvenerally accepted. An Creasing number of young men are disposed to avo marital burdens altogether, or, at least, to postpo the assumption of them until a late I perioLfoen the freshness of youth has disap-\ peared.ben the capacity for the full enjoyment of *9 imPaire^« when habits are so fixed ? Ibject of them cannot without difficulty of thi •8e^ to neW con^^ons- explanation . 14 disinclination to marriage is not found a fon(i,ie9S for so-called independence . a , *re to escape restraints and responsibilities, altziGgh these ---—_______ less influeti-*^Udified social customs and ideas is found republic long ago bade good-by to Ite pri^ve simplicity. Prudence and thrift have «zven place to»lavlsh extravagance of living. Not only dots everything cost a great deal more than it used to, but many things, once regarded as luxuries that might be readily relinquished, are now held to be indispensable necessaries. The amount disbursed on the adornment of their parlors by a modern family would have sufficed to furnish forth an entire house in our grandfathers’ days. The consequence is that a young man, of moderate means, maintaining himself in good style in what he is accustomed to regard as his “social position,” finds hinself wholly unable to support also a wife in Ike style and position, and concludes that if he marries he must content himself with a reduced stjle and a more modest position-in other words, mist “lose caste.” It is not wonderful that he shrinks from doing this, and that he resolves not to marry, or, at all events, to wait until he is comparatively rich. And he often waits in vain. It would be unjust to fasten the blame of this false social philosophy solely on young men. The young women of the time must bear their share— and perhaps the larger share belongs to them. They are even more seisitive to anything like a forfeiture of caste, and more anxious about the maintenance of style aid position, than are the young men. Indeed thesensitiveness and anxiety of the latter are mainly lympathetic, and have regard to their contemplaed wives rather than to themselves. The young woman of the period is getting more and mere reluctant to make what she chooses to consider a sacrifice in behalf of the man to whom her emotion and tastes incline. Even when she prefers him personally above all others, she refuses to abandon her social castle in the air and consent to live in a relatively humble fashion, accepting a plain aid unostentatious establishment instead of the Lrilliant one for which she had hoped. She will do. iolence to the impulses of her heart rather than to her ambition. She will dismiss the mar she loves in obedience to the sug- «tions i her social pride. These are facts of our r With in the observation of every one. They /msequence of growing social extravagance ^vy, and the result of a mistaken social edu-s They fully explain the remarkable and ^disinclination to marriage. Not love alone, but faith and trust, Which make my heart beat glad, And cheer my drooping spirits up, When lonely, sick, or sad. ’Twas virtue’s charms that drew me on To friendship, then to love, And honor’s bands that bound me till No longer could I move. What jeweled crown, what diamond bright Could these rich treasures buy ? Ware all the Indies’ hoarded wealth E’er valued half so high? THOU SHALT NOT KILL. By Harkley Harker. Thus reads the sacred order from on high, does it mean? What does it not mean? As the effectual prohibition of the sale of intoxicants is almost impossible, the next best plan to reduce intemperance is that so successfully adopted in Omaha—a high license law. Over a year ago there were in Omaha 165 dram-shops, which paid a license of $10 each. Drunkenness and its attendant vices flourished under this low license law. and the multiplication of drinking saloons promised to keep pace with the increased patronage. Notwithstanding the fierce opposition of the liquor dealers, £ O6W law was enacted, about a year ago, increasing the license to $1,000 for each saloon. The rumsellers were appalled at the measure, and some of them ridiculed the idea of enforcing it. “To increase the tax from $10 to $1,000—-it is an outrage to which we will never submit.” Yet they had to submit, or go out of business; for seventy-eightfiof the dealers promptly paid the license, and their $78,ooo have flowed into the city treasury, to aid in paying the expenses of the municipal government. Two of the dealers attempted to resist payment, but eventually had to succumb to the law. The salutary effect of the high license law is therefore apparent in the vast increase of revenue from this debasing traffic, and the decrease in the number of groggeries from 165 to 80. Heretofore 165 saloons paid $1,650 yearly into the city treasury^aijdjdie number of drunkards who graduated from them seemed ever on the increase; now there are only 80 of these drinking houses, and they contribute $80,000 per annum toward the payment of the police and other expenses necessary to keep the disorderly topers in check. The best proof of all in favor of the high license law is the fact that drunkenness, although not suppressed, has been kept within reasonable bounds. x Why cannot a high license law be tried in New York, Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and other large cities ? j OR THE BEAUTIFUL SCHEMER By FRANCIS A. BURIVAGE. AUTHOR OF IDA’S HIDDEN SIN,” “ROSE MICHEL,” “CONRAD, THE CONVICT,” “DARREL, THE DARING,” Etc. “The Brother’s Secret” is a capitally told story, full of exciting tableaux, and founded upon a well-conceived plot. The dramatic force which the gifted author throws into the more prominent scenes fully sustains his great reputation as one of the best novelists of the period. We direct especial attention to the opening chapters of “The Brother’s Secret,” because they assuredly indicate that the reader is to be treated to a story at once powerful, thrilling, and captivating. Correspondence GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS. What A HAT IN THE CHURCH AISLE, It certainly does not mean to forbid taking the life of an ox for beef, nor the destruction of any inferior animal for man’s food. Yet that is killing. We interpret this exception by the light of common sense; and no man of sound judgment has any compunctions of conscience in this regard. It does not mean to forbid the destruction of inferior animal life for man’s safety; to knock a copperhead out of time; to shoot a tiger or butcher a bear. Yet this is all killing. It does not deny us the privilege of extirpating musquitoes, unfriendly ani-malculse, or the like, simply to increase our own comfort and general happiness. Man is supreme on the earth, under God. Man may kill for pelt and bones, or to acquire anything legitimately needed from the beasts for mechanical purposes ; but it is wicked to be wasteful of this inferior life, and, like any other waste, reacts on the spendthrift to his own cost, because God is just. He who drives a good horse to death has sinned by waste and cruelty, except it be an errand of duty. But the VI. Commandment is not concerned. To take pleasure in killing is unmistakably vicious; the fisherman or hunter who neither eats nor sells his fish and venison is not far above the cock-fighter. And the shooting of a burglar is generally excused, if it be not quite justified, by the moral sense of mankind. The writer would not be over particular to aim at a housebreaker’s leg. Hit him anywhere. The child-stealer, the assaulter of women, the incendiary of inhabited houses, the pirate, must all take theK man’s puj£^$ty-^ery considerate fin judging him. AwATTlYh is killing. Legal hanging is killing. War is full of killing, and war may be wicked, but its greatest wickedness is not the killing; rather the anger that refused to be reconciled. Still I believe, in the present state of the world, war is sometimes just, and on it we may ask God’s blessing; to defend the right against the incorrigible wrong. But killing may be murder. Read the command, “Thou shalt not commit murder.” Evidently a human being can murder only a human being, and plain men are not confused as to what murder is. It is inspired by malice, hatred, revenge, or any selfish motive. Our Lord told us that where these feelings possessed any heart murder might be possible without a blow struck. Devilish thoughts are murderous thoughts; for the devil is a murderer. And what need there seems to be to reassert the saeredness of human life in these days against hatred. What a horrible list of bloody deeds fills up each day’s press! Men take life upon the smallest provocation. Ten thousand silly fools expose themselves to the temptation of murder by carrying ready at hand the revolver, the knife, and in their mouths a thirst for rum. Indeed, in modern days we seem to discover a novel impulse for murder: it is not from selfishness, but “for the fun of the thing” that a poor wretch is shot down ; and the culprit himself can assign no reason, except that he “felt like it, and having his revolver handy shot his man!” A curious phase of the modern murder-wave is a shocking maudlin sympathy for the wretch in prison. Women send him flowers and ministers of God’s truth spend a wealth of service in his behalf. The funeral, after the hanging, is pageant. It needs to be asserted that for all this sort of thing the noblest and purest citizenship have an unutterable loathing. In the best circles of society there is, and ought to be, scarce a trace oi sympathy for the criminal. Some one ought to go into his cell and tell him how hideous he seems. It ought to be fully understood by men of the murderer class that the indignation against assaults on life burns, through the good community, with a fire that is unquenchable. This indignation extends to the pettifoggers who so persistently seek to “defend” them: nor does it spare the governor who “pardons” or the court who changes the death sentence. It is doubtless a revolting task for the minister or priest who essays to “spiritually advise” a murderer. It is a serious question if the Bible encourages the repentance of a murderer with hopes of heaven. It is certainly a staggering dilemma: the victim, cut off in his sin, goes to hell; the murderer, repentant in his cell, goes by the rope to heaven! What sort of a heaven could it be, if a man kept his memory, as he remembered amid his happiness the poor wretch whom his blow sent to hell, and realized that at that very moment his victim was in torture ? What is “the part’ of murderers but hell ? JBy Kate Thorn, We always pity a bat when we see it sitting in the church aisle. We know what will be its fate. It always looks so innocent. a^_Unpretending, and apologetic that our heart beats in sympathy for it. and if we felt sure that the minister wouldn’t see us. we should reach over, in prayer-time, and push it inside out of harm’s way. But ministers have a prudent habit of prayiirg%-ith one eye open, and they generally manage to see all that goes on in their congregation, from Mrs. A.’s flirting with Mr. B., who is a married} man with nine children, to the way in which Miss C.. who is vain and sinful, and given over to the world’s follies, arranges her bangs by the help of a pobket looking-glass. The man who puts his hat in the aisle is generally bald-headed. He is a well-meaning lover of his kind, and his idea is to make more room in the pew for the feet of his women folks and their parasols. and rubbers, and waterproofs, and the halfdozen other supernumerary article %bian deems it necessary to Lq.chur< In warm weather « c, and she atuu ^olla\a^jjes; and ion ^Hfweattwr it is likefiy eno“i®i to grow colderv0^ s^ie wants another cloak, and a muff, and a Pre~ pared for any fate. So the good mar Places his hat in the aisle. , We have thought the matter ov^ and we have come to the conclusion that it is always a tall hat that is so placed. We do not thinM we ever saw a soft hat at the mercy of the incomirg congregation. The good man walks in with molestly creaking boots, and takes his seat softly, as ifhe feared some unwary hen might have left a nest o fancy eggs on his pew cushions, and he looks milcly around, and blows his nose in a subdued way as befits the solemnity of the place, and mops hit forehead, and looks around for a place to put his hit. Now, a man’s hat is a dreadful tria to him. Nine-tenths of the men never know what b do with their hats. What a blessing it would be to them if they could only keep them on their headsas women do. or if they could have shoulder straps to them, as children do to their stockings. It would save a world of anxiety, and a hat could tike twice the comfort, to say nothing of lasting lorger. All the most fashionable part of thecongregation delay their arrival until the first tim* of singing is over. They generally make their enree about the time of the first prayer. It gives th rest of the people a better chance to study taeir bonnets, and the hang of their overskirts, and to realize the fact that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. A lady dressed in the height of fishion never looks down. Her corsets are too tight, and her bustle sticks into her back too much lor that. And she has to keep her head well up, or her poke bonnet is liable to fall forward, and the false crimps have a dreadful way of working down too near the eyebrows. So she keeps herself erect, and never sees the fated hat in the aisle. She catches it under her 1 No Manuscripts Wanted.—We want no manuscripts, and shall accept none from this time until the summer is over. Manuscripts will not be returned, under any circumstances. [We request our correspondents to confine their queries to questions of general interest. Our space is too valuable to waste it upon unimportant subjects, such as information regarding old coins, business firms, and other matters of a nature likely to interest only the inquirers.] Comus.—1st. Preferred stock is stock which takes a dividend before other capital stock. This fact makes it more valuable than what is called common stock. 2d. The difference in time between New York and Queenstown is four hours and twenty-three minutes. 3d. In the mode of betting called the Paris mutual pools the tickets have a fixed value, which is usually $5. The method is best described by a supposable case, for which we are indebted to a sporting cotemporary: A, B, C, and D are four horses which are to start in a race. According to their fancv, people buy tickets on either of them, and, as each ticket is issued, a revolution of a crank connected with a dial adds one to the name of the horse bought, and one to the total number of tickets sold. The pool is closed before the race is begun, and we will suppose that one hundred tickets have been sold on A, fifty on B, thirty on C, and twenty on D. That is a total of two hundred tickets, and there is, consequently, $1,000 in the pool. Should A win the race, the amount in the pool is divided by the number of tickets sold on A; that is, $1,000 is divided by one hundred, which gives $10 as the value of eacli ticket, and that amount, l,ess the tpercent-on D, $50; in each case* less'"the percentage, wlimii’is sometimes three and sometimes five per cent. In what are called “combination pools,” which are conducted in a similar manner to the Paris mutual pools, the better risks his money on naming the winners of two, or perhaps three races. The odds are largely against him, and if successful, he wins a proportionately large sum 4th “Book-making” is simply a scale of odds fixed by the book-makers or sellers. G. W. Rowe.—'The circumstances under which the “Star-Spangled Banner” was written are as follows : Francis Scott Key, the author, was district attorney of Washington city, m August, 1814, and being a man of prominence and good address, he was selected to go, under a flag of truce, to the British flag-ship to ask for the release of Dr Beanes, a citizen of Maryland, who had been carried away to the British fleet after they had seized and fired the city of Washington. As the fleet were about te leave for Baltimore, Key and his friends were not allowed to leave the fleet, but were treated with kindness and courtesy. On the 13th of September the bombardment of Fort McHenry was commenced, and was continued until a short time before the dawn of the 14th. Key watched the bombardment from the deck of the Minden, and when it ceased he was uncertain whether the fort had surrendered or not. It was during this time that Mr. Key composed the song, a rough draft of which he made on the back of an old letter. In the dim light of the morning he was rejoiced to see that “our flag was still there.” It was soon learned by the British admiral, Cochraine, that the land attack which was to be simultaneous with his had failed and at sunrise he released Key and allowed him to go ashore In the evening Key perfected the song. It was first sung to the tune of “Anacreon in Heaven,” by Charles Duvany in a restaurant next the Holiday street theater and was received with such enthusiasm that it was afterward sung nightly at the theater. The original flag is still in the possession of the family of Colonel Armistead, who was the commander of the fort. 2d. We do not know the ^our New Stories in Four Weeks. weeks ’ago we began “Orphan Jenny, by \ Hill; last week we gave the opening install-it of one of the best detective stories ever writ-’-“The Maltese Cross,” by Eugene T. Saw-; this week a capital Irish story, Evelyn ty,” is commenced; and next week we shall before our readers the first part of a vigorous aoual story by Francis A. Durivage,” entitled Brother’s Secret; or. The Beautiful ier.” 5e attractions aggregate four good stories, by nnular contributors, in four weeks. r***vVequest our readers to express their opinions Hne these stories. There is need of preaching to many ang^y men; to all such as are this moment nursing wrath and lying in wait for a favorable moment of revenge; the awful horrors of their states of mind. There is but a step betwixt you and the crime. If your inward parts were written on your face your fellows would recoil from you as from a demon; you could not enter a horse-car but it would empty; you could find no man to approach near enough to shake hands with you; your own wife and children would start back from you as if you were a cobra; if you were starving it is doubtful if you could beg bread; if your vengeful thoughts were printed on your forehead, you would be arrested by the first policeman that passed. And all this would be your fit treatment, for you have murder In your heart Who shall dare speak out In defense of little lives, “not a span long,” that have never yet been born, and say, “Thou Shalt not do murder?” Sacred right to life ’. God gave it. Let God alone take it. Beautiful errands are those that seek to save life. The hero is he who dies that others may not dle> Can such departed souls live in the same heaven with those who murdered for their own selfishness ? As far as the east is from the west, so far are the saviors of life from its destroyers. Think of the two great hosts into which humanity is divided. In the white camp are all peace-makers, all good physicians and hospital nurses, all feeders of the starving and such as send invalids and poor children into the country for fresh air, all benevolent scientific men who are fighting filth and disease, all 1 beauutui moVovr ?£ I infancy: ’ ' " ’ skirts, and rolls it along, and steps on it, and wonders why people will bring dogs to church, ani expects to hear it bark every moment, and she gives it a sly kick, and the lady next behind her takes it under her skirts, and goes through with the tame experience; and the high-posted dandy coming behind, with his eye-glasses on, and his beaver uder his arm, plants his foot on it. and says: “Derathe dog!” under his breath, and the services go on The bald-headed man sits patiently and lisens to the preacher’s sixthly, and seventhly, and finlly my brethren, and bows his head to the bendic-tion, and then he looks around for his hat. A general search ensues, and by and by thetile is found under the table in front of the altarj,nd nobody knows what it is, or how it came ther, or anything about it. And our bald-headed friend goes home witlhis head-piece done up in his wife’s handkerchief,md wishes he had staid at home, and read last yir’s almanac. Hoohoonah.—1st. Parker’s “Aids to English Compo-sition” will instruct you in dividing your writings into sentences, paragraps, etc., and will also give the rules for punctuation, etc. It is an invaluable work for young writers. 2d. The work is unknown to us. 3d. The North American Review is a monthly periodical, published in this city, at $5 per year. The Edinburgh Review can be purchased through any newdealer. 4tk. Letter postage to Great Britain and all countries embraced in the Universal Postage Union is five cents per half ounce. 5th The effort to prove that certain of Shakspeare’s works were written by Bacon and others has resulted in nothing. 6th. The farthest point south was made by Weddell, an English explorer, who reached latitude 74 deg 15 sec. south, Capt. Parry, in 1827, reached latitute S2 deg. 45 sec. north, the highest point yet reached by an Arctic explorer, 7th. “Is it she ?” is correct. NEW USE FOR BIG FEET. Young Smith called nights ago, and got on Miss Higgenbottom sew very wet on his way tohe young lady’s residence. After he arrived, nothg would do but she must make a fire for him, andn spite of his protestations, she soon had a roaag fire started. . Drawing near it, Mr. Smith poised one foot one other in front of the blaze. For some momentsot a word was spoken. , Presently the young lady gently remarked: “Mr. Smith, please take down the blower. I tlk the fire has a good start.” Down came the feet amid smiles from the :1. But Smith doesn’t go there any more. E. J. D.—1st. Stains in marble caused bv oil can be removed by applying common clay saturated with benzine. Apply it moderately, so as not to injure the polish. 2d Ink spots can be taken out of marble in the following manner: Take half an ounce of butter of antimony, ana one ounce of oxalic acid, and dissolve them in one pint of rain water; add flour, and bring the composition to a proper consistence. 'Then lay it evenly on the stained part with a brush, and after it has remained for a few days wash it off, and repeat the process if the stain is not quite removed. 3d.To restore or polish furniture,use a mixture of three parts of linseed oil, and one part of spirits of turpentine. Put on with a woolen cloth, and when dry, rub with woolen. 4th. To stain wood walnut color, use boiled linseed oil and benzine, in equal quantities, and add burnt umber, ground m linseed oil, until you get the stain as dark as you desire. Stella Raymond, Boston.—The word “agnosticism” is that doctrine which, in regard to theology, neither asserts nor denies, and professes ignorance. An “agnostic” is one who proclaims his ignorance of a future state. It is derived from the Greek, and is formed of the prefix a (equivalent to “not,” and therefore gives a contrary meaning to the word to which it is added) and the word gnostes, which means “one who knows the future.” The entire word, in its exact signification, conveys the sense that a person who claims to be an agnostic is “one who does not know the future.” Mandolin.—To make cream cakes, take one pound of flour, half a pound of butter, andonepintof boiling water-pour the water boiling hot on the butter, and put it over the fire. As soon as it begins to boil, stir in the flour; when cool, add nine eggs well beaten. To make the custard. take a pint of rich cream, and add to it three eggs well beaten and a little flour; sweeten and flavor to the taste, and put it on to boil. When the cakes are baked, open the crusts at the the sides, and fill in with the custard. infancy : in this white camp are all heroes who leap 1 proving. A Naughty Girl’s DiARY.—The audacity ohe Naughty Girl, as disclosed in the '‘Diary” is week, is positively refreshing in its iceberg <1-ness. Turn to the eighth page of this week’s pa*, and see what the mischievous minx has to sof and for herself. As a tease the Naughty Girl ia- Leonard S.—1st. If a man should willingly desert his wife for a number of years, she can obtain a divorce from him on that ground, the term varying in the several States. A marriage contracted by her without first securing a divorce would not be valid. 2d. We are not at liberty to give the real names and addresses of contributors. 3d. Paper car-wheels are made with a rim of steel, and the center of the wheel through which the axle runs is metal. Beside this, there is a thin plate of metal covering the entire surface of the wheel, to stiffen and strength- C. E. R.—1st. “Sharing Her Crime” just not been issued in book-form. 2d. Mrs. May Agnes Fleming died March 24, 1880. An obituary notice was published in No. 23, Vol. XXXV. of the New York Weekly. 3d. We do not know how many books have been published by the other author named, but we think it is some forty or fifty, 4th. The lady named has not, we think, published any novels, unless very recently. She has written a number of sketches and poems. A. C. E.—1st.—The following stories by Prof. W. H. Peck were published in the New York Weekly : “Al-mida, or the Family Doom,” “Copper and Gold,” “For. tune-Teller of New Orleans,” “£15,000 Reward,” “Marlin Marduke,” “Midnight Mistake,” “Siballa, the Scor-ceress,” “Silver Sword,” “Wild Redburn,” and “Red Panther.” 2d. The sentence should read “in pursuance of.” 3d. We cannot give biographical sketches of our contributors. H. G. A.—1st. A polemoscope is an oblique perspective glass contrived for seeing objects that do not lie directly efore the eye—called also a diagonal or side opera-glass. 2d. The fare from New York to California by rail, first class, is $138; second class, $110; emigrant rate, $60. 3d. A banjo will cost from $5 upward. One can learn from a book, but the progress is slower than with a teacher. B. W. Dodson.—The gentleman named has several children. 2d. See reply to “Western Skeptic,” in No. 20. Madstones are very rare, and we do not know under what circumstances the few known to be in existence were found. 3d. Congress has tinkered more or less with th© Mormon question, but no definite action has been takeni to break up the system. Louis.—You are simply undergoing the experienc®-which most all boys and girls go through on arriving at their teens—of falling desperately in love with a pretty face. You will probably have other attacks of the same kind before you reach man’s estate, but will survive them all, and be none the worse for the experience. Constant Reader, Brooklyn.—Apply at the office of the Shipping Commissioners, 187 Cherry street. You can then ascertain whether there is such a vessel, and if there is, by consulting the ship news column in the daily papers of that time you will ascertain when she cleared, and for what port. Litchfield.—In the game of all fours or seven up, high and low both count before the jack. It makes no difference whether the jack is played in the first or last trick. The only time in which it can be counted before high or low is when the dealer turns it up as a trump. In that event, if he were six, he would be out. Brinton.—The British navy is the most powerful, although it has a smaller number of vessels than either the French or Russian navy, The respective number of vessels and men is as follows: British. 238 vessels. 58,800 men; French, 258 vessels, 48,283 men; Russian, 389 vessels, 30,194 men. C. H. IE—1st. “Enda, the Gipsy Captive,” the ♦‘Forest Rangers,” and “Ransom,” by Edward 8. Ellis, are1 out of print. “Nothing but a Boy,” by Oliver Optic,, will cost 66 cents. 2d. We have no copies of the Boys of the World. 3d. We presume the gentleman will oblige you. New Subscriber.—1st. We will send you Stonehenge*® “Horse in the Stable and in the Field” for $2. 2d. Consult a veterinary surgeon. 3d. “Major Jones’Courtship” will cost $1.75. 4th. Castor oil and brandy will make, the hair grow if anything of the kind will. J. H. O.—1st. The party named lives either in California or Nevada. His wife has for years been a resident of Europe. 2d. They are virtually one concern. 3d. We will send you Templeton’s “Practical Examinator on Steam and the Steam-Engine” for $1.25. Irolas Irolo.—1st. A book would be an appropriate present to make your teacher. 2d. The parody on “Mark Antony’s Oration,” we believe, appeared in the Oil City Derrick man. 3d. Very good, but you can, doubtless, improve it in the way suggested. G. W. Shea.—What is called the Lake of the Thousand Islands is that part of the St. Lawrence River near its issue from Lake Ontario. It is a long distance from Vermont, and cannot be seen from any point in that State. M. R. H.—The secretary, upon taking the chair at a temporary meeting, will provide himself with the necessary stationery with which to note the proceedings on the occasion. A. J. H. and H. Menly.—The days were given correctly. The error was in the day of the month, which should have read the 31st instead of the 1st. JI. M. M.—If you propose to settle in Florida, the better plan is to go there and look about until you find a desirable location. Constant Reader. New York.—The work entitled “Authors and Publishers,” price $1, is the nearest to what you describe. J. W. If.—A. sketch of “Josh Billings’ ” life will be found in his new book, just out, which we will send you for 25 cents. A. B. C.—We know nothing of the concern nor of their remedies.-----C. E. S.— We d® not know where John L. Sullivan’s parents or grandparents were born, nor whether he is married or single.-----M. A. D., Texas-— The letters are probably initials of some person’s name. They have no significance otherwise.-Sam Neivton.— None of the plays named can be had in printed form.--- F. E. Stephens.—The matter is easily explained: Bertha Allyn and Mrs. Sheldon are one and the same. The following MSS. are declined: “Ode to John Howard Payne,” “The Lady’s Stocking,” “An Old Score Well Paid,” “Sheep Lost,” “A Forgetful Boy.” The officers on duty on the Brooklyn Bridge at the time of the fatal disaster have much to learn before being able to control a mob. They were chosen because of their friendly relations with the directors, and not beoau&o of their qualifications . Srldge railing, more graceful’Xdes' could foHe ' selected. Touching Him Up. A well-known joker, being one night at a theater fancied he saw a friend some three seats in front of neighbor, he sa?d: * ma^wUh your slick re“°Ugh t0 tOueh that eentle-donCeertaiUly’” WaS the reply' aud the was the individual thus assaulted turned round, the wag saw he was not the man he took him for, and became at once absorbed in the play leaving his neighbor with the stick to settle matters with the gentleman in front, which as he^ad no excuse ready was not done without consider- Wiien the hubbub was over, the vic-liili said z stick ra t y°U aSk me- Slr’ t0 tap that man with my “Yes.” “What do you want?” “T wQhn’Sd the jo^e^ with imperturbable gravity I wanted to see whether you would!” A Valuable Invention. Mr. A. J. Campbell, of the West-side Architectural Iron Works, 652 to 558 West Thirty-third street, in this city, has patented an invention which is calculated to revolutionize all ideas,of fire-proof housework heretofore existing, and to add greatly to the value of all buildings erected under the plan pro- posed. The substance used is a preparation of galvanized iron, black iron, bronze or brass, as may be desired, applied to wood, covering the same with sheet metal, making a finish neat, smooth, and elegant and rendering the material absolutely fire-proof and weather-proof. The process is a cheap and simple one, and while it is A it at the same time prevents the wood from expansion and contraction by atmospheric changes, and is as near everlasting as anything earthly can be made. It is a wonder to us that something of this kind was not invented long ago, for its value is simply inestimable, and once brought fully into notice, we are certain that it will be invariably adopted, for its great advantages will, upon examination, be patent to the commonest comprehension. Mr. Campbell has a model of his invention on exhibition in the Inventors’ Hall at the Cooper Institute, in this city, and we hope that all interested in such matters—especially architects and builders all over the country—will call and examine it. Our word for it, the visit will pay them, even though they travel a thousand miles to investigate it. Mr. Campbell deserves to make, and probably will make, a fortune by his invention. Every inventor of a useful thing adds to the world’s wealth, and it is only fair that he should reap a large share of it. Let all who contemplate building call and examine the specimen window on exhibition; let them note the beautiful finish and the smoothness with which the sashes run in the grooves, and then send the inventor an order, for this is what they will inevitably do. A New Prayer, Our little Charlie has been in the habit of saying a little prayer before going to bed. A few evenings since, all things being ready for retiring, and looking earnestly into his mother’s face, he said: “Mamma. I am tired of saying somebody else’s prayer; mayn’t I make one myself ?” His mother said, “Certainly, my boy, if you really wish to.” He knelt very reverently and clasped his hands; then, with the earnestness of unaffected childhood said to his mother: “Mamma, if I get stuck, will you help me out ?” THE NEW YQK WEEKLY. 5 PLAIN SAILING BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD. The captain bold, it had oft been told, Was a wonderful sailing-master, And many a ship on a dangerous trip He had taken without disaster. Through the China sea, and back again, he Would go with a faith unfailing In the chart he used, and had oft perused. And to him it was all plain sailing. Though timorous souls might speak of the shoals And rocks on which vessels grounded, No sunken reef had brought him to grief, So he fancied their fears unfounded. With wonderful pluck, and remarkable luck. His ship he would sail and land her. And her ways he learned, and the name he earned Of being a brave commander. Without a doubt he’d have started out For the poles, and across the equator, With a compass to guide, and a chart supplied, By the earliest navigator. Though incomplete, and quite obsolete, Yet so long as he crossed the ocean He would not part with the ancient chart For any new-fangled notion. The rescued few of a shipwrecked crew Were fearfully agitated, And sore afraid, when the captain displayed His map very antiquated. “We shall all again be wrecked, it is plain ! Or meet with some new disaster! Take this, I pray, of a later day I” Said one to the sailing-master. *Tf you follow this you can’t go amiss, For it carefully shows the danger Along the coasts, where are hosts and hosts Of rocks to which you’re a stranger. Your chart, I will state is quite out of date— Not fit to weather a gale by; But this one of mine is a new design, And better fitted to sail by.” The captain said, as he shook his head: “Nay, nay; you entreat me vainly; I’d not rest at all if I sailed through all Those new shoals marked out so plainly. This chart of mine, though an old design, Has proved such a guide unfailing. That I’ll trust it still, and can take my fill Of sleep, for it’s all plain sailing.” THE MALTESE CROSS OR, THE DETECTIVE’S QUEST A TALE OF BRAVE DEEDS AND STARTLING PERILS. By EUGENE T. SA WYER. The Maltese Cross” was commenced last week.'] CHAPTER V. I THE ANONYMOUS LETTER. "So they have hanged him! Poor Lamont! It’s a burning shame, that’s what I say.” Such were the remarks made by one resident of San Cristano to another as they met on the main street on the afternoon of the fatal 19th of May Similar expressions fell from the lips of others-of those who, while the trial was progressing nad naught of good to say for the accused. But such is life. When many of us are in sore need of encouragement or assistance we fail to re-ceive it; but when it is beyond the power of suppositious friends to aid us, they are ready and profuse with kindly and benevolent protestations and offerings. It was close upon the noon hour when the friend of Lamont awoke from the sleep into which he had fallen the night before. He arose slowly like one bewildered, and he could scarcely stand upon his feet, so weal* .wa.Q — I nervous prostration and tixe enects or the He Sat upon the bunk. and. while endeavoring to collect his scattered thoughts, his eye caught sight of an envelope addressed to himself and pinned to one of the posts at the foot of the bunk. Bending over he detached it, and at the same time became aware of the fact that the bunk of his companion was empty, and that he was the solitary occupant of the jail. “Gone!” he whispered, hoarsely, and without bidding me good-by! Strange! strange!” His mind was not yet sufficiently composed for him to comprehend either the precise nature of his own position and surroundings, or that of his late comrade and friend. For some moments he sat idly toying with the envelope, and making no attempt to open it and ascertain its contents. The water-pipe and faucet, with tin dipper held by a chain, were within reach on the wall near the head of the bunk. . He took a drink and felt better immediately. Then without more ado he opened the envelope, and drew forth a note written in pencil, and began ^BeFore iie had half finished it he gave utterance to a wild and despairing cry, and, sinking back upon the rude couch, buried his face in the pillows and sobbed like a child. Self-contained and brave as he was. the awful intelligence conveyed in the note utterly unmanned ki^y God!” came from his lips in broken accents, “that he should have suffered such a death. The 19th of May! the 19th of May! He is dead—dead, while I. broken in health and spirit, live. What a horrible thing 1 Horrible! horrible!” and the sobs and moans came and went. There was a reaction at last, and he roused himself with a face as pale as death, but with a strange glitter in his eyes and with lips stern and compressed, as though he had in a moment taken counsel with himself and resolved upon some desperate enterprise. . . Taking up the note again, he read it through to the end slowly, and weighing every syllable. “ ‘Good-by—God bless you!’ are his last words. And may God receive you to his own, truest and noblest of friends! Shall I forget that he saved my life ? Never! The memory of his sacrifice will live when all else is sunk into oblivion.” A noise at the door caused the prisoner to hastily conceal the note under the pillow. Then pulling the blankets over him, he turned his face to the wall. . The San Francisco officer and sheriff pro tern entered, but noticing that the prisoner had not yet arisen, stopped by the threshold. “You’re a late riser, Leavitt. Hurry and complete your toilet, for I have something to say to you.” Leavitt started to make some reply, when a violent cough shook his frame. In a moment he answered, huskily: . t » . “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” ’All right!” and the officer went out. It took less than that time for the consumptive to don his shabby raiment, and when the officer again appeared he was lying on the bed with his throat bound up and fully equipped. “I have come to tell you that your term of sentence has expired. You are free to depart at this moment; but if you like you can stay until after dark and then vamos. You mustn’t be found hanging about the town, old man, or the sheriff Will pull you as sure as shootin’. Sabe ? “Yes. I’ll leave San Cristano, never fear.” “Suit yourself. It’s none of my business: I am only giving you good advice. Say, when do you intend to skip ?” “When do I intend to go ?” “Yes.” “Well, I will not leave until after dark, if it is all the same to you.” . , _ “That settles it. At eight o’clock I’ll come and let you out,” and the officer turned to go. “One moment, if you please,” the vagrant said, and then after a pause went on rather constrainedly. “The—the execution is over ?” “Oh, yes, and I am mighty glad it is over. I don’t hanker after such another job. It came off two hours ago.” i ...... “When will you bury the body ?” “My orders are to have the thing done to-morrow morning.” “Where will he be buried ?” “In the Potter’s Field, of course.” The prisoner sighed, and then observing that the officer was regarding him with a curious expression. began to cough. “What do you want to know for ?” Emily Somers had during her stay in San Cris-Jh^irreS1( ed pflambers, a widow, whose dwelling was in the outskirts of the town. ??KSe<u aPd sh? Journeyed through the valley of the shadow of death, and was now convalescing though very pale and very weak. Pess 1°°^ an.fl manner, and her expressed wish that no one should be admitted to her presence without her permission, save the doctor, the nurse Mrs* Pha.^bersv was indicative of a marked change of spirits. It was hard to believe that this listless, taciturn creature, with her sad eyes and preoccupied manner, and the lovely, fas-pnd courted Emily Somers of three i? before* were one and the same woman. but one inQairy about her lover’s fate, and that was some two weeks after the execu-tion, and when the fever had left her. and she was her° speak c°berently, and recognize those about Her nurse was bending over her and stroking the short, curling locks of black, which lav softly upon her forehead, when she asked in a tone scarcely above a whisper: “Is it—all over ?” Her large, mournful eyes were upraised with an expression m which doubt, fear, and anxiety were commingled. The nurse knew what she meant, and answered tremulously, as she turned awav her head: Yes, Miss Emily; he is with God now.” A convulsive sob. and then a fit of hysterical weeping. She became calm at last, and never again alluded to the subject. On the 19th of June a letter was handed to her. It was postmarked Gilroy, a thriving little city many miles distant in the lovely valley of Santa Sfiows^6 ffarden spot of California. and read as “Miss Emily Somers : inform you that the work of proving to the world the innocence of Arthur Lamont, and of bringing has commenced. The mat tei is in the hands of one who will not fail! Whv the case he. ^tainid the iSormaUon upon which he has acted, must remain for the present unexplained In a short time, however, he who wntes th?s has taken the initative, will call upon you b h}8 Plans. To do so now would work an irre-disaster. Wait and hope, and above all things, S ForSin ^h® case yourself, as in your ignorance PreceduFe’ you might do harm instead of ^ho appreciates your nobleness of heart and your unflagging devotion to duty is That was all. “Your Friend.” handwriting was unfamiliar, and the matter gaYe P° clew to the writer’s identity t&e reader brightened, and a flush that might have been of pleasure chased away the pallor as she read the opening sentences But she was a woman of deep intelligence and discrimination and the cruel blow that had fallen upon her had sharpened all her faculties. She had once been confiding and unsuspicious, butthat time n&Q passoct. Her fair brow clouded as sho continued her ing, and when she had finished she reinamea tor some moments in an attitude of profound thought. At last she looked- Jin. ^Mt’s a trick, a device of the arch-enemy to throw me off my guard. It shall not succeed!” And her face at that moment spoke volumes. She threw the letter upon the table by the open window, where a breath of wind caught it and carried it to the ground below. . And so the missive, written m all sincerity and kindliness of spirit, failed to do its work. Much of evil might have been prevented had the construction of a trustful character been placed on it. CHAPTER VI. BLAKE, THE DETECTIVE. Eighteen miles south of San Cristano. as the crow flies, was the little town of Tularcitos, situated in a canyon, through which flowed the Arroyo San The town was supported mainly by the mining and farming industries. Scarcely five miles away lay the Red Bank quicksilver mine, then but of recent discovery, though marvelously rich and destined to make the independent fortunes of the owners. The miners were of a cosmopolitan set. There were Cornishmen, Americans, native Californians, and Chinese. , , , . While San Cristano boasted of an agricultural community, where law and order prevailed, and where crime did not flourish. Tularcitos was popularly termed "The Devil’s Ranch.” for lawlessness was rampant. . . The money poured in by the mines was the means of filling the town with gamblers, cut-throats, thieves, and road agents. These latter gentlemen came and went when matters were opportune, and when hunted, safe in their retreats in the mountain fastnesses, they defied the efforts of officers to capture them. t The reputed chief of these bandits—though his operations were not confined to the country about Tularcitos, but extended over the whole southern portion of the state—was the notorious Tiburcio Vasquez, the rival of Joaquin Murieta in the extent and magnitude of his depredations, and his superior in audacity and cunning. But theie were many who entertained the belief that Vasquez was connected with less than one-half of the murders and robberies committed in the Tularcitos region, and that particular pains were taken by some, and probably interested parties, to shift the responsibility upon his shoulders. Events will show whether or not these good people were right in their conjectures. One evening in the latter part of June a stranger rode into town from the direction of San Cristano. and drew rein in front of the Hernandez Hotel. Dismounting, he gave directions for the care of his animal, and then went into the hotel office. The gas-light fell upon a form admirably proportioned, well knit, and muscular. His face was pale and stern, and he looked like a man whom it was not safe to trifle with. Short-cropped black hair, heavy eyebrows, and long, sweeping mustache, were prominent features of the ensemble. His age might have been thirty or thirty-five, and he was Barton Blake, a detective, unknown at that time to Californians, but destined to make for himself a name that should live in the memories ot men for generations. , , , Upon the hotel register he wrote L. Lukey, Nevada.” After supper he went to the room which had been placed in readiness for him, and there made a slight change in his personal appearance. Five minutes later a man entered the Casino saloon, who would have been taken for a metropolitan sport. , , ,, It was yet early in the evening, and there were but few people in the saloon. Passing the bar, he went to the rear of the room, where card-playing was going on at several tables. At one sat two men, and the detective, after a close scrutiny, gave a grunt of satisfaction. Their names were Tom Blackman and Pete Henry, and they were the two horse-thieves and road agents whom Arthur Lamont had, months before, undertaken to prosecute. His own arrest in the midst of his preparations, and the mental torture that followed, would not have permitted him to have given the district attorney any assistance even had that official asked for counsel and ail. . , , As a matter of fact, the district attorney had said nothing about the matter to Lamont after his arrest for murder. , T , He knew nothing of the evidence Lamont had procured, and so. after remaining for some time in the jail of the neighboring county where the rob- trie°¥ofm^lM evasively, "he was a The officer drew a step nearer, and fixing his eves Jiwnk? law S said. in slow and measured “Look here! you are anything but a fool.” Was the look one of amazement or one of fear countenance?”1 moment refleeted upon the other s 111 give you a pointer. Don’t vou go shouting out your friendship for Lamont. You’ll find your? self in a snap if you do. There are people here who accomplices. If you weren’t such a Bo cateh onk?’” e ““S3,1 Would not say a word-n^?^J3icklmLloolJin.U cuss” was now perfectly composed. Ihe feeung, caused by the officer’s remarks, no longer gave evidence of ex- oa^tak’1^ simpIy- "but 1 thlnk 1 Paddle your own canoe, then. So long,” and the sunlight011 d°°r clanked as he went into the At eight o’clock that evening a shabbily dressed man, with an infirm gait, left the jail and went into Presently became as it stretched to the west, the road which led to the Gabi Jan HmqnntnAawh,thene5 On SaHuas plains, road, and the heavy scarf wrapped about his neck and covering a portion of his lace evidenced a desire to avoid observation. Very early on the morning of the 20th, the owner of a small stock ranch in the hills went to his barn sound Asleep7’ and discovered a man “A tramp, e’h ?” passionatelyEetter l0°k’ and then remarked. com-“Poor fellow, he looks sickly and tired. I’ll let him a °ne UUt11 breakfast time, and then I’ll call f«^u^%duti0s of- tho ranch so absorbed his atten-tion that his promise did not recur to him until ten O C1OCK. gone011 returned to the barn, but the tramp had l benes were committed, to men were dis-cnarged for want of eviden : If the detective, Blake, hme in possession of the evidence collected nont, he had certainly obtained some verytant points in the game he was playing. Blake, in fact, had come iarcitos for the express purpose of finding Hackman and Pete Henry, Having found them, heiied their game of for awhile and then red a remark: Rather dull for the Casii’t it ?” It s early yet.” It was Tom Blackman, tire intelligent looking of the two, who spokten he added, in a suspicious tone: “Who are you. stranger? Blake was delighted to fiat it was Blackman who had responded. Hei particular reason » becoming better acquaiwith the man. Im down here to inerdhe size of my pile. ¥ou don’t happen to knowi opening, do you?” Blackman eyed the deteas if to read his very soul, but the face of Blaks as impassive and inscrutable as that of a ma T,onV’ bo grunteq s _ Well, I m here to raisevind. and raise it I will, one way or another^ he turned to go away, “Hold on, mister man.” Blackman, “don’t be so fast. Perhaps you are ainted with the contents of this book ?” And ?ld up a greasy pack of cards. Blake had been expectinpaething of the kind, for, as he faced his qpner, he answered, calmly: ;;Now you mutter.” “Woll, then, sit down anlke this game three-handed.” a passenger on the Tularcitos stage. He went to his room, and half an hour after. Acker strolled in. 1 “Well?” , . , . “There’s the devil to pay I” responded Acker. : “What do you mean ?” and Chester st;irted to his I feet, with an expression, not of fear, but of anxiety, 1 upon his face. “Is Miss Somers dead ?” < “No. She’s all right.” “What then is the matter ? Speak at once, and i don’t stand there like a fool.” “I’ll tell you. if you’ll let me do it in my own way. I think you’ll find it the better plan.” Acker, on the witness-stand, would have made a i lawyer tear his hair in vexation of spirit. But Ches-ter knew his peculiarity, and remembering it. at this juncture, said no more, but waited for him to begin. “I went down to the Widow Chambers’ house every other night while you were gone.” “Yes, go on.” “I tried the window racket, and it worked to a charm, for I heard every word that was said.” “That’s fortunate. Proceed.” “And don’t that young woman hate you, Chester. She gave you a fearful lambasting the last time I was there.” , ,, , Chester changed color, as he muttered, savagely: “1’11 pay her back, mind that, She and I will settle accounts before she is many weeks older.” “I hope you will get the upper hand of her, for if there’s anything I dislike it is to have my friends abused.” and Acker grinned, maliciously. “Thank you,” returned Chester, sourly. “Well, you want to hear the rest, for a paralyzer is coming. You’d better prepare for it. It struck me all of a heap, and I’m just getting over it.” Chester looked at Acker as if he could have eaten him without salt.” The imperturbable right bower went on. slowly: “The last time I was there was one week ago, and I found this document under the window. He held out the letter signed “Your Friend.” which was received by Emily Somers on the 19th of Chester took it, and as he read it his brow darkened. and his lips trembled. . “You are right. Acker. There is the devil to pay.” “My sentiments.’’ , t i “A detective is evidently at work. But what Is he working on? Where does he get his points, if he has any, and what will be his first move?” These questions were addressed more to himself than to his confederate. “I have it,” continued Chester. The San Francisco officer who did the hanging is at the bottom of it. Lamont gave him a game before he died, and he is playing it now. But what for ? I don’t know, but I’m blessed if I don’t find out. We need to use all caution now. Acker, and all the men must be P°Y know where they all are except Blackman and Henry. Haven’t heard of them for a month.” “Blackman and Henry? Why, they are at Tularcitos ; I left them there this morning.” Then a sudden thought struck him. and he brought his hand down upon the table with a force that nearly shivered it. “I’ve got it.” “Got what?—a flea or a musquito?” “No, you fool; I’ve got the true business. Lamont left some papers behind that we ought to have cabbaged. We failed, and ten to one he gave them to that blamed Frisco cop, and either he or another officer is now out upon a hunt for Blackman and Henry. That would naturally be the first move made.” -gy ------1 you’ve struck it! exclaimed Acker, with vehemence; “and they must be put on their guard ” “Right you are. and at the same time we must pay our respects to this detective. We must lay a train that will blow him sky high. The next afternoon Chester was a passenger in the stage bound for Tularcitos. Acker remained behind to look after Evelyn Somers. The stage did not reach the town until evening, and after refreshing himself, Chester donned a light cloak and a broad-brimmed sombrero, and wended his way toward the “Casino.” Not caring to enter, he went around to the side door, and looking in, beheld Blackman, Henry, and a stranger, seated at one of the tables. Blackman’s back was turned, and as soon as he could catch Henry’s eye he beckoned to him. That worthy got up and went out, as stated in the last chapter. He was glad to find Chester, as he wanted to tell him about Blackman’s companion, for he had had his suspicions aroused concerning him from the first They went out into the alley-way and down it to the rear of the saloon building. There was a small vard at the back which was nearly filled with empty boxes, kegs, casks, trash, and debris. A few words sufficed to inform Chester that the man he dreaded was at that moment in the bar-room. Then Chester told Henry enough of his conversation with Acker, of which the letter formed a part, to let him know the full extent of the danger 1 that menaced, them. “We must act at once, and there must be no mis- ' take?" , • tt , There was a murderous gleam in Han Henry-lf I shall not leave it\ .... I / “A has occurred to me that can be carried out, ac once.” ..Whatjs it Here —ffilkinAr a small vial from his pocket—“is a drug I always carry with for an Go back into the saloon, call Blackman asiieftgive this to him after informing him of the danger, and tell him to get the detective to drink, and to find an opportunity to pour some of this in his glass. A few drops will be sufficient.” “What then?” At the farther end of the building, and opening out of the bar-room was a small card-room, with a low window overlooking the alley in which they were standing. Chester pointed to the room and said: “Blackman must get him in there on some pretext, and then call for the drinks. When the drug has performed its office, the detective must be-placed in a chair by the window. His head will be in plain sight, and then-” “And then?” Henry looked steadfastly at his companion. “In the meantime you will have concealed yourself in this alley, near enough to the window to be able to know what transpires in the room. When the detective shall have been in the chair three minutes, you must send a bullet through his brain. The plan is feasible and safe, and there is no other alternative.” “I’ll do it,” replied Henry, without a moment’s hesitation. “But Blackman—where must he remain? His presence in the room will be a risky circumstance.” “I have thought of that. too. After seating the detective by the window, Blackman must re-enter the saloon. The three minutes will give him time to reach the bar and be engaged in conversation when the shot is fired.” “Good!” said Henry, approvingly. “It shall be done.” The conversation above narrated had taken place in a few moments, and had been rapidly carried on. Pete Henry departed on his evil mission, and Chester slunk out of the alley, and taking a roundabout course, soon after reached the hotel and went to his room. As he struck a light, he rubbed his hands softly together and gave utterance to a chuckle of satisfaction. Fate had played into his hands in a most remarkable and altogether unexpected manner. But every vestige of color would have left his face had he known what transpired in the alley a moment after his departure. A most remarkable character had made his appearance on the scene, and events were about to assume a new and startling shape. [TO BE CONTINUED], The detective complied, the game proceeded. Nothing out of the ordr was said for some moments. Then Blake, cig an eye, remarked to, Black man: Jbe way, I think I hbeen you before.” “Me? Where?” “In the Monterey Count'l.” The road agent sprang is feet with a muttered curse, making at the satime a peculiar movement in the direction of Jhis hip-pocket. Pete Henry, for some reason, rdned in his seat, perfectly cool and collected. , . fc.be twinkling of an ew detective had the infuriated Blackman covel, md the latter looking into the volume, bounoisilver, found that it contained six chapters, envith a sensational climax. Sit down, my good fell!, >u are barking up the wrong tree. Sit down, fed” The last sentence was astn command, and Blake’s eyes flashed with fire. Blackman sullenly resunuds seat. You are too fly, my man,’ vit on the detective, seating himself also, andresig his pistol hand upon the table; “you sh(uldive waited until I had finished my remarks, Y may change your tune before I get through wityou. Now, then, I saw you at the Monterey Ccty jail, for I was there myself.” , “It’s a lie!” — The words came from Pete mry, but they were not heard by the other tw<so low were they spoken. “Well,” answered Blackm. doubtfully, “that ’ but I didn’t see you tre.” I hat is very probable, myiristian friend, for. on the day you came in, I weout.” Henry now turned on the dictive. I say. my nobby cove, wh are you givin’ us?” ,, detective was meetinAvith more difficulty than he had anticipated, ^changed his tactics somewhat. “If you two chaps are bloal millionaires in disguise, then I, an individual 10 has at times met with misfortune, have 'mata mistake in supposing that you had been unfornate like myself, and I therefore apologize. Whavill you take?” The question asked was esponded to by a call for the barkeeper. The drink put Blackmain a better frame of a Pause, he asld: bay, Nibsy, what were yo in for?” Blake leaned over and whlpered: called it highway robery.” Ah!” Henry got up and walkei away. The talk did not interest him, apparent^ Perhaps the sight of a familiar face at the side door attracted his attentW^and aroused his curi-osfly- -A* any rate, he wentCoward the door. t Standing on the outside—lie door was open, for it was summer and the nijits were warm—was a tall man enveloped in a larg> cloak, the high collar ot which was drawn up soas to partially conceal his features. ,4s H?nry approached, he stepped to the thresh-grasped him by the arm. Gome here, you tool!. Iwmt you.” e Iney went down to the rea: of the building, and in a moment were engage in earnest conversation. The detective and Blachman remained at the table. x. “Yes,” the former wentpn: “I was in, but I beat "JutSped my J Forney.” "Whatl”exclalin/ Qau_ aAnn— uY/ « , . to go on your bond?” them, and ufterwav ^^ld tQg.^io^one^else secured “Who was the n jT I’d |jke *to h® mtrodtQ him.” A “Tiburcio Vasquez!” f Blackman stared at BI?#e in speechless amazement for a moment. Thf€| he held out his hand, which the detective grasped. “You don’t mean it?” “You may shoot me if it’? a lie.” “You have a rattling chief.” “I should smile.” ‘‘But while yours has the name, mine has the game all the same. There’s truth and poetry for you.” “Yours ?” This was asked With such apparent innocence that the road agent was completely deceived. “Why, yes. I thought yju knew.” “No, I am in the dark. “Then I will enlightenyou, for I believe you’re true blue. You see---” He did not complete thcsentence, for at that moment Henry touched him on the shoulder. “I want to see you a monent. Excuse us”—to the detective. Blake looked annoyed, tut he tried not to show it, and politely nodded. His life was in deadly peril, but he was wholly unconscious of his danger. He did not notice that Eenry went out of the side door after he left the tablq and if he had been cognizant of the circumstance, it would not have caused him a moment’s uneasiness. He was unknown in tie town. It was his first visit, and not having male any move previously, by which he could have toen spotted, he felt entirely satisfied of his presenfeafety at least. At the same time he w; too shrewd a man not to know that he might have xcited some suspicions in the mind of Pete Henry, . xcited some suspicions in ----------------------- it he counted upon allaying them before he left t.) saloon, by his superior address and shrewdness But he had counted wi Five minutes elapsed out his host. -------------- ——and Blackman returned alone, and sat down in hi former seat as if nothing had happened. A game, however, wa soon to be played, with pistols for trumps. Something extraordimy had occurred while the detective sat at the table lone. CHAPER VIL A DIABOiCAL PLAN. The execution of Larmt over, Hugh Chester prepared to leave San Cristno, for a temporary season at least. Before his departure bhad a consultation in his room at the hotel with h right bower. Bill Acker. “You must stay here itown. Acker, until I come and relieve you, or call >u away. The next move will be in the direction (Miss Emily Somers. She refused me, did sh9?Jurse her! I’ll tame her proud spirit, if I have thangforit!” “You’re determined,’’put in Acker, “to drop everything in order to #k this new mine ?” “Yes; Emily Somers ust be in my power before another stroke of work i our favorite line is done. Never fear, but all tie b?s shall be well paid for this inaction. I’d sjen^mylast dollar, if necessary, to be in a positon> make that proud beauty sue for terms.” His handsome featirebecame distorted, and his eyes blazed with coneimted fury. “She shall learn, t( he| cost, that I am not the man to be trifled wih!” “Well, I’ll stand inthdgh it’s a job I don’t fancy. I don’t like these log wits between acts.” Chester evidently id ot hear Acker’s answer, for he stood by the indlw, with his chin in his hand, as if in thougt. “What do you warmeto stay here for?” asked Acker. “Oh, I forgot,” an Chester came over and sat down by his accomlice, “I want you to inform yourself daily as t<the condition of this young woman’s health. Ya can work that without any trouble. If you don want to ask questions, and can’t pick up infornionon the street, slip down to the house every nht or so, and you mtw hear something by gettinunder the window. There’s no dog there, only brace of old women; so you need not be afraid.” With these, and oer instructions, Chester left, promising to returm a few weeks. He was away a mth, and when he looked in upon San Cristano?ain, Acker had some startling news for him. On the 26th of JurChester arrived at the hotel. Orphan Jenny, THE SLAVE OF THE_0L0AK-R00M. By K. F. HILL, Author of “THE TWIN DETECTIVES.” [“Orphan Jenny” was commenced in No. 32. Back numbers can be obtained of all Newsdealers.] CHAPTER VII. THE BETROTHED. In an exquisitely furnished apartment a young girl sat, languidly perusing a novel. The room was peculiar and strikingly beautiful; the walls were hung with black satin, embroidered with butterflies, birds, and flowers in their natural colors. The portieres were the same, and the ceiling was frescoed to match; the windows were stained a soft pink, and the furniture upholstered in black and pink satin, the framework being ebony and gold. Desk, piano, and harp stood each in its appro-pnate corner, and a cheerful fire burned in a grate of antique pattern, before which glistened a brass fender of rare value. The lady was youthful, and at the first glance, beautiful. Her hair was of the palest blonde, and very carefully arranged; her features faultlessly regular, her complexion waxen in its purity; but her eyes were of a faded blue, her brow disfigured by a peevish frown, her lips thin, and their set told of a discontented, querulous nature. Such was Blanche Ashton, heiress and Beacon street belle, the affianced wife of Philip Rathburn. She did not appear very much interested in her book, for she yawned frequently over its pages, and finally threw it on one side, and seated herself at the piano. She played brilliantly, but without expression; her music, like her face, lacked soul. A tap at the door brought the performance to a close. In answer to her somewhat impatient command “Come in,” Philip Rathburn entered the room. , . . “Good-morning, Blanche,” he said, imprinting a very unlover-like kiss on her smooth, white forehead, as she rose to greet him. “Good-morning. Philip. Where in the world have you been for the past two weeks ?” She was glad to see him, that was very easily seen, yet she spoke in an injured manner, and peevishly. , , “Been out of town on a shooting trip with Caxton and Gennis.” “With whom ?” Her pale eyes snapped, and an icy sharpness came into her thin, soprano voice. “With Gennis and Carroll.” he said, carelessly. “Ahl Excuse me, I thought you said Caxton, and he has been here twice since I saw you, so I knew that must be a mistake.” “He comes here too often,” said Philip, pretending jealousy to take her attention off his blunder. “He came to your mother’s reception on Friday night, and he called yesterday to invite us to go to the opening of the art rooms.” “Invite you, Blanche!” answered Philip, still playing the role of the injured lover. “He invited your mother also.” Blanche’s wrath was now assuaged, and she chatted with her intended in a friendly way. They were engaged, but between them there was not one particle of love. Blanche was an orphan and an heiress. Mr. Rathburn, Philip’s father, was her guardian, and the marriage had been arranged when they were children. The girl had grown up in the Beacon street home, where the only son of the millionaire was looked upon as little less than a god. and she therefore was proud of occupying the position of his intended bride. . . , , , She did not love him, nor indeed any one else. Her shallow heart was not capable of containing any affection save the one she cherished for her fair solf As for Philip, he had been careless and indifferent on the subject, not unwilling to add Miss Ashton’s millions to his own princely fortune, till he met Bella Blair. . . This meeting had taken place one fine evening in autumn, when Bella was returning from her work. She was simply dressed in a black and white calico, and wore the plainest style of black straw hat upon her head, her only ornament being a bunch of bright scarlet berries at her throat. The evening was warm, and a lovely flush lit up the gipsy face, while the light in her eyes shone deep and dark. , , . ™ ... . “What a perfect face!” exclaimed one of Philip s companions, a young artist. “It is such a lovely oval. How I would like to paint that girl in a pretty picturesque peasant’s dress. I wonder who she is ?” “A cloak-maker in Nelson Brothers,” replied one of the others. , x A number of gentlemen were together. “How do you know ?” “I saw her come out with the other hands, and she has a lunch basket upon her arm, poor thing. Philip said nothing, but it was a case of love at first sight. He fell in love with Bella Blair, though he caught only one brief glance from her velvety brown eyes, and saw a wild-rose flush deepen on h°He felt diffused and bewildered for the rest of the evening, and scarcely knew what he was doing. He accompanied his betrothed and his mother to the opera, but could not for the life of him tell what* any one on the stage was about. Next evening, at the same hour, he was on the corner of Sumner street, and again he saw Bella Blair. This time he felt certain she observed him. So he continued for weeks, till finally one slippery day he had an opportunity of addressing her. It happened in this way. Bella s shoes weie old, and the sidewalks slippery as glass, for they were one glare of ice. Just as the girls came out of the cloak-room three of them fell. . Two sprang up laughing at their mishap, but Bel-la sat still, her face white, and her lips compressed. Philip came forward at once. . “Are you hurt?” he inquired, anxiously bending °^YehsY’X’ve sprained my wrist,” she said bravely keeping back the tears that would sm . resolute brown eyes. “Let me assist you. ^^od faint„passed He raised her, and. as she seemty^, loo slender 1 bis arm ahnixLfhat at last he was so near to the girl he lovr" v , She seemed to feel it also; her pale cheeks bloomed again undei the yellow glare of t he gaslight, and she gently withdrew herself from Philip s arm, which was no longer merely supporting hjr, but embracing her. “I am better, thank you,” she said. “The pain was so intense that for a moment it made me faint.” , -Allow me to get a canine and take you home?” suggested Pmlip, eagerly. ."No. indeed.” Bella blushed painfully at the thought that ne should og© how wretched a home was hers. No indeed; it is quite unnecessary; I’ll take a car; I can get one at the corner.” She placed her hand in her pocket an€l started. , “Will you look among the snow? I’ve lost my pocket-book.” She was pale again with terror, for it was paynight, and the pocket-book contained her all. She searched, and so did Philip, and the young • man was guilty of robbery. He found 'the pocketbook, and kept ity “Oh, dear, what shall I do?” cried Bella, in genuine distress. “My rent must be paid. Oh, what shall I do?” “Take my pocket-book, and you can pay me back some other time,” said Philip, calmly. Bella was intensely proud, but necessity know& no law; she could not walk to the ferry through th© icy streets; she could not cross the ferry, and her sick mother lay alone and helpless in a flreless room. “Your pocket-book is probably in a different condition from mine,” she said, rather bitterly. “Never mind; make use of it—do.” “I’ll use as much as I had in mine, and I may return it, if I can. What I lost is two weeks’ earnings, and I can’t live on less than I earn. Heaven knows how I can ever save so much.” “You are a good girl.” said Philip, impulsively. ‘Tell me your name?” “Bella Blair.” “Bella Blair?” he repeated. “Well, Bella Blair, I shall feel highly offended if you don’t spend every cent in that pocket-book, and keep it to remember the wort hless giver.” “To remember you? I don’t need anything to make me do that.” She spoke quickly, and blushed as she saw the look of delighted surprise and joy that sprang into his face. “Oh, Bella, you know me. then?” he whispered, bending down to gaze into her averted, blushing face. “Answer me, darling,” for she was silent— “answer me—do you know I love you?” Bella gave no verbal answer, but one swift glance of her dark eyes from under their dusky lashes told the secret of her heart as well as if she had talked for hours. Philip knew—“he loved, and was beloved again.” After this Bella rarely walked alone to the car— Philip was always there. He told her the history of his engagement to Miss Ashton, and she tried to avoid him; but, alas! skillfully though he pleaded, another voice spoke still more eloquently than his, and that voice was in Bella’s own heart. Miss Ashton was not slow to observe the additional coldness of her lover. He had always been a ’ most indifferent one. but now he absented himself from the house sometimes for weeks. She knew also, that his father was constantly urging an early marriage, which Philip steadily declined. She heard of the intended European tour, and decided in her own mind that it would make an agreeable honey-moon trip. She was twenty-one years of age and many younger society belles were already wives and mothers, while she remained “Miss Ashton,” and had only'reached the doubtful efignity of being an engaged young lady, with an exceedingly cool and indifferent lover. For this reason she was*not always so amiable as her friends could wish, and already her insipid blonde beauty was commencing to wane. “Well, Blanche, I’m off,” said Philip. a*s he glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel-piece. “Off! Are you not going to dine at home to-day?” s No—can’t—I have an engagement.” “I can’t see any sense in your living away from home. Heaven knows, the house is big enough and I know your mother does not like it.” “Oh, she does not mind. That is one advantage of having a fashionable mamma; she does not take too much interest in a fellow. But I must see her for a moment before I go. So, adieu! You look as pretty as a fashion-plate, to-day, Blanche.” With a careless kiss on the white brow, which'was disfigured by a frown of annoyance, Philip left her. Pretty as a fashion-plate!” she said, angrily, with a stamp of her slender foot, in its tiny satin slipper. She was pretty as a fashion-plate. Her dress of pale-blue embroidered satin hung around her in folds that no hand but Worth’s, the man-milliner of Paris, could contrive. 6 THE NEWORK WEEKLY. The lace j^bont her throat and wrists was rare and her only ornament was a double string of huge pearls, that matched in whiteness the snowy throat they encircled. She gazed at her fair reflection in the long mirror between the rose-tinted windows, the becoming shade of the stained glass adding another charm t<> her beauty. "Beautiful, rich, and neglected'!” she exclaimed, passionately. “But I will And out why I am neglected. I’ll And out why he stays away so much. There is a woman in the case. I’ll send Moucher after him, and And out the whole story.” Then the old Scotchwoman, Janet, came into her mind. Yes, she would tell Janet her story, and see if the much-abused bushel-woman had any suggestions to offer. With this thought in her mind the orphan girl fell asleep, with a prayer to the “Father of the fatherless’’ upon her lips, and salt tears still undried upon her smooth, fair cheeks. CHAPTER IX. A NEW CHAPTER VIII. FRESH TROUBLE. Jenny Weaver had been three weeks in the cloakroom, and she had earned just one week’s board-three dollars. She had experienced the utmost difficulty in getting her cloaks past the examiner, and no less than three of them had fallen into the hands of old Janet. Jenny, however, had more sense than to blame the poor old woman for this. In fact, a sort of friendship had sprung up between them. Janet was a well-educated woman, and, greatly to Jenny’s surprise, she had come on her one Saturday night standing before a second-hand bookstand, and selecting a book to read the following day. Jenny paused also, for she was glad of the opportunity to cultivate Janet’s acquaintance. "Ah. Janet, like me, you are bu*yingisomething to read to-morrow?” "Yes; I’m all alone on the Sabbath, an’ I like to have something to keep me fra thinkin’ lang.” "Will you come and see me to-morrow, Janet ?” “Na, na; ye’ll be havin’ a heap o’they clatterin’ bodies fra the room.” "The room” meant the cloak-rooms. "No, indeed, Janet. I’m all alone; the girl who rooms with me goes out to see her friends.” "I canna come, any way,” said Janet, with quiet dignity. Jenny guessed the reason; Janet had no other clothing save what she wore on week-days, and she was too proud to confess the truth. "Very well, Janet, though I assure you I am all alone, and would be so glad to see you. Are you going now ?” "Yes; this is my way. Good-nicht to ye. lass.” The old woman disappeared, with her book closely clasped to her bosom. After that Jenny contrived every day to have a few minutes’ chat with the detested "bushelwoman.” About three days after their meeting at the book stall. Jenny noticed a number of girls talking together at the lunch hour. "She is as rich as a Jew.” said one rather boldfaced girl, as she washed her hands. "I don’t believe it. Why should she work here if she was?” replied Fanny Poole, as she opened her lunch-basket, and made a face when she found it only contained bread and butter. " ’Cause she’s a miser.” "She isn’t.” "She is.” A dozen girls were now in the discussion, when in the midst of it appeared old Janet, her worn velvet jacket and her rusty hat on, dressed for the street. There she goes; didn’t I tell you? she says she can’t eat a cold lunch, and I believe she goes to some restaurant.” A shout of laughter greeted this remark. "Restaurant!” said Fanny Poole, taking a drink of water out of the goblet, without a foot, provided by the munificence of Nelson Brothers. “She looks like a restaurant, doesn’t she?” "She’s a miser, and she’s got a big stocking full of money.” "Who told you so?” "Why, a girl that has worked here for six years.” “Worked here six years, and she is still alive? I am surprised.’, The remark came from a fat Nova Scotian girl who sat on the stairs eating bread and cheese. "Now, Mary McDonald, if it is so bad, why don’t you quit?” asked a sharp-faced Boston girl. "Why didn’t the black dog eat butter?” answered the Blue Nose, laconically. "Well, but about old Janet. If she goes to any restaurant, I’ll—I’ll eat my hat!” said Fanny Poole, as she shook the crumbs out of her basket, and washed her hands^ "I’ll tell you how to find out what she does,” said Mary McDonald. "Wait till she starts out to-morrow. and follow her.” This motion was carried by accbimation, and the girls dispersed to their places. Jenny knew nothing of this, for she had made no in the cloak-room after Bella left it. Sadie occasionally, but that was all. SowPfl»£ress 111 t*10 art °f cloak-making was very sarci^tic su,ccrs were, leveled at her by the for they deej^^^^j^ed line TOW Ui Hii^ sensitive girl. _ Jenny had another trouble now. Her money was exhausted, her next weed’s board would be forth-ceming. and she knew not where she could obtain it. On the night after the day the plan had been made to watch old Janet, the young girl went home with an aching heart. Again her cloak, over which she hid toiled three days, was taken trom her, and hahefed over to the bnshei-^nmaa, with many sneering remarks from the "Giraffe.’, “WUt shun 1 do?” sighed the girl, as she slowly crosseathe Common, for she felt terribly fatigued. "Next Tuesday I pay my board, and Heaven only knows where the money is to come from.” She was low-spirited, well-nigh despairing. It w»‘« supper-time, and she entered the house through the basement to save herself the weary journey up four long narrow flights of stairs. About flt'teen boarders sat at the table talking and laughing. They jvere all good people in their way, but their loud laughter and free and easy manners jarred on the tifbd, dispirited girl. “Come right in. Miss Weaver,” called out a young man who was employed in a livery-stable, and who was briefly described by his fellow-boarders as "too fresh.” "Come right in and sit down by me.” Jenny thanked him, and removing her hat and cloak accepted his invitation. “What’ll you be helped to, miss?” he inquired, pleased vith the success he had met with in his effort to bo polite. "Nothing but a cup of tea, thank you.” "Why.miss. that’ll never do at all. You’ll lose your rosr cheeks which we all admire.” The gill took no notice of this speech, but the "fresh” ymng mah was not easily abashed. "I gues our young ladies ain’t none too pleased to have Estrange girl coming into the house and mashin’ ill the fellows. You hadn’t been in the house twi days when we was all gone on you.” Jenny uised her eyes and bestowed one glance on the "fnsh” young man which silenced him. He blushed up. while a titter ran around the table. Muttering something about not meaning any harm, he lose and retired from the diuing-room. "That was good I” said a girl, named Julia Kenny, who worked in a cigar manufactory. "Yes, I’m glad you took him down; he’s a forward puppy,” added her sister, Nellie. Jenny felt desperate—she could not stand much more; so merely saying: "My head aches terribly; I’ll go right away to my room; good-night, all,” she rose and left them. She had been freely discussed by all of them more than once. On all such occasions they had agreed that she was a sort of mystery. Her manmr showed she was a lady, and her dress provedthat she had been wealthy, though she said nothing of "better days,” etc., which people in reduced circumstances generally do. They all voted her "nice,” for she tried to be agreeable, and no one thought of being familiar with har,- though she gave^herself nd airs, she posseted an unconscious dignity. When Jenny reached her own room, she found, to ’her great joy. that her roommate, Miss West, had gone out for the evening. She would at least enjoy the luxury of being alone. She knelt down before the little stove to put a few sticks on the fire; for though it was a pleasant evening, she felt chilly. A knock at the door startled her, and rising, she opened it; to her unbounded surprise, there stood Mr. Flynn, the "fresh” young man. He seemed anxious to come in, but Jenny held the door in her hand, so he said: “Miss Weaver, I thought as how you stay too much in the house, and it’s a fine night, might I have the pleasure of taking you to the the-a-ter to see 'M’liss ?’ ” Jenny would not have felt more surprised had he dealt her a blow in the face; however, she answered, politely: "No, I thank you, Mr. Flynn, as you see by my deep mourning I have recently lost a friend, and I cannot attend places, of amusement for at least a year.” "Isthat so. miss? Well. I am awful sorry. I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll get a pack of cards, and a pitcher of lager beer, and we’ll sit down and have a sociable evening.” Jenny’s heart stood still. Was it possible that she had been invited to play cards and drink beer? "No, thank you. Mr. Flynn,” she managed to say, for she saw that the man intended to be civil. "I do not understand cards, and I never drink beer.” So saying, and adding a brief “good-night,” she i closed the door and was at last left in peace. ; What a position she occupied? She knew she could never earn three dollars before the fatal i Tuesday, and even if by superhuman exertions she did earn that amount, Nelson Brothers would not ' pay her before pay-day. and that was Saturday. ; What was to be done? Jenny thought, wildly, if she could only find 1 Bella, she might advise her. i glad when it is all ended and I can take Ethel abroad for a time. I was so grieved to hear what she said about Neath Castle.” “She willfget over that,” said Lord Stair. “She is young and impressionable. This is the first time she has been brought face to face with crime. She told me herself that the first time she saw the detective she turned sick with horror. You must make allowance for her feelings on the matter; the shadow will pass from the castle in time.” On the morning following there came by post a long letter from the detective, Mr. Barton. Of course he claimed the reward, ten hundred pounds, and there was no doubt that the capture was owing entirely to him. He gave every detail of it, how he had watched and watched, how he had laid his plans, and he wrote with complacency of the thief’s consternation when he was caught. He added that he had sent the man’s portrait. He had also sent it to Clavering, so that it might be identified. They all three gathered round the portrait and looked at it. It represented a fine-looking young man, but the face was full of cunning. “Nature has written ‘Beware!’ on that face,” said the duke, “and in remarkably plain letters too. Still none of them had seen him or recognized him in the least.” “No such man as this was ever about the castle, I am sure,” said the duke. “ I have a good memory for faces. I have never seen his before.” After discussing the portrait for some five minutes longer, the duchess, feeling tired, went to her boudoir. Anything about the robbery agitated her now and made her feel ill. Carelessly enough she carried away the envelope and the portrait in her hand. She laid them on the table and forgot all about them. Her thoughts were all with Mrs. Grey. Could it be possible that the gentle, refined, beautiful lady whom she loved so much was the wife, sister, friend, or associate of a thief? Her own sense and reason told her “No;” appearances said “Yes.” She was powerless to do anything, to help or suggest anything, but her whole instinct rose against the case as it stood. The duchess laid the envelope and the portrait on the table, then forgot them. She took up a bonk to read, and in a short time Jennie Dane came in to receive her orders for the day; what dresses she had to” prepare, what toilets to arrange. The day was hot, the sun shone fiercely in at the window. “Give me my fan, Jennie,” said the duchess, and the maid went to the table, but the fringe of the fan was entangled in the papers, and they all fell to the and the beauty, the pathos of her voice, touched all hearts. Dry, sullen eyes, that had shed no tears for long years, grew wet as the sweet tones rose and feel in the prison chapel. Then she fell into the routine common to nil prisoners. She worked well, and the matron was proud of her work. Only Heaven knows what passed in her mind. During those long, quiet days she spent in her cell, what vivid pictures her fancy drew, what scenes she recalled. Once, as she was busy sewing some fine linen, she suddenly dropped her work, and remembering the old nurse’s predictions, she looked at the palms of her hands. "It has all come true.” she said. “How well I remember it. The line of life abruptly broken, and the strange lines that would not harmonize; and she. my poor old nurse, predicted for me an extraordinary life. It has all come true.” Once, too. she was startled by something the matron had said to her. The prison life was hard to bear; she could eat so little of what was placed before her, and she grew so thin that her hands were &hByi,coniet about her cooking, of which sne kne^jenny managed to force at least °de Riealfu the old woman’s throat. P prepaid, for Janet was well-read ana inreiLring her six years’ slavery in .son 8 in she had used her eyes. She toiu ,he g|ales—sad ones—of girls she had seen com^-ight, beautiful, and blooming. on)sed away. Some grew thin and n i %any painfully for a few months. .a. vvmiy, naw painiuiiy lor a lew iuuiuu*, m E and then । away; and, after awhile, word , XX1 . came in t Mary Moore, or Katie Dunn, or did not forget their whatever 1 name was, was dead in the re old Janet partook hospital. w HOME. The girls in the cloak-room Uiu um lorgeu meir determination to find out where old Janet partook of her luncheon. The next day, when the old woman donned her venerable velvet jacket and rusty hat, one of them silently put on her hat and cloak and followed her. This was the stitcher, Fanny Poole, and she carefully kept out of the “mishel-woman’s” sight. Janet walked to Washington street, and passed along several blocks, halting now and then, always at a book-stall. No restaurant did she enter, and when the girl who followed her was beginning to tire of the chase, Janet turned about and returned as she came— luncheonless. The girls clustered eagerly around Fanny Poole as she returned, with a strange look on her face. "Where did she go? W’hatdid she do ?” "Hush!” cried Fanny, apprehensively, looking at the bushel-woman, as she removed her jacket and hat. "Hush! Girls, do you know why the poor creature goes out ?” "No. Why. Fanny?” "Because she has no lunch to eat, and she is so proud she does not want us to find it out.” "Oh. Fanny!” "It's true. She did not go near any restaurant, she did not even get a cup of coffee at the‘Tea-Kettle,’ though, as you all know, that only costs two cents. Girls, old Janet is starving on her feet. I wish ro Heaven I dare offer her half my lunch; but I’ve heard of Scotch pride, and I’m afraid.” The faces around Fanny were pale now, and tears sprang to more than one pair of eyes. Unkind speeches, purposely uttered in old Janet’s hearing, were remembered with the sharp sting of remorse. "Would she take a piece of my cake, do you think ?” lisped a very voung girl, with a round, rosy face. "Try her! I wouldn’t do it for fifty dollars,” replied Fanny, dryly. "I thought you all said she was a miser,” said May McDonald, from her usual perch on tne stairs. "1 thought it was funny for a woman with a stocking full of money, to bushel cloaks here for five cents apiece.” "Well, so it is. I guess she ain’t a miser,” answered the girl, who had first suggested the startling theory. "I should smile if she is. Why the poor old soul has nothing on her feet but thin stockings and a pair of gum shoes, through all this bitter weather. Some day she’ll turn up missing, and be found starved to death, and frozen stiff in some garret.” The tide now t urned in old Janet’s favor, and she was astonished bv civil treatment. No more hard speeches were made in her hearing, and more than one girl delicately sought to share her scanty midday meal with the formerly bated bushel-woman. Janet refused all such offers, her stern, unbending nature led her to conceal her want and suffering from every eye. Like Bella Blair, she "hated to be pitied.” Jenny had acted on her resolution; she had can-fided her new trouble to old Janet. "Hay ye any luggage, lass ?” was the reply, after Janet heard the story. "Yes, three large trunks, and a satchel.” “Then why does she want her rent in advance ? Tho’ it’s as weel, for ye’d ha lost a’ yer does else. Weel, lass, ye can wait ’till Chewsday an’ let her pit ye oot.” "But that will be dreadful,” exclaimed poor Jenny, her eyes filling at the thought of the coming humiliation, "Not so dreadful as lossing a’ yer does,” replied the Scotchwoman, philosophically. "But what shall I do ?” Jenny’s cup of sorrow seemed full to overflowing. "Come and tell me when it happens, and I’ll advise ye.” Janet bit off her thread, and lapsed into silence; so Jenny returned to her cloak with a very heavy heart. Tuesday came all too soon, and Jenny went into the kitchen to get her luncheon—generally a piece of cold pie, or cake, and sometimes only bread and butter, according to the state of the larder, and the good or bad humor the landlady happened to be in. "Good-morning, Miss Weaver,’ ’said Miss Farrel, fixing her red-rimmed, spiteful eyes on the trembling girl. "Good-morning, madam.” yihoM you’ll have your board money ready to-nv<wt supper time. You ar- are in advance.” you remember, and .mv Jenny know this was untrue, and that Miss Fm-rel had to trust some of her boarders, notouu, but two weeks, but she did not say so. "I am sorry to say. Miss r 6,00 on an air of sururi^. though she was perfectly well IJware wnat the girl’s answer would be; "what! do I hear you stand there and tell me that you are going to try and swindle me out of your week’s board ?” "I do not owe you one cent!” said Jenny, roused to indignation by the woman’s insolence. "1 know you don’t,” replied Miss Farrel, for Jenny had taken the precaution of getting a receipt every time she paid her board. "I know you don’t, . and I don’t mean that you shall. I won’t trust you with one meal.” "Wait till I ask you to do so. I’ll send an expressman here for my luggage; it is all packed and carded.” "Oh, it is, eh?” Miss Farrel was a little taken aback, for her intention had been to get the girl in her debt and then seize her luggage, which was very valuable, as she well knew by personal inspection. Unfortunately, her spite had overcome her prudence. "xes; I rose early to see that I left nothing undone; my trunks are packed and carded; I will send for them.” "I wouldn’t have been so hard if you hadn’t insulted one of my best boarders,” grumbled Miss Farrel, as she tied up Jenny’s lunch. "Insulted any one? I am really at a loss to know how.” "Why, Mr. Flynn told me he asked you to go to a the-a-ter with him, and he said you took him up very short.” "I declined. Am I not at liberty to do so if I please?” "Well, I can tell you, you’d be lucky if you could get such a good young man for steady company, leave alone turning up your nose.” "We need not discuss that question, Miss Farrel. li that is my lunch, please hand it to me. Goodmorning.” So the orphan walked out of her boarding-house for the last time. She had taken a jewel-case from one of the trunks, for she wore no ornaments, and, by old Janet’s advice, she was resolved to act. "Janet,” she said, when she had an opportunity to speak to the bushel-woman, “the time has arrived; lam going to leave that place to-day; in fact, I will not return. Can you tell me how to get some money on a ring?” "Take it to a pawnshop,” replied the old woman, briefly. "Do you know where there is one?” "Yes.” “Is it too much to ask. Janet, or will you go there with me?” "I’ll gang with ye in the lunch ’oar,” “And what will I do after that?” "I’^e been spering, an’ they’ve got a room in the hou^e where I bide, an’ the’re honest folks; an’if ye’lrtak’ it ye’ll be till yersel’, and cook yer bit, an’ no’ be foshed wi’ all kinds of folks.” "Thank you kindly, Janet; I’ll send for my trunks. We’ll find an expressman when we go to the place you sneak of.” In the luncheon hour the Scotchwoman put on her memorable velvet jacket and accompanied Jenny to a pawnshop, where the girl obtained a loan of thirty dollars on a sapphire ring. They next proceeded to an express office, where the old woman gave the address of her home—a house on McLean street—where Jenny’s trunks were to be sent. "Ye’ll get the room for a dollar a week, and there’s a wee cookiu’-stove in it. so the same fire that warms ye will cook your bit, an’ what ye dinna eat ye needna pay for.” That night saw the orphan girl in a new home—a clean room, though terribly bare, and deficient in everything save the bare necessaries of life. In the evening, accompanied by the old woman, she went out and purchased some cooking utensils, plates, dishes, etc., and so she commenced a new struggle for life. Often during this time Jenny thought of Elliot Sutton. She wondered how he would feel when he returned to New York and heard of her misfortunes. Would he miss her? She was too proud to send her address to his mother, though she knew her well, and, in happier days, had often visited her, and listened to long stories, the hero of these interesting tales invariably being, "My son Elliot.” Jenny did not wish to recall these days; she felt that the sooner she forgot them the better. Old Janet now made her new friend welcome to her humble room, and Jenny soon realized the abject poverty in which the old woman lived. Janet rarelv had enough to eat, and sometimes ; her week’s earnings did not exceed fifty cents. So much for the miserly bushel-woman. Other gi^e cloak-room, but in a different way. Thebaine in sometimes to chat to old friendsies to tempt other girls. These were clad iij had diamonds glistening in their ears. "I never bar to see them,” said the old I woman, wither; "forthe ones that went to the Potter’sBre far happier than yon poor craters—Lo^em i it’s no them as has the sm but the t drove them there.” Janet, wlmo of Bella?” asked Jenny, in an awe-stri&per "Ah, lass, Ln ye. I never clapped een on her since thdie left, poor lassie. I liked her weel, wi’ hereen and her bonny red cheeks. She was a brl’ So the daysy and while the money Jenny got for her sted, she was comparatively happy. One Ue ver, she had an unpleasant surprise. > Ie continued.] Hog Acid Phosphate, Ajle Nerve Tonic. Dr. C. C.^TEAD, Milwaukee, Wis. ; “I baiit in my practice ten years and consider Suable nerve tonic.” says: SET DIAMONDS By BHA M. CLAY. Author BEYOND PARDON.” [“Set in Diainois commenced in. No. 18. Back Numbers can be Ju News Agents.] PTER XLV. HqwAY PRISON. "An unusual hf character among us.” said the matron to typlain. They were speaking of a prisoner whbnly known to the world now as No. 44. "Very unusual|ver a lady lived, she is one.” “Ladies very okake the same kind of mistake that she hkde, but not to such a grave extent.” “I have been nu here more than ten years, and I have had le under my charge like her. She has the manrja perfectly well-bred gentle- woman, the face - angel, and, I may say, the goodness of a sai “You seem to ]No. 44?” said the chaplain to the matron. "I do, sir; it woile impossible for any one to help it who has k to do with her. She came here last Septemlhnd this is June; we have never had even tlkst fault to find with her. I have a curious idedut her; I do not believe that if the prison doorso opened she would care to go out.” almost transparent. "You must try to eat more,” said the matron, kindly, "or you will not be able to work when you go out.” "Go out.” she repeated. "Why should I go out ?” "Surely,” said the matron, wonderingly. "you do not wish to remain in prison always?” Then seeing no denial on the fair, sad face, she continued, "Would you ?” "I should not much mind it,” she replied; "it is a hard life, but at least there is peace.” "Peace?” thought the practical matron; "she must have been hardly driven, bitterly treated, if she calls a prison peace.” And then it occurred to her what she should do when she left the safe shelter of the prison walls, and from her heart to Heaven went a passionate prayer that she might die there. How could she ever go back to that busy, active life after this retirement and silence ? What should she do, after all. in the world ? She could never look on her daughter’s face again. Ah. no! life had not been so sweet to her that she should care to see more of it. To die there, to be buried in obscurity and forgotten, was all she ever hoped and prayed for. In the meantime matters were progressing in London. Mr. Barton had learned of one man who answered in every detail to what he wanted. He was chief of one of the principal gangs in London. He had planned and carried out successfully some of the greatest jewel robberies of the day. He was concerned in the loss of the jewels belonging to the beautiful Lady Butler, whose jewel-case was stolen during a railway journey, when the lady’s maid devoutly believed that she had it under her feet. He was concerned also in the robbery at Burlingham House, where gems worth a king’s ransom were carried off quite easily while the family were at dinner. They had all evidence against him; his subordinates had been caught and punished, but no one had caught him. His real name was James Bentley, and when Mr. Barton came to think over matters, he said to himself: "This is James—his work.” Patience, perseverance, and skill work wonders. The day came when the detective tracked the thief to his lair, and they stood face to face. “It is all over,” said Mr. Barton. “What is it?” asked the once brilliant Charlie ‘That is a curiouja,” laughed the chaplain. "It is true, sir. len can read women; I have had such long prak and I have read so many bad ones. Unless I more mistaken than I have ever been before, to is a great mystery in her life. She is so swand so patient, she never complains, never reps; if anv one speaks rudely to her she never refa it; if she has anything to do with the other ipners, she is so kind, so patient, so gentle, thany perfectly idolize her.” "They are not gin to that kind of thing as a rule,” said the chapn. ‘T thought that they invariably disliked any<e superior to themselves.” They do not dish her,” said the matron; “far from it. It seemgifficult to believe that delicate lady is a thief.” , "It is ten thonft pities,” said the chaplain; ’ the canker alwayeizes the fairest flower.” "She is a good woM.” said the matron. ‘I cannot tell you how oft* when I go to call her, I find her on her knees; a^when she rises she has not the face of a sinner Jug for mercy, but rather of one who has gained r mastery; it is the face of a saint, not a sinner.” /The, cluwiain smr IDoiwhte Aiilikvu, u (Wver Nesbitt. "The duchess’ diamonds.” repeated Mr. Barton. “It was well planned and neat, but the worst that you ever made in your life, Jem Bentley.” "So I should think,” was the succinct reply. But he was not captured without difficulty—one or two policemen were wounded, and there was a terrific uproar in the streets; and when James Bentley was finally carried off to Newgate, he was like some \yild wounded animal. The strangest part of the business was that the wholb of the duchess’ diamonds were found untouched. James Bentley had been afraid to dispose of any of them. CHAPTER XLVI. A TELEGRAM. “The sun upon an Easter Day was never half so fine a sight,” said Lord Stair, as he watched the circling of the blue and white pigebns for which Oakcliffe was famous. “Ethel, how beautiful these birds thein. ’ ~ ^hould “that you see her the matron; "there is no -’“ani enforces strict silence, as you know in ; the other day I bad to see her about some worflio was doing, and 1 went to her cell. I heard \r singing, quite under her breath, the most beaiful words.” "What were they ?’sked the chaplain. "I am not quite su;if I remember them,” answered the matron. T was something like this: are.” The young duchess followed their graceful movements with her eyes. The June weather was unclouded. and Oakcliffe was seen to perfection; the roses and lilies were all out, the heliotrope and mignonette filled the air with perfume ; the sunlight looked mellow and golden; the sky was blue and clear; the breath of the summer air was like rare rich wine. The Duke and Duchess of Neath still remained at Oakcliffe—Lord Stair seemed unable and unwilling to part with them. On this lovely June morning they were out on the beautiful lawn where the old cedar stood, where the green grass was studded with flowers, and the birds were singing in the big branches of the trees. Lord Stair enjoyed feeding the blue pigeons; it was one of his daily oc- ground together. Jennie murmured some words of apology, but the duchess neither saw nor heard. She was engrossed just that minute in her book. A cry from Jennie startled her. Looking up, the duchess saw the girl with a face white as death, gazing with half-frightened, half-fascinated eyes at the photograph she held in her hands. “What is the matter, Jennie?” asked her grace. “Oh! your grace,” cried Jennie, “this is the photograph of some one I know.” “Some one you knew at Clavering?” asked the duchess. “Yes, your grace,” sobbed the girl, “at Clavering. I have never told you. I could never dare.” “Do you mean absolutely to tell me that you knew this man at Clavering?” said the duchess, rising in her excitement. “Yes,” sobbed Jennie. “Alas! your grace, he was my lover, and he left me. I have never heard anything of him since he went away.” “Jennie,” said the duchess, solemnly, “do you know who that man is?” “He is Charlie Nesbitt,” said Jennie. “He is not,” said the duchess; “he is James Bentley, the thief who stole my diamonds.” Jennie fell on her knees with a bitter cry. “It cannot be true, your grace!” she cried. “It is true, indeed ; the diamonds, as you know, have all been found, and this morning we have received the photograph of the thief; that is it. I will send for the duke.” “Fulke,” said the duchess, “this is the most extraordinary thing; Jennie knew this man, James Bentley.” “How was that?” asked his grace, kindly. Now that the jewels were found, he was more disposed to be amiable to all wrong-doers. Jennie blushed and looked very much embarrassed. “I think,” said the duchess, kindly, “that the person in question paid some attention to Jennie.” “He wanted to marry me, your grace,” sobbed the pretty maid, “and then he went away.” Little by little the duke drew the whole story . from her, and when it was ended he looked across cupations. A pretty homely group , t^nUT rft-aa, i»er. morning dress of paie rose arid white, the jewels on her dainty hands shining in the sun ; the fairest picture of a “Oh, Paradis Oh, Paradise! I feel ’twilot be long; Patience ! I nost think I hear Sweet fragmts of thy song.” “They are beautifiwords.” said the chaplain, gently. "She told me,” comued the matron, "that her mother died singing and there were tears in her eyes ; they seemed dirent to any tears I had ever seen before. "I know,” she contued, "you will think I am enthusiastic about hdmt she is such a perfect contrast to anything I he met with here. She speaks to me so kindly, sgratefully for everything. Sometimes, for a day two at a time, sho cannot touch the prison fare^ut she never complains of it. ‘It is very nice,’ s will say, ‘but I am not hungry to-day.’ ” "Poor soul!” said tlchaplain, compassionately. "It seems hard ; but In we cannot have two laws —one for the rich anoie for the poor. There could not be a separate legation for lady thieves,” and then, with a few kinr words, the chaplain said, "Good-morning,” It was not often thkhe practical, sensible matron was so deeply infested in a prisoner; it was the wonderfully pathc beauty of the prisoner’s face that had at first a-acted her. Then she was prese when the beautiful golden hair was discovered, ad she had seen the deep crimson blushes that rned the fair face when all the disguise was reived; and she stood before the astonished attendts in all the beauty of her fair complexion and ipling golden hair. Before that hair was cut, shaught it in her hands and kissed it. It was likening her old self again, and she whispered to hertf the names of Marguerite Nairne and MargueriStair. The matron was attDted by her demeanor. As a rule, the generality women violently resisted any attempt at cuttiniieir hair. This one watched the long rippling tress fall with a smile. It had served her little, this jry of rippling hair. All at once, as she st>d in the cold, bleak room, a dream comes to he of the sunshine and the Heron’s Pool—of DarcEste’s handsome face y,nd loving eyes. She cod hear him saying, "Your eyes are not the color forget-me-nots; they have the hue of the violet.” t was all so vivid to her for a few moments that s> recovered herself with a low cry. Dear Heaveriiovi long since was all this —how long since Dan’s bving face had looked into hers—how long nee that terrible scene of passion and despair; Iw Eng since she had heard those voices in the tunel crying, “Lady Stair is dead!” how long sineehe iad seen her daughter, the beautiful young dvhes;, standing holding her father’s portrait in henams—how long ? The air round her semec full of voices crying, “Marguerite Stair!” Se gve a deep sigh. The women thought she vis eying over the golden rings of hair that lay atiiereet. "It is beautiful hair!’she heard one whisper to the other. She looked at them wit her sweet, sorrowful eyes. “I wonder,” she said, ‘tht it has not turned white long ago.” It was then that the shrew, practical matron, said to herself that, apart from te question of guilt, the prisoner was evidently besldered by some great trouble. She was woman eough to appreciate the beauty of that face and fure, the pearly whiteness of the clear skin, theielicate beauty of the white hands. Even thecoae prison dress did not hide her loveliness. And when she had been tore some time, forgotten, dead to the world, gret peace came over that fair face, shone in the beauful eyes, peace such as this world rarely gives. From the moment the gnt gates closed behind her. she seemed to be cite forgotten. Other-prisoners had at intervals Iters from their friends and visitors; no one ever vote to her, no one came to see her; she seemed t(be quite alone in the world. The chaplain went to seear, and he found himself standing before this fe, sorrowful woman in her coarse prison dress, wi as much deference as he would have shone to a dhess. He went through the usual formula, told hehow hideous was sin, how needful to repent wheone has done wrong; and she looked at him witlhe placid, patient eyes of a saint. She sang with the other jsoners in the church, at his wife. “That makes the whole thing clear,” he said. “This Nesbitt, or Bentley, evidently organized the robbery, and this foolish girl was the tool.” “That clears Mrs. Grey,” said the duchess. “No. Mrs. Grey had part of the spoil,” said the duke. He turned to the maid. “Tell me,” he said, “did you ever see Mrs. Grey and this man Bentley together?” “No,” replied Jennie; “Mrs. Grey never saw him.” ‘‘You cannot be sure of that,” said the duke. “Did । it never occur to you that there was something sus-; picious about the man? Why did you say nothing of I all this before?” , . ’ because,” replied Jennie, her eyes filling with ^9.^ sure that in some wav or other thiq dlsco'- n. wnnp, I ail LUIS UCiv r luorulngT "Because, tears, “f nev loveiy womari'ever seen upon a summer’s day. The duke lay stretched upon the grass, with his cigar and morning paper. If life were but all June roses and sunlight! “ Fulke,” said the duchess, looking up suddenly from her book to her husband, “shall we go abroad this year?” “If you like,” he said; “but not for very long. I want to be at the castle for the autumn.” Her fair face clouded over, and she sighed deeply. “ I am afraid,” she said, “ that I shall never feel quite happy at Neath again. I do not like a house that has the shadow of crime upon it.” “There are very few houses which have not some kind of shadow upon them.” “That was horrible, and I always feel that I am responsible for it. If I had not asked the poor creature to go there it would never have happened.” “I am not so sure of that, if she was sent, as every one seems to think, to Clavering for the purpose.” “That I shall never believe,” said the duchess, earnestly, “when I remember her grateful surprise and delight at my invitation—but I will not speak of it. It has quite spoiled my beautiful home for me. I could never drive from the castle into Clavering without passing No. 9 Lime Terrace, and I could not bear that. I never wish to see again the tapestry room where that terrible scene occurred.” “You are morbid on the subject, Ethel,” said the duke, quietly. As he spoke Lord Stair turned to them. “Here is Barnes,” he said, “and, unless I am mistaken he brings a telegram.” “I dread telegrams,” said the duchess, .with a shudder: “they generally bring bad news.” She little dreamed that this was the most important that any of them could receive. The old butler, grown gray now in the service of the Stairs, hastened to the duke; a formidable looking yellow telegram lay on a silver salver. “For my grace,” said the old servant. “Will there be any answer?” “I will tell you when I have read it,” said the duke. He opened it half carelessly, but when he read the words he sprang to his feet with a cry. “They are found, Ethel,” he cried, “ absolutely— all found. Do you hear, Lord Stair?—the jewels are all found. I will react the telegram to you.” “From Henry Barton, London, to his Grace the Duke of Neath, Oakcliffe Towers. I have found the thief—he is a notorious man—James Bentley. Wonderful to add, we have found the whole of the jewels. I do not think there is one missing. ______ mitted for trial—sure to have heavy sentence. Shall I bring jewels down?” “What a strange thing,” cried Lord Stair. ‘T sup-poseethe pursuit has been too hot and too heavy. They dared not make any effort to dispose of them. A fine annoyance, too, for a professional thief to have so many thousands of pounds worth of diamonds by him and not able to touch one. Barnes, the jewels are found.” Com- “I am delighted to hear it, your grace,” said the butler. “What answer shall I send, Ethel? I had better tell him to bring then down at once.” “Yes, it will be best,” she replied. So the telegram was written out and sent, and for the remainder of that day at the castle there was great excitement. “I never thought they could all be recovered,” said the duchess. She was sitting after dinner at the open window of the drawing-room, where, years ago, her beautiful young mother had sat with Darcy Este by her side—watched with keen, criticising eyes by Lady Perth. Her fair face was troubled. The discovery of the jewels must mean even more tidings for Mrs. Grey. The duchess looked very lovely and very beautiful that June evening ; her dress of white lace and gold seemed to have caught the last rays of the setting sun. She looked like a beautiful picture painted by the white jessamine that grew in such rich abundance round the windows. The two gentlemen were walking up and down the terrace outside, and the conversation still ran upon the diamonds. “Now,” said Lord Stair, “we shall be able to do what I have always longed to do—solve the mystery that hangs over Mrs. Grey.” “The solution will be commonplace enough,” said the duke. “ We shall find, I expect, that she is either the wife or the sister of this James Bentley, and was sent by him to prepare the way.” “Very likely,” replied Lord Stair. “This man Bentley will be sure to get a heavy sentence; penal servitude for fifteen years, I should think.” “And serve him right; Ethel’s life has been quite clouded by this robbery. It was wonderful to see what influence Mrs. Grey had over her. I shall be CHAPTER XLVII. “ HOW CAN IT POSSIBLY BE 1” The whole household rose one June morning quite unconscious of the unusual surprise awaiting them. Mr. Barton, the detective, with one of his force, was expected that day with the jewels. The duke wished to see them—wished to compare notes with the list he had of them. Then he said they should be taken better care of, and placed in greater security; he would never suffer this fright again. He added, that when he came to consider the quantity of valuable jewelry owned by different ladies, carelessly kept, he wondered there were not more robberies. It was noon when Mr. Barton reached Oakcliffe; the noon of a warm,bright,sunshiny day. The water lilies slept on the clear deep breast of the Heron’s Pool, the laburnum shone like points of yellow flame among the green of the trees, the beautiful plumed lilacs perfumed the warm air, the jubilant song of happy birds, the bloom of red roses, the odor from the clover meadows made Oakcliffe a paradise that day. Lord Stair was in the parlor, and when the detective drove up to the hall door he met him. Mr. Barton was full of importance when he announced his errand, and showed the sturdy strong box in which the jewels lay. They had been brought down under the charge of active, vigilant officers. “The stolen jewels, my lord,” he said, “and right glad I am to bring them back.” The duke came, and his words of thanks were neither few nor hurried. He was honestly delighted. “I should like the duchess to be present when the cases are opened,” he said. “Let the box be carried to the white drawing-room; we will ask her to go there.” Then, before they left the library, the Duke of Neath told Mr. Barton the story he had heard from Jennie Dane. The detective listened dumfounded; his face fell, his eyes lost their expression of triumphant sagacity. He remained perfectly silent for some minutes; then he said, “I must confess, your grace, that I was on the wrong track. I always thought Mrs. Grey was the center and soul of the plot. “I think so still,” said the duke. “She was the accomplice of this Bentley there can be no doubt; but why should he have troubled himself to make love to thaKunfortunate girl when he had an ally like Mrs. Grey in we house?” “I do not quite see that myself,” replied Mr. Barton. “James Bentley is a clever man, but he is caught at last.” “You will take a glass of sherry, and then join us, Mr. Barton,” said the duke. The white drawing-room, as it was the fashion to call one of the most charming apartments at Oakcliffe, was a beautiful room; three long windows opened on a smooth green lawn, where some fine syringa trees. stood. The room was furnished in white and gold, and the sun shining on the pictures and statues, on the white hyacinths, on the costly decorations and exquisite works of art, produced a most charming effect; it was as though the whole room lay in a flood of amber light. Marguerite, Lady Stair, had loved this room, and because the sun shone always so bright and warm upon the windows she liked the white hyacinths to stand there ; the sweet, subtle odor of flowers filled the room, even as it had done seventeen years ago. The Duchess of Neath had been sitting there for some time when her husband entered the room, with Lord Stair and Mr. Barton. The sun never shone on a fairer picture; all the June roses together were not so sweet. She wore a cool morning dress of amber and white, a creamy, golden rose at her white throat, and one in her belt. She looked up at her husband with a smile when he entered the room. Lord Stair went up to her and kissed her; he loved this fair, young daughter of his better every day. “The jewels are here,” she said. “ We ought to be grateful; how many hundreds of people lose as much and never regain it.” She looked at the strong box standing on the table, and no one dreamed what mystery that strong box held. The cover upon the table was of white velvet and gold. Some exquisite flowers were arranged in a pretty epergne, two or three fine engravings lay —THE NEW YORRVEEKLY. amid beautifully bound books, and in the midst stood the strong box holding the famous Neath diamonds. “I must admit*” said Mr. Barton, “that this is a most marvelous recovery of stolen goods. I do not remember a similar case in the whole course of my experience. I do not think there will be found one jewel missing.” “The booty was too valuable to be offered for sale just at present,” said the duke. “The hue and cry was too strong for them. The most impudent thief in the world would hardly have dared offer one of these diamonds for sale just yet.” Then the little group gathered round the table, the duchess, with her shiniug robes of amber and white, standing by the side of Lord Stair. The duke was near Mr. Barton. A silent group for some few minutes, while Mr. Barton opened the strong box. Remember that the sun was shining just as it had shone when the portrait set in diamonds was found in Mrs. Grey’s box, with a warm, livid, brilliant, searching light. Mr. Barton took out the cases, the duke opening them and comparing them with the rest. Soon the table was half filled with shining, resplendent gems —opals,rubies, pearls, sapphires, brooches, ear-rings, rings, bracelets, and then the famous Neath diamonds. and curling her beautiful lips with scorn for the may be for what she has missed in th^’. woman’s meanness of soul. I touching Star’s dress, “as to the ad*1®? More than all, she could not help the little feeling : belong to the position which she wP™1 of triumph which thrilled her heart, as she realized I occupy, they shall most certainly be that now wnc i— ----------- * I that can be obtained. I do not mean nau have a wish ungratifled while I live, can 1 procure what she desires ” woman’s meanness of soul. grou2d?V She WaS On equal ground ? _____________________________________________________— — 1LAAO X UVe, giuuau : I procure what she desires.” Oh.no. I "Uncle Jacob, you cannot mean yhav$ Ina worldly point she might be on an equality ' said! Surely, you will not discard with them, but morally and intellectually she could ----ul look down upon them, realizing a superior position, and without a fear of their ability ever to do her further injury. But for all that, she clung a little more closely to Mr. Rosevelt’s arm, as if she was glad that he was there, though in no other way did she betray how disagreeable this encounter was to her. or appear as if she had ever met them before. "Tell me what this means,” Mrs. Richards repeated. looking from one to the other, noting Star’s delicate beauty with a pang of bitter jealousy, her self-possession and grace; Mr. Rosevelt’s improved appearance, his rich apparel, and more than all, the air of pride and fondness which pervaded | every look and attention whi^h u * ----- . _____ . jvu nm uut uiscaru own blood, your kin. for the offsprinran" ger!” Mrs. Richards said, appealingly . She could not see that golden prize her fingers thus without making aP se-cure it. j Mr. Rosevelt looked down at Star, nder, ' tremulous smiie. “The offspring of a stranger!” here°*Vy ’ then added: “Ellen, there is a stronge1^}*1^ this dear child to me than ever boumTlvneL of my brother’s children.” . , “What do you mean?” cried his nie(al’n®a tone. “Surely, at your age, you d(ntem" piate-7—” The sun seemed to catch them, to shine on them, until it seemed as though flames of fire shone round the table. Suddenly Mr. Barton cried: “Why, what is this?” He drew from this strong box a small parcel wrapped in white paper. On it wras written : “ For my daughter Ethel when she is old enough to know her father’s face.” He passed it to the duke, who read the words with a little cry of surprise. “Why, Ethel, this is the paper you had lost.” She in her turn took it and read it. “I am glad to have this,” she cried, “the only bit of my mother’s handwriting left to me.” Then, with another cry of wonder, almost of fear, she opened the packet. There it lay, the sunlight centered, as it were, in the diamonds, catching tire with the precious gems, the beautiful locket containing the portrait of Lord Stair, the loop of the locket beautifully engraved, a golden chain holding the locket. The duchess held it in her hands and looked at it— as one gazes at something precious, yet awful—in a dream. “Papa,” she gasped, “look!” They drew near her, as the little group had drawn near when the locket had been found in Mrs. Grey’s box ; they gazed in bewildered silence at the locket ? set in diamonds. The duke was the first to speak. - uThen it was not stolen after all,” he cried. “It was not,” said the duchess. I have the fac simile of it in my possession.” Then Lord Stair spoke ; but his face had changed, and his voice had changed, his lips had grown stiff and white, the sound came from them with difficulty. “There are two portraits, Ethel,” he said. “The one I gave to your mother and the one I gave to you.” cm, mu air oi priae ana fondness which pervaded Mr. Rosevelt stopped her with a ^11S every look and attention which ho bestowed upon hand before she could complete her £• T his companion. “No; you are wide of the mark;111 “Well, niece Ellen,” Mr. Rosevelt returned, in a not surprised that a designing womiP11^6}1 quiet tone, while he met her eye with a cold, steady should jump at such an absurd coi-glance that made her very uncomfortable, "it ap- i —11 pears that you are considerably excited over this unexpected meeting. Suppose we retire to yonder anteroom, where we can converse unobserved,” He turned and led the way, with Star still upon his arm, to a small room on the opposite side of the hall; they entered and he shut the door, for he did not care that any one should overhear what passed between them, nor did he intend that Ellen Richards should do or say anything which should make them objects of remark. "Now. Ellen, what is it that I am to account to you for ?” he asked, in the same quiet tone which , he had before used. i “Your strange appearance in this fashionable f and expensive place.” she returned, with a note of ! impatience in her tone, for she was in a fever of j curiosity and anxiety. Mr. Rosevelt smiled slightly, as he replied: “The season is very warm—New York is very close, so Star and I thought we would run down here to get the sea-breezes for a month or so. Sit down, dear; you have been dancing and must be tired.” he added, rolling a chair forward and gently forcing Star into it. Mrs. Richards ground her teeth, as she noted how his every word and act betrayed his fondness for the young girl. “Where have you been all this time ?” she asked. “In New York; we were residing at No. 164-----th street,” he returned, in the most off-hand way imaginable, as if it were a circumstance of no great , importance to live in that aristocratic locality. ___________ Mrs. Richards grew pale. "True, child, true,” he said, ta her white- She was familiar with that portion of the city, ! gl«>v<*d hand and laying it upon hn. while ne and knew some radical change in their fortunes ' ° 1—u------- 1 must have occurred if they could afford to live in one of those elegant brown-stone houses on----th : street.---------------------------------------1 ------d jump at such an absurd coi- ! lest you should wound her by your msinu-j ations, 1 will tell you that Star is the /-ughter of the only woman whom I ever love therefore, you perceive that I had additio^ to be displeased with you on account of y<mdness to her.” “Really, Mr. Rosevelt, you have monV.m?nt in your composition than I gave ?dit tor. There was a love-passage, then, in^ bachelor’s life!” sneered Mrs. Richards,-11 angry flush mounted to her brow. . Then with more bitterness than A yet betrayed, she continued, with a look £ , . “I can congratulate Miss Gladstc*11 being more successful in wheedling you (/our tor-tune than she was in her maneu1 become Lady Carrol.” 1 his was a cruel thrust, and whe^xpected । on the part of either Mr. Rosevelt ot I A shiver of agony ran through eve’ve of her I body at this rough probing of theuaheale(i and a gainful crimson shother beautiful face. But it quickly subsided, leaving he bright spots on her cheeks. bhe arose from the chair where jsevelt had placed her, drew herself up pre her eyes gleaming as bright as the diamoa her ears, ana, entirely ignoring the coarse wc* malicious thrust, she looked up at her comp, and said, in her clearest, sweetest tones; u ncle Jacob, I believe we were : out to see the illumination.” Then came a silence that was almost terrible in its intensity; while it lasted the duchess quitted the room. She returned in a few minutes, went up to the table where they were all standing, holding in her hand the second portrait “set in diamonds.” She laid them side by side, her beautiful face growing white and her hands trembling. She turned to Lora Stair. “Father,” she said, “what does this mean? They are both here.” Then Lord Stair, with a troubled face, raised both from the table; once more he held both in his hands, He went with them to the window and stood looking at them. “Only Heaven knows what it means, Ethel,” he said, solemnly. “I do not. T gave one locket to your mother and one to you; they are both here.” “Mine has never been stolen,” said the young duchess. “I know it because of the paper it was wrapped in.” “Then,” said the duke, solemnly, “it is clear that the locket found in Mrs. Grey’s box was not yours.” “It was certainly not mine,” said the duchess. But Lord Stair interrupted her. “If it was not yours, Ethel, whose was itV' he asked, and the expression on his face was strange to see. on the“» sald- “I* Has never been spoke, and the been out has never “ to°ktile otKer locket in his hand him. I^I^HttVa^ over fluchess im'JaHenUr. , Hl®f %rTHe bright gems on the white neck. ‘ “She wore it.” he cried. “I can remember seeing it round her neck.” . “Was it found among her jewels,” she asked. ; “after her death? “I do not remember,” said Lord Stair. “All your mother’s jewels came to you, Ethel, ; just as she had left them.” ! “I know; but that portrait was certainly not among them, papa. You gave them all to me on my , sixteenth birthday; wTe looked over them together. , You told me that nothing had been touched since her death; that Lady Hoite had collected them together; but there was no portrait.” , “The thing is to find out what became of the por- ; trait given to your mother at her death; then we shall begin to understand how it was found in Mrs. J Grey’s box. Where was it when your mother died? Was it locked away with her other thing? Was it left lying about, or what ?” “The best thing would be to ask Lady Holte,” ; cried'the duchess. “She would remember—write to ‘ her at ouce, and ask. Until then I will lock both ! portraits away. I am beginning to feel afraid of ! them, they seem to be enchanted. I have a strange, ; curious feeling about them as though they were ; connected with us in some strange way; write at once, papa; the mystery grows denser to me.” Lord Stair did write at once, much to Lady , Holte’s surprise. Her answer threw no light on the . mystery. She remembered the lockets perfectly ! well, but had seen neither since the death of Marguerite. Lady Stair. But two days after writing that letter Lady Holte sent another, and this time it was to say that she ' distinctly remembered the last time she saw Lady ' Stair, on the day of the railway accident, December twenty-second, she wore the locket set in diamonds ' around her neck. [TO BE CONTINUED.] “I cannot understand it!” she exclaimed. “Ah!” Mr. Rosevelt ejaculated, in a bland tone, but as if it were a matter of indifference to him whether she did or not. She colored angrily; but she was determined to get at the bottom of the matter. “I have heard strange rumors to-night,” she resumed. “I am told that Stella has become an authoress—that she is very popular, as well as her book, and I want to know what it means. A year ago you were both dependents upon my bounty; now I find you sailing about, like a couple of meteors, among the other shining lights of society. I want an explanation of the cause of this change.” “Certainly. Ellen, since vou desire it. I will explain with pleasure. We left your house last October, as you doubtless will remember, and took up our abode in New York city. Star entered the Normal College at once, and by assiduous application to her studies, succeeded in completing the course, and graduated in June, since when we have been trying to get all the enjoyment out of life that we could. You have heard rightly, Ellen ; she did write that popular little book. ‘Chatsworth’s Pride,’ and it is a source of pride to me that I have the honor of introducing in society its popular author as my ward and heiress----” “Your heiress!” Mrs. Richards cried, growing pale again. “Yes, Miss Gladstone is named as such in my | will, which is now in the hands of my lawyer,” the | old gentleman replied, quietly. " His niece looked from one to the other in blank i dismay. She had feared she should hear something of the kind, but it was none the less a shock to her when it came. “Your heiress—heiress to what 7” she demanded, sharply. “To the whole of my fortune, madam.” “Your fortune!” she sneered, but her voice was hoarse from passion and baffled hopes. “A year ago it was—beggary.” Mr. Rosevelt smiled serenely. "Apparently, yes,” he answered. “But I was then, what I am now—n millionaire. The mistake of your lite-time was made then. Ellen, tor if you had cordially received the feeble old man who ....... VOlll’ hnilCO -1-- ” * ------------ ±L upon mu. Wlilio XIV : cast a dark look upon his niece foriowardly at-, ta<-k. “Come, we will go at once,”, with a formal inclination to Mrs. Richards aH' daughter, but with an angry gleam in his ehe led Star from the room, shutting the door/ 110 gentle sound, after them. “Bid you ever hear anything lik’ Mrs. Richards said, hopelessly, after they hiDne. “No, indeed; and it is just as yaspected—he was playing poverty all the time>sephine answered. ing as escort to the two beautiful girls upon every occasion. But Star, whenever she appeared in company, laughed, chatted, and danced with all, that was possible, of her admirers, dispensing her smiles and favors with an impartiality that was exaspera-rating not only to her victims—if such they could be called, who were each anxious to win the prize— but also to the many forlorn damsels who were all sighing for the attentions she was receiving, and the honors she was usurping. One day, about a week after the arrival of the Merediths, an excursion was arranged to visit a point on Narragansett Bay, and it was to be a picnic after the good old-fashiond style of carrying each his own basket, and sharing with his neighbor. A boat had been chartered to take the party down the bay in the morning and return at night by moonlight. Ralph Meredith and two or three of his friends were the originators of the affair, and the invitations were very select, and limited to one hundred. As it happened, Mrs. Richards and Josephine, with quite a number of others from their hotel, were included in this party. The morning was delightful, and the spirits of the whole company at their highest point, while the jaunty white-winged boat, with its inspiriting band of music and its gayly-dressed picnicers, seemed like a little floating world devoted entirely to pleasure. as indeed it was. Josephine Richards had arrayed herself in a very elaborate costume for the occasion, determined that Star, who she knew was to be one of the company, should not outshine her. It fitted her like a glove, and was vastly becoming; she never had looked more brilliant in her life, but she was too fussy for a picnic, and looked as if she was decked out for a fashionable reception rather than for a day in the "woods. In direct contrast to all “this fuss and feathers” was Star, in a simple suit of white lawn, a belt of blue, of her eyes’ own hue girdling her slender waist, a dainty, broad-brimmed hat, set in a jaunty way upon her golden head, and a little cluster of blue-fringed gentians nestling beneath her beautifully rounded chin. The very simplicity of her attire made her conspicuous, and fashionable maidens, who had groaned in spirit over what they should wear and how they should wear it, glared at her with envious eyes. She looked so fair and fresh, so cool, so perfectly comfortable, and so entirely unconscious of having attempted to make herself charming, while at the same time it was evident that she was the most attractive object on board that gay steamer, that it was too aggravating, after all their trouble and worry. Never had she been more bright and bewitching than on this morning, and Uncle Jacob watched her every motion with keenest pleasure and loving I “Oh! if I could only have known groaned her i mother, to whom the calamity a>red to grow more appalling every moment. , . “He makes a perfect fool of belf over that girl,” snapped Josephine, ill-medly. ‘Just think of the amount of money it it have cost to deck her out to-night.” . “I am goinu back to our hoteMrs. Richards said, rising, with a desperate air. am not going to stay here to see her play the Arady and crow over us.” _____ luu leeuie oia man who came to | "I’ll your house in such a forlorn condition; if you had Stella !” e.. . given him kindness and sympathy, such as you conclusions. ..—- were wont to do when he was rich and prosperous; tri^muh in it. if you had shown him something of uon 11... ‘ derness. instead of “ ’T th: J’ ‘I’m ready to go. I’ve had enou of this thing, and I never did like the---Housvery well, anyway,” replied her daughter, in no liable tones. As they swept out into the hall, d up the grand staircase on their way to the dreng-room, they caught sight of a familiar face, wih was looking over the railing in the hall above. “Mamma, 1 do believe that is M Blunt!” Josephine exclaimed, as she saw it. “Sure enough! 1 wonder howZie came here. We seem destined to encounter failiar faces here to-night,” was the somewhat surtsed reply. “How do you do, Mrs. Blunt?” si added, as they reached the landing, and she saw at it was indeed her former housekeeper. Mrs. Blunt, who had watched^ e encounter in ; the hall below, and who had b»n waiting with I some impatience for the interview^ the anteroom to be ended, replied, with consideible stiffness; “I’m in my usual health, marm.ust at present. “With whom are you living now” “The finest old gentleman and th sweetest young lady in all New York, marm. or I’m i^uch mistaken” Mrs. Blunt returned, with a postiveness which plainly told that there was no mistake about the fact in her own mind, and with an emphasis upon some of her words which convinced ter listeners that they did not compare favorably yVtli her new employers. * h Pamma, she’s with Uncle Jacob and rel’a! exclaimed Josephine, jumping at once to « « naarrsus- ____________________________... fmeautt! Io he ^Qr^y'y rich; and do ll{| 11*”thev live in great style? eagcilyu^ked the girl, J : Whose spirit o£ inquisitiveness for the moment got ^Mr^Bhint tossed her head knOMfmly, . . This was a rare opportunity Toi her, and she meant to improve it to the utteimo^t. „ , . Stella Kose velt, OR, THE TRANSIT OF A STAR, By Mrs. GEORGIE SHELDON, ‘ AUTHOR OF “BROWNIE’S TRIUMPH,” “THE FORSAKEN BRIDE,” EARLE WAYNE’S NOBILITY,” “LOST, A PEARLE,” Ere., Etc. [“Stella Rosevelt” was commenced in No. 21. Back numbers can be had of all News Agents.] CHAPTER XXVII. DEFEATED. When they were within a few feet of door, Mrs. Richards stepped toward stood directly in their path. The hall was nearly empty, almost the upper them and everybody being in the parlors or the dancing-hall, so there was no one by just at that moment to witness what transpired. “What does this mean ?” Mrs. Richards demanded, in a low but authoritative tone. “Stella Gladstone, how is it that I find you here ? Uncle Jacob, where have you been all this time, and what strange freak of fortune brings you here in this unaccountable fashion ?” Mr. Rosevelt started slightly on beholding his niece standing in that excited attitude directly in his path; while Star grew pale at first, for she had always stood somewhat in fear of the arrogant woman while she was an inmate in her house. But remembering that everything was entirely different now, she quickly recovered herself, and the blood went surging through her veins, flushing her face into brighter loveliness, lighting her eyes With indignation over the memory of past wrongs. prompt her to be kind to me, if not for my own , sake, for her father’s,’ and so I came to you, also, in the guise of poverty.” “It was mean—it was dishonorable to take ad- 1 vantage of me in that way,” Mrs. Richards said, with white, quivering lips. “Not at all. I wanted to know you as you were, not what you pretended to be. I do not need to tell you the result of my plan; we all know it but too well. No one gave me a word of sympathy or kindness save this dear girl”—he laid his hand tenderly i on Star’s shoulder—“who did her utmost to make I the old man forget as far as was possible, his bitter • disappointment, and who had already earned his ' love and gratitude by saving his life, almost at the sacrifice of her own, during that terrible voyage | across the Atlantic. She has been like a sunbeam ! to me from the first, and when I saw how unkind you all were to her also—how you were betraying your trust and breaking your promise to her dying father—I resolved that she should become my j especial care for the future. “I do not need to recall to your memory the last night that we spent in your house in Yronkers. It : must be as iresh to you as it is to me. You taunted . us both with our poverty and dependence. You : drove her to desperation by your unjust accusations ! and your heartless language. She could not endure that kind of a life any longer, and she knew that 1 also was anything but happy; so she came tome, told me the secret of her success as an author, and of the income which her book bade fair to bring her, and begged of me to go with her to share her substance, asking in return only the comfort of congenial companionship, and the protection which my presence would give her. I was sorely tempted, as I have told her, to confess the part I had been playing, and proclaim her my heiress on the spot. But I thought; considering all things, it would be better to wait until she was through with school, while I wanted to study her a little more closely before committing my all to her. She has stood the test most nobly. She has been the light of our home. She has labored early and late to minister to my comfort and happines, and now she is going to reap her reward. Everything that I can do for her, to make her life bright, I shall do while I live, and when I am gone, she will have the fortune which, under different circumstances, would have been mostly yours.” Mrs. Richards was pallid with anger, mortification, and bitter disappointment, when Mr. Rosevelt concluded. It was a terrible blow to her to lose this great fortune, and remorse for her heartless treatment of her uncle was gnawing keenly at her heart-strings. Mr. Richards had met with heavy losses in his business of late, and it was only by straining every nerve, calculating and contriving, that she and Josephine had been able to come to Newport at all that season, and it was simply maddening to think that Star, whom she had so disliked from the first, should have won, by little acts of kindness, what she would have spared no pains to secure had she once suspected the truth. “Well, miss, you have played your cards very cleverly, haven’t you ?” she finally found breath to ejaculate, and turning with blazing eyes upon the fair girl who, all unwittingly, had usurped her place in her uncle’s affection and will.” Rr. Rosevelt’s face grew stern. “She certainly has, Ellen,” he said, before Star could speak, even had she wished to do so, ’’especially as she could not. by any means, have known that there was anything worth winning by her acts of devotion and self-denial. And now let me tell you, that true kindness and sympathy will always win, where arrogance and pride will only gain contempt, and lead to disappointment and regret.” “I suppose that you intend she shall queen it over us right royally while she remains in Newport,” Mrs. Richards said, in accents of venomous spite, as her eyes roved over the costly garments in which Star was clad. “I do not know what you mean by ‘queening it it over you right royally,’ ” Mr. Rosevelt returned, coldly. “We did not even know that you were here when we came to Newport. But I do intend that Miss Gladstone shall have just as good a time as I ! can give her; that the future shall atone as far as “Rich! um! His money runs out of his pockets like water. Style! I reckon you’d think so if you could take a peep inside of that syell brown-stone. Miss Star’s rooms are fitted up fiu’br a queen; and he sets his eyes by her. He even hid the silver service ornamented with stars for her sake, and there isn't a rich or a pretty thing you <an think of but that he has bought for her. If yot stay here long enough, may be you’ll see all her d'esses, and I tell you they can’t be beat. He wouldn’: let her go alone to buy them, for fear she would n(t get them nice enough.” “Hump!” ejaculated Mrs. Richards, angrily, as she turned away, “there is ‘no fool like an old fool.’ Come, Josephine, we have waste! time enough listening to such nonsense.” “Yes, marm,” responded her ex-housekeeper with bland significance, and an exasperating chuckle, “that boot does hurt, or I’m much mistaken, and its always ‘nonsense’ to get into boots that pinch.” The angry woman did not wait to hear anything more, but bestowing a glance—which would have anihilated, if a look could have had that power— upon their old servant, they swept on toward the dressing room, with a sense of defeat such as they had never before experienced, and loped never to experience again. CHAPTER XXVIII SAVED FROM A HORRIBLE1FATE. If Mrs. Richards had conducted lerself according to her own inclination, she would lave left Newport at once. But she was unwillinifchat Mr. Rosevelt or Star should think that she had run away from them, or that she was heart-boken over the disclosures which her uncle had male to her. Besides, Newport was full of weaitiy and,fashion^ able people, and among them severaleligible young gentlemen, whose acquaintance, ftr Josephine’s sake, she was desirous of cultivatiig; and surely she was not going to sacrifice all thde advantages, and leave the field clear for Star to wa even greater victories. No, she would stay, and she resoled she would make things just as uncomfortable br the young girl as possible, while Josephine shojld be made to shine with all the splendor of whid their means, and Mr. Richards’ credit, were capabk She never was guilty of such extravagance in all her life before, as during that month if fierce rivalry at that gay resort, while Mr. Rlhards, in his office in New York.weary, care-worn, nd perplexed by business difficulties, groaned oveipe bills which poured in upon him, and wondered bw he should ever “weather it,” if that kind of ting went on much longer. But all the proud woman’s efforl were of no avail, for our fair heroine had creatl a sensation which threatened to turn the heads nd lead captive the hearts of every unmarried m(i, at least, in Newport. It was her first season, and there vs something so fresh and unassuming about her, ade from her Exquisite loveliness—something so scinating in er glorious dark-;blue eyes, in the wffiery of her smiles, in the waving sunlight of her dr, that was )■ lated-about ------------- ---------------------- ), made her popularity even greater; her prospeive wealth was also a prominent attraction: and, most before she was aware of it, she was designaid the “Star simply irresistible. The fact of her being the much-spe^ authoress of “Chatsworth’s Pride,” 1 of Newport,” and all other lights pal l exceeding radiance. before her Jacob Rosevelt was very proud of allhis. He loved the gentle girl with all thtfondness of which his old heart was capable, and is homage at the shrine where he also worshipe make him almost young again, while.' could have been known, there was seemed to ’ the truth ittle of tri-b. Richards umph in his heart over the fact that . ---- and Josephine—those two who had so tnideii upon her in the days gone by—were witnessebf her brilliant debut at Newport. A week passed quickly by. and then trace Meredith and her brother arrived at the watring-dace, and immediately attached themselves 6 Mr. tose-velt and Star by mutual consent; and m;.ny enious looks were bestowed upon the dark handome stranger, who appeared to assume the light ohet- impromptu poem by one of the party, who punned upon the names of his fellows in a way that kept them in a roar of laughter, while there was more than one allusion to the “Star of Newport” and hwr “revolving satellites.” It was four in the afternoon before this important part in the day’s programme was concluded, and then the company scattered, some to lounge about and rest, others to stroll into the deep, inviting shadows of the woods. Mr. Rosevelt and Star. Miss Meredith and her brother, with two or three others, wandered away by themselves, and Anally sat down beneath a wide-spreading tree for a quiet chat. While they sat there Star got up quietly and slipped out of sight, some spirit of restlessness possessing her to get away for a ramble still farther into the far reaching woods. She had walked some distance, when she heard voices, and soon saw a gentleman and a lad, both with guns over their shoulders, approaching her, and looking heated and anxious. They saluted her courteously, and then the gentleman said, abruptly: “Have you seen anything of a small white Spitz dog, miss. It is a pretty little creature, wearing a silver collar around his neck, and tiny blue bows tied in his ears.” “No,” Star answered, “I have seen no dog today.” We are in search of it because we are afraid it has run mad,” the stranger continued, peering about with a troubled countenance. “It has not been well for several days, and this morning showed unmistakable signs of hydrophobia. It escaped confinement from the cottage, a mile or so from here, and ran toward these woods about an hour ago.” They passed on. and Star thought it would be best for her to go back to her friends, and therefore turned to retrace her steps. She had only accomplished about half of the distance, when she heard a clear, musical laugh ring out from among the shrubbery on the right of the She was gracious to everybody; she had smiles and gay words for all who joined the circle sur- : rounding her; but she had refused to accept any escort for that day. save Mr. Rosevelt, and the grand old man and the fair young maiden, wffio seemed like the “apple of his eye,” made a picture which no one who saw them together ever forgot. Ralph Meredith had arranged a cozy little nook on the boat for Star and his sister, by taking some camp-chairs along, and cushioning them with handsome rugs, with a couple of hassocks for their feet, while a sail had been adjusted as an awning to screen them from the hot sun. . But when, after they were well on their way. he conducted them thither, he found to his chagrin that this snug corner, upon which he had spent so much care, had been appropriated by Mrs. Richards and her brilliant daughter, who were holding a little court by themselves, “Never mind,” Star whispered “I do not care to sit just now, and I particularly wish not to disturb them.” “But I particularly wished you and Grace to have a comfortable place where you could enjoy your sail,” he returned, indignantly. “I know, and you were very kind and thoughtful; but I shall feel better to leave them to get what enjoyment they can, from occupying seats which they must know were intended for others. What do you say, Grace?” Star asked, appealing to Miss Meredith. “I do not see but what we shall be obliged to submit, since I do not wish to be rude to any of our party. But I must say I think they are very cool.” They moved away to another portion of the boat, but when an hour later they /saw the interlopers promenading the deck, they quietly slipped into the vacated seats and settled themselves for the remainder of the sail. Here they were soon chatting in the most sociable manner, and were right in the midst of a most interesting discussion, regarding their toilet for an approaching reception, wnen a cold voice broke upon them, saying: “Miss Gladstone, may I trouble you to vacate our cairs ?” Star started and flushed. Too well she knew those incisive tones. But she quickly recovered herself, however, and looking up at Mrs. Richards, for it was she who had v vxA., i^npunaea, haughtily^ Star’s face bexran to dimple with amusement for she know well enough that this demand was 6nlv made to annoy her, and make her unpleasant y conspicuous, and she was determined to turn the tables to their own mortification; for they could not tail to learn when they landed, to whom the chairs and other comforts belonged. tne cnans She made a motion to Grace, who, she saw was bristling with indignation, to keep silent; then she arose, bowing with graceful politeness to Mrs. Richards and her daughter, though her eyes' were gleaming with suppressed laughter. Y I beg pardon if I have been occupying what does not nghtiully belong to me. and I cheerfully resign tny chair to your prior claim.” y reblgn Josephine flushed, for she saw that it was all Star °uU restrain her merriment, though what should hnye caused it she could not understand* while she looked so pretty and was so lady-like it made her angry. y 11Ke* path. Thinking it must be some of her party, she stepped forward to warn them oi their danger. She parted the branches with her hands and looked throvgh. What was her horror to see Josephine Richards sitting at the foot of a tree, her hat tossed upon the ground beside her. and holding in her lap the little mad dog against which she had just been warned. It was a beautiful little creature, and had evidently been made a pet and plaything. It had lovely brown eyes, looking out from beneath its shaggy brows; its coat was as white as snow, while around its neck there glistened the silver collar, and in its pretty ears were the tiny blue bows of which she had been told. Miss Richards evidently had just coaxed the little pet into her lan, and was playing with it without a suspicion of the terrible danger that she was in. while just for that moment it showed no signs of the madness which possessed it. Star’s face was as white as her spotless dress as she took in the dreadful situation; then she stepped quickly forward and said, in clear but authoritative tones: “Miss Richards, put that dog down as quietly as you can, and come away with me instantly, for I have just been told that it is mad.” Scarcely were the words uttered when the little creature snapped at the hand raised to caress it, and, with a scream of fright, Josephine sprang to her feet and turned to fly. But the act aroused all the fury of the maddened animal, and he seized hold of her skirts, biting and tearing them in the most furious manner, foaming at the mouth, and howling frightfully in its sudden paroxysm of frenzy. "Save me! save me!” Josephine screamed, and flying toward Star for protection. There was not a thought of personal danger in the fair young girl’s heart—not a thought of enmity, or of malice or evil; all her mind was concentrated upon one thing—how best to save her companion from this terrible danger, and from a horrible death. “Stand still!” she commanded, in steady, almost stern tones; “let him bite at your clothes all he chooses, but do not allow him to get at your feet; if you run, he will seize them and bite right through your boot. Have you courage to stand where you are for a moment? I will go behind him and slip the end of my parasol through his collar and pin him to the ground; then you can go and call help “I’m sure,” she began, hotly, and raising her voice so that others could hear her, “I don’t see what you’re so amused over. Stella Gladstone; and it seems to me that you’re putting on altogether too many airs for a girl who used to perform the services of a chambermaid in our house.” For a moment Star stood as if dumfounded ; then the hot, indignant blood mounted to her brow, losing itself beneath the glittering mist upon her forehead. Her lips parted, as if, upon the impulse of the moment, she would have replied in the same ill-natured strain as that by which she had been assailed, but no sound came from them; she controlled her angry emotion. The blood receded, leaving her a little paler than usual. She lifted her bright head a trifle, as if in conscious superiority; gave Miss Richards a cool stare of surprise, and turned away without a word. Not so Miss Meredith, however. She kept her seat with the utmost composure, watching this little scene with both interest and amusement until Josephine so tauntingly insulted her friend. Then she too arose, drawing her tall form to its fullest height. “I cannot understand,” she said, in a voice of scorn, “why you should so maliciously insult Miss Gladstone; but allow me to say for your enlightenment, that these chairs, rugs, and so forth, belong to my brother, Mr. Ralph Meredith, and he arranged them here especially for Miss Gladstone’s and my comfort. However, I will emulate her example, and resign my right also to ladies who have proved themselves so superior in point of refinement and politeness.” Having uttered this cutting sarcasm, Miss Meredith bowed mockingly and walked away to rejoin her friend, leaving those haughty and overbearing women about as chagrined and crest-fallen as it is possible for two people to feel. “Who would have thought it? I supposed the captain arranged these seats for any one who chose to occupy them,” Josephine remarked, flushing hotly. “I don’t believe a word of the girl’s story,” her mother retorted. “It’s true though, for here are Mr. Meredith’s initials, ‘R. M.,’ worked upon the robes,” Josephine said, having been examining the rugs, which were thrown over the chairs. “That was why the little minx was laughing in her sleeve at us,” Mrs. Richards returned, biting her lips with vexation. “I declare that girl is a continual thorn in my flesh.” Alas! she -little imagined how much more deeply the “thorn” was yet to wound her. although unconsciously on the young girl’s part. The gay company reached their destination after a delightful sail of two hours. 10“f{ey7uSfainV” Sta?^ in an awful voice still just a moment longer, and 1 will save y CaWatchinP her or port unity, she stole softly behind tesBaggss one said to the h^^r^^Hps girl watching her: or ^ick^ ••Go now quickly, and call help for me, for, small as he is, I cannot hold him long.” au Josephine did not need a eAnnnd bidding hut went shrieking back to the company, arouse the dead almost. She had not been gone two minutes—though those two minutes seemed like an age to Star, who found an almost superhuman strength in that writhing, twisting thing at her feet—when the bushes behind her parted again, and the same gentleman who had met and warned her of this danger sprang toward her. with his gun cocked and aimed at the dog. His face was almost as colorless as her own. “Can you hold him just an instant longer?—will you dare hold him while I shoot him? I will not harm you in the least,” ” he questioned, in rapid tones. “Yes—I will hold him,” she said, resolutely; if I let him loose now, he will surely bite somebody.” Although she spoke so steadily and with so much fortitude, she looked like some beautiful spirit from another world, and the gentleman knew he must do what he had to do quickly, or it would be too late. There was an instant of silence, then a quick, sharp report rang through the woods, and the little danger-fiend lay bleeding and dead at hex feet. All peril was past. Star had saved an enemy from a horrible fate —she had done a heroic deed; but the tension on her own nerves gave way when it was over; she swayed, tottered, and would have fallen to the ground, but another figure sprang through the bushes to her side, and her fainting form was received into the strong arms of Ralph Meredith. (TO BE CONTINUED.) JUST PUBLISHED! AN ELEGANT NEW, BOUND BOOK, ENTITLED Young Mrs. Charnleigh. S1»L,EN1>II5 NOVEL! By T. W. HAN SHEW. This capital new story is one of the best ever printed in the columns of the New York Weekly, and the demand has been so great for it in book-form, that this handsomely bound edition has been published. Price $1.50, uniform with Bertha Clay's popular books. Read the Table of Contents: Prologue—The Horoscope. The Coining Storm. When the Clock Struck Ten What the Night Brought Forth. How the Night Closed. How the Day Closed. How it Ended. The Tragedy Begins. Snakes in the Grass. Spreading the Snare. Into Darkened Ways. “We Fell Out—My Wife and I.” The Fire of Jealousy The Assassin’s Thirsty Blade “By the Sad Sea-Waves.” Miss St. Aubrey’s Work. “Data Fata Secutus.” The Cause of it. Face to Face. “Renasceutur.” From Shore to Shore. When the Angelus Was Done. Sister Mary Veronica’s Story. “There Shall be Light.” An Unlooked-for Occurrence. “Oceui rent Nnbts. At the .Eleventh Hour.” , “Into Marvelous Light. Conclusion. These Books are elegantly printed, and bound in cloth, are for sale by all First-Class Booksellers, and will be sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of Price, 1.50, by G. W. CARLETON & CO.. Publishers, Madison Square, New York. Also by STREET & SMITH, New York Weekly Office, 31 Rose St., New York. It was a lovely grove upon the shore of the bay, which people were in the habit of frequenting for picnics of this sort, and the party wandered about in groups for another two hours, exploring the beauties and attractions around them. Sets of croquet and lawn tennis had been brought along for those enjoying those games; and seeking suitable ground for the sports, their devotees applied themselves vigorously to them. At two o’clock everybody gathered to dine in a place which had been prepared for that purpose; the tables were spread with the contents of the numerous baskets, which contained every delicacy which the season afforded, and the gay company, making the woods resonant with laughter and mer- voting to ^foicein their v^oith <he "oil 'Vi« them to send their writte Jav and wittv speeches after dinner votes in a sealed envelope to the commissioner, o wfs o^rTthereXrsouX^ 1 their ^nature being duly attested by the mayor. Female Suffrage in Italy.—The Italians propose to reorganize the provincial and district electoral laws with the view of permitting women to vote, on condition that the feminine voter shah be over twenty-one, that she can read and write, and can pay taxes of the minimum amount of one dollar., With true courtesy, the authorities wil nt the poll, and will allow them to send their writte THE NEW OEK WEEKLY. ea®®- MY WAYWARD SWEETHEART. BY GUY DEERLING. There’s a sweet little girl lives over the way, She’s the queen of fair creatures I know ; Her eyes are as bright as the sheen of the day, Her lips are as red as the cherries in May, And, my friend, you’ll believe me, no doubt, when I say, She is never in want of a beau. She writes in my album a message as sweet As the odor of roses just opened to light; She speaks words of love—how they make the heart beat! And I tell her I hope that a crystallized seat Be in heaven reserved; for there we shall meet And rest in eternity bright. I sit by her side in the quiet so deep As the hours of the night turn to day; Yes, we sit on the sofa, her ma sound asleep! And I fondly imagine her love I shall keep ; As my own precious treasure as onward years creep To the tomb of the future away. But cruel misfortune ! so false is my dear That another may share in her smiles; And some day she’ll leave me alone, in my fear, And marry a dairyman, not far from here, Who peddles his milk o’er this town, far and near, And the heart of my darling beguiles. Confound him, he’s strong, and will fight, so they say, I Or I’d thrash him, the rascally cur. He’s trying to carry my lassie away, To pump in his milk cans by night and by day, To make cows, and calves, and other things “payj;” How hard will this work be to her. Ah ! worse than this all as my mind wanders o’er, To the bright happy moments gone by, The thought that her fresh, sparkling beauty of yore, Will vanish away in a few years or more, By “pumping” and “milking,” those plump arms, how sore, The thought brings a tear to my eye! Oh! what shall I do in this sorrowful strait ? j Tell her to marry him 1 Yes, with ease. I’ve tried hard to “mash” her, I’ve stood at the gate With sighs on my lips, and asked her to wait Till the holidays came, and I’d wed her in state! Yes, she can marry whome’ershe please. A NAUGHTY GIRL’S DIARY. By the Author of “A BAD BOY’S DIABY.” No 7.-SHE ASSISTS AT A BONFIRE. O, dear me, I have not writen in my diary for two or three days. So many things have hapened i do not know wether i am standing on my head or my heals, as Charlie says, but mama says it is vulgar, you canot stand on your head unles you praktise a great eel as Charlie does. I can do it very well in bed in the morning. Charlie says I am very good at boys’ games for a girl. I can clime trees, dig worms, wind Charlie’s string when it’s tangled, put his tool box in order when he is in a hury. help him carry sticks for a bonfire, an’bring him my cake an’ pie when he is very hungry an’ afrade to go home because he axdentally spilled all the turpentine on the bonfire so the painters cannot paint to-day. You see. it is a serius accident that happened last night, it is a wonder I was not burnt to death, an’ poor Charlie is so fritened he went out to the country where they are making new mown hay for the cows an’ slep’ all night in a hay stak; a little while ago about dark i was in the garden when I saw Mrs. McCurdy’s gote creep in the back gate J,y lfc ,was uot gote. it was Charlie, he said he a 81?gle moufful since supper the day ’ib?uVas g01ng to pretend he was a tramp an’ ^as a gralQ big fearse dog at evry iva?1 9peared to be hungrier than he was, so he backed out evry time, would I bring go back a“’ Some agen-their long lost child, so then vUv will be ^ladot whip me because I will happen , ?ny fathm ^thanksgiving Day, when there is a home ahout TffanK&g ddy feles kinc| an’ fOrgiv-extry amner, an ev y .UvkCitrQ>tQjmagazines, ing, like you fe]e9 so bad! 1 guess ete some bread an’ butter if there was plenty of better things, also, only do be quick!” I didn’t know j ust what to do, for cook says things spoil in hot weather. She does not keep any pud-ing or pie over night. Then I membered there was ever so much cake an’ macroons left from Mary’s party the night before. So I brot him a loaf of bread, a mold of gelly, an’ my apron full of cake. He et more than you would think he could; but he was very thoutful; he put a large peace of the bread in his pockkit, for his brekfas. Then he asked me would I bring him a cup of water from the well. So then he shook hands with me, an’ said, very tuching: “Good-by, Dolly. Look for me here at this hour Sunday evening. Have lots of chicken fixins, Dolly, for I shall be starving. If anything hapens I don’t keep my apointment, you may know I have ben torn to peces by a large dog, or put in prison as a tramp Oh, Dolly, if I had a revolver, I should be able to shoot the dogs. My father has one, but I dare not vencher home.” I asked him would not Fred’s do? He said I was a brick. I was very proud I could save Charlie’s life when I brought him my brother’s revolver. “Now,” said he, “I’m fixed with bread in one Socket an’ a dedly wepon in the other. Shake agen. shall always stand by you. You are a trump, Dolly. Swear to me you will not betra this in-tervu.” I sweared, by holding up my lefthand an’ saying: “I will not tell a living soul I saw you, Charlie.” But some boddy must have tolded, for it was found out prity soon. I expec it was Mrs. McCurdy’s gote, for he was looking through the fence. You see, the way it was, my mama was very much surprised the evening before Mary’s party, when I sat in the parlor very quietly, jus’ as if I was sleepy enouf to go to bed. Mary was yawning like her , head would drop off. She said: “I tol Tom not to come round to-night. I am go- , ing to bed at half-pas aght, so as to be fresh tomoro,” Cook an’ Nora were tired. They had bin bussy as bees. They were going up stairs when the doorbell rang. Nora ran down to open it. There stood 30 little girls—the bestest children in town—an’ about 20 boys, likewise the cram del la cram, as Fred calls them ’cause they eat a good eel when they are out to partys. They wore their nice things, and marched in smiling; so mama did not know what to say, only Mary rusht up an’ she shook me by the shoul-d^Ts this one of your trix, you naughty girl? "What does this mean? Tell me this minit.” “It is my surprise party, sister. You will have to play for them to dance; you will, won’t you, please. Mary ?” ._ . . “I’ll send them home,” she said, awful cross, you little vixen. Oh. how I long to whip you, Dolly! You are too agravating! It is the last straw that brakes the camel’s back—ile send them home.” Grandma took off her specks an’ spoke very soft. “I guess you 11 have to let them stay. Mary. I see the minister’s little girl an’ Judge Parker’s boy. The children will be cruly disappointed; they are all flxt up. their parens will be angry. Dolly, it was very wrong of you; you are a wild child-” “Yes mam. but I mus’ tell them where to put their raps.” an’ I hurrid away to show them. Mama drew me aside when they had been there a nour or two: “Your company must go without refreshments, Dolly; I will have some lemmanade made, but that is all I nujjed Maggie. We said nothing, Mary was rery good to play for us, but she wispered me he childrun mus’ go home urly. Shortly after the lock struck 10 my sister left the piano, saying it ras too warm for children to dance, so we went out a the peaza an’ marchd to the tune of “Little Sallie raters,” which we sung. We were having a pleas-it time when Mary came out there very fast, as if e was in a hurry. She pulled me away from iggie into the hall (she hurted my arm she pulled ihard.) Dolly,” said she, very sturnly. there are 2 cul-ld waiters in the kitchen making up chicken sal-i I; they are piecing up lobster an’ making oshuns | Coffee in the teakettle. I see two freezers of ice- Cim on the steps, an’ they are taking out a piri-। n of macroons—what does this mean ? tell me ttinstance, you naughty girl! What have you ht up to now? Oh, my proffetic sole! Can it be 1 m’t scold, Mary; I will tell you the onest truth. Mcnow how my atempts at cooking turned out. If pound cake an cream pufs had been all right, I sdd not have had to telegraf to Delmonico this Please send the wL^ioOrder0dbR^ J; for Thursday on Sens3ay’ fe1 j daughter s party was on b^ensday—bii^ • do * xt am glad the things have come all right, Mary. Never mind, do not cry; you know they can come agen tomoro night to VI *1VGry glad they brot the pirimid, i am paitiklarly fond of almon macroons. My party will b® ®at sukces. won’t it, sister? I only wish Fred , an Mr. Slicer were here to have some of the coffe an lobster, don’t you, Mary?” ansered it made her sick to think what her father would say about the bill. He could il aford 1 party let alone 2. There would be a mess. She wisht I never had been born, i was the pest of the naborhood. She only wondered I had not ordered the music four peaces, too! I told her II would only I could not find the adress. i thanked felu ^aing f?r us ’ hut she kep on crying, an walked down.to the gate an remained there weping until Fred came home from Miss Garners. Would you beleve it he has puled the wool over her eyes completely—Miss Garner’s eyes. He has explained about the paper I gave her with darling on it three times. It apears it was a piece of my brother s novel he is writing for the N. Y. Weekly to ^et4.some cash to buy her a dimon engagement ring— tbat was the reason he wrote darling 3 times; they write k so in novels, it seems, to make it thrilling not a?8ry my brother, because she wants a dimon ring. The airess. Miss Cornell has aP’ al1 J8 once more. Mary says it is half the fun of getting engaged to have Ihara'never tride R1®' 1 d° “Ot k“°W h°W that is> ve?ygsonumDa°kWithMary< Helooked hniYevd?°Uy,!’..says ^O1!0 soing to foot the Xou are,^C‘°.°^®st httle vixen 1 ever knew. your lather is in town to-night.” Then grandma, who had sat up to look at the on^red’sCarm° °Ut °n the StepS aU’ laidrber hand ‘Never mind, now the mischief is done don’t y°?r fbR18bt eyes* Mary, my dear; get all the | good out of it you can, Dolly. The children are having a good time. I will settle the bill. You can ' GblJid bRL0I1TM; Dolly is thoughtless, but I hugge^a^’ kissfed h Ar bclimate is warm theiould be no impropriety in assum- "Tb«iw fffrftHASu ?r bout a hundred times. ingit. 3d. Black larould trim your black and white -n0, dOn me» chll(L I hope the striped silk with g effect. A desirable pattern by Httle folks will enjoy their fine supper.” which to make it upild be No. 8,657, price 40 cents. J. ood wo aid. I Fred got over looking solium, and assisted the “A' K G ” Worcet N’ Y--lst VeiY lawns-waters, the pirimid of macroons was delicious an’ Pink» lavender, I pale blue, may be obtained, t Tvr.1Ce creani Was tip top. ’ that will make up nr and can be worn an entire seanext the ^seaside with her son. 2d. It is scarciprobable that they would wash. a^afr™0^’ 1S $2ry’buJ canot help it. I 3d. With some fancye pieces for the throat aud differ-I on an avndge 2 frocks a da!y; she can’t ent colored sets of jon, there is no reason why you anora it: the aresmaker has not time to make so should not look well iyet be inexpensively dressed. Shmp (She’S she) was in the sewing- 1 room at the time, linishing Mary’s white nun’s valing for the party that night, an’ I went right to her an asked her could she make me 2 new dresses eyry day an send them by expres so I could have Hon/? n110^ morning—1 plane one to play in the । sand. 1 white rufled one to sit up in the parlors ?y®?ings Jo see what’s going on in the wurld of fashun. She said she would like to, only she was engaged evry nour till the first of August. I asked her was she engaged to Jim Taylor, an’ why was she not engaged to him in September also. She ansered, Te, he, te, he, what an od child your little sister is Miss Mary,” but she did not tell why an’ wanted to know. It is not sivil for pepel not to I anser. front rank of s fashions for misses’ costumes. The model is No. 8^d it is made with a sailor collar. The skirt mod is used in combination with the Spencer waist i,592, and is in sizes for misses from eight to fifteen >f age. Price of pattern for Spencer waist is 20 centthat of skirt pattern 30 cents. “J. S. P.,” Re Dakota T.—A pretty dress for a little girl is madink Scotch gingham, and into the seams of the fod back is sewed narrow torchon lace. A similarture borders the lower edge and also trims the wind edges of the collar. Another dress, intended oy, is of white corded pique; its collar is compcntirely of wide embroidery; the wrists have tut cuffs of embroidery, and the remainder of the d.plainly finished. “Alice F.,” Milndiana.—1st. A slight demi-train is by no means i^sible for a white mull or muslin; and some of the tr white fabrics, such as the sheer, crape-like musliihiulls, are made up over white or colored satin Sur^hen economy has to be considered, 1 cotton satteen lofflost as well. 2d. Model No. 8,635 for the skirt, am#. 634 for basque. 3d. Trim with lace. Price of skttern 35 cents, and price of basque pattern 30 cents. “Florence A. C.yell, Mass.—1st.—Desires to know what day the "12March fell on.” As she does not state any year, wqose she means the 12th of March of the present yea[ fell on Monday. 2d. The sample of hair is “auburirather a dark shade. 3d. If you said anything thatimproper or unlady like, then you should apologize, ought to be able to judge whether you owe him an ap. 4th. Your writing and spelling are very poor. “Laura J-”—1st. ^coming hat for a brunette, who prefers dark colored be one of Manilla straw, in shape a small pokt could be underfaced with dark green velvet and 1 two long dark green plumes as trimming. 2d. Tl^ should be of green velvet ribbon, with a satin pale pink. 3d. Combine black nun’s vailing witlh black silk, and trim it with Spanish lace. “Jennie J.,” BuffN. Y.—1st. Combine dark-green cashmere with you$, 2d. White nun’s vailing is not usually worn on Street, but in places where the 1 “Mollie D.,” Richnl, Va. 1st. Trim your white lawn dress with fine embrocy, and your figured lawn with Valenciennes lace. 5 the embroidery in full ruffles upon your skirt draper, and with very little fullness on your basque. 2’1. 8 your lace to ruffles of the material, and make yr; ruffles straight, not bias, as you suggested. “Miss Taylor,” Symse, N. Y.—1st. A stylish travel-eling costume would tone of dark-green cloth, trimmed S dT s does nofc know how to play with dohs. I wanted to give Flora Floribel a ride ' on his back, but he throwed her off an’ chude her arm all up. Fred is afrade she will have hidrafobia so he has imputated her arm with his knife; so my poor last child has only one arm aireddy; I had hoped she would learn to play the piano bettern Dorothea, but she canot play with her shoulder I wonder how it would do to teach her to play with hhq,Aoes’or would he cheaper to buy another cDna i So many actsidents happen to my children I am tired out. I shall not take any of them with me if mama allows me to go to the sea-side; they must stay in bed until I get home, if it takes all summer. ±red says the doll is a hibernating animal; it can go without eting a long time if it is kept in a cool dark place. I shall try it when I go away. I hope Maud Evelyn will not get so thin I shall have to take her dresses in when 1 get back. My brother says dolls are like bears—bears live all winter by sucking their paws an’ dolls can survive the summer on their own sawdust. I wonder if Fred is sure about that. It semes very hartless for me to sit riting camly in my pretty room when poor Charlie has got to sleep in a hastack to-night. What if he should be bitten by a serpent ? what if he should be stolen ? 1 am so glad I gave him Fred’s revolver. I am going to save up all my cake for him to give him Sunday evening. b07<°nto rit? ubouf sisfcer’s Party. It went off beautifully, so I heard. My mamma would not alow me to come out of my room simply because I had my windofeling sad front the new house ? there were lots oT 'shhVi'ffts an’ lath an’ sevral barrels. I ansered I could not get out; he said he would bring our ladder so he brot it, an’ I dimed down. Me an’ Charlie ah’ or three other boys made a big pile. Oh, my, it was splendid! i caried a few armsful our kindling wood an some our loose pickets, an’ all the boys helped, an’ Charlie poured on the turpentine for the painters. It looked as if it were going to storm; it was cloudy; the wind began to blow, but it blowed away from the new house; so Charlie wTas not afrade of nothing, an’ lit a bunch of matches an’ fired the pile; it blazed magnifsently; the turpentine made it briter; we enjoyed it ever so much. Charlie said it was luccy he thought of it. “Don’tget your dress on fire, Dolly; run back.” Just then the dust began to flyawful; it came whirling down the street like it was dancing. Goodness gracious! it jus’ took our bonfire up an’ blew it all around. You never saw the like; but any person ot to know it was not Charlie’s fault; the mbers flue in every crak an’corner; the peple ran an’ hollered, the fire-bells rung, the engine came tearing along. Thank goodnes, the rain began to pour a perfeck deluge; it beat the engine hollow; it rained about 10 minits, then it stoped short of. My papa says that 10 minits rain saved the town. 1 fire company could not put out seven fires at onse. Luccily, the new house was ndt much injured; it only burnt the porch an’ part of the front clabords. Mr. Smith’s fence was devoured by the flames; Mrs. McCurdy’s gote was run over by the engine; Charlie’s father’s barn took fire from the sparks an’ was uttrily destroid, so was my mama’ sealskin sack, which we had borroed out of her cedar chest to play bear with that afternoon, but she does not know it yet. It is a shame that Charlie’s father should want to punish him for what the wind did. I am glad he ran away an hid in the country. Some of the young gentlemen at Mary’s party got soking wet, but they drank lots of hot coffee; so I hope they will not have ammonia. Our stable burnt up also, but our house is safe, owing to the rain—it would have been quite inccon-vinyant to have it burn up while the party was going on. i beleave it is inshured. Poor grandma is confined to her bed with excitement, I am very sory for her. I try to wait upon her nicely so’s I can eat her toast an’ jelly which she does not want. She has told me she wishes I would not play with Charlie so much—it will make me ruff like a boy. I promised her I would not, at least until he comes home. They are looking for him evrywhere in the country because I had to tell them he was sleeping in a hastack; but I did not tell them he was coming to our garden tomoro night. Fred has mist his revolver, but i am numb. 1 mean dum, or mum; he shall not get it out of me. Poor Charlie came home last night while I was riting. this is Sunday morning, P.M. he is not well. The nite air disagreed with him; he went to shoot a savage dog but he shot the farmer’s wife in the leg; then he threw my brother’s weapon away an’ ran; the farmer’s wife’s husband ran after him an’ cot him; he tide him to a lim of a tree till he got the doctor to tend to his wife; after that he brot Charlie to town an’ gave him to the jalor, but he is out on bale an’ I guess his folks have given him some super an’ brekf us. I hope so. The Ladies’ Work-Box. Edited by Mrs. Virginia Ingrapn. “T. C. <LV’ Rome, N. Y.—1st. Soutache braid continues to be used—with a proviso, that there is no regulation way selection, but that each one follows the bent of her own fancy. 2d. Black satin skirts, finished with a box-plaited foot-trimmiug of the same fabric, and ornamented with a braiding pattern nearly half a yard deep, exemplify one of the ways in which this circuitous garniture is applied. The effect, singular to relate, is good; though it does not sound as if it would be. 3d. One such toilet has a skirt as described, and with it is worn a drapery, soft and full, of nun’s-vailing, trimmed with Spanish lace, and a basque of the same material plainly finished, and having no ornament, save a long jabot of the lace just in front, and an ornament of black ribbon loops and ends in the back. “Mrs. S.,” Woonsocket, B. I.—A charming little costume may be made after model No. 8,605 for your little girl of seven years. Without being at all elaborate, the construction is especially unique and attractive. The fronts close diagonally from the top of the left shoulder seam to the lower edge of the body portion, the edges being finished with under-facings. We can send you pattern No. 8,605 upon receipt of 30 cents. The model is in seven sizes for children from three to nine years of age, 30 cents for each size. “Mrs. P.,” Brooklyn, E. D.—The Spencer style of waist is as becoming as it is comfortable, and its adaptability to all kinds of washable textures gives it a place in the with black soutache iaid, and made by pattern No. 8,567, price 40 cents.Id. A round hat of black straw, with dark-green pomps just in front, and tan-colored gloves, will be suitably uncts. “William B.,” Globillage, Mass.—1st. Twilled flannel of a dark navy-bl tint, is the material generally chosen for gentlemen’sfnrts for yachting, camping, and the general outdoor Wr occasioned by summer sports. Model No. 8,685 is parmlarly suited for flannels. Price of pattern, 30 cents. "Violet C.,” Lockpd, N. Y.—Black Surah, foulard, moire, or satin would c nbine suitably with black cash-mere for a middle-agedUy. HIGH-TOl^D BURGLARS, And How Thiy Were Detected, By Emerson ZBennett. So you want an account of my detective operations in Mercej- coun^New Jersey, eh? Very well. I will do the best I can to make everything clear to you. To begin at tlie beginning, it is proper to say that many burglaries and robberies had been committed, and many detectives set to work, and many failures had been their result, before I was called upon to take a hand in the affair. The fact is the rascals who “worked that racket” were so “well up in their business,” so cunning and shrewd, as well as bold and daring, that they horses, carriages, and servants, could not long be ignored by the most exclusive of the old families; J and the ice once broken, the entree once made into society, everything rolled along as smoothly as if J ten generations of ancestors had been looking down on them from castle walls. 1 Balls, parties, dinners, lunches, and receptions, abroad and at home, kept the whole family in a constant whirl of excitement, and while designing mammas were on the watch for the model young blood, the charming sisters figured as reigning belles, with a dozen suitors each from which to Having myself entered society at the top, in the mannei I have shown, I naturally came in contact with the Brantfords, and after closely studying each member of the family for awhile, I allowed myself to become infatuated with the bewitching sisters, without designating either as my choice. I talked with them, rode with them, sang with them, played with them, and had the vanity to believe I had become the favorite of both, and that I was equally preferred by the stately, dark-eyed Stella and the sweet-toned, blue-eyed Myra. But then I was figuring as a millionaire, you know, with some rich British blood in my Veins. Was I losing sight all this time of the business which had called me to that quarter? , I did not think so myself, though it might have had that appearance to another. One day. when riding out with the two ladies, we passed a fine mansion, on the outskirts of the town, the owner of which I shall call Mr. Dearborn. The family belonged to our set, and were reputed wealthy. . . . , , . They had been the victims of the burglars about a year previous, and had lost, in money, plate, and jewels to the amount of five thousand dollars.. “Experience with some people goes for nothing,” I remarked, looking toward the stately mansion, which stood alone in the center of shaded grounds, and was half embowered by lofty trees; ’ the more they learn the less they seem to know; and I sometimes wonder how they manage to keep out of the “What is the matter now, Mr. Cypic?” inquired Stella, with a laugh. .... 4. .. “Why, I was just thinking of this stupid Dearborn.” “What of him?” “In my estimation he lacks good sense.” “Most people do, in your royal highness estimation.” joined in Myra, with her most T>ewitching smile. “You seldom have an approving word for aa”Then’ you ladies should appreciate what I say of you all the more.” ., „ ... "What we hear we do,” said Stella, but we tremble to think what may be said by so sarcastic a judge when we are absent.” “Oh, if I only dared to speak as rapturously in your presence!” “‘Faint heart never won fair lady!’” laughed “I shall remember that axiom,” returned I, laying my hand upon my heart. “And in the meantime pray don’t forget your senseless Mr. Dearborn!” said Myra, with a slight pout, as if from a touch of jealousy. “Ah! Mr. Dearborn—true. Well, now see it you don’t agree with me as I state the case. About a year ago he was robbed by burglars, as you probably have heard—lost to the amount of five thousand dollars, as he himself told me. Now what do you think ? With that experience, so fresh in his memory, you would hardly suppose he would want to tempt fate again. But he does, or will, in spite of my advice to the contrary. This morning he received fifty thousand dollars, in government, coupon bonds, from his son in Washington, to be deposited with a broker in Wall street. New York. He intended going on to-day, but got delayed. Having called to see me on some business, he incidentally mentioned these facts. “ ‘But this large amount of money you have of course deposited in bank,’ said I. “ ‘No,’ he answered; I merely locked it up in my escritoire; it will be safe there.’ “ ‘Not if your servants know about it, or some burglar breaks in. as happened to you before,’ where by which a so charming a pre mtervai^o_times only a day or two I received between onb'bnrwtai^ and another, and sometimes a period of weeks-pUt the dark busine«« qn pop. little before sunse tainly continuing^ tlAlt F° ,master or his mansion the felt perfectly safe wl/ien ne had bolted his own door. “ad a headache at felt perfectly safe wl£$n ne had bolted his own door, while the ladies elyervwhere became nervously timid and afraid of weir own shadows. Yet not one of th>xe .latter, as far as my knowledge goes, was ever molested, or ever got even a a sight of a midnight depredator. Money, coupon bonds, watches, jewels of all kinds, and valuable plate were the articles mostly taken by the burglars, and rarely anything else Of these valuables hot a trace could subsequently be found, showing that the scoundrels were too well off and too cunning to dispose of them in the usual channels resorted to by common thieves When I was sent for to try my skill in ferreting out and bringing tha guilty parties to justice, and had everything explained to me, I agreed to enter upon the task on condition that every other detective should be recalled; that it should be given out that the mystery was too deep to be solved; that it should not be known that I was anywhere in that region, and that I should be left to take my own time and pursue my own course, with money enough at my command to carry out any plan I might adopt. I started out with the theory that these burglars were not common burglars; that they were not needy burglars; that they knew before operating exactly where treasures were concealed, and what they had to do to get possession of them; that they had no ordinary meins of secreting their spoils till they could be disposed of at a distance, perhaps in another country; aid that to find the operators I must look for then in high life rather than in low life. I say I started outwith this theory, and the reader can judge by the sequel whether I surmised correctly or not. I went first to Trenton, ordered a suit of rooms in a first-class hotel, dressed myself like a gentleman of means, and registered myself as Clarence Dunlavy. of Montreal, Canada. After that I soon managed to let it be understood that I had been an officer of high rank in the British army, that I had only sold out on coming into possession of a fortune of a million left by a deceased uncle, and that I was now traveling, partly for pleasure and parti? with a view of finding some locality in the United States where I should be contented to purchase an estate and settle down for life. Of course I requtsted all this to be kept a profound secret, becaise I wished it to be known; and of course it was m.de known far and wide by every man or woman wh) heard of it, telling it to some other man or womm as a profound secret. In the course <f the next two or three weeks I found quite a nunber of the best citizens seeking my acquaintance,and received quite a number of invitations to vis; as many mansions of the best families. In the course ofthe next two months my visiting acquaintance in Tien ton was so extensive as to include all the leadig families of the place, and as I encouraged gossp of all kinds, I became pretty familiar with all lie prominent incidents connected with these faiilies during the preceding decade. I Among a great rimy facts of more or less interest—but which, Iving no connection with my story, I shall notiere record—I learned who were old families and jo were new, who were rich and who were not so rh, who had property to sell and who had not, an&st, but not least, who had been robbed during theast two years, for the burglaries I speak of had exjnded over nearly that period of time. Among the ne families who had purchased property and tain up their residence in town within the two yirs I speak of, was one by the name of Brantfor consisting of a venerable mother, her married n and his wife, another son, and two blooming damters. Curiously enom their house had been broken into and robbed brtly after their arrival in town —it was one of tlfirst in the series in fact—and as a considerable sh of money and much valuable jewelry had beejiken, the married son, who was the real owner ohe premises, had at once offered a large reward fcthe detection and punishment of the villains. Walter Brantfu was a man about thirty-five years of age, coijly and prepossessing, and had, it was said, a lab income from a lead mine in the West. His wife was _____________ ndsome, accomplished, and refined, and so we his two beautiful sisters; and as for his stately, Uh-toned, aristocratic brother, he was one to shin nd dazzle in the proudest society —to be the envyf men and the adored of women. Such a family this, living in fine style, keeping T. W. C.—A gentleman must not shake hands with a lady until the lady makes the first move toward it. D. D. A.—All answers to invitations are addressed to the lady who invites—not to “Mr. and Mrs. B----.” S. & M.—The bride drops her middle name if she desires to do so, taking her family name. said I. . .. ,, , “ ‘My servants know nothing about it,’ he replied; ‘and as for burglars—well, lightning never strikes twice in the same place, you know.’ “Now, this may be the American plan of doing business,” I observed to the ladies, “but, as an Englishman, I should feel ashamed of risking so much in so reckless a manner.” As I concluded, the two charming belles exchanged glances; and then Stella said, with a halfconcealed yawn: “If people will be so stupid they ought to lose their money; but in this case, if Mr. Dearborn has not mentioned the matter to anybody except you, of course his thousands are just as safe in his desk as they would be in the bank.” “Ah, if 1 Well, if careless in one thing he may be careless in all. He may have told a dozen others for what I know—some burglar among the rest. However, it is no affair of mine, and I really crave pardon for mentioning so uncongenial a matter in so charming a presence.” vw-- a tap of a fan from each fair SmilB 80 SWe6t Pleasant Paragraphs. In a Tunnel. “I hate a tunnel,” the maiden said, And closer to the drummer drew; They always make me feel afraid Of some disaster; don’t they you 1” And then the drummer shook his mane. “You’re safe enough with me,” said he; “Whatever happens to the train, You always can rely on me.” And, with ear-splitting whistle’s shriek, The train plunged in the black abyss; The drummer sought her blooming cheek, Ami frescoed it with manly kiss. Emboldened by her sweet alarm, As on they tore through that eclipse, He laid her head upon his arm. And friezed a dado on her lips. “Ah, me!” the maiden sweetly smiled, As she arranged her tumbled hat, And once again the sunbeams filed In at the window where they sat; “Ah, me ! for once that horrid pest Was robbed of every starting fear. I thank you for your interest; Excuse me, sir; I get off here.” And so she left him drowned in sighs, And on the sea of soft dreams tossed, Of her sweet lips and pure bright eyes, So quickly gained and quickly lost. To dream! but, ah, at last to wake And learn that in the tunnel’s din She seized upon her chance to snake His watch and chain and diamond pin. The Disadvantages of Deafness. The following incident “came off” in a certain poor-house in New Hampshire: A young clergyman visiting the establishment seated himself by the side of a deaf old woman, when this conversation ensued: Clergyman (shouting).— How old are you, my good madam ?” , „ Woman.—“Eighty-eight year old, come last May.” Clergyman (in a sad tone).—“Eighty-eight years old! Before eighty-eight years shall have passed^ over me I shall be food for worms.” Old Woman (horrified).—“Worms, did you say? Are you troubled with ’em? I never know’d grow’d-up men-folks to have ’em bad I” The clergyman was observed to come away very suddenly after that question and answer. Nature’s Humorist. “What is your business?” inquired a city clergyman of a country youth with whom he was playing an innocent game of euchre. “Oh, I am one of Nature’s humorists,” replied the verdant lad. , “I fail to catch on,” said the dominie, unconsciously dropping into slang; “what are you giving mo “Just what I said to you, boss,” responded the ^^Well, what do you mean by Nature’s humorist ?” “Why, I tickle the ground with a hoe.” explained the young granger, “and the earth smiles with ^The parson passed, and the youth made it spades. Nothing Else. “I hate to see a woman with rings in her ears,” exclaimed the good deacon; “they ain’t natural. If it was intended for woman to wear them, she would have been born with holes in her ears. The first woman didn’t wear ear-rings, I’ll be bound!” “No,” remarked the quiet little man in the corner, “nor nothing else.” The discussion was brought to an abrupt close, and the house adjourned without delay. “Werry Pertickler.” “Sam.” asked a farmer, “where is the hoe ?” “Wid de rake, sah.” “Well, where is the rake ? “Wid de hoe.” , , _ “But where are both? ’ “Bofe togedder. Why, boss, you ’pears to be werry pertickler dis mornin’.” Francis Crude. Why He Fell. “Can any of you children tell me why Adam fell?” asked an Austin Sunday-school teacher. Only one raised his hand. “Well now, Johnny, what was the cause of Adam’s “A banana peel,” guessed Johnny. Mirthful Morsels. . . , J l'A vuuicovwu 9 Cl LIU. so we interchange good wishes, and dulcet au re-vovrs, and the coachman drove me to my hotel # Curiously enough, Mr. Dearborn was there, waiting to see me, and I at once took him into my nri-vate parlor, and closed the door. y P “Well?” he said. “I’m going to a masquerade ball this evening, and I want an appropriate dress,” he said to the costumer. “What is your business?” Oh. I’m a milkman.” “Ah! Then you’d better put on a pair of pumps and go disguised as a waterfall,” “What’s them things, ma?” asked a little girl at the table the other day. “Why those are Turkish prunes, my dear. “Where did they come from?” Her small brother looked up with an expression of -disdain on his face as he exclaimed: ‘ They come Miss Malvina knowmuoh her beau for a walk, when her little BrSrnLont with called to her from the fence: “I say, Malvinv'don^ you bring that feller back here to tea with you goTrXTat it S” * more’n en°Ugh biscuits & Vo?* 1 i XlCl bUlctll U1U111CL ivun-vu. up wxvxx troublesome toot^fana r^-^ain on his face as he exclaimed «« trap and bated it,” was my answer and if we don t catch one or two fox.es before morning, I shall be surprised.” “Good!” he rejoined. “Is everything complete on your part?” I asked. Everything, sir.” dark^n 1 WiH be at Y°Ur house an hour after We conversed a minute or two longer, and then he went home. At the appointed time, I entered the mansion of Mr. Dearborn by the back way. There I found half a dozen good men and true. We seated ourselves and awaited the result. Somewhere about one o’clock in the morning, a shutter of the library window was pried open the window softly raised, and two masked men entered and struck a light. The instant they did so, before they had time to look around or defend themselves, they were both firmly seized bv strong, determined men In less than half a minute more I had clicked the manacles upon their wrists. TO?JteVnotV£r li?ht was Produced, and I tore the masks from their faces. “Good morning, Messrs. Brantford!” said I in my most courtly-style; “I am glad to see you. It is hardly necessary to say you were expected, since you find us all here to receive you. How are the < nr W1^b their specious headache and tooth-dCilG t “You are a low, mean treacherous villain, and a disgrace to the British army!” cried the elder brother, almost livid with rage. PaFdon, sir-I am neither-but only an humble detective, at your service.” The two men looked perfectly amazed. The fact is, I continued, “we three have been ?amo* 1 have won, and you have lost, that is all. I set a trap for you, and you have fallen into it. There was no fifty thousand dollars here, as I led those dear sweet sisters of yours to believe. That was only a little romance of mine consented to by Mr. Dearborn, in order to catch the burglars who robbed him before. But I will not de-tain you with further explanation. You will probably hear more of it at your trial, and have plenty ot time to ponder it in the penitentiary.” The four females—the so-called mother, wife and two sisters —were arrested, and the Brantford se.arehed; but as no stolen property could be found on the premises, and no criminal were dilch°argede brought gainst the women, they Some People affected to believe in their innocence out jl did not. They soon disappeared from that locality, the property was sold, the two men got long terms of imprisonment, and I received much pfaise fnd work1110^ sa^ls^ae^10n a^ result of my detective are bores like trees? Because we love them best when they leave. “ “I was so mad at George last night,” said a girl of her sweetheart. ‘'Yes,” said her ill-natured broth-were up°ln arm?”* 1 lookedlnthe Parlor that you . A little boy sitting beside a man whohad been eating Limberger cheese turned to his mother and exclaimed: Jlamma. how I wish I was deaf and dumb in my nose!” What is the simplest way to keep jelly from molding on top? Put it on the table once in awh?lS “Is anybody waiting on you?” said a polite drv goods clerk to a young lady from the country Yes, sir,” replied the blushing damsel; “that’s my fellow outside, he wouldn’t come in the store.” Her father stood at the gate talking with a gen-Ueman and the seven-year-oM miss threw our several hints about supper being ready with out suc-cess. At length, anxious and impatient, she called out from the side stoop: “Papa, if you don’t corn a right into supper the ice cream will all get cold I” Said a distinguished politician to his son: “Look at me! I began as an aiderman, and here I am at the top of the tree. And what is my reward? Why when I die, my son will be the greatest rascal in /fed To ypung hopeful replied: “Yes dad, when you die; and not till then.” Why is a railroad so patriotic? Because it is bound to the country with the strongest ties. ?.ONTRIBUTORS.-The following articles are de-pbned : Felix s Logic,” “Mr. Cogburn,” “The Pioneer ” “Extravagance,” “A Young Man’s Trials,” “He Was ’a Lunkhead, They Were Mules,” “That Boy Ned” “Too ^hnFuV’’’ “Forgot !t,” “Had Ben to the Theater,” “A Schoolboy’s Composition on the Elephant.” Items of Interest. Etiquette Department. ltfrs. B. C., Providence, R. I.—If your husband has a hasty temper, you will need great wisdom and discretion a?d giTe you strength to rule your own spirit. If you can learn to possess complete command ?wn win be abIe to decrease the strength of your husband s temper. n ree°gnize their gentlemen friends with °/.graceful inclination; and it is their place to bow first to those with whom their acquaintance is but slight • while with very intimate friends the recognition is frequently simultaneous. webster Mass.—The wedding-cake is always a conspicuous part ot the entertainment. Boxes, or sheets of white paper, are usually provided, and slices of cake cut for the guests to take home. . IF.—Newport, R. I.—When you see a lady approach- ri>ow crossing, or going up or down a staircase, you should lift your hat and stand aside for her to pass. /S. M., Brooklyn, N. Y.—It is usually customary to put the tea-urn, castors, pitchers, salt-cellars, and, if one has them, decanters, on the sideboard. and card-leaving by all the guests, upon the family of the bride, are a rigorous formality within ten days after the wedding. J Miss A. C., New York.—When the yearly call due to an elderly person is not made, no invitation during the year can be expected from her. s J Irene W.— You must always thank a gentleman for a friendly escort, be it to party, opera, theater, or church. As Miss Genevieve Baker, a teacher in a public school of this city, was leaving a car of the Third avenue elevated road, the brakeman rudely closed the gate and severed the little finger from her right hand. The ladv is dependent upon her own labor, and as a portion of her income is derived from teaching music, the loss of a finger makes the case one of exceptional hardship. Before cutting a man’s head off in China, the authorities considerately make him drunk; and occasionally a rich convict who has been sentenced to death will hire, or rather buy, a coolie to take his place. The coolie time beforehand, and at last, m a state of besotted helplessness, meets death without apparent suffering. The electric lights have thrown the gas-lamps entirely in the -shade, as street illuminators, in San Jose Cal. In every respect they are superior, and prove more economical. An electric light company in San Francisco offers to satisfactorily light a district for $65,520 per fo^gas’ WhlCh 18 ab°Ufc $12’000 less tban is Paid Commendable enterprise was manifested by a young lady of Rocky Plains, Ga., whose mother told her when she had made a dozen quilts with her own hands it would be time enough for her to think of marrying. The lass finished the job in such a short time that the old ladv was struck dumb with amazement. Oysters are not good for paupers. The keepers of the(Tewksbury Almshouse were so convinced of this tact that they themselves ate all the oysters sent for the nourishment of the invalid inmates. The police of Paris, on discovering that a wine merchant adulterates his wine, affixes a sign to that effect on his store. He is also heavily fined. Englishmen want to marry their deceased wife’s sister to save themselves the ordeal of getting used to a new and untried mother-in-law. Chicago has facilities for slaughtering 71,250 hogs per day. The house of Armorn & Co. alone can kill and circss tb?teKerY8o^0 free aud aocepted Masons in pokerVplayei-.BUtler' °f Massachusetts is a capital |