Olive Logan's new Christmas story
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]OLIVE LOGAN'S NEW CHRISTMAS STORY. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. T. INTRODUCTORY AND EXPLANATORY AND THEREFORE, PERHAPS, BETTER SKIPPEL. II. ABOUT SOMETHING. "I, ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. V. ABOUT NOTHING--SHORTER. VI. SLIGHTLY SENSATIONAL. VII. SOMEWHAT RELATIONAL. VIII. CONTAINING GOOD NEWS FOR ALL, ESPECIALLY FOR THE READER, AS IT IS THE END. NEW YORK: THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, "9 & 121 NASSAU STREET. 1867. page: [View Page ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. I. INTRODUCTORY AND EXPLANATORY, AND THEREFORE, PERHAPS BETTER SKIPPED. IT was late one night in January (more years ago than I think it necessary to men- tion), and the snow had been falling heavily all day. The beautiful white flakes had set- tled down like an ermine robe on the house- tops opposite, and hung, making a spotless fringe of rich, colorless chenille, on the bare, gaunt limbs of the trees in the park. Our ash barrel (which had not been removed from befbre our door for some days on account of an unpleasant difficulty between the street- surveyors and the street-convevors), was frosted all over with this white coating, and looked precisely as if it contained a huge wedding-cake covered inches deep with lus- cious sugary" icing." Our little darling girl, Baby Lollipops, who was four years old and had never seen the snow, or if she had did not remember it, called out to me in a clear, sharp, high little voice, musical as the clang- or of a silvery bell, "Oh, Mamma, look! somebody's dawn and emptied de flour barrel all over de celler-door!" And when I took the little sprite up, and, lifting her high in my arms, showed her through the window- panes that numberless "' flour-barrels" had cast their contents over the grocery-man's wheel-barrow, and the barber's pole, and the stationary news-boy's awning-covered tent, and the lamp-post on the corner, and the stone carriage-step before the Highuns' door, and had even left a thin ridge on the old- fahioned "'scraper" before our own, she clapped her chubby hands together and laughed with glee and kicked vigorously, thereby endangering her personal safety as she sat perched on my shoulder, holding on to my front hair for seetrity-and all the while she passed baby comment on the novel scene before her by repeating the one word --" boo-fill! boo-ful!" It was beautiful. Like all spotless, pure and heaven-sent things, it was beautiful. So long as it remained uncontamlinated by the touch of man, it lay in its undefiled glory like the down from an angel's wing. And now tlhat the moon was rising in colld Ahind mtste- rious beauty, casting her steel-blue rays on the blanched objects at her fect, the freezing night air seemed to shut out sounds as tholug they were too worldly to intrude on this ghostly scene, over which the orb of' night presided with queenly grace. But this was after dusk, when the darkness had sent good working-men home (all except John), and bad working men and bad dling men out; and had bid the weary seamstress rise and seek relief from the fatigue of sitting, by encoun- tering the fatigue of walking; when the reputable shops had closed and the disreputa- ble ones had opened ; and when, spite of the efforts of restless tpirits to turn day into night, and quiet into tulmult, the general feel- ing was one of rest. During the day it was different. Tlhen all had been noise and hubbub and clamor. The snow had fallen on the pavement and in the street as well as on the house and tree- tops. But, alas! on the pavement and in the street it had been crushed and crunched and blackened, till it no more resembled its sister-covering on the house and tree-tops than the noisy, bustling day resembled the calm and peaceful night. The hurrying foot- steps of hundreds of men and scores of wo- men had trampled it down until the once spot- less snow, as if ashamed of its degradation, now ran in liquid blackness to the gutters be- yond. AMen, slipping and sliding over the un- certain surface had "* cursed the snow "' and ut- tered oaths at it as if it had been a living and sentient thing; and women, contemplating the bedraggled fate of sometime spotless petti- coats, had stanlped their feet with vexation, page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] and tutted-and pished with true feminine as- perity. The declining sun had sent his adieux to earth in the shape of two cutting winds which met and mingled, and called themselves a Nor' Easter; and Nor' Easter laughed at the people as they muffled them- selves closer in their outer wrappings, all in- effectual to stave off the cutting, insidious breath of the winter's night: and then, sud- denly Nor' said to Easter "Halloa! what's this black water trying to escape us and run away down into the city sewers? Let's freeze it!"And so the poor snow of the pavement and the street was caught in the act of try- ing to escape, and frozen into a thin, filmy substance, all cracking into flaws and fuller of dirt than before; while the spotless snow of the house and tree-tops looked down wonderingly at her fallen sister, with some pity for her in her heart it is true,'but still turning up her nose at her vigorously, for societv's sake. It was past eight o'clock, and John had not come home. The chops were done brown and even scorched, and the biscuit-crusts hard as a board, from staying too long in the oven. The butter, which had been fiozen stiff ty the cold weather was now running in oily streams over the hearth-stone where I hal placed it to soften. Again and again I 'went to the window, and shading my eyes with my hands peered out intently into the darkness of the night. I was not exactly worried. Oh, no! It was an express under- standing between me and my husband that I was not to worry about him if he happened to stay out late. The chances of his being run over by a street-car and killed, and the chances of his being detained an hour or two longer at his work were about in the propor- tion of one to a hundred. Therefore, I must never worry. And I did not. Oh dear no! Only I wished he would come, that's all! I had just seated myself at the table des- pairingly, having resolved, after many doubts as to the propriety of such a course, to take my supper without him, when suddenly I heard the sharp click of a night-key in the front door, immediately followed by the dear, springy, elastic step I knew so well. "Well, darling, did you think I was never coming?" said John in his cheery tone, hang- ing his cap and overcoat on a peg near the door. "Whew!" he continued without wait- ing for a reply, '"whew! isn't it cold? Give me my supper, pet, I am as hungry as a hound." "Baby's been abed these two hours. What kept you so late, John?"I asked, bend- ing down to take the butter-plate with my right hand, and shielding my face from the fire with my left. "Tell you in a minute. Why don't you give me a kiss?"I raised my lips to his, and he caught my chin with his right hand and placed his left fore-finger in close proximity to my nose. "Now, Nell," he said reproach. fully, "you've been crying! I see it. Your eyes are as red as "-and finding himself at fault for a simile, he could only say-*- possi- ble. They are. You've been worrying about me when you should not. You-know you shouldn't tease yourself in this way. My poor little wife worrying herself to death about a great, worthless fellow like me." "No, John," I answered, for the purpose of reassuring him. i"You are mistaken. I haven't worried myself about you-oh, no- not in the least!" I think this was about the most unmitigated falsehood I ever told in my life. I had wor- ried myself about him until I was fairly sick, and no number of doses of valerian except that single one of seeing John enter the door, as he had now done, would have been effect- ual in calming my agitated nerves. I don't believe people's hair turns gray from agony. For the last two hours I had seen my John run over and killed by every individual and respective horse-car in town, as well as maim- ed by two trucks, and drowned off one fer- ry-boat, and yet my hair was 'as brown and silky as ever! Never tell me! I don't be- lieve a word of their stupid stories! "In the first place," said John, stirring his coffee and then. drinking it down without taking the, spoon from the cup: " in the first place I've worked like a horse to-day, and old Williamson is just tickled to death with me. He says to me, says he, 'By George! John Morris, you'll be a rich man some day, sir, if you keep on.' And I don't wonder he's pleased, for, oh, Nelly! she is beauti- ful! "Is she, John?" said I, for I knew to whom he alluded without questioning. * Yes; if you could see her sitting the water like a duck, and with her slender masts cleaving the air and pointing to the sky as though to remind us that up there lived the Great Boss-the great, great One, Nell, whose poor frail journeymen we all are. Kiss me, my girl." I knew this was coming. John always had to be kissed whenever he grew moraliz- ing, reflective or theological; his great warm heart was flowing over with love, and his dear nature was one of that entwining char- acter which finds joy in every outward ex- pression of affection. "I'm going up to kiss Baby!"And with- out another word he departed on his errand, leaving me in an agony of fear-lest he should wake her and give me a sleepy, cross child to nurse during the rest of the evening. He soon returned, however, having accom- plished his purpose without any disagreeable consequences. "To-day we put up the figger-head. It's a woman. They call her Amandy, because that's the name of old Williamson's daughter; and he told the carver-fellows to make the figger-head look like her. But, Lord bless you, it's oceans too pretty for that proud thing, with a stuck-up nose. It's a regular beauty. Nell, it looks like you." "N onsense, John," said I. But I was mightily pleased nevertheless. If he had said I looked like the ship itself, I should have been pleased; because I knew that anything about a boat or a boat's gear was handsome to a man who loved his trade, and whose trade was that of a ship-carpenter, as my husband's was. "Well, all that kept me late; and just as I was coming away, worried myself because I knew you'd be worried about me, I met Mr. Williamson, who called out to me by name. ' Morris,' says he, ' here's a letter that I think is for you. The address is writ- ten in such a scrawly little bit of a hand' (Williamson's fist, you know, is as big as an elephant's) ' that I can scarcely make it out. Still I think it's for you.' "It was for me, Nell," continued John; "It was a letter from California," "California, John! Who do you know in California?" "It was from an old aunt of mine, who went there years and years ago. I have but very little recollection of her-except that she was kind and gentle to ine when I was a boy. She was my poor mother's favorite sister. Poor mother! Kiss me, Nell. Well, Aunt Julia married and went away; and the next I heard of her was that her husband had died, and left hera great fortune. Soon after that we heard she had foolishy em- barked all her money in a speculation which proved disastrous, and she now writes to me to ask me if I can't give her a home for the rest of her days, to shelter her old age from suffering and want." "And how did you answer, John?"I asked. "I haven't answered at all yet. I waited to see what my little wife would say about it." I crept up to him stealthily and, getting very close, placed my nose under his soft whiskers, thus bringing my lips almost in contact with his ear. "Your little wife savs that so long as she has a roof to shelter her, or crust of bread to eat, she will share both with any kith or kin of John Morris's." I shan't tell you any more that he said, for he always overrated everything I did; nor how he kissed me and put his arm around my slender waist (twenty inches my waist ribbon measured-ha! ha! just look at me now) and called me " his darling-his true little wife- his own dear helpmate!"It was a good deal of undertaking for us, dears, for we were both young, and expenses were heavy. All we had in the world was John's wages, though, to be sure, we were rent free, for the little bandbox of a house we lived in belong- ed to me, having been left me by my grand- father.. We had, too, our little child's future I to think of; it had always been my hope to t be able to leave her something. But all con- * siderations, even those of our child's pros- pects, must fade before the touching appeal made us by this friendless, aged woman. Well, a letter was written and despatched -a letter inviting poor Aunt Julia to conme and stay with us as long as she lived, and en- closing her the money to pay her passage to New York (John had to work at outside jobs to get it), and in course of time she canle to us-in course of a long, long time. 01e could not get to or from California as one can now, in a matter of three weeks or so. It took months. The winthr had gone and the snow-flakes had melted, and the MAay blossoms had fadled, and then the ,Jinme roses came, and with them poor Aunnt Juilia. Sho was a fiagile, delicate womian of pa st sixty, with mild blue eyes, which positively beamni- ed, as imy John's did, on every humnan crea- ture on which they rested. ier voice was soft and low and mellow; and, alas! alas! I saw at once what she jaid in her letter-that her home with us and on the earth, ilindeel, would not be for long. Aunty and I got on famously. Baby evi- dently regarded this new comer as a valuable importation brought expressly for her enjov- ment. During the sulmmler days Aunlt Jullia's lifeb passed pleasantly as heart could wish, She and baby sat in the sumencr-house, which John proudly called a "Bos-key," somnebodoly having told him that that was the Frcnh name for it. John built it himself, and I trained the vines to run over it and( sha:d it; and if you'll believe me, in Septemiber, wihen the grapes were ripe (we bad a vine in our own yard), the great black bunches lmnHmg through the lattice-work, anld dlanced iefioe your eyes and mouth as if they were actuall- ly inviting you to eat them. And, oh! how luscious they were, too! So ripe and sweet and juicy. Aunt Julia spoke very little of her life in California, and out of delicacy I refirained firom mentioning it. On one subject she was very bitter. Before she had applied to Johnl (knowing him to be poor) she had asked two others, the sole remaining members of her family, to take her. They had botl refitsed. John came gladly forward. That was noth- ing new for John. John was ready to assist everybody so far as his restricted means would allow; but Aunt Julia quite ignoring this fact, was as deeply grateful to her nephew as if the single act of goodness in John's life had been performed for her and her alone. As the winter advanced upon us, poor Aunty's health grew ^vorse and worse fron day to day. Her eyes' had failed her, and she could, therefore, neither read nor write nor sew. "What shall I do to amuse you during the Christmas week, Aunty?"I ask- ed. "Talk to me, dear-talk to me! you talk like a book. I love to hear you talk. Talk to me." "But I've got nothing to talk about now, page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] Aunty. We've talked over everything you know." "Then make up something fresh, dear- make it up." "I'll tell you what," said John, whose voice sounded exactly like his aunt's, except that her's was very piano 'and his thunder-' Ingly forte-but they were both in the same key and both sweetly harmonious, at least to my ear!' "Nell, you're such a wonder- ful hand at telling stories! I hear you tel- ling them to Baby all day long, about 'Once upon a time there was a little girl and she had a mother;' or, ' Once upon a time there lived a good man'-a circum- stance to be faithfully narrated on account of its rarity. Now suppose you devote every evening of' Christmas week to telling Aunty and nme a story! Hey! What do you say to that?" "That would be delightful," said Aunt Julia. "Will you, Nell?" asked John. I said of course I would, if I could amuse them. I wQoul do anything for that purpose. They both knew that. "Ha! Ha!" laughed John, slapping his lecg as if this were a capital joke, "'My little Nell giving us an Arabian night's en- tertainment. By jingo! aint it jolly? I say Nelly, will you write it off during the day?" "No," I replied, perking up my chin with a consciousness of rather a high order of talent, hitherto unrecognized; "no, I shall compose them as I go on-that is, ex- tenmpore." "Do so. Bravo!" shouted he again, this time rubbing his hands together in quite a frantic manner. "Do so. Do it, X- anyway, and then it will be all the better for Xmas--don't you see? Pick it and peck it, and mark it-don't you see? and then it will do for everybody--andre!" The next evening was the first of the Christmas week. I had been thinking over our project all day, and when Baby was put to bed, and tea over, we all sat down quietly, and I was about to begin my story. But, bless you! before ever I opened my lips I saw that John had got at least a half o' ream o' paper before him, and more newly sharpened lead pencils than I ever before saw collected together, and 'was ready and eager to write down every word I said. I protested against this, but in vain. John would have his way. "I'm a reporter for a newspaper," he said, Aunt Julia laughing at his impudence. "I am obliged to report your speech, madam. Every great party has their speeches reported in the news- papers-particularly-if not more so, in ours. Our newspaper, Madam; our gigantic organ with a Hoe's Stop. The Daily Blower. Circulation, three million!" "Now, John, this is too bad!"I ex- claimed, "You'll put me out!" "No I wont," he replied, "I'll put you in a book when you've done. Come now, don't be cross. What's your first story about?" "Never mind," said I, still unmollified, and wishing to give this "reporter" as little "information" as possible, "it's about- something." "I imagined it would be," said John. II. ABOUT SOMETHNG. "You must give it a name, Nell," said my husband. "Come, now, christen it at once, and Aunt Julia and I will stand as spon- sors." "I don't see why I need give it a name, John," I replied. "I haven't thought of one." ",Now look here, Madam," said John Morris, "if I do you the honor of taking down your stories with the ultimate view of- ahem-publishing them in book form--when I get money enough, the least you can do is to act on my reasonable suggestions. Every author does that." "Very well," said I, "if it must be, it must. Call it Roger Thorrifield's Discovery. "What did he discover, Nelly?" asked my husband, laughing a little at my dignified manner, so different now to what it was when I was cooking batter-cakes. "Listen, and you will find out;"I answer- 'ed gravely. CHAPTER I. "BY Jove, Hartley! I believe you are' going to be the lucky one after all." "What! do you think she really likes me?" "Likes you! You don't mean to say you haven't yet asked her if she loves you P?" "No; and I don't intend to do so!" Tlhe answer was given in such a tone of decision that conversation at once dropped, and the two men pursued their way in silence. The chill air of a November night blew around the sharp angles of the street corners as the first speaker-a gay, volatile youth of twenty-stopped at a door whose polished surface, bright silver knob and knocker, with appropriate continuance of spotless marble steps, was the fac simile of the next house. and the one next to that, and indeed formed one of a row of bewildering similarity. "Bless this stupid town!" exclaimed the younger man, inserting a small night-key in the shining lock--" everybody abed at half past eleven! Good-night, Hartloe3." "Good-night," answered Hartley; and turning up the collar of his overcoat, to pro- tect his ears from the cold and damp air of the foggy night, he quickened his pace till it became nearer a run than a walk, and in less than ten minutes' time was warming his fin- ger-tips at a cheery fire which threw out so bright a glow that gas-light was quite unnec- essary in the room--one which formed the first of a suite of bachelor apartments. A very handsome man this Mr. Arthur Hartley, now that his overcoat has been re- moved and his hat laid aside, showing his high fobrehead, and his glossy hair, and the soft tinge of his delicate, olive complexion, and the fine silky black moustache and whiskers encir- cling the Well-shaped chin. Something of an Italian face-soft but not effeminate; an eye which could flash as -well as plead; and a mouth a model of sweetness at times, now set with heavy lines, and drawn harshy down at the corners. A man of about thirty--per- haps a couple of years more; but in his mo- ments of light-heartedness ten years of this seemed to vanish, and the face of a youth just " of age " was older than the face of Mr. Arthur Hartley. The occupant of the suite of bachelor apartments was evidently not in a happy frame of mind; for, flinging himself moodily in a comfortable easy chair, he gave vent to his annoyance by a series of ill-repressed sighs. "Of course she loves me-" he muttered in a low tone-" of course she loves me- anybody can see that. She loves ime madly, devotedly, insanely. Curse the luck!" It seemed, a strange thing to curse the luck which brought the love of a beautiful young girl; but doubtless Mr. Hartley had reasons of his own for speaking as le did, and for continuing in the fbllowing straini: " Curse this stupid hole of a town too-if it were anywhere else I might--no, that I 1 could not exactly do; curse the town! New t York's the only place in the world fit tqlive f in!" This was rather hard on London and Paris, and Vienna and Brussels, the which cities a are generelly supposed by their benighted in- n habitants to be quite fit to rive in; but as in r this country one's thoughts are free, M. s Arthur Hartley was quite entitled to the h liberty of his opinion, particularly as it hap- g pened to be expressed in the solitude of his a own apartments and not before witnesses. k "I suppose. I must go to bed now," said h Hartley, casting a glance at his watch and a closing the hunting-case with a snap which w fell on the' ear like the sharp click of a B diminutive pistol-"1 only half-past twelve b and going to bed! Oh Lord! how supremely fc virtuous I am getting! I wish I could see what is going on in New York." fr If That he cotuld not perform this visual fiat seemed to be another cause of complaint d against a life in Philadelphia, and Mr. Hart- - ley entering an inner room, begani divesting ,f himself of his coat and waistcoat in a drearily t discontented muanner. s "I wonder if' I dare go to see her to-umor- - row. I)Dar! One dare do anything with a 3woman who is madly, insanely in love." Ite paused. "-Is she ill love with me?" Another pause. r "Yes, to be sure she is,;' answered Mri, - Hartley to Mr. Hartley. "I wish I were as i sure of everything as I am of that. Madly, 1 insanely, furiously, outrageously, absurdly in love with ile. And I can (do anything I please with her. He chuckled at this and i repeated the words--" anything I please with her." . t Mr. Hartley did not quickly compose his restless brain to sleep. lie tossed ill the Ibed, and crumpled the white covers, and twisted the highly-fluted pillow-slips in his hot hands, and chuckled exultingly at the last little idea which had come across his fertile brain. lie repeated it in his waking intervals, which were many during the night; and the trim little chambermaid, who rapped at his door at 8 o'clock the next morning and announced boots and hot water, dis- tinctly avers that she heard Mr. Hartley eim- phatically asserting that lie could do-" any- thing-he-pleased-with-her." CHAPTER II. ' IT is generally considered a fine thing to be born rich; and a fine thing to be born handsome; and better, perhaps than citherc, to be amiable and loving and beloved. All this was Ruth Villemain, and a very lucky girl she esteemed herself, when at the age of eighteen, just entering upon life,-its pleas- ures and its woes, she saw how unmistak- ably superior was her position to that of most girls about her. lHer parents, both rich, died before Ruth had reached her sixth y'ear, and from that age till woman- hood the girl had been made to feel how great was the power conferred by fortune; and when, with this, dawned upon her the knowledge that great personal loveliness was hers as well, it might have been overlooked and pardoned if her head had been some- what turned by the brilliancy of her position. But it was not so in the least. A moro beautiful character, joined to a more lovely form and face, it would be difficult to find. Indeed, part of her beauty, was derived from her charm of manner. Such a shy, page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] tender little way she had of supplicating your friendship by a loving glance from her soft, dreamy blue eyes! Such a warm smile dallied on her rosy lips, parted just enough to show the pearly whiteness of the teeth inside! Her form, too, more mature than is usual with girls of her years, was molded with a correctness seen but rarely now-a-days in this, our age, when bodily distortion is the rule to which women mustLfain submit. There was nothing very brilliant in Ruth Villemain's mental qualifications. She had been a good littld girl at school, and learned her lessons and got good marks and been obedient generally; and later on she had taken prizes for lessons, and then at length graduated. Not brilliantly at all, but she had graduated; and, so considered, she had performed the necessary and disagreeable scholastic duties incumbent on a young lady of her position in life. She said she did not rely on her brilliancy to be loved, but on the hopeful theory-that loving every one herself, all would love her in return-as we are told that like invariably begets like. And it did in her case, very, very fully. Not one of the many persons who knew her even made the effort to withstand her power -the power of love, and truth, and virtue, and honor. She had had many suitors and had reject- ed all who had offered themselves; but this with so much gentleness, tenderness, even affection, that not one among them had seen fit to be indignant, or scornful, or anything but just forever and ever her devoted friend and loyal knight. There were many who were this, too, without having offered, them- selves; and among these was one Roger Thornfield, a thoughtful young man of twen- ty-five, who had known Ruth Villemain to his pleasure, as a child, and now knew her, to his sorrow, as a woman. To his sorrow, because he too felt the influence which none could escape who came in contact with her; to his sorrow, because he knew that the day was not far distant when some preux cheva- lier would come prancing by on his figurative milk-white steed and capture the pretty little Pastoral maiden, Ruth Villemiain. As yet, however, Ruth did not seem likely to be captured. The figurative milk-white steeds pranced on the scene and off, and, there was an end of them. Seeing this, Roger Thornfield's great heart grew light and joyous, and one day, survey- ing his comely young face in his mirror, a smile flitted across his lips-a smile of joy- and he said gayly--"Can it be possible that dear Ruth could-could-" Here his feelings were evidently too much for him, for his heart came high up in his throat and choked his utterance. Ah hope! hope! springing eternal in the human breast, what flattering tales hadst thou been whispering to poor Roger Thornfield? Whatever they were, they soon faded and died, for Roger's countenance lost its bright- ness, -and an. expression of anxiety--almost pain came across the pale but manly young thee. "'It is a hard thing to be poor," he soliloquized sadly-" a very hard thing to be poor-harder for a woman, of course, than a man; hard enough for a man, too, under any circumstances; but under these which sur- round me now, to know and feel that the iron hand of poverty has me, and will have me forever in its grip, while the woman I love is heiress to two fortunes, and can scarce- ly be approached by a man in my position without the fear of his being considered a fortune-seeker, and as such discarded, of course--oh, it is hard-hard-hard to bear." That the man felt whathe said was evident; for he buried his face in his hands, and a few hot tears trickled between his fingers, leaving their traces too on the vet unfurrowed cheeks. ' Come what may," said be, rising, "I I will tell her that I love her. I will see what answer she will make. She cannot-it is im- possible that she should for one moment doubt the disinterestedness of the love of her old friend, Roger Thornfield." How well lheknew the path from the little unfrequented northern thoroughfare. contigu- ous to unpleasant railways and verging close- ly on the confines of nowhere, bounded on all sides by roystering beer-gardens and bare-headed, ill-kempt children-from the place in fact which was his home, to the fine, wide, well-graded thoroughfare running from river to river, where stood the house, one of the legacies of Ruth Villemain, and now oc- cupied by the girl and an invalid aunt-a suf- fering and rather ill-tempered lady, who had been transplanted from her native soil in the interior of the State, to the utterly uncon- genial atmosphere (to her) of Philadelphia life. "My dear," said the poor lady, in a con- stant state of protest against balls, and op- eras. and dinners, and theatres-" my dear Ruth, we never do this sort of thing in the country." "No Aunty, I suppose not," replied the girl laughing; "but don't you sometimes wish you could?" Roger Thornfield's timid ring at the en- trance door was answered by a man servant, who had been lolling in easy indifference on a hall-way chair. "Is Miss Villemain at home?" inquired Mr. Thornfield. "I don't know, sir; but I'll see." was the answer; a palpable falsehood, for even as the words were being uttered, Ruth's merry laugh was heard in the drawing room. The well-trained servant showed no token of being disconcerted at this incident, but, quietly entering the room where Ruth was sitting, inquired, in his usual lazy way, if "Miss Villemain was at home-to Mr. Thornfield!" Miss Villemain answered in the affirmative at once; but before the man had time to take the message Ruth stopped him, "Wait a minute, Williams." The man bowed and stood still. "Oh no, no, Mr. Hartley," answered Ruth, in. reply to some whispered words from that gentleman, who was sitting near her. "I can't send away my old friend Roger Thorn- field." Mr. Hartley bit his lip, and looked out of tie drawing-room window into the conserva- tory beyond. "Show Mr. Thornfield in," said- Miss Villemain; but even as she gave the order she looked up uneasily at her com- panion. "I suppose you consider me very unrea- sonable, Miss Villemain," said the latter, when the servant was out of hearing dis- tance. "Yes indeed," answered Ruth, laughing, "very unreasonable to expect me to discard poor Roger, who never did you any harm-" "Upon my word," said Hartley, assuming a sneering expression not very pleasant to see, "how poetical you are getting! You really recall souvenirs of Mother Goose! "What is it. "Never did him any harm- "Ah, yes! "'What. a naughty boy was that To drown poor pussy cat Who never did him any harm, But killed the rats in his father's barn-' " "Mr. Thornfield!" announced the servant, opening the drawing room door to admit the gentleman who had been the subject of dis- course between Mr. Hartley and Miss Vil- lemtin. "I am fortunate in finding you at home," said Roger Thornfield, bowing to the pretty girl who extended her hand kindly to him. "Yes indeed," she replied; " one has so many engagements out, during the season," "Bless ne!" ejaculated' Hartley with a surprised air; ' is there a ' season ' in Phila- delphia?" ' To be sure there is, you rude man. I positively cannot allow you to villify our dear old town so much. Mr. Thornfield, Mr. Hartley-Mr. Hartley, Mr. Thornfield. Indeed, I don't know which of you is the greater personage, and therefore am in doubt which name to mention first in 'introduc- ing.'" "He is the greater personage who en- joys your greater friendship," said Thorn- field, glancing up at her, full of the love which was the ruling sentiment of his life, and had been for ten y)ears back. "A compliment from you, Mr. Thorn- field!"Isaid Ruth, smiling. I never expec- ted it." It was quite evident Mr. Hartley also did not expect it, for he looked excessively bored, and even ill tempered, at Roger Thornfield. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds, during which Roger Thornfield looked very love-guilty, and Arthur Hartley continued to look very bored. At length Mr. Hartley rose and said, "Miss Villemain, I take my leave." "Must you go?" said she, rather anx- iously, or so it seemed to Rorer. "I came first," replied Hlartley, with a slight inclination of the head in the direction of Thornfiell. Ruth blushed as she remembered the con- ventional rule, and how completely she had overlooked it in her desire to keep lartley by her side. She rose, and her soft hand lingered a little while in his as he was going. Roger Thorn- field looked at them as they stood together, and, although he was not any too well pleased at finding a stranger with Ruth on the very day he had come to make his love-avowal, he was too generous a fellow to deny in his own heart that this new conmer was a most bril- liant specimen of early manhood. land- some, that was evident; witty, doubtless; rich, perhaps-altogether a very tascinating person. Was Ruth fascinated? Oh no, no, thought poor Roger, it cannot be, It seemed something like it though, for when the door closed Ruth sprang to the window and pulling aside the curtain, ex- claimed "Oh, dear! Come look at. Mr, Hartley's trap, Mr. Thornfield." Roger cast a glance at the dashing. equi- page in which Mr. Hartley jumped, taking the reins from a knowing groom, attired in a livery of irreproachably good taste. "He is saying something," said Ruth, as Mr. Hartley touched his hat, and dashed off at a rattling pace. "I wish I knew what lie said," sighed she, coming away from the win- dow. The groom could have told her; for lie told the smart chambermaid at Mr. Ilartley's lodgings that when that gentleman left Miss Villemain's he repeated two or three times over, that he could do--' any-thing-he- pleased-with--her!" "Charming person; did you not think so, Mr. Thornfield?" said this silly Ruth, seat- ing herself abstractedly at the piano, and nervously running her fingers over the keys. "Ruth," answered the young man looking steadfastly in her face, " we have known each other ten years, and this is the first day I ever heard- you call me Mr. Thornfield. Will you tell me the reason of it?" " Why, there is no reason at all-that is not particularly-only, before strangers, iS does not sound so very familiar. I can't ex- plain to everybody, can I, that I've known Roger Thornfield ten years and that because I've known Roger Thornfield ten years I call Roger ThornfieldlRoger Thorfield? There! does that satisfy you? He was not altogether satisfied; but ih. tone, half-petulant, half-joking, re-assure page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] him in part, and succeeded in bringing his chair cdoser to the piano stool. * Ruth," said he, drawing a long breath. "I've got something very serious to say to you .' "Oh, Roger!" exclaimed the girl, giving a sudlden twirl to the stool, thus bringing her- self face to face with him; " oh, please don't say anything serious. I can't bear anything serious. Now there's Aunty-she's always serlous--you are serious. I must say I do like Mr. Hartley, if for no other reason than that he is never serious. He is always light- hearted and happy and gay. I love people who are light-hearted and gay." Poor Roger! He stood little chance of being loved just then by this token; for his pale young face was the very picture of despair. "Ruth," he continued, nothing daunted, "I must speak to you to-day. That is, if you'll let me. May I?" "Certainly, Roger," she answered naively. 'What about-??" "* About--about-Ruth, did it never strike you how very dear you are to me?" '"Yes, Roger," she answered; (" you are very good to me-so is every one about me; they all love me--even Aunty, I believe-- that is, when she is well enough." "But, Ruth, I don't want you to class me with the general throng. I am a plain man, and can mlake no flowery speeches. I think you know that I amn honest and upright and *sincere. So much I will say, although it sounds like self-praise. And, Ruth, 1 love you very, very deeply. I have done so ever since I knew what love was-yes, and before that period, too, when you were a sweet young child, and I was not many years your senior-even then you were dearer to mne than any living, breathing thing on the face of the earth, Now, since Irhave come to be a man, I know that my whole life is cen- tered in you, and that to possess your love would make me happier than any king wilo wields a scepter. I can't be eloquent, Ruth- it is not in me; but I feel-1 feel what I say, God knows how deeply!' Therefore, dearest, if you can find it in your heart to give me any hope that at some future time, by devotion or self-denial, or what you will, I may, oh, Ruth! possess your love, you can change a life, which hitherto has 'been nothing but one of sadness and misery, into an existence as bright and joyous as that of birds flitting about in the unchanging sun- I shine of a tropical clime." His voice had quite died away before he looked up in her face for a reply. None came. "Ruth," he repeated, after a pause- 1 -' Ruth, will you not answer me? " Her only answer was a burst of tears, 1 which frightened poor. Roger to such an ex- r tent that le rushed to her, and throwing him- 1 self on his knees before her, begged her for- giveness for what he had' said. "Roger," she replied at 'length, wiping away the tears. " /have nothing to forgive- indeed it is I alone who am to blame. I should have shown you-", "What?" he exclaimed, rising and pac- ing the floor excitedly-)" that the diference between our relative positions is too great for me to aspire to vour hand-that you are rich, and I poor?"' "No, no," she answered quickly'; *' noth- ing of the kind. Oh, Roger! why did you not speak thus to me three months ago? Then my answer would have been different. Of all the men I have ever known you were the one whom I always preferred until-until Her voice sank, and she lowered her eves as Roger Thornfield stopped pacing the floor and fixed a piercing gaze upon her face. "Until what, Ruth?" he inquired at length. She made no reply. "Oh, Ruth," he said, " don't give me only half confidence. Kill me if so it must be, but do not let me linger in agony. Slay me at once." "You must help me then, Roger," said the girl, sadly. "Is it," he said, in a tremulous voice, "that you love some one else?" "Yes, oh yes," she answered-" so dear- ly! so very, very dearly." He shrank away froin her as she uttered the words, and bowed his head in silence. "You insisted on knowing, Roger," she said, perceiving his distress. "It is better I should know," he an- swered. " Will you extend the confidence?" 1"Yes." " His name is -?" "' Arthur iHartley." "What!"' lie ex(claimed, springing upas if an electric battery had touched him. "Tihe man who has just left us?" She bowed her head in token of affirma- tion. "Why, Ruth," said Roger. " I never heard of the man before to-day. Who is he?" "I don't know," she replied. "What is he?" "I don't care." "What is his parentage? "I never inquired." "His antecedents?" "I have to do with his future, not his past." , "Then you are fixed in this?" "Yes, Roger, fixed as fate." "You love him?" "Oh yes, Roger, more, much more than I can ever tell you." She clasped her hands together and cast her eyes upward, standing fobr some moments rapt In the ecstacy of a young girl's first love. This being, it was not strange that the emotion which was rackingr the breast of , poor Roger Thornfield passed without com- ment or observance on the part of Ruth Vil- lemain. "That is Aunty's voice," said she, as the tones of a lady, complaining of the, servants, were heard in the hall-way. "Yes, Ruth, and I am in no mood to meet Mrs. Whili:l f. You llmust forgive lme for all I have said to you to-day. Believe me, if I had known your state of feeling, I never should have intruded upon you what must have been a very annoying avowal. But this much I will add to what I have already said: hlowsoever coldly you may regard me, my love for you will never cliange rt will Mat as long as I last, Ruth, and that perhaps u will not be for a great length of time. Ruth, you are without male relatives of any kind. Will you let me-me, your old friend Rog- er Thornfield-will you let me be your brother?" It was not a great deal to ask, but Ruth hung her head and wa silent fobr a moment. At length, she answer, ' Brothers are-are o annoyingly zealous sometimes, Roger." "Do you fear that zeal which shall be di- rected in a certain quarter, Ruth?" "No," she answered, vehemently. ( Be as zealous as you like; investigate, inquire, probe, look into-do what you please." "And if the result of all this is unfavora- ble?" "Roger," answered the girl with great gravity, and for the first time seeking his glance and meeting it boldly, "I love him; -nothing can change me." "And you will marry him?" "Yes-if he asks me. He has not done so yet." There was nothing to be said, and Roger said nothing. But he pressed her small hand very tenderly as he left her, and, with his eyes blinded with tears, rushed past Mrs. Whiting in the hall, without even so much as bowing to the lady. "How frightfully rude these healthy peo- ple are!" said Mrs. Whining entering the drawing-room with a languid step. "Now, nim dear Ruth, there is your friend who has just. left: you-Mr. Rosefield--o, no, I mean Thornfield--and a very nice person too, I dare say, only he is so very healthy-so in- tolerably strong, my dear. Not that I alto- gether blame him for it, but he is made of iron, Ruth. I have not the slightest doubt that a post mortem examination on the body of that young man would disclose nothing but iron. Did you hear how he banged the front door, my dear? Ah me! a few more such bangs as that .will lay me In my grave!" "Won't you lie down on this couch, Aunt?" said Ruth, drawing up a divan. "Yes, dear-and if you would be good enough to fan me--that cushion-put it a little higher-also salts; here, in my dress pocket--thank you! Not quite so violent with the fan. There, like that-vyes, thank you. Do you know Ruth, dear, you are a charming girl-so -many delightfull qualities you know. But you ihave one which is per- fectly invaluable to me. Can't thinlk what it is, do you say? Well, I'll tell you-you never thump chairs." A bitter smile crossed Ruth's features, as the languid lady sank back again on the colch, clushing. th rich paraphernalia of' her toilette and making a coverlid of 1her gatudy Cashmere shawl. Ruth plied the fan con- slantly, lowever, and once or twice placed the flagon of salts under the delicate nostril of the invalid lady. "To tell you," said the lattr, opcnincg her eyes, and holding on high a thin wlite fin- ger literally sparkling with gems--" to tell you how I appreciate a person who does not thump chairs is quite out of my poi)we'r! Why, do you know what my brother -your poor dear father, Ruth-do you know what he died of He died of the thump of a chair. He did, truly, my dear. He wasn't very well one day, and some wretched healthy person came in to see himn, 'and thumped a chair, whereupon your father instantly ex- pired. Can you now understand why it is so unpleasant to me, to be in contact' with healthy people?" "But, dear Aunt," sa:id Ruth, in a tone of apology, and as if the avowal was one which reflected great discredit on herself. "I am a very healthy person," "Yes, you are, Ruth. But at least you are a considerate perrson. It was, the same way with my husband, Mr. Whiliig; he was a very healthy person; save for that, he was a gentleman. He saw it was impossible for so much health to get along with so much ill- ness, and one day was thrown off his horse, and died from his injuries. He never could have died in any other way, dear, he was so strong. It was rather unfeeling in him, per- haps, to give me the violent shock of seeingr hm brought home dead; but his horse slip- ped, it appears, and therefore it was not alto- gether Mr. W-'s fault. I felt his death, of course, very much; but I must say I should have respected his memory more if he had not been so very healthy. Why, do you know, my dear," continued the willow, partly rising. supporting her delicate 1iiameo on her elbow, and lowering her voice as if she were telling some thrilling " sensation " story, " he never took a blue pill in his lift!" Ruth bit her lip to preserve her gravity, which was always sadly imperiled when Mrs. Whining began the recital of her ret- rospective wrongs., She felt, however, that it was incumbent on her to coincide in de- nouncing this reprehensible conduct on the part of the defunct Mr. Whining, and was wondering in what terms she should couch page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] her feelings, when her aunt spared her all further trouble by continuing: *' In my opinion, people are very unwise to marry. Marriage? Ruth, is so unpleasantly healthy. It entails, also, such numberless disagreeable events. The proprietorship of a joint apartment, for instance; could anything be more annoying?. You go to look for your personal effects, and you come across the unpleasant personal effects of a man. Boots abound-- hats flourish, and trowsers hang their slow length along in every cupboard. And then the man himself, Ruth! A great rough, healthy being, who is legally licensed'to kiss you whether you like it or not, and pull your head down on his breast, thereby rumpling your hair!-an un- pleasantfinancial machine too, who labors un- dera perpetual state of 'I shortness " " down town," which of course produces a corres- ponding "a shortness" in your own financial operations "* up town." 'Oh, marriage is so unpleasant, my dear-that's the only word for it-so very, very unpleasant." Ruth said it must be unpleasant, but as she had not tried it she did not know. "But talking of unpleasant things," said the invalid, her dull eyes actually brigten- ing with the interest of the subject, * did it ever strike you what a very unpleasant part of the community little babies are? I mean even prior to the age when banging doors and thumping chairs forms the amusement of their days, and to a certain extent the pastime of' their nights; previous to that they have stomach aches, and on their first entrance in the world, on the making of their first- toilette, pins prick them, then they cry. I wonder, now, if some mathe- nmatical genius or philosopher-or rather some philanthropist-could not demonstrate to babies that crying is of no use in their in- fantile woes! It does not relieve stomach aches, neither does it remove pins. There- fore, why cry? Do you not think this fact could be shown to any reasonable baby, Ruth, dear?" "I am afraid, aunt, the philanthropist would have great trouble in making the ba- by understand what he was talking about." "And therefore, my dear, therefore do I say that babies, of all the human species, are the most unpleasant portion--babies and men, dear. Women, even healthy women, 1 can tolerate. Ah me! I shall be ill frotnm hav- ing talked so much. Would you oblige me by ringing for my maid, Ruth? Pull the bell twice-she will know it is for her. If there is anything I can't bear, it is a great healthy man servant tumbling in to know what you, want." A white-capped, coquettish little French maid answered the summons, and with the dexterity of long practice began assisting the lady to arise. "Is my room properly aired, Louise," asked Mrs. Whining. "Oui Madame," was the reply. "You did not thump any chairs or bang the door while I was out, did you?" "Non Madame." "Very good. But oblige me by answer- ing in a lower tone. Indeed, when your an- swer is to be a monosyllabic affirmative or L negative, why utter awny sound whatever? I When you wish to say 'yes' just nod your head, with a slight coaIrtesy. When you wish to say 'No' shake your head also with an accompanying courtesy. Do you understand me?" ' "Oui Madame." "There, see how little attention you pay to my instructions! Why did you speak? However, give me vour arm and help lme up stairs. Stairs, Ruth, are a very unpleasant part of a house, but that's neither here nor there. What I wish to say to you is this; though to be sure I am a poor creature, de- pendent on your bounty, (but know of course that my society is more thafi an ade- quate return for all that I receive ) still I love you, Ruth. In the intervals of-my med- icine, when I have nothing else to do, I frequently think of you. And I often won- der what will be your fate. Knowing man- kind as I do, my dear, I can only hope and pray that you will not marry. if you do, marry an invalid-a sick man, who will keep his bed and won't bother you. Of all husbands, dear, I should think an invalid would be the least unpleasant. But my advice to you is, never marry at all, Ruth -never marry at all." Ruth Villeinain heard the words and sat pondering over them for fully an hour after her aunt left the room. In substance Rom- er Thornfield had given her the same advice -and now in her shuffling, drawling way her aunt had reiterated it. These two peo- ple of all the world were perhaps the only ones to whose counsel she would- hearken, or to whom she would give her confidence in return. Why was it therefore that their ad- vice fell unheeded now, when before it would have been received as words of wisdom? Because the mad fever which we call love, had seized the girl's brain, and wrought there delirium of the wildest kind. She loved Arthur Hartley; for him she had re- solved to sacrifice everything-everybody-- if needs were. What was poor Roger Thornfield compared to him?P What, her aunt? What, all the world! Perhaps then, after all, there was not so , much braggadocio about it, as Mr. Hartley -at that very moment sipping wine with a friend at a fashionable restaurant-muttered between his teeth, thinking of Ruth, that he could do-- "Any thing-he-pleased-with her." CHAPTER. III. ROGER TTHORNFIELD left Ruth's presence under the influence of two very strong feel- ings. The first was of course his love for her--that neither her refusal of him nor her passionate avowal of' love for another could change in the slightest degree. All hope of ever aspiring to the bliss of being her hus- band had vanished. She had said it could never be, and thus lie knew he might not even hope fobr the future. But oh! it was heart-breaking to remember she had said, that had he pressed his cl/iim three monthts before-ere this man Hartley had crossed her path -her answer would have been different. Fool! fool that he was! Why had lie not been less tardy? He loved her then as dearly as now; he had failed to speak, a new sentiment had filled her breast, and now Roger Thornfield's doom was sealed. Next to the overweening bitterness that this knowledge brought, came an unquench- able desire to know somethincg more, of the man who had succeeded in obtaininii the love of this pure and beautiful girl. It was evident his history was unknown to Ruth Villemain; she in her blind love ha(d never inquired into his past, and would doubtless re- sent what she called " annoying zenal," if she saw any show of " probing Hfalftlhy's antece- dents " on the part of her old friend. This, however, did not deter Thornfield from mak- ing an inward vow that lie would not rest quiet, day or night, until he obtained some knowledge of the character of the man whose wife Ruth his sweet young friend, the woman Jhe so devotedly worshippedl-had avowed herself willing to become, and that too, merely for the asking. How was this to be accomplished? How was it possible for poor young Thornfield, without resources of money or power, confin- ed by business the greater part of the day in the quiet and respectable city of Philadel- phia, to learn any thing of the habits or haunts of this gay ZNew Yorker who had mere- ly visited Philadelphia for a "i joke ' in the first place, met Ruth Villemain by accident. and since that time made a few flying visits to the town avowedly (so he told Miss Ville- main's friends), of beingr near the lady whose charms had had so potent an effect on the handsome Hartley. True, he had taken a bachelor's suite of apartments and comfortably installed himself, so as to avoid those "( hor- rid caravanseries" the hotels, when he did come to Philadelphia, which was seldom. Thornfield's acquaintance in New York was of the most limited character. A few steadv- going mercantile nien who did business with the house in Philadelphia to which Thorn- field was attached. heads of' fa milies whose lives were passed between the busy street " down town," where they transacted busi- ness, and the quiet little cottage sotlmewhere-ll out of town to which they retiled after llusi- ness hours. It was hardly likely these I)eo- e pie could furnish any infornmation of the( - handsome butterlly n llwhose ga(ull wilr r had attracted Ruthll. On applicationll Ro rr r found what he had filly expectedl-thl; t 110o 1 one knew any thing about Mr. Arthur 1Lart- ley,. Since the day of her confession to him, 1 Thornfield had never crossed the threshohl of t Ruth Villeemaiu's door. He felt, as vet. that s he was too unnerved to meet her. "Besides, , what availed such meetings? Hartley's hold 3 on her affections was without (oult strength ening e very day, and Roger, powcrl(es to show this man in another form than that in which he showed himnself, klnew well tlihat llky foreboding of a lank of honesty or upright. ness unbacked by authentic proof, would be laughed to scorn by the inftttlat( girl. r Thornfield's'love for her was one of self-deny- ing purity, and h1ad he once been convinccd t that this man Hartley was worthy the enviable position he was to ociupy as the husband of s the young heiress, Roger Thornfield would have beten the first to go to his long-time friend and congratulate on her tchoice. For now it was currently reported that Ruth and , Hartley were engaged, and would shortly he married. The news had spread like, wild fire, and been received first with astonlishment, then with disbelief; and then, when disibelief was no longer possible, with great disdain, by Ruth's aristocratic friends. Who was this man? Who knew him? Nobody; and strange to say. Thornfield's misgivings of h1s previous good character were shared by every one who met him. By every one ex- cept Ruth who, it was said, became more and more attached to him every day. Thornfield's sole pleasure, now that this great blight had fallen on his life, and his visits to Ruth had ceased, was to seat hinmself opposite her door on a stone bench in the Park, which fronted her houtse. Here he could see her coming and going: driving, with Hartley every day, and accompanied by him and her aunt, Mrs. Whinin-, going about some gayety every evening. Hartley's visits were constant; and every one who had ex- pressed himself-or herself-in unfavorable terms of the affianced husband-wa s pretty well excluded from the house. One evening Thornfield sat at his post, regardless of a rain which was coming down quietly but steadily, and drenching him from head to foot, when he saw Hartley drive up to the door, fling the reins to the groom, who cleared away at a rattling pace. Hartley was evidently " in" for a long evening of it. "Poor Ruth," muttered Roger between his teeth. Absorbed by his bitter reflections, Thorn- field failed to observe that the stone bench on which lie sat, held another occupant be- side himself. This occup:nt was a young page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] woman with a handsome painted face, a pair of bold black eves, and a luxuriant, untidy head of hair. Her dress was composed of costly materials, but the rain of to-night and the neglect, perhaps of weeks, had rendered it the reverse of handsome. She made one or two efforts to attract the attention of the sad-looking young man who sat gazing fixed- ly on the house across the way, but finding they were fruitless, she moved along the bench noiselessly, and, without speaking, laid her delicate white hand lightly on his shoul- der. Roger started and looked around to find the bold, black eyes peering deep into his, and the painted, handsome lips within a finger's length of his own. Instinctively he shrank from this woman and turned his back on her. The rain was pouring down heavily now, and spite of the aversio, which one glance at her had caused him. Thornfield could not help feeling compassion for a wretch whose only home probably was in the pitiless streets. His eyes wandered to the right and to the left, in front and back of the bench where they sat; beside themselves there was not a human being to be seen. Across the street, Ruth's shutters jealously closed, her- self inside with the worthless man she had chosen, while the pure young heart which loved her through all, Roger Thornlfield, the friend of her youth, sat on a cold stone bench in the dripping rain, side by side with a painted midnight tramp! He hoped she would go. But that he did not wish to speak to her, he would have of- fered her charity and told her to go. While he was deliberating whether he should say so much to her, she spoke to him. "I want about half an hour's conversation with you. Can I have it?" "No," he said, ("I'll give you charity if you want it, but go away from nie." I don't want your charity, as you call it," she answered bitterly. "I suppose you mean mone)y. God knows it's little enough of any, other charity I get." lie dli not answer. There was a pause for a moment-broken by the woman. Why don't you go there any nore?" she said, pointing to the house opposite. "Where?" said Thornfield. '; Oh, you know well enough what I mean. To the house opposire. I have been hanging about this park longer than you have, and I know you used to go there often, and one day you came away looking very wretched, and you have not been there since. Has he driven you off?"' Thornfield rose to go. "You're a fool to try to get away from me," continued this woman in a low tone; "I could tell you something now you'd give your eyes to know." "' What about," asked Roger, still walking on while the woman followed at his side. "What about? Why about him, to be sure. What do I care for anybody else?" "About that man, do you mean! About Arthur Hartley?" said Roger, whose inter- est was now fully awakened. "Arthur Hartley! That's what he calls himself, is it? Yes, about Arthur-what was it-oh yes, 'Hartley! and a very pretty name, too. That's his Philadelphia name." "Has he any other, then?" asked Thorn- field with breathless anxiety. "Oh ho!" said the woman with a coarse laugh. 1"That wakes you up, does it? I thought you didn't wan't to talk to inme-a poor wretch out all alone in a dark, rainy night. Whereshall we go? In ere shall we go? In"here They were standing before the door of a "Iady;s restaurant," one of the best in Phil- adelphia. Roger looked up and shrank back. He shuddered at being seen in the company of this painted creature with the dripping dress. "I'd rather not," he said hastily. "I'd rather go somewhere where we can talk pri- vately. If you are tired or hungry go in. Here is some money. I'll wait fobr you out- side." "I never feel either fatigue or hunger when I'm after my revenge. I don't want your money, I tell you; I'm after my re- venge." She clenched her hands together as she spoke, and, in the stillness of tim dark night, Roger heard the sharp grinding of'f her white teeth. "Where can we go?" he said, hopelessly. "Why don't you take me to your rooms," she answered roughly, " you have got some roomns somewhere, haven't you?" Roger thought of the quiet lodgings kept 'by a pious Quakeress, a widow woman with half a dozen young children. No, no, lie could not take her there. "' I suppose you would not like to go to the garret where I live," said she. Thorn iheld hesitated. This woman might be leading him into a trap. She might be leaguetd with a gang of robbers and ruffians. Should he go with her-to his doomn, pxiiaps? Why not? What had lie to lose? TIeliltle money he earned fi'om month to month con- stituted his only earthly fortune, and as for his life, what was that worth to him 'since Ruth Villemain loved another? "I will go with you," he said. They walked off silently, for their way was through unfrequented thoroughfares where no cars were running. A weary journey over hillocks of bricks and debris of demolished houses-through back alleys, whose effluvia was oppressive and overwhelniing'-- out beyond the town to the open countryv-aid at length the woman stopped before the door of a wretched looking hovel. "Go in," said she pushing the door on its rusty hinges. Roger Thornfield, the&model young man of the great business house of C-- & Co., groped his way up the creaking staircase closely followed by the painted midnighlt tramp he had met in the park, on the rainy night. CHAPTER IV. THAT same rainy night, after Mr. Hartley had driven up to Ruth's door and flung his reins to the, smart grdom, he entered the large drawing-room of this fine house, and enquired for Miss Villemn:in. "Be down in a minute, sir," said Williams. "Dear me, sir! your overcoat is quite wet! I'll take it down stairs to dryv." The man, leaving the room, met Mrs. Whining, to whom he gave a respectful bow. My dear Ilartley," said the lady advanc- ing to meet the handsome New Yorker, "I knew it was you! I said to Ruth: 'My dear, do you hear how lightly that door is shut? That's Hartley. Hartley never bangs. I never knew Hartley to thump in iny lift. Hartley is a truasurte. Outside of a bedrid- den party, who can be made over to paid nurses at once, I don't know of any one who will annoy you less, as a husband, than Hartley. Hartley, to use some of the horrid slang of the day, Hartley is the Ace of Clubs.' " "My dear Mrs. Whining!" 'exclaimned Hartley, "how black you are making me! Why am I the Ace of Clubs, pray?" "I don't mean that," replied the lady sinking into an arm-chair. "I've got it con- fused. I knew I should. I mean a' trumnp.' I never played cards but once. It bores me to fix my mind on stupid little pieces of paint- ed pasteboard. On the solitary occasion of which I speak, it was observed that the Ace of Clubs happened to be frequently the trump. So I got it confused. Pray overlook the mistake." "Will Ruth soon be down?" asked Ilart- ley, who seemed restless and uneasy. "Yes, in a miuute. Her maid was at her hair when I came down. 1 would not have that maid if she would come to me for noth- ing. Such a noisy creature, and sticks the hair pins into one's head frightfully. My maid is bad enough. But they are all alike -they will talk. I hate talking. I never would go to the theatre if I could help it, ex- cept when they play pantomimes and ballets. No tallting, you know. Even then, they play horrid, noisy, distracting music. What a very unpleasant thing music is!" "How confoundedly long Ruth stays!" said Hartley, rising from his seat and pacing the floor abstractedly. "That's her maid's fault! The poor girl is positively the abject slave of that woman when she's at her hair. If' Ruth tells hier to hurry, she sticks pins in her head. If she tells , her of that, she pulls her hair out. ' Aeciden- e tal,' did you suggest? No such thing; it's t malice-pure spite." y Hartley made no reply, but kept looking anxiously at the door "Hartley!" continued Mrs. Whining, "if you had the remotest idea how nervous you make inme by gazing at the door in that distressed manner, I am sure you would de- sist at once. I'm going now. because I hear r Ruth's rustling dress on the stairs. I hate s silks because they rustle, which is uiibear- able." I "Don't let me chase you away, Aumnty," said Ruth, entering with a happy s1ile', and extending her little dimnpled ha,:ld to Hla,'tley. ")ear, I wouldn't stay for worlds! You are g'oing to bill and coo here, anld that I posi- tively cannlot stand. All tIhe emntions-even the pleasurable ones-are most distressing to my nerves. Joy, for instance, is stich a inoisy emotion! I can't bear it. Grief', when verv subdued, is much less o'fensive. Pl!ease kiss me very lightly, Ruth. I so dislike a hearty good-night smatck, what wretched vil- gar people called a ' buss.' Ta-ta, Hartley. Good-night. I'll see you to morrow." She never saw hinm again. "My darling wife," said Hartley, as the door closed on Mrs. Whinining. Not yet, Arthur," said thie girl, seating herself on the sofa beside him. "But soon, very soon." He was silent. "Arthur! Hlow pale you look to-night! What is the matter?" "Nothiing, dlearest," lie repliedl, passing his hand over his forehead, oil which drops of perspiration were stamidimig, though the night was not a warmn one. "There is sommethiig wrong. Alh, Arthur! can you keei p anything frofim me, voIr owin little Ruth " lie put his arm about her waist and, leaning over, kissed her fresh young lips. "I would tell you at once. dearest, ex- cept that it is a horrid business affair-" "Business, Arthur!" she repepated, "I thought you were not in business." Well, it is not business in time usual ac- ceptation of the terimi, and yet it is' business, too, of a certain sort. In fact, it's about-- about-" "About money?" she asked. "Well, yes -about money." "I knew it," she said, "money is always causing trouble." There was a pause for a moment, aind then the pretty girl wound her arnms tenuderly about Hartley's neck, and, whispering in his ear, said- "Arthur!" "Well, Ruth." "Let me furnish this money." "Nonsense, child - you don't know how large the sum is." "I'm sure I don't care how large it is! page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] I've got plenty of money. There were some heavy payments made ne last week. Come, say you will take it from me." If she had had more experience of the world, especially the world of badness-if she had been less infatuated with this man, she would have seen at once that this was the very point to which he had been leading her, andt that he now smiled triumphantly at her folly. "First let me explain the affair," he said. "You see, Ruth, I'm unfortunately endowed with a little bit of mechanism they call a heart-deuced tender, you know. Perfect fool I've been, or I should have been-well, rich as-What d'ye call em-Croesus-this day. Still you know-I would not change my heart, would you? No, of course not; I thought you'd say so. Well, about three months ago, one of my school-mates-good fellow as ever lived. only will get perpetually into scrapcs-came to me and said, ' Arthur my boy! I want your name on the back of that paper. Just for form's sake, you know. You'll never hear a word about it again, and it will help me to negotiate '--you understand, don't you, Ruth-how business men accommo- date one another? Oh, don't you? Well, I'll explain it some day or another to you How- ever, having full belief in his honesty, I en- dorsed the note, and 'pon honor, the bill falls due to-morrow, and I've just this minute heard that lie has run off to Europe, and that they'll come down on me for the money-- fifteen thousand dollars. Isn't it dreadful, Ruth!" "How can men be so dishonest." said the girl, drinking in his foolish story with perfect Z belief in its veracity. "The worst of it is that my father-never mentioned to you that I had a father? Why yes, my dear girl, I did-did'nt I? Well, that's funny! Of course I've got a father. Where does he live?Oh, at New York-and New England. He'll be mad enough 'to kill me when he hears of it, and ten to one 1 wont come down with the dust at all, but just let me sweat for it. Oh, this is why I ' never mentioned him to you. At least I think t it is. Did'nt want to hurt your feelings, you know. But he's as mad as blazes because I'm marrying a Philadelphia girl; wanted me to marry a foreign woman with a title. 1 Stupid pride, isn't it? I always said so-es- pecially for Americans. All well enough for r Europeans, who hold so much to that style of E thing. In the meantime just think of it- fifteen thousand dollars!" "Let me draw you a draft for this money, s Arthur," said Ruth, rising and crossing to her rosewood Secretaire. "Oh, you darling girl" said Hartley, hug,- Ring his affianced bride with great fervor, but a kissing her rather abstractedly, for he was 1 thinking about this money and the means of c getting it. "Stop Ruth," he said, "I tell you what will be better than that. It will look rather funny for me, I'm afraid, to be drawing a lot of money on your draft. People are so cursed ill natured! Just like 'em to say 'What the dickens is Hartley drawing her money for, before they are married? ' No stopping their beastly tongues. The way we can manage it is this -if you really insist on my taking this money." She assured him loving- ly that she did. "Well then, I'll come for you in a back to-morrow at ten, and then we can drive to the bank, you can draw your money-ah, and give it-ah-to me-and I'll take the eleven o'clock train, arrive in New York at two, up town and make my payment before three, and then I am all O. K. Excuse slang. darling. One contracts these horrid phrases aniong-ahb-you know -business men." "And when will you return, dear Arthur?" asked Ruth. "Oh-return-shortly of course-very shortly. The next day or same evening-yes to be sure, the same evening. And you know Ruth, soon as ever I have a streak of luck- no, I don't mean that, but when dad pays up my-Imy half-yearly income, derived from- oh, dear child, this must be stupid to you, and I hate business, too. But what I mean is that--the money shall be returned to you." She would not allow him to speak of that, she said, and if the truth must be confessed, he seemed very glad of it. He refebrred to the subject once again during the evening. "Think it will excite attention, your drawing such a large amount, Ruth?" he asked. "No, I have no one to question me, nor of whom I must ask leave. But if those payments had not been made last week I don't believe I could have got so much money at a moment's notice." Mr. Hartley devoted at least half an hour to desperate love-making, which was in- terrupted by Williams, the man servant, who, after rapping lightly, looked in with rather a nervous expression of face quite unusual to the easy going valet. "Please Miss," he said, "here's Mr. Thornfield outside very excited, saying he must and will see you to-night, he don't care how late it is." Ruth looked at Arthur, as if to ask what reply she should make. Arthur replied for her. "Tell Mr. Thornfield he can't come in." "1'Mr. Hartley says you can't come in,". said' Williams to Thornfield, who stood in the hall outside. "Does he P?" yelled Thornfield, pushing past the man, rushing into the drawing room, and planting himself before Hartley. "Now let Mr.' Arthur Hartley (as he chooses to call himself) say the same to me!" "My dear Miss Villemain," said Hartley, turning coolly to Ruth, " is this--alh-your Quaker friend-or, ah-an Italian brigand "Mr. Thornrifehl," said Ruth coldl "will you be good enough to explain this condluct?" "I will, Ruth," said Thornfield-- Oh my poor girl, how it will make you suffer! Read that letter, Ruth-it will convince Vou of this man's perfidy better than I can. It tells its own story." Ruth took the letter and looked at it. It is in your handwriting, Arthur," she said. Sle thought she saw his lips tremble and his cheek blanch' slightly; nevertheless his tone was firm enough as he replied: "Is it? Then read it, Ruth. Read it-if it is in my handwriting." She read aloud : "D AR CAROLINE: "Why will you make an idiot of yourself in this way? Can you not see that I ami playing a deep game with this girl, Ruth Villerniain. Come on, and spoil all by your tiolish jealousy, do! What ift' you have heard I was going to marry her? Bow can I? "My idea is to worm a good big sum of mnone\ out of her, get clear off, and then let her whistle for her 'bridegroom.' Don't you see? "I enclose you twenty-five dollars. Go buy yourself a pound of sweetmeats at Mail- lard s and when I make the haul in question I'll bvy you a handsome diamond 'ring at Tiffany's; so keep that cursed black Indian blood of yours under control, and believe ine when I tell you that, spitfire as you are, you please me better than any woman I ever imet." '"No signature," said'Ruth in a trembling voice. "By George, I'm sorry for that." said Hartley, taking the I'.tcr deliberately from Iher handl; " if my si:gature had been at- taclied, I should have pIlaced this in the hands of the proper authorities to-morrow; but as fi it is; "-aild he( scanned it very closely, for fi Mr. Hartley said he was quite near-sighted- -. "as it is, I pronounce it only a very stupid I; forgery ." A'A forgery!" repeated Thornfield and a: Ruth in the same breath. 1, "A--forgery!" said Mr. Hartley, conclu- tl sively. di "You lie!" shrieked a fierce voice from if outside. There was a struggle, and a noise, q as of a scuffle. The door was flung open, h anul the handsome, painited woman, whom ni Roger Thornfield had met in the Park, stood in a defiant attitude, with her dripping dress h( midl her untidy hair, in Ruth Villeiain' sh drawinig room. "Do you dare to deny me, your wife!you base wretch?" screamed this woman, ad- dressing herself to Hartley. nc y, It only required one glance at him as he uir shrank cowering among the cushions of the ?" -ofa, to see that she was what she prloclainmed y, herself: His self-possession hal entirely left is hi:n now. It was evident that this womian's influence over him was great-either good or ly bad-it was great. r! "George Iackley," she said, frowning )u .darkly at hin, '"you are the meanest wretch It that walks the earth. You're a gamluller and a thief and a liar. I was an innmocrent It girl when you got hold of mie. See what I I. am now. I didl't care how much you cheat- is ed men. I helped you at it. 'But you te shan't ruin any more women if I camn pre- vent it. You've sent one to perdition-that's f me-and that's enough. Coume, got up, and go with me. You'd better. Bad as I aim, I'm the only fi'iend you've got." The man seemed to feel this, for lie ohev- )f ed her passively, anmd without castinir'a t glance at either Ruth or Thornfield, he h skulked, like a coward cur, out of' the house r of which he had been but a fIw momuents be- I fore virtually the master. "I've done you the best turn you ever f had done you in your life," said the woman turning to Ruth; "the more you hear of t him the more you'll thank me. But I did it willingly, because you're a woman. As for you, Mr. Thornfield, I'll never forget you You've treated me with decency-as I've not been treated since-" pointing her fin- ger the way in which Hartley had golo-- "since I met him. I feel grateful. I wish you good-bye. You seemi an honest, well meaning young man. Keep away fromn such women as I am, and you'll remain so." She left them. When Roger turned to Ruth lihe foundl she had fainted. He rang the bell, placed her in the hands of her frightened mnia, amid then returned to his distant lodgings. It was three years before Roger Thorn- field saw Ruith again. She and her aunt left for Europe the dday after the affair, and IRog- er made up his mind she would marry abroad. He applied hiimself valiantly to his 'business, anmd by dinit of industry, talent and persever- ance, he became head'of the house in which, he had formerly been employed. lIe heard that Ruth had lost her fortune throuigh the dishonesty of an agent. lie did not know if this was true, but one day he 'met her quite unexpectedly in the street, and asked her; She said yes, it was true she was re- duced to comparative poverty. About three months afterward, he asked her another question. I scarcely know what she replied to this, but if you feel interested, in the matter you might go on to Philadel- phia and ask her. You mnust inquire for Mrs. Roger Thornfield, though, or you will' not be likely to find her. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] "I. ABOUT SOMETHNG ELSE. "WITAT'S Your story about to-nighlt, Nell?" askedl olln, so soon as tea was over, and we had :ll grot comfortably seated. "* It is the story of how a woman loved, was doubted, tested, and--" ' Proved tlrue?" asked Aunt Julia. That the sequel will show, Aunty. John, I've dubbed t Minnie's Ordeal.* It was between five and six o'clock one evening in tilht month of May, and the well- organized inhabitants of the little village of Marstown were one and all engaged in their evening meal. Not that the evening menal was in common, or that any one family had whatsoever to do with the evening meal of the neighbor; far fromn it. But in a quiet, huinm- drum pilace like Maiarstown, there was very likely to be a similitude of irhabits, accompan-, ied, in ahnlost every case, by a similititude of I taLt:-p. It had been a lovely day. The cool, fresh breeze of the morning. wafting across the fields the delicate odor of newly- born flowers, had been chased away, it is true, by the heat of a noon-day sun;, which was not so unbearable in itself as it was rather threatening in its promises of the scorching rays it was going to .send, in a month or two later; but as early as three o'clock in the afternoon the glorious orb of light, seemingly satisfied with the undoubt- ed taste of his quality which he had gracious- ly voluchsafed the Marstown villagers, re- tired majestically behnd some heavy clouds, and was seen no more that day. And now that the davlight itself was fad- ing out, antd the soft gloaming settling down tranquilly on the white-fronted houses of Marstown, thrlowing the tall church-steeple in gloom first, and never stopping till even the grassy lanes were a-tone or two darker in shadow, and from grass-green had become green-invisible, now was the time to see Marstown at its best. Not the time for a strict utilitarian to see it at its best-oh, no! 'The time for that was .several hours earlier, When he nmen were in the fields, and the little store-keepers of the one village-street busy with what petty traffic the place afford- ed; when if you only took the trouble to cast a passing glance into neat kitclhens, the doors of which stood invitingly open, you were sure to see busy housewives engaged in some interesting study of gastronomical combinations, coupling theory with practice in a thoroughly scientific manner. And one * The reader is requested to overlook the very ap- parent anachronism of this story. and all-plough-man and plough-horse, and shop-keeper, and postmistress, and house- wife, and children, and little dogs, and even some rather high-minded eats rolled to a sense of their own indolence by seeing the activity of every body about them all were husy. That was the time for the utilitarian to o')lte. But fobr you and me. who have enoug-h of business and1 utilitarianism ill town, and who like to run down into the country occasion- ally and throw off our cares, and s{,rillle a finw verses alwmt ** lover " and *,* 'lover," and ** rill" and "I hil!," who are prone to think ourselves very ill-used the first day we vcome, because fatte has decreed that we shall not inhtlalit this Arcadia the year through; and who before thet end of the first week of our staying thhere, have so completely changed our ideas that we are wishing thie time of our vacation over, so that we mnay get back to town again--you and I would' see Mtrs- town at its best in the evening. It struck Robert Holdlen as being a very pretty place as, later on this quiet afternoon in May. lie wended his way up the village- street, having as yet not so far loqt his city l abits a s to be able to muster up an appetite for a five o'clock "tea." He leaned to rest onl the heavy stick which he carrietl in his right hland, and surveyed the scene around him. Before him was the church where his mother had been married, and where beneath one of those grey-stone slabs she lay at rest forever; in front of the church the time-honored flag-staff which he had so often attempted to elllmh, as a hoy, and been rewarded for his manifoldl fforts by as many tumlbles (down onil to the soft, grassy. carpet beneath. The flag-staff had been in great requisition durirtng the plast four years, and had never borne the Starry Standard with a prouder air than that day on which the hero of the village--the great financial personage of Marstown, the only man in the county who had joined the army as a first * thirty-days" ;main, and never left it until lie took tea with some cousins of his in Richmond ; that old flag-staff creak- ingv in the wind never flatinted out the brilliant hued banner so gaily as oil the glorious day when Robert Holden returned to the quiet town ;-temporarily not quiet, for drums were being beat fair glory. and children being ditto for naughtiness, and fire-crackers were spitting and spluttering at Robert's feet, and every man and womnan in the place was "God bless "-ing1 hilmk, and poor Holden was a hap- py man for the tilme, spite of that deep trouble which he must bear every week and every month, and every day, and every hour, until the moment should come for him to join his mother in -the churchyard. He was thinking of this trouble as he stood leaning on the heavy stick, and then he resumed his painful walk. It was not all for nothing that Robert Hollden had been a thirty-days man, and that his thrty d:ays had lasted' till he entered Richmond with Grant's army. His uniform had got very rusty and shiabby long before Gettysburg; and at Gettysburg he received an lly wound in his thigh, which fortunately didn't make amputation necessary, but which in healing had shrivelled up one of his legs until it was some inches shorter than the other, making him limp painfully, and having at the same time a distressing effict on his general health. In about a month after he was about again he was detailed for picket- duty, and lo! a bullet from nowhere, seem- ingly, shattered his left arm, and made him again an inmate of a military hospital. The arm had to go ; and now Robert Holden, with only one arm, lame, and bearing withal the burthen of unceasing ill-health, walked up the principal street of Malrstown and silently bemoaned his fate. In some respects his falte seemed a plhas- ant one. He was by all odds the richest man in Marstown. His father had amassed something whichh, even in theser days of al-' most Sardanapalan luxury, looked very like a fortune. The last voyage his father had taken (for he was a sea-captain and had per- isheld with his vessel, one stormy night, off the I ihamna Islands) ; even this vovagme had brought its pecuniary fi'lts to the thenn oin!, lad, Rolert Holden. Hlis mother had left, him a fine farm, in the adjoining county, which brought in a good round sum as as early rent. The ground on which the grocery and dry-goods store stood was his; and all that rich land there to the left-oh, far beyond the fence- that too was his; and last,' hilt perhaps best, the house and grounds. both in such capital condition, where Holden now made his home, were his. Of late, too, a greater source of happiness than any lands, or houses, or cows, or gro- cery stores, seemed opening for the crippled , hero. His nature was a very self-contained 1 one, and up to the are of twenty-five. his love for his mother had been all-sulfficient for 1 him; and then she died, and then came war, i and now Robert Holden found himself in his thirtieth year with some few grav hairs shin- 1 ing here and there among his soft brown 1 curls (for he belonged to a family who grew ! gray very early), and until verv recently had i never thought of love and malriage. The I maan's nature was a retiring one ; there was a I dearth of marriageable girls in the village; t there is not much of what is lovely in woman' I kind to be seen in the neighborhood of an 1 army; so after all, it was scarcely to be I wondered at that Robert Holden had remain- F ed heart-whole. a He was not heart-whole now--far from it, n but that was something which had happened b within the last three months. It was the s simplest story in the world. He had seen the i pretty new school-mistress, and had fallen in b love with her, and had told her of his feeling 8 t very honestly and plainly, and she had given d him to understand that she loved himii in re- n turn, and they were engaged. This was all e very ratifvying, but still there was one drop of bitterness in the Ihoney cup. y Poor an opinion as the kin(-llearted Rob- 1 ert had of himself, it was impossible for him S to be qulite ullnaware th:ht he was the best "matchi " in the village!; tht flr a girl inl her position it was the greatest pos ille Iluck to get such an offlE; anl tryV as fie would( to ,elieve thhe vows of lher love which sli pos- itively asserted she would prove some day, Robert Holdlen looked .at his maimed fori n I and sighingly asked himself wlhalt th lere was: in sucll a ima;n azs he, hetside the moneym in his pocket, which could attrrut so brilliant and beautiful a woman as Minnie Daviso,n.' Her history was rather a pI(euliar one. as well as beiiing very sad. Hl'r motiher had (tied early, anl Iher tfather, a Ilard-lrinkillI monOey-getting, puIshintg, flvin r, il'collseq(fiilnt New York merchant, lad be'enI Het :as s(ole guardian to the pretty little dalll1,te(r. She had been educated in France, and after lier education had been completeed had been lhurried over thie Continent Iby ler impettious father, and brought!a:tck to go through the perils of rich young l:llyhlooxd in thile " first circles" of New York, ,SI( had 1had lher own carri age, and her saddle-horse, and her grooml; and one or two Iproiposals of mnar- riager, which were rejected beca;use not con- sidered advantatgeous enoughl for the stylish Miss Davison ; anl( shddenly, in the midst of all this glrandeur, thelfre calmll(. a v:th: so)me- thingll, whichI seClemed to He genIerd lly known as a Sinaslih," and away went Cilndlerella's pumplkin earriagle, and! the rat-lhor es, and her mice-footmen. All waa over. Two year s of grindi(ng poverty follo'wed, and at thie elld of that time a fairly besotted and premnattlre- ly oll man died, leaving a bealtifilI young irl, without a friend or a dollar, alone in tle world to struggle thr hlrself. Tllroullr one of her former teaclhers, she hllard of tl'is platce of school-mistress in the vill gre o(f Marstown, and thither she went. It was not possible-it was not in humian nature, that she should like such a poorl, quiet, lulumdrui, I little place, after the brillialt life she had led. Even after that terrible blreak- ing up, when riches and all the luxuries they bring had vanished into thiln air. she still lived in a noisy, bustling, brilliant, wickedl mie- tropolis. Her friend, Mrs. Pithlole, miirht c'lt her becanse she was poor now ; but she couhld not shut from her siglit the aimlated cenc which Broadway, in all its different aspects. presents. And now-to live day after day, and year after year in a d(ull, noiseless, re- mote little Massachtsetts village, stirroulnded by pupils consisting of na half-score ra-red, saucy, thick-headed urchins, who lovei'horr in the bottom of their perverse little hearts but who nevertheless saw no reason why they should not thrust their healthy little tongues page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] out at her whenever she set them the most necessary task. This life was death to her so Minnie told Robert I1olden--until lie came. Then all was different! Did he believe her? God knows he wish- ed to do so! But still-still- He was ruminating upor it as he reached the door of the little store wL.,ch served the triple office of dispensing stationery, news- paper literature and sugar-plunms to the Marstowners, and in one corner of which there hung a sort of mysterious and suspend- ed etagere divided off into little pigeon-holes. This piece of furniture was nothing more or less than the Marstown Post-Office itself. The Post-mistress was selling three cents worth of molasses candy to an uninteresting female child, as Robert entered and asked if there was a letter for him. "Yes, indeed! I guess there is a letter for vou, Mr. iolhden," said the' Post-mistress, dragging off a huge bit of coarse, brown pa- per, and laying the sticky molasses-mess in- side--" a letter-there's two! There now, run home, sis; tell your mother if she wants any lemons again I've got some now; she needn't go to the grocery-store; and two letters from big towns too, I tell you, Mr. Holden ; and say to your pap that I'm sorry he bought some of those yellow enn-vellopes that don't stick-lots of people complained of them; I'll chinge 'em if he's got many. Yes, that's all; and Mr. Holden, on the big one there's three cents due. Robert crushed the letters in his hand as he looked at the post marks and saw that neither was from the adjacent town where Minnie Davison had gone to spend a week with the family of one of her pupils. Acquit- ting his debt to the post-mistress, he sallied forth again, and, resuming the thread of his broken, unspoken thought, he walked slowly back to his own home. Minnie had prom- ised to write to him; why had she not kept her word? He opened one of the letters; it was from a relative in Boston-a young man occupying a rather important position in a Bank. Hie complained of ill health, and in- formed Robert that he was going to run down to Marstown the next week, for a fort- night's relaxation. The other letter was from New York. The writer was a gay, rich young man, who had been very patriotic for a short time, and stayed in the army till the gold on his shoulders began to tarnish; then he resigned. Robert lH olden wrote back to both to conime down to Marstown as soon as possible, and stay as long as business or other engagemen's would allow. Both invitations were accepted, and on the following Tuesday Marstown, the unsensa- tional, was arousedl from its usual apathy by the arrival of the two dashing young city gents. Curiously enough they met in the cars, and without previous introduction, compar- ed notes, each discovered who the other was, and so Robert was saved the trouble of bringing about an acquaintance which had already brought about itself. Of course they both had heard the story of the school-mistress. Robert Holden was too important a person- age. and his probable marriage was too im- portant a business, to remain long a secret. To George Wilson,' the Bostonian Minnie Davison was a stranger; but it!s happened that Algernon Deene was one of the " offers" which had been rejected by Minnie's father, in their former days of grandeur. And thus it came that Algernon had some fine mis- givings about the school-mistress, which he felt it his duty to communicate to Holden. "Pray don't mention ' that subject, Deene,.' said Robert, impatiently, when, a day or two after their arrival. Algernon pro- nounced Minnie Davison's name. ( Did you understand me when I said that I knew her formerly-knew her well?" "Yes," answered Holden; *"what then?" "And that I proposed to her once; and she rejected me?" "* Yes; and again I say, what then? You surely are not petty enough to bear spite." *"Spite! My dear fellow, if there is one atom of spite in the nature of Algy Decne, why you're the first person who ever discov- ered it, that's all I can say. But the answer to the ;what then! ' of your question is this -are you sure you are not mistaken in the girl?" "Deene!" "Oh, come now, don't be tragic. I tell you I know her-know her well. She was a dreadful flirt when she-when the old man had money. "So she has told me." "I don't mean to say there was. anything wrong in it, mind; or anything different to other girls, in the same situation; still, she was very fond of society. "* So she has told me," said Holden again. -I don't know how she made out after the old fellow smashed, but I rather think that sobered her a little. Of course, she's a brilliant woman and a beautiful one, and one you could very well be proud of, but my great fear is (you must see that I have only your interest at heart in speaking in this manner, Bob) my great fear is that-that -by Jove, it's such a delicate manner I real- ly don't know how to put it." "What Deene means is this, Robert," said young Wilson, putting back his meerschaum, and closing the bright morocco case with a snap. "That this girl, being so fond of so- ciety, having suffered great poverty after having held such a different position previous- ly, that it is highly probable she has made up her mind to marry any one on earth who wants her and has got money." "'Any one on earth!' Upon my word, Wilson, you place me in an ennobling cate- - gory," said Holden with a hot, red face. "Don't, for, heaven's sake, don't get an- gry, Bob," chimed in Algy Deene. "I tell you women are all alike. She is no worse, and very likely far better, than many of her sex. But it's just this, she is full of health, youtih and beauty, while it so happens that you are -are- " "Full of infirmities," said Robert, bitterly, shaking his empty sleeve, and touching with his stick the aching leg. "It's not so much that," said Deene, "' as it is 'our delicate health. Let me ask you how vyou would relish being obliged to ' do' three balls a night for a space of four months, during winter, to be followed by smnimer's (equal parts,-Newport and Saratoga-well mixed." Holden remembered how, even now, the slightest imprudence of late hours or wine was sufficient to make himn ill for a couple of days. "- You take it for granted that we are going to be ' fashionables, " said Holden. "Come now," retorted Deene, " has she not exacted of you a promise to live in New York, her place of predilection?" I certainly told her she should live there if she liked ; she exacted nothing from me." "Suppose you were to tell her that you were determined never to leave Marstown- no, she'd be sure to think she could coax vou out of that---suppose you were to tell her that ' you had lost every dollar, and were now as poor as a church mouse. Do you think she'd still he true to you?" "I (do." answered Robert, with conviction in Ihis tone. "W Would you like to put her to the test?" "No!" shouted Holden, springing up. "I)Deene, this conversation has gone far enough. I love Minnie Davison, anrid have coinfidence in her love for me. Whatever your motives are, I can no longer permit a conversation which wrongs the womuian of my choice. Let it stop here." Minnie Davison's namtne was not mentioned for several days. Deen'e, whose motives were undeniably of the purest, was too fond of Holden to take umnbrage at the itmpetmuous reply which terminated this conversation; and like a thorough ban enfant as he was. Algyv soon put the school-mistress, and love imaking, and dissensions of all kinds. quite out of his head. Not so with Holden.. Spite of It-is vaunted confidence in Minnie's love, Delene's opinion as to the unfitness of the match was in great measure shared by himself. He loved this woman with all the fervor of a first affection, and had there not existed that blighting doubt of the truth of her love for him his happiness would have been altogether without alloy. It seemed so hard, so wronging, to doubt her; and yet doubt her he did.- It was Holden himself who reverted to thie forbidden subject. ") Deene," saidhe, "I fear I was very rude the other day when we were speaking of Miss Davison, but you seemed to n;ltke it quite an impossible condition of affairs that I should he loved for myself alone." "Why, you dear old fellow," said Deene, "I think it just next to imnpossible that you should not be lovedl for yourself alone. I don't see who can help loviing youl-I can't, for one. I don't doubt Minnie Davison loves vou-and loves vou, as you say, for vouirself alone. But this is tIe (qlestion, Bob. Do you think she hia I ove enough for you, and strength of mimd ienollghi illn hemr- self, to live the quiet, recluse sort of life necessitated by the delicate state of yomir health? Don't you think that e'ven with lots of love to begin with, your differencmm of tastes will lead by-and-by to your both pulling contrary ways, like a diseontemmteml double team in a fretting harness, until at last the wagon of matrimnony will end by going to-to-yon know what I mean-to-- in fact-thumier! "' The worst of .it i,.," said George Wilson, who had hitherto kept silence, "' that youth can't believe any woman who walks thin earth, when she swear's she loves you." G(eorge Wilson had recently had some bitter experi enee with a woman who walked the earth in the city of Boston, and was therefore not very leniently disposed toward the sex. "And you see this girl has such particu- larly strong reasons for making an advanta- geous match," added Deene. "You torture me to death," moaned poor Holden throwing himnself helplessly into a chair. What am I to do?" "Put her to the test, as I suggested the other day." said Deene. "How?" "Why look here, Bob. Supposing she were to receive a more eligible offer-a rich- er man than yomu are-a fashionable fellow, who'd promise her more society than she ever had in her gayest days-it would be the best of all tests, to see, if her love for you would cause her to reject him." "Who is there to make such an offer?" Deene was silent. "Do you mean yourself?" ' Why not mnyself, as well as another?" She refused you once, man." "That was under vervy different circum- stances, my dear fellow. She was then rich old Davison's beautiful daughter; not Min- nie Davison, a poor schoolmistress at Mars- town. I have inherited mnvy mother's prop- erty since then, which gives me a good fifty thousand more than I had, and m my business has increased wonderfully during and since the war." "' Well, if you propose to her, and- atild-"Holden's voice trembled and sank into a low whisper-.'" and she accepts you- you will marry her?" "Immleed, i shall do no suich thiing." "Ahgernon Deene," shouted Iolden, "youn are a scoundrel! Now Bob," said the imperturbable page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] Deene. "Don't get excited-don't be ab- surd, whatever happens. Why should I mar- ry a woman who had just committed so das- tardly an act as to play false to the best fel- low that ever lived? You'll thank me some day fobr the ungratefuld and disagreeable task I'm cutting out for myself here. For if she remain true to you, you'll be happier for this test-and if she prove fialse to you, why then also, you'll be far happier for the test. That's logic, isn't it? Will you give, your consent?" "Do what you like," said Holden, help- lessly. "I suppose you mean it for my good." You must give me a little help," said Algy. "I can't manage it quite by myself. When do you expect her back from Boonsville, or Snoozewell, or Goosequill, or whatever the town's name is?" "' To-morrow." "Ah! Just oblige me by sitting down at that desk, will you?" Holden obeyed like a child. "Now write her, a few lines to the effect that you have lost everythin, , in the world." Itolden looked up into Deene's face with an expression of' blank amazement. -"In the world," continued the undis- mayed Algy; " that your health is worse than ever, and that her life, if she joins it with yours. is likely to be one of constant privation and of the greatest seclusion. Tell her that, much as you love her, you feel it your duty to release her from her engagement unless she is fully prepared to encounter the dull and un- interesting lifet which is the only one possi- ble for the woman who shall be your wife." "This farce is as degrading to me as it is insulting to her," ejaculated Holden, writ- ing as he was bid, nevertheless, carried along by the resistless current of Algy's reasoingr. "Now my dear fillow," continued the latter, seemingly unconscious of any inter- ruption, "just oblige me by going away from Marstown. You and Wilson can go hunting, or fishing, or to the-excuse me, but anywhere just to leave me the field to myself, you know. Get off to-day, will you?" iHolden arose and left the room without a word. Wilson lingered. "I'm afraid this is giring to be a serious business," he said to Deene. "'Serious!' nonsense! I, am going to write a story about it-tvall it Minnie's Or- deal or Miss Davison's Test-or something of that sort." "I wish I could feel as easy. as you seem to do. It resolves itself into this, Deene- if the girl deserts him, it will break his heart, and if she hangs on, we shall have made a couple of donkeys of ourselves, that's all." The next day, when the sun was begin- ning to get low Algy Deene in most irre- proachable tenue, strolled down the main street of Marstown, turned off into a shady lane, and rapping. at the door of a poor- looking farm house, asked for Miss Davison. Minnie, hearing a man's voice, flew quickly down stairs, expecting to see Robert Holden. The bright flush of happy expectation faded from her face, and gave way to an expres- sion of bewildered astonishment at view of the elegant stranger. "Have four years made such a fearful wreck of him that Algernon Deene is no longer recognizable, Miss Davison?" 4"Mr. Deene! How good of you to come to see me! I really did not know you at first. I was not expecting you, you know, and indeed you are somewhat changed." The truth was, that Algy Deene was one of those men who grow handsomer and hand- somer up to the age of forty. Minnie looked in amazement at the bright, rosy face which, without losing any of its youth in the last four years, had gained greatly in manly ex- pression. "Time is a sad dog, Miss ,tavlson," said Deene, seating himself on a cane-seated chair, which was so hard it absolutely re- quired all Algy's good breeding to suppress an ejaculatory 1" oh!" on coming in contact with it. "Time is not a ' dog ' at all, Mr. Deene," said Minnie, laughing. "He is a fine old man with a long white heard, and a scythe in his hand--at least so the picture-books say." *"You are still the same in everything, I see; robe, complexion,- all!" "No, I am not," returned Minnie. "As to ' robe,' I think you remember that I used to be clad in purple and fine linen; now my linen is not fine, and my best purple calico fades dreadfully in the wash-tub. ' Coin- ,plexion' may be better. I think it ought to be. The essence of six balls a week is a very poor cosmetic, Mr. Deene; it can't compare to country air and country hours as the true bloom of youth--of nature." "Then you never sigh for the city, Miss Minnie?" asked Algy. "Ohl, yes I do--that is to say, I did. At one time, and indeed until very recently, it seemed quite impossible for me to ever get used to this most stupid of little villages. But we have talked quite enough about me; tell me about yourself. What on earth brings you to Marstown " "I came on a visit to my old friend, Bob Holden," answered Deene. "' Your old friend!' Is Mr. Holden a friend of yours? How glad I am to hear it," said Minnie. "Yes, we are old friends, and I promised myself a delightful time with him, and should have had it, b1,t for this dreadful stroke of ill-fortune which has knocked poor Bob com- pletely off his legs." Ill-fortucme," exclaimed Minnie Davison springing up. "Ill-fortune to Robert Hol- den! What is it? Oh pray tell me!" "Why, haven't you heard yet? Oh to be sure not. Bob has taken such care to keep it close. Why the fact is, Miss Minnie, Bob has lost every dollar he had in the world!" As Algy Deene told this cool falsehood, the expression of his distingue face was as innocent as that of any child. And yet his fashionable code of honor would have been a blow for the man who dared call him a liar! A soumewhat singular inconsistency-quite in vogue in Algy's set. "Lost his fortune! - Robert Ilolden poor!" echoed Minnie Davison. "Poor! Poor's not the word for it. He's just next door to a beggar," continued the skillful Algy. Minnie Davison burst into tears. "I'm so-so sorry for him," she sobbed at length. "And so am I," said Algyin a sympathiz- ing tonie; " very sorry, and if you wont take aimiss the bluntness of' an old friend, I will say to you that the only cause for congratu- lation i see in the whole affair is-well, I may as well out with it at once-that you are mnIt married." "Ie told you of our engagement, then," said Minnie. ,' Yes, and I think he's very glad this hap- pcned before matrimony." "Did he say so?" asked Minnie. "N-no--not exactly that. But still I know he felt what a blow it would be to you. You have suffered such great poverty, Miss Davison. You don't mind my brusqueness, do you?" "I have suffered dreadfully from poverty; I ani suffering now," sighed Minnie. "But don't talk of me-what will Robert do?" "Oh, he can get a clerkship, I suppose- or be somebody's secretary, no doubt." "Robert Hiolden in a clerkship! Robert Ilolden somebody's secretary!" "Why not? Better men-I mean as good men have had to do it, and scores of themn too. before his time. But these delicate hands of yours were never meant for any household drudgery. Minnie, you were not born to be the wife of a poor man?' "Dear Mr. Deene, you are very good," said Minnie rising. "You will pardon my asking you to leave ne now, will you niot?" "Oh certainly, Miss Minnie," said Algy, in reality very glad to get away; " will you permit me to come again?" "Very gladly." "When?" ' To-morrow." "Bob was right," soliloquized Algy as he turned into the main street. "I am an un- principled ruffian. How I lied to her! And how she swallowed everything! Never once asked how it happened, but took every word I said for gospel truth. Well, women are green ones, there's no mistake about that." Algy was more struck with Minnie's beauty the second day than he had been the first; for to his taste the pallor which this great blow had spread over her face was far miore beau- tiful than the ruddy glow of health which had bloomed there the clay before. Her long brown lashes were wet with tears, and, as Algy entered the wretched little parlor of the farm-house, lie found both her attitude and speech indicating the greatest dejection. "I have imore news for you to-day ; " said Algy seating himself beside her. "Yes?" said she, eagerly. "What is it?" "A letter from Robert." He held it up, and she snatched it quickly. She read it aloud. It ran thus- "MY DEAR MINNIE:-It is with the ut- most grief I announce to you the complete loss of my fortune. I need not tell you that I feel it my duty to at once release youi fromm your engagement of marriage madei to ime under such very different circumistances. It is the highest proof of love 1 can give you thus'to relinquish what is far dearer to me than fortune or friends, or all the world be- side. But I must give you this proof, and I feel doubly constrained to do so by the knowl- edge that my health was never worse than at present; this, coupled with miy wretched pe- cuniary position, will entail upon the woman who consents to be my wife the greatest self- abnegation in all that relates to society and the varied charms of a city life; for, without doubt, 1 shall be tied to this miserable vil- lage for the remainder of my days. "Minnie, I shall take it very kindly if you will write me a word on this subject. I know your answer in advance. Despair has told it me. But nothing can sting ime so much comu- ing from you-nothimng so much as siluene. Your lovinig, R. 11. "Bravo, Bob!" was Algy's mental criti- cism on this piece of epistolary literature. When he looked up he found Minnie lean- ing back, with closed eves, in her chair, look- ing so ghastly white that Deemne thought she must have fainted. He seized her hands and began chafing them violently. "Don't be alarmed," she said; "it is nothing. It will soon be over." "There is no more in that letter than I told you yesterday." "q No; but seeing it in his hand-writing, and poor Robert's way of putting it touched me a little, you know. Where can I send the answer?" "You needn't trouble yourself about the answer for a week. Bob is off, and writes mie lie will be back then, when lie hopes I shall be able to hand him your reply." "I shall have it ready; " said Miss Davi-' son, shaking her head sadly. "Minnie, how it grieves me to see you so distressed!" Then there was a long pause and at length Deene said in a low voice, "Do you know Minnie, you were very cruel to me once?" page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] "Have you not forgotten that yet?" asked Minnie. **'No indeed-not Hand never shall until you cause ml to do so by some very great act of kindness. You 'know I loved you desperately, do you not?" "1 suppose you thought you did, or you never would have proposed to me." *I loved you very, very devotedly, and your rejection of me nearly broke nv heart; and Minnie--why should I conceal that truth? I love you now more, much more than ever." "Mr. Deene!" exclaimed Miss Davison. "Is this an insult?" "Is it an insult to ask you to become my wife?" She looked at him with astonishment de- picted in every feature. -He continued, without waiting for a reply: "You are now off with this unfortunate af- fair of poor Bob. He releases you himself; and quite the correct thing in him, under the circumstances. And indeed, dear Minnie, it would not have been a very suitable match for you at the best; 'pon my word, it wouldn't. tli s ill healthl, his flndness fobr this stupid vil- lage where they don't even have the decency to manufacture anything, even of so prosaic a char acter as shoes -like Lynn, you know, tor instance-which are useful in the m:rin though unpleasant to the olfaetoeries when new. On the other handl, mnself, gay like yourself, foll of society, in splendid health, with plenty of monev, and loving you very dearly, I repeat Minllie that I offer you my hand and-you know what I mean-my heart." "I am very much astonished at this," said Minnie Davison. "I don't want to hurry you, 'pon my word I don't. Take time before you answer. I'll give you a week, if you like. Only promise me you'll think about it." "I promise," said Minnie. It was very well for Miss Davison that there happened to be vacation at her school that week, otherwise Mr. Deene's attendance would have interfered sadly withl her duties; lor he was with her almost constantly, every day from noon till long past sunset. The week i)assed quickly to both, and now the day had arrived for Robert Holden's return. * Have you written Bobl's answer? " said Algy that evening, holding her handl, as they stood leave-taking at her gate. ** Yes, here it is." said Minnie, drawin- the letter froln her pocket, and placilg it inl i his hand. "-You won't say positively whether you I will have me or not, Minnie." "* You really have given me such a short time for reflection. What's a week after all But I tell you what," she added, * you will know very well when Robert reads out that letter how I fbel toward you, i and what your chances are for the future." I " "Dear, beautiful girl!" exclaimed Algv, pressing her hand violently. "Ah, Minnie i I won't you give me a kigs before I go?" t "No," she said with pretty archness of i tone; "* I don't think that would be right just yet." I *1 There's no objection to my kissing y'our hand, is there?" a I There was no objection to his kissin;g her hand, and so he kissed it. Holden and Wilson had arrived an hour before Algy returned to the house. Holden lid not trouble himself to make any compli- mentary inquiries in regard to health or weather, but blurted out instantly: "Well, what's the news?" * My dear fellow, you are a goner." "For heaven's sake, drop your senseless jargon and tell me plainly-is the girl falset to me?" "Read for yourself, my boy," returned Algy. "And read out loud; mind, that was one of the conditions." Robert seized the note roughly, tore open the envelope and read: "MY DEAR ROBERT: "When I was more accustomed to soci- ety, and knew exactly when men were saying wliat they did not mean, and when they meanot what they did not say, I should perhaps have been better able to comprehend the exact hearing of your letter. But now that I have b)ecome to a certain - degree unsophisticated and weak, it is difficult for me to understand whether you really wish to release me from my engagement of marriage to you or whether you desire a release from me. This makes your letter a most delicate one for me to answer; for I fear, reply as I will, I must appear to you either ver) indelicate or very heartless. Hleartless I never have been-nor indelicate either, I trust; and now my only course is to be simnply truthlful, at whatever cost. "Robert, I thought you knew from the first dday I told you I loved you that I loved you to the exclusion of every human being at that time, and meant to continue to do so for all time. What imports it to me that you are poor! I loie Robert Holden-not 'the farm that Peggs rents, or the groctery shop, with Mrs. Flynn in arrears. If your health is bad, so much the more reason for me to be near to render you those little services which you require. Don't thnk me immod- est. when I say that your dear image is in my Iind from morning till Hnght: and in llmy dreams, friom night till morning again. I love you deeply, truly; better than any man I ever saw-; better than any I ever-shall see. I wouldl rather be your wife if you were a common laborer in the fields than the wife of Algernon Deene (who has had the ineffable impertinence to propose to mle again, and that too, not five minutes after I got your let- ter) were he fify times a millionaire. I will not release you Roub rt, until you write to me frankly thiat such is your davirl. Defer our marriage, it' you think it necessary, though I see no reason why I Inay not con- tinue my school-teaching as weil then as now. Do as you like, my darling; but do- not-olt do not take from me your love, for I only live because I am your own, own MNNIE." Algernon Deene gave a long whistle. "I knew my girl! I knew lly gllM! I told yon so," said Robert Holden, trilumphantly. "Well, my dear fellow, at least give me the credlit of having had the best inten- tions-" "Certainly, Algv, your were all right. But, so fair as ' good intentions' are concerned, did you ever hear of a certain place being paved with theml?" Robert and Minnie still live in the country at Minnie's express request. The house is very comfortable, and it is sh quiet there (forl bab is very good, and does'nt cry much)-so different, you know, to the noise and bustle of the city. Minnie never finds it dull ; for, with her husband's society, and his books and her magazines, and her haDy, and above all, Robert's love, she declares she knows the exact geographical position of Utopia. for she inhabits it. Perhaps she is very silly to be content to pass her life in a stupid Massachusetts village; but so long as she is happy, there is no use trying to wake the once brilliant New York girl from her dream, is there? IV. ABOUT NOTHNG. "MY story to-night John," saidl I taking a little sip of water to wet my lips: ,"has for title; 'The Countess Carry's Canary Bird Cloak. " John burst out laughing. "I knew it would come to that," he ex- claimed. !"Come to what, sir?"I inquired, some- what indignantly. *' Why, to talking about women's duds, cloaks and dresses and bonnets-and-and hoop skirts!" "If you teaze me I shan't open my lips," I replited. outirg; for I was a novice at this story-telling business, and anything like -ridicule completely upset me. 1"Nonsense, child," said Aunt Julia. -' Be quiet, John. Go on Nelly; you are getting on very well indeed-at least that is my opinion." Thus encouraged I began. "I don't see, grandmnamma, why you should always force us to coa x you so beft)re you ever tell us a story," said Annie pouting. "But my dears." remonstrated grandmam- ma, " you keep me at it so constantly that I neglect other duties just to amuse you." "I think, to' amuise her grandchildren should be the first duty of ever), right-ninld- ed ,randma," said Will, a saucy lad( of six- teen. "And as for Countess Thinge;my's Thingemy-bob cloak, you have promised to tell us about that more times than I can count." "That's no sign that it has been often," said Annie, making rather a pointed allusion to Will's arithmetical deficiencies. "If I promised," said grandmamlla, pick- ing up her knitting and resignlling all hloles of a visit to the kitchen and launtrly for tlat morning: " if I promised I will do so at once. I'm always as good as mv word." "You are better than your Ivord, grand- ma. You are better than anytlhing. You, are the best grandma I ever knew. Perkins' grandma can't hold a candle to you; for thoughl she gives P. lots of money, still she scolds lilm like-lk'e-I don't know what--" concluded Will, in hopeless despair of' Lind- ing a simile. "Well, after I begin no interruptions, please," said grandma. "Not an eruption," replied Will, who had been readingl some of the funny papers. "Well, dears, the first time 1 ever hleard of the strange creature, who went by tile name of the Countess Carry, I was quite a young grl-ahlmost a child, it seems to me now; but I think, nevertheless, I llmust have been nearly twenty. Twenty appears very young when one gets to be almost seventy, as you will find if you live so long., my dears. I was living then with my mnother in a very fashionable street--don't I aughl, Ilease-a square or two below Canal street-land as it was generally known that we were not only rich people, but people of good blood as well, we were treated with amtucli dcfi'rl1ce by all our neighbors. In fhct, our doings and our sayings absorbed the attention of all about us, when one fine day our brilliancy was destined to receive an" eclipse by the advent of the Countess Carry. No one knew exactly who she was, and she took good care nlo one should find out, and perhaps from the very mystery which surrounded lher she attracted ten-fold the notice she otherwise would have done. She never appeared in public except when sheI went for a drive in her great, heavy, coro- netted coach, the blinds of which were care- fuilly drawn down during the entire time the occupant was inside. I don't see wlat good it did her to drive page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] out; for surely never a breath of air pene- trated those heavy, yellow silk carriage cur- tains; and as for view-why of course that must have been quite shut out, unless she permitted herself to enjoy it when she got out of town, on the Bowery. The house which the Countess Carry had taken stood directly opposite to ours, and, from the dav she entered it till the day she left, I never saw any of the shutters open. People said she kept her lamps and candles burning all day long; and that there was truth in this, I myself know. I will tell how, presently. She lived quite alone with a solitary attendant in the shape of a shriv- elled-up old man, a foreigner, who drove her coach, and groomed her horses, and cooked her dinners, and did lher chamber-work, the neighbors said, after thl fashion of foreign men-servants. The Countess herself was a foreig -Pr. Oh, yes, to be sure; we have no titles--you know that; and had not then any move than now, It appears that we were even in the dark as to her true name. Lawyer Watkins, who lived next door to us, said it was the Count- ess Quarrie, or the Countess Corrie, or something like that. But we always called her the Countess Carry, from the day she came amongst us till tfe day she left. You can easily imagine that the curiosity which suc(h a woman awakenel, coming ill the midst .of quiet people like ourselves, was intense. Not that she was otherwise than quiet; she was as quiet as the grave itself. Except for the noise of the rumbling coach which rattled down the street twice a day-once to go and once to return--never a sign of life, never a show of being, issued fromn the Countess Carry. But it was the very mystery which envel- oped her-the deathke silence as of the grave, which seemed to thlrow a pall over tile existence of a human being full of life and health probably, that awakened( the wonder of the neighbors, and gave rise to a thou- sand wild- theories concerningi the strange self-immuring of this fobreign lady. A story gained ground that she was in- sane, and that the old man-servant was her guardian or keeper. There was not any foundation for this, however, and it seetmedl scarcely probable that a person who had free ingress and egress to her carriage 1 every day (for the man-servant always bow- ed her out and bowed her in at a respectfiul distance) should not call or cry out to pass- ers-bv if it were true that she was rtnder rl- strainlt of any kind. Another was to the ef: feet that she was a beautifil young, creature who had been abominably treated by a wretch of a husband-annotl;er was that she was a beautiful young wretch who had treat- ed a good husband abominablyl, and Ibtoln deserted both by him and the man she de- ceived him for; another was something else, and another- somlething else againl-and at last speculation about her ceased, for noth- ing could be found out. Whether the heavily- veiled, gracefully-draped figure which glided daily into the carriage was young or old, beautiful or hideous, rich or poor-or, for tlhe matter of that, male or female-who eouldl tell? Some of the more determined neighbors had called upon her in the early days, but the old man-servant who took their names at the door said that rladame the Countess felt very gratetul for their courtesy, but ie- (ged to be excused from receivingz their visits or making any in return. And so. little by little, the mystery, still unsolved, of the Countess Carry died by -degrees. That is to say, lively curiosity died because te te novel- ty of the affair had worn off; but the embers wonderment, unqunclhed, were only smould- ering, and might easily be resived with a breath. You know, my children, how very fonud I am of birds. Everything relating to these heautifil featheredl tribes-the lively denizens of mid air-lbas the greatest interest for me. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if my spec;ial curiosity was awakened on readling tle following advertisement in "HOI T'S NEW YORK JOURNAL" (and a very nice paper it was, my dears, tlough of course it is a thingt of the past now). The advertisement ran thus: "* WANTED. Any number of canary birds alive or dead; highest prices will!be paid. Address C. C. at the Post Office of Nkw York, America." * There's a chance for you to make some money. Maria," said Iny mother to me, on reading it. Indeed!" replied T, tossing my head. "It's very probable I slould think of selling my canary birds that William Allston brought lme from-from-China." I was an ignorant little puss, dears, as most girls of llmy age were then. But I knoew that your grandfatther, hand(some Will All- ston hald brought me six beautiful canaries from solme foreign country where lhe had been with his ship--THE REBEL COLONIST--and I knew that I prized them very highly, both for the sake of' the birds, which were indeed rare at that timne, as well as for the sake of theb sailor lad to whom I was engaged. I think about a week bad elapsed after the ad- vertisement ceased appearing for it appear- ed many times) when I was busily occupied cleaning my bird cages and giving the mock- ing-birds a new kind of seed( which had just come out, and trying to keep the English larks alive by another treatment, and survey- ing my Robin Redbreast admiringly, .and perking out my lips with little morsels of pared apple on them to my darlings of all, the ca- anaries, when chancing to turn my eyes to- wards the house opposite I saw a female figure standing at the window, minutely watching my actions with a telescope, or a large'spyglass, or something like that! I knew it was the Countess Carry ; but she had got to be rather an old story now. It was a nuisance, wondering who she was. and what she looked like, and never heintr able to find out.. So I finished my birds toilette, pushed the aviary into the sun, all left the room. I called it my aviary, dears. I shppose it was very pretentious in lme to do so, for it was only a great ca,re, about. as lonr as that piiing, di vided off into colmpartments for the different birds. That was mlv aviary. I hand sce;.rcely got down into the I;reakfast, parlor, whre I generally sat in . the morning and worked at useless anti t1ly ebinlroilery, sutch as was in style then, wlhenl Susan. our1' little Enrlish meaird, rushled inl, nand toldl nle that "Please Miss, Ihat strano, e lady;-tlhe Countess Carry--is in the drawing-roollm, and askcinc, to see you!" Here was astounding conduct! This extrtao rdinary creature, who liad refilsed thel visits of the first people of the nlighbllor- hood-I-e:ads of fatmilies andi their stluck-lup wives-coming of her own accotrd to call on little Maria Wentworth! I re;Jlly felt qulite nervous, anti gave my white neckerchief a new fold, and myn hair an elaloia,;t, re-ar- rangemeait, before I mustered up couIrage enotIugh to go in and Dmeet het-r. She rose as I entered, and. throwing back her heavy veil which, though she sat alone and in a darkened room, still covered her face, advanced toward ime. She held out both hands and, d(rawing me on to the soft beside her, kissed tne first on one check, then on the other, before she spoke a word. Then I had tiame to scan her features. She was old; oh, yes, past fifty, i should think! Her hair was gray, but her eyes, thotgh evidently yweary with mental cares and pl+hysical sufIt- ing, were bright, soft, and beautifuill; her feia- ft."(,s were regular to perfection ; and though , little, inexperienced girl, with scarce- ly any knowledge even of the beauty of my own sex, I could not help seeing how marvel- ously lovely this woman must have been in her prime. "* You are astonished to see me," she said after a pause, speaking in such defective English tihat I could scarcely nnderstand her. Of course I answered that I was very glad to see her. "You are a sweet oeafant," she said, "what you call one little darling! ' Then she kissed me again. I did not know what to reply to this. By- and-by she spoke again. "You are fond of birds?" "Oh, very," I answered, aroused by the introduction of my favorite topic. "Are you?" i. Some birds I like," she replied. "Some 1 hate," hissing out the word in an extraor- dinarily vehement manner. ' Indeed, I hate then all except one kindl, an( thloso I love to distraction." \\"What kind is tihat?"I asked wondering- She lookeds about the room as if to assure herself tlihat no onle but Imysel f was liitnin, and then leanin, ove(r towards me, she whis- pered Illysteriously- ' Canaries." "Those areI my filvorites too," I 1r'Dlied1. ', I :tln never so happy as whelln 1 al (carill for them, and minist(ering to their litlt] . coi- forts, andd keeping thein froit sickness- - for birds ldo get sick, )youl know." "** Yes, but I don't care for tlihat. I don't ca(re if they die. I like themn jivst as well dead ans alit'e." "What!" said T, horrified. "iYoli like them as well dead as alive!" "Better," answered she inl a chlucklling tone : " it saves so much troub)le." "I don't min(d the trouble," I repllic'd, in- dlignantly. "I woul cleann their (ca^i's, an), plt fresh water into their b\athls a dozen. timeis a dlay, if it were nec(essarv." "I Ys," said the Colntess (Carry, " th:tl's all very fine. But when they tlit, lnlthll'th it saves one the trouble of killingi tlwm. r don't like to kill them. It pains o()l jiist as lctifth to do it :as if it were a human lllll in one were killing. Still." s(he 'olntilnued, with a sigh, * it has to be dloll." I thought now of the, report which li (1 been circulated to the effect that slihe was insanl, an(d I filly believed it. I was beginning to be terribly frightened of her. SDl(pse sloe were to imagine I was a can:ary biri, and fDat "killing " mn(e hl(tI to be(! donl!" The bell-pull was at an iimcn sc distan(ce across the rooin, but the Countess (Clrry w:as leaning back on the sofil, with her eyes (closed, tlhe long lids sweeping the fadcd cl(hckl, ani( the soft ripples of her silvery hair shalling her wrinkled1 forellead. How lovely sie loo1keldl thus! Spite of tinie ani ange, and tlilring tlnd infirmity, she was empllhatically tir mlloht beatitifuil womnan I had ever seen. She sprang from her reetimben!t )position so sudenly that it gave me a shock which set my poor little heart quite into Illy )mouth. Slhe started on a new " tack " this time. "Do youl like dress? PWhat we call, you know, la toilette . " "Yes," I answered hesitatingly, "I sup- pose every young girl does." 'Yoiun girl! Faugh! what nre voung girls? What do they know anlout tohiltte? No, no, no, no! It is we--ahl--les grandcs dames de la cour, who look well with llress- we must have it. 11 nous lafaut!" "Every wonian, thenl," I vcleturled to 1e- mark, ** every woman strives to be als beau- tifidlly d(resed as she canl." * "Yes,' h sie said again chuckling; "but let thein strive as thely will, they will never have anything like m)ine. So original, so page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] very beautifiul, so delicate to the complexion -alh how belle I shall be!" ' You are that now, Madame," I said, with truthful admiration of her beauty. * You think so?" she exclaimed, evidently pleasedl. "But wait till you see me--will it ever be finished? or shall I die first? Ah, moin Diet.!" I had not a word to say, for what with her ramlling discoulrse and her dreadful French- English, I could scarcely understand what she was talking about. "Let ime see )'our birds," said she, with sudden animation. I did not want to take her where thel 'were. I had a sort of inward warning th;t 1 inist beware of this woman; but I was afraid of her; positively afraid to disobey her, and I really believe if she had asked me for the carving-knife, so that she might cut ny throat neatly, I should have rushed off with great alacrity and brought it to her. "Where are they?" she asked. "Up stairs." "I hate stairs," she murlured. "I hate stairs and people, and creatures of all sorts, except-canaries." "Perhaps you' had better not go up," I suggested, hoping she would decline on ac- count of the stairs. "* No. no," sihe answered, "No, I will go where they are. I wonder if there are any canary birds in heaven! I suppose so. All mrle!" with a deep sigh, ** it must be a beaiu- tilul place if there are. I hope 1 Shall go there. I think I shall. I have neve'r done anythno, ver'y wicked. It is not very wicked to kill poor little canaries-still--" (sighing again,) "* It is painfil." I determined that this flighty Countess Carry should not get very near my canaries. Whether or not it was wicked to kill them was an open question. ly own opinion was that it was frightfully wic'ked to do so. However, she should have no opportunity, so far as mine were concerned, to commit this wicked or innocent act. I opened the door of the bird-room, as we called it, and saw that my little canaries were all therel, all right in the cage. I pre- ceded the Countess, and intended to keep in front of' her the whlole time she was in tile room, but, bless you! before ever she crossed the threshold, and as soon as she caught sight of the cage, she uttered a piercing shriek anti fell down on the floor in a dlead swoon! I tried to raise her, Dut could not. I call- ed for help, but no one came. That stupid Susan had gone out, and so had all the family, leaving me alone in the house. I chafed the Countess' cold hands trying to revive her, but there she lay, prone like a dead tilin, in the passage-way before the door of the bird- room. Sudhdenly a frightful thourght crossed ny brain. Was she dead' Quick as light- ning I sprang over her prostrate form. and in a minute after I was pounding a:way at the house opposite, the door of which was open- ed by the foreign man-servant. "Come," said I, seizing his withered arm. "Come across the street to our house. Your mistress-I'm afraid she's dead!" "' Grand Dieu!" he muttered, raising his bony hands and shaking them above his head, "* is it possible!" By this time a crowd had assembled, and, as I returned with the old man, our house be- gan to fill with gaping creatures, wantieringm about the rooms after they liad filly surveyed the prostrate form of the wretcheld woman, who lay exactly where I had left her, having apparently never stirred. The old servant lilted her tenderly in his arims, carried her across the street, banging the door in tflhe faces of a dozen inquiring people; and little by little the excitement faded otut and quiet was restored. Mamma returned to the house and put iime to bed with a nervous headache, and there I stayed till the next morning. Thle first thing I'thought of on waking was mIy birds; and'so, loading myself with seed and apples and fish-bone, wlhich we kept in the parntry, I threw on my wrapper and went to thie bird-room. Oh ,my darling children! It makes nme cry now to think of it All my beautiful cana- ries were gone! I knew that woman had taken them. I could have sworn io it. Every bit of iassion in my nature was aroused, and I felt I could almost kill this hideous female fiend who had first stolen my beautiful pets and then, no doulbt, in her mad folly, killed them. I cry now, but I couldn't cry then, for all the devil in me was awakened. I had lost all feiar of her. and hler insanity. I walked across the street, and pounded lustily at the ugly green-panelled door. I think I must have been thlere ten minutes before any no- tice was taken of the noise I was: making- enourgh to rouse the sleepers in Trinity churchyard. At length the old lnan peered from a window above. "What you want?" he asked. "* Come down here at once," I screamed, *" and listen to what I've got to say." In a moment lie opened( the door--only partly however, and determined to oppose any effort which mlight be malde to force an entrance. I saw that. "Let me in," I exclaimed. 1"I want to see )'our mistress!" "Al je regrctte; but impossible. Madame la Comtesse-poor lady, so very ill-very near to die ; but she get better. "* Where are my canaries? You dreadful old man, you know well enough if you would but tell." "*Ah Mademoiselle, and I who can not comprelhend blut so very bad the English-- and some other day when Madame will be better-permettez that I present my respects to Mademoiselle." So saying he closed the door ill lmy face. The same scene or one very similar occurred ' d every day for a month. s There was no use remonstrating with me on the folly of my determination. I had re- a solved to see the Countess Carry once more. I At the end of a month I succeeded in mly de- t sire. I was standing in the hall-way of' her rattlertrap of a house, when she suddenly o burst out fi'om a room at its remote end. Thotughl the door of this room had only been cu open forl a Ilmoment, I saw that, broad sunl-lirght C as it was outside, the windows and curtains t were closed andu the room lit up with candles. r Tlere was a musty odor issued from it, and s it appearted to lme that on tihe air was borne I a curio!ls sort of floating down not unlike i that wliiilh covers the breast of swants. The I Countlett s brushed her dress nervously as she i approachedl me; perhaps she was afraid some 1 of' this was clinging to her gown. I want mlly birds," I said., rouglly-- my lil eanarivs. Where are thet?" ' Poor child," sle said in her bad English, "is you oftenl-what you call--crazy." "Madam," said I, "this is no laughing s matter. I am not crazy. The day you were at our house I lost I my six beautiful canaries. You cannot wonder, after your singular con- versation that day, coupled with the disap- pearance of my birds, that I should suspect you; and I ask you again, where are my canaries?" "My child! was I or was I not to faint in your house? " "You did," I answered. And you suppose I amuse myself by to fall down, to cut my head, and then to get up, take your birds, and tall to faint again?" "I don't know what you did, or what you would do," I replied savagely. "But it is necessary to remember that I have plenty of money. Money buys every- thing--you know that. I can buy canaries." "You can't," I retorted, " you can't. You put that advertisement in, and no one had any birds to sell you. You know that as well as I do. Canaries are most difficult to get. They) come from a far distantt country --China- or - or Amsterdam - or - some place." "What shall I say?" she replied shrug- ging her shoulders. "* If you want money from me I will give money. I know nothing about your birds. How should I? What money will you have?" "None," I replied. "I want noth;ng but nmyJirds, and as I cannot get themn I will go awav ftrom you." "Cfst cela," she answered, " that is best. Anid ah-one word. Do not conie here not one time more. -I liate you very much. I might kill you. I have no knives. Constalnt takes all the knives away fi'om me. But I have scissors. Ah, mon Dieu! Olne must have scissors for my work. Don't you think I could kill you with my scissors?"7 "I dare say you could," I answered, * I dare say you have already killed many per- sons, you wicked woman!" ' No, no," she replied coolly ;, " you make a mistake. I hawe never killed any person. Birds-that is different. I do not like to do tlhat. But que voulez-vous t It has to be tldonc. Disgusted with her jargon and the sentimlent of it, I left the house. I never saw the countess again but on one occasion. It was at the Governor's ball. Of cour'se we were invited, and as no one seened to believe me when I asserted that she was a raving mad-woman, she was invited also. I shall never forget how beautiful she looked. Her hair was powdered until it was a dead white, and that was greatly the fashion then. No doubt she was rouged slightly, and per- haps her eyelids blackened with noir indien; but if this was the case it was most skillfully done--executed probably by a lnaster-hadl. Her costume was composed of the richest materials, her diamonds were positively daz- zling to the eye, while over her shoulders was flung a delicate lemon-colored cloak of some curious adul(, to me, unknown tissue. At first I thought it was satin-then it struck me it was fur; and when I drew nearer, what on earth do you suppose I found it was made of? Of the feathers of hundreds and hundreds of poor little canary birds! Oh, my dears, I positively raved! This then was the grave of my six little darlings. All gone--sacrificed-killed to satisfy the vanity of this horrible, passce, wicked old court flirt! She was dancing in a beautiful, stately manner with the Governor, and I walked straight up to him and touched him on the shoulder. Mamma tried to hold me back, but I would go. "Don't," said H-" don't, your Exellency --don't dance any more with that wicked old woman--that-that murderess!" " Such a scene of confusion as ensued! Papa and mamma hurried me away. They were afraid something dreadful would happen to me for my boldness; and, going home in the carriage, they settled to send me to the country the next morning, out of this woman's reach. But, bless your hearts! before ever the sun rose the next morning, every vestige of the Countess Carry, her old mnan-servant, and her canary-bird cloak, had disappeared from the rattle-trap house wih the green-panelled t door. She had taken ship for France. And now comes the strangest part of all. Before the year was out I got a letter from t her. It ran thus: I t "Petite Miserable: I "' I am very good enfant, or I should have killed you for what you did that night. But I have never killed any human being yet, and hope I shall never be obliged to do so. I think I can get on without killing any one. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] I have killed quantities of canaries. Yes, dear, I killed vyours. I squeezed their throats so they should make no noise that day when you thoughlt I was fainting on the stairs. Was it not cleverly playved. that farce You ( oe1, ifor fifteet;n w(.ars I have 1llen workitg at a beautifutl g:rment. Re- 7;ebto iln tlt: (extreme--a cloak composed enltirely of caiaric,' fiththlers. It would hatve ,(^en a pity to dlisappoint me, would it not, ] lihad ,(st myl heart on it for so long? Such :1in originlal itdea, too! NIv r(elatives in France say. 1 aml insfine, and ffor thart, rea:son thev snt me over to Amelrica fo change of air. Mili! sutch tra hl. Thley sent that good *ca- tit'tle C'olnstant with mlt. lie is idiot, rlUt obe dient. Sometimes I thiink of killing him becau:se lie lrs yellow skin, the same color as lmy cloak. Such impertinent rivalry of my f;ilvoritie color, and by a servant! "Did 1 not look beautifil that nighlt? The Governor wiasjust fellling me how ravishingly Ibelle I was when \ ou stepped lip to him. 'You poor little eat! Which do you think l,o(ked mostt like a mnad-woman at that mo- nivnt, von or I? "** AJ)rop)o was not the cloak becotnng! Tlit .llcate slia(de. eh, like citrons. Your birds jii t finished the collar. I don't know how I should lrave completed it without tlhe'l. Ouily think-fifteen years' work. I tlithink you oigilt to be delighted. "'l:ake the bank-note thfor two hundred frinls, whch you will find in this letter, and i,uy x ourself' a new gown. That will be lmore v'tlualhe to you than any birds. Do als I bid you at once; and remember all yollr liffe, you stupid little republican, that you hale lhad the honor of receiving a letter firomi a titletd ladIly of' France. "XA C(OM'i'Ei56E CLARISSE; DE LA QUARRI." I was ,.o outranged by this impudent letter tliat I was just on the point of throwing tile wicked old thng's banlk-note into the fire, but mammall stopped met 1by saying that I had better keep it, a, it mould buly many little things that I wantedl f-r my we(ddng outfit. William Allton and I were married in the spring, and wlhat do you think your grand- father gave met forl m wedding present? A dozen--a whole dozen--beautiful young canary birds! ABOUT NOTHNG-SHORTER. "What shall I write you down-ahem!- to-nilght, Ntell?" asked John.--"MY CLI- ENT FROM BROOKLYN?" "Your client? WcVll, upon my word-the deas of woman. Eh! your client! So you're a lawyer, are you? What'll you be next, I wonder?" "Very angry at you, sir, if you don't stop teazing me." "Do be quiet, my dear boy," said Aunt Julia. "* Silence in the court-house!" "Yes," continued John Morris, "the eat's a going to speak. My Client from Brooklyn. A lawer's office is not a very attractive place. Its onlvy merit, if a necessity can be called a merit, consists in its exquisite neat- hess. Those innumerable bundles of pa- ptrs. systematically arranged, correctly la- thelled, and jauntily tied with the much abus- ed red tape, those mysterious tin boxes, whose contents are happily unknown to the uninitiated, and spring-lock drawers, which open, but to the master's key. That key I possessed. Of those drawers-of that room, I was the master. At No 21 Wilsop street I was monarch- of all I surveyed, and it is but fair to say that my kingdom none dlid dispute. i liope it will not be understood by this that 1 was a poor starv'eling, with an emlpty purse and a full green-bag. Nothing of the sort. I was overwhelmed with business, and if it liad not been for the merest accident I might have sent away, and never seen my client iroll Brooklyn. She had called several times and sent in. her name-Miss Wharton; but I was busy each day, and sent out polite regrets, and the desire that she ,night call again. She did so, and again I was occupied and could not see her. But, on a certain Monday morning, I sat alone in my office, conning over the papers in re Daily Comet The Daily Comet was a newspaper which had been set afloat by a capitalist who was assur- ed by the would-be editor that there was never such an investment offered as thlat which was now presented to his admiring gaze. And, indeed, this was quite true. Never was there such an investment for sink- ing funds. The paper, deeply in debt before my' client took hold of it, had an odd peculi- arity of getting more so the more money furnished it; so, after bearing this literary atlas for a period of ten months, 1my client threw up the concern in disgust, and vowed lie would have nothing more to do with it. This, however, was easier said than done. It flavored of' a good joke-his savintg he would have * nothing more to do with it; " for the Daily Comet was not a load to be shaken off lightly, as he found, to his cost. The Old Man of the Sea never clung to the sailor's back with more tenacitv than did the floating debts of the Daily C'omet to my unhappy client. In vain he writhed and groaned and tried to repudiate; creditors seemed, like the victims of jealousy, to make the meat they fed on, and no mushroom growth of a night ever sprung up with mor rapidity than did this Daily Comet fungi, poisoning the happiness of my unfortunate, friend. On this particular Monday morning then, be it known, I had an engagement in my office. witl the gentleman i, q,(estion, and I had ilft word that on no condition was I to be disturbed by otlher parties. The hour fixed for our meeting was ten l'clock, and I l had specially enjoined I my client to he punc- tu:l;!Lutt spite of my request, ten, half past ten, a; quarter to eleven arrived(, and still no Comeft man:. I rose impatiently, and called onlt of my clerks. *Lodgers," said T, 1"T can't stop any longer for Mr. Indette. Tell him to call again, at five." The clerk answered " yes'r'," and hand- ed me, my umbrella from the corner, (for it was raining cats and dogs, as the saying is). I put on imy hat and stepped out into the passage. It was rather dark there, and my eye-sight is none of the best, but I immediately saw a slender firgure shrink back in a corner as I emerged noisily from my rooms. I hate mystery. I hate it of all things; and given a rainy morning in the dull, suicidal month of November, a dark passage-way in an office- building, a shrinking female dressed in black, looming out of a cobweb back-ground, and what can you make of it but a myistery of the most mysterious sort? I was determined to probe it. Yes, probe it I would; and that quickly. "What do you want, my good woman?" I shouted, as if she were very deaf. I had somehow conceived the idea that she was old; so called her "* my good woman." Women are generally more ** good" at an advanced period of life than when they are young and pretty, and have temptations cast in their wav. The " good woman " came forward timidly, and then I saw that she wau a girl of about twenty, with a fresh, blooming young face, but with a scared expression of eyes, as thougfh she were laboring under a great fear of sonlie terrible catastrophe about to happen. -"I want to see Mr. Alexander Bywood," said the "* good woman " looking about as if such a desire were highly reprehensible, and would presently meet with the punishment it deserved. * That's me," said I, with a patronizing air. I should have said " that's 1," shouldn't I? I know it. We lawyer-folk ought to be nmighty particular about our grammar. But we're not. We fall into error as well as un- legal people, once in a while. ** Indeed, sir," said she in a tremulous voice and looking more frightened than ever; '* could Hif it will not take too much of your time-consult you about a little affair- very trifling to be sure-but I have come several times to see you and never succeeded -and it's something of a trip too-I live in Brooklyn." I confess I was cross that morning. The Comnet man had made me lose a good hour of my time, and I had a vague idea that this was a client who who was never going to pay me any- thing. I had lo positive engagement out, and the Comet, in its eccetric flight, might dash in upon- me at any minute ; so I resolved to go back. I put my latch-key into the key- hole of my private office, and let my client from Brooklyn enter. Before she seated her- self she dethy slipped some notes into mny hland, and I saw at a glanco that they count- ed up ilto a Ilarger fee thlan I generally re- ceived for a first visit; so it was evident she was not going to be an unremunerative client. The knowledge of this mollified me a little, though I took up the notes with a disdainful air, and placed them far away frolm me at the remote end of my desk as if they and their like were thoroughly beneath the notice of a great person like lmyself. This was far firm being the case; for I was buying myself a expensive house in an up-town street, i)lingr for it by tri-yearly installlents, and all ft!es, large or small were of the greatest use. Having pretty well satisfied her, I falncied, that I was a very important individual, with whom there must 1no fooling, I rocked myself back in my chair, clasped my ha:nds at the back of my head, and staring determinedly at the ceiling, told her sharply to ** go on." She went on. She went on very nicely. Poor young thing! she went on wijl a most trying and delicate story, ill shuh a clearl, concise, modest little wa, that before slio had half finished her recital, m'y dried-up parchmlent-like bit of a heart was all aglow with interest in my client from nBrooklyn. It was an awftil task, her getting out that story. But sle did it, never omitting a (e- tail that might enlighlten me; the same as a conscientious witness in an infanticide c'ase, ' outs with " everything, from the minitest particular in regard to the birth of the c(ild down to every known detail of its Imurder. Miss Wharton's story was to the following effect-- Her mother had died when she was too young to remember much about her, an]d her father, who had been in business in New York, had retired to Brooklyn, on a con)fortable in- come, within the past three years. he was now little better than a hopeless invalid, however; and deeply grounded in the hearts of both father and lchild was a reverential af- fection fobr the deceased mother. This quiet condition of' affairs had gone on uninterrupt- . edly until about two months back, when the peace of the family, or at least of Miss Whar- ton, had been seriously disturbed. Such disturbance was caused by the appearance ' of a strange looking man, who, after having dogged the girl's footsteps for many davs. at length succeeded in so working on her fears as to induce her to give hint a few minutei hearing, and in that hearing she learned his story, His story was to the effect that his name, coupled with his rank, was Captain Louis Bel- page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] kamp; that shortly after her mother's mar- riage, himself and she had met, and accord- ing to the Captain's story, fallen desperaltely in love with each other. After the captain left the port or New York in his merchant- man, hotlnd for the West Indies, he had re- ceived several letters of the most criiminatinar character trom the infatuated Mrs. Whilar- ton, and the Captain now put it plainly to my client whether she did or did not think it was quite worth her while to hand him over one- half the monthly allowance her father was in the habit of giving her for the laudable purpose of indlling himl to keep his tongue betwoen his teeth. It appears Miss Wharton showing extraordinary firmness for her, had held out against this impudelnt demand until he told lier plainly something which lie kindly said he wilhedl to spare her, and which was that s-he, Caroline Whartan, was his, Captain Bel- kamp's ldaghter!' Of course this was a ter- rible blow to my client. What one might call a stag-eretr. Bult she rallied enough to ask him wliat proof he had of such a thintv. * Oh, proof! He had proof enough-. He had destroyed all his -darling Mrs. Whar- ton's letter s-all except one, which told the whole story. Did Miss Wharton wish to read it? ** No, no," she replied shuddering. "Very well," answered the Captain, "' very well, only when you do, my dear, there's a verbatim copy of it." and he slipped the paper in her hand. "The original I will part with for- let me see-1 would give, it to you, 1 mind, for five hundred dollars. In the i meantime, dear, only half your monthly i income will prevent my going to-oh-old i Wharton-and destroylng his belief in the- i of course-you know-defunct angel; And as for you, my dear. it seems to me that the I ties of consan-. what-d'ye-call-'ern-gulni- I ty, ought to induce you to give that much v of your paltry money to your poor father!!" She shrank away from him thoroughly horrified, and for two months had paid him a over half her income. This foolish acces- c sion to his demands had of course embold- ened himl to further importunity, and he was c now loudly calling for two hundred dollars a in cash, in defiault of whichh he was to go a within a week to Mr. Wharton, lay the v criminating letter before the sick man, and 1 then take upon himself the pleasant task of t going about to her friends in Brooklyn and c informninf them of the stain on Miss Whar- h ton's birth. In this moment of sore distress e (for she really could not get so muchl money p and pay it out without fully accounting for p it) she thought she had better consult a law- yer, and came to me. I. I was infuriated at the conduct of this man n Belkamnp. In all my professional experi- c ence I had never heard of anything more n base and vile, than pursuing this innocent young girl in so savage and indecent a man- tZ ner. Those timid eyes of hers would have a penetrated the heart of a stone-and this man who pretended to be her father--I did not believe a word of it! y Looking at it either way, the wretch must be the greatest dastard that ever walked un- -hung, suppoing it were true! What a hor- rible act this, to be making capital out of the letter of a womian, wlio had doubtless loved him with foolish and blinld devotion! and if it were false, was it not unllheard-of and hid- eous cruelty to be playing this sharp game on a guileless and inoffensive girl? Somehow, I had fully persuaded myself that it was a lie from beginning to end. W"What a brute!"I exclaimed,-walking ex- citedly to the window. "What a complete brute! Why, law is far too good for such scoundrels as he! Mv advice is to hire some one to kick hiln." "Oh, no sir!" she answered hurriedly. "oh, no, pray don't think of anything of that kind; you don't know, indeed you don't- how terribly vindictive he is! Is that really your legal advice?" Poor child! I suppose sheq thought she had paid her fee to a curious sort of lawyer, whose first advice to her was to drop law and adopt kicking. ' Where is that letter?"I asked, without replying to her question., " \rhat letter?" "Why-the letter that this man has-or at least the copy. You said you had it." Ah yes, she had it. She had almost forgot- ten it. SIhe had never read it. She Tiad always shrunk from acquainting herself with more of the facts than she was already pos- sessed of. I read the letter, expecting to find it of a very crininating character, but I was disappointed. It was criminating in a meas- ure, certainly. It was a silly woman's silly love-letter to her ("Darling Louis.?"There was but a single line of reference to my client. " Little Carrie Wharton is well, and often asks after the gentleman who gave her the doll." Miss Wharton blushed deeply at these un- derseorings; her sensitive nlature leading her at once to infer that this was a subtle hint of a common knowledge between the party writing and the party receiving. Of course, I observed to her that we had no certainty that such underscorings existed in the original document-this copy being in the precious hand-writing of Captain Louis Belkamip; and ' even if they did, might they not have been placed thert' by the hand of that honorable party himself? No, she was disposed to see it at its worst. Her mother-and she pronounced the word mother nervously--her mother had in sarcasm called her Carrie Wharton, because she had no right to that name, and- ** And she called him, in sarcasm, the gen- tleman, because he has no right to that name also, I suppose." "What Is to be done?" she asked in desa- Dair. "Done! why, it's as clear as daylighllt. I'll lhave the fellow arrested for illegal attempts to extort money from you-tlhat's what I'll do." A rperfect volley of no. no, no's, at this. She would not hear of it for a moment. Such a course, no matter how effectuallyit put an end to Captain Belkamp's extortion in the ftiture, would give the atfflir a notorie- ty which she was determined at any cost to avoid. "Only think how much sufferinmg it would cause poor, poor Papa; " and she blushed as she used the word. "Even sup- posing the letter a forgery, and the whole affiair a fldbrication," said my client, " it can- not fatil to lie almost as harmfill to us as if it were strictly true. Every one has enemies, you know iMr. Bywood, especially men who h:ave ,been or are in business, as well as mar- riangeable girls,"' and here the timid eyes were lowered. "Papa and I have enemies, I presume--not that I know of any-but there are some doubtless, and they would fasten upon this and hurt us just as much- with it, as if the stories were all true, as I said before. Therefore, my great desire is to try and conciliate this matter, Mr. By- wood; conciliate it. I assure you papa would die if' he were to hear a word of such a dreadful affair." I thought if any old man were silly enough to die just because a scoundrel was extorting money from his daughter, he ought to be permitted to do it as expeditiously as possi- ble. But I did not say this to, Miss Whar- ton. " Would( you therefore, Mr. Bywood, so far obligen me-- should take it as a personal fa- vor" (and I knew she was willing to pay for favors) " as to consent to see this person- this Captain Belkamp, and find out if some arrangemnent can't be made by which I can obtain possession of that letter." "He can fudge up another in twenty-four hours' time," said I. "No, not another like that," she said. And then she confessed to me that, though she was not very familiar with her mother's handwriting,- Mrs. Wharton having died so many years ao-and tholugh she had ( only oltained a hurried glimpse at the let- ter in this man's possession, she nevertheless r felt convinced that the document was an au- thentic one, and was in fact what it was claimed to be by Captain Belkamp. "I don't see what good there was in your 1 coming to a lawyer, Miss Wharton, if you're t goi:g aboutt it in such an unlawyer-like way. Why did not you address yourself to any-any v male of your acquaintance." 1 " I have very few nmale friends, Mr. By- wood, and none of tliose few would I take I into my confidence. Oh1, can you not under- I st;ind that I wish to avoid the'scandal of it, that I want to keep the knowledge of the ex- N istence of such an affair away-altogetlher t away from talkative people? Therefore, as n 1 I said before, if conciliatory measures can be used-" " "Conlciliatory devils," I ejaculated, now mye.'lf becoming very unlawyer-like. The s. cou1,dl ollght to have his i tc!(k wrVllIr." "Then I am to understandll you will not t see him? I said Miss Wharton, rising. "Wait a minute. When are you goinh to see hilm again?"lr ' I have promised to meet him in Park, Brooklyn, to-morrow at two o'clock." "Very well. 1 shall he there." She seemed very gratefil, and as she was 3 leaving I offtreild y hand. Not expecting this, the movement ;had fallen abortive be- fore she extended hers. I, seeing this, plrof- tfred mine once more, only to miss 11(i'. again; and it was not until tRodlgers o)ellldi the door and announced "Mr. TIlette " that I laughingly seized her h1and, gave it a hearty shake, and thus took leave for that t day of my new client. I On the inorrow I crossed the ferrv accorl - ,- ing to her direetions, and made the best of my way to the Park she had mentioned. I was not fiailiar with the streets of' Brooklyn. and was therefore obligedl to endliure a Ia;lf' a dozen times before I foulld the place of rendezvous. Once i thile Park it was all plain sailing: for seated on a stone I)(bench, not a dozen yards from the gate, was the beau- tiful girl dressed as before in black, side by side with a shabby individual, whomn I at once recognized as her persecutor. Thinking -me merely a passer-by, I sup- pose, Captain Belkamp was doubthless some- what astonished when I stepped up to Mias Wharton and said- "My dear yotung lady, would you oblige me by leaving, me alone with this g lltlo- nailn? ' She obeyed me without a word; bult with a look of gratitude on her sweet features which I shall never forget. I have seen a good number of scoundrels in mny time, but of all the thorough ruffians I ever laid eyes upon I award the palm to Captain Louis Belkaplp. he was a; ,louch- ing, skulking brute, with blelarl drunkenll eyes, ill-kempt hair, and a straggling, irreg- ular beard. A thorough hang-dog counte- nance; a face of' itself that ought to have sent him to the gallows. "Well," he said impudently, after I had surveyed him at my ease and douiltless ex- pressed my disgust of lihin by facial contor- tion, " well, what do you wan;t with me?" "I can answer that qu(estion in four words," I replied bluntly! " I want that letter. " "Oh, indeed," exclaimed Captain Bel- kamp. " 0Oh, in-deed! she's been blowing, has she??Well, she'll wish she hadn(1t.. That's all I can say. She'll wish she haidn't. Who are you, that you dare speak to nie in, this tone, sir. Are you a lawyer or a police- maln? n page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] No' o matter." I r eplied I "I am a man. l am not a timid girl. like Miss Wharton. I want that letter." "And how, pray do you pro-pose to get it? BlDllt" e?" lie asked eagerly. ** No, I do not, you rascal," I exclaimed; "You've had the last dollar you shall get from Miss Wharton. Yes, and the last cent." Oh, then you mean to get it by coaxing," said Captain Bellamnp with fine irony. "No, not by coaxing," I replied quietly. * You don't mean to say you'd try to get it by force het stuttered. We'ell," I replied very coolly, " that's as may be. It seems to me as if I were a poor feeble old man like you given to drink too, which makes the strongest- man powerless), and had possession of a document which I knew a inluseular fellow like myself"-an 1 I twirled my stick rapidly-* "a muscular fellow like myself wanted, I think I'd be likely to keep out of his way o' dark nights." Why, you wouldn't knock me down, would you? You wouldn't dare do it. I'd have the law of you." ' All, li :! I;lt how abhot our having the law of you! eh? What do you say to that? Threats, yon know-threats---extorting mon, ey-and so forth. You old scoundrel, that's what I ought to do now; and I would if I had my own way in the matter. I'm acting clean against principle and precedent and prudence in this affair. And you know it. But I'm obliged to do it because I promised. Only I say-keep out of my way o' dark nights."' "Now look here," said the Captain, trying the "conciliatory " himself, "* what's the use of being so ill-tempered about it? Why not give me something a little handsome-and take the letter-and be done with it, for good and all." "Not a cent!" I shouted emphatically. "Not one. Understand that at once- and-" repeating what I saw had been an effective phrases-* keep out of my way o' dlark nights." 4' Now, there's no use of you're being so ,violent. Mr.---- whatever your name may 'be. No ise under the sun. What earthly good would it do for you to attack me of a dark night, as you say? What good would it do you?" "* I might obtain possession of the letter," I said. *' No you wouldn't. You wouldn't do any such thing. You wouldn't, I tell you. I ,don't carry it about me." tie3 saw immediately that he was giving me a clue to its whereabouts by this avowal, and it was evident he at once repented hav- ing made it. ** I outrht not to have told you that," con- tinued the ruffianly old scoundrel. "But I had to do it. I wanted to prevent your be- having ugly toward me, which wouldn't do tile slightest good. I repeat-not the slight- est." '* I'n not so easily humbugged as youl think, Mr.---Captain Belkamp. And I've dealt with too many wily old raseals like yourself not to know how they will lie, and swear to tleir lies, to throw an adversary off the scent. I dare say you've got the letter now in that breast-pocket," I said, moving up toward him a little menacing. * I wish I may die if I have,"-he whined, in a maudlin tone, at the same time empty- ing, not only that but every pocket about his clothing. "I haven't it at all. Look yourself. Examine every scrap o' paper I've got about me. Why, you must know it's hardly likely that a poor old fellow like me -who is as weak as a reed, and gets drunk as you say-iit;s hardly likely I'd carry around such a precious document as that. Worth money to me, that letter is, and came, of course, from my dear-well, she's dead now, poor thing. Why, I was robbed the other night; got a little how-come-you so, and the next mornin found that I was robbed. Stolen every dollar fron me, sir; money too, that Miss-that is, my dear daughter, you know-had given me! Too Dad, wasn't it No, no. Catch Loo Bel- kamp being such a fool as to carry that let- ter around." "Well, if you haven't got it about vour person, you've got it secreted somewhere," I said. * Certainly I have. Certainly I have. But where? That's the question, WIlElD?" I rose to go, for I was getting so out of tenmper that in a couple of minutes longer I felt I should pounce on this blackguard and give himu a sound drubbing, which would 1 have done * no good," as he said-and might have (done a great deal of harm, in the way of leading to an exposure, which my client so seriously dreaded. As I was walk- ing off, Captain Belkamp spoke again: ** If you want to know where the letter is." (and involuntarily I stopped), * 'll tell you. D It's in Bank. In the bank of a dear friend r of mine. He'd go through brandy and y water-I mean fire and water,-for me. a So would ins Safe. It's in his Safe. Great d strong safe. Five locks. Secret keys. Letter sealed up--my seal-tied with red 1 tape. Ha! Ha! Where is that bank? Don't you %wish you' knew? Where is that y Safe? Don't you wish vou knew?. Where I is that LETTER? Don't you wish you knew --wish you knew-wish you knew?" e He rubbed his villainous old hands to- , gether, chuckled in a sort of low laugh, and - supporting himself on a heavy notched old cane, shambled away. I returned to town, and took no steps in I the matter for more than a week. I wanted - the Captain to believe that I had dropped the affair, seeing the utter hopelessness of ever obtaining possession of the letter for which (for the sake of' her mother's rep- utation and for her own position in society) I knew and he knew, Miss Wharton would give every dollar she could muster. At the end of ten days I again went to Brooklyn. It was a very easy matter to find out where Captain Belkamp lodged. 'tile land- lady was a talkative old wonan, whom I frightened into secresy hy my legal Dearing, and the assurance that though she had un- wittingly been so unfortunatte as to harbor an escaped stute's prison convict in the per- son of Captain Belkamp. I would gracious- 1y protect hler froln all harm if she would c:arcftiliv aid me in my plans, and abstain friom gi,'ing her lodger the slightest hint that the " dogs of law" were on his track. This she promised; so frightened by y my story that she was nearer dead than alive. But I toldl her that her sanitary and social condition would be b)etter after I hnad ousted her loda- er-but this I said nmust be done cautiously. Finding the man was out (but whether lie would return late or early the landlady could not tell,) I ordered Mrs. Daff to give mile the pass key of her roonms, so that I might take a minute survey of Captain Belkamp's prenlises. She gave it, without the least hesitation. Captain Belkamp's room was quite at the top of the house, with a sloping( ceili'nc, and two low windows looking down on the shabby street. His bed, a fit lair for such a dirty wretch as himself, had not been made since its occupancy of the preceding night. At the foot of the bed stood an oakIen cup- board or wardrobe, and this piece of furniture I carefully examined, for, spite of Captain Belkatmp's story about the letter being de- posited in the " bank " of a -* dear friend" who would go through , brandy and wa- ter" for him, I somehow felt convinced that the!" bank," and the ' safe " and the "* let- ter " itself were all within the four dirty white- wshed walls which now encompassed me. If it were true that he had deposited ' it, then of course the figurative search for ' the needle in the haystack were no more use- less than mine. But I felt that the story was a fabrication from beginning to end. Head ' mlen at the banks do not usually select 1 their friends from the low grade of society E in which move such persons as Belkamp and I his ilk. I felt that the letter was concealed a in this room. t I was proceeding in my search, peering I into every nook, examining every corner, t when I was suddenly stopped by the loud s voice of Mrs. Daff on the stairs. In a nio- d ment I understood that Captain Belkamp had l returned unexplectedly, and that she was try- 1h ing to prevent his going up. t '* What the devil are you trying to keep ii me out of my own rooim forP " I heard him shott at the poor frightened creature. o r "I'm doing nothing of the kind," she, answered. '* I say I was cleaning up there, and went in there with lmy pass kev, which I left in the door. And that is all. Amld was thinking, only thinking, that you mighlt think it juyst the least bit strange that 1 should go in your roomn when you was out; and if you'd just step away for ten nillties I'll have your room cleaned be)autifil and all tidy(, so as you'd lharl11ly know it-will you?" All this in an extremely high key, evidently intended to reach my ear, andll spoken by IIy ally below. * No, I'll do nothing of the kind," heI re- plied angrily, " nand as ffor your p:ass key I'll take it. Curse it, I won't ];:ve a:oll' dv\ pry- ing into my matters, and goinlr illto myV roo( d1 when I'm ablsent. Get out of mny way, I tell you; I'mll going)r up." I heard her heavy footsteps desendlllil kitchen-ward, and his llounlting leislurely to the little cell in which I was rehularly cagedl. Here was a dilelmma for a respectable and well-to-do lawyer! Here a disgracef1l situation!- Wlhy had I comne here to this low dirty place, to do the low dirty work of a po- lice detective? Why? Because I was desperately. madly, insane- ly, outrageously in love with my client. firom Brooklyn. I would have, done anything for her--anything to obtain her gratitudle. I wanted to get this letter for her imself---ny- self-without a fingebr's turn of' aidl froml any detective or lawyer or private individual in the world--or Brooklyn. It the meantime he was nlounting-mnountintg-andil now had reached the last step of the staircase. Quick as thought I sprang into the wardrobe and ' closed the doors, holding theml together in- side. This was my only move. He mihb llt not want to get open the wardrobe; if lihe did-why I lmust just make the best of it. Knock him down, perhaps, and clear away. But I did not want anything of this kind. I wanted to keep quiet. As yet I had not discovered anything to give mlle the( slightest trace of the letter, and had the oll wretch once become aware that his private quarters were likely to be entered at ally moment by his enemlly, he would have re- moved the precious paper of course at once. As I crouched in the cupboard, my limbs stiffening with the posture, and mvr chest heaving with short gasps from the confined and impure state of the atmosphere, I tilt then on what a wild-goose chase I had started. I looked like the culprit-a regular jack-in- the-box, lie like the iree mand, smloking his short pipe, and walking deliberately uip and down the narrow room. One great hope buoyed me up--mighlt lhe not now go to the letter, thus showingre the the ding place? For I could distinctly see all his mnovements fromt a crack in the wood of the cupboard. I was beginning to get tired of this game of hide-and-seek. The Captain had come page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] back to his room, evidently for the pulrpose of reposing himself merely; for lie smlokedl one pipe, after another, lolled on tilt- bed, got up again, loafed up and( down the floor, gazed stupidly out of the window, whistled a nautilal air, and then finally began making a fresh toilette, prior, perhaps, to going: out again. His ablutions were of the silmplest character, consisting of a slighlt * dab 1 " with a wet towel on his forehead and cheeks, ahd a half second's immersion of his finger tips in a basin with a litmited supply of water. Then the Captain took off his shirt, and fling- ing it on the top of a very diminutive pile of soiled linen, proceeded to unlock his trunk in search of a clean garment. The trunk, of course-the trunk! The letter must be in there! I watched him eargerly as he laid out the trifles it containe(d, and tl;en after select- ing the second shirt, perhaps because it. was in better condition than the first, he laid them b)ack again one by one. He had. emptied it, I. could see, to the very bottom, and there was not the slightest vestige of writing or papers! This was a disappointment. With mute rage- I saw the old fellow complete his toi- lette, leaving off the ragged-bottomed trow- sers which he had worn when he entered, and putting on a somewhat better pair, which hung over the clhair back, and whose pockets I had previously searched; he slipped on the same coat, gave a coquettish brush to his hair, and then devoted his attention and the efforts of a ragged silk handkerchief to the smoothing of his hat. I conjectured at once -and my surmise I ultimately proved to be true-that he was getting himself up in this seductive style for the purpose of waylaying Miss Wharton. I could have killed himn where he stood. I am not sanguinary as a general thing, but I could have murdered that man in cold blood. For was he not persecuting, tormenting, fiendishy annoying my love, my beauty, my darling, my client from Brooklyn? At length he went. I could hear him lock- ing the door outside and removing the key- the pass key, which he doubtless pocketed according to his threat. Thump, bump went his fteet and his cane, step by step, down the racklinr stair -cse. Thumlp, bump,-faint- er, fainter, fainter. I ran to the window and saw him in the'street. And( for myself! Here was I, a highly re- spectable person, the counsel for the great Mr Ilndette of the Daily'Comet,- besides be- ing the attorney in numberless prominent suits for numberless proilinent persons, lock- ed up in a dirty garret by a half-tipsy old sailor! I examined the lock of the door. I could not possibly force it. It was t6o strong for that. But I imnllediately rememllbered l1my ally below stairs, Mrs. Daff, wholn I did not doubt would soon conme to lmy rescue. I dlid not want her yet. No, not yet, by any me'ns. I wanted to be alone and undisturb- ed, so that I might hunt for the hetter. I Hegan by riipping'up the old carpet con- fined here and there by small-headed tacks, and tlirli.^ting my hand thder as far as it would go. No letter. This work was tiresome in the extreme, for I was without tools of any kind except my small pocket-knife. With this I ripped open the mattress and probed there. With no successs. Pillows likewise were obliged to undergo the same vandal treat- ment. And all for nought-all for nought! Again I turned to the trunk. The lock of this gave way with one strong pull; the rot- ten wood ejecting the poor oll lock, an(d look- ing as if greatly relieved by the operation. I need not have given my time to this, for I had seen before that there were no papers in it. But I wished again to assure mynself, and I did-that there was nothing in it. About the cllairs there was not the possibility of concealing even the smallest article; the seats were of cane--not stuffing. The table which also ser ed as wash-stand, contained in its little drawer (whic'h canle out half-way and then stuck there, refusing to go either back or forward) a ruisty razor and a leather strap. Even the Raven woulld have been obliged to confess that there was "l noth- ing more, only these-and nothing more." By merely raising myself and lifting ,my arm I could pass my hand along the ceiling. In some places the plaster was broken, and it struck me thlat as the letter was a small ob- ject it would be easy enough to insert it in any one of these little woolly irterstices, standing greatly in need Of a coat of wlhite- wash. * A coat of whitewash!"I repeated- to myself in thought--' they need a coat and a pair of' trowsers of whitewash!" that was nmy joke, and a very good one I thought it, A coat and a pair of trows ers of - A coat and a pair of trowsers-and a pair of trowsers-a pair of trowsers! Byv Jingo! Why didn't I think of them before? That was not the pair I searched before he came in! Certainly not. That was the pair he took off. I seized them and turned both pockets in- side out. Not a thing: not a vestige of any object! Still, not discouraged, I passed my hand over the seams, coolly ripping them open in such places as they appeared thicker than need be, carefully investigating the filthy mud-crusted Ihems at the bottom. Nothing-nothing. I flung themn from me in disgust and despair. As they lay with their two black bag-like portions (inaptly called "'legs") sprawled apart on the bed befbre me, I saw that up to this moment I had overlooked something im- 1 portant. There was a third pocket which I r had not examined. It was a watch or fob- pocyket, and close to the waist-band peering quietly out, as one might say, was the tip of a folded paper. My heart actually stopped beating; or so it Seemed to me, for I was fillv satisfiel thant at last I had succeeded in findlinr the much- desired ohbje t. Stealing noiselessly toward it, as if it had both the sense of' leanrinr and the power of' getting away when alarmed, I advanced to the bed. pulled out the paper, opened it with trembling hands, and found it blank! I can never describe my rage and disap- pointment. I tore the paper in half, flung it on the floor. trod on it, crushed it beneath ny heel. and paced madly up and down the floor. Oh! to be baffled in this manner! I, such a highly respectable person, and work-' "Ir in such a good cause! He, such a low- lived ohl rascal, worrying the heart out of n, little darling-mn Pet-nm beautiful Brooklyn client! I stopped, and picked up the torn frag- ments before me, and examined them once more. This was not the letter-oh no-no such luck :as that. But in one corner of the paper, written in a miserably cramped hand, was a memorandium, which I had overlooked. It was t!s: 9 (Counting alD. 5 (Good). 9 Cou'iltinlI all, ,5 good! What on earth was the nell'lling of that? 9! 6! To what did these figures refer? I felt convinced they had soine bearing on the letter. Some hiit-sollme reminder of' the spot. in which it lay hidden. 9! 5! I kept repeating the words, and gazing about the room. I tried, to count the tacks in the lrng!red-,dlp carpet, the feathers, emptying out of the ripped pillow-cases, the straws from the mattress ticking- I raised my eyes, and a new light burst upon me. Across the lower end of the room, there was nailed a rack for hanging clothing, originally composed of twelve large wooden pegs. On the eleventh peg there hung an old hat, but all the others were empty. Four of the pegs were gone, having doubt- less heen pulled down, by an overweight of' hanging garments; and thus the fiyfh good one was the ninth peg, counting all , With a sudden wrench, I dragged it away, and there, in the centre of the wooden peg, which had of course been hollowed out, on pu'rpose to receive it, was hid the letter! Yes, there it was! An old, thin, flimsy document, so weather-stained, and pocket- worn, that it barelyv held together. It read word for word, like the copy I had seen and was signed like the copy, 6* Carry!" The underscorings too were there, but it struck me that they looked done with fresher ink than the rest of the letter. I was not cer- tain of this, and indeed it didn't much mat- ter, as I had got the letter. Andt now, to get out. A few kicks at the door brought Mrs. Daff with the key of another room, which opened this one very easily. Her horror at the sight or the rava- gces I h1:ld committed was greatly lessened by the present. of a five dollar bill. IMaking nmy way at once to the Parlk. I saw, as I expected to see, In ddrling gir'l seated on the stone b)eiilh witl; her eves red( with wee)ing, and the old scoundrel lv her side, layinr, down the l;aw to lher with vehe- ment wavin igs of the knotty stick. I e smilhed atfably as I approached, and bowed witi mock isuavity. "Alh, indeed!" lie exclaited. ,DI)o I havd the pleasure of seeing you1(11 onlce arain? Believe ,ie, sir, I amn truly vours! M eitear ! yotln lady--or rather, mnl' hdear--dauhthrlt,"' (and the girl's lip tremnlhled as lie spoke), "this is your friend-this is youlr very ,ood frie(nd, Mr.-all,-wlha:t was it inow, l.': (ani-am mon .and Spinach-llMr. Gatmmon oald Spich:l('ll --Mr. Threat-Mr. Blister-Mr. All-t;alk- and-no-ider-- Mr. Bolulmastes-Furioso!" "Yes." I replied, with :ois ltucdh coolless as I could conmmandl, fir I felt an irresistible d(esire to kno(k him downV every time I apl- proached this hoary-heade d old villain. "Yes, Miss lWhlarton's true and d(evoted fr'iendl, who has at :list sul(cc'eeded in obtaining-the letter!" I spread it oat hefore thell both as I slpoke, and 'pon my word of honor as a gentleman and an Anmerican attorney, I never saw a mnore llagnificent coup d(e Theatre! The. girl actually flew to my side like a bird frieed from its wiry prison; and the mnan, rising to his feet, uttered a loud groan as hle asslred himself it was really the authentic doumetlit which I had obtained possession of, and then fell with his whole length on the stone bench, comopletely inert and power- less! "Oh dear, dear, darling Mr. Bywood(," said ,my girl, laughing and crying togetler- "you are the loveliest, dearest, sweetest, darlingqst lawyer I ever knew. How can I ever repay you?" I told her how she could some months afterwards-no t then. "You're a thief!" said Captain Belkamp,l risinf and fixing his tlearv eyes upon Imyl; face-"* a thief anld a-a---burglar, to break into my room and steal that letter. Wont you pay me for it?" "'Not a cent, you brute," I exclaimed, "not a cent. Pay, indeed! Well, that is a good joke, 'pon my word." *Well, something for charity, then." 'Miss Wharton's pocket book was out in a moment, but I put my hand on her and pre- vented her opening it. * Oh, how cruel you are," he moaned, beerly "h* ow cruel. But come now, I'll te ll you wlat I'll do if you'll-if you'll give nme iive dollars. I'll tell you something you'd give fifty dollars to know." I would not give tfive dollars for the fifty dollars worth of' information. "* Well, three P?" "I would not give three." page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] ' Two and a half?" No answer. "One?" Before- I could stop her, Carry had slipped a dollar bill in his hand. I observed that .Captain Belkamp got safe- ly out of kicking distance betfore he spoke. . "Well. thell listen. T'llns young ladv was just three years old before I ever saw her mother! With a little chirp of joy Carry pressed close against me'and looked graitefully up into ny eyes as if she fullI considered that the fact of her beingr the legitimate offspring of her lawsfilly wedded parents was due entirely to my 4ingle and unaided efforts. I received her tri ,ute of thanks without disclaimer. - Ai d now, it' you promise you won't dis- turb me, but just let me go my way and you yours, I'll tell you something else about it." I would promise nothing. I felt guilty to the last degree in allowing this fellov to go scot free, probablyv to again prey upon some innocent party. But Carry wanted secresy; what could I do? I did not answer; but I knew that Miss Wh, ton was noddiing her head, and wink- in, and encouraging him to go on, as who should say, *' Tell what vou like: I'll be re- sponsible for him; " meaning me. * That letter was not written by your moth- er at all." "What!" we both exclaimed. "No. Don't be angry. It was written by a cousin of' hers. whose handwriting was very similar. Site was unmarried, and we were engaged, but the whole thng fell through after I went away. She used to take little Miss there out for a walk some- times, and one day when I met thtm I gave little Carry a doll. I did indeed, you un- grateful girl! What is the paltry one hun- dred dollars I've had from you, compared to that? Dolls were very expensive sixteen or seventeen years ago, Wont you open your heart now, and-" I could stand it no longer. I made a sudden thrust at him; but he, doubtless di- vining my purpose with an alacrity of' which, I did not deein him capable, flew out of the Park, cleared the corner, and was soon out of sight. We never saw him again. I think he must have left the country, for Mrs. Daff, to whom he owed a fortnight's lodging, institu- ted a searching inquiry for her missing lodg- er. It was thoroughly unsuccessful, how- ever. Things went famously for me after that- things in the way of business. I pulled the Comet, tail and all, through lots of difficulties, land mnade such good arrangements with the creditors that Mr. Indette generously gave me twice the fee I shoull have asked; and I don't mind askin, a prettv big one, either. Then came the Willis will case, and so 1 very soon paid for the expensive house in the up-town street. Of course my darling married me-bless her. She said she fell in love with me the first day she ever saw me, at the time when we had all that missing-fire sort of business in our first shakinr of hands; but, dear me! I was in love with her at least twenty minutes before that! I think I've told you all. Oh, by George ' yes; there is just one thing. No, on second thoughts, I'd rather not mention that. It seems so stupid. Besides, Carry would be vexed if she knew I'd told it. You wont mention it, eh? Honor bright now! Make me look such a guy, you see -an old fellow like me, as I am now at fortv- fiva, with a red face and a bald spot on the top of my head, as big as the palm of your hand. Ha! ha! By George! yes-tlhat's it; you've hit it. She is-she is jealous! Stupid, of her, isn't it? Such a pretty creature as she is, and such a fat old cur- mudgeon as I am! But she doesn't see my defects. Oh dear, no. She kisses me so sweetly every day before I go to the offlice, and calls me all those mytholorgicaIl fel- lows, Beau Brummnel, you know, and D'Oksay and Apollo and Adonis and the rest. Ah, come now, don't, laugh. That's reallv not kind of you ; and--I say, one word before you go! As you value my friendship don't say anything of this to Carry, for I've made her two promises-one is not to reveal her weakness, and the other is to humor that weakness by never again serving a lady- client from Brooklyn. f VI. SLIGHTLY SENSATIONAL. "I'm glad of that," said John; "-the sen- sational is the only care!" "* How learned you are becoming, John!" I exclaimed. "Ain't I though? That's Shakspeare! Only more so. Ah, Nelly! you havent't dis- covered half my talents yet!" * Begin Nelly," said Aunt Julia. Major Jim. My name is Peter Barclay, and I am senior partner in the house of Barclay & Co., dry goods dealers, No. 10 -- street New Or- leans. I am not of a nervous teinperament, nor am I in any way ti4nid or cowardly. 1 was forty-five years of age last June; but the events of which I am going to speak hap- pened nearly twenty years ao. At that tnnme i was head book-keeper in the house of which I am now the principal, havinn bought of my former employers with money which was willed to me by an uncle c of mine, who ldied in Australia some eleven or twelve years ago. I was a poor lad when I tirst went to them; but I think my employ- ers respected me, and that they had confi- dence in my honesty the story will show. It happened at that time that our firm had business relations in New York with a party who owed them what is widely known in the' commercial world as a " bad debt," and this bad debt amounted to several thousands of dollars. They had tried hard to collect it- tried in every way-and failed signally. They had tried lawyers and doctors, and threatts and persuasions, and vows of' vengeance andl promises to " knock off" a good( round stnum, but to all their manleuvres the bad debtors in New York smiled sweetly at the Ilmal creditors in New Orleans, and continued as much in debt as before. This being the state of the case, it was at last proposed to send me'on to the Metrop- olis, to see if the actual presence of aun au- thorized deputy, coming fresh from the spot, would not hlave the desired effect. I had full power to receipt for the filrm, and the only fear was that I should get noihiln, to receipt ftr from the recalcitrant New York- ers. I took passage on one of the file "packet-boats" plying between New Or- leans and Cincinnati, and, after rather a te- dious trip of five days on the river, found myself at their picturesque landing of the Queen City of the West. We had arrived too late for the midnight train for the'East, and there was nothing for me to do but to wait until the next morning, at eight o'clock, when the express train went out. Many of my fellow-passengers slept, that night on tle boat; but I was tired of the narrow berth in which I had lain and tossed for five nights, and, late as it was, I got a strapping negro to shoulder my trunk and carry it into at public-house on the wharf. This house was called the "River Queen Hotel," and was a favorite with those men who earned a livelihood on the rivtr. It bore a reputable name, and the charges were moderate. Both of' these facts made it a de- sirable place of resort. I had stoppedl there, once or twice betfore, and the landlord (an ex-clerk on one of' the steamboats) rec- ognized me as I entered. ," How de do, sir! How de do! coming to spend a few days in Cincinnatti?" He rubbed his hands together cheerfully as he spoke, but, little as I knew the man, it struck nme that beneath his apparent go)d spirits there lay some unlspoken trouble which he was trying his best to conceal. "No." I answered; "I am going East to-morrow by the first train; but I wanted a good night's rest in a bed before I started: so 1 came here." "Suttainlh, sir, suttainly," he returned, still with an assumption of jollity. "Here, Bill, carry this trunk up to No. 12." The porter did so, and the landlord ac- companied me to the room assigned me, and busied himself with some triftling details for my comfortable occupancy of it during the night.- Everybody spoke of him as a good- hearted, well-meaning man, and, knowing this, I asked him frankly what was the mat- ter with him to-tnight. "Did you observe that there was some- thing the matter with me when you came in?" he asked, suspiciously. "Yes, I did," I said: "you started when I opened the door." "Did I? Well, I guess I'd better tell you the whole of the story, or you might think thlere was somethinglf wrong in nme." "I mighlt. That's true enollugrl." What made you start when I opened the door?" "Because," lhe answered, slowly, ' the tirst glimpse I got of you I thought you was the Coroner!" "The Coroner!" '"Yes, the Coroner. We've sent for him, thoughi I don't believe he'll comel beforeo morning. There's been a dreadfill accident to-night. One of imy ctustomers-a real good feller-has been drowned " His eyes filled with tears as lie spoke. 1"Drowned!"I exclaimed. 1"lHow did that happen?" "I don't know a thing about it. IHe was down stairs, drinking at the bar, albout eight o'clock this evening, and I mixed him a mint-julep myself just before lie went out, saying he was going for a walk on the wharf. Seellms to me it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours after that when two Hen broughlt in his dead body. lie lhad been drowned." "Do you think it was an accident. or foul play?"I asked. "I thllink it must h ve been an accident. Perhaps the liquor he'd taken made hlkl kind o' unsartin whllere he was going. I don't think he had any enemies. He was as goold- hearted a chap as ever lived. Poor Major Jim!" "What was his name?" "Major Jim. That's all I know. That's what everybody called him." "What was his busiless?" I asked. "Well, I've always thought lhe was a sporting-man. Still, I'l not sure." A "sporting-man" was a sort of compli- mentary synonym for a " gambler." I be- lieve the term is obsolete now. "I only know," he continued, feelingly, "that he was as free with his money as if Ili'd been a prince. Poor 'fellow! How hand- some he looks, laying down there in the back parlor, with his new brown overcoat lined with gray silk, and his big cluster-diamond pin stuck in his shirt bosom!" And the landlord passed the back of his hand across his eyes. " Did you try to restore himn when vou first found him?" "Yes; we tried everiything. We had page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] two doctors in, but it was too late. Poor fellow! I suppose the Coroner will be here the first thing, in the morning." "Don't forget to have me waked at half past six." ' No fear. Good-night, sir." "Good-nlight." lie Heft 1ne. I confess I did not think much more about the drowned man after the door closed on the landlord. I am not at all a heartless person, but Major Jim was a- stranger to me; I had never seen him ; never should do so; I was tired and sleepy, and had only a lew hours fo repose before me; so, hastily doffing my clothing, I tumbled into bed, and was soon fist asleep. How long I slept I cannot tell, but my slumber was an uneasy one. I dreamed that I had collected the bad debt in New York, and was returning honme with the money, when I was set, upon by thieves, overpowered, and robbed of every cent. I awoke sud- ldenly, and, sitting up in bed, I looked around the room for the robbers. It had been a dream, and there were a-no robbers whatever. It was not yet daylight, and the fire was still burning brightly enough to make all the objects about the room as visible as though it were morning. I was just composing nmyself to slumber again when the door, which I had locked and bolt- ed inside, opened noiselessly. and gave ingress to a man.,-a man in a brown over- coat lined with gray silk, and with a great cluster diamond pin stuck in his shirt! He walked over to the fire and began to dry his clothes which were dripping wet! I can't say I felt afraid. I knew at once, or thought I knew, who it was, by the land- lord's description. It immediately struck me there had been some mistake about his death. "Say, stranger!"I sang out,!" what are you dloing in nmy room?" "* Drying my clothes!" he answered, with- out tmrning around. ** Who are you?" ** Major Jim!" Oh, I'm so glad!"I exclaimed. "The landlord will be delighted. Then you were not drowned after all!" "Yes, I was! he said, still without turn- ing. "Yes, but I mean not dead. Not drowned--deadl!" * I am dead!" he said. "Oh, nonsese!" ' If you doubt it, look at me!" He turned his face to me now, and to my dying day, I shall never forget the sight! The eyes were open, and were distended, glassy and staring. The jaw had dropped, and was fixed in that position. Across the forehead there was a deep cut, from which thick, black blood was sluggishy issuing, and the soft, brown locks were covered with green slime from the river! "Do you doubt it now?" he asked, almost in triumph. "N--o," I answered, horror-stricken. He approached the bed, and placed hinm- self in an easy posture across its foot, while I sat bolt uplight at its head, with every drop of blood in myv heart frozen into ice. "I suppose I'm nnot a very pleasant com- panion just now," he continued, " though when-when 1 was alive, what man on the river was as good company as Major Jinl? If I was kind o' lucky at ' seven-up' or at ' euchre,' nobody ever seemed to feel hard 'fgin me. Ah! well, that's all over now!" And he heaved a sigh which so greatly awakened my pity that it almost dispelled, my. fear. Still I did not speak. "You may be surprised at my coming in on you in this way," resumed the ghastly " sporting-man "-Alas! the "s sport" was sorry enough now!-"You nmay be surprised at my coming in, and waking you up when you was sleeping quietly, and not thinking of the poor chap-me, you know-who, at this minute is laid out down stairs in the back parlor, with two menl watching him!" "Are you a ghost," I miurmnured, faintly, "*or a madman P?" "I don't feel myself justified in'answering that question; so, with your permission, we'll lay it on thie table as thev do in Con- gress, you know. All I've got to say to you is this: I've come here to do you a favor, and if you want to know how. 'listen! If you don't, say the word, and I'll be free to go." Although I would Ihave given a kingdom if I had had it to get rid of' this nocturnal visitor, I nevertheless mastered my fears, and begged him to remain. "* It appears, I'm obliged to tell the secret to the first man that sleeps in this room. If he refuses to avail himself of my knowledge, then I've got to tell the next man that sleeps here, and so on until some one takes advan- tage of it. It's about money, and for that reason I'd rather Korley should know it, for Korley is about as good as they make 'em now-a-days." Korley was the landlord. "* If Korley had slept here to-n;ght, I could have told him; but, poor fellow, he's down stairs watching my body, while you, an outsid- er-a person I don't care a red for --have the awful streak of luck of hearing the secret. "*I have not heard it yet," I said. *No," he answered; "but here it is. Do you see that hearthstone?" "Yes," I answered. *"It is cracked." "It is not only cracked but broken. Bro- ken clear through. With any strong article for a wedge, the biggest blade of a knife for in- stance, you could lift half of it up as easy as rollin' off a log. The right half of it-what do you thnk you'll find under the right lhalf of it? Come, now, guess I Giues what a lu(,ki fell' like my-self-a highl oll sport, who;s been travelling np andt down between here anti Orleans foir the last ten years-guess whalt he'dl have to hide under a hearthstone'! Guess .F "Mo(e?" "Ha, ha!" he shouted; and his laugh was so loud that it seemed impossble that thoses below sh;ould not hear it, and come rushing up. "How funny it is that 'you ieshol have' guessed it right the very first pop! Yes, sir! it is money-mon- ey that I have earned by the sweat of my brow and the manipulation of pasteboard, during the last ten years. All in o old, too! all sorts-beautiftil Spanish doubloons, and American eagles. and French louvres, and En- glish sous! Splendid! I didn't want to put them in no bank. No indeed. There ain't one of them that won't break before the year's out.' No, sir! none of' your rotten shinplasters for me! All gold! Now don't you consider yourself a most all-fired lucky coon, sir." "Why??"I asked. Because you are the first man who sleeps in this room-and therefore all that money is yours!" I confess to a sort of warming up in the region of the heart and pocket at this an- nouncement. What I, poor Pete Barclay, with fifteen dollars a week salary, the possessor of the large winnings of ten years, belonging to a succeessful sport! It took away my breath. "Get up and look at it," said Major Jim. I drew on some of my clothing, got out of bed, lighted a candle, and walked over to the fireplace. There was the stone just as he had said, cracked through. The fissure was wide enough for me to insert my finger. I probed about curiously. There was earth beneath. I wondered at that, as this was not a room on the ground floor; but then I remembered that the wharf ended in a steep hill, and that all the houses on what we of' New Orleans call the levee, were backed by a!h:ank. This explained the earthwork. "You see," said Major Jim, taking the candle from mny hand and spilling the sperlm about, "I found myself in possession of a lot of gold, and I didln't want to bank it. I didn't think it woull be safe in bank. This room was mine. Nobody else ever occu- pied it. Korley wouldn't have let it to you to-night if I hadn't been dead." (And he looked ti up at me with his stony eyes steadily, and with perfect composure). 'So I bought an earthern crock, and I put my gold in it, and I buried it under this hearthstone. Every pull' I made on the river, I'd come up here, lift up the stone, and cuddle away my new beauties with the rest until it is now almost chock-full. Just think of it! Chock fill of gold. And all yours! Ain't you a lucky coon?" I felt that I was lucky. My horror of this dreadfiul dead Major Jim had vanished, andd the innate cupidity which burns in every man's breast had become thoroughly aroused to the extinction of every other feeling. How shall I get the stone up?" I asked. breathless. "Haven't you got a pocket-knife?" he responded, almost as excited as inyself. "I've got a pen-knife." "Perhaps that will do; if the blades are strong, I'm sure it will." I put my hand in my pocket and drew out the knife. "Open several of the blades together, for strength," he said. I opened all the blades which hinged the same way, and, inserting them under the stone as a wedge, gave it as powerful a "lift" as I could. The blades snapped off like bits of thread leaving til e ha e in my hand. Quick as thought I tried the other side, only to repeat the experience. Disgusted, I flung the knife from me and began wildly clutching at the stone with my fingers, lacerating them pain- fully in the effort to lift the stone. "I always used a great strong screw- driver, which answered the purpose splen- didly. I can't think where I put it. You see when so severe an accident happens to a man as what's happenled to me to-night- getting drowned you know, and thumped against the boulders at the wharf until I was stone dead-it's apt to make one forgetful!" Heedless of his remarks, bent on obtain- ing the treasure, I shrieked to him to help me move the stone; and, as he stooped! to do so, there came a thundering rapping at the door. Major Jim laid his lank finger on his bloodless lip, and whispered hoarsely: " Go see who's there!" I walked to the door, and opened it suffi- ciently to see that it was the house porter, come to wake ime according to tmy orders. " It's past half past six, sir; in fact, nearly seven. I overslept myself this morning. Better hurry up, sir, if you want to catch this train. I'll come in and take your trunk." " Wait, wait!"I shouted. " I'll let you in in a moment. Don't attempt to come in." And I pushed the door to, and bolted it again. I rushed to the fire-place, to speak to Major Jim. He was gone. Not a trace of the drowned "sport" to be seen! At that moment the sun, which had barely rise-n yet out of the murky fogs of the river, lit up the lheavens suddenly, and showed me the reality of the commonplace and the ab- sulrdity of ;the supernatural! Had I been dreaming? There were the spots of sperm page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] spilled about on the cracked hearth-stone, the broken pen-knife, myself half-dressed, the vivid *I truth-seemlngness " in my memo- ry of the features of a main whom I had never seen in life- -what dlid it mean? "You'll be left, sir, if you don't hurry up," said the porter, ontside. My senses now returned to me. I walked to the door, threw it. open, and hurriedly began making my preparation for departure. * Poor Major Jim!" said the porter, as he shouldered imy trunk, many's the dollar bill he's slipped into my hand for carrying his trunk out, an( in this roomn." So this was his room. Ilow did I know it was his room belfore the porter spoke? Kor- ley had said nothing about it. I gave the lnan some money, and, taking my travelling-bag and umbrella in my hand, walked down stairs. In the bar-room, I met the landlord. "IKorley," said I, " did you sit up with the body of the drowned man last night?" "Yes, I did," he answered, with a look of surprise. "How did you know that?" Without answering his question, I asked another. "Did the body-move-last night-at any time?" "Move!" he echoed. "Why, you're crazy!" * Let me see the body," I whispered. This would be confirmation. Here was a man I had never seen. I might have dream- ed( about himn, but it was scarcely likely a vision seen in a dream would be correct. Korley opened the door of the back parlor and-there was the very man! The brown overcoat lined with gray silk, the great cluster-diamond pin stuck in the bosoln of the beruffled shirt, the neat pa- tent leather boots, the cut across the fore- head, the dank weeds, green and slimy, clinging to the brown, soft hair; the eves, closed now, but staring stonily nevertheless through their lowered lids straight into the depths of my awe-stricken heart! I could not look. I fled from the room. What had I best do now? That the mon. ey was there-up-stairs, in the very place he had described, I could not doubt. Should I go back and get it secretly, or should I tell the affair to Korlev, as Major Jim had said he wished the landlord to have the money? "Korley," said I, while I was paying my I bill,-" that was Major Jim's room you put ] me to sleep in last night!" ' I know it was. It was the only room vacant in the house." 1 "Well," I said, slowly, , something very t curious happened to me while there." t * How curious?" he asked. I "What would you .say if I were to tell you I'd seen Major Jim's ghost?" "O Lordie!" ejaculated the susceptible e Korley, his teeth chattering already. "I saw his ghost. I tell you. and from what he said to me, I think you'd better sleep in that room to-night." r "Me! In a room where a ghost, comes- the ghost of poor Major Jim? No sir-ee! "Not much, I won't. I wouldn't do it for- for a pot of gold!" I Without waiting to sav good-!v, I ran out r of the house, and never stopped till I found myself seated in the cars goin, East. To my great surprise andd gratifiation, I I collected the money in New York, much mi ore easily and ,miore expedlitiously than I had expected. The bad debtors happened to be " flush" through paymentl of some of their own outstanding accounts, and they treated men with that politeness and liberality whichlh characterizes the New York ner- chant. I got a draft fromn themi for the amount due us, on a well-known banking- house in the Crescent City, and, my business being now terminated, I turned my steps bomeward. I should have stopped at Cincinnati, even if I was not obliged to do so, as I was. My mind was now fully made up on one point-if no one else had occupied the room in the ten days I had been away I was determined to profit by my former experience, and dislod ge the broken hearthstone, in search of the treasure. Korley was out when I arrived; but I asked imlnedliately to be shown to room No. 12. Entering the room, my first thought was of the hearthstone. I walked over to it. What a, metamorphosis was here! In place of the broken stone, there now lay a new slab, without flaw or crack! Strongly cemented, too, on every side! While I was surveving it with amazement, Korley en- tered. "What's the matter?" asked he, seeing my look of disgust. "Look here, Korley," said I, "' what did you have a-new hearthstone put here for?" "Why, the most curious affair happened two nights after you left, Mr. Barclay. Let me see, it's nearly two weeks ado now, isn't it?" "Yes," said I, impatiently; "what was the affair-what happened?" * Why, two nights after you left, I put a traveller to sleep in here, and the next morn- ing he walked down stairs, paid his bill, got off, and when the chambermaid came in here to. do the room, what do you think she found?" "What, what?" "That that broken hearthstone had been pulled up, and broken again by who- ever did it, and underneath, imbeddded in the earthwork, there was a great earthen- ware crock-" "Filled with gold?" ' It might have been at first. It was empty when we discovered it. But near the door there, we found two pieces of mon. ey-an American ten-dollar eagle and a Spanish doubloon." I groaned aloud and dropped into a chair. Why had I not staved? Why had I been suchl an idiot? I could have killed myself. Should I tell Korley? No; he, too, hadl let the treasure slip throtugh his fingers. It was more mercifill to let him remain in igno- rance. "So, as the stone was too badly broken to be put back, I had a new one laid in." I could not speak to him. That afternoon, I went on board the Au- tocrat, blound for New Orleans. Korley was with me to the last. "Did I tell you the Coroner caine that nmornillg, almnost inmmediately after yon left, and g ave a verdict of " accidental drowning." Then we buried him. Poor fellow! We had to sell that diamnond pin lie worle, to pay his funeral expenses. He had no money, not a cent, and vet people used to say he cheated( at carltls-- ern 'enl all!" "We.'re offl!" A simnultaneous shout from myriads of voices--oung and old folks, rich and poor folks, wlhite and colored folks,-a ereaking of machinery, a prolonged whistle from a steam- boiler's pipe, and the huge boat moves slow- ly awav front the shore! IKorley springs off on to the wharf, waving his hand(kerchief in token of adieu, and the last I see of him he is standing in the door- way of the "6 River Queen Hotel." I can give no' elucidation of the events I have related. They happened just as I have told them. If it was a dream it was a very vivid one; and if it was a vision, wasn't I an idiot, a donkey, not to take advantage of it? P I have thought over it now pretty continu- ously lor twenty years. If any of my read- ers fteel like devoting the same length of time to it they have my full consent to dlo so. Twenty years is a long time, isn't it? I aml forty-hve years old now. In many respects I think I am a better man than I was then; but, howsoever that may be, in regard to this affair of Major Jim, I'll be hanged if I a!n in the least degree a wiser one! VII. SOMEWHAT RELATIONAL. 1"In other words, My Cousin Frank," said I. "A relation in two senses of' the word." "How so?" asked John. "Why if he is I my cousin Frank,' he is a relation of mine; and as it is a story, that is a relation of mine also. Don't you see?" "Is that where the laugh comes in?" "It is."' John got up gravely, shook hands with me with tears in his eyes, and mournfully re- sumed his seat. I repeated the title. My Cousin Frank. "Say what you please, old fellow, it's slow, deucedly slow and my cousin, throw- ing his newly-lighted( cigar 'out of the win- dow with such force that it continued its course on a straight line for many seconds through tile sweet spring air, which greeted our nos- trils, redolent with the weight of Juie roses an daffouddls. I could not agree withi him, althoutgih he bIrought all sorts of argu1ments to testify to the truith of his assertion. It was an incontrovertiblle fact that we had left New York while. the capital vet bore its gray- eties like Wolsey, his " blushing hono)rs, thic'k u11on it;" that we had( come to a se(cluilded Ditce early in June; that we did( not know a ," soul " ;and were-totally unacqudainted with a " body " within fifty imiles ot' olr present place of' residence; that there were Ino (clubs, no theatres, no signs of an optra, no )balls, no hops--literally nothing, Frank said, to enliven the dullness of Everton Point. We differed as widely oni this headl as we dlid onl those of our physical and menltal structure. I consideredd the place little short (of an earth- ly paradise-if such an anomldy c:ll exist- and had mad(e a rrangements to spend thle summer on the picturesque banks which skirt the waves of the silver) Hudson stream. Our present domicil was-an almost prince- ly residence, built but a few years ago by one of' our then new rich, who shortly after became a prominent member of the numer- ous class of new poor. Secluded in a mel- ancholy town in Germany, the family who once held state within these walls was eking out a miserable existencte, whose sole support consisted of the rent of this house, the mad speculator, the father, who had raised them so suddenly from poverty to wealth, and mlore suddenly still loweredl thhem fiol w(ealth to poverty again, having sunk beneath the weight of misfortune and of sickness-not of the body, but of the mind-and demand- ed no longer any domain on earth s:vO a quiet and perhaps forgotten resting place in a cemetery where burial lots are cheap. Had he died before his splendid soap-bubble- fortune had burst, he would now be lying in Greenwood with perhaps an obelisk, or other flaunting lucre-bought thing, bearing upon its marble surface a list of virtues wholly rich men possess, rearing its imperishable head far above the perislable clay which crumbles into dust beneath. It was not a pleasant story to have hanging about every nook and corner of our summer retreat, surely; but who, now-a-days, is so foolish as to busy himself about the antecedents of the place which for the nonce he inhabits? Mat- ters it aught to you that ol the deck you now tread on one of our ocean palaces was on- page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] acted a im'dlnliht crime?--that at fthis point a trollllesome heir to property was pushed fr;om his hold, and then (after a few miniutes' lapse of time) a loud cry of" man overboard --my eldest brother overboard "-was raised? Who ,Inows of such things? Whlo cares to hear them? What good could we do if even we did know and hear? No; let it all pass. Let the Everton family die of starvation in the German village ii such. is their destiny, while I run riot in their princely halls if such is mine. But I am not a man to run riot: every- thing in my nature rebels against that ex- pression and against its enactment. Not that I am an invalid; but in my youth I was always delicate. and now in nmy manhood, little as I care to own it to mystlf, I am not strong. 'Tis true every person I know (ex- cept one ) extols my face, my figure, swears I am a very Hercules for strength, a very Apollo for grace; but, thank Heaven, my looking-glass is no flatterer (caring little and knowing less whether the image it reflects is that of' a rich or a poor man), and it tells me my cheek is sallow, my eye lustreless, and my frame thin and emaciatedl. My physicians have often recommended a life residence in the more genial climes of Europe, or on our own far Southern coast; but I cannot go. Perhaps as the story progresses the secret of this will divulge itself, I said above that my cousin Frank and my- self presented the two extremes of man- nlature. All that cringing sycophants said of ne was true of him-tall, manly, athletic; "an eve like Mars, to threaten and com- mand, Hyperion curls "-all the graces thlat poets and young girls dream of were the birtlrilght of Frank Harley. We formed a striking contrast as we trod together the smooth gravel walks of Everton, or, mount- ed on English thoroughbreds, scoured the woods surrounding. He, straight as an In- dian, elastic as a gazelle, soft-eyed and ruddy-complexioned as a girl. 1; round- shouldered. careworn, mehlancholv, thollul two years the junior of the dashing fellow' wljo was my almost constant' companion. And yet sucfi is the ingratitude of mortals, to hear his story you would think I was the lucky one, and he the poor, wretched miser- able who felt that a great wrong hadl been doine him in bringing him into the world, and numberless frightful acts of injustice com- mnitted since that interesting period. I can hear his complaint now; it always ran: " Devilish unlucky dog I am; not a penny of my own in the world, while you-thousands upon thousands." Faugh! money, money, nothing but mnoney; the very sound of the word nauseated me. Frank Harley's fither and mine were two t brothers, belonging to a family which host- ed, even on this democratic soil, of bein, i purely aristocratic; their ancestors belonged tc that select few of Engslsh nIobles wlio set- i tiled here and possessed princely domains-- 1 whole duchies and principalities' of grounds ' -hut who fledfback to England when our I Revolution broke out. Some member, how- P ever, remained here, and this was our pro- genitor, who when he died left something r more tangible than his nanme to his posterity. Thus Frank's father and imine were both rich men at the outset of' life; but before long my father had made himself thrice richer than when he started, and Frank's fiather had wasted his patrimony till actual poverty stared him and his young wife in the face. Then a great ex- pediency was thought of-the babe about to tvisit this mundane sphere, and who now complained so bitterly of his ever having been called upon to make that entrance, sloud be named, whether girl or boy, after the bachelor uncle, Francis Harley, who would, of course, in gratitude for said con- descension, immediately constitute the as- yet-unborn member of the family his heir or heiress. But two months after th? arrival of the little savior of the fortunes of his father's house the baehelor uncle became a bachelor no longer, and, in course of time. in answer to Heaven's call, and in direct antagonis-m1 to my uncle's fervent prayers, I ca]me, and now, at the age of twenty-eight, stood be- reft of all relations in the world except Frank, possessed of mn ftther and mother's combined fortunes, of a weak constitution. and the paternal name of Francis Harley. My cousin was, 1 believe, christened this, too; but it would have seemied as ludicrous to call him Francis as it would to call me Frank. He was frank, gay, dashing, bril- liant. I was Francis-cold, melancholy and ill-favored. I must not forget the other differ- ence between us, which always formed the staple of Frank's conversation when we were quite alone and not likely to be overheard. I was rich. He was poor. We lived together, and had done so for years, he consenting to this arrangement because uf no 'reason on earth but of my being " the deucedest nicest fellow going," and I fliling in with it because it suited my fancy to have somethllillng that I could claiml kindred with near me in solitude or pleasure. Sometimes I grew vastly tired of him, and often have been on the point. of making a different arrangement; but as often have gazed into his face and seen the look of his father there, which brought mine back to memory, and then I said no. word of my plan in regard to separation. * Now, isn't it slow??" reiterated Frank, throwing himself at full length on a damnask- satin divan, and kicking the sofa cushion out into space. I picked it up friom the floor and brushed off the dust which his foot had left there. It was of no great value, a worsted thing, made by some woman's hand; but I placed it carefully on a chair. Then. I an- swered him: ' Why, Frank, I see nothing ' slow' about it. We have horses, carriages, boating, fish. ing; later we shall have gunning, long walks, all the new books to read, all the prominent New York journals and periodicals to devour, a luxurious house to live in, and magnificent grounds to surround us." * Yes, but we don't see a single body fromt morning till night: we don't know a human soul within fifty miles." To this argument of bodies and souls 1 could but remain silent, having no proof to, the contrary to adduce. "Why don't we go to some of the fashion- able watering places?" Iie knew well enough why we did not. 1 had left the city for hllealtl, and I did not tlhink it' ery probable that scarce commi)odity was to be found in one of the watering pla- ces, wheltreso mnuch stronger liquid than wa- ter is drunk-especially under the guidance of' imyv friend Frank. "* rhe house here is taken for six months," I said evasively. "That's nothing," he answered. True., it was nothlling to hin. "* We are forceld-to pay for it for that length of time," said he, using the first person plural, with delighltful cool- ness; "* but, by Jove! we are not forced to live in it." True, again; but I still held out for my present place of sojourn. He harped at the different watering places with unceasing vig- or, however, until at length I said, impa- tiently : ' Go there alone, since Everton is so un- pleasant to you." A hot blush, part of anger and part humil- iation, suffused his handsome features. How could he go to those expensive places with- out me? My conscience smote me for my hastiness, and I at once said: "Well, Frank, give the orders to the servants. We will start next Monday." That was Friday, and a child who longs impatiently for a new toy could not have pined with more eagerness than Frank did lbr the arrival of the day of our departure. It camne at last, however, as everything does in this world-joy, pain, health, sickness, death-and, like all these, fell short of the expectation. 1 felt that in leaving Everton I was leaving quiet, rest of mind, tranquility of heart: and that. in seeking the gray haunts of pleasure's votaries, I was rushing onward to misery, anguish and despair. Nay, smile not at the thought. A sick man who lives within himself sees the kaleidoscope of hu- lman life eltlad in far less brilliant hues than he for wlhom woman's heart yearns and her eyes overflow. What was woman's heart to ime? What did I know of that incomprehensible piece of Inechanism? F'ank had no such misgivings as myself. If he lad been on the direct road to Calaan, he could not have looked more serenely hap- py than he did when comfortably ensconced in the railway ear which was steamnincg on to Saratoga. He had provided himiself with numberless eltegancies for the trip-little comforts of whch I was utterly destitute- having a marvellously fine light gray silk coat, to protect his under one from (iust, a j;atiiitv ha:t, which beyarne him mich, and carrying in his hand a bag containing, I af- terwards discovered, as many necessaries of life in the shape' of knives, forks, brandy flasks, &c., as if Saratoga had been a distant wilderness ;and we were going to found a colony there. Travellers spoke to us, and paid much deference to Frank, leaving, me and my thoughts to keep each other com- pany. "Laura Asheton will be there," said Frank, carelessly gazing out of' the window allter a way traveller, with whom he had been carry- ing on an interesting discussion on the rela- tive beauties of English and American girls. "Where?" said I, all the blood in my heart rushing up to my face, and then desert- ing it, leaviing me pale and icy cold. "At Saratoga, to be sure," answered my cousin, * Everybody will be there; arn't you glad you came?" Glad! I was intoxicated with joy; mad with delight. She was to be there--I should see her. "How did you know this, Frank?" I asked. "I got a letter from her aunt this morn- ing, and she mentioned it." Strange that Mrs. Warner should write to my cousin. Frank," said I again, jlust as he was composing himself to slumber, " are, you sure that letter was for you?" *There it is-perhaps it was written to you. On the whole, I think it was, for there is an allusion to money in it. Nobody ever alludes to money to me, as I have none to allude to. He handed me the letter, which was ad- dressed to -L F. Harley, Esq." It was but. natural that Frank should open it, and yet his haying done so angered me. It contain- ed but a few words, saving? that Laura had been recommended to drink the Saratoga water, and asking me privately (of course without Laura's knowledge) to advance her a quarterly income. My father had been Laura's guardian at one period, and had invested her money in some railway stocks, which paid a very hand- some percentage; but for many years now the railway had ceased to exist, and all mon- eys which had been invested therein were among the things of the dead. But for all that I had kept on paying the amount she had been in the habit of receiving, often ad- ding to it, under pretence that the road was doing better. She thanked me occasionally for the interest I took in hear affairs, but of course suspected nothing further. I lay no claim to the title of generous for this---my feeling for her was of a different stamp. I would have beggared myself for her. And page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] now the secret which prevented my going South or to Europe is out-not such a very mysterious one after all. I was in love with Laura Asheton. I could not leave the coun- try she was in. It was night when we arrived at Saratoga, and found our way to one of those wretched caravanseries yclept a hotel. I toiled pain- fully up to the topmost story of the holuse, to reach the only room which was still vacant, leaving Frank to inscribe our names on that ponderous caleodar of' mortal (few immortal cognomens, the register book. The next day I made researches for Laura and he' aunt, but found they had irot arrived. My next duty was to send Mrs. Warner a draft for twice the sum she had requested. This done, I wended my way toward the ho- tel. There I found Frank conning the pages of a pigimy newspaper with great and evi- dent interest. At last a smile of self satis. faction broke forth, and with a low laugh he axclaimed: "There it is; look at it, Francis." It was nothing more or less than the an- nouncement of the arrival of F. Harley, Esq., under the head of " distinguished visitors." "Did you ask them to put your name there, Frank?"I asked. "My name!" he ejaculated. "I What do they care for my name? I'm not rich, am I? 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet: but Frank Harley, were he suddenly dubbed Rothschild, would occupy a far dif- ferent status in the financial and social world to the one in which cruel fortune has now placed the individual in question." "'What interest can it be to any one at Saratoga or out of it to know that I am here?"I said sullenly. "The interest of'the public is a newspa- per's capital," he answered. ".My being here is of interest to no one." At this moment we were interrupted by a the entrance of the clerk, who came rushing s towardi us, and, with great volubility and no c little condescension, informed us that the t Ambassador su-et of rooms on the first i floor" would be at our disposal the next day, a as the niinisterial party now occupying then c were to leave by the early morning train. Very well," said ms c'ousin, waving off t\ the officious personage with a gesture worthy b an emperor. "Have them ready as soon as v possible, and then send up some porters to in assist our valet to move our trunks." e The official retired somewhat abashed, tl but, on the whole, serenely happy. He was n a pliasant man, looking as if he had been p first well scrubbed with a scrubbing brush, d( and then suddenly immersed in large and in snowy vestments of the material known as lo "duck." In this state of spotless purity in regard to clothes he remained during the whole period of our stay. "Did you bespeak that suit of rooms, Frank?"I asked. ig "Yes, to be sure. Who ever heard ofF. ry Harley, Esq., being stewed alive in a box th of a room on the fifth story? Now these i- apartments we shall have to-morrow are something like--they are grand, noble- i, they're dear, to be sure, very dear; but d that does not matter. For see the advanta- i- ges. We can entertain in these rooms- o there are some professional singers here now t, -for a mere trifle we could give a splendid it musical soiree." ) "When 'you give that, Frank," I said, smiling, " please don't invite me." a "What a deuced low spirited, uncomfort- . able sort of a misanthrope you are, Francis," a' he exclaimed, petulantly. Though it was scarcely fair in him to make - this rebuke, I felt what he said was true. I s was fast becoming hypochondriacal. Well, - that was my fate; but was it not a huge - piece of selfishness in me to trammel this joyous, fiivolous spirit which restlessly flut- tered its wings against the iron-bound cage in which destiny had placed it? "Well, Frank," I said, "don't let me in- terfere with your plans for enjoyment. Be as gay as you can while you can. If I feel like it I will drop in at your festivals occa- sionally." So saying, I filled up a check for an adequate sum, and, after signing, handed it to him. He was all smiles, all thanks, all praise; pleasant words to hear; but as often before it had done, the sound of the voice seemed to me false and hollow. The bright eye was rendered brighter still; but it struck me that the increased brilliancy caine fi'om the greed which the money awakened, not from gratitude which the act called forth. After he had left me I cursed myself for a mean-spirited, narrow-minded, suspicious nature, and resolved to harbor no more such ideas about Frank. Laura and her aunt arrived the next day, and alighted at the hotel where we were stopping. I met her in the vast space they call the "ladies' parlor," whither I had flit- ted, hoping to see her numberless times dur- ing the day. She came at length, however, accompanied by her aunt, in response to the card I had sent up to them. I watched heras she walked across the long room, and noticed that she was blushing, deeply enhancing her beauty thereby, and that she glanced ner- vously at every gentleman she passed, look- ing for him wlhohad summoned heri. Heav- ens! couhl so much emotion be caused by the kinowledge that she was soon to meet me? My heart bounded with joy. She passed me ; for I sat half hidden by a win- dow curtain. As she did so I pronounced her nanie. She started and turned, and her look of blushing happiness was changed for one of disappointment. Why, Francis, is it you? " she said care- lessly. "* I thought it was Frank's card." I said nothing. "You ought to have some distinguishing mark on your cards, so that one might know which it is that calls," Was this the greeting she gave me after three months absence? Was this the en- counter which I had longed for, vet shrunlk friomn for very fear of her too great power over me? "I I don't know what we could have put on our cards," I answered, in a tone as careless as her own. "Why not senior and junior?" she asked. laughingly. *"Oil no, that would never do; people might think that Frank was your Son." "' You forget that he is miy senior, Laura." * True. She had forgotten that. "You otlght to send up your cartes de Visite when you call," said Mrs. Warner. A hot flush suffused my features at this sutiggestion. The difference in the individu- als rendered even mistaking the photograph of one for the likeness of the other an titter impossibility. Perhaps I was morbidly sen- sitive on the subject of' this great disparity in personal advantages between my cousin and myself; but it never troubled me except when I thought of Laura. "*By the by, where is Frank?" she in- quired. "' Driving, I believe. I have not seen him this morning." "Will lie soon be back?" "I suppose so." At this juncture Mrs. Warner took occa- sion to thank me for the promptitude with which I had attended to " that little. matter of business; " and thus, after the interchange of a few common-places, ended my first in- terview at Saratoga with Laura Asheton. Perhaps I ought to explain how we became so intimate as to drop the titles of "Mr." and "Miss" and call each other by the Christian name. Frank and I had lived with Mrs. Warner for several years during our youth. Frank was an orphan, I mother- less, and my father placed us under the charge of this good lady, than whom none better fitted to have care of the moral cul- ture of two growing boys. Our intellectual requirements were more than satisfied by competent teachers, who gave us lessons at the house. My father was always prejudiced against boarding schools, and my health was certainly fostered with more care by Mrs. Warner than it would have been by any matron of an establishment of the *"Dothe- boys Hall" order. Frank was educated by my father in the same manner as myself. I have often wondered why my father never left him any money in his will; but to this day I can remember his telling Frank, and me too, for that matter, that the former was "an ungratelhl, worthless fellow, whose only chance for becoming a solid, steady man was being thrown out into the world and left to struggle for himself." This he had never done since my accession to the fortune. and it was one of my pet plans to marry Frank to the girl lie loved, however poor or lowly she might be, and then on his weddling day hand him a check for as many thousamnd dol- lars as he had years, providing lie married bIefore he was fifty (which there was every probability of his doiig). I could dlo this without seriously interfering with Imy own yearly income. It was in this manner that we thiree children, then called ea;h other Frank, Francis' and Laura, and to this day we have adopted no other mnode. I don't know whether Laura Asheton was considered a tceauty by anybody but mnyself. She was a tender-eyed, pink-chieeked, amiable looking girl, elegant in her dress andh figure, hut laying no claims to the descriptive ad- jective " fast," being as directly opposite to "rapid" in every particular as well might be. I heard a ghastly pale lady say once to her that if she were dressed in costume Laura would look only like a peasaunt girl, and nothing more, with those red cheeks. Ah, lady! if Arcadia's peasants were like Laura, how fain would I leave the atmos- phere of American bon ton to fly to those leafy bowers and dream away my life! Frank returned from his drive ini due course of time, and, on entering the room made a vigorous attack, in which the safety of the bell-pull was greatly comipromised. Bring inme up a bottle of Veuive Cliquot," said my cousin to the waiter who answered the summons; "the real thng; do you hear?-- no trash! Be off, fly, begone. Clear out, will vou?" This to the Hibernian who was wasting precious moments in the inspection of thie arrangemenmts of our drawing-roomn, which had been enlivened a little by the introduic- tion of somie few objets d'art, bronzes, etc. Theatrical slaves, when they fly to do tho bidding of the genii who command them, could not have disappeared faster than tie Celt did on hearing Frank's peremptory order. He flew, and presently the chaimpagne flew all over the cloth of the centre table, nmuch to my annoyance; for I am a neat person naturally and cannot bear to see destruction of' any kind. Wanton carelessness positive- ly pains me. "By Jove, sir," suddenly ejaculated my cousin, after paying his devoirs to the bottle, whichiI refused to salute, "she's the most gorgeous woman I ever saw. * She's all my fancy painted her, she's lovely,' etc., etc. Have you seen her?" "Yes," I answered, looking out into the hot, dusty street, at the jaded creatures who came here under pretence of seeking country air, and now pitying, now despising them for their sheeplike proclivities, in thus herd- ing together in untoward places, because, forsooth, fashion willed it so. "Where did you see her?" demanded Frank breathlessly.. as if it had been a ques- tion of life and death. page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] "She came into the drawing-room to see me," I answered, quietly. "I sent. up imy card." A prolonged stare, in which both eves and mouth opened to their fullest extent, then an uncontrollable burst of laughter, were the signs of wonder and mirth with which my cousin greeted this remark. "Well, well, I've always heard that still waters run deep; but to think of a quiet, re- tiring fellow like you having the 'cheek' to send up your card to a woman you don't know. And she came down-! Of course she did! She'd heard you were one of the richest men in this country." "Woman I don't know-- cheek,'"I re- peated, in no very amiable tone. of voice. "Who are you talking about?" "Who are you talking about?" "About Laura Asheton." "The devil take-that is, I Meant to say, I wasn't speaking of Laura Asheton. I was talking of the new arrival who has set every- body on the qui vive-the renowned French lady, Madame de Viron." I listened, but heeded not his wholesale praises of this lady; she had only been at Saratoga two hours; yet Frank at that mo- ment could have written her biography if the pigmy newspaper had chosen to ask it of him. "She's a young widow, just twenty-three; was married at some barbarously youthful r period to an ancient brick, who considerately departed this life two years ago, leaving her a an immense' fortune all in her own right. ] Her mother is travelling with her, and they i are visiting this country on'a tour of pleas- i use, and will return to Paris in November." It was not until this theme was well nighh n exhausted (my patience had been long be- v fore) that Frank thought of the person who 1 so constantly occupied my reflections. i "So Lolly has arrived, has she? Did you say anything about sitting next them at din- i ner?" I frankly confessed that while with them I I had never so much as thought of dinner; at v which avowal of imbecility Frank gazed at n me with an expression of pity for my weak- d ness and sorrow for my incapacity, which was, A positively speaking, ' And this is the man" i -I know he was inwardly saying--' who is rich, while I, such a man as I, am poor." v "I must see about it then," said he, more v scornfuilly than the heinous circumstance l seemled to me to warrant. I accompanied him down stairs, heard him tc give the order, saw him fee the waiter, and it then we strolled out together fora walk. It o was a little before the dinner hour when we e returned and repaired to the drawing-room sl to await the coming of the ladies. Laura n and her aunt were among the first to appear. fv The beautiful blush which I had observed on th her face in the morning again suffused her p features as her blue eyes fell on-Frank. b "Why, Lolly, how do you do??" said he, gazing over her ier shoulder at a bevy of ladies who were entering the room, and scarcely I glancing at my beautiful peri, whose hand he was holding. "So you've come, have you? I told Francis everybody would be here. Why, bless me, how' cold your han'l is! You can't be well. System out of or- der, eh? The water will do you good." So saying he dropped the little hand, and left her to encase it in a tiny glove, a, she haad done to its mate already. I knew the cause of the colt hand. I knew all the symptoms -contradictory, extraordinary, inexplicable -which the emotion of the heart will awak- en in the body. I knew it, and then cursed myself. She loved Frank Harley-it was as plain as day-the boy who had teased her as a child, whom she knew as a man to be fickle and faithless. ,She now hardly dared to lift her eyelids to him, investing him with that sanctity which was the reflex of her own pure feeling, and not in any manner a part of the man's nature. By some singular coincidence-perhaps not so mysterious to, Frank as to the rest-- the new arrival and her mother sat directly opposite us at dinner, and thus I had a goo4l opportunity of scanning the features of the "renowned" French lady. My first in- pression was not altogether a favorable one; that is, my first impression of her face. Alt reste, all was charming. Her dress was a pleasing mixture of grave colors and gay, and of a cut which. though youthiful, still partook of a matronly character, suiting thus at once her years (yet few) and llher position in life, whichI was advanced, as she had been wife, and was now widow, at an age when many of her sex are yet mails. Her fi-gure was full of grace; biut it struck me that the face, which all lauded for its piquancy, many for its prettiness - which Frank apostro- phized in a rather singular, but perhaps not inappropaiate, phrase, as "t deuced lovely "- was more marked by an expression of comn- bined boldness anti cunning than I could have wished. Still, the more I looked at it the more attractive it became, and before the dlinner was over I agreed with Frank that Madlame dle Viron was a very fascinating person in apipearance. "Fascinating! She's bewildering! be- witching! I say, Francis, did it ever strike. you that our liiend there on your right, Lol- ly Asheton, is a deucedlly ipsipid girl?" At another time I would have struck him to the earth for such an expression. My first impulse was to do this now; but then a see- ond thought, quicker than lightning flash, came to me, whispering, .. Let him think slightngly of her. When shn she finds he does not love her perhaps she will transfer her af- fections to you." I do not say I clutched at this idea eagerly. I have ever been too proud to be mean, and what meanness could be greater than to underrate a woman you es- teem under such circumstances as these P? I did not reply to his question, the very sub- ject of our remark causing a diversion by ob- serving that everybody had gone, and as the dinner was over she saw no reason for not falling in with everybody's example. Ever-- body was gone except tlte French party op- posite, who sat sipping their wine slowly antlI sensibly, after the Europe-an iashion. The two coompainions of the lady who had so cap- tivated Frank were her 'mother, between whom and her daughter there existed not tle slightest resemblaeil , who was called Iad- aie de lMonsel, and a short, chubby, slightly oleaginouts gentleman, whose name I never caughlt exactly, but who, likeld the ladies, re- joiced in the aristocratic prefix of " de." W'e left them in the dining-room, and, Laura and her aunt acceptingl a drive with ime and Frank, we lost sight of Meadame do Viron for that evening. On the next a hop was to be given at the hotel; and Frank in- formed me in the morning that "' this night or never " lie would be introduced to the fair French lady. I did not ask him how this was to be broughlt about, and was utterly amazed afterwards to see that he had some- how or other scraped up an acquaintance with the French gentleman, as my cousin left me to discourse with him. After they had taken "a drink " together and indulged in other 'friendly procedures, Frank came up to me andi asked me in a low tone if I wanted to use the phton and horses that morning. -I said no, and before the monosyllabic word hald well passed niy lips Frank was back again at the Frenchman's side, and begging that person to join him in his morning drive. This offer was graciously accepted, and the last I heard of the pair the Frenchman was loudly coimplimenting Frank on the beauty and goodl taste of his equipage, assuring him that it was far too stylish an affair for this country, and, to be properly apprecia- ted, should be rolling along the smooth ave- nue of the Champ Elysees. They both pass- ed me without a look or gesture, and I went to seek Laura. I found her, and, accompan- iled by her aunt, we took a stroll through the town. Her manner was, as usual, perfectly kind to me-a mixture of sweetness anti friendly familiarity which oppressed, me. Ioow gladly would I have exchanged this for the blushing nervousness she displayed to- wards Frank,! She inquired where he was, v and seemied very uncomfortable when I told her who his companion was in the drive. "'Frank is rather remiss in his attentions I to old friends," said Laura, with unfeigned I aninoyance. Ah, my dear," said her aunt, ( I always i told you Francis was the kinder of my two 0 boys." I pressed my good friend's hand for thanks, and looked up at Lau-ra to see if she coinci- ded in the sentiment. Alas! her thoughts s were far away from me; for at that moment 4 Frank came dashing by in the phaeton, and - the Frenchman directed his eye-glass to Laura's flushed face in so decided a manner that my very blood boiled at the sight of his now fast-retreating frti nm. "Insolent fellow!" I exclaimced. "Who? Not our Frank, I hope?" By all the saints in the calendar, the girl had seen but him, nor even noticed that the Frenchman sat by his side! Once home, I shut mthself in imy r-oomm, anti, a engrossed in the readling of a book upon wlhici I fiorced my mind to dwell, heard naught more of the actors in mimy drama till long past nightfall, when an unusual hurry and bustle was heard on the staircase, andd sounds of music began to issue from thie dancing hall below. I then remembered the hop, and determined to go down-not to join in it, but to gaze at Lamur-a in her ball dress. I knew she would the beautiful, and reason whispered me to shum her on that very account; still I could not resist the temptation, andt, after a half hour of indecision, I found myself at the door of the dancing-hall. I settled myself in a seat behind tlihe door, or partly so, and, glancing across the room, beheld Laura sitting with her aunt, and listening withl downcast eyes antd happy, happy smiiles to the platitude of Frank, who stood bending over her and whispering, fairly whispering, in her ear. They made a fine picture thus together, the handsome features of both enhanced by the excitemenit, antd perhaps by the subject they were talking about, andt for the first tintme in my life, for the first time in all the 'ears I had known him, I felt that I hatedl' Frank Harley. Hated him. not with a mean, pitiful spite which would wear itself out, but with the deep, undying hatred of a man who has been attacked alnd worsted in that which he holds most dear. Yes, there was the sting! I was worsted. If I had ifelt that he and I stood on equail grounds, as we did wheni we; were boys, I could hav'e fouIghit the battle bravely, and if vanquished have succumlibed; but to feel that he had conquered without even having so much as mIntde an elbrl, to obtain the prize which now lay quietly with- ini his grasp! Why, why had lie tihe advan- tage of mie in every particular? And yet I -no, Laura Asheton was not a imercenary girl-petrhaps if she had been it woull have been better for my peace of inilid ; for I would have loved her less for that defect. MRv mind was diverted fromi the scene which was passing befoe me before me by heaing my name pronounced repeatedlv duite closeo to me--my name or Frank's, I kinew not which. But how did you find out he was so rich, mon cher?" asked the youngemr French lady' of their male cormpanion ; for it was lie who- had pronounced the name of' Harley. "Eyerybotdy says lie's worth mnore than a million of' dollars. Dollars! do you under- stand ; not francs." Ah, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the lady, with page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] a little scream of'delighted surprise; intro- duce him at once, cher ami." This little conversation was carried on in French, and I presume that. even if they saw me, they deemed me far too unlettere'd to understand their courtly language. My1 surprise at the disclosure of Frank's sud- den accession to fortune was enhaniced by seeing that gentleman himself appro:ch, and, after introduction by the Frcndchan, lie be- gan paying the most false, most shallow, most egregious compliments to Madaame tic Vir- on which it ever ceuld have been that lady's lot to listen to. Disgusted at his in- sincerity, I left my retreat anil went across to Laura. I observed that she reflused all invitations to dance now, and I therefore deemed the moment a fit one ir a tete-a-tete. "You are not dancing, Laura?" I said, interrogatively. "No," she answered, "I don't feel much like it; but what good geniuls brings you in such a scene as this, Francis?" "The same who I hope will accompany me out of it. Will you go back on the piazza with me, Laura " She gathered up a large shawl or cloak which was hanging on the chair behind her, and casting it over her shoulders formed an admirable relief of dark blue to the delicate tinting of her face and hair. She took mv arm with perfect freedom, and, when answer- ing my questions, looked into my face with a guileless, indifferent expression, which was greatly in contrast to the trepidation and. fluttering she had displayed when Frank spoke to her. "Laura," I said, walking with her quite out of earshot of others wlho were engaged in thesame pursuit, " this is rather an unto- ward place for a serious conversation; yet circumstances which have lately transpired force me, as it were, to have an immediate explanation with you." , "Dear me, Francis. what a portentous tone. What has happened to you." "There has happened to nme the greatest misfortune which it has yet been my unhappy lot to sustain." "Oh, Francis! my dear, dear Francis! how sorry I am for it! What is it?What can it be?" She accompanied her endearing words by a look so full of sweetness and sincerity that, coupled with her angelic beauty, I forgot all I had previously seen, and in a moment of idiocy fancied that perhaps, after all, she did love me. "Laura," I exclaimed wildly, " can you, do you, love me?" "Love you, Francis? you know I do. If you were my own brother I could not love you better." " But only as a brother, Laura? Only as a brother?" "Of course, Francis, as nothing else." "Not as a husband, Laura? Tell me- speak quickly!" "No, oh! no, Francis, that could never be!" "And why not-why?" "Because I love somebody -else. if you must know the truth." "And that somebody is-" "Frank Harley." A groan burst from my lips. O, Heaven'! must this man stand ever between my best hopes and their fulfilment? If he had rob- bed me of anything but' her-her whom I had loved so long, so wildly. "Laura," I said, with an effort to be calm, "listen to reason. Do not be insane in this. Frank is not worthy of your love. Oh! I amn not pleading for myself now, but for you; your happiness. He does not love you."' "He does, sir. He swore it to me to- 1 night, there in the ball-room." My head fairly swam at this evidence of his hypocrisy. I, who had but now listened to his avowals to Madame de Viron, was half bewildered at seeing this pure girl so firmlye convinced of his love for herself. And he, the man, what did he deserve? Naught but contempt-he was 'unworthy re- venge. "Oh, Laura, be warned!a"I exclaimed; "how I could undeceive you in regard to that man if I chose." "In doing so you would betray your cous- in's confidence, fir which you would nmeet with his anger and my lack of esteem. Good night, Francis." She left me and joined her aunt, and I rushed up to my room, where I remained a close prisoner for a week. My servant, used to my vagaries, reftused admittance to all, even to Frank, above all to Frank, and I had'no opportunity of watching his pro- gress. either with Laura or Madame de Vi- ron; but I cherished in my heart such a ha- tred for him, for his fickleness, his frivolity, that I dreaded to meet him, fearing that, in the excess of my rage I would do him an injury-him, the only living thing on earth in whose veins coursed kindred blood. "Sorry to disturb you, sir; but there are two ladies standing outside who wish to speak to you," said my servant, in a low tone, fearing to disturb my reveries. "Who are they, Williams?"I asked. "Mrs. Warner and Miss Laura, sir." My first impulse was to start and rush to them; my next, to falter like a man who had committed some crime which in a mno- ment of weakness he has confessed, and now stands convicted of. I managed, however, to open the door, and there saw them dress- ed in travelling costume, evidently on the eve of departure. "We couldn't go away without wishing you good-bye, Francis," said Mrs. Warner, holding out her hand to me. "Are you leaving Saratoga?"I asked feebly. "Yes, by the next train; and if we don't hurry we shan't catch it. Come, now, say good-bye to Laura." All my old love returned with redoubled ardor at sight of her, and with it somcthing of my old strength. "May I speak with you for a moment?" I inquired-" only for a moment, but pri- vately?" "Oh, yes indeed, Francis," she answered. "I've been so unhappy thinking you were angry at me." "Great Hleaven! was the girl mad to keep saying such things, which, while meaning nothing, on her nlart, totally unmanned me? She withdrew with me to the emibrasure of a window, and there I asked her bluntly, with- out a word of preparation or apology for my brusqueness, whether she still loved Frank. "Yes," she replied, " more than ever." I ground my teeth in an agony of disap- pointed love; and yet what else could I ex- pect? "And you think he loves you?" "1 am certain of it." "Laura Aaseton, answer me one question more. Are you under an engagement of ma'rriage to myI coiunsi I?" "Not a positive or definite one, but one that is understood. Frank is poor; so am I; before lie can' marry he must contrive to ohtain a position of some sort." Thank God, there was this impediment in tlheir way. I revelled in the thought that I, liith one stroke of my pen, could' make the halppiness of both these people-one of whom I loved, the other whom I hated. I would enrich Frank, I thotught, and thus at least obtain her gratitude. No, no, I could not sell magnanimity even for such a price. I heard miy cousin's voice on the stairs, and knew that he was coming to bid thein make haste; so, not caring to meet him, I cast a parting look at Laura and entered my rooim, shutting them and him out. Would that I couhl have barred the door to my own weary- ing wearing thoughts as well! In the evening, on returning to my apart- ment, to my anger and surprise I found my cousin installed there-awaiting me. " Francis," he began, in a would-be sweet tone, " I have been cut to the heart by your treatment of me lately; I have, indeed. I have done nothing to nierit it; I haven't, really. I never was so sorry for anything in my life as I am by your giving me the cold shoulder in this manner." "What do you want of me?"I asked sullenly, rightly divining that that' was the cause of all this wonderful affliction. "Francis, don't talk in that sharp tone; it's not a bit like lyour usual one. You know, Francis, ill or well, I have always remained with you, for no reason on earth except that you were the nicest fellow-- " "What do you want of me "I reiterat- ed still more savagely; for the hollow mask had dropped from his face now, and I saw the fhwnintg, sycophantic features in their true hideousness. ," 1 hate to ask you, for you have always been so very liberal with me; but the fact is, I'm going to be married, and if' you wouid just imvc me the-to you-insignificant sum of five thousand dollars, I would love you and teach my children to revere the bemncihc- totr of their father." His children-Lara Ashetot,' children! and I the poor tool that must i, 'eds furnish the means for the marriage! It was too much to bear. The roomn swam round, ,my eyes seemed injected with bloodl. There was a struggle between us ; for I fll ni:,dly' upon him, and all I. remember now is that, poltroon like, before he was touched, com- paratively speaking, he cried "enough" and slunk away. I determined to leave the place the very next day, and bade my serv- ant prepare for departure. As may be sup. posed, I saw nothing of Frank, and just be- fore the hour of closing I presented myself at the principal bank of the town and hand- ed in one of my checks for a trifling sum just enough to pay the bill at the hotel and leave a surplus for travelling expenses. Money goes fast, sir, at Saratoga," said the cashier. opening his eyes wide when he saw my check. "Yes," I answered, wondering what it was to him, but not wishing to be rude. ' Get that five thousand dollars all right this morning. sir?" inquired the cashier. I gave a stare of surprise; but, remember- ing that in other instances than castes of ,immre bodily danger presence of mind is required, I said- Did you cash a check of mine for $5,OOO this morning?" "Yes, sir. It was your signature; :all right, you know. Your cousin drew the money." "Let me see the check," I said. he had no difficulty in finding it, and I saw at a glance that the signature was a forgery, executed by my cousin Frank. I cared I tnt mtie rustl ing of t wind for the money ; but l worst part of' my nature had beem(n 1doiiii;Int ever since our struigglo of' the nighiit ibeflir.', and a wicked joy took possession of me when I reflected that I held in my hand that which would separate him eternally from the wo- man to whom, I fancied, I had a better m'iglmt by reason of my undying constancy to her. I would take this document, proclaim it aloud as a forgery; deprive Frank of the liberty he was now revelling in, and Ih;i,:t triumph. Who could tell whether ii di,.sgum t for him Laura might not fly to me. I am sorry fI'o these fechngs now; but I can- not help them, as they are of the things of the past. Who amongst us has not had his wicked moments P page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] " I want you to give me this check,' I said: "please balance mya account and let me have it." "The man malde no olbje tio'n to tlis,. atl in a short time handed mle my bank book, with the cancelled checks. I walked away triumphantly, with the con- victing document in my pocket, vowing in- wardly that through it I would be revenged on Frank Harley. At the ladies' entrance of the hotel I met the mother of 'Madame de Viron. She was weeping bitterly. and it was soime time before I could comnprehend the cause of' her grief. At last it came out out. Frank Harley and Madame de Viron had eloped together! They had last been seen together in a carriage after Frank's re- turn from the bank, and nothing further had transpired in regard to them, although many hours had since elapsed. I was bewildered-perfectly thunderstruck! had I known that it was the French woman he wanted to marry I would have given him double the money he asked for-aye, triple its amount. "Anericans are honorable, are they not?" asked the mother; "he will marry her?" "I don't doubt it," I replied. While we were yet speaking there arrived a telegram for Madame de Monsel. It was from her daughter, announcing that the mar- riage ceremony had just been performed, and begging forgiveness for their cavalier stile of leave taking. Ah, thank heaven!" sighed the lady, how glad I am it has turned out so. I as- sure you she loves him truly. It was not his immense wealth that dazzled her-indeed it was not." "I should think not," said a lady near, who knew all about our fiamily, and had known his personally for some time; " she must have been dazzled by very little if that was the case. Why, do you mean to say that your daulghter dlidn't know that Frank Harley hasn't a penny?" "What!" screamed the old French lady; "do you mean to say that Francis Harley isn't a millionaire?" "S,) i.: is, madame-this Francis Harley but his scapegrace cousin hasn't a penny to bless himself with." Another shriek from the French lady, salts promptly it'n-d, handkerchiefs in-demand, and I left. F I had had scarcely timle vet to realize all that had passed. There was munch bitterness in tlht il to w to le; tiere was sorrow for Laura wl:,enli lh shioul war it. But one good 'caile of tl;e c il in it all-the mad, blind fury, thel beast-liket rage hal Dpa:sed away, am:d there remained inothilig in. my ,heart against him but pity for lhis fl ult, pain for his position. I had vowed to have revenge through the forged cheek-I would take it now. I enclosed it and another for. a like amount in a letter of congratulation to Frank airn wishes'for his happiness. I knew little then of what I learnt afterwards. " y 13 the Lord, Harley " said my friend Stevenson, wlhom I neit in Broadway'shortly after this occu'rrence, " this is a jolly dis- gracefil affair Frank's got himself into." "What affair?" said I, fearing la repeti- tion of the check business. "What affair? Why, marrying that in- famous Anette." "Who's Anette?"I asked, wonderingly. Why, that EIrenlh woman, Anita, alias La Precieuse, alias Madame nee Viron, alias- "Stop! stop!" sait I; "that will (io." I wished not to hear the details of her life. I knew by this description that disgrrace of the blackest kind was entailed upon the name. Laura took the news very quietly. --She said that her love had een rooted out sur- prisingly, and instantly on hearing of his marriage, leaving no lingering pang to cast a blight on her youthful pathway. I never spoke to her of the check. I hardly dare tell the rest; for I have shown myself such a li)tsiounate, unthinking, unreasonable man that I fear 'twill jeopard- lize Laura's good taste, when I say that by- and-by she bestowed on me the love I had coveted so long. She found out, through no indiscretion of mine, all about her real posi- tion in a financial sense, and gratitlde caused her to entertain a warmer feeling than friend- ship for me. She tells me that perhaps this feeling is not that blind, uncertain affection she once entertained for Fraink, but 'tis a flame which will still be burning brightly when the ashes of the other have lain smoul- dering for year's. I heard from Frank three months after his arrival in Paris (for they sailed for Europe immediately after their marriage.) Soon discovering what his wife was, he left her, not until she ihad avowed to him that it had been a settled plan between herself; the wo- man who personated her mother, and the Illna, to go to the United( Stal;t, and entrap silme rich American into iarrryig h lie. The similarity of names bet ween lriil and mlyself caused the mistake, anl, filnling that he was not the millionaire, sle was as happy to be rid of him as he was g I to t haive no more to do with her. With the little that reimained of the five thousand dollars I laul sent him, he was on the point of sailing for Australia, where a lucrative situation lad been offered himii. He sent his love to Laura, and trusted that she still bore in miind the pleasant though "limited flirtation" which they had had at Saratoga. We went there again this year-for all those events occurred in '65. We occupied, as I had before, the Ambassador's su-et of rooms, and found again the identical clerk, clad as before in spotless duck, and looking ruddily happy from over the bosom of his elaborate shirt. His worldly fortune, too, was evident- ly in a more flourishing stite than before; for now be wore a diamlond cluster ring, where of yore he wore one which we will say was gold, the device of which was a large shield whereon might be read the touching announcement that it was given bv "P. B. T. to F. A. W." He jocosely in- sisted on our having the bridal chamlber; but Laura shrank from the notice whidh that would entail. She had her wish in that, as she has in all things, and as she shall have as long as I have an armn to wield in horde- fence, gold to humor her fanicis, and life ,breath to give power and animation to the heart whose every throb beats responsive to her own. VIII. CONTAINING GOOD NEWS FOR ALL, ESPE- CIALLY FOR TIlE READER, AS IT IS THE END. THE recital of this story had only brolught me to, the end of the fobsurth cvelninlr of the Christmas week. But I was not destined to continthe my pleasant task. On the fifth day Aunt Julia was taken down witlh a high fever, and when we sent for Doctor 1)os'^e, he shook his head gravely, and said there was little to the done. It i: blt justice to him to say that he did. little elioirh. John was dis- satisfied with him and sent for another doc- tor who lived in one of the finest streets in town and charged a dollar a minute for his time. He was more expensive, but not less unsatisfiactory than Doctor Dos'emn. "You see," said he with a choice of lan- guage which sounded anything but choice-- to r1e at lja:tt, "Naturei, in this female, is about gone itni1er. What can m1atiirici' med- iker do ag;iyst a gin' out nattire? 11' voli'P'Ir brought this \\ 0iii;i to mue about twenlty five years ago, wliell sihe hdl a (cer'tmli aiiL lttmtlt of vytalit v iln 1cr, volm'd se(in what I'd a' ldone thens, midJitiy quitck! As it is, howtever, that prescription will cs:lm hler ncrla vs--keep dhxvn what we call 1Ivstt-icr'-;id:l,-(hive( doll:irs first visit, yes sir')-if sle gets wo,'or., 3yo1 1mighlt send I for ,ie , thollgh I think I shall go outt of tow\v to-111olrroW." \We tried anlotlher ad aimother. l1Rallv con- scicnltious Ismel thlese, whose lpractice lay amslonm people who hIad nothng to stv 'atlout any sublject but the one of' the illness whichl hIad visited a nienrber of their, Il,(k. :,lt wlhose at- tention was pertfrce centreol ion the ip):titet. All to no .vail. I The service-bells ushhred ini tCi C('li tlul i, morn, and fromn the little clir-h acrl (-,ss tlit way we heard the people si:sging hlo)il aiI- tlhems of joy for the Di,-tl of the soii of ")id. We sat by Auntie's the(side-,John andt H hioldinig ler veiinus haI:ns, olur two chil- Idren downi stairs kiinly carle for i)v :a neirihlbor firom the coriner. Our little girl pleatl staunchly to stay ne(ar Aint Jilia . Butt our irresp)onlsi)le ba:ly Johnnlie, onlly a fi-w months old, screamtedl an(d kicket andt w;as naulghty glencrally; so both chllidl'el ad( to go. At tnooi, the sin rose glorliously in the heavens, and the bells pealed out glamily alain, and the happy-hlearted strealll of joy- ouls humanit'y (merg(1d fromI the (chui}-lh a(nd1 had pleasant thoughts, in whinch perihalps the knowledhge of a turkey at, dinner was not the least consolling, esp"cially as plu5m-pDtudling generally forcrmed ( n adjunct, andi fiery I sisD- dragron " gleamedn in advance Itlbefrej juvellilt and scholastic eyes. A litthe edutistrian statuette of Godlftey d(e Boulillon, which ,Johnl gave ime in the first year of oulr marrmliage, stood on our mIanlthlpieceiO, and, thIlmgh it wa:. so filmiliar to me that foir ,montlis 1 Ih;d scareely tlmrned m1'y eyes towardd it, o(i this tda I fixcd 1im gaze ulpon it, st('ladflstly, 1and( it ilnmpressed 1ime striangely. They t-ll me (for I have it stilD that it is a 'cop I ouf a litil- size one which alldorns a pIulc li sqtiace in B'ruls- sels. It Imust be worIth crossing( the Atlanltic to see,. Tle air of feirent p)ity, valur anid devotion stampDedl otn these fia;tilles mlost ad- mirailly indicate the cl1hracte(r of thi hidoic c'onlqu(ero,(r of' .Jerusalem, wlho mire ekly r(Tfiused to wl'ar a crown of( g(thul ill the c(itv wahere Ihis't-Redlceemr had bornl e a crown o' thornis. FIeelu(!'r atnd ficDher griows Aunt ,Jllia's pulse. 'Fa{int'r :si(t ftiniter is lheau1 (the ui(ea:thingr of our patient. (01 m! 1my aunit, caill I (o mothing fo1 you?" ,noanls mcv' ,Jolill, Dburllyig his iheatl beside lierls on the pillow. N(tothing, ccgmy boy. It is llllost over. Did youi not he ar what the dc t olis sa iul? Natmu,( is tiredl in m1( au(d imuist, re(st. l, i( thllan t hit, it , must fin ish . The, weoks are. b)roken., my clvillle'll-the (cloc(k nci. t stop." ,J(uohn stlobs htl(Id adli uu:,'st--tciuhiiig. 'li'l silent teasits ('oulse losil-u mio i cdit-ueks :1rn Dedew her thin, w}hit( Ihlamthls, wh*ile the, wit-Ich ticks wlitli iu('(toii-"imld pl(ecisi )it o() tlhe tableu Hesidl(, her (, b irdrkirig Ilre tiline for Amirtt .Juli: to cli('. (htl d less you all!" slit wihislper'. "lie will c:te ftiu. ii. 1v wlhose i irlthii y tl is is, I mItans. Kiti t(Ie ildmlhi're imn or me; ciid idl A.\1mb)os1( anul ,Jo)sh I o h ft'tlraves'c( tl ti or tillnilg th(eir lat-ks, :and ref( silr to) slelle r the poor old woman :s ; I but," ald a filaint silit phtaed( oln ler lips, " I tlinIkt thlly will 1, Trir moon 'r'oset agsin iln in its c')m1 )u'-mits, thr-owing onCe m1 n 1lt)' its Ilmy'st(erioi , I(s l-sic1h , 'ras ;u the pure snow of ie h, i .s, :imitl t I e- t(op)s, ands( ous its bIlackened and defiled sister of the stlr(ct. 'I'lie chiildirenl were inl ibed ho()us ago, c1and now ftast asheep, land the kind neighibor fromn the corner had long page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] since gone homne; and just as the ticking of the never-tiring watch pointed with its slender hands to midnight, anti the clock in the church-steeple opposite proclaimed that hour to those who, sleepless, heard it, I raised myself noiselessly and peering into Aunty's face, saw that at that moment, too, the sffiering of' her physical frame was over, anld the tired spirit at rest. John had to be kissed continuously for the space of three years! I think I told you of this little peculiarity of his. Whenever any sorrow or grief fiell upon him the entire available force of his household had to fall upon him as well, soothing his spirit with consoling kisses. Our little girl who had had five years' apprenticeship was quite an adept; but little Johnnie, who understood nothing about it, and evidently considered caresses bestowed upon his bald head a great infringement of personal dignity, be- havedl, I am sorry to say, in the most re- firactory and undutiful manner to his fathler, even going so far as to remove his tiny knit- ted sock from his rosy foot. casting it, unfil- ially in Papa's face, seenming to say "There's my gauntlet, and down I fling it! Pick it up if you dare." And now comes the most astounding part of all. It took me exactly six months to believe it; so I can't expect you'll take it in (as it were) all at once. What do you think canme out after Aunty's death?That she had left a fortune-an immense fortune, which her husband had made in California, and which she had increased nearly three- fold by judicious and happy speculations; and this fortune-this large fortune, mul- tiplying into the hundred-thousands, she had willed unconditionally and unreservedly, the very day she received our letter, " to her dear nephew, John Morris-minus one hun- dred thousand dollars to be by him bestowed on Ellen Ann, his wife!" Ah yes, to be sure, as you say! It doesn't astonish you so much as it would if you had known us under difflerent circum- stances. Yout have- been so long accus- tonmed to hearing John spoken of as the "rich Mr. Morris," and much as that " wealthy Mrs. Morris-not a bit proud," that vou ncan fbrl little idea of' the joy, tempered with thankfulness to God, dears, without whose grace riches and worldly honors are as nought, which filled our quiet household at this unrxpected netws. Think of iny dear, darling husband being relieved from the weatismult e labor of the hammer and the mace! Think of the first luxury of the sweet fir iiente! (I got that out of a book, but I know what it means) to a man who lh;u toiled with body and mind, day in and day out, almost from childhood! But, dear me! all his riches couldn't take away his old love for ships. All the poli- tics in the world did not interest him one third so much, as a new invention in a "craft's," machinery, or the hope of being able to better her "build;" and when our' boy Johnnie grew up a little, and began to develop characteristics of his- own, what chan- nel do you think his tastes ran- in? The channel of the sea, dears, the channel of the sea! Then on his pretty little bed-room wall, all hung with white paper, and on his slate, and everywhere where it would receive the iu., pression, lie drew ships and ships, and then again ships and ships, and still more ships and ships, and after that ships out of all whooping. Ships, with hulls and bottoms, and spars, and sternsons and stemsons, and muich more beside. And finally, one day lie marched , in to the drawing-room where John and I were sitting, and said "Father I want a ship of my own. Buy me a yacht, will vou?" "Buy you one!" says John pulling the pretty lad of' fourteen down on to his knees. "Kiss me. my boy. I'll build you 'one. Yes sir, build it. What do you think of that? We'll build it together--you and I. I'll teach you how. I'll show you what a fine workman I was, when I first married -that good fat lady-your mother-there (kiss me Nell, and what sort of jobs I used to turn out before yon were born, sir - born, or thought of." "Oh, firther, how good you are!" says the boy, twining his arims about his father's neck, much as I used to do iii years gone by. (1 do it yet when we're alone, but I'm such an unromantic figure now, girls, I don't much like to talk about it.) "Good!" says John. "Nonsense, sir! kiss me, sir! I'm not good. I'm a brute to you. And I don't love you not a bit-oh- no! and I'm not at all proud of you for be- ing your father's own son and showing me that, like myself, you love a shipbetter than your dinner." Well, if you'll believe me, these two crea- l tures st to work like two common journey- men and worked and toiled and thumped, and came home at night looking like two tattered and torn ragamuffins, with appetites like cannibals and spirits as high as high could be, laughing and roaring, and talking about " afts" and "sterns" and " hatch- ways," and "' midships," until, if I hadn't had the carriage the same as ever, and this house, you know, I should really have been tempted to believe that we had got sudden- 13' poor again and that John. and our boy were paid ship carpenters at so much a day -which "so much" was, alas! so little then! I don't mind it myself, for I'm a sort of old-fashioned body; but our daughter, who is four years older than her brother and conse- quently just of' the age for " society,"-she said she really felt ashamed about it, and she did wonder what the Highuns must think when they saw Mr. Morris and his son com- ing home like two laborers from work: But when the yacht was finished, and we all took a sail in it, and pronounced her motion delightful (though I was as sea-sick as possi- ble, but smiled grimly at John and let him believe r was enjoying it immensely) then everybody agreed, even our girl, that it was very pleasant to have a private vacht, espec- ially one that one's private fither had pub- licly built. I But, upon my word, all this time I've been so occupied telling you about other things that I've never said a word in regard to the stories. Well, John published them. Yes, -published them, at his own expense. All the -publishers refused them, with deep and heart- rending thanks for our having presented the MSS. to them. They said they were every- thing in the world except-something which they ought to be. But when John said he would pay all the expense himself-oh dear! that was a different matter. Then anybody would have published them, from Messrs. Big-Bug and Co., No. 2, Book-Publishers Sqnare, down to In-Significant Brothers, in Tuppeniny street. John says they look beautiful in print-inmy stories do; but that's only his flatter), I know. I can scarcely hope that you think so, too. Come now, one word--do you? You can't believe what pleasure it would give me if I thought you liked them. It's all very well for one's husband, or one's wife, or one's children, or one's parents, to think well of their relative as an author, but the true' Vox Dei for us, as well as for those who trust to the elective, dears, is the mighty voice of the people alone. And here another year has passed away, and Christmas come once more. Sweet, beautiful day, fraught with holy, tender and touching memories for every sinner saved ( through Him. I have had lots of presents. In the first A 1 place, John has given me a copy of my book 1printed on tinted paper, and perfiumed, and oound in white morocco and gold, with a n great cherry satin book-marker, to mark the Q place; and my girl some fine mouehoirs (as s she persists in calling them), embroidered by - herself. And Johnnie's present sends his fitther nearly wild with glee. It is a little ship, fully manned (of course not. womaned; our sex is too unimportant for that), which Johnnie has awled antd mauled and amnmer- ed and bannered and finally made with his own hands-a surprise for his father, but ostensibly, a Christmas gift for me. I pre- tend to be vastly pleased, and indeed I am. But how the pesky little thing is to be made to stand on the table, or the etaqgre, without "keeling" her over ignominiously on one side, is more than I know! Until my John tells me he will sock it in a dock, or dlock it in a sock-I formget which ; but some opera- tion which will make it stand upright; for which I shall be truly grateful. There is the moon again sliding out from behind the cloudIs and illumining once monre the newly-fallen show! Our cheerful fire casts fantastic sliadows on the ruby-colored walls, and John and I, and our two bairns, sit in subdued and silent happiness. We scarcely speak onne word. John, in a low voice, asks us all inudividually and col- lectively to " kiss him ;" and we all lovingly, -S lovig ly - comply with his request. And thus, slowly but surely, midnight creeps upon us, and the lday dies as tie samne day died when Aunt Julia tdied with it, long years ago. The anniversary is past, and Christmas over; but tlihe glorions hnams of Bcthlehem's Star surely must be shiniimng in our hearts; for deep d1own in them-eeven at the 'very core--dwell peace and love for each other, and for all men our brethren-on Christmas, and on all days-now and forever more. THE END.
