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Pt.

Vol. IIL-No. 9.

NOVEMBER, 1872.

Eiil'i-cl awmlhuj to Ad of Coivii-kxx in ILe year 1872 hi) Collix^^ Brothkbs in the office of (he TJItrnrimi of Cnnnre^s at WoHhhiijInn.

COISTTEIsTTS

1^

'^

Tho Scion of Wildmooi', (Continued)

Bt C.iUula.

Only !i Hhell (Poetrv) - , -

By Henry W. TcniBliMli

Boml)ast vx. Worth (Editorial) Our Mother (Poeti-y)

By H.l'ii Perry.

Ambition ami its Lesson,

By Car;'ctncilrt.

To Correspondents, Fare Thee Well (Poetry)

ryP. S. .7.

Pace.

129 13G 186 1B6 137 137 138

A Hunt, ....

By B. Mud.Ueil.

Tlio Livingstones of BlantA-re,

By i'liilo.

Amid the Sands (Poetry)

By Pucitii'.

Again in Trouble (Conclw/ed)

By Theopliilus Pop. .Ir.

By the River (Poetry)

By Dexter IIoiul.

My Sister, ...

By Pe.irl Iveiiii,'.

Pa^e.

138 140 141 141 144 144

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Mtin

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Entsi-ed aoeordi>%g to Act of Goiviress in the year 1872 by Collins Bbothers in, the office of Hie Librarian of Congress ai Washinyion.

COLLIJVS BROTHERS,

Editors and Proprietors-

SAN FRANCISCO, NOVEMBER, 1872.

Vol. III.—JVo. 9. PEIOE 15 Ots.

<Cvp;right Beared.) Written for the American Monthly.

the study of hernldry being, in his estimation, the chief end of man: Lady De Bos well being but an echo of her liege.

THE SCION OF WILDMOOR

—OR-

Wm He Succeed?

BY COLLCLA.

(Gonllimed from our last.)

CHAPTER IX.— (Cont'd.)

SYNOPSIS.

OJ bra

The hero, Leonard, Bon of Admiral De Vinci], having been educated for the church and feclinfj no special call to the holy office of a minister, refused the liring of High Point. His father, incensed at his refusal, bids hira leave Wildra'or Castle and Sfck for himself a position in accordance with his views, and in the event of his succeeding, to return in five years te the castle aud to a place in his heart; if unsucessful, to remain away forever. Leonard, supplied with ample means, leaves Wildmoor, and, as a student of art, remain^ at Rome and on the Continent for several years. \t Malta becomes instrumental in rescuing from abduction the Countess De Leon. Reaches London, prosecutes his artistic studies, is robbed of his money by one of a gang of thieves, reaches the verge of starvation, and in his extremity answers an advertisement for a tutor; obtains the situation and be- comes domesticated at Boswell Manor, and after many mis- haps ilnds favor in the eyes of Lady Clarissa De Boswell and Brooks, her maid. Connected with the fortunes of our hero and heroine, are Workus and his sister Lilly Barfield. These are professional thieves, and with Tom Starboard and Bet Bouncer have formed the acquaintance of Ferdinand Gren- viUe De Cortara, whose sister Isabel having been betaayed by her lover, a Spanish cavalier, fled from her home in Cuba. Ferdinand, after seeking her in vain for years, st length leav: 8 the sea, and in Tom Starboard finds an old shipmate. Ferdinand falls in love with Lilly Barfield, and she with him. He maintains his integrity. Workus, Starboard and Bouncer are captured by the police, but are finally released from custody. Workus returns to find his sister under the care of Ferdinand, but virtuous. Workup, desirous of saving his sip- ter from prospective shame,proposes to emigratetoAustralia, and to obtain the funds, plans a burglary, leaving out Lilly and Ferdirand, whom he leaves in London. Richard Bird alias the Whitechapel Bird Catcher, a retired burglar, owner of the "Stag" public house, furnishes Workus and Starboard with means to carry on the burglary. Squire Norman De Boswell, a choleric but high-minded man, the father of Lady Clarissa, prides himself on his aucestry, and in tracing the bracchoB of his geaeological tree, spends much of his time:

((Sjtf'T was not an easy matter for Leonard to ;t|1 reach the shore; but he did, and at once (^5) deposited bis fair freight on the grass, which iu its Spring-time beauty had lately carpeted the earth. The girls held a consultation concerning what they should say and do, and turning around to thank Leonard, found that he had departed.

" Bless my heart," said Brooks, " he's gone, sure enough, with all them wet clothes on him; if he don't catch his death, it'll be a wonder to me."

Clari said nothing, but moved toward home, and as the bell rang for dinner the two females entered the main gate by the lodge.

Half an hour later liconard passed through the gate, and, unperceived, reached his room, aud in a few minutes after joined Mr. Straugeway at his dining-tablo.

"You are later than common," said that gentle- man, kindly.

"'i'es," answered Leonard; "tempted by the beauty of the evening I remained longer than I intended on the cliffs, and thereTore am late. I have kept you waiting and am sorry."

" It doesn't matter," responded the old gentle- man, aud the dinner passed as others had done, and Leonard retired to his room.

The peculiar adventure of the evening kept him from sleeping; the prospect of meeting the young lady in the morning was a source of annoyance to him, so consoling himseli with the comforting as- surance that it was not his fault, and that he could not help it, aud many other remarks, he gradually lost all consciousness of surroundings and fell asleep.

Clari and Brooks held a long consultation in the boudoir, and concluded not to mention the circum- stance of the ferriage from the rock to the shore.

"He won't say anything, I know; he's too much of a gentleman for that, I know. Why, he held me as soft as if I was a baby, and didn't take any liberties, though I was near enough to bite his mustache."

" Be silent, Brooks, you are so very singular in your manner of speaking; you make me blush for you."

"La! Miss, I meant uothink that I know on," said Brooks, innocently.

" Well," continued her mistress, "I shall not

meet him to-morrow nor the next day; I shall have the headache, and will not be able to leave my room; mind that. Brooks."

" All right, Miss, but mayn't I go and give him the books?"

" No, yon won't," said Clari, sharply. " Let him get them himself; I can't help thinking of his im- pudence."

" No more can I, Miss, he aint like John Thom- as; the difference between his impudence and John Thomas's is a sight, so it is."

" Brooks, you can retire; remember, I'm not well."

•' All right. Miss," and Brooks retired to her sanctum, to think over the difference between the impudence of John Thomas aud our hero.

In the morning Brooks dressed her young mis- tress and attended to her duties as usual, aud at length inquired;

" Will you go down this morning?"

" No; didn't I tell you so last night?"

" Yes," responded Brooks, " but I thought you might have changed your mind."

"No, I havn't, and am not a-going to, I assure you."

" Well, Miss, 'taint me, you needn't lay it on to me; you would look at the sun; I told you to let it alone, and let it go down, but you wouldn't, you know."

"Well, it cannot be helped now," said Clari, philosophically.

" No, it cant, Miss, aud it's no use grieving af- ter spilled milk."

Clari took breakfast in her owa room, and for one not in the enjoyment of health, ate a hearty meal; and having satisfied her appetite for the substantials of life, prepared herself to satisfy the intellectual by the perusal of " Pelham, or the adventures of a gentleman."

At noon Brooks came into the room in an ex- cited state, aud catching her breath between each word, said, hurriedly;

" He's sick."

" Who?" remarked Clari, carelessly, yet with some interest in her manner.

" Who?" said Brooks, indignantly. " Why, the Schoolmaster, to be sure; he has the fever, and they have sent to Skinville for the family doctor."

" A cold, I suppose," said Clari; " ohJ he'll soon get over that."

" Will he?" thought Brooks. "Much you carg

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a care /

Urs

130

Collins' American Monthly.

NOTEMTOK, 1872.

whether he does or not, but that's the way of the W!>rld. Yoa may toil for the rich until you drop, and they won't even bury yon, but will bare too gent to tb« workhouse at last to be bnried."

Brooks left the loom; Clari threw aside the book, and rodcine herself in an Anjerican roeklDg- cbair, ■aemed to be in a brown study.

" Well," mnsed she, " he is certainly « fine looking man, bat that may not be an evidence of (;entiUty, as many of the soldiers in the Park arc fine-lotnciw meo, but tbey are all poor, so pa says. He has a une voice, so has Mario, and he's a sing- er; who knows bot this man may have been on the stage, and even here is only an actor, after all. What that all consisted in irtie did not state; " I hope be is not sick, buwerer, for I don't know bow we should biive gotten ont if it had not been for this man. Whoever be may be, I wi.sb 1 knew more ubont him; I mast ask Brooks, she'll find oat all about it, and I'll think no more abont him."

Notwitlistanding her re»olve, however, she did think and ponder over the singular circnmstances that tiad conspired to moke her appear tu disad- Tctutase before the Tator, and in ways ridiculous and absurd. There is nothing that so nipe the bud of rotDSDce as ridicule; and the line between the sublime and the ridiculous is at times so weakly marked as to be iuipKrc<;ptil)le to onhuary eyes, and tiie one is sometimes taken for tbe other. The HuddeD advent of Leonard, and tbe conse- qnent alarm, not to mention the cold water inflic- tion, had caused Clari to form opinions prrjudical to ijeonard. The secoud faux pas was worse than the first, for certain female weaknesses had been exp<ieed, and expressions used by no means lady- like. Tbe whole performance was so absurd and auusnal, that Clari had determined to forget it, and if possible, so disgust the author of her chagrin, that he too woald become disgusted and leave the Manor, and so end herself uniioyauce. She had signally failed in her eflFurts to forget the circnm- stances noticed, but bad more than succeeded in oreatiag a disgust in the mind of our hero in regard to her conduct. The petty annoyances endured by Leonard were so oncall»d for and so unlady- like, that he had not the courage to look her in the face, and thoagh associated with her as he had been for weeks past, not once had he looked npou her cjnntenance.

On the evening when Leonard hod acted as porter in carrying Clari and her maid to the shore, though the veil was as light as gossamer that par- tially hid tbe beautiful face of Clari from the wind, y t Leonard gazed uot, but held down his bead, or stood with face averted. A conscious pride closed tbe «yes of the young man, and a feeling of aneasi- ness while in the piesence of Clari cansed a feeling aUa to aversion to rise up within, and nothing but a sanae of doty and the danger to which they were exposed, caused him to act in so decided a man- ner on the evening in question.

Clari, unlike Leonard, wished to see the object of her aversi0n, that she might have fnel to feed the flame of her resentment, and from day to day she bad (todisd the oouDtenance of onr hero, nutil each featare bad become photographed on her mind. Prepared for some barbarism in style, man- ner at daUvary, she felt «urpris<;d and annoyed at tbe revesse, and the ease and assurance oitli- narily evinced by Leoi ard, giving way only to a marked constraint when alone with her and Brooks, caiisad Clari to divine the reason, and to deepan bar a— se of annoyance, Hhe felt that she had rashly jndged tbe ^oung man, who might after all, be a fMtlaman in indigent circumstances. An intsraat, mkiMwn to herself, bat perfectly clear to Brooks, aprang np in her heart, and her manner cbaagsd materially toward our hero, who, by the way, was oblivious of the fact. A greater care in tbs disposition of the various ribtmns and adoru- BMalS that give to tbe mtUrfmujU so great a charm, opanad tha ayaa of Brooks, who was not a whit bahind bar mistreas in coquettish display. Her trim little cap ianntily set on one side of her head, her heavy, dark, wavy hair, crimped and braided, revealing herfieah English fitce; Nature's cosmetics liad done maeh for h«r, as her blrK>ming cheeks and sparkUog ayaa, ravaaled the dainty collar and pnr- pls ribbon oloacly aonflfUDu bar bMotiful neck, tbs ooatonr of which aomparea favorably with that of liar yooag miatrsaa. Brooka, thoagh drsaaaed in oaiioo.draaaad well; bar white apron giving bar a

K

comfortable appearance, if we may thus apply the term.

C\nn could, when she wished if, assanie n (pieenly air and soioetbing of a commanding impoctr Brooks could do nothing of tbe sort; her handsome fare had nothing of haatear about it; she bad Urge, loving eyes, so had Clari. but they were veiled under a shadow of indifference. Brooks bid noth- ing benenth her eyelids; Brooks Wanted something to love, had tried John Thomns. but left him in disgust. Leonard was her bean ideal of a man; she knew he was not for her, yet she mimired his noble counteuauce and manly bearing, am), like her mistress, had carefully noted every look, every feature, every mark in the countenance and man- ner of our hero.

When Brooks learned from Mr. Strangeway that the Tutor was sick, she became quite nenroos with excitement and alarm. She knew the cause of his sickness: tbe exposure of the night liefore had brought on n fever, and the mental excitemeat of the three months preceding, bad laid a forma- tion for a severe atturk of .sickness. Tbe timely ar- rival of the family physician checked tbe Severity of the fever, but did not prevent the weakness that prostrated Leonard, and caused him to become as weak as a child. For a week he was confined t» bis room, aud during that period, not a day paased without the appearance of Squire Norman, who came with a fresh nostrum every day, assuring Leonard that, " that is just the thing,' adding, ■'I will see to it myself, aud send John 'Thomas directly with it."

John Thomas came in due time, but was met by the smiling Brooks, who, taking the compound out of his band, informed him that he needn't wait, that a man had no business in a sick chamber,

John Thomas felt relieved, as he felt it beneath his dignity to act as a page or waiter. Brooks, with several preliminary coughs, entered the room, and found Leonard looking very pale and somewhat worn from the fever. Bolstered aud pillowed by the mistaken kindness of the Squire, Leonard felt too weak t.o resist, so there he lay propped up, looking perfectly helpless aud hope- less.

Brooks went at once to the bed-side, and care- fully taking away tbe large pillows, allowed Leon- ard's head to rest easily on the bolster. A sigh of relief assured the watcher that she had done well. Placing her hand on his brow, she felt the warmth that denotes so plaiuly tbe weakness of the system. Taking her handkerchief, she went to the ewer aud returued to place it dampened on his brow. Touching his lips with water, she retired as she came, bearing the compound with her, and in an hour returued with the same basin, but con- taining a different liquid. Leonard moved his eyes toward the door as he heard a movement there, and Brooks was certainly gratified to see that she was expected. Setting the basin down for a moment, she busied herself about the window hangings, letting in lii^ht, raising the sash, and all this so uoiselessly, and with such an air of enjoy- ment, that Leonard closed his eyes , persuaded that he was dreaniug; he opened tnem though, when Brooks removed the bandage from his brow, and commenced feeding hiiu. Not a word passed; Leonard took the medicine as fast as it was offered aud seemed to enjoy it. At length the bowl was emptied, and Brooks took away the extra pillow, which she, to facilitate bis reception of the medi- cine, bad placea beneath his head,

"You will sleep after this," whispered Brooks, I will come back this evening, ' '

Leonard nodded bis gratitude, and Brooks with- drew to couspiie with John Thomas and Buttons in regaril to the future a|ipearances of Squire l)e U, and with Sally the chambermaid, that she might take her place in waiting upon the tutor. A dis- patuh from John Thomas on the following morn- ing, delivered by Buttons, cansed Brooks to enter lieouard's chamber and perform cvrtaiu maneu- vers with the pillows, 'rhis surprised Leonard, and well it might, for in a inonient he was liolt up- right, OS on tbe morning before when Brooks came in with the compound. Out in a moment, aud into Miss Clari's room, and Brooks sat down re- Uavrd.

" Whsr* have yon bean, Brooks?" said Clari, " I hava mng for yon three tlmaa."

" I didn't know i(, Miss; I came in in s hnrry.os you see."

" Yes, yon remind me erf the coming in of tbe tatoriymi did not stand on ceremony."

** No, Miss," responded Brooks. " You see, I am better acquainted than that poor <(ying yonng maB."

"Dying! Did yon say dying, Brooks?" gasped Clan turning white even at her lips.

"Yffs, " said the impertHrbable Brooks, "he's dying every day, Miss, ond no one nvres a Ag for him; I suppose they'll bory kim by the parish; I wonder if he has any father and uinther, poor young man, and only to think that he sboiikl catch his death a-trying to save thorn as doi'Sn't e»re a penny for him ;but it's the way of the world. Your father, the Squire, thinks more of him than nobody else; but the basins of stuff as he gives bim would sicken a horse, 1 declare it woijd.'

During this tirade, Clari had leaned against the mantel-piece lor support; at length she gMped: ''(.Jan anything save him?" "Nothing but curufol narsing," said Brooka, authoritatively,

" If that is all, employ half tbe village, and I will pay them liberally," responded Clari,

" 'i'hat won't do neither; it would make yoa talk- ed abont, I see it," said she, as by a sudden thought inspired, " You give me leave, and I'll wait ou hiiu with John Thomas and Mr, Strange- ' way, who likes the tooter.usyou call him. You can get one of the girls to wait ou you for a few days, until he dies, aud then you wou't have this sin to answer lor,"

"Go and welcome; I will vrait on myself, but Brooks, spare no paius aud no money to get him well again.for if he dies I shall never forgive my- self. Come three time a day and inform me as to his condition."

" Thank ye. Miss," said Brooks, demurely, " I will," aud out ol the room she glided, to see the blue coat-tuils of Squire De B. disappearing down the east corridor.

Into the sick man's chamber she went, and re- moved tbe barricade of down, aud tbe uncomfort- able position of the patient was ch:mged for tbe former easy one. A change for the better was per- ceptible in Leonard, whose complaint needed nour- ishiug food, and gentle stimulating tonics, and no more. This Doctor Huuierus had imparte<l to Mr. Strangeway, and wheu Brooks, who saw the con- dition of things as clearly as did the Doctor, un- dertook to briug about a cure. Mr. Strangeway entered into her views, and assisted her in carry- ing out her simple deceptions, practiced for the benefit of the sick young man. John Thomas brought another compound of herbs, spices aud brandy, and waited until Brooks came to bear it away to the kitchen, where it gave place to a decoc- tion which had for some time t>eeu simmering in a stew pan on the range.

Brooks attended to tue wants of our hero, and briugiug in her sewing, sat by the window plying her needle, as much at home aa she wouid have been iu the next room. Leonard lay there dream- ily looking upon the fair young gii I, unable to call up auythiug like it iu all his experience. As a child he had Ijeen under the control of servants, aud for several years simply grew up, he never stopped to consider how or why. The picture of his mother was the shrine of his devotion, aud be- fore It from day to day he would stand and gase, becoming each day more solitary and recluse in his mauuer. Ue was voted " surly aud proud " by the servants, aud "a stupid " by all save his fath- er. Yet Leonard ha<l a heart, a warm, generous, tc'eliug heart, but no one seemed to realize it saTS "Pouto," the great Newfoundland dog, who seem- ed to think, if he bad iiuy thoughts, tltat LooiMrd was tbe ouly one worthy of notice iu all the rfr- nwsM. Away with his faithful "Ponto, " Leonard would be gone all day. Iu the tall grass, out of sight, hidden among the buttercups and daisies, the boy and his dog would lio — Leonard dreaming day-dreams over some old legend of Kin)( Allred's day, until the world lu which he lived became |>op- uluus with shadows. Book after book waa dovour- lid, and bad it uot been for the fresh so* air, modi- fied and softened by the trees and lillls iliterveiiiiig, ths oonslitutiou ol the lad must have suttenxl. After reading for sn hour, up hu would start, aud then for a rump with " Pouto." The dog bad

^

November, 1872.

CoUirts' Americcbn Monthly.

been waiting for this, aud soon the two, like " Val- entine aud Orson," were engaged in a trial of streu«th. Up aud down, over and over, laughing ou tile part of the lad, barking from "Pouto, " and then back to Itooks ixgain. The dog was a blessing to the bo^-; without it he would have had ao outlet for his boyish feelings, and instead of his hearty, er.rnest, genuine manner, there might have been moroseness of manner and a mor- bidity of mind. Naturally diffident and reserved, Leonard kept much to himself; and wliilo his miuu became stored with treasures of history, science and general literature, practically his knowledge of the world amounted to nothing. Instinctively he judged men to be good, bad or indifierent, and sel- dom missed the mark. With the female sex he had but little intercour.se. Polite and affable unto all, chivalrous to a fault, yet not one had moved his heart or stirred the deeper feelings of his mind, as in the case narrated in Chapter Third, he was ready from principle — .ind that not a Quixotic one — to succor au<i aid the distressed. He looked upon the female sex as members of the human family, and as such necessary to the carrying on of the affairs of the world. He had passed thus far on his pil- grimage through life without being captivated by the charms of female society. His lack of appre- ciation in respect to the female character was a fault, but one for which he had a fair excuse: he had no mother to cire for him; no gentle baud to lead him aloug the brier-path of childhood ; no soothing lullaby ringing through his dreams; and as he grew up, what could he learn from " Pouto I' His step-mother cared not for him; his step-sisters were not his own, aud each shunned the other, The old housekeeper, who had been his mother's maid, loved him, and lor her he had a very tender feeling. At the boarding-school, seminary, college, and university, Leonard had scarcely seeu a female to notice her. This great lack in a modern educa- catiou he h.sd in part supplied by being foiemost in his class, a tirst-rate wrestler, and wrangler too, by the way; No. 1 at cricket, pulled the stroke oar in the club regattas, aud iu the manly sports, even to boxing and the " art of self-defence, " he was be- hind no one of his sett. Leonard, therefore, felt alone iu the world, aud without any ado accepted the situation, aud submitted without a care.

As he lay meditating on the singular position he was then occupying, the past came up before hiui; and as the bright face of the waiting-maid, looking so cheerful aud home-like, shone iu the light of the spring morning, the young mau felt that he had been wronged, that he had been deceived into be- lieving error in regard to the sex, and there, away from books, essays, learned meu and phil- osophers, he learnt more of woman's induence aud woman's sphere, than he had iu all his life before. He did not recognize Brooks as she sat by the window; in fact, he did not know her at all. So he lay there wondering who she could be. She was not a member of the family, who then? A servant? If so, she certainly was an ornament to the sisterhood. Gradually a gentle slumber closed his eyelids, and when he awoke. Brooks was by his side with some droijs of aqua pura, which seemed to refresh him amazingly.

Brooks had been by his side some time, and ad- miring bis llowiug locks, had carefully severed one, and this without disturbing the sleeper. Smooth- ing his pillow as Leouard awoke, she gave him the drops — drops as innocent of any medical property as the spring brook that flowed through the kitchen garden.

Day after day Brooks femained as Leonard's nurse, until the seventh day from the attack, when he arose from his couch weak, but convalescent. Each day Brooks had regularly reported to her mistress the state of the patient, aud when the seventh morning came, aud Leouard had risen, as stated, the indefatigable waiting-maid had au in- valid chair wheeled into the sick chamber, aud John Thomas, much to his disgust, wheeled our hero upon the balcony, one half of which belonged to Leonard's chamber, the other to Clari's sitting- room. There, protected from the »uu, the invalid rested, aud as his attendant gave him sherbet to drink, be mentally blessed the hand that had been kind to him, and something like faith iu woman crept into his heart. Iu a few days Brooks ceased her visits, and I Leouard once more sat at Mr. Straugeway's table;

but our hero felt somewhat sorry that he had re- covered, for he missed the waiting-maid and her various attentions, and really began to appreciate a blessing as that blessing disappeared. It is so with many; women are despised, "are mere append- ages," and so forth; but what would the cynic do without them? Where wouM the children go to, or would they go at all without their mothers? Men may ignore the existence of the sex, yet look to them for social comfort, home enjoyment, and in fact nearly everything that makes life endurable or desirable. By the sick conch, whose hand smooths the frown of pain? Woman's. In hours of relaxation, who impirts a charm to scenes that would otherwise be tame and insipid? Woman! Yes, and a true, warm-hearted, noble woman is the greatest boon God has given to man to cheer him iu his wanderings through tuis world. We here speak of social blessings. Beligion teaches us of a higher, better life than earth can know, aud may we not ri mark here that a good woman may be the means of giving us brighter couceptions of that higher life, aud awaken within us desires to live for and ultimately enjoy that purer state? We will not at this time continue this idea, but go back to the narrow thoroughfare known as Leather Lane, aud diving into Pantile Alley, ascend the various flights of stairs that lead to the garret of Mrs. VVeazen's mansion, aud without ceremony, enter the sky-parlor occupied by Ferd aud Lilly.

The only change we notice is a large green cage, and in it two bullfinches, purchased for Lilly by her lover, who had spent one whole Sunday morn- ing in ranging over Seven Dials, intent on the pur- chase, and determined withal to obtain song-birds. Canaries were "too high," sparrows "too low," linnets " very nice," robin redbreasts "pretty," but when the bird-fancier went into ecstasies over the pair of bullfinches, assuring Ferd that they were " as cheap as dirt, but as it was Aim, he should have the lot, cage and all, for three and six- pence," Ferd could stand it no longer, but at once closed with the opportunity offered; but as it was near church time, the man agreed to keep the birds until the evening; so with a light heart, away went Ferd along Earl street, and seeing by St. Giles' clock that it was twenty minutes to twelve, he mended his pace, for Lil had made him promise to be home by twelve o'clock, and he did not wish to keep her waiting.

At twelve Ferd was passing Gray's Inn, and soon after broke into the garret as though a policeman was at his heels. Lilly was at that moment taking up something with a fork; that something was done up in a rag, and as Ferd sprang into the room, she let it fall again and looked up frightened.

"Why," said she, "you naughty boy, you frightened me and made me drop the puddiug, and I wouldn't have it spoiled for the world. What made you come iu so? you made me jump!"

"Why," answered Ferd, panting for breath, "I wanted to be here at twelve, and I came in without knocking."

"Knocking?" said Lil, laughing, "I should think so; but next time, don't make my heart jump into my mouth."

"No, I wo'n't," returned Ferd, and sat down and fanned himself with his hat. Lil fished up the pudding, peeled the potatoes aud broiled the bloat- ers: " real Yarmouth," of course; and in due time a pint of small beer graced the center of the table, flanked on one side by a plate of potatoes, and on the other by the pudding, which was certainly a triumph, being Lilly's first attempt at puddiug. It was not a maccaroui — no, uot even sago. It was something not often met with even among wealthy families, and kings have lived and died without a knowledge of the delicacy aforementioned, aud which had been so successfully made by Lilly on that Sabbath morning. It was emphatically a Lon- oou idea. But we are keeping the reader iu sus- pense, and will, for the benefit of the epicurean world, give the components of this remarkable edible: peas, split peas, mind you, tied up iu a rag aud boiled until there is uot a hard point as large as a pin-head, aud you have it, and cau do as Ferd and Lilly did, flavor it to your taste; and if you are hungry, and enjoy appetites similar to our young lovers, you will consume your share of it, which will be large.

But we are uot writing a cookery book, so will refer the reader, to save time, to any man who

keeps a London cook'shop for the truth of the assertion made in regard to pea-puddiug, feeling assured that no man iu the business will dispute the same.

As the long twilight commenced, Ferd invited Lilly to take a walk.

" Wait till I put away the tea-things, and put ou my bonuet and shawl."

As the tea-service consisted of two cups and saucers, and a butter-plate, with a knife and a tea- spoon, it did not take long, aud Lil put on her "things," as she termed them, as she followed Ferd down stairs, then walking by his side, whis- pering commeuts ou the gaily-dressed passers-by. April in London is, aside from its showers, a de- lightful mouth. J. lowers frem the country come iu, and the window-sills of the ):oor classes are iu many cases filled with geraniums aud other house plants, which have been carefully kept aud tended through the winter; these, with the spring varie- ties, give au air of freshness to the streets, alleys aud courts of the modern Babylon, aud iu a more gi-neral sense may be compared to the hanging gardens of the great original Leaving this subject for further treatment, we listen to the questions, almost childish, propounded by Lilly and answered by Ferd, as earnestly as the questions were asked. " Where are we going, Ferdi? No Bagged School to-night, is there?"

" No; better than that." " What theu? The Gaff aiut open," "No, it aiut; guess again, Lil, guess again, Birdie."

" Why, if we aiut in Monmouth street!" " Come aloug, aud I'll show you," said Ferdi, encouragingly,

" Oh, my!" said Lil, "look at the birds. Oh! you little dears, don't I wish we had you outside." " Gome on, " said Ferd in an excited manner. " Come ou, I'll show ycu."

Into Earl street Lil was hurried, and as the couple drew near to The Bird Fancier's, Ferd went along slowly, aud at length looked in at the win- dow; there were uo shutters up, so Lil halted a momeut to notice some stuffed parrots aud parro- quets, whose bright plumage had taken her eye. "Let's go in," said Ferd. " Aiut you afraid?" whispered Lil. " I know him," said Ferd, "come in, I'll show you,"

A bell rung as the door opened, and the owner of the birds came out of a back parlour, bat did not for a momeut, owing to the fading twilight, re- member his customer ot the morning. "It's me," said Ferdi.

"Is it," responded the Bird Fancier, "that's all serene, but who are you?" " You know."

" No. I'm blowed if I do. Oh! yes, I see, said the bliudman. Well, you're just iu time; I was a-going out with my old woman, she's putting on her bonnet. So you've brought yonr sister to see the birds; that's right," said the man placing his finger alongside his nose. " I like to see a young man kind to his sister, aud if he hasn't a sister of his own, he ought to be kind lo some other one's sister; but look sharp; the old woman don't like to wait."

The old woman came in, and appeared to be about forty years of age, quite a motherly-looking woman.

"Bless my eyes," said she, "wot two chicks; and this is the pair of bullfinches? My eye, a'n't they green!"

During this time Lilly had been admiring all she saw, especially the cage of Guinea pigs.

" What stumpy little things! Look, Ferdi, look! Oh! a'n't they nice?"

The Fancier had taken down the green cage, aud as a mark of especial favor, and out of respect to the birds, he had wrapped a piece of old calico over the cage, and handed the whole to Ferdi, who stood watching Lilly. The "old woman" was watching her too, and at length whispered to her husband, who shook his head and said: " Don't be a fool!" " But I will, though," said she. " Oh, that's it, is It? Well, go it while you're young."

" I will. Give me a hutch, a small tuppeuy one."

" Here it is," said the man, with an ill grace.

^

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CoiUns' American Monthly.

The woman ^nt to the cage where the Oninea pigs were, and reachioj; in, ^v>ngbt oat one with a brown patch on the clear white of its bitck.

" A'u't it a beHQty, Fenh?" ihtiil Lil, iidaiiringly. " It is," said he. " I thoaght jou liktd birdw." "Soldo. Why?" " Ob, nothing."

" Here, you two," wiid the womnu. " Look sharp; here's the Oainea pig, and now, sknrnrr."

This mystic word was w<-ll uuderetood by our Tonng (riouds, who tarnetl toward the Hpeaker. Ferd shook his head, and 8;iid mefally: " I a'n't got enough to get it." •' Oh, you precious chick yon, don't yon see I'm a-giving it to yuar yonng woman?"

"Oh, my!" said Lil, hiashing; "a'n't yon kindl Ob! thank ye, mnm; ctxn I take it home now?"

" Vrs, and be sharp. There, go along; and come some other time; I'd like to see yoo again, you're so precions green."

It was nearly dark when the yonng people stood on the pavement, Ferd with his bullfiucbes and Lil with her Guinea pig.

" What hare you got there, Ferdi?" "Oh, nothing," said he, curtly. " Nothing? Well, you are very particular about nothing, I'm sore."

A somtUdng seemed to cause a spirit of constraint to rest upon the lovers as they trudged homeward side by side. Church-goers were thronging the pavement as they torued from Monmouth street, away from St. Giles' CburcU, with their faces to- ward High Holtx>rn. The buUfiuches grew quite heavy to Ferd, who was tempted wend times to throw them into the road. Lilly lost all iuteres. in her Guinea pig, and seemed to think that her heaviness had something to do »itb the pet, which now and then gave a sqneak as an evidence that he, at least, was awake and willing to bo agreeable. Beaching Pantile Alley, the pair turned toward Nnmbcr Four, and on the step found a representa- tive of the Old Clo fraternity. " Who is it?" said Ferd.

"Only Malaehi," said that dirty-faced individ- Bal: " only me, children. I have been waiting for you for an hoar, and was afraid you bad strayed from the paths and gone to church."

"Ah no! weneuergo," gjud Lilly. "Come up stairs; George told me to look out fur yon. Come np."

Dp the dark stairs they went and into the garret. On the mantel-piece were the Ineifers and a piece of candle. Lit lit the candle and stirred np the fire, though the night wa.s warm. " It makes things more cheerful," said Lil, itlth a sigh.

" Children," said MaUchi.sententiously, "there's something wrong; what is it?"

"Ob, nothing," said Ferd, uncovering his bull- finches.

" Oh, my gracious, Ferdi, if them a'n't birds! why didn't you tell me? oh you little dears!" and the warm-hearted girl held them up, and evinced so mnch geuniue pleasure that the uique of Ferd on aoconnt of the Guinea pig passea away, and in a moment he became qnitc eloquent in expatiating on the singing abilities of his pets, and remarked that for bia part be " cared more for birds than he did for all the pigs in the world." Lil said noth- ing more about her jiet that night. Old Malaehi wotehed them for some time in silence, then said: " Well, I suppose it's all right now?" "Oh, yes," responded Lil, qnickly; "It is al- ways all right with me and Ferdi, a'n't it, Ferdi?" " Yes," said Ferd, " pretty near." "Children," said the Jew, "pay attention. A firiend of mine told me to look after yon, and if I ooold, to get yon on at one of the theaters. Yon, my daughter, have been on before, and know all ■bout it. This one bos never been bcbiud the ■cone*. To-morrow, at ten, thers is "a call" at the Theater Royal, GroM Market. Yon know where it i«. Bicbolien ta to b« played, and super- BHIDeriW and ballet-girls arb ne«ded. There is to b* a i—Jlliaof the nieee to-morrow, and yon mast be tbt(«. zotl win be ptished forward by one who will be looking for jron. Ask no qnostiono, bnl go to Hmitli, iiie doorkeeper, and yrm ask f >r Mitchell; he'll make It all right. < nd

the two of yon will got li M.at

' ia, batwcmi yoo, and thm n enougn, cuiKiren, Good-night." Ferd held the candle for him M he deported, and

went down from landing to landing until the clos- ing door blew his light out. Up stairs he ran, and ou the top landing jumped back, lor sonietbiugl Hiiid " Uou!" It was Lil, who, a a usual, wiu) as playful as a kitten.

" Oh, liow you frightened rae! I thonght it was something."

•' Well, a'n't I something?"

" Yes, darling, you are; but you a'n't a ghost."

'• No, and I don't want to be. Come alouu, you nangbtyhoy, ooine aloug, aud we'll have the Guinea pig fried for supper."

"Ha! ha! that's u good one!" laughed Ferd; " why, Lil, you are getting funny."

"No. I a'u't; George don't allow it. He says he'll kilUne if I get funny. Tbtre now."

By this time they had reached the garret, and then much time was spent in explanations very in- teresting to tlie young lovers, but not much so to the stiiid leader of these ]>age8. They snt up (lutil after midnight, building uir castles and making calculations, the basis of which seemed to be the prospective half a crown a night.

The morning was a coutinuution of the night be- fore, and ns soon us breakfast was over, prep ira- tious were raa>le for as tine an appearance as pos- sible by the youthful pair. Soap and water and the clothing of the day before— and, for that mat- ter, a goodly number of days before — were brought into requisition ; and to show the amicable state of Ferd's feelings, we may remark in passing that be hud raked over the sweepings of two green grotier's shops that morning, to satisfy the morbid ap|)etit« of the Guinea pig, who, after all, paid but little attention to him for bis kindness, and not much to his cabbage loaves: Lil, during Ferd's absence, had

into Pall Mall, and in a few moments they were timidly asking for Mitchell at the stage door of the " Theatre Riyal, Grass Market."

"Here, Tip, run in, tell Mitchell he's wanted."

Away went the messenger and returned with the invitation to come insid". Mitchell met them, and knowing Lilly, at once knew Ferd.

"You ore the two extras the costumer spoke to me about? It's all right; you'll bo needed; stay as much uS the stage us you can; keep in the wings until I send lor you."

This lUey did, and remained for four bonrii in the wings or side of the stage.

At two o'clock. " The Ladies of the Ballet," were called and the lady having charge, assigned Lil a place as one of the Court ladies in a grand ball. Ferd was not a regular supernumerary, only an extra; his allowance was to be a shilling per night, while Lil obtained eighteen pence. Had l!erd been " a regular," eigbtueuo pence would nave been his nightly allotment.

About four in the afternoon, the reading and re- hearsal of the piece was over, aud the weary ac- tors, ballet girls, chorus, supernumeraries and ex- tras went on their way, rejoicing that their labor was over for the atternoou, though many of them had to go a mile or two, and then return and l>e ready for the performance at night.

Actors and actresses, as a cla.ss, are mnob ma- ligned by the puritanical devotee of some devo- tional idea foreign to the Scriptures. The actor is eonsidered a heatiien, a pagan, an outcast. Why IS it so? Is there anything iu the legitimate drama to foster such ideas? We answer there is not. The depraved taste of the moderns has ccmpelled man- agers to do that whieh must do violence to their

near!y surfeited him with whatever he would eat. feelings, but at the same time replenish their treas

She did not forget her birds, and very appropriately named the male bird " Lil " aud the female " Fer- di." After all, she had only made a mistake; and may we not say the same of many to-day who talk learnedly of things they know little or nothing about? Yea, they even write books, ami by some means get them printed, and they lie ou the book- shelves of the publishers like government docu- ments iu a law office: evidences of a great outlay aud of a very poor return.

But to return to our supernumerary friends. Having arranged everything with care, the two went out fully au hour too soon.

" Let's go down ilames street, and go np aud see the flowers."

" All serene," added Lil, and down James street they went. This street led out of Long Acre into Covent Garden Market. After enjoying the rural beauties of that classic, that historic region, they ■passed on down Henrietta street into Chandos, and passing the end of St. Martin's Lane, were soon in Hcmming's Itow.

" My gracious!" remarked Lil nnder her breath, " here's some sort of a quod."

" So it is," suid Ferd. " A'n't it an awful-look- ing place?"

••Yon had better believe it," added Lil; "they call it a workus, but it's quod."

Along Orange street they went, and stopped to admire a soldier on duty at the comer of a dead wall.

"What do they do that for?" inquired Lil. " I saw hini there when I came along bero last Eastrr; I wonder what be has Iwen a-doing? Killing some- body perhaps, poor fellow. Come on, Fei^i, aiiit that nice? that's the Queen's Calaue, I'm sure. Yes, that will be beautiful, when itisduue," aud the pair passed by the beautiful Klizabethian building, in course of erection for hatha and wash-houses for the poor.

Blessings on the true-hearte<l men and women who conceived and carried oat that noble idea, an idea wnich bos done more for the borne oomlort of the poorf r classes, than all the fine span the- ories in the world.

"Come on, we'll be late," said Ferd.'

" Why, I've been coming all the while; it was yon, not me, who stopped. Aint that nice?"

This inquiry was eitorted by the rich scent of cooked mirats that arose through numerous grat- ings from the basement kitchen of the corner.

" X'u'i that steam nice?"

" It is; and now, which way?"

Across the rood by the public bouse, down Bine Oroes irtreet into Wbiloomb street, aud then

The coryphees and ballet girls are not necessarily ladies of easy virtue, and it is to be deplored that men are found to-day who loudly denounce what they do not uiiderstaud, and from their lack of knowledge respecting the mutter, cannot compre- hend. While the stage is u hot-bed of corruption, aud many sink to ruiu from a contiiot with it, there are many, very many ou the stage, and among the meml>ers of the ballet, who would compare favorably with any iu the laud. Poverty is, to use a well worn proverb, "a sharp thorn," aud this thorn has goaded many a pure-hearted, high-miuded girl to seek, yea, almost implore the ballet- m.ister for employment. It wis that or worse; ami lor a shil- ling or eighteen pence a night, the trembliug girl woul face a sea of faces, and for the amusement of the audience, pertorm her part iu some fairy scene where tinsel and muslin took the place of better things, iiurlesque and extravaganza are occupy- ing more of the stage than legitimately belongs to them, aud the public tastes are vitiated in this very important part of theatrical performance.

But to return to Ferd and Lilly. From day to day, rehearsals of the Grand bpectacular Comedy were had, until the last day, wiieii a full dress re- hearsal, scenes and properties called all connected with the forthcoming pknie to be present.

All things passed plitasuntly euough; the music, led by a well known composer, was perfect of its kind, thut is, orchestral. Lilly was delighted, al- though it was not new to her. Ferd iras enchant- ed, and all the weary hours of the past week passed from his remeiubrauoe. The reheurmtl was over In time fur those living near the theatre to go home for tea. Our youug proteges went iu search of a coUeu-shup, found one in a neighlwring street, and then regaled themselves on u cap ol coffee each, and two slices ot bread and butti'r. Then saunter- ing into Leicester Square us the lauqis were being ligUted, they sp<-nt an hour in looking into the shop windows aud sj>eculatiug on the value of this arti- cle and that. New Coventry street detained them for a few minuti», thi- tea shop on the corner calling forth many comments fiuui Lil. Down Oxendrn street they sauntered, and iu a few minutes were entering the theatre by the stage door. At the baile door they separated, Ferd going below to the supemuni ries' room under the stage, and Lil to the ballet room, next door to the ladir^t' wardrobe, which was near the roof. The ball ^<ssed

in one room, and a curious sight pre-

seiii- I ..'•>■ |.. way, wevtil n.. i.vaud

by It's wardrotte, the ciiorus

aU'! I . ; ilressing-rooms wore situ

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133

rtted; and hern, after spending half an hour in the room under the stage, Furd ascended to prepare for his part in the comedy. Dukes, counts and nobles were assembled in the dressing-room, but were in their ordinary attire; and a shabbier-looking set of nobles would be hard to find, even iu a German principality. The Duke of Orleans had on a brown spatTOW-tailed toat, which certainly had seen better days; much worse it could not see, yet there was about it an air of gentility that took much of the poverty from the threadbare trowsers in which the Duke's lower man was encased.

The hat diminished the effect of the coat, and had the appearance of a crushed hat; crushed it had been, but straightened again and then ironed over. The Duke wore gloves, kids; but biting the ends off had not improved their appearance. A superb shirt front, and a standing collar with an unex- ceptionable necktie, added much to his make-up; the fact of the front being a Dicky, as it was techni- cally termed, interfered not with the effect. For the benefit of the uninitiated we remark that a Dicky is simply a shirt front and collar, fastened with string over a dirty shirt or one less clean than the Dicky; the cracked patent leathers of his Grace were well ruVjbed; the vest had been velvet, and some of its original lustre remained; over the vest dangled a steel chain, and shown to advautagt . The Duke's watch was at his uncle's, who had kindly consented to care for it, until it should be called for by his nephew; a certificate to that effect was then iu the porte-monnaie of the Duke, and from the appearance of things, likely to remain there.

The " Mareschal De Chatillon " shone resplen- dant in suit of brownish black, which might have formed part of the left-oft' wearing apparel ot a mute, or well to do undertaker.

There was nothing about anj' of the nobles and gentlemen of the court worth mentioning, saving an air of shabby gentility, which is by no means remarkable in London. The keeper of the ward- robe had each suit on hooks to itself, and the gay attire of the reigu of Louis the Thirteenth, soon graced the limbs of tiie supernumeraries, and the hooks received the habiliments of poverty and dis- tress, and the dressing room became in a few min- utes a second hand clothing store of the third class, in fact more like a rag shop.

" Fine feathers make fine birds," is an old say- ing, and a better illustration of it conld not have been found, than the gay crowd of courtiers who in a few minutes more would delight the eyes of the large audience iu the front of the house.

Purple and gold, crimson and silver, feathers and laces, long flowing wigs, rougo and chalk, and shall we say it? Yes. Well, then, burnt cork; all these things, and more, were called into requisi- tion, and laughing and joking, the nobility and gentry pushed one another down stairs. Becom ing quiet as they neared the stage, they went down into the supernumeraries' greeu room aforemen rioued, there to await the appearance of the call boy, with his " five minutes, gentlemen," said five minutes being the grace allowed between the time when they should make their appearance on the stage.

During the dressing-room performances, Ferd had followed the rule apparent in the acts of the others, and being naturally qnick, was not behind any of his fellows iu his "make-up." His long dark hair needed no wig; his fresh olive complex- ion no rouge; burnt cork strengthened the lines of his mustache, and the garments, by a strange over- sight, fitted him, which was more than could be truthfully said of many who managed, however, to pin up the superabundance, and stretch the de- ficiencies.

Lil had gone through a regular course in the ballet room, and stood at the wing with three other maids of honor to Mary De Medicis. The various members of the company took their stations, and the opening scene of the great comedy was one of great beauty (from the front). The very impor- tant parts performed by our young friends, added much to the success of the piece; they sustaining the same relation to the leading actors as corporals do to generals in a field engagement.

About ten o'clock, the ladies and gentlemen of the court had returned to every day life, and with our young friends departed from the theatre, and entered the various courts and alleys where they

resided. An animated discussion was kept up by Ferd and Lil all the way home, in regard to the performance. Ferd had never been on the stage before the ])recediug week, in fact had never been in a theatre outside of Havana, and not often there. The ciiarm of novelty was around everything, and iu his impassioned manner when aroused, he re- counted everything he noticed from the entering in i

his long hair, put one arm around his neck. There they remained until an asthmatic old chanticleer proclaimed something, it might have been the ap- proach of morn, it might have been two o'clock; anyway, they parted company, and each went to rest — Ferd fighting in his sleep and Lil quite un- easy. Not much refreshed , they arose, and all day were

at the stage door.to the moment he was descanting ] under a cloud. At dusk they were on their way to

on the kindness of the young lady whose escort he had been in the opening scene.

" Yes," said Lil, "I saw her, and Ferdi, I must say I never saw a more forward thing iu all my life. Why, she looked into your eyes like as if she know you, and it seemed to me that she moved oft' vory slow; I felt like slapping hor face."

" What for':"' said Ferd with surprise.

" Oh! nothing; only because — "

" She seemed nice to me," innocently remarked Ferd

" Yes, that's jusftheir way. I heard her ask who you were; nobody knew but me, and I'd sooner drop than tell 'em."

A few steps further on, they entered Pantile Alley , and were soon dreaming of the Cardinal, the Queen's mother and phantoms of the past and present.

One night toward the close of the piece, it hav- ing had a good run, Lil remirked a party in the stage box on the Prompt side of the house. Hav- ing to stand close to the box, she felt annoyed at tne remarks made. One die;tingui3hed looking individual, with a foreign accent, commented freely on her appearance. Holding a lorgnette iu his hand, and from time to time raising it to his eyes, his remarks though iu a low tone, were clear enough to be heard by Lil and her sister maids of honor.

"Fine figure; real too, by jove! fresh too, or I'm mistaken, no rouge, that's real! Who can she be?"

A whisper; the only words caught by Lil were " stage door;" and the maids of honor followed the Queen Mother up the stage. Lil became alarmed, she knew not why, aud as soon as the performance of the comedy was over, she anxiously waited until Ferd came down, and without speaking a word, hurried him into the street.

Along SuS'olk Street they went, and into Pall Mall, Lil looking around with evident alarm. In- stead of taming up Saint Martin's Lane as usual Lil weut alongside of the church iu the direction of the Strand. At the pump, Ferd halted and said:

" Why, Lil, what is the matter? Yon are going the wrong way. Stop and get a drink.

" Be quick, Ferdi, that's a dear. I want to run directly; I'll tell you by and by, when we get home."

Drinking from the ladle, the pair passed the cab- stand and went ouickly along the Strand. Just before they reached the Adelphi Theatre, Lil stop- ped and said abruptly:

" A'oiP, Ferdi," and taking him by the hand, she dodged into a court by the old Thatched House, and Uke fawns they ran up the paved alley into Maiden Lane. Turning to the right, they were soon in Bridges street, and over into the market. " Uome on, we'll double 'em," and once more they ran, or trotted, along: a regular run might have caused their arrest by the guardians of the night. Drury Lane was reached, aud Lil slackened her pace, saying:

"'that will do, Ferdi; you are a good boy, and you shall have a regular blow-out to-night."

" Ha! ha! I think you've given me a regular blow-out from the Strand here. Now tell me all about it."

" Not now, Ferdi; by and by."

The pie-shop in the alley leading from Lincoln's Inn Fields into Holborn was open, and here Lil stopped and invested fourpence in " two tuppeny meats." These were done up in tissue paper and carried, not like Leonard's, in the pocket, but iu the hand. A sumptuous meal was made off the pies, with the addition of a pint of porter. Small beer had become too thin for their palate. Lil, with an air of mystery, recounted the circumstances narrated in regard to the stage- box party. Ferd made light of the whole affair, but felt uneasy nevertheless.

" Well, let us go to bed," said he.

" Don't be in a hurry, Ferdi."

She moved around to his side, and pushing back

the theatre, and took their places, as usual.

At the signal from the prompt box. Lil and her companions moved over to the Prompt side with Mary De Medicis, and there, in the same place, was the distinguished-looking personage of the previous night, and back in the box another whom she had not seen before. These things she saw at a glance; and sick at heart and faint, she turned away. Ferd saw from his station on the opposite side that the man whose words had troubled Lil was iu the stage-box; and as his Southern blood arose, he was about to dart forward. The scene closed and down came the green curtain, which was quickly drawn up, revealing the beautiful landscape drop-scene in its place.

Boiling with rage, Ferd waited for Lil, who came down hurriedly; and, as on the night before, they went on their way in a silent but disturbed manner. "Gome this way, Ferd, I'll show you;" and as they crossed into Cockspur street, a gentleman, followed by a servant, came near them. Lil caught Ferd and drew him among SJine passing cabs, and iu the confusion, thought she had eluded the man, who was evidently following her.

Passing around Nelson's Column, the young people passed by the post office, and near the tele- graph corner saw the gentleman and his servant.

"Cut!" said Lil; and turning to the right, went in the direction of Hurlgerford Market. Then turning into a side street, were soon lost in the depth of the Dark Arches. Entering the Strand again, near Waterloo Bridge, they came suddenly on their pursuers, who had walked along the Strand from St. Martin's Church. At once the gentleman saw Lil, and he and his servant followed to over- take. At the Lyceum Ferd stopped; but, persuaded by Ferd, walked on. Turning up a court near a church standing in the road or by the side of it, they were entering Drury Lane, when they were overtaken by the two men.

"Don't be in a hurry," said the gentleman, blandly; " we are going your way."

" Look here," said Ferd, "if you don't go away and let us alone, I'll murder you!"

The gentleman laughed, and going up to Lil, at- tempted to put his arm around her waist. As he did 80, Ferd gave him what Star would have termed a "stunner," knocking him against his servant, who was coming to his aid.

" Now Lil, cut!" and they did, and were in Clare Market, as Lil remarked, "in no time;" and with- out another mishap, reached home. A long coun- cil of war was held, and resulted in their forgetting all about their troubles, and in the pleasant inter- change of those pretty nothings that make love-life so charming and so real.

In the morning they held another council, which continued more or less all day. Toward evening they prepared to go to the theatre, as usual. It was their only chance for a living; and as matters had reached a climax, Lil thought it could not be much worse. To make assurauce doubly sure, she succeeded in taking away the stiletto from Ferd without his being aware of his loss. She secreted it iu her bosom, aud seemed anxious for the hour of departure.

Ferd grew more and more gloomy, and after holding his head between his hands for half an hour, he started up and said nervously:

" Something's going to happen, and if anything happens to you, Lilly, I shall die, I know I shall." Here Lil began to cry, and said: " Don't talk so, Ferdi: yoa make me miserable. I have been thinking that something was a-going to happen to you, and I am sure if there was, that I would make away with myself, aud then we'd meet again, wouldn't we, Ferdi?"

" I don't know so much about that; but don't cry, Lilly, I don't like to see you cry, it makes me feel like crying too."

" Well, then, I won't: but don't talk like you did, for if you do, I can't help it. Come on; put

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on yooi rouDd-ahoat: there, that's • man; now kins ue, and we will go."

Ferd did as he was bid, and in dne time the young lovera went on toward their destination and reached it in good time.

Lil ran op the steps leading to the stage door and disappeared behind the greeu baize door. Ferd was preparing to follow, when a hand was placed on bis snonlder, and in a momenl a pair of hand- coffi were placed un his hands, and before he had reoOTercd from his astonishment, ha was some dis- tance on his way to Scollaud Yard. When he did recoTer his powers, he used them; and four mem- bers of the force were necessary to conduct him to the Yard spoken of above.

Fortunately, no one had noticed the arrest: and when the Gentlemen of the Court went on the stMgr, the keeper of the wardrobe shambled oo iu his place, much to the diiiguiit of the young Coun- tess who had hung so loTin^^lr on her cumpitnion's arm. Daintily she touched the old man, quite a ^oaaamer affair compared with the semi-lounge indulged in with Ferd.

Lill saw that Ferd waa missing, but could not divine the cause; she became uneasy and remaiued until the close of the comedy. First down stairs, as usoal, she inquired fur Ferd, but could obliiiu no satisfactory iuformatiou. The door-keeper and messenger both said that he bad not come in that evening. The master of the supernumeraries said that he " hadn't laid eyes on him, but wait till he did." and so forth. Descending the steps iu a slow, heart-broken mauner, Lil went along slowly and moun fully, and only came to herself as she felt lifted from the pavement; a hand over her month prevented her cry from being heard, and she was forced iuto a Brougham, a man holding her arms in a firm grasp, while one hand was over her mouth.

The distance traveled was small, for in three or four miuutes the carriage stopped, and the man in- side inquired of the driver:

" Is the coast olear?"

"It is."

" Then gel down, and be quick! Here's a key."

A hand received the key, and soon Lil was lifted ont of the Brougham and into a passage and up SAveral flights of stairs; then opening a door, she was carried and laid on a sofa, and there left to her reflections.

Her reflections were short. She screamed, but the sound fell dull upon her ear. She ran to the windows, and found them filled up on the inside by a shutter of thick felt. The room was well lighted by g^iB burners, and heavily carpeted. Lil thump- ed at the door; a deadened sound only came from her labors. The chimney was a dummy, that is, a sham, there being uo flue. Lit grew frantic, and finaUy having dashed things about the room until she waa exhansted, sat down on a sofa, and showed her woman's natare by shedding tears. While there was a chance of escape she kept her courage op; Oh soon as she became convinced that there was DO eacape, she sat down to weeping snd surmising. Her own ease was bad enough, bat this she did not Mem to feel ; her mind and heart were dis- tnaaad for Fetd, nnd Lilly in her angnish called Um anlo bar. She might have lost her reason, bad not tke 4oor opened, giving admittance to a wall draaaed ladv.

" Good aramiiK, my yonng friend," said the Udy. " Ton nead not be alarmed, yoo will be well lakaa eara of haf«."

Lil looked op snrpriaad, and mistaking the look in the lady's eyes, went up to her and taking her hand, aaid:

"Ob! help me oat of this place nnd I will give yo« anything I have."

"Ton are all right, my dear, only roa masto't be ao foaliafa, yon shall gel out by and by ; yoa bad better go to bed."

"No, thank ye, mum," said Lil decidedly. "I don't sleep iu this boute, I nan tell you."

*'(>b, Jnst as you like; I will bnng yon soma- thiog to eat dinetljr."

" Never mind." aaid Lil; bat the lady did mind, and soon eaaa in with a very tempting aappar on a tray.

" Tbara, dear, that will do yoa oood; ooma, I «in pov cmi tbe laa: tbia waa nuula on parpoaa Itor jtm."

" Was it?" responded Lil, whose knowledge of the world was by no means slight.

" Yes, come and driuk a little; <-ome and tell me all about it."

"Look here!" said Lil, with spirit, "do you take me to be a stupid?"

" Oh, no, indeed; only a little stubborn."

" Yes, yon do though, I can see. Now, let ma tell you, I won't drink a drop of that stufi, so you can take it away as soon as you like."

"Ah! that's it, is it?"

" Yes, mnm, that's it."

" Well, if you won't come by fair means, we'll mske you by foul."

" Come on," said Lil defiantly, " come on, but look out."

This the woman did, but not in the way recom- mended by Lil : she looked out at the door, and Lil once more was left alone.

Saint Martin's Church bell sounded out tbe hour of twelve, add as the last vibration fell on the air, a cab st<>p|)ed at the door of the house where Lil was confined; a gentleman alighted, and taking a key from his vest pocket, opened a green door with a lozenge sb^iped window in it, upon which was written in gold letters, "Baths." The oab- muu huviug been paid, drove ou, and the gentle- man entered the house, and touching n bell han- dle, biougbt up the lady aforemuntiooed, and with her a younger one.

" I am glad you have come, sir; I can't do any- thing with her, she is a perfect tiger; she is up there now, sir, and I daren't go a-nuar her; she's a regular spitfire."

" I'll tume her," said tbe gentleman compla- cently. " She's iu number two, is she not"

" Yes sir, you know; hadu't I better come and stand at the door with Sue here?"

" No; it I want you I will call."

" Look out, sir, be careiTul."

"Don't mind me, Mrs. Mangle; I'll manage her," and the libertine went up stairs, and turning the key, entered the room where Lilly, a few mo- ments before, vanquished Mrs. Mangle.

" Well, my pretty one, I am here at last; you thought I was a long time away from you, I sup- pose?"

" Look here! you, sir. I'm nothing to you, and if you don't let me alone, I will throw this at you."

Lil seized a tumbler as she spoke; the gentle- man smiled, his features glowing with desire.

" You will not hurt me, will you?" said he.

" Not if you let me alone; but if you don't, look ont," and the fine eyes of the young girl showed courage and determination.

The libertine moved toward her, and the tumbler moved toward him, striking him on the shoulder; tbis enraged him; he made a dash toward her, as the door opened and Mrs. Mangle put in an ap- pearance.

"There, sir, didn't I tell you?" and she moved further into the room.

Lil was as nimble as a oat, and sprang aside fram the grasp of her pursuer.

"Help roe to catch this she devil!" said he fiercely to Mrs. M., who at once moved oautioasly toward the young girl.

A sudden thought lit np the countenance of the yoang girl, and as the man cumc once more to- ward her, shu drew the stiletto from her bosom; dashing at htm, as he moved back startled at the appearance of the polnard, Lil struck him near where she bad hit him with the tumbler. The blood spurted out, bat Lil did not wait to stauoh it. Mrs. Mangle had hid at the appearance of the stiletto, and sat oronohing behind a aide table.

As Lil darted from the man, she mada for the door, tamed tbe handle, opened it, and turned the key. Taking it ont she threw it down stain; she slid down the rail, as she ha<l done while a child, aiul from landing t'> landing she wont, until she reached the hall door, which was fastened. She Iwat on it and kiekad it.and did everything but open it. Up stairs she heard a key being put in a key- bole; tbia aba did not ondarilaiid, out looking up, ■be saw tba loaenge-ahapad glaaa. As i|uick aa tboagbtahadraw apk'bat-ra^, and stepping on one of the lower pegs, tried to force ths window oat. Some ana bad opened the door ap stairs, and soon ■be baard tba buaky tones of the man's voice. Aa ba diaoandid tba atalra, Lil held the dagger in hM

hand, and as the man appeared on the landing of the first flight, she gave a vigorous knock with the handle on the window, and as the man put his boot on the top step of the lower flight of stairs, the glass fell ont.

CHAPTEE X.

Moving in darkness, jret in the light,

Foud ht-artR ari'. led to a goal unacoo; The yres^'nt drt>aiu ih a vision bright, Tho' iiathoriDg clotidtt may change the

The daily routine of Leonard's life after his re- covery was as before. Clari was no longer alraid of him; a sorrow for his misfortunes had entered her heart, and as she noted his extreme diffidence iu her presence, pondered over his manly ap- pearance, and in her heart his iiunge fouuil a niche, and after many ineffect uul efi'orts, ceased to drive it away. She did not love iiim, "oh! dear uo," that would have been dreadful; it was simply a sorrow fur his forlorn couditiou. Brooks had told her so mauy things about him; how he had put his hands together and pniyed, and hi; actually read the Bible; Brooks had seen him, and suid that " he was uUers a-reading it, and she didn't blame him, nor think the worse on him tor it neither."

Clari dressed with unusuiil care, but Leonard knew it not; his mind was fur away, a:id that day a case wiks to be at the depot at Bathtoii. The case was from Brodie's, and contained the miite- riiils tor the painting of a large picture, and Leon- ard was very anxious concerning it. His love for art was indeed intense, and since his sickness a desire to paint had filled his mind with pleasurable anticipations. Arrangements had been made with the Skiuvilie carrier lor the transportation of said case ; at dusk tbe carrier came, and assisted by the under garvleuer, carried the box up to Leon- ard's room. Our^ hero was, of course, delighted, and like a child, took out each pencil, each tube, took tenderly the porcelain palette, and c.irefully lifted everything from the box, and laid them in order on the ceutre-table. The fritme was as large as the lid of the box and Wiis fastened outside. The arranging of the col'<rs occupied Leonard some time, and that evening he worked away at the picture like a mad man.

There is a pbrensy belonging to true artists that causes them at times to forget surroundings, and even to keep in abeyance the cravings of miture. This seized our hero, and uotwithsttiudiug his knowledge and conviction that his work would be obliterated by his reguhir prcparutiou ground in the morning, yet he worked ou until it became too dark to see any of tho sketch before him. With a sigh he laid down his pencils, renting stick, and palette, and after washing the paint from his hands, went down to dinuer.

Clari heard from Brooks concerning the Lox of paints brought by the carrier, and became at uuce sensible of the command of her father iu regard to her leiirniug to draw.

One morning Cluri remarked at the breakfast- table, that she heard that the tutor was an artist, but that it made uo diS'ercuce to her, as she never expected to profit by his knowledge.

"You don't, don't you?" remarked the Squire, with some emphasis. "We'll see about that tbis very morning; so as soon as Mr. Manfrudi oomea from the school-room, I wish you to make your appearauce lu the library, ready. Miss, to learn with all your might; that's enough, I will have my own way tor once iu my life, so that will do."

Clari held dowu her head, and for oucu in her life made no response. At the appointed time she was ready, and attended by her maid, entered tba library.

"Jobu Thomas, bring that parcel from the re- cess in the main hall." John 'Tbowas did so. "Yoa may now untie it. Now retire. Now, Mr. Man- frudi, you will odd to tbu many obligations I am already under to you, by giving Miss Clari lessons iu drswiug; we were speaking ol this matter soma time ago. You are aware that tho rouiunuratiou is uut a oousideratiou with m«;you will, I kuow, do your best to improve the talent ovinoud by my daughter, who, by tbe way, brcmght hoiuu from London, where she raoeivcil instructions, a bunch of flowers or aometbing of the kind, that was quite creditable. The De Boswells have been noted for their laluut in that line, iu (act Bugar Do Cover ly

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Collins' American Monthly.

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Kupert has chalked up the carriage-house with some of th« straugeat figures I eVer saw. He has a very decided genius, and it must be fostered. Drawing is essential to proper development of our genealogical tree, and thorefofe we must culti- vate it. 1 will leave yon to yonr lessons. "

The parcel bniught iu by John ThomaR titoved to be draw- ing instrnments, crayons, water coIofb, tube paints, studies, lay flgures. atid other things. It was a fine assortment, and well selected. The reason was that the Squire had left the selection to the artist color-man, his own genius for drawing not being as decided as Rognr De Coverly BuiHTt's; and for- tunately he knew this. The assortment pleased Leonard, who, with much diffidence, remarked to Clari that if she had DO odjeetion he would proceed to giVe her a lesson in the principles of drawing.

" I have no objection, sir," quietly remarked the young lady.

By degrees r^eonard moved around to where Clari sat, and began to explain simple principles of curved lines, and the various uses of straight ones. While he was doing this, Clari had selected a head from a number before her, and had trans- ferred to a piece of cartridge paper a very fair reprdJ^entation of its outlines. Leonard saw this, and with much interest remarked that his words were uncalled for, and that if she had no objection he would be pleased to s^e an original sketch, that he might know which was to be the teacher. Clari had done her best, and bo stated. "Shade the outline sketch you have made." "I cannot," said Clari.

"Try," urged Leonard; and he became quite earnest in his endeavors to show the young lady the difference a cros-s line made in the shading of an eyebrow. Leonard was in his ele- ment, and two hours slipped away unnoticed by any save Brooks, who had gnawed two holes in her apron and four in her temper.

"Time for the drive, miss," said Brooks. "Tops will be ready by the time you are dressed." Clari started und said hurriedly:

" Well, let us go. I had no idea the time had flown so fast."

" Yes, miss, it's been flying some time ago," said Brooks, looking reproachfully at Leonard, who had noticed her pecul- iar look, and as he did so, mentally rasolved to paint her pic- ture. Foolish young man! But it was like him to act on the impulse of the moment; and at once he sat down, and as the fw,'e was fresh before his mind, in a few minutes it lay before him in a pencil sketch; a few tints and it was hightened and finished, then thrown aside.

Brooks had finished Miss Clari's trail, and was putting the finishing stroke to a simple head-dress worn by that young lady, when Clari looked up and said:

" Brix)k8, you uiay have an holiday, and may be gone until evening, if you wish it." Brooks gasped out:

" I don't want any holiday, miss, thank you." " Why, Brooks? Didn't you ask me before Mr. Manfredi's sickness for an extra day? " " Oh yes, miss. I wanted it then; but I don't now." '* t)h, very well. Tell Tops to have the carriage ready— the Brougham, I mean: and you can go over to Bathton and bring home my new spring lilac. Madame L« Follct has it ready; if not, wait for it."

"Yes, miss," ^aid Brooks, with much acidity of manner; "shall I go now."

" No, you need not go until the children come from the school room; Miss Araminta may have some commission for yt»u, so you had better wait."

Brooks finished her mistress' toilette and flounced out of the room.

" Flesh and blood can't stand it," said Brooks; " the aggra- vating thing! to send me out of the way &o that she may have him all to herself; but if I don't make Tops go it when we do start, never mind."

John Thomas came forth from his hiding place (a large leather-bound chair) and tried to do the agreeable to Brooks, but that young beauty slapped his face and said: •'Go along, it's all your fault!"

John Thomas stood aghast. What had he done to merit such a distinguishing mark of her appreciation of his abili- ties? John T. concluded that she had been taking a drop too much, and it had gone up into her head; but for hours after he sat in his chair and pondered over the matter, and at last concluded that it was his fault, after all, and resolved that he would make proper acknowledgments as soon as he saw the owne/ of his heart, namely, the pert young beauty. Miss Brooks.

Clari sat in her rocking-chair pondering over the past, and found, she knew not why or wherefore, a deep feeling of sym- pathy for the young Tutor. She knew that there was no love in the matter; had there been, she would not take les- ions from him, nor would she have sent Brooks to Bathton after her new silk. It was sympathy, *' only this and nothing more."

Brooks went forth on her errand, and as the park gates clos- ed, called to the driver to go as fast as he could,as her mistress was in a great hurry. Tops drove oflf at full speed. Miss Clari went down and saw Brooks safely oft', then turned toward the library, and entering it, found Leonard ready. The lesson of the moraing before was continued, and by some means the feeling of constraint passed from Leonard, and his natural winning manner returned. The fund of informa- tion possfesed by our hero was inexhaustible, and as he called up a Uuido here, a Titian there, he became quite eloquent, and revealed more and more the cultivated man within. Clari did not do much during Leonard's descriptions, ex- cept listening; this she did to perfection, and occasionally asked a lea<Uug question which would send Leonard to Borne, Naples, Mantua, .Paris or Vienna as the case might be, and all this in a plain, earnest manner, no ostentation, no pedant- ry. Clari soon discovered Leonard to be a well bred gentle- man, a man of cultivation and of genius. The discovery pleased and yet annoyed her, for the fact of Leonard being a man of refinement, would at once be an assurance that he could not look with any degree of complacency on her absurd

and rude annoyances. She would have been glad had he been more obtuse ftnd less a scholar, for his learning revealed to her her deficiencies, and it was not a pleasant thing for her to feel her inferiority in the presence of a man whom she had otice despised. " I wieh to draw itom nature," remarked Clari. carelessly. " Well, Mine." said the accommodating Leonard, "after the aesslon this atternoon, we will devote ah hour to the flowers in the garden or whirever you wish to go."

An houi' and five tniuutes from the time Clari entered the library, Brooks came in, and though her heart was beating wildly, yet her face was calm.

" Miss ClariMsa, I have brought the package from Madame, and have placed it carefully away."

CJnri nodded her head and went onwithherdrawing.but the conversation was not renewed, and In ten minutes Clati was in her own room, minutely examining the new lilac j of course it must be tried on, and apparently much to Clari's annoyance, it was too tight under the arms.

" Brooks, you have done so well in going this morning, that you may go again after lunch, and get Madame De FoUet to let out a little, not much, mind, and you wait until it is done."

" Yes, Miss," Raid Brooks; " that's what Madame said. If you had gone yourself, it could have been doiie while you was a trying on; that is, you know, any alteration."

At three BroOhs entered the Brougham once more, and knowing nothing of the drawing from Nature arraugtmcnt, told Tops to take his time, which he did, and at six o'clock Brooks returned to find her young mistress gone off to a cliff, to take a sketch from Nature of a place called " The Hermitage." The news did not soothe her feelings one par- ticle, and she even asserted to the housekeeper that 'some people ought to be ashamed of themselves, and think of other people's feelings." To this the houstikeeper assented heartily, and somewhat mollified. Brooks went into the library. and turning oVet a portefolio, found the sketch Leonard had mad(^ the morning before.

"That's me," said she, and at once concluded that the tutor had " taken a fancy to her," as she afterward remarked in confidence to her uncle, Mr. Strangeway, who said he had " no objection; she had no one to please but herself: for his part he thought she might go farther and fare worse.'*

Thus encouraged, Brooks look courage and set about her duties with some heart. During her absence, Clari and Leon- ard had sketched several flowers, and finally, accompanied by Buttons, the page, the party had started for the <liff, from whence a good view of the Hermitage could hn obtained. In- stead of profiting by the iuslructious of the drawing master, Miss Clari gazed out on the sea, and despite her efforts to the contrary, bicame quite absorbed in the contemplation of— nothing. The considerate Buttons had, by permission of his mistress, gone down to the beach to gather shells, and be- came so much engaged that he had no thought beyond the shells which in their varied beauty lay before; him. Leonard worked at the sketch until he, too, became oblivious of sur- roundings, and thus each of the trio seemed to be under sume fairy spell. Buttona was but a child, and became so indeed as he busied himself in building grottoes out of the larger shells, keeping the pretty tinted ones for his own patch of the kitchen garden— a corner being reserved for him: for even Buttons loved flowers, and found a way to gratify his fancies in that particular.

Clari sat on a camp stool under the shade of a rock, over which small bushes and creeping vines were growing; Leonard reclined some distance from her, and from time to time changed his position as he progressed in his labor of love. Clari sat there until the sea and its beauties called her back frtmi the realms of space, through which she had been sailing for an hour With a suppressed sigh she came back to e::rth, but not to common things. The evening was hazy and beautiful. Upon the waters of the channel vessels were passing on their way: the white sails shimmering in the sun; the headlands in the distance added to the charming scene; and before her lay the incomprehensible tutor; beyond him the Hermitage and its romantic surroundings; below. But- tons was in full view. The whole scene appeared charm- ing indeed.

There is a hazy beauty about a spring afternoon in every land, but especially so on the south coast of England. The balmy air, laden with the breath of wild fiuwtrs. ttoatedacross the landscape, and seemed to waft away the selfish feelings of our young lady friend, who drew nearer and nearer to the maelstrom of love as she gazed upon the elegant yet neghge young man at her feet. Lt-onard had forgotten the distance which was supposed to be between him and his pupil, and the ice once broken, he became quite confidential iu his man- ner and appeared at ease. Clari thought she ought to resent this, but failed to do so, and as the sun seemed to near the water, Leonard brought his sketch and handed it to his pupil, with an apology for neglecting her so long, but offered, in extenuation, the absorbing nature of his occupation.

"There is nothing of earth so enchanting," said Leonard, " as art; nothing BO alluring, and iu the pursuit of this real pleasure, there Is no sting, no sediment of sorrow or re- morse;" and as he spoke his countenance lit up with beauti- ful thoughts, shone with peculiar beautj and expression.

A sharp pain shot across the heart of the young girl, who, after a moment's reflection, remarked that " there were many beautiful things in the world beside art that were en- trancing, and much to be desired."

" True," respouded Leonard, "but a love of art presup- poses a love of all that is beautiful in Nature, both animate and inanimate, and the soul that beats in time to the true pulsatiousof Nature, comes near to a full enjoyment of all that is worth living for iu this world. There is not a tint in the sky, nor a shade in the colors of the landscape, but that the true artist discovers the same, and as the wonderful combinations of earth and sky entrance the soul, there is in that soul a vibration that rises in songs of gratitude to God for His infinite mercies, not only for the wonders of Nature, j but also for an appreciation of the same."

This rhapsody surprised Clari. who began to stand some- what in awe of the despised young man, and the feeling of respect begun during his sickness increased in an alarming degree, and Clari became so weak that Buttons was called

for, that his young mistress might hate his arm to lean upon.

"Allow mc,'* said Leonard with a graceful motion of his afmj and she allowed him, leaving Buttons to gather up the portfolio and camp stools, and to bring up the rear in the I march toward the Manor house. No hurry was made by any j of the party, and fully thirty minutes were consumed in walk- ing half a mile. Brooks, much disgusted, stood on the hall steps, and with an ill grace, relieved Leonard of his charge.

Day after day, sketches were made of various points of interest in the vicinity of tlie Manor. Buttons was the es- cortj and Brooks, now somewhat crabbed in her ways, left at home. The rambles of the young people were often pro- tracted, and became a feature in their everyday life. Clari felt sure that she respected and admired the tutor, but It was no other feeling; she even esteemed him a friend, " so kind, so gentle and withal so respectlul, how could she do other- wise than respect him?" Then his company was so very agreeable, yea more, delightful; and then he was so good, knew the prayer-book by heart, went to the village chhrch regularly, and sang delightfully, and Tops had told Brooks thitt he had remained one Sabbath after service, and had played like an angel." Both the organist and Brooks were well versed in the musical qualifications of angels, and there- fore, well fitted to judge.

Leonard went on, day after day, working at his picture, when no, otherwise engaged by his duties as tutor. Gradually the cloud tints of the young man's life became softened and Inellowed bypleasant feeliug,and as aresult.the picture upon which he worked regularly gi-ew in beauty; kind and affable to all, he was especially so to Brooks, a gratful remembrance of whom caused something like tenderness to fill the meas- ure of his voice, as he from time to time had occasion to ad- dress her. This added to the feeling entertained for him by Brooks. He had never analyzed his feelings in regard to Clari; he knew that a change had come over the spirit of his vision, iu regard to the fair sex in general, and Clari in par- ticular, and the past seemed to him a disagreeable dream. Leonard's heart was in his picture; yet, the unspoken eharm of Clari's society drew him from himself, and at the same time drew him toward his picture.

One evening as they were wandering along from Silver Brook, a romantic retreat in the woods belonging to the Manor, Brooks came along the lane in great haste to inform her young mistress that " Lady Emma, her aunt, had sent down from Lon on to say that she would be down to-morrow, and that there is nothing ready."

"Aunt Emma coming? why, she has not been here sinco her marriage."

Then followed sevearl whispered directions by Miss Clari, and a request to prepare certain things at once. Brooks moved off slowly, followed by the drawing party.

" I am afraid that this will interfere with our pleasant ex- cursions," said Clari, blushing.

" Why?" asked Leonard, innocently.

"Oh! aunt is so gay, and her manner of living is so dif- ferent from the life we lead here, that I presume these pleas- ant wanderings must for a time, at least, cease."

" Shall I not have the pleasure of your society?" said Leon- ard, with a shade of sadness in the tone.

" In the library I shall spend an hour each day," said Clari, blushing even deeper than before, and holding down her head. " Pa requires this, you know, and I am sure the library is a pleasant place to me."

" And to me, I assure you. Boswell would lose much of its beauty, were I to enjoy it alone; I shall be loath to part with its shady nooks, and sweet retirements; but so very soon must I return to the modern Babylon to continue there a life almost aimless."

" You are not going to leave us, Mr. Manfredi?"

" Not yet, and were it not for certain things, would remain here until the churchyard yonder, (and Leonard pointed to the village spire) should have in me one tenant more."

Clari's voice faltered, and her eyes were covered by a wa- tery film.

" Don't go away, Mr. Manfredi; we would miss you so much; Araminta is improving so fast, and even Rupert has shown signs of improvement. Don't go away."

Leonard felt as he had never done before; what to say, he knew not; the fair girl at his side had made his hours glide along on airy wiug, and if Cupid had not hit his heart, the rosy God had not missed it far. Knowing his position in so- ciety, he had no qualms of conscience in vegard to his en- couraging a feeling of love toward the youn<i girl; but such a feeling he assured himself was not there, besides aJl thu in- terest felt by Mess Clari in him, was simply that of a school- girl to a teacher, so Leonard answered :

" I shall be sorry to leave Boswell, but my peace of mind depends upon it." Clari hung somewhat heavily on his arm as he proceeded, " and a principle in my life Is not to let inclination interfere with duty; but I shall treasure up the hours spent at Boswell, aspleasant hours of my life, although I should not complain, for, though debarred from a mother's love and a sister's companionship, yet the hues hav fallen unto me in pleasant places, and I may say with the Psabuist. * I have a goodly heritage.' "

Clari sighed, and out of pure sympathy, Leonard sighed also.

" How many years have you been teaching?" timidly in- quired Clari.

" Years?" said he with surprise, " I never taught before I came to Boswell."

"Indeed?" was the response. "Do you like to teach, sir ?" " Sometimes I do." "When?"

" When my pupil is gentle and kind." "You do not find such, do you?" " I belive I have found one."

The fingers of Clari twitched nervously on the coat sleeve of her companion, and there might have been an interesting scene, had not the persevering Brooks opened the Park gate, and with a courtehy oamo up to her joung mistress, and said:

"Excuse me. Miss,' but the bouse is in an uproar, and the Squire is looking for you all over the place."

J c

136

CoUin^ American Monthly.

November, 1872.

A turn ilapa. aod C3«ri entand tbs iamia%*aaa, uid ia- ' lofbcrfatber. wbithevlabellMtlodot * l>or' aiUd h^". " ^^liT, yvm an T«(y iadnatriom, 1 mast ■■7. Do yon want to help tbs cook t" The Sqaiie ma eri- d»UT well ploMcd.

** Wh7, pft, 1 tlum^it yvra needed «e to assist Id preparing nttt Sbbs's looms."

" Ofal aa, thejr are all reedy; I tbongtat to giTe yon a aur- pilse,]PoahsTebeeD so stodloos, and hsre done ao well. I ■ad b« iwoaa pnyandi tkavanJGst aboTS four own, snd As vol be aaer joa." - WkBB wUl ske be hete r ■ " The dagr alter to-morrow."

Olsri beoMM WMsaally cb«erfQl, and in tlks exuberance of herioy. ««at to her fatbrr, and fur the Orat time for sereial lasia, vfllnaftarily threw ber arms an>UQd bis neck and kiaasd Um on the lips and on eacb rbf«k. Latly Boewell vith anuuMjment. not unmixed witb alarm, as s tarn WDOkdrome aezt. The Squire, strange to las, sad tfasn blew a blaat by tbe aid of » aad appsared to be anxious to wring bis own ■sis OK

■* Tbeie, (3ari, I knew it would please yoa, sod now dress, wif Alar, fos dlBoer."

Oligi wiat aiftog oot of tbe room, and found Brooka as cnaa aa shs eoaM be. From a filling of sympathy, Clari did aot repnaeh her for ber duplicity; this rympatby was for har feeUags In iigaiil to lisonard, which she had known for

" Cokx Brooka," said she, ebeerf ally, " be as quick ss yon csn. for dinner wiil be waiting."

Rmoka Mill nut a wi<nl, but attended to her duties, then when Clari fcft tlie rrxjm, the sat down a:id wept bitterly.

Ihuuha waa naUgally a bright, merry-hearted girl, but her hna for liiiiaaiil ehangod her nalun?, and she wss no longer the faj ll«hl hwrtrd being of other days. Manuwly, care- ttOj aad aastooalT had ataa watched ber yoong mistress, snd hsr eoaetaatoas wars orach mors correct than those of her miatnas; sa to Leooanl. her mind bad been unsettled, but rw sufficient to convince her that ber hupe-s gd in the bitterness of her soul, she est

(Tobt Continued. J

Written for the Ameucas Haimn.r,

Only A Shell.

BX HKNBT W. TESOLUH.

|g

Only a shell, an empty shell, A aomething where s heart should be. And yet with love it seemed to swell. And "rose with feelings light and free. Why did it faU? ahl who can teU The cause thst made it but a shell.

WsB it deceit ?- a Nature stain ?

A aomething formed s'en from the Urth t

A lapse percbsnce in resson's reign.

Amid the gold, s speck of esrth.

The canse or reason, who csn tell,

IKliy this great heart became a shell?

Only s vague and empty sound. Tot lore is not aa idle term, A pnrar naais cannot be fonndi It is ia tact, of life the germ. To liample on a heart is wrong, And anto Mads maat bahiag.

Bow csa a wsrm snd feeling heart. Thus trample on all mental Iswst Why horl s poison pointed dsrt Atone who lores, without s caoae? It miart have been from death a knell, Aa emsaation dark from bell.

Bat It is paat, forever gone, Far, imt away may it remain, la ailsDce awy it inly monm. And Unaer oat its eoorse tai pain: For all la o'ar, psthspa 'tia wall That I bare loved an empty shall.

A yotiDg man asked • jroaog ladjr bor ag», and ■be replied : " 8ix Umeg Mren and satren times tbrea added to my age will exceed aiz times nine and foor, a« double my ago exc«e<U twenty. " Tbo yi-oog man aaid be thuogbt abe looked mocb oldor.

Sir Waher Hcntt, !n leading a book one day to a frlciid, csatloaed bim to be poootoal iu retaroiog tt. " Tbia ia really nervaaary," aaid Ihe po«t, iu anologjr. " for tlioagb many ot mj friends are iMd arilbni)-tieian«, I obaerva aliuoat all Of tbem are ooud boufc-kxpi'is."

COLLINS' AMERICAN MONTHLT

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SAN FRANCISCO, NOVEMBER. 1872.

BOMBAST IS. WORTH.

'/HE world, though ostensibly al- lowing that it sympathizes with true merit and worth no matter in what guise, nevertheless fails to sus- tain its character for consistency in its daily pracOce. And this is the only way in which a person or a community ca7i be known — for if a certain doctrine is preached, and one in direct antagon- ism is practiced, the doctrine goes for nought, and the person takes his status in society as water finds its level.

But it somotiuics takes water a long time before it finds its level —and so it does tbe bombastic fellow: he who is all sweet, with a rich flow of choice words and ronnded periods. The dim- inutive form of Worth siukA and fades awuy as the oily Bombast emerges into

view: to the first a deaf ear is turned, if perchance he should modestly endeavor to plead his cause; while the latter is smiled upon and seized bv the hands and patted on the shoulder by many waiting only to be victimized.

A fair and gaudy exterior, with dis- sembling ways and plenty of that com- modity known as hniss, often passes current where the pure, unalloyea gold would be spurned. True worth, though clad in whatsoe'er guise it may assume, can not be hid from the penetrating eye ; and, in the .same manner, the cloven foot of the bombast can never be com- pletely concealed.

The trouble is, the world does not stop to consider — it does not discrimi- naie. One of these smooth-tongued gentlemen arises like a meteor-flash, and with a flourish of trumpets pro- claims some pet illegitimacy of his own — the world seizes him and places him on its shoulders amid loud huzzas. At length the fraud is discovered, and he sinks as rapidly as he arose. The bubble has bursted, and what before appeared to be something tangible, now resolves itself into empty air and is lost to the vision. Instead, however, of being governed by the experience thus obtained, we are too apt to forget '• about the recent imposition, and are ready to embrace the very next one that arises.

By a proper use of the native dis- cernment and discrimination with which all are more or less endowed, impostors will have but sterile soil upon which to cast theii' seed; and true worth will as- sume the place for which it is designed, but out of wliicli it is now kept by the cause assigned and by reason of its greatest virtue — modesty.

Written for the AmaicAit lfoam.T.

Oicr Mother.

BT HKLEN PEBST,

Ber mission bere wss sll performed, Hhe wsiti>d death's command:

At which hrr spirit took Its Hlght, And joined tbe sngcl band.

With wssping syos and sohiitg hearts,

We laid her down to rest: She Is not <lesd, but only slsepiag

Upoa her asvtour's bcsast.

Our hearts and homes sre lonely now. We miss that kind aweet faoei

And nanght of all tbla »orld may givs. Can fill her vacant place.

And yet, we ahould not chsriah griof.

When lortng friends depart; But seek that holy, soothing balm

Whioh hsala ths woondsd hsart.

If we Imt try Its healing powers, Uow sweat tba pfumisv given.

That whan our work Is •oiahsd bars. We aU shall (Met la baaeaa.

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November, 1872.

Collins' American Monthly.

137

Written for tbo Amebioan Monthly.

Ambition and its Lesson.

BY OARAOTACUS.

MBITION may be defined as an eagerness to excel, or as 9 thirst for fame. The American people are distinguished among the uatious of the earth for preemiueiioe in each particular, comprehended by the term Ambition.

A laudable ambition is essential to success in any pursuit; without it, the wings of genius will not raise the sou! above oommon things, and the spur of talent rust idly upon the heel of time. A desire for power is not ordinarily a laudable ambition. Some men have risen to the highest point of hu- man greatness without seeking or desiring the same. Cimon, Aristides, Pericles and Epanimon- das (an illustrious quartette of Grecian worthies) are examples of this; Washington no less so, and historj', ancient and modern, reveal stars of men- tal beauty and moral worth, combining exalted patriotism with disinterested and unselfish ambi- tion.

The above named heroes were rulers; as soldiers, they were successful; as statesmen, celebrated, and as citizens, beyond reproach. The historian lin- gers lovingly and respectfully over their urns, and with a sigh turns to the Alexanders, Csesers and Napoleons of the past and present. The ambition of the Apostles and the Apostolic age was not based upon a human foundation. The source of their energy was divine, and the end beyond the conception of Solon or Lycurgus. The glory of the Apostolic era faded before the sun of Constan- tine's splendor — human ambition and earthly glory ushering in the reign of spiritual desolation. Saint Paul migh be termed The Christian Philoso- pher; in him we find the content of Diogenes and the wisdom of Socrates and Plato combined, with the erudition of Aristotle and the fortitude of Zeno. History has no human name to compare with that of Saint Paul. The lesson taught by the laudable ambition of the ancients may well be learned by the moderns, and we who are advaucing(?) may with profit go back two or three thousand years, and comparing the past with the present, learn a lesson that may benefit us for time and eternity.

The assertion that "History is repeating itself," is proven by philosophers, ancient and modern; Pythagorus and Ethan Allen believed in the dogma of Metempsychosis, and numbers to day follow the meanderings of their absurdities; the ideas of Epicurus and Darwin are not far apart.

" Epicuri de grege porous," may, by substituting monkeys for swine, serve Darwin as the quotation noticed suited Epicurus. The principal of immortality is not in the brute creation; the instincts of the animal rises not above food or naturs's requirements. The func- tions of the animal organization go on with the regularity of machinery; the mind of man rises above the instincts of the brute, and reason regu- lates its pulsations. Cassini, Gahleo and Herschel roamed at will among the etars, and with mathe- matical accuracy, measiired the world around us. The emulative ambition of science has called forth man's noblest powers, and the abnegation of scien- tists goes far toward redeeming this age from its self-glorification and selfishness.

Agassiz was recently among us, and while we cannot follow him in all his teachings, we honor

■^T

his erudition and commend his perseverance. The emulation, not to say ambition, of scientific men, teaches energy and perseverance, and further- more, tnat a laudable ambition will eventually be rewarded with success. It may be remunerated, as in the case of Stanley, whose successful search for Livingstone brought honor, fame and profit. The absorbing nature of ambition maybe inferred from the conduct of the great African Explorer, who persists in remaining in the central wilds of Africa that he may accomplish the end of his be- ing in clearing up the geographical mysteries of that distant land.

Home, family and friends are but motes in the sunbeam of his thoughts. Leaving unexplored the vast fields of laudable ambition, we turn to a less pleasing portion of our investigation, and in the jungle of vain glory and self-aggrandizement, seek a reason for the mental perversion of so many noble minds.

Hannibal and Soipio were warriors, ambitious men. Multitudes were led by them to the mael- trom of death. The Cathagenian hero crossed the Alps; this was fame enough, nature and men seem- ed to be conquered, butin turn Hannibal succumbed The lesson we learn from this is the instability of human hopes, and the certainty of their decay.

Alexander conquered all save himself. The les- son of his ambitious life is written in blood and carnage. The same is true of Julius Cieser; he crossed the Rubicon, atPharsalia revealed the hero, in his commentaries the scholar, and in the senate chamber, instead of a diadem, received a mural crown. Brutus, Marc Antony, Cleopatra and their contemporaries, are but beacons to warn mankind of the hidden shoals and sunken rocks of mis- guided ambition and selfish glory. Benedict Ar- nold achieved fame and honor as a soldier. Ambi- tion soiled his name, and caused it to become " a by-word and a reproach." The ties of country and kindred were sundered, and Arnold sank amid the slime he had himself created. The curse still clings to his name. Napoleon was beyond doubt the per- sonification of ambition. From Brienne to Toulon, from Corsica to Paris, from Egypt to the Tuilleries, and from thence through his campaigns to Elba and St. Helena, wherever we find the man of des- tiny, we behold the workings of ambition. By the magic of his genius, Napoleon formed the broken and'^serried ranks of the Directory into the well defined lines of the Consulate, and these in turn formed the solid phalanx of the Empire. With giant strides the genius of improvement moved over France, and Phoeuix-like, the Empire arose from the ashes of decay. Well may the French nation be proud of her hero.

Mercy and peaea shrouded their faces in their wings, and sadly turned from the devoted land. Millions were offered up to the Moloch of ambi- tion, and to it love and affaction were given. The recluse of Malmaison did not live to see the fall of her idol; the end came, and at length the Belero- phon received her ambitious freight, and from the rock of St Helena the spirit of despair wont out from its imperial shroud. Garibaldi is a patriot, and ambitious; his zeal and energy have given the kingdom of Italy to Victor Emanuel, who, as a gift, receives the fruits of the labor of many years. General Pep^ and the Carbonari prepared the way for Garibaldi and Victor Emanuel, but the end is not yet. The alphabet of Italian ambition is being learned, and time will perfect the study. The am-

bition of the Church of K3me is meeting its re- ward; the fable of " the dog and its shadow," il- lustrates the policy of the papal church. In Italy it is losing power; the same is true of .Austria and papal Germany. In America and in England, the papal power is spreading, and what is lost on the Continent is being counterbalanced in Anglo-Saxon nations. The lesson taught in the past by the inquisitions of Spain and Italy, seems to be lost upoii men of the present day.

Ecclesiastical ambition is the most intolerent and blind; zeal blended with it, caused Constantino to see the cross in the air; this caused the marriage of church and state. The adulterous connection has left an indelible stain upon the church, and its baleful influence f6 apparent in the courts of the Old World. Ill America we have every phase of ambition: filibusters, Cuban expeditions, diamond hunting, oflioe seeking, gold excitements, silver discoveries, congressional and senatorial honors, party polities and the multitudinous springs of the sea of ambition filling every avenue of the rising mind. The corruptions of the age have been well ventilated, but the body politic grows worse and worse. The teachings of the past are ignored; self rides triumphant over all opposttioa, and men, in- toxicated with the fumes of gratified vanity, oast aside social restraint and legal barriers, and in their weakness assert a strength that must, in the nature 0/ things, fall back upon itself, and cause its own decay. The Ciceros and Demosthenes of the period hurl phillipios each at the other; owing, in a measure to this, the public mind has become stu- pified and deadened as to the issues at stake — in fact is sleeping over a slumbering volcano, which may at any moment break out, causing consterna- tion everywhere.

The leseons taught by ambition may be read in the wrecks around us. Let us, in view of the inter- ests at stake, learn the lesson well, that we may be able to read the future of our land, and intelli- gently act as beoometh men to whom are committed the present and future well, being of the fairest nation of the earth.

To Correspondents.

D. L. S. & Co., Allen, Mich. — Advertisements from abroad must be prepaid.

W. H. T. — Poetry receivod. Will appear in our next.

StklIiA. — Will appear in our next.

JcAN DE ScHMiTTi. — Eeceived to late for this is- sue. December number.

Tom. — Van Diemen's Land (now called Tas- mania) was named by its discoverer, Tasman, after the daughter of the governer of Batavia.

S. M. Y. — Polyphemus was a cruel giant, having but one eye, which was located in the center of his head. Ulysses, having made him drunk, burnt out his eye with a firebrand. He was a son of Nep- tune, and one of the Cyclops.

Fbank. — Give the individual referred to Columbia."

'Hail

W. M. — The true poet is born such. No amount of training can make amends for a lack of this gift of Nature.

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138

Collins' American Monthly.

NOVBMMK, 1872,

Written for the Amaicui Mo«na.«.

Fare Thee Well.

tm tlM« well, and. oB. Vxr, in tlw honn of tbj gl««.

When pleuoTM trinmphuit, then think sot of me;

Bat If erer lijr hoit be laid lowly in grief.

And the ligh rields no belm mod th<> (e*r no relief.

Oh! think of me then, I would not be forgot,

Bot in luppier momente, remember me not.

SboaM advervit}' touch thee, oh, think of me then, I wo«ld aoften thy vroe, wer« I near fhee again; I wooU UgMen th>r heart with an eager rare**. And bring to thjr life the joys of the Meet. Bol, oh, when prosperity tieam* os thy lot. And thy heart i* all pleasaro, remember bm not.

I woald eomc to thy mind whea thy breath fade* iway. Like the voBdrngat night on a stiU, murky day; When tlw thooghta, although gloomy and dark they may l>e Hight yield an abatement of anguish to thee; But while to life'a pleaaures you still may resort. Think not of me then, oh, remember nu not.

Written for the AKUUcaa Moktblt.

A Hunt.

BX B. HXTDDIXO.

h

N the faU of '64, tirii>g of the lonnd of city amnsemeiits, I gladly accepted the inritation of my cbnm, Leonard Gordon, to take a trip op to the " GoTeruor's " with him. Tuesday was the day appointed for the start, and a busy day was Monday, preparing onr lines for fishing and our guns and ammunition for bunting, besides fitting ourselves out with stout clothes for " roughing it." To enlighten the reader, I will explain the situa- tion as I found it upon alighting at the " ranch " Wednesday. The "GoTcmor" I ioand to be a most worthy, though somewhat eccentric, gentle- man, and father of my friend Leonard, or Len, .is he was familiarly called, and brother Dan, of whom I had often heard Len speak,

Mr. Gordon's peculiar temperamcst had estrang- ed his family, with the exception of Dan, whose Uaut BatOM was not affected by his father's petn- lent disposition. They managed to get on together very well autil it would please lien to honor them with a Tisit. These were glorions times for Dan, but not so agneable to Mr. Gordon, for Len being of a lively, lesUess disposition, was never at ease unless there was "some fun up-," and Den, re- gardless of eoBsequenees, only wanted some one to show him bow, and a sensation of some kind waa the result. As for myseU, I could laugh as load as any one wbsn a favorable opportunity occurred.

The ranch I found to Le a farm of about three bnndrad acre* el hill and valley land, situated a

few miles from U g, on a beautitnl stream of

water, in ooe of the most romoutie nooks of this piotorsaqoa rsgUm; ths suroundiog hills abounded in MDaU 0aaM, and the stream in beautiful speekled trout.

It is unoeesaaary t» slate that Mr. Oordon aad Dan kspt "baeb," whether from preference ot neeeeiity, I never learned. As we alighted at the door, we were weteomed by Mr. Oordon with a liearty sbalM of the ImbJ and a " walk right in, boys, walk right in and make yourselves e<jinfort- abls; well liave soBM««8ba in a Blsate; walk right lo, Dan will attend to yonr things." Hupping in- side, we were greeted by Dan with familiar oordial-

ity. Taking onr valises aad seathig us by the fire, he made na feel as much at home as though we were members of the hoasebuld.

Mr. Oordon now came bustling in. "Come, Dan, now yon kill a chicken, and well have somttbing to eat in a jiffy." And soon the appetizing odors of a " square meal " filled the house. After snp- per the pipes were lighted, and the evening passed in pleasant recount of interesting events which had transpired since Len's previous visM^ At a late hour we retired to onr allotted bunks. Next morning at breakfast Mr. G. remarked: " Len, I am glad to see tbat you have improved SO much in yonr manners since you were here iu'it. I hope we shall have no more ot yonr pranks."

Dan winked knowingly, bat said nothing. Kvery- tbing passed off smoothly during the day, fishing in the morning and hunting in the afternoon. Evening found us preparing our game for the table. In a short time we bad a supper fit to set )x!fore Emperor Norton. After supptr we agahi took our places before the fire: Mr. G. on the right with bia pet, a large cat, curled up under bis chair; next to him sat Len, then myself, Dan sharing the left corner with bis dog Jef. After a heated discussion as to whether steam or water was the best motive power for a flouring mill, Mr. G. retired for the night, leaving Dan and myself to decide the argu- ment. ^

As his bed was in one corner of the room in which we were sitting, he would oceasi€>nully drop in a word. Len, who could see nothing interesting in our conversation, stretched himself on the floor before the fire and began fondling the cat, which in a few moments uttered a sharp cry of pain and affright as a pack of firecrackers attached to his tail began to explode. Panic-stricken, he began searching for an egress from the room; the dog joiued in, occasionally coming in contact with each other; both would then go bounding over the bed; one, rushing over the table, overturned the lamp, which was extinguished by the fall. Puss, finding no other outlet, now started up the chimney, scat- tering the embers over the room. To add to the general consternation, Len was screaming at the top of bis voice, whether from pain or excitement I could not tell. The crackers having all exploded and the tumnit subsiding, Dan relighted the lamp, revealing Len perched upon a chair-back, nearly exhausted with laughing. Dan occupied a position on the table, I having a "sit" on the mantle. Pusb, with fiery eyes and bushy tail, held a corner, while Jcf was snarling under the bed. Mr. G. was not to be seen, but a moving body under the bed- covers indicated his presence. As soon as all was quiet, he carefully raised his head and inquired if iho cat was gone.

"He's all right, sir," replied Len. " Yon was not afraid of him, that made you cover up yonr bead, were you?"

" Afraid of that uat? No, sir; I am afraid of nothing, you confounded scampi You don't sup- pose I wanted to get my fkoe scratched up, do you? What do you moan, sir, by raising all this hubbub? Open the door and let that cat out, and if I see any more of this, dr, I'll make it warm for you."

"All right, sir," replied Len; "y<ia may repose in peace; you will see no more of that feline to- night, for if he's going as he started, he's a mile from here by Ibis time."

Peace having Iwen restored, we all retired, Dan remarking us ha went:

" I like fon, but this is pilhig it on rather thick."

Morning dawned bright and invigorating, fitting the soni with a spirit of freedom and exciting the body to action, as only a Tnrkey river morning can. In this condition breakfast «'a» dioputehed, and a week's bunt in the mountains discussed. " Bed Slide " was decided to be the best place for the huut. Dan mounted bis unstang and went to solicit the company of Aleck Commons, Jed Pierse, two old banters of his acquaintance.

AU ck soon made bis a| peaiance, uonaled on a crop-cared rone. I found biin to be a tall, hair- lipped frontiersman, whom love of whiskey and a natural deformity had caused to lead a bachelor's life. His dress consisted of a pair of heavy cow- hide boots, into the tops of which were tbrost the extremes of bis greasy canvas pants. The pants would have been whole but for a gaping rent on each knee, and another, caused by trying to walk along slippery hillsides; a loose grey oversbirt and a well ventilated felt bat, finished bis suit, k leather belt around bis lonis sustained a huge bant- ing knife, in a sheath fringed like the legging of an Indian. Pendant from a strap over hie shoulder dangled a bullet-pouch and powder-horn. A loug, fuU-sloeked Kentucky rifle lay serosa the saddle before bim.

" Handle tbat keerfully," said be, as I went out to take bis riflef "it's a 'igbty 'angerous 'bing."

I assured him it was perfectly safe with me, as I belonged to a military compuuy iu the city. Jed Pierce, who sow same up with Dan, although a rough mountaineer like Conimoas, and similarly costun^ed and equipped, was net so striking in ap- pearance, btit evidently more trusty, as Dan left everything to his direction. By his advice, bullets were rnn, bread kiaked, guns cleaned, saddles mended, and knives sharpened. In tho evening the horses were caught, and preparations finished r

Mr. Gordon being an early riser , had us up, packed and ready to start by daylight next morning. After a hearty breakfast, we mounted, atul the march to the happy bunting grounds began. Jed was in his glory. He took great pride ia his rid- ing and shootiug, and but few could excel him in either. Althojgh nearly forty years old, six feet high and well built, from some cause best known to himself, be was still single. Having no cares at home, he threw bis whole soul into making things lively, and was ably seconded by Len, who, unable to restrain bis buoyant spirits, was awakening echoes in neighboring bills with snatches of " Home, Bweet Home."

"You'll sing that feeliuger store you git back," said Jed, as he changed the position of bis rifle.

" Ma.vbe so, but I'll be happy while I can. How can a fellow be otherwise than gay with such sar- roundings? What creek is tbat down there?"

"That's Mill Creek," respondetl Jed; "and a mighty good place to catch trout, at the proper season."

As the sun was now rising above the hills, slied- ding a glittering halo over the surrounding scenery, I torued to drink iu the soul-iuspiring splendor and (east my admiration of the aublima upon the glorious panorama apread out )>efore me. In the misly distance could be eeen the lovely village of

H K, with its neat white cottages reflecting the

flrst ray* cf the sunlight; the snrronnding farms, inclosed witli dark lines of rail feucee, some in the light and noma yet in the shadow of the distant hills, gave the vallay the appearauoa of a huge

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map. In the little uooks along the creek-bottoms, on either side of us, nestled the plain but comfort- able dwellings of the " oldest inhabitants. " What a state of contented independence these mountain homes suggest. Why should not these people be happy? Their little orchards and vineyards sup- ply them with fruit, their fields and gardens with' grain and vegetables, and the growing stock in their pastures furnish a sufficient revenue for all their cash necessities. Their wants are few, their supplies abundant: why should they not be happy? Perhaps they are. There are hundreds of these chances open to settlers of contented dispositions. They will not suit lue, however; I am too migratory to remain long enough to plant, much less to reap.

Soliloiuixing thus, I rodo on with the party.

" Here's Quail Creek," said Dan. " You wanted to see a forest; how's this? Here's a patch a mile wide and three miles long, covered with trees like these, some of them twelve or fourteen feet through and a hundred feet to the first limb. This flat will make a splendid farm when they get the timber ofl."

Here was indeed a forest: hundreds of trees, so tall that it takes a man and a boy to see to the tops of them. Tall oaks fill up the spixces between the redwoods, and look like underbrush in comparison. So dense is this growth of timber, that the sun •eldom i)enetirates. Although warm and pleasant upon the open hillsides, we experienced a chilly sensation as we stumbled our way down the creek. Through tangled underbrush, dense thickets of manzauita and chemiese, over logs and boulders, up and down steep banks and along the verge of frightful precipices, we wended our way till nearly sundown, when we camped for the night on the banks of the creek.

After the horses had been picketed out to graze, a portion of the party started out for game, while the rest fixed things about camp. lu a couple of hours, fish, flesh, bread and hot cofl'ee were spread upon a saddle cloth. Then the elbows began to crook and the mouths to open and shut with a rapidity and regularity that would have astonished a printing press; and soon after, all were snoring bvtt myself. I lay awake meditating upon the sen- timent expressed by the involuntary recluse:

" Ohl Solitude, where are the charms Which sages have seen in thy face f " Had Selkirk been compelled to listen to the fever- ish chatter of excited curbstone brokers for a few months, and then been transported to where I now lay in the midst of solitude that could almost be felt, those lines would never have been written.

Imagine yourself in a solemn wilderness, lying before the decaying embers of a camp-fire, listen- ing to the nervous sounds peculiar to the moun- tains, and you can realize my emotions as some huge wild beast suddenly came crashing down through the underbrush on the hillside, across the flat where we were camped, stampeding our horses, and with a terrific snort, disaijpearing in the gloom. To say I was scared, would be about right; but when Jed informed us that " them bosses must be caught immediately or we'll lose 'em," I felt like stirring up the embers and letting the '• bosses" go. The others may have thought so too, but they said nothing.

Hastily seizing our weapons, we followed the fly- ing feet of Aleck over the hill to where the horses could be headed ofl. Amving at the place — a deep dismal glen — I was posted as sentry to prevent their passing; while others, better acquainted with the country, were to capture them.

Left all alone in this position, I began to feel queer. Solitude took possession of me; crawled

down my back, into ray boots, sat upon my shoul- ders, and flitted before my eyes. It must have, been solitude, there Was nothing else there to make me feel so lonely. A pleasant sound was Aleck's discordant war-whoop, which informed me that the horses were captured, and I might desert my post. A happy feeling of security stole over me as I lay down before the fire, and I soon went to sleep.

Notwithstanding the disturbing event of the night, we were under way by daylight, traveling over a country similar in formation to that already passed, stopping occasionally to search for grouse or shoot a mountain quail. Late in the atteruoon we reached our destination, unpacked the animals, and prepared camp. The latter consisted in piling our blankets under a manzauita bush, and gather- ing a quantity of dry limbs for camp-ftres. After this was done, four forked stakes were driven into the ground, leaving them about tour feet high; a scaffold was formed on these by laying small poles across, two inches apart. On these were to be laid strips of venison to be dried by the combined heat of the sun and a small fire built uuderueath to keep off the flies. We then took our guns and started in different directions for game . The occa- sional crack of a rifle indicated game, but whether "in the hand or in the bush," I did not know, until Dan and Jed came staggering in under the weiglit of a large buck. Leu was jubilant over a grey squirrel; I had nothing, which added much to Len's triumph.

Dan reported that he had found bear-sign. A plan was discussed to try and find the bear in the morning. Aleck saiil he had lost no bears, but would help the rest find theirs, if they were anx- ious. After a hearty supper, we all " tumbled in," and the nasal chant began. Sanguinary conflicts with enormous grizz ies, and aerial somersaults over dreadful cliffs, made things lively in dream- land. I was happily surprised when I awoke in the morning to find no limbs missing. As soon as breakfast was over, things were hung up in the trees, and we proceeded to the place spoken of by Dan. Abundance of fresh sigu was discovei'ed,and it was evident that the animal was not far off. Ac- cordingly, an advantageous disposition of forces was made. Aleck and myself were assigned a small opening on the verge of a precipitous gulch, Jed and Leu were posted further down, while Dan and the two dogs were to start the game. We were to shoot it as it came up the gulch.

After waiting a long time and hearing nothing from Dan and the dogs, which were supposed to be below us, we were startled by the sudden braying of the dogs directly above us in the thick brush. This was an unpleasant state of affairs.

Before we had time to consult upon probabilities, the crashing brush indicated that the hunt was comi'ig our way. To get a better shot, of course, we each climbed a tree, Aleck choosing a leaning one, with a branch extending over the gulch.

Scarcely had we taken our seats, when a small cinnamon bear rushed into the opening, closelj followed by the dogs. Finding them too much for him, the bear decided to climb. The leaning tree suiting his fancy, up he went, and out upon the limb occupied by Aleck, not observing, in his haste, that it was preoccupied. The mortal terror de- picted on Aleck's countenance I shall never torget. Throwing up his bauds with violent gesticulations, he shouted out, with his peculiar accent:

" Go back, go back, you darned fool! Limb will break and kill us both!"

The bear, evidently perceiving the danger, slid back and dashed down the gulch, followed by a volley from our rifles, the dogs bringing up the rear. Hearing a shot below, we ran down, and found that a well-directed bullet from Jed had secured the exciting game. Dan now coming down, by our united efforts the prize was conveyed to camp. After resting a short time, a recount of ad- ventures began. Much to Aleck's disgust, I relat- ed his little scare. Jed said he had a better one on Len. Knowing Jed's happy disposition, we were all attention, He said:

"After I had shot the bar, I looked round fur Len, and seen him with his arms and legs locked round a sapling 'bout four feet from the ground, hoUerin' fur some one to come and help him down, as he was gittin' light-headed and might fall and hurt himself. You see, he thought he had clum to

the top. I s'pose he done clim'in' enough to a-got thar, but he shd back 'bout's fast as he went up."

Len vehemently denied anything of tlie kind, and as Jed wouldn't swear to it, we let him off easy; but it's not safe to relate it in his presence.

In the evening hunt I killed my first deer, and experienced an attack of "buck ague." Seeing the deer coming down the gulch towards me, I secreted myself in a thicket and awaited his ap- proach. When he came opposite me I took delib- erate aim and fired— no, I didn't fire either; I could not find the trigger; the gun began to wabble and everything was in a daze; accidentally touching the trigger, the gun wont oft' — and so did the deer, the ball passing, probably, within a hundred feet of him. I did not swear, not being addicted to pro- fanity; but I firmly resolved to take things cool next time. After fretting a few moments, I looked up and saw the deer standing in a ravine on the opposite hillside. Hastily reloading, I took a cir- cuitous route out of sight until near enough, then crawled to within shooting distance. With no fear, but a great deal of trembling, I took aim and fired. Down came the deer, but only wounded. He be- gan crawling away. With frantic haste I dropped my rifle and drew my knife. With glaring eyeballs and nerves strained to their utmost, I gave chase and soon came up with him, and burying my blade in his throat, ended his misery and secured my meat. Perspiring with glory and excitement, I hurried to camp for assistance to bring in my game, and in a few days the graceful, springy, fleet-footed deer was transformed into dried venison tied up in a sack.

All having been more or less successful, we soon had all the meat we wanted, and on the morning of the fifth day we shook the dust of Ked Slide from our blankets and started on our journey home.

Having packed the horses, we had to walk. I observed no new feature in the country, except that the hills seemed steeper and the distance greater; but patience and steady tramping took us up Quail Creek, through the redwoods, out upon the open hills and down into the valley, and finally the wel- come view of Mr. Gordon's habitation cheered our drooping spirits.

Mr. G. came out, and seeing us coming, began preparations for a meal, remarking as we came up:

" I know what comes first after you boys get in from a hunt."

While replenishing the inner ra^n with the good things set before us, Mr. G. informed us that an invitation to a party to come off next evening had been left in anticipation of our arrival.

After a night's rest, Dan, Len and myself con- cluded to accept, and started out to engage our partners.

At an early hour we went to the place appointed for the party, and, to my astonishment, I found most of the girls already there, but none of the boys. I requested Dan to explain.

"Oh," said he, "the boys can't leave their work till dark; then by the time they get fixed up, it is too late to go for their partners, so the girls come here before dark, and the boys see them home after the dance."

We were ushered into a large room which was used as kitchen, parlor and dining-room by a well- to-do farmer and his family. The boys now began to arrive, each with a package under his arm, which I soon found to be a pair of neatly-polished boots. Betiring to a back room, they pulled off their farm boots and reappeared in parlor attire. Each then saluted the "girl that he loved best," and took his seat. The fiddler having arrived, was escorted to his seat on the stove, which stood in one corner of the room, and for this evening only had no tire in it.

Drawing the bow across his instrument a few times, he gave the command, " Take your partners for a cowdrill!" The young men sidled up to the girls and faintly inquiring if they danced, the girls answered by springing vigorously up and escorting their partners to their places on the floor — at least some of them did.

"All ready?" inquired the musician, sounding his instrument. "Honors all! Forward four!"

The dance now began with an energy that made the stove-lids jingle as though attacked with a shook of earthquake. As time wore on, bashfulness wore off, and real, genuine, enjoyable sociability was the order of the night. '

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Collins' American Monthly.

NOTEMBER, 1872,

At a late honr the party broke np, and the boys, taking their tioofs nnder one nrm, gallantly escort- ed their ladyloves home with the other.

Bt'gretfnily I bade farewell to the kind-hearted host and hostess, vho had saccessfully done nil in their power to enhance the pleasnre of the enter- tainment.

I hsve said nothing abont my share of the amnse- ment, as one of the young ladies who is now sit- tinc beside me as I write, says:

" Please don't tire the reader with onr old lore affair."

Ki'Xt morning, after a cordial invitation to come np Again, we said good-bye to Mr. Gordon and Dan, and I will now say the same to the reader.

Written for the AMnacAiiHoiiTiij.T.

The Livingstones of Blantyre.

BY PHIU>.

ME of the delights of travel is that of asso- ciation; apart from it, the traveler beholds a series of dioramic Wews, or at best, a mov' iug panorama of natural beauties. "The Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon " are indeed beautiful, bnt their charm lies not in their beauty; the genius of Bums pervades the region, and to intrinsic beaaty adds an extrinsic charm.

" Stratford-Upon-Avon " is not more beantifnl than other midland county towns, bnt in it Shakes- peare first saw the light; and in it his slumbering genius awoke to full consciousness. Warwick Castle is near by, and before the fire marred its vine-cov- ered beanties, was an object of great interest; it was indeed a noble relic of the past; but Warwick Castle and its historic associations did not Interest the traveler as does Stratford and its Bard. Why? The spirit of Shakespeare is more potent than that of kings, and mind exercises upon mind n more powerful influence than matter.

America is not particularly rich in ancient his- torical lore, and her architectural glories are, with but few exceptions, of recent date — the walls and bastions of Quebec alone representing the warlike cities of the Old World; beside this, there is none other in North America. California turns with pride to her " Yosemite Valley," and to her superb coast and inland beauties, but her adobe buildiugs are fast pasiung away, and after a few rainy sea- sons, with an occasional earthquake, the places which now know them will know them no more. Earthly mementoes pass away; they crumble to dost, wither or decay, bnt mental mementoes re- main, and from the depths of thought many pre- cious pearls may be brought, with joy or pain.

Hare in California are pilgrims from all parts of the gldM, drawn by the mystic influence of the yellow God — willing devotees before his shrine. Uere the traveler may roam at will among the cene* of other days, and in company with one of native or foreign birth, gather np the associations " O' Anid Lang Byne," and string many a narra- tive of goodly pearls.

Among the religions relics of oth«r days, the Camp-meeting shines conspictiotu, and for a week or ten days, the camp of Israel forms a rallying point for the wandering tribes, who oome np yearly to the tabernacle in this Wildemeas ti Sin, to bat- tle for the Lord. Seated beside a esmp-flre, re- cently, I noticed a lady vboae speech proved her Scottish birth. After an introdaotio&, we became acqnainled, and the delightfal scenes of early years were teprodooed. Ailea Crag, Bothsay Bay and

■■P^P^^i^S^^

Castle, with other points of interest, were touched and commented upon, and as the Banks o' Clyde arose before onr mental vision, my companion be- came eloquent in praise of her " ain native land." Leaving Greenock with its ship-building interests, and Helensboro in its quiet loveliness, we ascended the Clyde, and at Glasgow remnined for a season; then came a narration of facts, which I have em- bodied in the following brief account of

THE LIVINGSTONES OF BLANTYRE. Over twenty-five years ago, little Janet Gray sat beside her mother's knee, preparing her lesson for school. Janet was a flaxen-haired child, some- what impulsive, tender-hearted, and withal benevo- lent. Janet conned her lepson well, and at length arose from her stool, and putting on her hood, pre- pared to start fur school.

"Ye ken the sma' boose in Almaden street, Janet, where the tea marechant lives?" inquired the mother, as she, too, arose from her seat.

•' Well," answered Janet.

" Then, as you gang to school, take this mug o' cream ; it will be kindly taken, for they are puir bodies."

Mrs. Gray was in good circnrastances, having cows of her own, and u few pounds luid up in store for a rainy day. Away tripped Janet, and in due time knocked at the door of the house iu Almaden street aforementioned; this was one of a row of two-roomed cottages built of stone. The locality was known as the "Clay Holes;" such houses were usually rented at three pound ten shillings per annum, or about eighteen doU.trs in American coinage. Janet knocked at the door; in answer an old man came, and extending his band, wel- comed the child. The man was Mr. Livingstone, the father of the great African Explorer. There wos nothing about the dark-browed, swarthy old man, save an air of deep humility; this seemed to afi'cct alt uiouud him.

" Sit thee down, lassie, and I'll read thee words of praise, " and reverently the good man took a Bible from a shelf and read a psalm of thanks- giving and of praise.

The awe stricken child heard the words, and listened to the comment and exhortation which followed the reading.

*' Call, lassie, when yon return from school, and you can take home the mug, and my thanks for your mither's kindness."

On her return fiom school, Janet received the message and the mug, and with thorn an invita- tion to return and pick tea. The little girl ot>- tained permission from her mother to return to Mr. Livingstone's. Her nimble fingers readily learned the way to gather out the stems and re- fuse matter from the tea, and ere nightfall she had earned one half penny. " The sma' tea mare- chant," as Mr. Livingstone was termed, carefully weighed out the "hap'orth o' tea," and having read a few verses to Janet, dismissed her with an exhortation,

A few days after this, the long shadow of the tea merchant darkened Mrs. Giay's cottage door

"Come in, Mr. Livingstone," said thegade wife cheerfully.

" May the blessing o' the Lord be npon you and yours. Mistress Gray," returned the humble old man, as be took a seat by the window; " and how is Janet pleased wi' her teacher, Fergus Ferguson, in the Sunday school?"

" She is well pleased, Mr. Livingstone; our pas-

tor o' the Wee Kirk has a worthy son, and your ain daughters, Janet and Agnes, are much respectit, 2klr. Xiivingstiine."

"Yes, the Lord be thankit," returned the tea merchant.

After sitting for awhile, apparently without an object, the old man arose to depart, and after go- ing to the door, returned, and with an effort in- quired:

"May I ask the loan of a few pun, Mrs. Gray, that I may increase my stock of tea?"

"Certainly, Mr. Livingstone, how much?" in- quired the kind-hearted Mrs. Gray.

" Five pun," returned the merchant nervously.

With muttered thanks the old man left the cot- tage with his glazed bag in which he carried his stock in trade hanging from his arm. No note nor receipt was given or required, foi Mr. Liviug- stone, though a poor man, was one of the spiritual pillars in the Morrisonian or Wee Kirk, as the Evangelical Union was then called, and his word, like his general character, was without a spot or blemish. ludeed, Mrs. Gray felt honored, for Mr. Livingstone might have gone to his pastor, Bev. Fergus Ferguson of Burn Bank, whose large white stone mansion stood near the town, and from him have borrowed readily ; bnt the old man preferred asking Mrs. Gray, and she did not refuse. Mr. Livingstone, in his travels as a tea merchant, acted as a colporteur, but without pay, and by the peas- antry and towuslolk was honored and respected.

Shortly after the perio<l above noted, Janet Gray went as usual to " pick tea." The dark-featured and high cheek boues of the merchant seemed to have a peculiar glow as the child looked up. The customary reading took place, followed by the ex- planation and exhortation, and then came the five pounds, and with it two ounces of tea, (carefully weighed) as interest on the loan. These Janet took to her mother; no receipt was needed, for these were simple-hearted people, and being hon- est, did not suspect dishonesty in others.

David Livingstone had gone to Africa, and con- cerning him his mother sometimes expressed con- cern. The future explorer had been known as a hard-working, studious lad, both in Hamilton and in Blantyre; he had no educational facilities, for his parents were extremely poor, so Duvid must needs work, and pick up knowledge here and there. This he dad done, and from the wilds of Africa camo a letter, the first from David to his parents. In the letter was a pen and ink sketeh of Living- stone's encounter with a lion, showing bow he had fought the King of beasts. A request was made in the letter for brass buttons, trinkets and glass beads, so that the heathen might be reached through them.

Agnes and Janet, David Livingstone's sisters, the one a a milliner, the other a dressmaker, at once proceeded to canvass the town for odds and ends; the ladies of Bhintyre assisted them, and in due time boxes of trinkets were dispatched to young David Livingstone in Africa. The towns- folk felt proud of their townsman, and well they might be, 'though he was not then known to fame. In after years, Janet Gray married and moved from Blantyre, and so lost sight of " the sma' tea marechant" and his family, bearing of David, bow- over, through the newspapers. Standing one day on the deck of a small river steamer on the Clyde, near Glasgow, Janet saw two of hiT former friends; at once she walked up to one and said: " Yon are Janet Livingstons?"

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Collins' American Monthly.

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"Yes," letumed tne lady, " and you are Janet Gray. This is John from Canada, brother John."

They needed no introduction; the Livingstone features were there, the same in all, father, mother, children, all alike, dark features and high cheek bones, the parents, however, being shorter than the children. David had become famons; John was on a visit froiu Canada, where he was engaged j in the oil business. The girls, Janet and Agues, j were yet unmarried, and the tea merchant and wife, if living, are as of old (excepting the tea business) the gude wife soberly attired, her mutch cap and broad black ribbon tied under her chin. The auld man. with his kilmaruock about his ears, and by his ain fireside, plainly clad and cheerful, having served his generation, he is, if living, wait- ing for a call; if dead, is with the Lord ho loved so well. Janet, the wee bairn who carried the mug of cream to, and picked tea for, Mr. Livingstone, dates her religious convictions to the earnest ex- hortations of the auld Morrisonian, and cannot be persuaded that there is aught wrong with David, for she knew his mother and father and his sisters and his brother, and ' 'they were all good people, and surely David would not go astray." Surely ^' the Secret of the Lord is with.them that fear Him, and He will ever be mindful of his covenant."

Written for the American Monthly.

A^ain in Trouble.

The facts above noted are iucoutestibly true; I may have substituted Blantyre for Hamilton; if so, the facts remain — the Livingstones having lived at both places.

Written for the Amebican Monthly.

Amid the Sands.

BY PACITIO.

Amid the sands, the desert palm

Arises fresh and vernal; Above the t^torm the coming calm

Descends in peace supernal; 'Tis thus in life, above all strife

There is a rest eternal.

The speck of time we here consume,

Is passing from us ever; Why view it then in listless gloom ?

Why do we mercies sever? Live in the light, the coming night

Cannot remain forever.

The moments fly, we pass away. Each one for hell or heaven;

We walk the broad or narrow way. We are, or not forgiven,

Be earnest now, pay every vow. Beware of sin's dark leaven.

Let come what may, there is above

A refuge for each mortal; An everlasting world of love,

Eternal and immortal. Why need we fear? there's much to cheer.

Earth is but heaven's portal.

Then 'mid the sand look for the palm. And streams forever flowing;

Above the storm look for the calm. And sunshine bright and glowing;

By night or day, be where you may, -Bemember you are going.

The blunders of physicians are covered by the earth.

Njr°!

We always love those who admire us, but we do not always love those whom we admire.

BI THEOPHILtrS POP, JB.

CConcludedJ FTEB the lapse of time (I knew not how i^^^L long,) I awoke, feeling stiff and cold. It fg^ was yet dark; and save the regular and so- norous sounds issuing from the neighborhood of Flipps's couch, all was silent.

I lay for some time listening to Flipps's loud sleeping; but I soon tired of this diversion: there- fore, gathering my blanket closely about me (for it was bitterly cold) I turned over and tried to com- pose myself for a sleep. It was useless, however; the snoring of Flipps and the keenness of the cold, conspired to keep my eyes wide enough; and not being able to derive much comfort in that condition, I determined that my friend should enjoy but for a brief season longer his happy state.

My boots were down at the foot of my bunk, to help keep me warm; so reaching down, I seized one by the strap, and after a few gyrations in the air, I flung it with considerable force against the boards directly above Flipps's head. A. troubled grunt was the only indication of his being cognizant of anything unusual; then the snoring recommenced with still greater intensity. The other boot re- mained, and it soon followed its mate, but with greater momentum, causing a tremendous racket against the loose boards. This one had the de- sired effect — i'or, sliding along the partition, it fell squarely on Flipps's nose.

Having a suspicion this one would wake him np, I quickly curled myself up and began to breathe heavily, judiciously interspersed with a few snores. I could see by the little light that came in through the cracks between the boards, that Flipps sat up and rubbed his eyes; then glancing towards me, he seemed to be satisfied I was sound asleep, when he lay down [gain.

It is astonishing how quickly some people can get to sleep. Flipps was one of these; for no sooner had he touched the — pillow, I was going to say — bundle which s-erved for a pillow, than he was asleep. As soon rs I was satisfied of this fact, I sat up and looked around and felt for more mis- siles.

The gun was the only thing that suggested it- self; so, getting out on the floor, I seized it and gave the wall above his head a heavy stroke with the butt end. A snore of almost sufficient volume to drown the blow, was the response. Again I raised the gun; but before it struck, Flipps had seized it, and springing upon the floor, screamed out:

"Thieves! Robbers! Pop — help here, or we'll be murdered!"

At the same time he grappled me and succeeded in wrenching away the gun, when he laid violent hands on me. I saw how it was — in the sudden- ness of his awakening he mistook me for a bur- glar or something of that sort — perhaps the owner of the nose and eyes which had been seen by him in the earlier part of the evening.

" I say, Flipps, I'm no robber; let me alone, d'you hear?"

He didn't hear; but continued mauling me at a great rate. This was unaccountable to me after I had made the declaration as to my identity, and I began to think he might yet be asleep, and that

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some horrid nightmare had got the better of him. Therefore, with this impression strongly upon me, I came to the conclusion that the best way to bring him to his senses would be to try and get the bet- ter of him.

Up and down over the floor we straggled and mauled each other until our bones (mine at least) ached. Sometimes I would get free from his grasp, when I would dodge into some out-of-the-way place in hopes he would relinquish the battle; but by that strange instinct peculiar to somnambulists, he invariably found me out. I soon began to think, however, that there was more than mere instinct to guide him — in short, that reason was exercising its functions, and Flipps was as wide awake as I was. Time verified my anticipations.

" There now, I gaess you won't bother a fellow again," said Flipps, as he went back to his bunk.

The first grey streaks of daylight were now ap- pearing, and I went out and built a fire to warm myself as well as to cook our breakfast. Flipps con- cluded he could sleep no more, so he soon followed me; and as the sun peeped above the horizon, we had cooked and dispatched our breakfast, and were on our way to the summit of the mountain.

Following a faintly-defined trail, we gradually arose until objects in the valley below assumed diminutive proportions, and ere long the cabin itself faded from our view.

As we progressed, our difficulties increased. Swarms of long-beaked mosquitoes attacked us from all quarters, and had a good chance to feed on us while we fought our way through the chaparral under the ever-increasing heat. Like the blood-thirsty tryant who wished the Eomans had but one neck that he might sever it at one blow, so Flipps and I wished that all these pests were concentrated in one body that we might have our vengeance satiat- ed. Oh! what a revenge would have been ours!

Onward, upward we ■went, when suddenly the trail disappeared. In this dilemma there was no alterna- tive but to make a way for ourselves or go back. The latter idea could not be entertained, so mak- ing a leap into the chaparral, the fight began.

Fifteen minutes of this kind of work threw us into a perspiration and made us feel rather weak in our legs. While stopping to rest, my eyes wan- dered about, taking in the lovely prospect. They rested unusually long on one object which I discern- ed in the distance ahead.

" Pop, what are you looking at so steadily?" in- quired Flipps.

' ' If I'm not greatly mistaken, I see a man ahead there. Look — do you see? he moves now."

" Yes, I see him. Wonder what he's doing up here?"

"The same as we are, I suppose," said Flipps. "See, he has a gun. Well, come on."

In a few minutes we struck the trail again and had nearly drawn near him. We expected he would turn round and look at us, but he did not, but kept looking away off into the valley beneath us.

" He's a curious sort of a fellow, don't you think so, Flipps?"

" Hist!" cried Flipps, taking me by the arm, and drawing me aside out of the man's view should he turn towards us, but taking a position where we could command a good view of him. " I have seen that nose before ! That's the man that looked in at me through the hole in the cabin last night!"

" If that's so, I don't wonder at your being soar-

>4

Collins' Ainerican Monthly.

XOVEMBER, 1872.

ed, Flipps. Bat see, he takes ftim at somethinf;. Ah! yes, it's a deer. See it? away down there on the Bide of the hUl?"

The deer moved as I spoke, and Flipps at that moment caoght sight of it.

"Come," said I, "let's spoil his sport," and np went oar rifles Kke a flash, and at a given signal, bang! went thej with one soand, and the deer, giv- ing a booed or two in the air, disappeared in the thick brash.

The man, greatly chagrined, tamed and looked abont to see from whence the report came, bnt ooold see no one.

" I guess we're even with him now, " said Flipps, preparing to reload.

When both had reloaded, we emerged from oar hiding-place, and parsning the trail, passed within a few yards of the man, who, looking nt as with no staiiliDg coantenance, nodded his head in answer to our aang-frmd salutation.

A few handred yards tanner on and the trail was again lost — this time irrecoverably. Duriag a loll in oar lobor to get through the thick brash, I glanced at my watch, which I carried in my pants' pocket. It was almost noon, and we had a hard road to travel yet. A.s soon as we had surmounted (bif, we directed oar weary steps towards a pro- jectine rock which we saw some rods above ns, and under whose cooling shade we longed to stretch oorselves.

Beaching it at length, we threw ourselves be- neath it, and sighed with relief.

"What time is it. Pop?" aaked Flipps, as he fanned himself with his hat.

I put my hand to the place where the watch onght to have been, bat imagine my consternation to find that it was gone! I turned my pocket in- lide out, aad for a time forgot my weariness in my ■olicitade for my watch — a beaatifal little gold one, which no $75 of any man's money in Culi- fomia oonld have parchaaed.

" Never mind," said Flipps. consolingly, as he took a roll in the sage-bmah, " we'll hant for it as we come back."

" You might as well hunt for a needle in a hay- Black, Flipps," said I, disconsolately. "Come ahead, and let's get to tba top, for I'm as thirsty as can be.''

"Hold on a while — don't be in a harry. Pop; I have palpitation of the heart, and if I exert myself too much, I'm liable to drop down any minate. I'll go in fifteen minatea."

Here Flipps took oat hia " repeater " to meaaara the time; bat an observation of it rayealed the ItielL that the hour and minnle handa war* locked in a close embrace,aDd pointed, I belitve, at five o'clock. I rafiuad to be goided by his chronometer, and after the lapae of five minates (my own time) I palled kia to hia feet and we started upward again.

Oar ambition now was to reach the top as soon a« poaaible, in order to regal* onnelves on the etyital water which waa repraaented as springing spontan- •o«a OB the vcvy summit. This thought inspired onr drooping apirita with hope, and infused new •treagth and energy into oar exhaastod systems.

•• Hatrahl A flagi Look. Pop!" cried Flipps, •xeitedly.

I looked aad MW a fag flying — the glotioat Stan and Klripea, #hoa« ttorry folda never caught oar ejrea with greater deSgfat.

"THppa, Ihara'a vatar thara. nra. Who will ba Ikacafltat?"

R

With a yell that made the neighboriog hills echo, we clambered up over the loose stones and gravel, until, panting and tired out, we reached the flag.

Oar faces grew long and oar knees weak as we made the discovery that not the slightest indication j of a spring was discernible. The rocks were smok- j ! ing with the intense heat, and eveiything looked dry and parched.

i I'lipps felt so chagrined that he walked ofi about fifteen yards, and sitting down on a rock, let his legs swing over the side in a very disconsolate man- ner. I went on a skirmishing tour to see what I coald discover. I confined my operations within a small radius of the flag, gradually narrowing the circle till I once more stood beneath its folds — (they had lost considerable of their romance now.)

While meditating on oar hapless state, my rest- less eyes detected a small piece of foolscap paper projecting from a crevice in a rock adjacent to the flag. With a bound I cleared the intervening dis- tance, and eagerly clutched it and removed it from its sequestered position.

As I nervously unfolded it, I mentally indulged the hope that it might prove a missive of golden words to direct the traveler to a spring of crystal water, where the swooUen tongue might be cooled and the feverish brow bathed. My anticipations were sanguine, and in imagination I was already removing some large flat stone, and saw my reflec- tion in the pellucid liquid.

By Ihid time Flipps had noticed me, and aske(^ what I had found. In response I fluurisbed the now opened paper round my head in wild triumph, when he arose and came towards me.

Meantime I read the contents of the paper. Contrary to my fond imaginings, it was a blank as far as it concerned revealing the existence of a welling spring. The substance was about as fol- lows: A surveying party hod been up there the week previous, and measuring the altitude of the mountain (2390 feet) had set the result down in large figures. In connection with this was the gratuitous information that they were fools for go- ing np; and they also mode the sweeping assertion that any one else who ever committed a like act, was also a person devoid of common sense. It is trae, these statements were written with more emphasis thaa I here employ, being quaUfied with very forci- ble tbongh very inelegant adjectives, not commonly naed in the halls of the refined. I sympathize with the reader in his curiosity to know them, bnt at the aame time, my contempt for anything in the shape of profanity deters me from writing down the impi- ous words.

However, wo heartily indorsed the sentiments ambodied, barring the profanity, and we had joat energy enough left to attach our illu-.trious sigaa- turea, when I folded the epistle and replaced it in ita rendezvous.

Then stretching onnelves under a large project- ing rock, we turned our attenti<>n towards keeping cool. The ann seemed to penetrate the rocky mass above ns a* though it had been a screen of paper, and we iweltared despite onr efforts to raise a breeze by the use of our hala.

But little oonveraation waa indulged in— it re- quired too much effort. What we did say, began with a fervent wish for water, and generally andsd with the aame.

For a time we were in doubt as to what oonrsa to pnnns— whether to take Iho same route iu goinK faadt, or strike directly down the gulch. The laUer

ootirse we finally agreed upon as being the moat Ukely one whereby we might discover water.

Accordingly, abont two o'clock, as we snpposed, we started down the steep declivity. We got along very well for about a hundred yards, when the chaparral became very close. Every few minutes we found it necesaary to rest. Daring one of these stops, Flipps took a mouthful of shot, and then handed me som>- , which I chewed up, and which seemed to relieve me a great deal.

As we progressed, the brusu became alarmingly thick. After exhausting efibrts, we reached a high rock with a level surface, which commanded a view of the road yet to travel. I had just strength to crawl up, when I sank down, my eyes dancing and swimming in my head. I faintly inquired of Flipps if he had any crackers in his gauie-bag. He responded by throwing me half of a sea biscuit, which I eagerly seized and began masticating. Ko pastry ever tasted so sweet. For half an hoar at least, Flipps and I sat there beneath the hot sun, silently munching the biscuit. Being fearfully parched and dried up, we experienced great diffi- culty in obtaining the necessary saliva to enable us to swallow the hard biscuit. I felt greatly nour- ished, and was able to ask Flipps for more; but he told me he had none.

After resting for about half an hour, Flipps pro- posed a start, to vhich I reluctantly consented. Mechanically I dragged my weary limbs down the steep side of the rock, and with all the resolution I could muster, plunged into the thicket again. Oar rifles now began to get very heavy, and we experi- enced great difficulty in conveying them with us. To Flipps is dae the credit of auggeating a plan to get down steep declivities with the greatest ease, which was as follows; Leading the way, be grasp- ed his rifle by the barrel, and assuming the posi- tion generally adopted by the infantile portion of the community when practicing before venturing on the nobler art of walUing,he propelled himself through the thick chaparral. The consequences of this can readily ba imagined. Soon Flipps got tired as leader, and resigned the position in my favor.

" Flipps," said I, after we bad gone a few yards and had come to a very close thicket, " how are we to get through this? See, it's so close that even ths mosquitoes can't get in to trouble as."

" We can't do it. Pop; there's no use iu trying. We will tire ourselves out for nothing."

" Well, but what do you propose doing? We niusf get through."

" Well, let's rest awhile first — I'm played out."

We sat down, when my anxiety to get through soon brought ma to my feet again.

" Come on, Flippa; I'll show yon how to get through."

Saying which I clambered upon the thick brush, and from thence to the tops of the liigber onea, and throwing my rifle about five yards ahead, caught a projecting brauoh and swung myself to the spot where it was suspended in the branches. A loud crackling and several profound groans behind re- minded me that Flipps was following. Another heave of the rifle sent it olatlaring down into a rooky dell, and another swing sent mo following it, and before I ceaaed rolling, I had gone about twenty yard*. I felt my limbs and found that none were broken. Then cailiug my oyos up, I saw Flipps glueing down placidly at mo.

" How did you got do wu there so fMt?" he iu- qairod.

" I wouldn't eona ao fast if I had to do it again,

/

November, 1872.

Collins' American Monthly.

<H.

that's ull. But come abend, or we'll hare to sleep here nil night."

' ' No, but how did you get there ; 1 want to know so that I may get down."

'•Well, catch hold of that long limb and then give a jump aud a awing, and I gnees you'll find yourself here where I nm."

Flipps gave a longing look to the sequestered nook in which I was so unceremoniousiy ensconced, and began shuffling around to get the best place to make the descent. He caught the branch alluded to, but being some twenty or thirty pounds heavier than I, the limb broke as soon as he let his whole weight upon it.

Down, down came Flipps, making as much noise as he crashed through the brush as if a dozen bears were after him. I saw the avalanche coming and hastily gathered up my demoralized legs to get out of the way. This I had no sooner done than Flipps appeared upon the scene on all fours, having turned several aerial somersaults on the Way.

" FlipiJS, how did you come down so quick?" "The way you did, I suppose," said Flipps. '• It's a wonder I did'ut break my neck. Pop. Are you hurt?"

I assured him that I was all right, and impressed on him the necessity of losing no time. This tum- ble had the efi'ect of waking us up, and braced our nerves wonderfully.

Proceeding on our way, we encountered a thick clump of bushes, .so studded with thorns that we could not move an inch without being reminded that we were not proof against their sharp points. When we had arrived in the densest part thereof, I sat down and requested Flipps to do the same,and it did not require a second invitation to obtain his consent to my proposition. I leaned back against a tree, and Flipps sitting at my feet, leaned his head against my knees, and in less than a minute we were sound aseep.

My sleep was troubled, and I awoke with a start, glancing wildly about me. All was silent. It was awful. Not the slightest sound fell upon the ear. At my feet Flipps was sleeping as tranquilly as though at home in a feather bed. I became alarm- ed, and reaching down, I shook Flipps to awjke him. But he refused to awake. I then took the butt of my rifle and gave him a poke in the ribs. At length he awoke, but did not seem tc realize his position. I stood him on his feet, and seeing signs of his falling back into a sommolent state, I pushed him down a steep place into a water-course. This roused him, and he began to look for water, but did not find any.

Instead cif the woods getting clear, they became so dense that it was simply impossible to make any headway save by the method adopted by Flipps some time previous. Even this seemed about to prove unavailing; and despair once more seized upon Flipps.

"There's no use. Pop, we may as well give up at once. We'll never get out of this — we're too much exhausted. I can't go any further."

With that he spread himself out as much as the surroundings would allow, and seemed ready to fall asleep. I felt in the same humor; but knowing that if we once went asleep it would be long before tired nature would get sufficient rest — and knowing that we would then be even weaker than at presents I exerted myself to keep awake, and took care that Flipps should not get away into the land of forget- fulness.

With the declining power of our physical natures came a proportionate increase in our mental capaci- ties. Our minds became supernaturally active; and a thousand thoughts arrayed themselves in rapid succession before our strained vision, and every act of our lives — even the smallest — assumed magnified proportions. My state of mind was simply horrible; but Flipps's condition was really worse. Here was the difference: I fully realized our position, while an indifference seemed now to mark hi.s conduct. He would have been perfectly happy to have been permitted to lie down and go to sleep — my thoughts were too wild for that now.

An hour ago I could have slept well, but not now.

While we rested, I engaged ITlipps in conversation, for the double purpose of keepmg him awake and myself from thinking.

" It will be late befoi-e we're out of here, I'm afraid," said I, sitting beside him.

" Ah, yes, Pop, it will. A few hours more will settle us. "Then our bones will bleach here in these wilds, and our flesh will bo devoured by the wild animals. Pop, I wish I had neVer been born. ' '

" Well, if we're to die here in this mean way,al- most within hail of human habitations, I wish too that I had never been born to see such a death as this. I wish a bear or somethingof that sort would appear, so that we might die facing something."

" If we could only strike a spring, we'd be all right," said Flipps, as he took up a flat pebble aud placed it in bis mouth as though it were a sugar plum.

" Wouldn't a glass of whisky do as well?"(Flipps had frequently, in bygone days, narrated to me several of his escapades while under the influence of something stronger than water. 1

" Not for me now. Pop. I'd rather have a glass of clear sparkling water now, than all the whisky in California. If 1 get through this all right, you'll never hear of Flipps drinking intoxicating liquors again. ' '

"Flipps, give me your hand on that," cried I. "Now I know we'll get through. I feel stronger already. Come, let us take a vow. Let it be this: 'If we get out of our present difficulty, we will never use intoxicating liquors as a beverage.' Will you take this with me?"

" I will," said Flipps, solemnly.

The vow was taken, and we arose and began our toilsome journey again, feeling greatly refreshed.

We had gone but a short distance, when tin opening was observed ahead of us. We hastened, cheered at the sight.

" We must be near water — see these green things, said Flipps.

" Hark!" said I.

We listened, and the faint sound of dripping wrter fell upon our ears.

" Water! water!" we both cried in joyous tones, throwing down our rifles and rushing up the side of the rooky bill as fast as we could.

And water indeed it was — quietly trickling along its way, making the vegetation spring in verdant sweetness wherever its influence was felt.

Flipps aud I threw ourselves down by the side of the spring, and taking our tin cups, emptied cupful after cupful down our throats, which seemed to absorb the liquid like a dry sponge.

When we were satisfied and bad rested an hour, we renewed our vow, and sad]>y parted from the spring. One hour later we were seated in our little cabin, discussing the events of the day. We just arrived at camp as the twilight was disap- pearing.

Flipps, the better to immortalize the journey, composed the following stanzas, of whose merit the discriminating reader will torm his own opinion. As for me, I have mine. So has Flipps — who, i.o doubt, thinks the sublime and tender were seldom so happily blended. But — here it is:

We scaled the mountain's dizzy height,

TheophiluB and I; We thought to view a lovely sight, TheophiluB and I; Our hipefl were dashed. Wrecked, ruined, squashed; The fog lay thick As a wall of brick,

Poor Theophilus and I.

" Can this be Tamalpais' crest ?"

TheophiluB did cry; " We'er badly sold, now I'll be blest, Theophilus, you and I," Our faces grew So long, as rue- FuUy wc thought Of battles we had fought. Balked Theophilus and I.

We'd c/awled through scratching blackberry vines, Theophilus and I;

We'd lost ourselves among the pines,

Theophilus and I; Folks told U8 we Good springs would see/ So long We hunted, Like men demented,

Theophilus and I.

Through manz-TUita groves and dalei^^

Theophilus went and I; Where gloomy slMdows darkly veiled, Theophilus from I; [You see, it should have been me, Iwt you know poets ■ licensed to use bad grammar.) Mosquitoes big, imiMed many a jig. Upon our noses. Burnt red as roses.

Poor Theophilus and X,

At last deep in a shady dell,

Theophilus and \ Found a crystal, moss-rimmed well. Glad TheophiluB and I; The Bun was hot, We down did flop. Our brow we laved In tlie cooling wave, Theophilus and 1.

As we Sat theft and gently spoke,

Theoph iluB and I A buzzing murmur the stillness broke; Startling Theophilus and I; " Now all this beats- It's those mosquitcs In the manzanites; Old felB we're quits.

You, Theophilus and I.

The trees so thick, thro' they can't come,

After Theophilus and I; Stay there, you rogues, we hear you hum, Theophilus and I. It seems so long Since we started along. Late now it must be, Where's my watch? I'll see.

His trembling hmds searched everywhere.

Poor Theopolus did sigh; Nor pants, nor coat, nor vest he'd sparte. He looked as tho' he'd cry; *' My watch I've lost. So much it cost; Flipps, let's go home, I've sick become." ' (We came home. Fop and I.)

Those who excel in strength, are not most likely to show contempt. A man does not despise the weakness of a child.

What is fame? The advantage of be- ing known by people of whom you your- self know nothing, and for whom you care as little.

Genius is too often, like the bird of paradise, all wings; when it wishes to alight or settle on anything, it finds no support.

A smile is eAer the most bright and beautiful with a tear upon it. What is the dawn without the clew? The tear is rendered by the smile precious above the smile itself.

.^

I \-

144

Collins' American Monthly.

November, 1872

^

Wtltten for the KitXMictM "HatrTBhr.

By tlve River.

BT DEXTKB BAKD.

I am TEiting by tlw river. Looking out Upon the slre«m. Where Uv wsret are restlecs erer, 8Uv«red now by morning's beftm; I am mxiaing hy th« river, And my muing tttxoM a ill laili

Piaalog br nc wiog«d Tend*, Swift, bat ailent, on tbey glide, E>eb vltbtn the wat A* tbe waTcleU they dirlde: Smoke and ataam are in the MoDnc on 'gainat vlnd and <ld«.

Overhead, the haxe of morning Bpmda a charm o'er all the acenei HUls and mountains, fair adomiog, loathing all in mjstic sheen; Water-fowl are in the tales. Overhead the birds careen.

Oat upon the ailent river,

Reeded by a mental sail,

Ooe* mj spirit, (moringevsr)

Onl beyvod the rivar'a pale,

Tfaroogh tbe " Oolden Oate" I'm sailing.

Urged by memory's Stful gile.

laaleni headlands rise before me, WealcBi nunmtains pierce the base; Out upon the stormy North Sea, Fierce and wild my spirit strays; Back again acrasa the ocean. Along the OnU sweet mem*!; plsys,

Snoset sosne* srise; they vanish. Giving place to shsdes of night; Dirkneas doth the shadows banish With aaeli measare of delight; Diseonteot, irith Upsa powers. Hides the past hsnaath ito Ulght,

On tbe stream of time I'm gliding Tbrongh tbe **Oolden Gate" once more. And tbe river I'm dividing. As my spirit nears the shore; Through Carqainez to the landing At MartlBex, as before.

Kow, the ferry-boat's approaching. Coma, my steed, we mn»t away; Time opoil ns Is encroaching, Tia noon, we may no longer stay; From Benicia to Hoooma, I moat ride ere doae of day.

Written for the Avuuoui Mohthlt.

Mjj Sister.

BT PKABL nsxsa.

' OME of tbe people in oar neighborhood say thnt my siitar is an old maid, bat she is not

very old, nor docs she look old. Some say

that she is silly for not having married; others SHy llwt she woald have if she ooald hare, aud they off say that she is a good girl, and would make a good wife. Now I am giing to tell you abont my Mter, for I know that she cuald have been married long ago.

£leTen years ago, when my sister was just fifteen, •be bad a very nfee beao; be was a rich farmer's ■on, and bad reeeivad a good ednoation in addition to hi* natarally good talent*. He was of medium beigbt, and bad beantifal, large brown eyes, and •oft brown hair that waved tastefolly oronud his well developed bead; bis voice wan rich nnd luu- ncal; but. oh! bia month; be bad a baii-lip that mnob diafigored bis face; but naverthelosa, be lovad my naler and aba loved him, tfaough she ooald not make up her mind to marry a man who bad a hair-lip; an, when frum time be preaaed bis mil, aba avuiidad giirinu a diraot answer, but at kogtb , at the eloM of • hot aammar'a day, be rode

btiaklj an and aUgbted, and walked auiokly np Uie gMTM path to the porch where my sMter stood,

AJ j<»«

^

be Md edin* to inform her that ha tbooght of joining tba army, for it wa4 in those daya, when

for the first time the Union soldiers trod the plains of niinois, and the fife and dram piped and beat for volunteers. Yea, Riebnrd Triffon bad come to tell my sister that he would remain nt home and marry her if she said so; if not he intended to join the army. A conclasion had to be arrived at between that and daylight, for the company was to start for Cairo.

The next morning the conclnsion was finally arrived at by both. They thought it better to postpone the wedding for three years, as Ihcy were both qnite voung. It was harder for them to part when the iast hour arrived than tbeT had antici- pated; but at last the strokes from the nimble feet of his fast flying steed reverl>erated, awakening many a watch dog and prairie fowl from their re- pose, and an emotion in my sister's bosom never before realized.

At last the sounds died on onr ears; he was gone, but my sister sat in the recess of the window unlil the starry host had disappeared, and the sun stood in the firmameni, brighter and hotter than ever. It seemed that she still thought he would returu; so she continued waitiug until within an hour of the time for the train to leave that would bear the Western boys foom their homes for the first time. Then she spraug from the spot that had chained her for so long, aud ordered a carriage, made a hasty toilet and was ou her way to the railway station, at which she arrived just in time to see her lover's handkerchief, with many others, floated oui on the breeze, his last farewell. She returned with a sad, heavy heart.

Mouth after mouth passed, aud letter after letter to and from each, full of encouraging words. After two years had passed, she received a letter coutain- ing bis photograph, which was quite unlike the orieinal. The disfigured features had disappeared, or in other words, it had been made whole by a surgical operation, and a flue mustache concealed even the least appearance of the former imperfec- tion. Wo were all pleased with the change. My sister looked forward with anxiety to the time when her lover would return. But alas! it was than that battle after battle was being fought, and company after oompauy being demolished. In a word, the fever to conquer or die raged everywhere; and, us might be supposed, Uichord Trlffon's company was among the many that sufi'ered. Tbe newspapers were filled with lists of the dead and wounded, but Bichard's name did not appear, so we thought he must have been taken prisoner, and hoped but iu vain that he would be one that would return home on furlough; but time rolled on, and the war closed: brothers, fathers and lovers returned, but no word came from Bichard. His friends supposed ho bad perished on the field in tbe midst of the conflict.or, what was worse, in the Libby Prison.

Oh! what a time that was! It was then that joy and sorrow went band in band. Many rejoiced over the returu of loved ones, and even while our country was draped in mourning, Victory was being sounded everywhere:

■■ Victory floated on tbe air."

But alas! how dearly bought that victory; and while many rejoiced in the day, yet they were sad; and many, many were the shipwrecks of love and hope. It was then that I pitied my sister; it waa then I made myself useful; it was then f;r the first time that 1 learned that I could be a comfort to any one; but it was quite evident that something had to be done to extricate my sister's mind from the sor- row that had besiegeid it lest she might lose her reason ; tor she would sit for hours in deep solitude, not caring for food or sleep, and often I have heard her lay: " If I but knew that ho died on the field, but oh! to think that ho may have died, — starved to death in the Libby Prison is too mach."

Night after night I sat alone in my room devising plans and ways to change the drama of the day, that we might beoome new actors on life's stage; that the past might be forgotten, the present ours, tbe fatare promising.

So, aooording to my advioe, trip after trip and visit after visit were taken, and it waa thus that the closing summer and automu paaaed swiftly aad oheorfally by.

But cold winter cane and hedged us around about, and we were oompelled to bring our rambling to a olose,

I wag mneh pIeaaed,lbioklng myefforta had prored an entire aacovea, lor my eiater waa oomparativaly

nailured to cheerfulneas. Howerer,! kept my eyea on her, and it was not two weeks till I could see that the old dream of war and dusky prisons haunted her again. So I conceived another project, aud set about to carry it into effect; so, aeconlingly, I sai'down and wrote to a friend then residing in Chioago, inquiring if it were possible for tliem to prooore a place (or us in the opera as singers. In a f^w days I received an answer, stating that a lib- er»l reward was being offered for good singers; but what would onr friends say oonoernini; otrr becom- ing opera singers? This was the only thing that stang me; I knew that luy sister would not care if folks did talk, for she rather liked to create n sen- sation, besides singing wa^ her forte. When I re- vealed my plan to her she was qaite delighted. She had no doubt but we would make it a success; however, we thought we would not let our friends at home know onr intentions, bo that if we failed they would be none tbe wiser.

Well, we did go, aud we did succeed, aud in a year returned home with three thousand dollars more in our pockets than we had when we started, and with just as many friends. Yes, we returned, but to make preparations for a tour in Europe. This was the most extravagant enterprise; however, it proved the most delightful as well as beneficial. We passed three eventful years iu the Old World. Each morning dawned with new excursions in view, and each closing day found ns with new ideas awakening new aspirations.

The next scene ou the stage was, we returned to make preparations for my wedding, in which my sister joined most hartily. After the ceremony hod been gone through with, we started on another tour South; my sister accompanied us. We visiteil many of the battle fields and paused by many a soldier's grave. Ou one rude slab of oak we traced the name of Bichard; we left a wreath of flowers around it. We all shed a tear but my sister; she knelt calmly down and prayed; and while we yet lingered near the rustic tomb, a gentleman and lady approached us, and drawing near, tbe gentle- man asked if we knew the one who was buried there ; but before we had time to reply he rushed passed us, exclaiming : "Adda! Adda!" and turn- ing to look, I saw ray sister Adda had sunk to the ground quite overcome. After my sister had re- covered sufficiently, she whispered the name of Bichard, and wo at once recoguizod in the stranger her former lover.

After the panic of surprise had subsided, Bichard asked my sister if her husband was with her She informed him that she had never been married. He at first turned pale, then said that he received in sixty-three a letter and a newspaper from home, containing an account of her marriage. At this statement the truth flushed upon us. A cousin by the same name bad married at that time. Well, he continued, I thought it was yon, and was deter- mined I would bury myself from home and friends Then turning to the lady who had been a silent observer, he said: Let me introduce you, ladies and gentlemen. I was considerably taken Imck, but to my surprise, my sister, full of self-possession, stopped forward to greet her at the same time, saving:

" Very well, Biohard, it is enough for me to know that you did not die iu the Libbey Prison;" and then turned, aud was walking away, when Mrs. Triffon sprang forward and threw her arms around her, saying:

" Yon must not go away, you must come home with 08, we will try and make you happy."

Well, to make a long story short, we did go borne with Bichard and Fanny Triffon, During the evening we had the pleasure of listening to the witty and interesting conversation of Colonel C , a brother of Mrs, Triffon; but the most inttirvsUag uf all waa my sister, who joined lively in with him; her roey oheeki retarue<l, aud for the first time for years she was herself again.

Well, we remained a week, and when we started (or home the Colonel started with us. He aaid he ooald not part with A<ldn, not even for all (hu world; aud my sister said tauntingly, Uraking at Richard, that she believed that the Colouol loved her bolter than Biohard ever ditl, for ho hud parted with her quite cosily.

Well, to clip my narrative off short, we an' home •gain, and my ait.er aud the Colonel are Iu bo mar- ried to-morrow. Do yoa belieT* it7

4

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coisrTE:^rTS

The Scion of Wildmore ( (Jonfinmd)

By CoUul».

Autumn Leaves (Poetry)

By Stella.

Light and Shade,

By W. H. T.

Passing Away, (Editorial)

Wealth

To Correspondents,

The Races

By Helen Perry.

The Coral Ring

By Juali De Rcbiuitti.

Page.

145 152 152 152 152 153 153 154

Genius ...

By Charactacufl.

I Fear Not the Grave, (Poetry) -

By PaciBc.

Farmer Grey, (Poetry)

The Veiled Lady -

Men Write of Love, (Poetiy)

By Henry W. Tengliab.

The Tavern of Spessart What We Saw for Two Bits

By B. Muddled.

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Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1872 by Collins Bbothees in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

^

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SAN FRANCISCO, DECEMBER, 1872.

Vol. IIL—JYo. 10.

PEIOE 15 Ots.

(Copyright secured.)

Written for tbe American Mcnthlt.

THE SCION OF WILDMOOR

—oil—

Wm He Succeed?

BY COLLULA.

{Continued from our last.)

CHAPTER X.— (Cont'd.)

SYNOPSIS.

The hPTO, liPOuard, son of Artmiral De Vincil, having been educated for the church and feeling no special call to the holy oiflce of a minister, refused the liring of High Point. His father, incensed at his refusal, bjds hira leave AViJdninor Castle and S'-ek for himself a position in accordance with his views, and in the event of his succeeding, to return in five years to the castle aud to a place in his heart; if unsucessful, to remain away forever. LiCouard, supplied with ample means, leaves Wildmoor, and, as a student of art, remains at Rome and on the Continent for several years. ,\t Malta becomes instrumental in rescuing from abduction the Countess De Leon. Beaches London, prosecutes his artistic studit-s, is robbed of his money by one of a gang of thieves, reaches the verge of starvation, and in his extremity answers an advertisement for a tutor; obtains the situation and be- comes domesticated at Boswell Manor, aud after many mis- haps finds favor in the eyes of Lidy Clarisst De Boswell and Brooks, her maid. Connected with the fortunes of our hero and heroine, are Workus and his sister Lilly Bartield. These are professional thieves, and with Tom Staibocrd and Bet Bouncer have formed the acquaintance of Ferdinand Greu- ville Dc Cortara, whose sister Isabel having been betaayed by her lover, a Spanish cavalier, fled from her home in Cuba. Ferdinand, after s-.'eking her in vain for years, st length leavi s the sea, and in Tom Starboard finds an old shipmate. Ferdinand falls in love with I.illy Barfteld, and she with him. He maintains his integrity. Workus, Starboard and Bouncer are captured by the police, but are finally released from cuBto<ly. Workus returns to find his sister under the care of Ferdinand, but virtuous. Workus, desirous of saving his sis- ter from prospective shame, proposes to emigrate to Australiii, and to obtain the funds, plans a burglary, leaving out Lilly and Ferdirand, whom he leaves in London. Richard Bird alias the Whitechapel Bird Catcher, a retired burglar, owner of the "Stag" public house, furnishes Workus and Starboard with means to carry on the burglary. Squire Norman De BoBWcll, a choleric but high-minded man, the father of Lady C larlssa, prides himself on his ancestry, aud in tracing tbe

branches of his geueological tree, spends much of his time; the study of heraldry being, in his estimation, the chief end of man; La4y De Boswell beiuft but an echo of her liege.

^^*«/ELL was it for Brooks that her affection S^K'Sfi? t""! been placed upon a worthy object; ^^i^^)(sS) otherwise she might have wept, and have imd good cause for tears, for love like hers is like a volcanic eruption, and sweeps away all barriers and obstructions.

When she left her mistress's room she came near stumbling over John Thomas, although the hall lamps were lighted; but her heart was darkened and her head bowed down.

" Is that you, John?"

"Yes, Marj' Ann, I wanted to see you, I just wanted to say that it was all my fault."

"What?" said Brooks, sadly. "What was your fault, John?"

"You know; the other day, you know, when you came after 'Tops,' lam sorry, Mary Ann, I know it was my fault, and I want you to look over it; I can't stand it to see you go by so and not say a word."

Brooks was a tender-hearted girl, and her own grief had made her feel for others, so she held out her hand kindly to John Thomas, and said:

" Never mind, John, we'll be good friends after this."

The tone in which these words were spoken was so woe-begone and sad, and so agreed with the feelings of John, that, as he took the hand of Brooks, he bent his head over it, and a round tear- drop fell on her hand.

"Goodnight, John."

" Good night, Mary Ann; God bless you for your kindness to me this night."

Who would have thought that the dignified John Thomas had so large a heart, and capable of so much affection? Go on John, you may become a man after a sea«on, who knows? Love is a mighty reformer in some natures; some hearts contract around the object of their devotion and exclude all but the one from any participation iu the blessings that follow the footsteps of tlie King of Hearts. Love had translormed the light-hearted, merry, cheerful Brooks into a suspicious and sad-hearted woman. Love had moved John Thomas from his pedestal, and brought him down so that his knees could touch the ground. Love had brought John

Thomas and Brooks on a level, and feeling on the part of one had superinduced feeling on the part of the other. Love in this case had worked a beneficial change on the part of John T., and may, finally, on the part of Brooks, or as John called her, "Mary Ann."

Leonard entered the library next morning, hardly expecting to see Clari. The scene of the evening before had caused him to examine his heart, and, from the examination, he became more determined than ever to leave Boswell Manor.

Clari blushed as Leonard entered the library, and arose to welcome him. Untying the portfolio, Leonard at once proceeded to select the pieces pertaining to the heraldic embellishment of the researches ue had made, and soon the busy fin- gers of Clari were engaged in coloring various parts under the direct supervision of her teacher. From necessity, his head was close to her's; his breath warmed her cheek, and his hair hanging down, at times touched her face. These things were of no real moment, yet they interfered with the coloring of the embeihshments, but deepened the color on Clari's cheek, and by some means made Leonard nervous. There was not much done that morning.

"You have no engagement for this evening, Mr. Manfredi?"

"No, Miss."

' Then we will go and finish oar sketch of Silver Brook."

" Your audt is not coming to-day?"

" No, not until to-morrow."

" Then I will be at the gate as usual."

They parted to meet at the gate, and shortly after three left there, chaperoned by Buttons as on former occasions.

' ' Instead of going to Silver Brook this afternoon, we will go and explore the cave by the Hermitage; we may find something worthy of your pencil there."

" Anywhere you desire, Miss Clari," said Leon- ard, respectfully. 'MJ

"Lead on. Buttons; go down toward Silver Brook, then turn off to the Hermitage."

" Yes'm," said Buttons, and instead of following he led the way. A few minutes brought them to the end of the lane, and a few more to the cliff from whence the sketch had been made.

" Now, Buttons, lead on to the cave."

-;^/^

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Collins' .American Jlfonfkli/.

December, 1872. \>

»

BattoDs did so, aud the ronuntic spot was soon reached.

After exploring the cave, they returned to the Hermitage, a place compla'tely bidden from the gaze of any ontside of it, by hawthorn bashes and flowering shrubs.

"Now, Battens, yoa can go down to the beach, bat don't go oat of sight, and come as soou as yoa are called, hot don't come before."

"Tes'm," said Buttons, and off he went to in- dulge his taste for grotto bailding.

Onoe more alone, the pupil and her teacher sat side by side on the camp-stoolH, which formed part of thrir sketchiug outfit. Clari opeued the p<:' folio oat K'fore her and be^au a rnnuing comui tary >■" " •> ■■ ■"■ vts. Hor remarks provok. . othc- who, entering into the spirit

of til' ved her remarks hugely. From

gayety tliuy pikivkHl uu to sentiment, and in this they found a large field for thought and expression. Beatiiaent may be exprt'ssfd nitbuut the display of anjr great amonnt of erndition, but the winsume onlponring of heart to heart, presopposes a lonut of feeliug, which mny, to the man of letters or the liter^y lady, be entirety uukuuwu.

Clan's education had been sadly neglected; hav- ing been left to herself iu the selection of her read- ing, she had selected historical matter served up iu novel dress. . Komunce and poetry were hc-r clas- sic-., aud in the range of Euglisb aud Americuu literature she had cnlleil here and there fiue thoughts, bvantifal ideas and happy expressions. Ui* to the time ul her favorable consideration of Leonard, she ha>l not given any one luuii a serious uiimeol, nor would she unto him, but u some- tUiu^, she kuew not what, threw down eveiy b.ir- n r Shu had erected, until she with u sense of his 4 .rtb and honor iu her heart, gave that heart unto hiui.bui strange to say, did not know it. Clari was naturally shrewd, and not one likely to be taken Captive by the Little Archer, bat when such natures lis her's love,thfcy sariender at discretion. Leonard felt a drawing toward her that made him at times anxious to hold her iu his arms, jnst for a moment, and iDen let her go forever; but he resisted every incliuation, and thought it bnt a childish fancy; so giving free reign to thought, they wandered away from commonplace things, and enjoying that '• least of reaaon and flow of soul " so often spoken of, bat so seldom enjoyed. They drew near to each other by degrees, and the enthusiastic young man became so impassioned that he took the maiden's hand, and she did not draw it away; she could have done so if she wished, but by some means •be was interested, and so her hand remained im- prisoned in bis. Eameatly he looked into her eyes as thongb ha expected to find there something he had lo&t. Passage after passage flowed from his lips; eloquently be qaotea from Shakespeare, Pope ■•nd Byron, and his earnest words foand an echo in the heart of Clari, who bowed her head to- war,! Leonard's shoulder, and then, at length, it rested. Not one word of love on his own account, not one word, but in ^notations or in comments on the same. Clari suid not a word aside from the works tinder discnssion; she was not silent, oh! no, bat her words were not so energetic as Leonard's; they were earnest though, and fell like gentle ruin upon the flowers of Leonard's mind. Clari needed support, and the camp-stool had no back to it; tieonard sapplied the lack by placing bis arm there. She rested in comfort, and appeared to be at ease. Clan's hand was small, her fingers long and taper- ing; she did not know what to do with the hand at liberty, it rested on the hand that had her oirn imprisoned; it tonehed the lock that hong over Leonard's forehead, and by some means ttic head of Leonard came very near to Miss Clari's, tbair eyes met; bers went down beneath her lids, sod so she did not see the flash that warmed the templeaof her companion, who drew her toward him. and there, iu the shade of the hawthorn and Uackbeny, the first kiss given by Leonard onto wvmao was (dveo. Hers hod never been pressed by aoy oatsiae of her family, and ho nnto both the s/n^.Ttioo W3« ii<!w, dccidnUy so. It bad a magiRal ' r she fell at once withoat a word into Leonard's arms; if be had known II ii'r would at onoe have sprinkled water on ber (ae«, fur sbe had faiolfMl, bat Leonard knew very Utile about MMh tblogs, so he sprinkled

kisses on her lips, on her cheeks, eyebrows and forehead, and at length succeeded 'iu restoring her to her Senses.

" Where am I'l" said she, dreamily.

" Here, darling, by my side."

Clari hid hor face iu the bosom of oar hero: ber face and neck saffased with blushes.

There is a clinging something in first love, a confidence aud an abandon which is truly charm- ing. It was this that caused Clari to place her arms aroaiul Leonard's neck and draw his head down to hers. Hers was a l>ure, single-hearted love, and she had gone through each gradation ' indifference to interest, from interest to

•;iy, from sympathy to friend-'hip, and from

: hip to love; so without thinking of the

enormity of the offence, she even kissed the lips of her companion, and for n moment seemed deter- mined to press him out of breath.

This was all very irregular; she ought to have waited for at least a month, and then in the meek- est manner possible, have simply permuted ihe young man, if he was found to be a catch, to touch the ends of her fingers *i(h his lips; besides, it it so commonplace. This may bo all correct, bn^ Clari was too impulsive for u first clas.-* beroini;, besides she had not been edncatefi up to the point, so she did os she felt inclined, and consequently did not hesitiktti a moment to perform her part of the labor.

Love is a wonderful thing, and has as many phases as time; iu Clari's case it tore away the veil that iutetveued between Leonard aud herself and placed them on a level with each other. A gentle current fioat.d the youog lady on, and she showed more fef ling anH live — in fact the feelings of her soul — iu that oue act, than iu a thousand geutle words. Leonard und rstood it as an ernest of future bliss, aud returned the investment with in- terest.

We may try to philosophize over the first kiss of love, aud endeavor to analyze it, bnt in doing so, the romance aud sweetness of the same takes its flight, and the result is a dry record of an act most meaningless and insipid when the spirit which givoth It value is gone. The nectarine humidity of Clari's lips drew from the soul of our hero a long ecstatic response, aud iu the silence of that early summer afternoon they sat and loved, but not one word was spoken. The loud barking of a dog re- called them, and each outvied the other in blush- ing.

Hastily arranging her hair Clari moved her camp- stool some four feet from her companion and commenced asking questions iu regard to the for- mation of a tree, uuil upon receiving information, {>roceeded to shade said tree, which when finished ooked quite well; the only thing that militated against the eff'ect, was the placing of the tree with the branches on the ground, and the trunk in the air. This marred the sketch which had takeu so long to do. The strangest thiug of all was the perfect satisfaction evinced by the tutor and his scholar: it seemed as though the tree was indeed a triumph of art, having the roots in the earth, aud not lu the air.

The barking of the dog continued, and a voice callt4 oat:

" In that yoa. Buttons?"

That interesting young gentleman couoladed such was the case, aud at once acknowledged it was him, and immediately iuquiied:

" Well, what do you wauty you're always call- ing me."

' Come here, you young wretch, or I'll break every bone in your skiu; here have I been bawl- ing for half an hour, and uo oue to answer me, and here you are and heard every word; come over here and I'll pull your ears off.'

This did not brin^ about the desired result, lor there he stood making faces at Brooks, for she it was, and for two boars bad been seeking hcryouug mistress.

" Do yon wsntmc. Brooks?" inquired a silvery Toioe Home yards above the mound ui>on which •aid Brooks was standing.

" Yes, Miss, your aunt Emma has come down by the express and has taken ns all by surprise. I have been all over the place looking for you."

" I will be down in a moment, Brooks," and in

a few moments she stood beside the waiting girl, and turning to Leonard, remarked:

" I presume you are satisfied with the progress I have made, are you not?"

"Yes. Miss," baid our hero blushing liks a school-girl. '• Yes, I think that tree is beautiful."

I am sorry you c.innot remain and finish; the shading needs retouching."

" Some other time I may, after aunt Emma has gone; although I looked forward to her coming with much delight aud ccrtiiiuly hod great ex- pectations of enjuying myself iu her society, but somehow I have ceased to think of her. and really I care very little for the pleasure I had iu contem- plation."

At the commencement of the above, Clari spoke in a toue of voice which might have been heard down on the beach— the latter part iu a low, mus- ing tone, and so lirooka failed to catch the sound. Not so with Leonard, whose arm (drawn in that of Clari as they were moving toward the manor,) felt a geutle thrill as it instinctively drew the arm it held close to his side. As they neared the manor, the steps of the y.iuug couple became shorter, and had not Brooks brought up the rear with her hand on the collar of Battous, it is probable said couple would have halted at the end of the lane leading to the great gate, aiiil have spent some time in ex- amining a beautilul little violet that Clari was pull- ing to peices, but Brooks moveil up in good order, and so did Buttons, assisted by Brooks, who seeme<i to be ready to pounce down upon him when ever he attempted to get away.

" What did you do that for? yoa let my ears alone, I aint o touching ynn, so I aiut," said the page. "I am looking after yon, sir."

" No you aint, neither, I dont want nuyl)ody t") look after me, yon let me alone," but Brooks "held on. From some cause she seemed to need some- thing to cling to, and as Buttons' ears nrotruoed somewhat, she held on to one of them. This sur- prised Buttons, for Brooks had heretofore treated him with much kindness.

" You aiut been looking after yoni young mis- tress, that's what's the matter with you. What were yon doing down on the beach, when you ought to have been behind her chair?"

" She sent me," said Buttons, sullenly.

Brooks couldn't stand any more, so boxed the boy's ears and let him go. Buttons set up a very respectable howl, and applied his sleeve to his eyes aud nose in a very vigorous manner. This arous- ed the dreamers ahead, who mended their pace, and soon the gate swung back, and the party passed through toward the grand entrance.

Leonard went np to his room in a half dreamy state; Clari ran up stairs to her room, and before Brooks could reach the door, said door was fasten- ed, and Clari falling on her bed, hid her face in a pillow. She shed tears; but they were not of a sorrowful character; they were tears of pleasure, and as she wept, she turne<l her face to the light, revealing the deep flush made by the warm blood which had mounted up to her cheek and neck.

"I am so happy," said the yoang girl with a sigh.

All this time Brooks was knocking at the door, which Clari, at length, opened, but not before she had spent nt least two minutes at the looking-glass. Evorj' trace of weepiug was wiped away from her eyes when Brooks came in, which she did iu a very indignant manner, but made uo remark.

' You need not mind alxmt my back hair to- night. Brooks; I think it will do,"

' OhI very well, Miss, it is all the same to mo," responded Brooks, pettishly,

" Where is my aunt?"

"In the drawing-room, Miss."

" Uow long has she been here?"

"Since five o'clock. Miss."

" Is there any lady with ber?"

"Yea, Miss."

" Whom, any member of the family?"

" No. Miss,"

" Who then?"

" Some French woman I think."

"A companion?"

" I suppose so, Miss."

" Aunt will think it strange, my not going at once to see ber, but really I was so much engaged

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DECEMBER, 1872.

Collins' American Monthly.

iu drawing that I did not really think of her being here, eveu after you had informed me.''

'• No, Miss, so I thou|,'ht."

" How do yoii like my sKctcb, Brooks?"

"I don't know, I have not seen it," said that personiige iu an iudiiferent manner.

"It is in the portfolio "

Brooks proceeded to open the same, and took out the sketch.

" La! Miss CInri," said Brooks, " what a strange looking tree; why, if it aiut a-standing on it's head."

" What do you meau. Brooks?"

" Oh! nothing, only I nsver saw a tree iu all my life as growed upside down."

Clari caught it out of the hands of the waiting maid, and saw at a glanoe that she had actually drawn the trei' with the roots iu the air.

" Well," Slid Cliiri, iu a tone of great annoyance, " I really do not see how I could have done so strangely."

" No, I suppose not, Miss," said Brooks. " You never did that way before."

" Well, never mind," said Clari, trying to look cheerful. "It is done and it can't be undone; the Indian ink will not come out."

" No, Miss," said Brooks, "it wont;" but she muttered to hersalf, " something else will, I'll be bound."

Clari, dressed iu a light evening dress, entered the drawing-room, aud as she did so, a stately, though youug looking lady, advanced toward her, and iu a cordial manner kissed her on the cheek.

" My dear, dear Clarissa, I am glad to see you, why, you look charming."

Clari returned the kiss, and complimented her aunt on her appearance,

'■ Why, aunt, you look younger than I do. How is my uncle, the Count? I wish to see him, and have looked anxiously for you for a long time."

" The Count is well, and as usual, is with the Embassy; I don't have much of his society."

" Why, you used to bo always togeher."

" Yes," said the Counte.ss, carelessly. "Clari, allow me to introduce you to my conipiinion. Miss Leoni Parvaex; Leoui, this is my neice."

The young lady thus addressed, bowed with grace, aud resumed her place by the east window. ' ' She is a Spanish girl, and is, I think, the quiet- est person I ever saw."

"How long has she been with you?"

"Oh, about six months."

" She has a flue complexion," said Clari.

" Quite so," responded the Countess.

" l)ark hair and eyes, like all Spaniards."

"No," said the Countess, "somewhat lighter. Her hair is brown and her eyes dark; she sings delightfully and plays charmingly."

" She seems to be sad."

" Oh, that is her way; she is always that way; I never see any difference."

" Her form is quite fiao," said Clari.

" Yes, that has bem a subject of remark by all our acquaintances."

" I suall try to make her stay here as pleasant as possible."

• ' You will like hec I think, " remarked the Count- ess. " You have no gentlemen here, I presume?"

" Oh! yes."

" Indeed?" queried the Countess, with interest. " Who?"

" Mr. Manfredi, the Tutor."

At once the beautiful lip of the Countess curled with contempt.

" A tutor, did you say?"

"I did."

" Well, I declare, you surely have not made the acquaintance of a teacher; I cannot believe it. Why, Clari, you would certainly lose cask by eveu men- tioning such a thing anywhere else but here."

Clari colored, and quickly changed the subject. Squire B. came came in, leading his amiable lady; the conversation turned on Ihe antiquity of the Boswell family, and that gave way to a summons to dinner.

Lady Emma retired early, being somewhat fa- tigued, but in the morning appeared a fulT hour before the family were up; and having been at Boswell before, (having been born there) she di- rected her steps toward the lake, a large pond to the left of the manor. By the lake beautiful trees

had been planted and walks liid out, and to this retreat the Counte.ss went to walk as in other days, counting on solitude, she had left her maid be- hind, aud her companion had not arisen. Enter- ing a walk which led to the t-uuuuer-house, she walked leisurely along until the arbor, or summer- house, was reached; here she hailed, but did not look up for several minutes; when she did so, how- ever, she started back with a cry of recognition, for there before her stood our hero blushing like a girl. The sudden appearance to the Countess was so unexpected, that she stood there trembling and held on to the framework of the arbor for support.

"Yon are my preserver," said the Countess, much agitated, and sinking on a seat, she held her handkerchief to her eyes.

This salutation from a beautiful woman whom he did not know, surprised Leonard, aud well it uiigut; he was not certain bat that he was dream- ing. SudJeuiy it occurred to him that the fair be- ing before him was iusane or had taken him for another.

"You, doubtless, are misled by some fancied resemblance," said Leonard iu a hesitating manner. " I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance."

" This is cruel," said the lady, looking up dis- tressed.

Leonard's first impression returned.

" She is out of her mind, poor thing," thought he. " How sad."

" Don't you remember me?" said she, anxiously.

"I do not, " responded he nervously, wonder- ing iu his own mind whether she would pounce upon him at ouee, or wait awhile.

" I am the Countess Do Leon."

" Indeed," said he with seeming interest, wish- ing at the same time her keeper would come. Thinking to humor her, he said:

" De Lecm? De Leon? Let me see; no, I cannot call to mind any acquaintance of that name."

The Countess, much agitated, moved toward him; he moved back, wisliiiig that the door was behind and not belore him.

" You are my preserver," said she.

" Well, well," said our hero, soothingly. "From what were you preserved?"

" From death and ruin."

Leonard shook his head and elevated his eye- brows.

"Death and ruiu. Eh! eh! Where did it take place?"

" At Malta," said the lady.

" Malta, did you say? How long since?"

" Sixteen months ago, on the night of the ball given by the Admiral's ship to the ladies of Val- etta."

At once the manner of our hero changed, and he in a respectful and apologetic tone and manner, remarked that "the circunistauoe had faded from his mind,but that he remembered the circumstances, aud that her deliverance was the result of the en- ergetic crew, aud not anything he had done."

The evident pleasure evinced by the Countess, would have flattered the vanity of au ordinary man, and looked upon the exhibition of feeling on the part of the lady as simply au expression of feeling, natural on account of the singularity of the meeting.

" You did not recognize me?" said the lady, smiling faintly.

" 1 did not, but now I remember you as a pat- roness of art. The conversation entered into dur- ing the evening of the ball, call up your features and I now recognize you clearly. You will, I trust, pardon my apparent rudeness."

" Assuredly," remarked the Countess, smiling with pleasure beaming from her eyes.

Lady Emma led the conversation back to Malta, and of the efforts that had been made by herself and others to di.scover the whereabouts of him she styled "her preserver."

" I certainly feel flattered by your favorable no- tice," said Leonard, blushing deeply, as the warm- hearted lady poured out her thanks in chaste and elegant language, and remarked that the service was so slight and the pleasure experienced in the performance of that service so great, that the thanks should be reserved, aud so bring him into debt to her.

" Are you acquainted at Boswell?" asked the Countess.

" I am."

" You know my brother IJprman?"

"I have that pleasure."

The lady arose and accepted the offered arm of our hero, and in due time they entered the Manor house.

Leonard went on his way, leaving the Countess to her maid, who had fur an hour been standing on the terrace waiting for her mistress to appear. At breakfast, the family met as usual, with the ad- dition of Lady Emma and " Seiiora Leoni,'' as she was allied by the lady's maid.

"Where is the gentleman I saw this morning?" inquired the Countess.

" What gentleman?"

" Why, one who entered the grand hall with me an hour or two ago."

" There is no gentleman here but the tutor, Mr. Manfredi."

" What sort of a person is he?" inquired the Countess.

" Tail and noble-looking," said Clari.

"Indeed?" responded the Countess. "You seem to be interested, Clari?"

" Not by any means interested," said the young girl, "but Mr. Manfredi has been my teacher for some time past and I respect him."

"Did you know anything about him before he came here?"

" No, only that he is a gentleman. He came here recommonded. Pa can tell you all about it."

"Yes," Slid Squire Norman, " Mr. Manfredi is a gentleman, ant] I must say I never in mj' life saw a liian in whom I have such perfect confidence. He has searched the archives of the British Mu- Museum, aud, it seems to me, is as familiar with heraldry and heraldic devices, as he is in an ordi- nary book. Hi^ certainly is a gentleman."

Lady De B. agreed with the remarks made by Squire De B.,and so the matter rested.

Alter.a season Lady Emma related the attempted abduction on the night of the ball, and the part taken by oar hero in the r^'seue commuuted upon iu glowing colors. This did not please Clari, b'jt it fired up S juire Boswell, who, with his usual impetuosity, determined to do him honor.

'• Lady Emma, we will request Mr. Manfredi to dine with us to day, if it meets your approbation; I am sure Sir Keginald would have done as I am doing, were he here on earth. So it is decided Mr. Manfredi will dine with us here to-day. Lady DeB."

A nod and no more camo as an assent. Lady B. was willing, but did not like the idea.

"You must remember that Mr. Manfredi is not an ordinary man, there is a mystery about him that makes him respectable. Lady Emma vouches for his standing iu society, and you have heard of his gallantry."

Lady De B. looked up surprised, and well she migiit, for Squire De Boswell had never conde- scended before to inform her particularly about anything, aud now to offer reasons for anything, was simply ridiculous. Squire De B., like many other men when about to do something to which blame may be attached, wished to shirk the re- sponsibility, and so find an excuse for the act.

Leonard, in perfect ignorance of the honor about to be conferred upon him, became quite uneasy as the time approached for the usual morning research in the library, and for puce iu his life experienced the anxiety of expectancy. A dozen times he took out his watch and looked at the tranquil landscape engraved on its face, and thought that the watch had run down. The tick, tick, tick went on, and so did the ticking in his heart, and that morning became a dreary waste of time to him. But, at length, the anxiety ended, as to the movement of time; the heart ticking continued. Leonard be- came quite nervous, aud a choking sensation caused him to stop aud breathe. He arrived at the library door, put his hand on the knob of the door lock, then took his hand away and walked quietly up and down the hall. Clearing his throat several times, and twitching at his collar, he at length mustered up courage to turn the handle of the door, and entering the library, looked for some- thing not therein. A sigh of disappointment, and the young man sank into a ckair with a " Well, I thought so; just as I expected." Ho laid his head upon the table, and sat sadly meditating o'er the

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past, and became so absorbed iu bis mosiogs that he heard not the upening of the dour, and saw not the entering in <>f C lari, who seemed as n^rroos as I/eonanl had been. K oongh caused Leonard to look np, and as he did so, the rich yuaug blooU moanted ap into his (aoe and the tribiito blash was offered onto beant;.

" Yon are earlier than osoal, Mr. Manfredi; are yon not?"

Ijeonard stammered ont something about ••watches'" and "time," but fuiled to conTey a tan- gible idea. ' ' I was afraid yua would not be here this morning."

"Why?"

"I do not know; I thought yon would not, and perhaps I came earlier than usuul without realiz- ing it."

" This is a warm morning, is it not?"

" Quite so," said Leonard, nearly suffocated.

" We can take our books into the couK«rTHtory ; there is a centre table by the fountain."

Leonard opened the glass dour^i, and the young couple were soon busily engaged lu the study of the Tarious devices which belong to the heraldry of Cupid.

The conserratory was designed for a general green-house, and attached to it were smaller rooms differing in temperature from the main room or transept.

After a careful inTsatigation of several pages of blank paper. Clan proposed a visit to on« of the smaller rooms, and there watch the opeuiug of certain flowers, which at stated periooD opeued their petals, and after gazing on the outside world for a time, would draw themselves from observa- tion and shrink into comparative insignificance. It is thus with many in life. Men at certain pe- riods seem to be drawn from their retirement; fur n moment the; arrest the attention of the world, and as tboQK'i satislied, sink into their original nothing neaa, and cease to attract attention. The sciutilla tion of gemtu is thrown out, leaving no fire behiad. It is thns with the man who on first ucquaiutauce charms us with bis seemiug talent ; again we behold him; his lustre dimmed, aud watching him, we no- tice the petals ot his miud "((rowing smaller by degrees, and soon the thing sinks back into its original insignificance, and we at once kuow where he belongs.

Leonard and Clan might have reasoned thns, but they did not: instead of dealing in metaphysical disquislions and abstract theories, they were en- gaged in pnlling roses to |(eces, and in two min- utes had wantonly destroyed three superb George the Fourth's. A small bench »ed by tbe gardener, stood behind tb« duur, and as tha tutor aud his pnpil had been standing for some time, they con- cloded to be seated.

" Dixln't yon bear something?" said Clari, ner- Toosly.

"No. Did you?"

"I thought so."

" It is nothing, only the wind." (By the way, the wind was pauuug for breath beneath tha warm gaze of the ann.)

" Don't," said Clari. •' Yon ara so strange, and ■ome one might see yon."

Once aroused, Leonard was more daring than eaotioas, and circomstanoes were fast developing , thooKhla and passions of the existence of whicn he was ignorant. One arm was around the waist of the yoong girl, and tha other arm or hand was raised to biet abonldar.

" This is a pleasant pUce, is it not?"

" It is, but I am so afraid some ono will come, and if any one shonld come aud see you thus, I wonld be mined for arer; and I don't know how it has happened thiu."

Laoaaid slevatad his eyebrows, and in a depreoat- iag tons of Toica, said :

" I bada't thought of that. It is strange, a'n't it?"

•• Yam indMd, U is. Obi don't pUaae, I am ao alrald y<m will b« sMn."

"Ob! Mvar minA," said Laonard, " thare is no- body near na; I bava my ••(■ open and my ayas on the door."

" Ttera! Yoa Bott not 4o that again, some one ia car* to coma."

Laooard parted his ■ttlt>oh» and did that again. "Thaia, my back hair teoooing down; you ar*

J •-

so rough, I've lost my liair pins, what will Brooks say?"

"I'm snre I don't know," said nur hero, inno- oentlT, >"and were it not for yon I wonld not care.

" There, now, I know some one is coming, do be more cousiderate."

"I will," said Leonard, " but I don't see any person, neither do I henr them; nevertheless. I will go into [bo library and see; will you remain here?"

"No; let me go, I am afraid I have done wrong. You ought not to do ns you have doue. "

" I am very sorry," said Leonard, " but I could not help it; 1 will try and not do so any more."

"Don't m;ike any rash promises," said the beauty, somewhat moUittod.

" You nre nut angry with me, I hope?"

" I ought to be, for I don't know you, and hero I have doue sn wrong."

" Wherciu?" suid Leunard.

" Iu allowing you so much freedom, j never thought I could do so."

Leonard's color heightened, and he said, with warmth:

" YoQ believe me to be nn honorable man, do you not?"

" Of course, I do, or I would not be here, but let us go now; we have spent an hoar without ac- complishiug auy thing."

Leonard felt cast down ; the Miss Clari of the evening before and the Clari of the morning, seem- ed to be different beings.

" I am a fool after all," said he to himself; "and I'll getaway from here at once. This is my lot in life, my peouliar fortune, in fact, my indefeasible inheritance: I'll forget this beautiful being, and go back to my easel, my first love for thot will not spea'k harshly to me."

During this mental soliloquy, Leonard had open- ed the door into the transcept, and then into the library. Clari said nothing, but instead of wolk- ing out as Leonard expected, took a chair aud diawiug it near tbe drawing meterials, sat down, Leonard stood undecided; poverty had not broken his spirit. In fact, he huk forgotten ttie disaster that bad caused his changed fortune.

" I am not a slave," thought he.

Just then Clari looked up, aud as the large li quid eyes of the maiden smiled on him, thump went his heart, and the chain which bound him to Clari received another link.

•' Can I do auything for yon, Miss?"

" I wish to know how to put on that shade."

Leonard took the brush or pencil and prepared to touch the point designated. Clari's hand fell ou nis and his trembled, and in a moment the whole spot was in the shade, so much so that it was bidden from view.

"There! now you have spoiled it," said Ulari. " Oh! what did you do it for?"

" I co\ildn't help it; it came in the way, I will remedy it, however."

" No, never mind, thank yon, I will do it my- self."

" Are yon angry with me?"

" I don't know, yon are so awkward."

" Don't be angry, I cannot endure to see yon annoyed."

A smile lurked around the corners of Clari's month, and looking np, she said:

"I am not angry, Mr. Maufiedi."

The smile was so artless, ao sweet and so gentle, that Leonard wondered at himself for entertaining for a moment asorrowiul thought in connection with tha beantiful being before him.

" It is time for me to go now, I shall not be able to attend this evening, but to-morrow morn- ing I will be here again; good-bye."

Sne held out her hand ; Leonard took it, and at- tempted to kiss it. Hho drew it away baulily and departed. Leonard drew a long breath, it was very long, quitti nn exteusiva effort. At the end he gave Koiiii'ttiing like a groan, and remarked that the evidcnocH wore favorable for his being a fool. " Why," said ha, " am I in a trap? am I in love/ I who never felt the tender paaaion befora; there ill certainly a mistake, it cannot be me; yes, it must be, Why, I don't kuow myself, this ia a dream. What! trmlad Ihia way by a woman, I who have ahunnad the MX?. I shall suooeed in

forcing myself iuto a mad house if I stay here; I shall pack up ami go, this is no place fur me."

Buttuus opened the door and presented a small not') to Leonard; on it in fine characters, were written these words:

Mr. Uanfredl will meet with the fsmiljr ix dlnnrr, m an Invited uiivHt.

NomiAn De BoswpU. " What does thi-i moan? My impression is that I shall certainly go beside myself if I remain here, but I cannot ignore the good breeding which informs me that I must meet with courtesy this advance by Squire De 15., whose kindness I cannot repay with rndeness; so will prepare fur this entertainment; I suppose all the servants are invited. I shall in- quire of Mr. Strangeway, who, by tho way. is a good soul. I must now return to the school-room, or I shall forget my calling and imagine that I am now as in the post, a persou of some note and standing in society."

With a curl of tue lip, denoting something like bitterness of feeling, Leonard w«ut out, and after p.irtakiug of luncheon, once more repaired to tho Bshoolronm where for the present we will leave him, to iuquiru after other charauters whose career ut«ds watcUing, seeing that they are of importance tts links iu the chain of our narrative.

CHAPTER XI. This world la mule of odds aud eoda. For life la checkered at the boat, Tb« lowest knave at times ascends And munuta to fortune's hi^lieat crest; While nobler mindtt sink in despair, Oppreaaed by want or cumed by c«r«.

■ ' Hallo ! Hallo ! Wot bar yer all habout? bear ha and ere, bear ha and ere. Come out you lubbers baud bear ha and to hoverall mis ire tra])."

This outburst was from our old friend Starboard, who iu company with Workus stood ut the door of " The Uuebuck luu," iu the village of Skinville, at the very late or early hour of one o'clo<;k iu the morniug.

"Well, hi'm blest if this ere placf a'in't has dark has the black ole in Calcutta. Hallo! ship hn oy, ha oy a hoy."

" What do you want?" said a shrill voice some- whore up stairs.

" Wsnff why, bless your art, that haint no name for hit. Kre's my messmate, the chief surgeon of the Royal Rose, as nigh dead as hold Kcmpenfadt. Let bus bin, we're wet through and through, hotul the sooner you let bus bin the better. Captain t>ea- swell ere is sick, and wants to turn bin. Aiut got no room, that be blowed. " Oo to the ^)pit and Gridiron;" wot do I know about your Spit and drid- irony let hus bin or you'll ave a crowoer's bin- quest hover this yere holficer. Come, hold 'oman look halive, and beur a and; it'll be hall right in the morning."

" Well, if you won't go, I'll come down and let you in."

" All right, mum, that's tho ticket. ' 'We won't go huuie till morning, till daylight does appear,' has my old friend, 'i'iin Watkins, the Captain of the Old Hexellent used to say hafter he ad pumped up the Jamaiify from below."

This latter information was lost on the lady, owning the voice up-stairs, who desceude<l after arousing the ostler iu lb- garret.

The superintendenl of the Htaliles pnt in an ap- jienniuee, after much time had been spent iu oafl- ing him. Thtre hu stood with his large mouth open, his red hair like a chimney sweeper's mop or broom, and from habit cummcuced soralching his head, yawning fearfully at the same lime.

" I bees a bit sleepy, I bees," said ho, going up to the chaise.

" So I think you b(>eH," said Starboard, " bear a hand there my arty; we've lost the uumlier of hour mess, and are hungry hand sleepy,"

" I'll mind nm, sir: go on to the tap-room and stir up the fire; the ashes havu bevu put on, but it will burn in a luinute."

"Elomu with that box; be |Mrticular .young man; that's the ri'giihir stuff, that his, llutt's hall gold, tho regular stuff, aud no mlHlaki. That's a pras- cut from llttdmiral Shads, that ia."

" Come along, you old UriOlii," a«id Workus, "and stow your palter till to-morrow; I bciiuvu

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December, 1872.

Collins' American Monthly.

yon would stop to spin a ynrn if the world was coiuiug to an eud."

" That reminds m«," commenced Starboard.

" No it don't; coino clew np, and we will go in and get supper or breakfast, whicbeveryou please."

" Pipe to breakfast then, and send for onr al- lowance."

Into the Koebuck went the two worthies, and found the tup room fire stirred up, and a long col- umn of black smoke arising from the grate.

" This is a blue look out," said Starboard, rub- bing his hands togetuer. " We'd better splice the main brace, and we'll feel better."

Mrs. Spigot, the buxoui landlady of the estab- lishment, came in and said, blandly:

" Is there anything I can do for you?"

" Two glasses of brandy and water, hand two pipes and terbacker; make um stiff mum."

Workus seemed to be unwell, and contrary to his usual manner, quite tiicituru. Since the morn- ing, or afternoon rather, of his arrival at Bathton, several things had transpired, among others a long consultation witJi Ginger and his wife in regard to certain operations in respect to the ma,tter which called Siar and Workus trom Loudon. The sub- joined conversation will convey to the mind of the reader all points of importance connected with our story.

" Well, old man," said Mrs. Brownwoods, " this riggery won't do."

•■ WotV" said Ginger. "They're all right as to that."

" No, the big un '11 do well enough, but that little fellow must come out of them thiugs, or up will go the donkey."

" Well, have your own way; you will have it any- how."

"Thank you, Mr. Brownwoods, but I wants you to kuow that I (Jon't have my own way any more nor you do."

" Well, never mind, Polly, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

" But I say you did mean to hurt my feelings, andjit you do it again, Mr. Browuswoods, you and me will have a row, that's all."

The blood had rushed up into the face of Mrs. B. and her eyes fairly danced with excitement. This was a failing and Ginger knew it, and as he had before learned the futility of contending against the superior power of his better half, or we may as well say two-thirds, he surrendered at discretion.

" Well, let him change his toggery."

" What wiU he rig in?"

" I'll see to that; now let me tell you. You keep dark and get out, I'll get things ready, and have them off, and if anything falls short, you can prove alias; you know, yon came near going up before, and ill-tempered as you are, I don't care about losing you."

Ginger looked flattered, and pulled down his waistcoat, and would have run his fingers through his hair, but could not, the labor being too great. Smoothing down his matted locks instead, he rose up as awkwardly as a boy, and going round to Mrs. Brownwoods, said;

" Well, old woman, lert'a make it up; give us your hand."

This she did, and strange to say, that rough, red headed Ginger put an arm around his wife's neck and kissed her and she did not push him away.

There is in everj woman's heart oue corner at least which may bo touched, and until it is, there is a yearning no tongue can describe, or pen de- lineate; a wish for something, it knows not what, and it was thus with Mrs B., and no man in all England could have infused so pleasant a feeling in her heart as Ginger did, when he so much like a lover went up to his wife and kissed her. What a pity it is that men and women forget that they were lovers.

" Now, old man, listen," said Mrs. B., cheer- fully. " You go up to Guildford and stay there at Toby's till I send for you; it may be a month or two, but siay there and send "Toby down here; when you are wanted, I'll send for you. You see, it you were seen about here and anything go wrong, you might go up."

" All right, Missus, 1 see; caij't I stjy till to- morrow?"

"Yen, Gin."

This was Mrs. B.'a pet word when she felt as A) Ginger expressed it, "all right."

"Call Nance."

Nance came and clattered down stairs to inform Workus and Star that Missus wanted em up stairs. Up they weut, and were soon engaged in dis' cussing a plan of operations for the proper secur- ing of the valuables in and around the Manor house, aforementioned.

" You will have to change your toggery, Mr. Workus," said Mrs. B. "Ginger tells me that you can give physic?"

Workus blushed at this, and said:

" Not much, Mrs. B.; I learned something, but not enough to brag about."

" You can get along without poisoning people?"

" Oh! yes."

" Well, look here, I have a whole lot of Hollo- way's pills and ointment, part of a swag we couldn't gei rid of. You go over to Skiuville like a docter and begin to blow, and you can kill two birds with one stouo. You can sell the physic, and it will do as H blind."

" Well, I'm blowed," said Starboard. "That's a stunning hidear."

" Old woman, you'll do." said Ginger, shaking his head admiringly. "Mrs. B.,_you have hit the nail on the head."

" Your friend must remain as he is far as togs are concerned; he's a sailor, and you can't make anything else out of him, but take him along with you, you could not get along without him; he don't look like a prig, and so will help to keep down questions."

"You're a stunner," said Starboard. "That you are, hand excepting Mrs. Bouncer, you know my hold ooman? habout the stunniugest oue I knows on; that remminds of what hold Charley Napier sed to me."

■• Some other time, " said Workus. "We're in a hurry now."

"Hallaight," said Workus. "Any time 'U do me."

" Now, then, to business," continued the lady. " Once over at Skiuville, you can make your own calculatious; all I have to say is this; Don't come here during the daylight, and as soon as the plant is laid I'll send for Gin, and you can get the blind togs here; I have a black suit that'll just fit you; you can try it on, and then go it; the road is a plain oue; leave your horse and shay here, and take ours, we'll send for it to-morrow; yoi might want to get away in a hurry, and it wouldn't do to leave it there, it might lead to the blowing of the concern."

" That's all square, " said Workus, " so as soon as you like, I'll take the togs and we'll nammus."

Near midnight, Workus and Starboard were en route for Skiuville; dark and murky was the night, iio moon nor stars, and a tine rain, or Scotch mist fell down upon them, causing a chilly feeling to settle upon Workus, who, in a suit of black cloth, sat beside Starboard, who at once commenced to cheer him up.

" You see. Doctor Seaswell, I know a thing or two habout medicine myself; I was sick Bay man haboard the hold Belly Kuffin, and if anything turns hup, why put me in surgeon's mate. Hif a feller gits is back scratched I can dress him hin a j'ff.v-"

" I don't like this night. Star."

" Don't yer? well, ow are yer ha going to elp hit? Just take a fool's hadvice, hand takes thiugs has they comes; hi balways does, and mark my words, hit will be the best hafter hall. "I'here's a sweet little cherub sits smiling haloft, who keeps watch hover the hft of poor Jack.' That's wot my messmate Tom Dibdin sed to me wen we where lying hoff Coifu in the Druid; she was ha fine hold craft hin her day; she's up hin hordinary now, and looks feverish. Wot ha lot hon um they has a-do- iug nothing. But that's just like um. Hulks in the dock yards, hon the stocks, hand hulls that is hulls, hin in the water painted dock yard yaller. But they mu^t use hup the hapropriations, so they must. But hit is a dead pull hon the country. Haiut I glad I don't pay rates or taxes. Wot, ave you gone to sleep hand lost hall this waluable hin- formatiou? That's just like the world; talk habout nonsense, hand hall want to hear hit; talk sense, hand I'm blowed hif they'll listen to yer."

Starboard drove on, singing " Hall hin the Downs the fleet lay moored," and enjoyed it huge-

ly notwithstanding the rain, which came down without regard to time, place or persou. Star- board was a philosopher, but he was not aware of it; and if called upon, could not have defined the term. Karly in life be had been cast upon the world; had taken to stealing for a living; had been sent to sea; had been at one time captain of the foretop in a man-of-war; had been over a great part of the world; had been in storm and sunshine; was, aside from his thieving propensities, a good, tender-hearted man, and though well versed in the ways of the world, was as innocent as a child in regard to many thiugs that men of his class are supposed to be expert in. To Mrs. Bouncer he was as true as steel, and she was so to him; and though away at times for mouths, yet they remained true to each other. It is a mistake to suppose that virtue is a dead letter among the ' lower orders of society; daily developments go far in proving that virtue in high life is not esteemed at its value, and that the cloak of respectability is often thrown around a form which iu low life would be contami- nation even to come in contact with. The virtuous girl in Seven Dials commands as much or more respect than one would in St. James; and the in- fluence of such is felt more sensibly it St. Giles than in Belgraviii.

"Hallo!" said StDrboard. "Wake hup ere, rouse hout every mother's sou of yer."

" What do you want?" growled Workus, "let me alone."

" My, aint we both halone; we har gitting near some place, or I'm mistaken; I hear the cocks a crowing."

" Well, let em crow."

" Hall right, that's wat I ses, let em crow; I reckon them ere chickens know their hone busi- ness.,'

By this time they were at the "Koebuck," and would have passed it had not the sign creaked as it swung back and forth in its huge wooden frame. Starboard gave the " vieu hallo," as narrated at the beginning of this chapter. After waiting for an hour, the supper was brought in and dispatched and from the tap room the travelers went to a room known to fame as the "blue room," why, we know not, as there was nothing blue about it save its look; and some faded blue hangings about the windows. Said room was on the secoi d floor, having windows back and front, a folding door when closed formed a partition, itoid thus two rooms could be formed at pleasure; in the back part of the room a comfortable bed stood, and when the fire burnt up and threw its cheerful blaze over the furniture, the room presented a very pleasant appearance.

" Send hup the trunk, mum, as soon has you can."

" I will," said the landlady, who, bidding them "good niaht," withdrew.

" This is stunning, aint it?"

" It is," said Workus, " but let me tell you, you must not forget where you are, and be very care- ful for you may spoil all."

" Catch a weazul asleep," said Starboard, know- ingly. " Hi know wot hi 'm habout, I'll lead em a dance."

" Well, we had better go to roost."

" Hall right, I'm ready to turn hin hat any time."

This they did, after seeing the luggage dis- posed of in s corner of the room.

In the morning they arose, and about nine o'clock came down stairs. After breakfast Star- board informed the landlady that his companion was a celebrated Indian physician, and had pills and ointment that worked miracles, but that there was one disease they would not cure, and that one deafness.

"This disease," said Starboard, " my uncle the Hadmirhl ad, and so has Captain Seaswell, Vie came ere," continued Starboard, " not becanse we were poor but because we want to cure hup hall the people; no cure no pay his hour motto. Hallo!" said he, shouting in Worktis's ear, " do you hear me?"

Workus nodded affirmatively.

" Hall right, these people ere want some hof your physic."

Another nod.

" Hat twelve ho clock we will begin to sell our

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Dkckmuek, 1872

Doctor staff, hand yoa all may git ha chance to "Blow yuur uncle the adiuirul ! I'm sick of bny; we haint eot no time now; come here sir, ' him "

coioe bnp to yoar room hagaiu," and awny they I "Wot," said Starboard, "blow my huncle the went. I hndiuiral? Hef he ad yua huboiiit) ship be would

" \That did yoa mean yoa old GriiBo, by mak- i blow you; hif bv wuuldu't, never mind. But wot's

ing me oat deaf?'

*• Yoa'U see hafter a while," answered Starboard, "bat thAl reminds me hof what Commodore Hnze sed to me once when I was bin the hold Wictory; hi was ha standing hon the brass plate on the quarter deck where Nelson, one of my messmates

bin the wiud — banytbiuk?' " Yes." " Wot his it?"

"This, ' suid Workus, putting his hand on Star- board's knee; " we'll bHVe to get ready inside ut a week. The covey that's dy over at the big house fell. SesHazetome: Tom, (he allera called me ' K-ft word at Oinger's that some more are comiug Tom) — Tom, ses be, hive seen ha thing or two bin I down, nud it may be siifer to begin at ouce, for it u mjr time, bnt I know that it isn't a bad thiu^; to be ! regiment of visitors oouie down Irom Smoky, they d«Hf sometimes. What for? ses I. You'll see may sUiy all summer; that young fellow will be hafter ha while, hand hi did.', here with the tuothache, about one o'clock; duu't

" What did yoa.see?" «»id Workus, inquiringly. I let anyone come iu while he is here; he'll have to " 8«o? why I saw the ship's Corporal hat one bell herety day for a week, hand I saw water grog,

that's all. '^'

"Oh! indeed?"

" Yes, indeed, hand bnll because I told the Cap- tain's cabin boy that I heard tbe hold Commodore talk to Portsea Meg, tbe bum boat woman, that was hall."

" You'll hare to patter. Star."

" Hall right, my arty, I'll do that like winkiu."

At twelve they were on the green by the May pole, and in the midst of an admiring crowd of men, women and children; tbe celebrated Cap- tain Seaswell stood supported by the renowned Captain Forstay, whose powerful luu(»s were bioDght into requisition to expiaiu tbe whys and wherefores of their tbas assembling themselves on tbe green .

" Yoa see before yon the celebrated traveler. Captain lieaswell, who has devoted his hold life to tbe study hof Human nature. Human nature is very hard to understand: bat the Captain ere un- stands bit, and ere you har. Ere's the wonderful pilU as cured tbe Hemperor of China of the plnin- bago; ere's tbe hointment has cured the celebrated Hang Chang Wang, tbe brother hof the moon. Now's yer time, geulemen, now's yer time. These pills cures tbe Yellow Chandlers, baud ave never been known to fail; that is honly a shilling ha box. Sold hagiu hand got the money; who'll take hau- other one? That's right, sir, that'll do you good; take three before bwilime. This is doing business, as my hnncle the Hadmiral used to say when he called hap hall hands (or punishment, sold again, l^t's it, hold lady; let'er pass, yoang men; that's right, mum; these pills cure ring worm and the tape worm and all other kinds of worms. Try hit, mum; that'* hit, sold again. Come hop there yoaag 'oman, come hup, now's yer time."

Tba« Starboard continued until the package of pills and ointment bad disappeared.

"There DOW, pipe down, said he. "You've gotthelaitlotholbointmeut.band we '11 ave to make some more. This reminds me of what my ancle, tbe Hadniral laid to me when the grog got short one day. 8e« he to me: Tom, bit's hall goue baud blow me hif we won't ave to suck tbe monkey."

"lis me!" (aid an elderly lady in the crowd. Did yoar ancle have a real monkey?"

" La! bless yoar binnoccnt art, we just pat ha straw into ba cask band we got henoogb, yoo sen,"

Here Workns came, and growled out ia a warn- ing manner:

" Yoa old f::ol, yoa'll let the eat oat of the bag, in spite of all tbe nods and winks I can give you."

" Ha nod's baa good as ha wink to ha blind orse, TOO know; bit's all right, there's nobody here, hi knows em."

This private conversation lasted until tbe crowd had dispersed. Workus wore spectacles, and aeem- •d 10 be lea years older than he really was. Many I to see him, his rnle being never to call on

sham sick, and send for me. You cuu go aluug and ina few days we'll have the swag; then pull

Bi^aff an occadonal vUit to Bathton. Doctor ■"»>' •>«»•. »"'«°. ", •» *»«""< .J'";';"'»;y K'""f g«Miw?t akd C.pt«n Forsuy enjoyed the h.spi-1 !.'«'*''"'*'*?" P«nn»J "P •'< the slock uf«

B; Seaswslt taHties attract mack atlenlion

up for SmoEy. That's thu ticket

" Siguulmuu, seud up the Blue Peter, we're under sailiu;j orders; no uiore leaf; send for the fiddler, pipe hup hunker aud hawuy we go, and give bus a quid on tbe strength hof hit."

Workus Kave him money, not tobacco.

" Hall right."

A waiting-girl came aud informed Doctor Sea- swell that Bo^iWell's groom had come with the tooth- ache, and Wanted it out.

" Send im hup."

" Yua, sir," and down she went and np came the ostler at Boswell Muuor.

" Come iu," were the words, and as he opened the door the tootlmche departed, aud with a smile on his face he said:

" 1 have got all things ready, but you'll have to come over aud see for yourself."

" Don't speak so load," said Workus, who had become acquaiuted with tbe young man during one of bis visits to Ginger, at Bathton. " You are Hy, but mum's the word."

"All light," responded the ostler, a knowing looking young man of twenty-tive; the short hair and the side locks twi.sted iuto tbe shape of the letter C, gave him a low, entning look: a leer gave him a more villainous look thau be bad before.

" Come over this afternoon al>out four o'clock, and we'll see; I'll get sick up stairs iu the servant's room, and you will be ready to wait on me; briug Mr. what's-his-name with you."

" Hiu course, young man, bin course, hi'll be there; you can make your davy on that."

"That's right, old uu, don't let me pat yoar pipe out."

" Not hay bit on it; himc ball right."

No allosion was made to the toothache, but sun- dry impreisions in hard soap were handed to Work- ns, who carefully put them under lock and key. Tbe ostler left soon after this with bis jaws bound up in a red pocket handkerchief. It was not more than half a mile to the Great Gate of Boswell Manor, yet Captain Forstay ordered a gig into which he went, taking a seat beFide Doctor or Captain Seaswell, as he was variously called, who bad minciugly stepped in before him. He drove ioff in tbe direction of Boswell Manor, leaving the knot of idlers to express their opinion, each ao- cording to his idea.

" They're a rum lot,them airforeignerB,them is," said a fine specimen of tbe genius loafer; tbe nap on bis bat revealed the fact that the light of other days bad faded; from (lequent crusbings it bad a tendency to settle down on the head of tbe wearer, whose freqaent labors with a flat iron were almost in vain, for age will tell, even n|>on an aged bnt.

" Tbey are," said a man whose old brown stock held up tbe fragment of a standing collar, one side had gone down, tbe other stood up defiantly, as thoogh determined to a<Mert itself; a shirt there

Tried by a

■)remen-

wn to tbe

drab gaiters sod cracked patent leathers of the

• •Tk^'. k.iina >k. ... •• ......I..J B>..i^.»i. above uotioed; a close fitting dress coat covered

.• ha'ijt "Wr^""sw'i:p.'':fcaa,'ir TW T^rSn I "' ""^ ^fr *? '^-'''-.^^•"othy Dau^less. tbe .ua daok sw.«p«r ia tbe hold Saint Vwoent ri'l'ri «!.':?:,' 'i"".'!" T".?.."^i!!i*°J!.*-° '*E^ It!! say. T«m woa has good a sweeper

bever swept ha deck, so he wita.

" What's that to me?" said Workas, fretfully

" Ho, aattuogl ~ - miral-"

3fe

Bat bos my bonds the bad-

fingers which would insist upon gssing npnn the oatside world. We patise h"re to in()uir« into the caase, tbe effect of which we liave outwardly de- scrilM'd. Timothy Dannies* started in life as many bave

done, having high ho{>e8 aud fervent aKpimlious. , Admitted to the bur; he for a siason bid fair to sacuei'd; ns a barrister his piepdii'i|>s brought him iuto uoticc; enthusiastic and eloquent, he entered heart and soul iutu tbe case btlore him, and the ' future ot tbe young man had not a cloud, that is, i to his bouyant mind; a cloud came, but lui saw it i not. A being of beauty arose before him, nud iu the simplicity of bis heart he bowed before it. ' Brightly the eye of Maud St. James beamed upuu him; lovingly she seemed to dwell upon bis utter- ances; his eloquence brought tears from her eye-, i and increased the flow around her heart. She i loved biin aud he idolized her. The young barris- ter bad a competency but no more; she left him ; oue nigbt under the trees, where they for hours hak been building castles, airy creations, beaulitul fabrics li^ht as gossamer, yet Maud could have ; made tbem real. She had no thought of her power, no idea of her strength, aud his weakness; so she left him as she bad ofteu done, but this time she I did not return; Maud never came again. The ' youug man. sick at heart, cime and went away; again he came, a mouth afterward, Maud was on her bridal tour, and Dauuless lay at tbe threshold of eternity, and prayed for death. Slowly he re- j covered, but the fire of youth bad burnt down; the ashes reiuaine<l, they were yet warm, that was all, \ just warm. No energy, no care for honor or fame; ' he was not a druukard, yet was sober only in his | sleep. He had wandered away from his friends, away from his kindred, and at length settled in [ Skinville. How he lived no one knew; no one did i his washing, so the laundress said; the man seem- ed to care for nobody. .\ faded gilt lettered sign informed the passer-by of bis calling, but no oue employed him.

Arouud the "Roebuck " he might be found at any time during tbe time the doors were oikii. He slept iu his othce, and it he cooked anything, it must have been by a spirit lamp, for no oue had ever seen smoke issuing from bis chimney. He bought his bread ut the baker's, his milk at tbe dairy, a little butter, a few apples, and this was the sum ol his larder. He paid lor all he received, ex- cepliug his rum aud water, tbe only beverage he indulged in. This he managed to gel without pay- ing iu *he regular way. He would draw up a leose or promissory note wi'hout charge — the tacit un- derstanding beiug bis customary allowance of rum and water. Timothy said but little, yet each word had weight; so on the day when Workus and his companion started off, he said as they turned tbe corner of the lane leading to the manor:

" You will hear from those lueu again, or I am mistaken. Oh, nothing; it is no bu^<iuess of mine," suid he in answer to a qae^tion, " every man to his calling."

The shabbily-dressed flgare looked up, revealing the reverse ot what might be ex|>ected from his dress. A high forehead, an eagle eye, full lip and well-cut features; he may have been forty years old, perhsps more ; he may have been less ; a stranger would have Dotioed U* face even in a crowd.

" Don'tee like um, Meisler?" inquired a rustic.

" I do," cartly replied the lawyer. " They are men, after all, and are but carrying out a lew of their being. Men mast live, aud tbey act on this idea. We are like fishes, liviug on or off each other."

" They be'n't afraid of their money, Meistar, be they?"

"No, they spend it while they have a chance. They live in the present. But good morning."

Kaising his old clia|H'au, the lawyer retired to the tap room of the " Roebuck," where wo will leave him to follow Captain Forslay aud Doctor Seaswell.

"Look here. Star." said Seaswell, "novermind your uncle the admiral while yon are here, it may bring us into trouble, so let it lie, mum's the word, do you hear?"

" Hall right, me art^, as my hancle — "

"There you or* again," mm Seaswell, in a tone of vexation; "yoa are a Mgular old fool, aud let me tall you it won't do, so look out for squalls."

" Hall right: hovury think is all taut, lite to'g,k|. I'mast si'ut down, ami h-'very think brood for a blow. From wot quarter do you bexpect hit?"

"Doadabuud," responded ScawvU.

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"Then we'll have to bout ship, hftud go hon some hother tiick."

•• Never you mind, only mind your gab, and it will come round all ripiht. Keep your eyes open, Star, and look well to the fastenings."

" Hall right; I'll keep hay good look hout at the mast ed, see hit I don't."

" Well, here we are, so stow yonr patter and get out and riuK that bell."

Out came the porter and opened the gate.

"Drive in, gentlemen," said the gate-keeper; " keep to the ri;;ht, then to the left, then to the right, then keep on." , ,. .- .,

" All right;" and in following the directions, the visitors fcTund themselves before the grand entrance of Baswell Manor.

" Hi'm blessed hif it don't look like Penteii-

"Get out, you fool; it don't look like it any more than yon look like that shark at the ' Boe-

buck.' "

••Howhnrwea-goin' togithui? . . » „

'•We ilon't want lo ijo in until we are called; it 8 all rigst.

A notice informed them where to tie their horse. This done they wallted about the grounds, as many had done be- fore them. They were returning, when they heard behind them the»e words:

" Hil you in the groon spectaolps. Hi!

The visitors turmtii toward the voice, and saw Brooks, who, true to her nature, even in her sorrow, had started for the doctor as soon as she heard that the groom was sick, hhe had seen Doctor Seaswell before, therefore went for him at once. , . . , „ AT ,

" He is right bad o«f, sir," said she, courtesymg. "Make haste, sir; come this way, master won't mind in case of sick- ni.'ss. Besides, they are all out." ,

Brooks led the way through the sittmg-room, then into Lady De B.s bed-room

••This is the nearest way, ste."

" All right, lead on." » , * »t v «

Up a back stairway they went, and soon stood at the beil side of the ostler, whoso acquaintance we made in the morn-

" Where is your pain, my man?" said Seaswell.

" Oh myl oh myl' said the man, turning over in apparent

"^""Here," said the doctor. " take a little of this; it will ease you in a moment." ^,

" Ohl ohl" continued the patient. " Call my man.

"Heishere, sir," said Brooks.

" Bring some water in a basin. Captain, go with this lady and bring the water." ,.»,..

" Aye, aye, sir;" and without considering the impropriety of the proceeding, Brooks led the way down stairs and into the pantry, then to the wash-house, and at length led the way up stairs again. The ostler felt much relieved, and scon the doctor and his friend were driving along toward Skin- vilie The following day they went to Bathton, and toward evening paid a visit to Mrs. Brownwoods. A long consulta- tion resi:lted in the selection of two suits of rustic attire, with red wigs and boards. - .. , „

" I will send for Gin," said Mrs. Brownwoods, and wiU take these thiuKs up to a friend of mine, so that they'll be riady by the time Ciin comes down. You needn't come here again until Gin comes home. I will manage to send you word. Be tly and we'll make a good thing out of this."

"All serene, Mrs. Brownwoods. " you're a treasure; it's a pleasure to do business with you," said Workus, " Good night;" and away they went toward Skiuviile. Leaving them, we return to Leonard and his fortunes.

CHAPTER XII.

The charm of life is in the soul. And life, sans love, is dark and drear; And like a race without a goal. An aimless labor must appear.

Leonard had forgotten Lady Emma; not so with her lady- ship, who anxiously awaited until the appointed hour that she might once more converse with our hero. She did not stop to inquire why'? this she had settled to her own satisfaction many months before, and for Lady Emma to determine was to act. What her determinations were, will be developed by and by. . , ., , .

Leonard felt a spirit of bitterness hanging like a cloud over his inind. Drawn toward Clari by something he could not control, he endeavored to break the chain that bound him, that he might escape; yet, when he thought of leaving Boswell. perhaps forever, a heavy weight bore down his re. solves and he wished in his heart that he had been born a servant, that he might be near her; thim the bittCTness would spring up, and his soul would revolt at the harsh treatment he had experienced at the hands of her he loved.

" I must go away," said he to himself; " but as this Is a general gathering, I will try to pass the time as pleasantly as possible." ,,, J, u

Without giving any particular attention to his dress, he dressed with elegance and taste; and with a sigh, gave a twist to his cravat as ho sauntered out of his room, and as he did so Clari left hers. Leonard bowed stiffly, and allowed the lady to pass, escorted by Buttons, who meekly brought up the rear. Leonard went back into his room; Clari walk- ed slowly, but came to the dining-hall, at length. Leonard followed some time after, timing his step to the hour. As the gong sounded out an alarm, the young man entered the room and with freedom from restraint, took a position in accordance with the motion made by Squire Norman. All were seated as the sound of the gong ceased to vibrate on

the ear, and the Squire invoked a blessing. Observed by all, though nnawaro of It, Leonard showed good sense and gonrt breeding, and in answer to a question from Squire De Boswell, gavi- his opinion freely. Miss Clari s^iid nothing, but took in all that was passing at a glance. Lady Emma opened up a conversation in reg.^rd to country life and ended with an inquiry into art and its object and design. Here Leonard felt at home, and notwithstanding his resolu- tion not to be agreeable, became quite so, surpassing Squirs Do B.. and causing the eyes of Lady De B. to expand even more as she listened to the racy, piquant remarks of Leonard, who felt an irresistible desire io speak out as a man and no longer confine himsidf to simply answering questions. " You are an artist, I believe?" remarked Lady Emma. " Well," said Leonard, " I am a lover of art and all that is good and beautiful. The great design of life or living is a very beautiful idea, but it is not art; the skies iibovo in their grandiur and sublimity; the green earth with its spring grass and fragrant flowers, are not art, but they are beautiful, and I love them; in fact," said Leonard, warmly, " these things I love, because I can rely on them; they will not de- ceive."

"Oh!" said Lady Emma, "has Cupid sent a poisoned dart to your heart, that you speak thus? Love surely must have blinded you in this mutter? Why, there is not aught of eartli more inconstant than the face of nature; it is con- tinually changing. The skies above, as you remarked, are grand and sublime, but are they not deceitful? Can you rely uiiou them for a day, yea, even for an hour? The sky, beautiful in the morning, may be dark with storms by noon and by night all be clear again, and the stars gaze quietly down upon the earth which but a few hours before reeled benoaeh the fury of the storm. As to the great design of our lives, I must frankly acknowledge that I have no par- ticular line of action marked out, and shall continue this mental nomadic manner until I am convinced th:it I am wrong. You will not talk Methodist cant, I do hope, to! I am quite disgusted at the whole brotherhood." " Why?" said Leonard.

" By reason of their inconsistencies," answered Lady Emma. " Wherein?"

" Oh. many causes contribute "to the furtherance of the hyi)ocritical views of tlie many who use the seamless mantle of Christ to hide their deformities,"

" I must confess that you are correct here, but this will not exonerate you nor I from working out tho great design before spoken of." " How shall we go about it ?" said Lady Emma. " First let us inquire what that design is. ' What is the chief end of man ?' "

" 'The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.' "

" That is correct," returned I,eonard. " The question now arises. How shall we glorify God? There is but one ac- c -ptable way whereby we may carry out the substance of the above idea, and that is, for us to try to do the will of our master." " You are quite pious, I perceive."

" No, mtt'm, I am simply mattar-of-fact, that is all; but ignoring the future of us poor mortals, we in the jiresent may so live that the future will be but a continuation of happiness."

"Then," said Lady Emma, "you do believe in earthly happiness ? " "I do."

" You believe in enjoying the pleasures of the world? " " That depends upon what constitutes the world. Every man lives in a world of his own, and forms his idea of hap- piness in accordance with his cofiacity for enjoyment. My view Ejay not comport with yours, and though denizens of earth, we may view the idea of happiness from various standpoints."

Lady Emma simply nodded her head, and seemed to be in a study. The conversation became general, and once into deep water, it was plain that it was not the first time he had beea called upon lo entertain a company. Clari shone re- splendant in a p;-arl-colored silk, light as tissue, and very beautiful. From u feeling of pique, Leonard paid no more attention to her than courtesy demanded, and seemed to labor under a feeling of constraint while atldressing her. She seemed ill at ease. Squire B. lost the good he might have derived from the dinner on account of his meditations upon the innovation introduced by himself.

As Leonard warmed with the discussion with Lady Emma, the feelings of uneasiness wore off. and ere ho was aware, he inquired of Leonard concerning the origin of the great ordf r of Kilmiruock. Tho result of his inquiry may be inferred from the following reply.

•■ You will , no doubt, remember that the origin of all «n- cieut orders of Knighthood are hidden in obscurity, and none more so than that of Kilmarnock. I have carefully noted every item of iutirest that had any bearing on the case: have goue back into the dark ages, have, in fact, gone away into the night of centuries: have examiued the head-gear of the Grecian and Roman eras, but a profound silence, a deadly Bleep seems to rest upon all who first wore the emblem now so honored among men. Your illustrious ancestor, in speak- ing of tho great honor conferred upon him, takes it for granted that all men knew of its importance and worlh. From his we may infer that the culpable negligence of early chron- iclers have caused this break in tho interesting chain thus far developed."

" Very true," remarked Squire Boswell, much enlightened; " it will require much research and careful study to unearth the information needed, but I believe it will be done. Don't leave a stone unturned, my dear sir, for I would not let this matter remain shrouded in mystery for the world."

" During my sojourn here I shall continue this matter, and endeavor to connect the chain, and in so doing, may arrive at a deflnate and proper conclusion in regard to the origin of the order of Kilmarnock."

After much desultory conversation, Leonard withdrew, leavin" the family to themselves. Here we will leave him and return to Lil, whom we left in a very pecultar situation.

CHAPTER XIII.

■When youthful hearts, with love aglow.

Are drawn by Cupid's cords together.

In good or ill, through weal or woe.

In sunshine or in stormy weather.

They live contented and in joy,

Their bliss unniingled with alloy. Desperation gives strength: It was so with Lil, for when she saw her persecutor standing on tho landing above, she dragged the umbrella stand close to the door, and stepping on a jirotniding piece of wood, gave a dash with the hilt of the poniard against the glass. The frame which held the glass was held l:i its place by several small brads Mihich gave way as Lil beat on it, and the frame and glass fell down with a crash, leaving a lozenge-shaped hole large enough for two to crawl throuih. It was no time to consider appearances, so as soon the libertine reached the door, Lil's shoes were disappearing through the opening; she fell on her hands, and before tho stand or rack could be removed, Lil had risen to her feet, and by the time the door was opened, she was in Panton Street and fast making her way toward Lei- cester Square, across which she went at a short run; her early exp.rience had taught her to beware of the police. In- stead of going along Crunhourn street, she turned into Lisle street, then into Newport Market, and once on Seven Dials,

During her flight she held the stiletto in her hand. The blood was yet warm upon it. Her bonnet was gone; her shawl remained. Drawing it over her head, she passed along close to the houses until she entered Holbom. A psi-sing cab facilitated her flight, for she ran behind it until she reached Leather Lane. Down it she went, and in due time rea<;hed Pantile Alley. ,.-.,„ ,,

It was about four o'clock when Lil reached the alley, and day was breaking. She was somewhat surprised to see Sal on the door-step,

., luiint avf von a-rioinc mere t '

have you been?

' Why, Sally, what are yott a-doing there ? ' •Oh, nothing!" said uie girl. "Where

Where's your young man 1 This is a pretty time of night to coinehome. You'll gii it. Myl what nave you been a-doiug? there is blood on your hand! Been a-doing for some one— not your young man, is it?"

Lil said nothing until Ferd was mentioned, then said she hurriedly:

"Aint he up stairs?" , ,^ ..

"Why bless vour heart, no! He hasn't been here all- night Aint he bin with yott? He went out with you."

" Let me go, Sal, ho must be up stairs. You know he is quick, and perhaps he got in when you were asleep or some- think."

" No he didn't." . ,, . ,

" Let me go, Sal, I must find him; it's no use talking. I

must go.'' . . ,.,, T

"Hold hard," said Sal. "You go up stairs while I run round to Malachi's; he's up, I'U be bound. You stay here or go up stairs."

" Let me go with you, that's a dear. , . ,^ „

" Well, come on," said Sal, and they went out of the alley and soon reached the old Jew's house. It was daylight and tho early public houses were opening their doors.

" Let us drop in and get half quartern," said Sal.

In they went and divided the half gill between them.

Malachi's shop was still closed; the two girls sat on the steps until they heard the locks, bolts and bars within. As the door opened, they stood up and saluted the old Jew with a " good-morning," as he opened the door.

"Veil, my children, vat can old Malachl do for you this morning, so early?" . i ,,, jt

•• George told mo to go to yon when I was in trouble, and I am here."

" Veil, my schild, vat do yer want?

" I want Ferd."

" Veil, has he run away?"

" No. I think he is picked up."

"Vat for'C

" Nothing." .

Here I.il gave the Jew a few particulars.

■• Come in, children, come in, this is too much exposed,

They (iid so, and after Lil's narration, waited until the Jew had walked up and down the shop about twenty times. Turning short toward Lil, he said : __

" Go home, and stay there till I oome.

"I will go now."

" You were in Suffolk Street, you say?

Lil nodded.

" Oon" to Vine Street ?"

"No. •

'•Scotland Yard?"

" Yes "

•• Veil' I'll go to both places; go along, children, you ar-- in my way; when old Malachl thinks, he vants to be alone,'

Th.' v.uug girls left and soon after the old clo man lelt, too, after giving customary directions to his Bon, a second .Maiachi both in name and appearance.

It WI.B barely six o'clock when the old man entered the police office; the night in»pector was still there. From him he learned that Ihc churge against ths young man was lor an assault with ftloniousiutentions, and learmd that the Count De L( on, of the Spiinish Embassy, was the plaintiff.

" Veu vill he be examined?" inquired Malachl.

" At the regular hour, you know," was the answer.

" At Bow Street?"

"No; Marlbourough," said the i flicer.

" All right,"

Maiachi wasted no words; it would have been useless to have done so. Going to a neighboring public house he paid for a breakfast, and ordered it to be sent round to the sta- tion to a boy named Ferd. The onmibusses were ru!'"'''6. for it was seven by the horse guard's clock. The old niau

ook a cab and got out in the Westminster Road ,walk.:d down Ihe New Cut, and passing the Victorice Theatre turned mto a bve street, and going up to a house, rang the bell. A gen- teef ^rvant girl answered the ring and blandly inquired the

/

■^

XY 1S2

Collins' American Monthly.

old man's basioeas, at Uie aaitw time informing liim that thcj had Doibiitg for bim,

" I want your master; is he at home ? "

■■ What do you want f He hasn't any old clothes,"

"SeTermind. Tell him that a Hebrew friend wishes to ■ee him."

"Oh. an ri^l," nld the giA, " jm can wait ontalde. We're vp to a thing or two. I can tell you."

Bba opened the door and said respectmUy:

** Maffter says you aro to come up. I'll show you."

Aad she pointed out the way to the room where hor master was seated at a ubie looking orer the " Morning Advertiser," yet damp ttam tte preaa.

" Take a chair, Malacht. What 's up r "

■'Tell, I dont know: but I rant yon to be at Marlborough street by ten o'clock this rooming. You may not be vanted; yoa may. and so It ia best to be there."

** Wbo'a up— any of the nine7 No; who then?"

"Wy, yon see. I can't tell yon. All I know is this: some swell wanted to come it orcr a young friend of mine who is 'er my care, and another young friend gave him a punch knocked him d<>«-n. Then the nwell had my young nd nabbed and put out of tbc way wbili- he kidnapped the girl. She's out. and if yon think the bloak will come on, 111 bring her down."

" You had bett< r bring her at ten, for fear of an accident."

"Veil, that's ill Oood-byc, Mr. Oreenbaize, good-bye;" and out be shuffled.

Tbe attorney seemed to understand the matter, and in due time folded up his paper, called for his hat and rest, sod aal> lied fbrtfa; walked along the Waterloo Bridge Ruad. crossed the brtdtK. and took a fiayawater bus in the Strand, and reached the court-room in time.

The Tin came up and dep<Mited the prisoner, who was, sfter waiting a long time, discharged from custody, there being no pnaccntor. As Ferd left the police court, Mr. Oreeabaize said unto him quietly:

** Ton will and friends at the public house in Msddox street."

•■ Where la that?" said Ferd.

** Come along with me; I will show yon;*' which be did,and directing Ferd to the public house, walked down Regent street on hla way home to cttend to business elsewhere.

Fefd foaad Malachi and LU in the public beuse, sud the meeting between the lovers wss quite affecting, so much so that Malachi turned away in disgust, repeating to himself: ** Poor foolsl poor foolsl '

" Drink up the beer," said he, "lam off." And he went hla way, meditating upon the absurdities of youth .

(To he Voniinued.)

Written for the AsCEBiCAK Momthlt.

Autumn Leaves.

at srsixA.

The autumn leaves are brown and sear. The soughing winds make luture drear; The clouds above in gloom appear And earth seems sorrow clad.

The sun bss hid its smiling fsce. The tree* have lo«t their verdant grace, The present doth the past erase. And mind and heart seem sad.

TlM SBBial son will shine again, Tb* elonda will weep o'er all the plain. The earth will drink the verdant rain, And gladness clothe the ground.

The mind and heart again will rise. The clouds no longer All the skies; The soul will And in peace a prixe. And light shine all aroand.

Written for the Amuiicaji MomraLT.

Light and Hhade.

Vt W. B. T.

t4gbt and shade are everywhere.

Id relt-' -tM^/t 1',%- ..f wrp*v, In th' ■uitiea rare.

In ih' ^vn of snow;

Beaat) _ ; ><'anty be,

Utbe llgM from shade were ftee.

Wb»n <h- f- •- •'■■ <«wn.

Ami II I,

Th," I , ry Bhorn

If Ihr ■ _ ..„.l hide;

A sap«Tn<'isl jor 'Uroald be.

If tbe light rrma shad* wars free.

Ho, In life we w«l iha akada, Kven s« we nasd Mm light. OnrUahlla)

1^

A p»lssl«sa inf t

It II wars ttam ibuikiw fraa.

l4n« la dtsvtalrrd, lasd oa to dellgbll our light woaldka,

COLLINS' AMERICAN MONTHLY

IS PUBUSHED

On the first of every Month,

COLLINS BROTHERS. Editors and Proprietors. OBO. w. ooisunm, #as. coixuvh, jso. c. coz.xjxt.

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Delivered in the city by carriers at 15 cents pfr month; or it may be obtained at the bookstores, or at the office of publication. Price 15 ceuta.

December, 1872. \N

preservatiou of our Uvea up to the pres- ent.

It has its green spot, however. Christ- mas, with its jovous associations, comes with smiling face to bid us be cheerful, and Hope points us to the great future beyond the beat of time, where, after a few more of these epochs, at best, we must all meet our destiny. As Decem- ber melts gradually by the progress of the fleeting hours, so, too, are our lives

?a8sing away, soon to enter upon a New ear, the secrets of which are wisely allowed to remain undeveloped until we are ushered into its presence.

Written for the Angairsn UoiraBi.T.

Wealth.

Box 704.

All commnnications mast 1 0 a Idressed Coluns' Amebican Monthly, Box 704, Sa i Francisco, Cal.

Subscribers changing their place of residence should at once acquaint ns of the fact, stating plainly the new address as also the former one.

Money can be forwarded by expn s 1, prepaid.

Persons whoso term of subscription has expired will be duly notified thereof by a printed circular attached to the first page of magazine. Subscrip- tions mnst be renewed within the following thirty days, or the paper will be stopped.

Reneiv !

And get a splendid Steel Engraving ! !

SAN FRANCISCO, DECEMBER, 1872.

PASSIJiG AWAY.

^ECEMBER. with its wintry blasts, ^mi has again been reached. Again ^2^ have wo attained this mile-stone in our progress along the journey of life. To our mind, this month is, of all others, the most bloak and chilling: a funeral knell seems to pervade it, toll- ing out the death of the old year: while with attenuated finger it points into the mystic future.

Nevertheless, it is a profitable scttsou; for here, standing on the dividing line of December, we can look back ou our linn of march, anil as we behold the many who have fallen by the unrelent- ing fmnd of death, mentally resolve that our future shall be more useful, while we at the sumo time feel grateful for the

BI BKLEN PKBBX.

E may differ from those who allow that AW// money is the root of all evil; it is bat -^1^ an old maxim the present age bos nvi- deutly outlived, but were it even so, there are few of as who do not covet the bane notwithstanding its evil consequences; and were it a thousand times oar eril genius, it is, nevertheless, our groat ruling power; such it has bu^ from time imme- morial, and I suppose it ever will ba, on to the end of time.

Yes, wealth is a mighty king, under whose ma- jestic reign conflicting emotions ever dwill; and from whoso luminous rays good and great influ- ences, as well as evil ones, are consequent. Ex- perience teaches us that whilst, on tbe one hand, there is so much issuing from the mine of wealth which should be shunned and cundemued, there is, also, much on the other hand to be desired. It is not the influence of glittering gold alone that leads to. temptation, folly and dixgraoe. Our ac- tions are not always governed by circuiustances; if the heart is wickedly inclined, the mere difference in position will not change it. If evil consequenoea follow iu the wake of the rich man, thoy attend ai well the humbler haunts; but after all, a peaceful conscience is our best inhcrituQoe, and may, if de- sired, always l>e found.

Embluoned In {Mlatial h*IU,

Or neetled In the cottage wtlU,

It Is e ftlft of heaven bom.

Though ofliimee epumed with bitter Kom.

The pcncefnl conscience beara a oontented mind, and where content is. there are no idle regrets or wicked repinings; tbe laws and rights of diTine. providence are not questioned. The rising ques- tion with some of our fellow creatures ia, ifproa- perity is one of heaven's direct powers, why is it so uuequally distributed? why aorae of God's crrntores undeservingly nch and proaperons, while otheri are luiiu-rably poor and utterly wretched. Olhem miy auBwer that Ood givea to oaohofm wbnt is best f'lr us, and leaves it for carh one to do bis duty unto his fellow man; a duty which, if rightly perfoiininl, would thereby prove tbe whole oonrae of wealth and |H>w«r to be a bleasiuB, in- KlcMl, thereof, an added link to the cbain of an evil power.

■■A.

\ V r

December, 1872.

Collins' American Monthly.

To Correspondents.

Theophilcs Pop, Jb. — Came too late for this issue. Sorry, but it can't be helped. January number.

Maogie. — Your poetry would be suitable for our former pnblication— The Pacific Yobth — but is hardly suitable for the American Monthly.

Frank. — It is no child's play to "run "an in- stitution of the kind, be it never so small. Try it and you will find how true are our words.

F. H.— Too "soit," by far, for us.

SuBscniBEE. — It is not our fault that you have not received your paper. It is mailed regularly to your address eTery month.

C. H.L., Oregon. — Keceived money. We will send you the Amkkicak Monthly for one year, be- ginning with December.

J. B. A., Grafton. — We would gladly supply back numbers of the Youth referred to, but are completely out.

Mant SuBscEtBEBS, Point Arena. — Here is the solution of your question, which, you say, has been the subject of "endless controversy" for some time; Question. — " Eequired the number of feet (Board Measure), in a timber 18 inches square at the larger end, and 12 inches square at the smaller, the timber being 14 feet long and taper- ing equally on each side from the larger to the smaller end."

The figure is a trapezoid. The contents of a trapezoid is found by the following prismoidal formula:

To the area of the two ends add 4 times the area of the middle section, multiply the sum by the length, and 1-6 the product will be the true con- tent.

The end areas are 1.5 ft. X 1.5 ft. = 2.25

" " 1.0 ft. X 1.0 ft. = 1.00

4 times middle See. 2.5 ft. X 2.5 ft. = 6.25

Written for the Amebican Monthly,

The Races.

BY JUAN DE SCHMim.

9.50

9.50X14=133.

133

=contents in cubic feet.

6

133

-Xl2==266= contents Board Measure.

2nd Solution. — Since the timber, in 14 feet, tapers 6 inches, it will taper 12 inches, or to a point in 28 feet. Theretore the length of the i shrewdly suspect that he had been so for" some

whole is 14 ft. plus 28 ft. or 42 feet.

Eule; Multiply the length by the square of the base and take one-third of the product.

42 1.5 ft. X 1.5 ft. X — ft.=31.50 3

SjSfcEELING in a pensive mood, I moodily took ^•■Ki up my pen, and after several false starts ^^S and ineffectual scorings, brought it pen- sively down to the mark. I had been waiting for an idea. By the way, many wait all their lives for something of the kind, but alas, in vain. But why moralize? as the poet aays, " 'Tis hard to express blood from a cobble-stone." Thoughts came in quick succession, and as quickly faded away.

Barnabas B. Jones sat opposite to me; there was nothing peculiar in this, saving the position of his head and heels, the latter being on the mantel- piece, and the former bent over the back of a chair. Barnabas B. had his new white stove-pipe hat on the back of his head; this revealed his beautifully sloping forehead to advantage; his classic. Mace-like features being in calm repose. An elegant bamboo cane was in his right hand, a fore paw of a horse surmounted said cane, and the hoof was between the lips of my negli</e friend .

I had camlv surveyed the close-fitting habili- ments of my companion, had sought ia vain to find out how he had gotten into them, but had given up all thought of a satisfactory solution to this Sphneiderical enigma. From the profoundity of thought I arose, and became a stove-pipe hat in- spector; then gazing upon the large and beautifully chiseled proboscis of my Bohemian Pythias, a Phoenix ascended from the ashes of my meditation. With my wonted (not wanted) fire I pitched in and raked away the ashes, so that the aforesaid Phoenix might rise, and it did, and before you could say "Jack Kobiuson," was clear out of sight and niina. Getting upon a stool to look out of the window, I felt elevated, and with supreme emtempt, looked down on the human gnats that were thronging the sidewalk. Filled with the importance of the occasion, I turned to address a few remarks to Barnabas B. A change had come over the ap- pearance of my friend; the spirit of lassitude had passed away, and Barnabas was " himself again

1.

X

1.

28

X — 3

9.33i

22.16f solid ft. Multiply 22.161X12=266 ft. Board Meas-

THE MAN WHO CHEATS THE PRINTER.

The man who cheats the printer

Out of a single cent, WiU never reach the heavenly land

Where old Elijah went.

He will not gain admisBion there,

By devils he'll be driven, And made to loaf his time away

Outside the walls of Heaven.

Witnout a man to greet him,

Without a pleasant grin; The happiness that he will reap

Will be almighty thin.

He'U have to eat the thistle

Of sorrow and regret; He'll have to buck around right smart With cussedness, " you bet 1"

time; a magnificent pair of dollar eye-glasses were upon his nose, and a highly-flavored Chinese Hav- ana between his lips. He struck an attitude, and in so doing, swept a beautiful Bohemian cut-glass ink-stand off the mantel-piece.

"There!" I exclaimed, "you have broken an- other piece out of that tumbler, and spilt the ink on the Brussels."

" Brussels be hanged, that piece is hemp.',

" Ah!" retureed I, with emphasis. "Save the hemp, you may need it."

"I am off for the races," returned Barnabas.

I am not a spiritualist, but Jones is, naturally; and became at once the medium of transmitting an idea to my mind. I stood entranced, while Jones went down stairs; then, seated before the re- mains of the ink in the aforementioned tumbler, proceeded to embody my ideas of

THE EACE8.

for the sake of enjoying the sovereign prerogative of opposition. But to return to the Grand Stand of my thoughts — you, my readers, being the Judges. Now, then, without further fretting, we will start.

The races are as " old as the hills," in faot.older. Rowland Hill is well known to fame, and so is Tower Hill, Ludgate Hill, and others too numerous to mention. The races date back to Adam, whose race was somewhat up hill and down; he was dis- tanced, and not ifllowed to run; was crowded off the track, and this killed him as dead as a herring. Speaking of herrings, reminds me of the race of fishes. The ancient dwelling place of Jonah was the most remarkable of olden time: of moderns, the Washington Leviathan is perhaps the most promi- nent. This is a queer fish, and though somewhat petrified, is in a remarkable state of preservation. It is preserved in a cabinet, and among the na- tional fossils, attracts but little attention. I do net like to carp at the fish which may be perched above the minnows, but a fish out of water is out of his element, and one of the elements of success is fit- ness. The codfish of Washington have become proverbial for their aristocratic pretensions. Some say that such fish are most fowl; owing to their migratory propensities, they may be termed flying- fish, and therefore, fowl. Many sea-lions are tnere; Lord Lyons not being classed with that body or anybody else; many see lions in Washington and elsewhere, who are nothing more than asses in disguise. This can be determined by their bray; I allude to the objects, not the observers.

We turn once more to the race-course of our subject, and once on the track, will make good time. The Caucasian Eace, between the Mongo- lian and Ethiopian, caused much merriment among the Malays and North American Indians, whose race seems to be nearly run over by the immense emigration to the reservations of the Eed Men. The amicable relations existing between Lo ! the poor Indian and his pale face brother, are held up as a warning to Japanese, Chinese, Polynesian, African and Asiatic races. The scalping-knife of civilization is emblematic of the peace and unity of our red-handed relations. The human races of Epson, Ascost, Doncastre and Jerome Park, |are run upon the fashion-course, and of course are fashionable. The origin of man is no longer a matter of doubt; for some of the most popular men of the present day are known as horsemen. This must be conceded, even by the most illiterate. Value is an indication of worth, and judging men and horses by this rule, we at once conclude that horses are worth more than men.

A nod of recognition from the reigning belle of the Alameda track, would cause a man to be envied by his fellows; and if a fast maid should say neigh to him, he would be overpowered by the conde- scension.

This passion of bipeds for quadrupeds is alarm- ingly on the increase, and shows conclusively, according to Darwin, that men are returning to their primitive state. The Occidental races are not superior to the Eastern track layers, notwith- standing the assertions of men and reporters to the

_ contrary. The physical antagonism of the races is I am opposed to ignorance. Enjoying as I do | most admirably set forth in pugilistic encounters the free air of .America, I feel it incumbent upon of the track and ring; the sidewalk exhibitions are me to be opposed to something. The sacred rights | no mean evidences of the same idea! The Boat of opposition I respect, and therefore, oppose igno- 1 races of England and America are amalgamating, ranee. Some people oppose knowledge, simply and in conequence an innumerable progeny of

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^

imaU fry are now dotting the waters of both cooa- tries. The Oxfords, Atlantas and Amhersta are fine specimens of the boat races; steamboat races are not dependent on muscle for saocess; pitch, tar, rosin and explosions tailing the place of com- mon sense, and all that sort of thing.

To euumerate the nnmeroos races of tha earth wonld not profit the reader, nor would it add mach to the archives of science. The foot and chariot races of the Olympic games arc well known to the racing generation. The Barclay^ and Westons of the past have made a record that fades into in- significance beside the recent foot, horse and ele- phant race after LiTingstonc, by the indefatig- able Stanley, whose Heraldic researches have elevated the reportorial corps to a level with the royal families of the Zambesi and its tribataries — a likeness of one of their royal highnesses set in elephant's teeth, being worn aroand the intrepid reporter's neck. (Under his coat, the momento be- ing too sacred for ordinary eyes.)

We might call attention to mill races, bnt con- sider it snperflnous. The Salter mill race will, however, retain its place in the memory of every gold-hnnting Califomian , for in it the golden God was discovered. This mill race has distanced all others, in fact has ruled them off the track. The race after diamond peddlers will be an exciting one, should any cross the track of the victimized. The tnbes of Arizona deserve brief notice, very brief indeed, that they may leave for the happy diamond banting grounds of the Apache diggers. The Chinese race may be seen to perfection about meal times; Baboon races we leave, our knowl- edge of such not being worth mentioning. I close this interesting article because my race on this course is run out, and as I am wide awake, will claim the battle, bnt not on technical grounds.

The Coral Ring.

" There is a time of life in which young girls are so thoroughly selfish as from fifteen to twenty," said Edward Ashton, deliberately, as he laid down a book he had been reading, and leaned over the centre table.

" You insulting fellow! " replied a tall, brilliant- looking creature, who was loouging on an ottoman hard by, over one of Dickens's last works.

" Truth, coz, for all that, " said the gentleman, with the air of one who mean* to provoke a discus- sion.

" Kow, Edward, this is just one of your whole- sale declarations — for nothing only to get me into a dispute with you, yon know," replied the lady. "On your oooacience, now, (if yon have one,) is it not so?"

"My conscience feels quite easy, cousin, in sub- scribing to that sentiment, as my confession of faith," replied tha geotlaoian with provoking sang fnM.

" Pshaw I it's one of yotu fusty, eld-bachelor no- tioM. 8«e what oomw now, of your living to your tioM of Ufa without • wife— di«re«p«ct for the sex, •ad sU Uutt. Beally, oonain, yotir symptoms are gtttiag alarming."

'* Hmj, DOW, ooniin Florence, "said Edward, "you are a gid of moderately good sense, with all your wwenee. Kow, don't yon (I know yon do) think JnetM too?" "Think Jnat lo tool Do yon hew the orealnret "

said Florence. "No sir! yon can speak for your- self in this matter; but I beg leave to enter my pro- test when you speak for me too."

"Well, now, where is there, coz, among all our circle, a yonng girl that has any sort of purpose or object in life, to speak of, except to make herself as interesting and agreeable as possible — to ke ad. mired, and to paas her time in as amusing a way as she can? Where will you find one, between fif- teen and twenty, that has any serious regard for the improvement and best welfare of those with whom she is connected at all, or that modifies her condact iin the least, with reference to it? Now, ooosin, in very serious earnest, yoa have about as much real character, as much earnestness and depth of feeling, and as much good sense, when one can get at it, as any yonng lady of them all ; and yet, on your conscience, can you say that you live with any sort of reference to anybody's good — or anything but your own amusement and gratifi- cation?"

" What a shocking adjuration! " replied the lady; "prefaced, too, by a three-story compliment! Well, being so adjured, I must think to the best of my ability. And now, seriously and soberly, I don't see as I am selfish. I do all that I have any occasion to do, for anybody. You know that we have servants to do everything that is necessary about the house, bo th<»t there is no occasion for my making any display of housewifely excellence; and I wait on mamma, if she has a headache, and hand papa his slippers and newspaper, and find uncle John's spectacles for him twenty times a day, (no small matter that) nnd then "

"But after all, what is the object and purpose of your life?"

' 'Why— I haven't any. I don't see how I can have any — that is, as I am made. Now, you know, I've none of the fussing, baby-tending, herb-tea- making recommendations of aunt Sally, and di- vers others of the class commonly called useful. Indeed, to tell the truth, I think useful persons commonly rather fussy and stupid. They are just like the boneset, and hoarhound, and catnip, very necessary to be raised in a garden, but not in the least ornamental."

" And you charming young ladies, who philoso> phize in kid slippers and French dresses, are tulips and roses, very charming, and delightful, and sweet, but fit for nothing on earth bat parlor ornaments."

" Well, parlor ornaments are good, in their way," said the young lady, coloring, and looking a little vexed.

"So you give up the point, then," said the gen- tleman, "that you girls are good for — ^just to amnse yourselves, amnse others, and be agreeable."

" Well, and if we behave well to our parents, and are amiable in the family — I don't know — and yet," said Florence, sighing, " I have often had a sort of vagne ides of something higher than we might be- come; yet, really, what more than this is expected of us? what else can we do?"

'* I used to read, in oM-fiaahioned novels, about ladiee vialtlng \3ait link and the poor," replied Ed- ward. "Yon remember Ocslebe in Seanih of a Wife?"

" Yes, truly; that is to say, I remember the story part of it, and the love scones; but as for all these everlaating conversations of Dr. Barlow, Mr. Stan- ley, and nobody know* who else, I skipped those, of oonree. Bnt really, this visiting and tending I his amiable and goneiona feelings.

the poor, and all that, seems very well in a story, where the lady goes into a piotum-que cottage, half overgrown with honeysuckle, and finds an emaciated, bnt still beautifal, woman propped up by pillows. But come to the downright matter of fact of poking about in all these vile, dirty alleys, and entering little dark rooms, amid troops of grinning children, and smelling codfish and oniona and nobody knows what — dear me! my benevo- lence always evaporates before I get through. I'd rather pay anybody five dollars a day to do it for me than to do it myself. The fact is, that I have neither fancy nor nerve for this kind of thing."

■* Well, urantiug, then, that you can do nothing for your foUow-creatures, unless yon are to do it in the most genteel, comfortable, and pietare.sqne manner possible, is there not a great field for a woman like you, Florence, in your influence over your associates? With your talents for conversa- tion, your tact and self-possession, aad lady-like gift of saying anything you choose, are yoa not responsible, in some wise, for the influence yon exert over those by whom you are surrounded."

" I never thought of it," replied Florenec.

"Now, you remember the remarks that Mr. Fortesque made, the other evening, on the religions services at church?"

" Yes, I do; and thought then be was too bad."

" And 1 do not suppose there was one of you la- dies in the room that did not think so too; but yet the matter was all passed over with smites, and with not a single insinuation that he had said any- thing unplcasing or disagreeable."

" Well, what could we do? One does not want to be rude, you know."

"Do! Could >ou not, Florence, — you who have always taken the lead in society, and who have been noted for always being able to say and do as you please, — could you not have shown him that those renuirks were nnpleasing to you, us decidedly as you certainly would have dune if they had related to the character of your father and brother? To my mind, a woman of true moral feeling should feci herself as much insulted when her religion is tieat«.'d with contempt, as if the contempt were shown to herself. Do you not know the power which b given to you women to awe and restrain us in your presence, and to guard the sacreduess of things which you treat as holy? Believe me, Flor- ence, that Fortesque, infidel as he is, wonld rever- ence a woman with whom he dared not trifle un sacred subjects."

l^lorenco rose from her seat with heightened color, her dark eyes brightening through tears.

'* I am snre what you say is just, coiuiu, aud yet I have never thought of it before. I will — I am determined to b«viu, after this, to live with some bettor purpose than I have done."

"And let me tell you, Fknenee, in starting a new course, as iu learning to walk, taking the first step is evetything. Now, I have a first step to propose to you." "Well, cousin."

" Well, yon know. I snppose, thet among you train of adoren yon niunber Ooloael EUiot" Florence smiled.

"And perhaps yon know, what ia certainly true, that among the moat diseeming and oool part of his friends, EUUot U conaldered as a lost man." " Oood HcavoDst Edward, wlint do you mean?" " Simply this, that, with all bis brilliant talents,

^

and his sucoaaa

DECEiMBER, 1872.

Collins' American Monthly.

in society, Elliot has not self-control enough to prevent bis becoming confirmed ia intemperate habits."

"I never dreamed of this," replied Florence. " I knew that he was spirited and free, fond of so- ciety, and excitable, bat never suspected anything beyond."

" Elliot has tact enough not to appear in ladies' society when he is not in a state for it," reiJlied Ed- ward; " but yet it is so." "But is he really so bad?"

"He stands just on the verge, Florence — ^juat where a word fitly spoken might turn him. He is a noble creature, full of all sorts of fine impulses ■and feelings, the only son of a mother who dotes on him, the idoliaed brother of sisters who love him as yoa love your brothers, Florence; and he stands where a word, « look — should they be of the right kind — might save him."

"And why; then, do you not speak to him?" said Florence.

•'Because I am not the best person, Florence. There is another who can do it better — one whom he admires, who stands in a position which would forbid his feeling angry — a person, cousin, whom I have heard in gayer moments say that she knew how to say anything she pleased, without offending anybody."

"Well, but cousin, what would you have me do? how would you have me do it?" said Florence, earnestly.

" Ton know that Fashion, which makes so many wrong turns, and so many absurd ones, has at last made one right one, and it is now a fashionable thing to sign the temperance pledge. Elliot him- self would be glad to do it, but he foolishly com- mitted himself against it in the outset, and now feels bound to stand to his opinion. He has, too, been rather rudely assailed by some of the apos- tles of the new state of things, who did not under- stand the peculiar points of his character; in short, I am afraid that he will feel bound to go to destruc- tion for the sake of supporting his own opinion. Now, if I should undertake with him, he might shoot me; but I hardly think there is anything of the sort to be apprehended in your case. Just try your enohantmeuts; you have bewitched wise men into doing foolish things before now; try, now, if you can't bewitch a foolish man into doing a wise thing."

Florence smiled archly, bat instantly grew more thoughtful.

" Well, cousin," fhe said, " I will try. Though you are liberal in your ascriptions of power, yet I can put the matter to the test of experiment."

Florence Elmore was, at the time we tpeak of, in her twentieth year. Born in one of the wealthiest families in , highly educated and accomplish- ed, idolized by her parents and brothers, she had entered the world as one born to command. With much native nobleness and magnanimity of char- acter, with warm and impulsive feelings, and a cap- ability of everything high or great, she had hith- erto lived solely to her own amusement, and look- ed on the whole brilliant circle by which she was surrounded, with all its various actors, as some- thing got up for her special diversion. The idea of influencing any one, for better or worse, by any thing she ever said or did, had never occurred to her. The crowd of admirers of Jthe other sex, who, as a matter of course, were always about her, she regarded as so many sources of diversion; but the

idea of feeling any sympathy with them as human beings, or of making use of her power over them for their improvement, was one that had never entered her head.

Edward Ashton was an old bachelor cousin of Florence's, who, having earned the title of oddity, in general society, availed himself of it to exercise a turn of telling the truth to the various young la- dies of his acquaintance, especially to his fair cousin Florence. We remark, by the by, that these privileged truth-tellers are quite a necessary of life to young ladies in the full tide of society ; and we really think it would be worth while for every doz- en of them to unite to keep a person of this kind on a salary, for the benefit of the whole. We must return to our fair heroine, whom we left, at the close of the last conversation, standing in deep rev- ery by the window.

" It's more than half true," she said to herself — " more than half. Here am I. twenty years old, and never thought of anything, never done any- thing, except to amuse and gratify myself; no pur- pose— no object — nothing high — nothing dignified — nothing worth living for! — only a parlor orna- ment— high-ho! AVell, I really do believe I could do something with this Elliot; and yet how dare I try?"

Now, my good readers, if you are anticipating a love story, we must hasten to put in our disclaimer; you're ^uito mistaken in the case. Our fair, bril- liant heroine was, at the time of speaking , as heart- whole as the diamond on her bosom, which reflect- ed the light in too many sparkling rays ever to ab- sorb it. She had, to be sure , half in earnest, half in jest, maintained a bantering, platonie sort of friendship with George Elliot; she had danced, rid- den, pung, and sketched with him; but so had she with other young men; and as to coming to any- thing tender with such a quick, brilliant, restless creature, Elliot would as soon have undertaken to sentimentalize over a glass of soda water. No, there was decidedly no love in the case.

' ' What a curious ring that is!" said Elliot to her, a day or two after, as they were reading together.

" It's a knight's ring," said she,, playfully, as she drew it off, and pointed to a coral cross set in the gold—" a ring of the red-crossed knights. Come, now, I've a great mind to bind you to my service with it."

" Do, lady fair I" said Elliot, stretching out bis hand for the ring.

" Know then," said she, " if you take the pledge, you must obey whatever command I lay upon yon in its name."

" I swear!" said Elliot, in the mock heroic, as she placed the ring on his finger.

An evening or two after, Elliot attended Flor- ence to a party at Mrs. B 's. Everything was gay and brilliant, and there was no lack either of wit or wine. Elliot was standing in a little alcove, spread with refreshments, with a glass of wine in his hand. " I forbid it! the cup is poisoned, " said a voice in his ear. He turned quickly, and Flor- ence was at his side. Every one was busy with laughing and talking around, and nobody saw the sudden start and flush that these words had pro- duced, as Elliot looked earnestly in the lady's face. She smiled, and pointed, playfully, to the ring; but after all, there was in her face an expression of agitation and interest which she could not repress, and Elliot felt, however playful the manner, that she was in earnest ; and as she glided away in the

crowd, he stood with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the spot where she disappeared .

" Is it possible that I am suspected — that there are things said of me as if I were in danger?" were the ftrst thoughts that passed through his mind. How strange that a man may appear doomed, giv- en up, and lost, to the eye of every looker-on, be- fore he begins to suspect himself? This was the first time that any defined apprehension of loss of character had occurred to Elliot, and he was startled as if from a dream.

" What the deuce is the matter with you, Elliot? You look as solemn as a hearse! " said a young man near by.

" Has Miss Elliot cut you?" said another. " Come, man, have a glass," said a third. "Let him alone — he's bewitched," said a fourth; " I saw a spell laid on him. None of us can say but our turn may come next."

An hour later, that evening, Florence was talk- ing, with her usual spirit, to a group who were col- lected around her, when, suddenly looking up, she saw Elliot, standing in an abstracted manner, at one of the windows that looked out into the bal- cony.

"He is offended, I dare say," she thought; "but why should I care? For once in my life I have tried to do a right thing, a good thing; I have risk- ed giving offence for less than this, many a time." Still Florence could not but feel tremulous, when, a few moments alter, Elliot approached her, and offered his arm for a premenade. They walked up and down the room, she talking volubly, and he an- swering yes and no, and anything else, at cross par- poses, till at length, as if by accident, he drew her into the balcony which overhung the garden. The moon wes shininglbrightly, and everything without, in its placid quietness, contrasted strangely with he busy, hurrying scene within.

" Miss Elmore, " said Elliot, abruptly, "may I ask you, sincerely — had you any design in a re- mark you made to me in the early part of the even- ing?"

Florence paused, and though habitually the most practiced and self-possessed of women, the color actually receded from her cheek, as she snswered.-

"Yes, Mr. Elliot, I must confess that I had."

" And is it possible, then, that you have heard anything?"

" I have heard, Mr. EUiot, that which makes me tremble for you, and for those whose life I know is bound up in you; and, tell me, were it well, or friendly in me, to know that such things were said, that such danger existed, and not to warn you of it?" Elliot stood for a few momen Is in silence.

" Have I offended? Have I taJen too great a lib- erty?" saiii Florence, gently.

Hitherto Elliot had only seen in Florence the self possessed, assured, light-hearted woman of fashion; but there was a reality and depth of feeling in the few words she had spoken to him, in this interview, that opened to him entirely a new view of her char- acter.

"No, Miss Elmore," said he earnestly, after some pause; " I may be pained — offended I cannot be. To tell the truth, I have been thoughtless, ex- cited, dazzled; my spirits, naturally buoyant, have carried me, often, too far; and lately I have often painfully suspected my own powers of resistance; I have really felt that I needed help, but have been too proud to confess, even to myself, that I needed

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t. ¥00, \Um Elmore, have done what perhaps no one elae oould bHve done. I am ovenrbelmed with gratitude, and I shall bless yon for it to the latest da; of my life. I am ready to pledge myself to anything yon may ask on the subject."

"Then," said Florence, "do not shrink from do- ing what is safe, and neoeaaary, and right for yon to do, because yon have onoe said yon would not do it. Yon understand me,"

" Precisely," replied Elliot, "and yon shall be obeyed."

It was not more than a week before the news was droolated that eren Oeorge Elliot had signed the pledge of temperance. There was iqnch won- dering at this sudden turn among those who had known his ntt«r repugnance to any measure of the kind, and the extent to which he had yielded to temptation; but few knew how fine and delecate had been the touch to which his pride had yielded.

Written for the AxxaiCAif Uohthlt.

Genius.

BT CBABACTlCtrs.

The rmnge of tboa^t is bouod by sense.

For things unseen we may not tmoe;

Tlie realm of mind is Twt, immense.

And in it Kenios iinde a pUce;

E'tfu taient may industrious rise.

And cU.m from fame a weU.eamed prize.

F the making of many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness ot the flesh," says Solomon, the King, and what was true in his day, is also in ours. Judging from the meteoric sparks which flash across the sky of literature, we are constrained to believe that the wear- iness of production, in many cases, has been small; for the corruscation of light flashes for a moment, and in a moment passes away.

Authors are springing np like mustard in Cali- fornia; eTery patch of cnltirated ground is covered with it, and notwithstanding the mower of public opinion cuts them down, they spread their seed, and this " cambers the ground."

Shakespeare liTed in the Elizabetbian era: three centuries hare passed since his genius lit np the darkness of that period. The wonderfully pro- lific mind of the poet sent out creation after cre- ation, until the realm of fancy seemed to be peo- pled with shadows. To understand " Shakespeare," is an attainment not often reached, even by au- thors and dramatists, and, yet, Shakespeare was a man of limited education, and socially, not above the average; his domestic life was not an Elysian state, and hi< morals not irreproachable. Men- tally, the Bard of Avon has no peer. The annals of literature reveal but one Shakespeare. In seeking a key-note for the melody of his mind, we find it in one word, and that,Oenias. The mysterious nnder- corrent of thonght and feeling comprehended by that word, cannot be conveyed in words, and in attempting to define it, we would wander into the mstapoysieal and obscare. As the embodiment of ganios and literary exoellsnes, Shakespsars stands a moantain among mole-hills.

8«ciilar and rsUgioas periodicals are multiplying, and <1m reading public are like the Athenians of old, sesUng " for some new thing;" consequently the models and standards of thought are changing, and the morbid unanations of brains diseased con- trol ths Ulsrary market. Mental homeopathy

obtains a grain of fancy,is diluted in a resorvoir of words, and an infiniteoinial ides is trailed through many pages. The aspirant to literary honors must sit down and count the cost of the same. Writing for pastime or amusement costs but little more than the material ; to write for enduring fame, re- quires heart, brain, and energy, and withal. Job- like patience. Without these, labor will be in vain. Writing is fast becoming a trade, and certain branches may be taught and learned; other poriions must be intuitive and measurably inspiratimal.

Eobert Bums and James Hogg were poets, and sprang from vulgar dust, but were by no means common, though for years illiterate writers. The Ettrick Shepherd as a prose writer, ranks with the greatest of Scotia's sons; as a poet, second only to Bums, and in some respects exceeding him, Hogg composed songs before he could read or write. Gtcnius, like murder, "will out."

The Ayrshire plowman was to Scotland what Moore was to Ireland and Kussell is to England, that is, the song writer of the people. Burns and Hogg were more than this: they were genuine poets. In the present, men write under the whip and spur of necessity; and ao the immense supply of njanuscript more than equals the extraordinary demands of publishers. '

Dickens wrote from necessity at first, and then from choice. His peculiar genius was nurtured by talent, and the loss of this literary stnr, has left a blank in the sky of literature. Of the thousands who tilt their sable lances against the errors of the age, there is not one worthy of Dickens' mantle. Why is it? We answer, the talent we may have, but the genius we have not. Ueuius springs fully armed and equipped, from the brain, but may run amuck, Quizote-like, against every passing wind- mill; and the fiery " Pegasus " become, at length, a veritable "Eosinaute." The Sancho Panza of common sense is needed to restrain the flights of genius, and bring it down to common things. This is the province of even-minded talent; then the truths of every-day life become tinted with new light and beauty. Sir Waller Scott gathered the materials for the Waverly Novels from the firesides of his countrymen, and taking the rough marble from the highland ledge or lowland quarry, fashioned It into quaint ornaments or fanciful devices. The old school of authors are passing away; the de- mand for sensational romance is on the increase. To supply this, genius is not so essential as talent. The exploits of Ked-headed Bob or the Wild Hog of the Tules, may be summed up in a few words, but under the homeopathic treatment of the celebrated Firefly, the hair-breadth escapes and remarkable adventures of the human poreus become truly wonderful. Washington Irving is fading out of the popular mind, and even John Fennimore Cooper is losing his place as a teacher of the masses ; yet, standard American authors are ranking with the anthors uf Europe, and are honored in being read. There are thonsands to-day who pander to the depraved tastes of the million who live and die within the local orbit of their own admiration.

A student immured within the walls of an acad- emy or college, emerges therefrom, and filled with his own immensity, proceeds at once to besiege with paper missilss soma poor, unfortunate editor or publisher, whose raftageis silence. (Polite re- fusals having no force.) The ssid editor is prc- Jndiosd, of oonrse (7) The new-flodgod author tries another, and yot another, and at length (if

the root of the matter be in him ,) sits down to ex- amine his claims to pqblic attention; then comes " the tug of war."

Determined to succeed, hetries again, eliminates, remodels, and aftec much toil, may stagger into print. Strange to say, be is not noticed by the press; he is not at once famous. Gradually ha perceives that he is at the foot, not the top of the tree. The question is: Is he on it at all? if so, on what branch? If on one suited to bis genios or talent, he will, he must succeed.

On the solution of this problem depends his literary future. Artemus Ward as the " Local " of the ' ' Cleveland Flaindealcr ' ' made no mark on the " scroll of fame;" as the showman, he became famous, and in London breathed out his last wit- ticism before admiring thoosauds. Mark Twain is another example ; patience in his cose was reward- ed after years of toil. "The Heathen Chinee" caused Bret Harte to become known, and now he is fast becoming unknown — the goddess of fortune fi-owoing where once sbe Rmiled. Shakespeare ex- celled in all be undertook ; Robert Burns kept in bis native furrow, and did not attempt anything beyond it. The same is true of Dickens.

The tailoies of authors who bid lair to rise to eminence may be traced to their egotism or as- surance. A prose writer may write tamely, and the reader may submit, but prose in verse he will not endure. The wording oj au adverllsemeut re- quires talent; the writing of a heroic poems, genius; between these extremes there are vast fields of usefulness, in each of which, the literary loborer may glean ears of truth, and in due tune the full sheafs may be his portion.

Written for the Ambucah MomHax.

I Fear JVot the Grave.

BT PACmO.

1 fear not the Rrave, 1 dread not the tomb, Cbriat'a iK>wer to aave, drives far away itloom.

And 1 by Uia merit, * And aid from the apirit,

Keitber aeck death nor feax it;

Death cannot consume.

Death, tho', may invade — may e'en darliea our hoate. The pall and the ahado may our loved onea entonb.

We akall nawl at the rivai.

There, shadeleaa forater.

Mo aorrov may lever.

Kor night trlng ita gloom.

LOfe's bnt the portal, the way to the gran. Toad la Immortal, Blemlty'a wave i

What need Hum for aighiagt

Our aorrowa are Hying,

Tlme'a trouble* are dying,

Aa we near the grave.

Why linger In Ut* 1 smile dark car* away ; The pracnt ha* fhars— why anxioua to siayt

To-day haa a morrow.

Far, far abiive sorrow ;

Why turn then with borrot.

From glorioB* day.

One* llfta up the soul: hope «amis np ttie heart, Ood'a necota* •ontrol, joy SIls enry part,

The OlMUwh and the Spirit

■ajr COB*, Ibringb Ohriai's narit.

As to dwth— D*v*r tmt It,

rfom glocloas day f

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Collins' American Monthly.

157

Farmer Grey,

i; Selected.]

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The truest of friends was farmer Grey, Scarce ever he had a word to say;

Bu-t thought and deed were one. Words were too cheap in his manhood's prime, beeds were the golden deeds of time;

By him were wisely sown.

His heart was as large, and stronger too, Than the ox he droVe; as his good dog's tfue,

■Which e'er was at his side; And pure as the running brook was pure, And sure as their strength and faith were sure,

So free from worldly pride.

A peaceful, and quiet, and useful life, Led farmer Grey, with his good old wife.

As ever was under the sun. OhUdren were bocn, and to manhood grew, Witii errors enough, but none too few;

Vices were next to none.

And every vear as the time rolled on ,

As birds with broods to their old haunts turn,

They to their old roof came. Of bed and bread enough and to spare. Of the choicest kind, it always was there.

As ever was under the sun.

Good order reigned on every hand; And the imprint thrift was on his land»

As every one could see; And all he owned \\ould seem to say: "^'m sure I'll stand by farmer Grey,

For he is good to me."

The cock which crew in the early morn, Would share with the hens the wasted com

Of fine old Dapple Grey. The cat which sat by the good dame's side. Partook of the thrift and household pride,

Was fat and sleek as the^,

H^ kittens withal their pleasures share, The good dame, knitting, nods in her chair:

Dreaming of days of yore ; Dropping her stitches, her glasses fall. Failing to narrow, or widen at all ; Tfce kittens play with the tangled ball,

And roll on the sanded floor.

The man in the beast is sure to show. The cur in the man by his surly brow,

As every one must know. But farmer Grey was a man, — Amen I His motto was this : " The beat I can

To God and beast and man."

Over three ecore years, almost four score, A golden wedding ten years before,

Still farmer Grey lived on. Then our farmer Grey would make his will i Inserted a clause as a codicil,

"Children all fare the same." A wiee provision for the weaker side, And check to the grasping hand of pride,

'* Two-thirds stire for the dame."

But farmer Grey, having grown quite old. And one bleak day when the winds blew cold,

•'Death called near to his door. The dame said, "send for the doctor pray." *' He never can save," said farmer Grey,

*' Death calls on rich and poor."

A shadow then glides across the room, Then all around is so dark and gloom.

The farmer is no more. A soul was born ; a rift in a cloud, Showed a pure white throne, a snow White shroud.

He merely had passed before; For the sun went down with farmer Grey, And hiB true old wife the self same day,

They lived as few had done.

A deeper shadow the willows threw; The landscape wore a darker hue.

The morning dawned in gray. The oxen lowed in their unkempt stall, The dog whined, eyeing the darkened pall.

Over his master's clay.

Then gathered the friends; the parson prayed, Condoling the living, commending the dead, ** A wise man spareth his words," were read,— A text of farmer Grey.

Mournfully down through the cypress lane, The cortege moved in the sleet and rain, —

The last rites paid the dead. Tearfully turning with quickened pace To the house deserted— with solemn face,

The farmer's will is read.

No family foud that's better untold.

Of doubtful deeds of *' dead men's gold."

Which to the heart bring shame. The good dame taught, 't better than gold, A good name, better than riches untold,

A pure, untarnished name.

Would every man was as just and as true, vs farmer Grey, and his good wife too.

What else is under the sun ? But every prince should as wisely reign, " when peace on earth, good-will to men,"

Our euihly task were done.

The Veiled Lady.

f^/Bi'& gray of early twilight had settled oyer ^ the plain, the valley and the rugged moun- tain landsciipe. The last reflections of the sun, sinking rapidly to rest behind the purple cloud hanks, gilded no more even the top of the tallest cliffs, and gloom had fallen over the narrow road which led over the bleak, black spurs.

But the harper, erect and tall, strode along, with a buoyant step and a manly stride. His richly-gilded harp was strapped to his shoulder, but its weight seemed scarcely a feather to him — for he was of stalwart frame and hardy build — and the beautiful symmetry of his form, ripened into manhood and developed by manly exposure, was not concealed by his long, loose tunic ; nor could the proud arch of the springy instep be hid by the coarse sandal, with its heavy straps and rude buckles; nor could the noble head, clustering with rich yellow curls, be entirely concealed by the broad pilgrim hat, pressed down over the brows.

Behind the tall harper walked the light, lithe form of a boy, clad likevrise as the other, only that a jaunty cap covered the youth's head, and allowed his long black locks to fall unre- strainedly on his shoulders.

"We must hasten, my Clarence, or the castle- gates will be shut on the poor harper and his boy."

" Aye, my lor — "

"Sh! sh! Clarence, and have you so soon for- gotten?"

And the harper laid his fingers on his lips, and gazed somewhat sternly on the boy, who reddened and sunk his eyes before that rebuking look.

"I have forgotten, my — my father. Forgive me ; it shall happen no more."

" 'Tis well, Clarence; but heed me well and truthfully: keep a forethought in your brain, and a reign on your tongue, else — you see it, my son — else all my plans, else all my long cherished schemes will avail me nothing. And should they fail, what would I, your poor father, desire to live for further in this unjust world ? No, no, Clar- ence; be guarded — be wary — be my so»i— and the old harper will wish for no more."

" I promise, my — father — and you know me, my — my father, well enough to be assured that I would not willingly, by any word, or sign, or look, reveal any—"

"Enough! My boy, I can trust you, for over many fields — I mean over many rude roads — in many hamlets and in many halls I have counted upon you, and you did not fail me. But, Clarence wilt listen now— for we have time enough before the old castle comes in sight— ah! I know the way well, too well — wilt listen to an old harper's tale ? Perchance it may not prove uninteresting."

"Gladly, my lor — my dear, dear father: for whatever you may say cannot fail to interest me

.Ind the youth gazed fondly at the tall harper.

His glance of affection was returned; but the other seemed to hesitate, and they walked on for some momenta in silence. At length, however, the harper looked up.

" I was but communing with myself, Clarence," he said : ' 'debating, indeed, whether or not I should tell you the story. It may not awaken in yonr heart a responsive thrill. It may seem dry to you."

" Nevertheless, my father, please speak on, and then — ' '

"Very good, my boy; listen then; Some years ago there stood in Brittany— this same Brittany — an ancient castle. For years it had been in a noble and very old family, who thought that, should the ancient demesne ever pass from their hand, luck would never more attend the house. So they guarded carefully and with jealous eyes the old castle, with its broad acres. Finally the chateau fell, by right of succession, into the hands of an old countess, the count, her husband, having died. This lady was then not more than forty-five years of age. She had two sons — the youngest, light- haired, warm-hearted"^the boy started, but the harper perceived it not — "the other was a dark- haired man, with a scowl always on his brow, a glow of jealouly in his dark eyes, whenever he saw the younger son.

"The truth was, in a word, the countess loved this younger— the fair-haired youth — better than she did her eldest born. Why this was, no one knew. Perhaps it was that the younger was more open-hearted, moi'e genial, and loved his doting mother better than did his brother; perhaps there was something unnatural in the greed and rapa- city of the dark-haired son — something repulsive in his scowling brow, his distrustful demeanor; perhaps he loved not the mother as he should have done; perhaps he thought too much of securing the property, which was to be his after Ids mother's death, mind you, by right of primogeniture. Of this, however, I cannot speak positively; but cer- tain it is that, through the influence of this elder brother — this dark, bad man — the fair-haired son was early sent away to the wars — "

The youth started again, and gazed steadfastly at the speaker; but the other, owing to the gloom of the evening, still noted not that gaze.

" He went to the wars, Clarence, and over the same lands we have fou — have traveled — the fair- haired youngest born fought for the Cross, and — but, ha! I did not dream it was so near. Here is the castle — our destination— and I'll tell you the remainder of the story at another time — perhaps not far distant. But here we are. Sound the horn there, Clarence."

The boy obridiently placed the bugle to his lips and blew a clear, thrilUng blast upon it.

"Ha, my boy! " exclaimed the harper, vrith ani- mation; " that reminds me of Palestine I"

"Audme, my father."

At that moment the draw- bridge was promptly lowered and the warder appeared. In a minute more, with the wonted privilege of his profession, he strode with his boy across the portcullis, and entered the heavy archway to the castle court.

The dark mantle of night now flung its sable gloom over moat and tower, but here and there brilliant lights glowed from the castle windows. The song of merry banqueters floated wildly out on the night air from the high-arched hall, and the wassail bowl flowed freely among the baron's guests,

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Collins' American Monthly.

December,

At tb»t moment a messenger, hhDa«If heated and red with "jocund wine," appeared in the warder's room, bringing word for the harper to at- tend the castle's lord, and to tarry not.

Oently shaking the boy, who had fallen asleep, tke harper shonldered his glittering instrament, and obediently bent his way, behind the messen- ger, to the banqnet-hall.

As he entered, he started, but readily controlled himself, and at the bidding cf the baron, promptly struck the sounding chords, and poured forth his warm, impassioned song in a rich, mellow voice, aoeompaaied by the sweet, flute-like tones of the youth.

All was wrapped in silence as these rich, swell- ing notes gashed, in soul-deep harmony, over the lately noisy banqueters, and then echoed away and died sadly on the hushed quiet.

Again and again did the minstrel's magic art charm those boisterons spirits reveling there; but at length, to his relief, a nod from the baron dis- missed him, aud the harper withdrew again, with his boy> to the warder's room.

The small hours drew on, and the warder's bell sounded eleven: yet still the harper sat by the roaring, blazing fire of logs in the snag, cosv room. The yonth, however, had again, from sheer ex- haustion, sunk away to sleep, and mayhap was now dreaming bright visions of the past, or of the brighter- visaged future.

The buxom matron, the warder's wife, busied herself here and there, and had just placed before the handsome harper a foaming mug of ale, of the castle's best brewing, and a large platter of cheese. The warder was outside, at bis post. "Tell me more, my good woman, if you have the time, of that strange tale of which you were speaking to me before I was summoned to the ban- quet-hall. It pleased my fancy, and now my soul longs for it. Perhaps I may place it in verse, to some soal-stiiriug lay, and play it for you before I torn away from the castle gates to-morrow."

" Tis a sad tale, minstrel — a mysterious tale — and something we do not understand. And the baron will never be alone since that awful night when he saw the Veiled Lady on the terrace

"Veiled Lady! Do tell me, my good woman, of thU."

And the harper condescendingly drew his chair by the woman's side, and nearer the blazing logs.

" Come, harper," said the old man, suspiciously, " the hour is late. I'll show you to your room."

'• Willingly, good warder — ijut can't you make it the lady's chamber?"

"The lady's chamber! Who's been telling yon of it?"

And he tnmed toward him rather roughly. He started a little as he caught the har[>er'8 eye, and then said, more mildly :

" I'll accommodate yon. Follow me!"

HtMm tat tba iioaaatM If oaxsLT-

Men Write of Love.

BT BENBY W. TBKOUBB.

\ i

Then, good minstrel, I must be brief, for my good man, Boderique, soon comes in, and I cannot tell it in his presence — fur he shakes his head at me, mutters something to himself, and then tells me to shut up — I know not what I aw speaking! But I du, for I have seen the Veiled Lady myself. But listen, minstrel:

"gome twenty years ago, when the young lord of this castle, a fair-haired, noble lad, went to battle in Palestine, and never returned, poor fel- fovl for he was killed in fight with infidel—" The minstrel started, but said nothing, " Our noble lady— Ood Mess herl— was most crazy with grief. Hhe wandered abotit, here and there, ■nomng and waiUog. Late one day she left the «astla, and no one could find her, though search was made high and low. Bnt the present lord, her son (the Baron Bertonneau), in searching near the moot, fotUKl a icaif and a hat, but nothing more. It was plain the good woman bod fiuDK hiTsolf into the moat on account o( her grief; but her body ootlU not be fonnd, and it was thought that it had beeoBe enunnled in the logs under the draw- brid^. And ever since then, in a particalar cham- b«r of the castle, the spectre nf a Veiled Lady has appeared. I saw it myHrIf once, as plain as day, and it was luy old mistrcm, the OoQBtsss — "

At (bat moment the burlv furm of the warder ap- peared, and Uw woman eaasod.

The light on the table was nearly extinguished, bnt still the harper lay wide awake, tumultuous emotions coming through his bosom.

Suddenly a panel in the wainscot in the wall, di-. rectly in front of his bed, slid back, and the figiire of a Veiled Lady appeared. The ministrel sprang to his feet. " Who are you?" he asked, in a low, deep voice. " Tell me — I am armed! "

The figure started preceptiblv as the words echoed through the chamber, bnt waiving its spec tral arm aloft, as if beckoning the harper to follow, it drew back in the aperture. The minstrel promptly fo llowed. On and on they went, through dark midnight passages and hidden ways, betweea the old walls. At last an outlet was reached, and the cool night wind blew freshly in.

"Whither now?" exclaimed the harper pausing. The figure waived its hand onward, and they strode out in the night, and soon stood beside the dark, silent moat.

The fignre then turned suddenly, and striding up to the harper, whispered in deep tones:

" I know you, my doer boy! and God be thanked that you have come at last, my dear, dear son — my noble Alphonse! "

" Mother! mother! Not dead — not dead?" And throwing aside his minstrel attire, Alphonse d'Epigne stood in glittering armor, and clasped his mother to his breast. She gently disengaged hersalf, and spoke: "Your brother, the dark-haired Bertonneau, sought to murder me, that he might inherit the property. He was foiled, though he knows it not yet — none but old Uoderqne knows my secret. I have long waited for this moment — this moment of triumph! Now, Hasten yon. by the secret passage, to Bertonneau's chamber, If he will not come, drag him here! and let him hear, on this i4>ot, and at this hour, atone for his conduct to his outraged mother! "

In on instant the knight disappeared in the dark, secret passages of the custle.

Not five minutes elapsed ere he returned drag- ging the half-conscious Bertonneau.

" "Tis better thus," said the mother, as her gaze fell on the dark haired baron — he'll suffer less pain. Stab him to the heart, Alphonse, and fiing him into the moat?"

In the twinkling of an eye, the keen blade of the Crosader passed entirely through his brother'sbody; and then, clutching the dying man in a grip of iron, the avenger filing him into the dark moat! There was a heavy splash, but no other sound After that there never a^ain appeared on the terrace the spectre of the Veiled Lady.

A otrr exquisite having become agriculturally ambitious, went in search of a farm, and finding one for sale, began to bargain for it. The seller mentioned, as one of its rscommendations, that it had o very cold spring on it. "Ah— aw?" said the fop; " I won't take it, then, for I have heard that cold springs mined the crops last year, and I don't want a place with such a <lrawback upon it."

Mra write of love, and lomotlmM fMl The iluft the iubtle tichor lendi. And wher* the thrill of lov« U real. The noblest man within ascends. And for a priie 'gainst earth contends.

A heart that bums with love's pure fire, Teeds on the flame which may eousiims, Beverses add bnt tn desire, Faint hope oomes forth from abject gloom, Oomes forth, too oft, to meet its doom.

No deeper curse can earth afford. Than unrequited, hopeless love. The chords of life produce dlaoord, No hope on earth, and none above. Toward despair the paasions move,

Beqnited love is bliss Intense, The tints of life are edged with gold. The pulse of J07 exceeds the sense Of feeling, and can not grow old. The bliaa we sing remains untold.

The Losklx Nest. — We cannot but admire the Providence which enables the lark so readily to drop upon the very spot where its nest is concealed, after soaring long up in the sky — a nest which seems to have nothing to mark its position, and which a man may sometimes search for in vain, even though he may have marked the spot within a few yards. One summer I was much struck with this. I was climbing a monntnin covered with short grass, a huge stack of tuff, joining the Helvellyn rslige; a lark brushed up at my feet, and flew far away. Stooping down, 1 discovered a nest with five eggs.

How could she, thought I, find this warm httle home again; this tiny hidden spot on the great mountain's breast, where for miles there was noth- ing but a monotonous green carpet, unbroken by bush or rock, not a path, landmark, or sign-post to guide her back to her home ? Nothing but the unerring instinct, unassisted by any sense, which God had given her for a guide! Sure, thought I, here is a little parable, without words, telling those who will learn, that though to all appearance the helpless bo deserted — aud it would not be in man's power to show how they could be cared for again — yet the right comforter and protector will eome, guided by a spirit whose ways we cannot explain, but only receive aud bless.

A country youth inquired at a city drug store for ten cents' worth of " love powders "; "some- thing that wouldn't stir her up much, bnt make her dream of him of nights." The urbane drug- gist's clerk put up some magnesia, and oantioned the purchaser not to give his victim too much of it at a time, but rather win her aflfection by degrees.

The Michigan State-prison convicts are tortured by a hand-organ which the warden hires a man to grind. They are petitioning for lh« restoration capital panishment.

of

A Louisville man who hod only been acquainted with bis girl two nights, attemptod to kim her at the gate. In his dying deposition bo told the doc- tors that just OS he " kissed her the earth slid ont from under hU feet, and his soul went out of his mouth, while his head tonehml the stars." Later dispatches show that what ailed him was the old man's boot.

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December, 1872,

Collins' American Monthly.

159

The Tavern of Spessart.

ANY years ago, when the roads in Spes- sart were much less frequented than they are now, two young men were wending their way through the forest. One of them, about eighteen years of age, followed the trade of com- pass-maker; while the other, a goldsmith, could scarcely have exceeded his sixteenth year, and was evidently making his first journey into the world. The evening was far advanced, and the narrow path which the two friends followed was darkened by the shadows of gigantic pines and beeches. The compass-maker strode boldly on, whistling an air and playiug occasionally with his do] Pluck, and seemed little affected by the knowledge that night was close at hand, and that the nearest inn was far distant. But Felix the goldsmith, often looked round uneasily. When the wind muttered through the trees, he believed he heard footsteps coming behind him. When the shrubs along the path waved, or opened for a mO' ment, he could not help thinking he saw faces lurking behind them.

The young goldsmith was usually neither super- stitious nor timid. In Wurzburg, where he had learned his trade, he passed with his comrades for an intrepid lad whose heart was in the right place; but to-day a strange depression affected his spirits. He had been told so much of the dangers of Spes- snrt; — that a numerous band of robbers plied their trade in the forest; that many travellers had been plundered within the last few weeks; nay, that dreadful deeds of blood had been committed there at no distant time; — that he could not banish the thought that he and his friend were only two de- fenseless men, and could offer little resistance to a gang of armed marauders. He regretted that he had been persuaded by the compass-maker to go on another stage, instead of remaining over night at the entrance of the forest.

"If I am murdered to-night, and robbed of everything I have, it is your fault, compass-maker, for you have brought me into this frightful wood."

"Don't be a coward!" replied the other. "A travelling journeyman should never be afraid. What is it you dread? Do you think that the gen- tlemen robbers in Spessart will do us the honor to attack and murder us? Why should they take the trouble? For the sake of my Sumiay-coat in the knapsack, or the dollar we have for expenses? Men must travel in companies, and be dressed in silk and gold, to make it worth these robbers while to murder them for booty. ' '

"Stop! did you hear a whistle in ths forest?" cried Fehx, in agony.

"It was only the wind whietleing through the trees. Step out bravely; this road cannot b* much longer."

" It's very well tor you to talk as you do about being murdered," continued the goldsmith. "They ask you what you have, and at most take away your Sunday-coat, and a few kreutzers. But me they will murder on the spot, for the sake of the jewels and trinkets I have about me."

"Bah! why should they murder you for that? Suppose four or five men came out of that bush, with loaded guns, and should say very politely, 'Gentlemen, what have in your pockets ?' or, 'Give yourselves no uneasiness, gentlemen, we will help you carry your burdens.' You would not behave like a fool; you would open your knapsack, lay your yellow vest, and your blue coat, your two shirts, and your necklaces, bracelets, combs, and what not, poUtely oq the ground, and consider yourself a lucky fellow for saving your life so easily."

" And do you think," answered Felix, "I would surrender so easily, the jewels I am carrying to my

godmother, the countess? My life sooner !— sooner be cut into little pieces! Has she not always been a mother to me, and brought me up since I was ten years old? Has she not paid for my education, my clothes, my everything? And now, when I can visit her, and carry her some of my work which she ordered of my master,— when I can show her some specimens of the beautiful trade I have learned,— am I to give up everything ? And the yellow vest, which she gave me, besides ? No, I will die before I will give my god-mother's jewels to these rascals."

"Don't be a fooll " cried the compass-maker. " If they murder you, the countess will not get her jewels any sooner. So it is better for you to give them up, and save your life."

Felix made no reply. The night was by this time upon them, and by the dim light of the moon they could scarcely see three paces in advance. Felix grew more uneasy every moment, kept closer by his friend's side, and hesitated whether to as- s.-nt to his arguments or not. After advancing for nearly a league, they perceived a light in the dis- tanc. The young goldsmith suggested that they should not trust it, for it might be the house of the robbers; but the compass-maker answered that robbers had their houses, or rather their holes, under ground, and that this must be the tavern to which they had been directed by a man who met them at the entrance of the wood.

The house was long and low, and before it stood a cart, the horses of which they could hear neigh- ing in the stable. The compass-maker beckoned his companion to a window, the shutters of which stood open. By standing on tiptoe, they could overlook the whole room. A man was sleeping in a chair by the fireplace, who, judging by his dress, was probably ajcarrier, and doubtless the owner of the cart before the door. On the opposite side, a woman and her maid sat spinning. Beyond the table, and against the wall, sat a man with a glass of wine before him, his head resting in his hands, so that his features could not be seen. The com- pass-maker inferred from his dress, however, that he was a man of considerable rank.

While they were still peering in, a dog barked in- side the house. Pluck answered, and a maid-ser- vant appeared at the door, and looked out at the strangers.

On the promise of obtaining supper and beds, they entered the house, and, laying down their heavy bundles and their hats and sticks in a cor- ner, seated themselves at the table near the gentle- man. The latter, raising his head at their salute, proved to be a handsome young man, who thanked them courteously for their greeting.

" Xou are late on the road," said he. "Were you not arraid to travel through Spessart so dark a flight? For my own part, I preferred to put up my horse at this tavern, to ndiug a single league further."

" lou were perfectly right, sir," answered the compass-maker. "The footsteps of a fine horse aro music to the ears of robbers. They will hear it a league distant; but when a couple of poor lads like us creep on foot through the foreEt, people whom the robbers would be obliged to help in- stead of plundering, they never stir a foot!"

"That IS so." said the carrier, who had been waked by the entrance of the new-comers. " They cannot make much in tho shape of money out of a poor man. But there are instances where they have cut down poor people from a mere lust for murder, or else compelled them to enter their gagn and serve as robbers themselves."

" Nay, if that is the kind of people in this forest," said the young goldsmith, " this house will be little protection to us. We are only lour, or, with the hostler, five; and, suppose a dozen of them saw fit to attack us, what resistance could we make? And, besides," he added, in a whisper, " what rea- son have we for thinking that tho people of this house are honest ?"

" No fear of that," answered the carrier. "I have known this tavern for ten years, and have never noticed anything suspicious. The master is seldom at home; they say he deals in wine. The woman is a very quiet person, and will harm no- body. No; you do her injustice, young man."

" And yet," broke in the gentleman, "I cannot easily forget what people say about them. You re-

zt

member the rumor of those persons who disap- peared some time ago, in this forest, and left no trace of their whereabouts. Several people said they had spent the night in this tavern; and yet, when weeks elapsed, and nothing was heard of their fate, aud their path had been traced as far as this house, the reply to every inquiry was that they had never been here. It is certainly suspicious." "God knows it is!" cried the compass-maker. ' ' It would have been safer for us to have passed the night under the nearest tree, than within these four walls, where escape is impossible; for the win- dows are grated."

The turn the conversation had taken made them all thoughtful. It seemed far from improbable that this road-side inn was, either by free will or compulsion, in allience with the robbers. The night threatened therefore to be perilous, for they had heard many stories of travellers attacked and murdered in their sleep; and even if their lives were not in danger, yet some of the guests of the tavern were of such narrow means that the loss of even a part of their proper^ would have been extremely embarrassing. T^ four companions looked moodily into their glases. The young gentleman wished he was travelling on his trusty horse through a safe, open valley; the compass- maker, that he had a dozen of his comrades, armed with cudgels, as a body-guard. Felix, the gold smith, was unhappy, more for the sake of his benefactress' jewels, than himself; but the carrier, who sat blowing the smoke of his pipe from his lips with a thoughtful air, said, after a pause ; " Gentlemen, we ought not to permit them to surprise us in our sleep. I, for one, will keep guard all night, if one of you will back me."

" I am ready," — " So am I," — " And so am I," cried the other three. " I should find it impossi- ble to sleep," added the young gentleman.

"Well, what shall we do to keep ourselves awake?" said the carrier. "As there are just four of us, I think a game of cards would be a good thing. It will keep us awake, and help the time along too."

' ' I never play cards, ' ' answered the gentleman ; " so I, at least, cannot join you in it.,'

" And I know nothing of cards," added Felix.

" What can we do, then?" said the compass- maker. " Sing? That would only attract the robbers, besides being stupid. Propose riddles and conundrums? That would not last long. Gentle- men, what do you say to telling stories ? Amus- ing or serious, true or false, they will keep us awake, and pass the time as well as card-playing."

" I'm agreed, if you will begin," said the young gentleman, laughing. " You men of business travel into all countries, and, no doubt, have plenty of excellent stories at your tongues' ends. Every city has its own tales and traditions."

'• Ay, ay, we hear a good many things," answered the compass-maker. "But gentlemen like you study books, and read a great many wonderful things Of course you can tell much finer and stranger tales than poor journeymen travelers like us. I am very much mistaken, if you are not a scholar. ' '

" No scholar," replied the gentleman, with a laugh; "merely a student, returning home for my vacation. But what we find in our books resem- bles stories much less than what you pick up here and there in your wanderings. Bo begin, friend, if the others are ready."

" When a man tells me a good story," said the carrier, " I prefer it to playing cards. I olten travel these country roads for leagues and leagues at a snail's pace, listening to some person walking alongside, and telling me a story. In bad weather I have taken up many a man in my cart, on condi- tion he would tell me some tale; and I never like a companion so well, I believe, as when he can describe his own or other people's adventures for seven or eight hour» together."

"So it is with me," said the young goldsmith. " I could listen to stories all my life, I believe; and my master in Wurzburg was obliged to forbid me to look at books, lest I should read too many nov- els and neglect my work. So, give us something good, compass-maker, for I know you can tell stories from now till to-morrow morning before your stock is exhausted."

/ / IGO

ColUns' Ainerican Monthly.

%

Vrittan for the AxnuoAif Mokthlt.

Whai We Saw for Two Bits.

BT B. MUDOLXD.

TDt>LED, tbis tbing U played oat. Mon- ey U no object to me, yon know, bnt my !iay crop failed Ust year, and yon know ^ fal bcad-acb* it gireg a fellow to go to the theatre and have a nice little supper after. I like it finl-rate, bat it don't agree with me, yoa know. I wish it was not so expensive, we would take a ride throagh tbe sabarbs — "

"Gome onj TU foot the bills."

" Thank you, all the same, bat I've told yon when I could not bear tbe expense I could not go. It ia imposition enough to keep yoa from business, Without allowing you to furnish the cash."

" Only two bits a-Aoe."

"Two bits! What do yon suppose we woald see for two bits in this city ?' '

" Can tell better after we have tried it."

" All ri([bt— I'm in. Where will we go?"

" I soggeet the Dry Docks, in South San Fran- eiseo."

■* All right, go ahead, you know the way."

Thia oonvaisation occurred on Montgomery street, between myself and friend Bark, who was down on a visit, and for the benefit of my numer- ous rnral friends who may design visiting the city, I will describe what we saw for two bits.

Froeeeding to the comer of Post and Kearny ■liecrts, we waited until a Fourth, Kearny and NoHh Beach car came along, which we liailed, and entering, found ourselves the sole occupants. This honor was soon wrested from us by four Celestials, who took their seate opposite. Soon after, tbe car ■topped to take on a very fleshy lady with a basket, from under the comer of which peeped tbe leaves of carrots and other vegetables, indicating a sub- •tantial dinner in prospective.

Next entered a very corpulent gentleman, who was a decided hit, as he came in contact with every available projection : first bumping against the door, then colliding with market basket, and finally mix- ing op with his walking stick, sal down.

Many passengers now enter, but all of the ordi- Bai7 pattern, excepting one — a highly dressed young lady, who hailed the car near the comer of Market and Fourth. Getting on, she tripped daintily through, and prepared to take a seat; but tbe car mddeoly starting, she took an undignified position in the Up of a magnificent Chinaman. There being no nice young man handy to catch her, she did not faint, bnt ordertid tbe condoetor to put the China- man out.

Further on, the fleehy lady discovered that she had passed her destination. Seizing her basket, she nuhed panic-stricken Cmt tbe c^oor, and before the esr eould be stopped/ffieppod off the platform with her back towards the horses. Of course, there wa« • scattaiuig of the vegetables and a smile aaoBgst tha psMMogers. We didn't smile mnch yoft know; bnt a little was admissible, as she was not injured. The condactor hastened to her as- ■isUsM, when she altaoked bim with a large piece ofhatiDiiML He Mtreated, and the ear moved on, lesrtef her standing in the street shaking a soiled carrot t* na with one hand, and broahiug the dust off her D0U7 V«rd«i with tbe other.

Wo MOB MMhad the foot of Fourth street, which Is Ihs tamlDas of this line.

" Fare ten oents a ride, or four rides for a quar- ter."

We took a quarter's worth, as their tickets are good on the Bay View cars, which takes us near our destination; but before getting on, we took a walk down I<ong Bridge (over which the cars pass) to see tbe amateur method of smelt-catching.

Leaning against the railing on either side of the bridge, or wharf, were represeutatives of almost every nation, both male and female, engaged in this most qiiic't of all amusements. Armed with a long slender rod, to which is attached a line and three or four hooks, intendent takes a position, be- ing previously supplied with bait, "a long, repul- sive worm, very similar to a centipede." Selecting one, it is cat into proper lengths, attached to the hooks and lowered into the water. If the fish are abundant, the angler soon get a bite; and if suffici- ently Bkillful, will probably catch something before leaving. The lost time I tried it, I caught a boy stealing my bait.

Amongst the throng were many non-participants like ourselves, passing to and fro, taking items; some of these seemed to have been taking some- thing stronger; one in particular was noticeable: he had long side whiskers, wore o short stumpy coat and large shoes, well filled. His gallantry to the ladies was excessive; in taking off the fish and re- baiting the hooks, be was really useful. A lady near us accidently entangled her line on the spiling under the bridge. Whiskers immediately profi'ered his services, was acceptad, and in a very short time succeeded in falling into tbe bay; bat was soon rcs- caed by a passing boatman, and we saw him no more. A small boy disengaged tho line, then asked for "five cents to git some bait with," received it, and was happy. . The lady mdicated her Teutonic nativity by going to a refreshment stand near by and calling for a "glas-so-beah," which she sur- rounded with evident relish.

As a car came along going South, we got on, and were whirlea over the road at the rate of two or three miles an hour, through the deep cut, over the rope walk, across the second Long Bridge and into New Butchertown, wuere we were nearly suffocated with a fragrance similar to that arising frdm boiling mussels, only thicker.

Here we alighted. We might have taken the stage to tbe Docks, but economy forbade, and a de- lightful walk of a mile or so around the beach was the result. We stopped occasionally to examine the anatomy of a vessel in process of construction , or leisurely gaze upon a slowly-moving schooner as it was being drawn upon tbe ways for repairs.

Further on, we waited to see the Italian fisher- men haul their neta ashore and pourout tho squirm- ing spoil — flounders, smelts, perch, shiners, and a small shark. We sorutinizod the latter closely, but did not touch it.

After Bstufying our curiosity, we walked on to- wards tbe Dock, where we arrived about noon. Here we came to a large basin, shaped something likes bath-tob, long enough to hold two large ships, one behind tbe other, deep enough to bring their decks on a level with the surface of the yard, and wide enough to allow plenty of room for scaffold- ing.

When a ship is to be repaired, the basin is filled with water, the gate is opened, ship sails in, gate is closed, a monster pump draws off the water, and the vessel is ready for tbo workmen.

Bark gazed long and silently into tbls gnwt triumph of engineering, in a soul-absorbing at-

Decembee, 1872.

tempt to' realize its Tsatness. Abatracte<lly raising the skirts of his sack oo«t, he calmly sat down in a barrel of soft pitch. The mass parting beneath his weight, brought him ta a realizing sense of his sit- uation.

" Thunder! There now, I've done it— spoiled them nice new pants that I gave Cheatemlie five dollars for yesterday. Kow, how am I to get home?"

" Ko one will see you until you get to the car: then stick to your seat, and you will not be no- ticed."

" I don't like this much: not that money is any object with mo, but I detest wearing soiled clothes. Well, let's go up to that eating-house and have some lunch."

Bark took his, standing. After pacifying our ap> petites, we started homeward over the hilU, instead of by the beach, as we came. When we hud at- tained the summit, wc stopped to rest, and im- proved our time by taking a visionary excursion up and down the bay, across to Alameda and Oakland — flitting over tbe shipping in the harbor, winking at San Francisco as we pass, just as a sand-storm struck us in tbe face; and without serious accident returned to place of beginning, from whence wo leisurely descend to the cur-track, where we mount a city-bound car and take a seat — Bark slyly spreading a large colored haukerohief on the cush- ion before sitting down.

Somewhat wearied, we paid but little attention to passing objects. Engaging in pleasant conversa- tion, time passed rapidly, and almost before we re- alized it, we had rolled over Long Bridge, changed cars, passed up Fourth street, down Post, and alighted on Kearny. Passing to Montgomery, wo strolled leisurely .along, commenting upon such costumes as attracted our attention.

" I wonder what kind of a city chap I'd make," said Bark. "Do you think I would attract atten- tion?"

" I think you would. I have noticed several ladies and gentlemen smile as they passed you."

"That's on account of my country style, I gness. There is that newsboy laughiug at me: I'll find out irom him what the attractive point is. Here bub, I'll buy ten copies of your evening squib if you'll tell me what you are laughing at."

" I aint laughing at nuthin', I's only wonderin' what mode you carry your flag at half mast."

"That darned hankerchief— never thought of it before! There is your change, sonny. Thank (or- tuue, here ia my hotel. I've had my two bits worth to-day, Mu>ldk>d. I would hka to go with you some other time, but not where theM is any pitch . Qood bye."

I thought as I walked homeward: Could we but "see ourselves as others see as," there would not be as many grotesquely hidsoDS costumes stalking along our fashionable streets.

A blacksmith, in the mysterious regions knowa as the composing room, boa the following over his case. To hasten tbo time whuu ho can be persuad- ed to retire from tho butchery of respectable orticlss, he receives double compensation :

" I'm tbo sluw, tbo booutiftil Bb>w, Drttlug loo tjpo Ibau tbo not. I BoUlng II illrtlor— aboaMkar m But wttliiii It •toad; sod isvlnK ' Talklug,

Oniiblan tiny. Ptcklnf np much ftwer t^rix. mrvrjr il>)'.

"Unci of tlnat dafs Itl tM rtcb u ■ Irrt, Tkon I'll bav* av SMin Inm Mlllna Ui do; Mo man eotwetlag. bat inw Uk* a Turk, And laufb whealMojoapMroomiMSo to wotk,'

^

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114 POST STREET, S. F.

— ALSO—

Proctor s Celebrated Improved Treadle !

by its iiso. No power is so costly as that of the human muscle, and fifty per cent, of the power required to run a sewing machine, can be saved by its use. It has the natural or walking motion, and entirely relieves the strain on the spine that is mused by the old treadle.

State Board of Health on Sewing Machines,

In their aniniiil rf port siiy it is evident tlmt most women cannot make enntinnous u-ie of the common Treadle for any considerable time without -inftcring from general feebleness, and also locally These evils may be prevented by the use of IMPROVED TREADLES, etc.

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RKNETIS' !

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Due notice will be given when your term of subscription has ex- pired by a printed circular attached to the hrst page of magazine.

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* <*• »» •

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Address A. L. BANCROFT & CO.. San Francisco.

Agents, from

FLORENCE

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19 New Montgomery Street,

M)

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8AJC FRANCISCO.

.1

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107 MO.MGO.MERY ST., MAKE ALL tlieir caudles from Stewart's liefined Sugar, and therefore^pareuts may rely uiKjn their children receiving no dele- terious article in the candy they may purchase at this liouse.

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And got a Hplmdid St^'ol Engraving !

I

"Si