Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 206) (1883 10 23)
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of American and reign Novels for Five Cents! mt The Cheapest and Best Library 8a The Cream 71 Ra is Ie - a is , iid oe Gat Naas Entered at Copyright, 1883, No — a — a OULD MS LOVE ." FROM GENERATION ‘TO GENERATION, GY BENRILT TA DH CONT IF2. St, 6 NS iN \ He a Vo Ve Aig) % WL AMR Y pe T HER FEET. af) YZ] A 11 Re : HUNTING TACKLE AND THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GRASS A ERNEST DIVESTED HIMSELF OF GUN AND , 9206. VoL. VIII. EKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST,, N.Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS.
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. birds that made the homely little front room ‘a day’s ride of the mill. Cee OUIDA’ S LOVE; From Generation to Generation. BY HENRIETTA E, DE CONDE. CHAPTER I. THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER. ° . “For I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, and visit the sins of the father ‘upon the children, ‘unto the third and fourth generation.” A BRIGHT summer sun streamed in at the window of a picturesque old mill-house situ- ated in one of the many lovely ravines run- ning back from ‘* The vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its clear winding way to the sea, and strove in vain to brighten the face of a | slight, pale woman sitting near the lattice. An atmosphere of perpetual sadness, despite the: dancing sunlight, and the cheery song of | an echoing paradise of sweet sounds, énveloped the black-robed figure. A piece. of. sewing lay across the lady’s lap; but her long, transparent fingers toyed idly with the needle, and her eyes rested ténderly yet. sadly, upon a young girlwho stood, with arms bared’above the dim- pled elbows, washing dishes at a little square table standing, upon angular legs, primly in the center of the room, ; Mother and daughter, one would pronounce these two at a glance, although the creamy pal- lor of the mother’s. face, framed in waving bands of chestnut hair, reminded one of a state- ly Calla-lily growing beneath the brown shad- | ows of some woody trellis; and the daughter bloomed in youthful freshness like some newly blossomed English rose, In spite of their rude surroundings and hum- | ble employment, there was that’ in the appear- ance of both parent and ehild that would fix the attention of people less given to building air-castles than a romancist: and even the un- world-wise inhabitants of Glenville found much in the family of the miller upon which to found extravagant conjectures. “True, no fault could be found with them; for Hugh Haughton kept the peace and fatten- ed five hogs at. the expense of his. customers, and his wife was ever quiet, amiable and lady- like, while winsome Ouida reigned queen of every youthful heart, both boy and girl, within But they had not al- ways lived there, and in a neighborhood where every family record can be proved from the beginning of time, by some of the oldest in- habitants, this is an indication of a lack of con- sideration in one’s ancestors which the descend- ants of the early settlers are very loth to over- look. More than this, the miller was a singularly - reserved and eccentric man, who never min- gled, with those-about him, but lived solitary, amid the dust and roar of the busy mill. Mrs, Haughton, although friendly disposed * toward her neighbors, could never quite assim- late with the buxom, bustling dames that con- ' stituted the society of the country; and so her manners, that were but the reflection of natur- al dignity and refined intelligence, were, by these Critical rustics, pronounced “stuck up,” and she was to a certain extent left alone to ‘nurse the melancholia that seemed to have— fastened upon her life and sucked it barren of smiles. And Ouida, notwithstanding that, in her ir- | repressible joyousness, she was the life of ev- ery gathering, she still was like some lovely exotic, growing upon a. daisy-starred bank, | among her youthful companions, Nature had made a difference bebween her and the maidens with whom she romped, and that this differ-. ence was felt, was proved by the fact that. while sho had ever had a miniature court about hor, still none of the farmer lads ever paid her , those pointed and nameless attentions by which y indicate their preference for the particu- that desire elects wife of the future man. Thon, i there were things at the mill-+ OUIDA’S” LOVE. house not to be found in any other mill-house | in Central New York. On one side of the room into which we have looked, and which . served both as parlor and living room, was.a set of plainly constructed shelves filled with methodically arranged and elegantly bound books—books that, by their titles, proved themselves selections from the choicest litera- ture of every nation. Between the window and outer door stood a claw-footed mahogany beaufet, black with age; and upon a curiously twisted music-rack of ‘the ‘same dark wood stood a beautifully inlaid guitar case. Facing the book-shelyes, on the opposite side of the room. stood. a huge cedar chest, rich with an- tique carving, above which hung a masterly painting in oil, representing Cain at the mo- ment when the Lord said unto him, ‘‘ Where is Abel, thy brother?’ while about "the room were beattered various little womanly trinkets very rarely to be met with in the rural homes | of America, even in the year of our Lord, 18—. But on this particular morning of which I write, the little table with its decided square, | where Ouida stood elbow deep in a shining tin pan ‘of steaming water, was covered with» the | most incongruous of all the miller’s posses- sions, namely—a full coffee service of quaintly fashioned silver; flanked by piles of plates, cups and saucers of the rarest Sevres china. “‘ What is this in the center of these plates, ‘) mother?” asked Ouida, as she wiped one deftly with a snowy linen towel and deposited it care- fully upon one of the shelves of the old beaufet. “A coat-of-arms, daughter,” answered the mother, somewhat wearily, as if she would | thus dismiss the subject. “The silver is marked in just the same way. I should think they might have found something prettier to put on. What is a coat- of arms?” persisted the girl. “Tt is, I think, a kind of patent of nobility held by families of noble descent, and granted by royalty at the conferring of a title in reoog- nizance of brave deeds,” was the hesitating re- ply. “What does this lion rearing up as if to climb an oak tree signify? and here are some words in Latin, what do they mean?” ‘The arms was granted to John Ogden, Esq., i | their glance upon the blanching face of his wife and asked, with a sneer: —“‘ Why don’t you en- lighten your daughter, madame? You have an inkereatine bit_ of family history in your mem- {? ‘We were- only talking about the coat-of arms upon the old service, Hugh!” said the shrinking woman, pleadingly. ‘‘Curse the old service! Tl grind it inso pow- der, beneath my heel, if I heav any moro of this curiosity,” hissed the man, and turning | abruptly left the room, Only the ticking of the tall old clock broke the silence that violence and tyranny had so suddenly created. A mute anguish overspread Mrs. Haughton’s face, while Ouida stood, the picture of consternation, with frightened ‘roses trembling from red to pale in cheek and brow. Slowly she freed her hands from the crystal water-drops, and as slowly passing to where her mother sat, she wiped away the two great tears that were’ just escaping the tortured eye- lids, then turning’ her quick, passionful face toward the door, she asked: “Why is father always so angry when I seek to know from whence) we cathe,jand “from whom we are descended? What is thera so terrible in the past that makes him rage like a tiger, and has made you old before your time?” “Don’t ask me, child! Don’t ask me! Pray to God, hourly, that you may never know. JI your mother, could wish you had died an inno- cent babe, in my arms, rather than to see you bearing the burden I ‘have borne. I can see-- nothing in the future for you that is good. There—tbere! Forget alk this, darling; I am not quite myself to-day. Don’t grieve, Ouida, nor mind these little differences between your father and me, Put on your bonnet and tako.a walk down to your favorite butternut-treo; the air and sunshine will do you good.” ‘But, mother, I cannot bear to see you un- | happy and fading away like a snow-wreath. I§ there nothing I can do to give you joy and peace?” “Nothing, daughter, beyond the comfort your bright young life is to me. ° Ask me no more questions concerning the past; it but dis- turbs a current we cannot stem. Finish your | work, my love, and then go out; I would be ' alone.” by Charles the Second, who saved the life of | his unfortunate father, Charles the First, by télling him to secrete himself in the thick branches of an oak-tree when so closely pressed by his enemies that escape seemed impossible. The king followed the advice and Ogden rode on, closely pursued by those who thought him in company with Charles, and the royal fugi- tive esca The lion represents the person of the king, and the tree his leafy hiding-place. The words are a Latin motto; ‘ Et si ostendo A few moments were occupied in placing the dishes in their accustomed places, and cover- ing the angular table with an embroidered | spread; then the house-door opened ard shut between the young heart going out to meet its mon jacto--the motto of the house of Ogden, | meaning—‘ And if I make a show I donot | boast.” “Well! how came that coat-of-arms upon this silver, or, how came we by silver bearing | that coat-of-arms?” “Your father’s mother was an Ogden, and these things belonged to her.” “Did she live in England, and is she dead?— Did | have a grandfather, or an uncle, or some . relations besides a grandmother, like other girls have?—Why don’t you tell me all about it?— | Where did we live before we came here?” asked — gn eagerly, unmindful of her mother’s’ tle “hush,” or the passing shadow that t thai a momentary gloom in at the open win- dow. But, the impetuous words died suddenly on "her lips as:she caught sight of the miller’s form as it darkened the doorway and knew that he had heard her questions. The man’s clothes were white with the sift- ing particles of grain, and the rings of his coal- | ' plack hair were powdered ‘thickly with the same gray dust, and, yet, the hadges of his humble calling set upon him, like the trappings of a masquerade, as he stood blurring the sun- shine with his dark and haughty presence, A. white anger circled his thin lips, and a phos- Phorean flame shot. from his eyes as he bent fate, and the stricken mourner into whose soul the iron had long since entered, and none but the God, whose mighty finger is upon the pulse of humanity, felt the throb of that mother’s voiceless prayer as she knelt by the vine- wreathed window. CHAPTER Il. IN WHICH YOUNG LOVE AND “THIS WORLD'S POLLY” APPEAR. “ Rosy in the west, Rosy in the so’ _ Roses are her sot And a rose her mouth,” F * = “ * For a iced * ras mov And the planet of Love is on hie: ay Ovuma Haveuton was very fair to look upon as she walked beneath the shadow of the grace- ful willows that skirted the swift-running mill- stream ‘down toward her favorite haunt, the old butternut tree. The summer wind played hide- and-go-seek in the waving masses of her bronze- gold hair, and gauzy-winged insects played en- vious pranks in the muslin folds that vailed so tenderly the soft warm loveliness'of. neck and arms, Her eyes were violet-blue, fringed by long curling lashes; her forehead white and ! bow so tempting that— wide and high; one roguish dimple nestled in the round left cheek; her chin was short and sensitive; her nose small, straight and delicate of nostril, and her mouth formed a Cupid’s _* A manthad given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for ‘this— To waste his whole heart eart in one kiss | Upon her perfect lips.”
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A searcher for sangre azul would have found its warranty in the tiny shell-tinted ear, the exquisitely molded hands with their pointed pink nails,‘“and the high arched instep of her little feet as they pressed daintily the spring- ing grasses, and Have been confounded in his theory by learning that the little lady was only a miller’s daughter. But, Ouida was not given to theorems; she could put two and two together, but she was not fond of working out these little problems. Moreover, Ouida was young, and the air was sweet with the breath of honeysuckles and wild-roses; a saucy bobolink whistled merrily at her from some invisible perch in the willow copse, and great lazy butterflies floated like ani- mate flowers upon the languid breeze. Who could long be sad or long remember unpleas- ant things beguiled by nature’s great har- monies? Ths old butternut was a glorious tree.. Its thick-leaved arms stretched wide, projecting shadows Over the cool greensward at its roots; feathered minstrels of eyery note held tuneful yehearsals within the leafy orchestra. The sil- very Mourning Kill glided over its pebbly bed under the dancing reflection of its wind-tossed boughs, and sitting there beneath its friendly shade one might see and hear the music of the falls, as spouting fromthe cliff the liquid element breaks into foamy spray, then, escaping the rocky torture, gathers again its shining thread and flashes adowr the mossy banks. Above 1s the deep blue of the rippleless pond merging into the fairiter blue of the cloudless sky, and the white sails of the old mill gleam restless through the parting trees. 7% Cn 8EBS Tested Ouida with its changeful midsummer note as she stood drinking in with her eyes the evervarying, neverfailing charms vantage ground. y i on seared Pn try my fortune,”* said she to herself, “I’m sixteon, and ‘ Heartsease’ was ‘Wooed and married and a’’ before her sixteenth birthday. * rts of the north of England the old Datieh cupersnition stil] prevails of the viltines girls go- ing out on the midsummer morning, when the cuckoo changes the note which it hau maintained since April, to question the bird as to their future mar- riage. According to this ancient custom, the simple maidens kiss their hands in salutation to the mys- terious little soothsayer of the meadows, and say each in turn: “ Cuckoo! cuckoo Bow d’you do? How d’you do? ’ How long must I tarry Before I marry? ‘ The 1 sings out “Cuckoo as man times prepasted er -2 years, it is to be ropes) elapse before the wished-for event is to come oif, koo! 5 pea ty. Cf How d’you do? long must I tarry, Before I marry? are in mock demure ton a caeste cuckoo! cuckoo!” came from some wild-wood covert in answer to the half-roguish, % . appeal. agent months to. tarry! Oh, wicked cuckoo! what sort of a wedding-dress should a girl be able to make in that time? - "mo" I’m o’er young, % Tm pet bY to marry oy I’m o’er young, ‘twad be a a To tak? me 26 my mither yet, i d the her, sweet, clear voice, an parties Fr rung pack a warning echo, “O’er » ngs cil bravo!” came in fresh, manly tones fell upon her. 5 APNE ophaneat sprung lightly across the fallen willow that formed a natural, though half-sub- merged bridge over the stream, and came to- ward the maiden. Dressed in hunting costume, as he stood, tall ai inti light, no son of énd straight in the glinting sun , : Nimrod oon more nearly peeoeene the fa bled beauty of the god. He was a Sau ape men in stature and perfectness of limb, an regular as chiseled marble OU TAS OVE ent eR SR EAR RR A RN “°Will you walk into my parlor?” said a spider to.a, . \ and well-nigh as clear and pale; his mouth and nose were finely-cut, proud and firm; the lines of the lips exceedingly delicate and haughty; his eyes Were dark and wonderfully deep with powers of expression; his brow was wide, high and powerful, and his head was set as'grandly as the head of a youthful Titan upon his shoulders. “Ernest!” shyly uttered the blushing girl. “ At your service, fair Ouida, I know it is a great breach of etiquétte to intrude upon a lady’s retirement, but how could you expect me to remain in the woods when even the | meadow larks left their strawberry depreda- tions at the sound of your voice?”» said the young giant, as he divested himself of gun and hunting-taekle and threw himself upon the grass at her feet. “Were you listening? Did you hear me—” | “Sing? Most certainly! How could I help it, and how’else should { have known you were here?” interrupted, and, after the manner of Yankees, answered the youth, drawing in long breaths of the cool; delicious breeze. “How: else, to -be sure?’ Well, people who stroll all over are pretty sure to hear some- thing not intended ‘for their ears. “What have you shot to-day?” ‘ “Powder,” was the sententious reply, “Is not this a picture-spot on earth’s broad can- vas?” : ‘Tt seems to me as if there are none more beautiful,” answers Ouida, with dewy eyes. “Here are the violets dim,-but sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, golden oxlips, and the crown imperial; blue-eyed myrtles and fragrant fleur- de-lis. them sweetest as they die.” ‘* Andare you Perdita?. You reminded me irresistibly of her as I saw you ‘sitting here with your lap full of fragrance. But no; I will “ot call you Perdita,” and a tender light beamed from the young. man’s eye as he watched the carmine céme and go beneath the rose-leaf whiteness of her transparent cheek. “Then you do not consider’ me ‘the queen of curds and cream?” she said, with all a woman’s coquettish instincts alive within her, and a telling side-glance from her innocent blue orbs. “You are ‘no shepherdess, but Flora peer- ing in April’s front.’ I will not call you Per- dita, for that means lost.” “And, as I am ‘no shepherdess,’ you will not connect me with the lost sheep.” “Not unless you will consider me the shep- herd who is to bring you into his fold.” “TJ think we are talking nonsense,” said Oui- da, half-frightened at the turn the conversation had taken and at loss how to meet his most pointed remark. ‘People who are in love seldom talk any- thing else,” answered the handsome fellow. ‘But, I am not in love,” hesitatingly floun- dered she, while the rich red suffused neck and brow. ‘But J am!” with earnest emphasis. “With yourself?” asked the shy littlé puss. “With my other self,” was the answer, with increasing warmth. “Oh! Then you have a double! With which have I the honor of speaking?” * “ With the real Ernest—the Ernest who loves you and who wants to call you by the holiest ofall names. Will you be mine?” I gathered them as I came and ‘find | One little moment the wide pansy eyes search- | ed his face as if to read there the truth of his words, and then the rare sweet face hid itself upon his breast and the sweetest silence in God’s fair world fell upon them. Afar the tinkling of a cowbell mingled with — the voices of laughing children; the honey-laden bee droned by on tireless wing; a great yellow bumble-bee payed gallant court to an oxeyed daisy; the cuckoo cboed softly from its verdant hiding, and the Mourning Kill rippled gently * on.its way to its lover's arms, the bright old Mohawk; but the: young hearts, wrapped in” sweet love’s dream, only felt the unwritten har- monies of nature’s sympathies and found a fore- taste of Heaven upon each other's lips. L > j | state of preservation. _and bought me taffy by the yard, and I don’t, _ expect to see another till the dying day*of my aang le Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. : Rowve ens got to pop your head within the little To we so many curious things you never saw “be~ ore. ‘ Will fe will you, will you, will you, walk in, pretty sung a little erickery-crockery voiee close: at hand. ; The young couple started, blushing each fu- | riously, and Ernest asked: “Who is that?’ , *«¢This world’s Polly,’” answered Ouida, ** Who is ‘this world’s Polly?” ‘‘ A poor demented creature who lives in that little hut just there in that:clump of willows,” The explanation was hardly ‘given when a singular figure came along. the. grass-grown path toward them. She was: dressedsim some kind of a dust-colored. petticoat, over) which she wore a long-tailed-blue: dress coat’ inva pdéor Her long white’ hair covered ‘her like a vaily and in -hervhand she. carried .a pug-nosed, broken-handled,» shiny- black teapot. + “‘ Good-morning, young Colin and Dowsabel,” she said, dropping them an,elaborate courtesy, “I never expected to see another pair of lovers in this world, no never, any before since Methuselah was»a small boy death. I don’t suppose there’ll ever be another such proposal as Solomon made to the Queen of Sheba in this world, no never, and=* 45 . The little maid replied; ; Some. say, a little sighed; But, what shall we have for to éat, eat, eat? Will the love that you’re so rich in ‘Make a fire in the kitchen— ; Or the little god of love turn the spit, spit, spit?’ And that makes me think that Methuselah ‘is waiting for his supper—a thing hé never done before in ‘this world, no never! ‘and when he came there the cupboard was bare’ and Yl never forget it till the dying day of my death, no, no, never! Good-morning, young Colin and fair Dowsabel!” and with another bob- bing courtesy she hobbled on, singing as she went, baits “Then u 8 ut Pag nto ‘nthe web caught fast, ane ‘ e spider , “Ha, { pre ots =i at notte “ Will you, will ier you, will you walk out, pretty “Well, if a man did not care what he said, he might pronounce that one of the greatest curiosities in this world,” said Ernest, follow-’ ing the grotesque receding figure with his eyes. “Polly is indeed a curiosity, but I someti think there is ‘method in her madness.’ How. ever raypbling her discourse, there is always a certain applicability about it that makes one feel uncomfortable,” answered his companion., “TY hope you are not thinking of ‘ the Spid: + and the Fly,’ little girl! .I should not feel. ¢ all flattered to know myself assocated in your mind with those horrid black bugs,” ‘Indeed no! Polly’s warbling did strike me with a certain force at the moment, but my ~ natural vanity came to the rescue,” “Then you would not wish to be considered _ M a ‘foolish little fly? ” A “What woman would?. Besides I am not partial to spiders. They may be companiona- ble during solitary confinement, but I could Lhain’t seen — not find in them any suggestion of matrimo- a. 4 \ nial affinities. Iwas thinking that Polly ad~ dressed us as Colin and Dowsabel. Did you notice it!” © ; “Yes; she doubtless thought this a bank — oh whereon the pastoral twain might sit flirting and weaving '.‘—Belts of straw andivy buds,’ ee: and simpering at each other over the tops of { their crooks, Polly has evidently been a read- © er at some period of her existence: But, to change the subject: what has been vexing you? You were singing when I discoveredyou, yet I fancied that’ the skyey blue of your eyes ~ isa was humid as if’ with-recent showers,” >
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4 a tremulous sadness usurped the usual anima- ted glow of her countenance. “ Ah, I am not to be put off that way,” said her lover, while the latent persistence in his character slightly contracted the muscles about his mouth, ‘Pm not to be put off that way. A woman’s ‘nothing’ is frequently more than a man’s loudest. ‘everything.’ If I am to be keeper of your conscience I insist upon a full confession. Begin now, pet.” “ Well, at least it is nothing more tangible than a skeleton in the closet,” sighed Ouida, in reluctant tones. / “What manner of skeleton is it, dear? I have a taste for wiring those things.” ‘“‘Tt is the skeleton of my grandmother,” was the grave rejoinder. A prolonged whistle was the only response to this rather startling announcement, and she continued: You perhaps know that we have many things at the Mill-house unlike the possessions of our neighbors, Among them there is a set ef old china and several pieces of silver curi- ously marked that once belonged to grand- | mother. Today, while washing these dishes, 1 asked mother some questions concerning them which father happened to overhear, and it put him into a terrible rage.” ; “An aggravated case of mother-in-law, very likely.” ‘(No, it cannot be that, because it is not the grandmother upon the distaff side. Don’t laugh at me, Ernest, for Iam vory sensitive concerning the mystery that envelops our past. That we have not always occupied the position in life we now do I feet certain, for where will you find a miller born to the wright with a classical education like my father, or a miller’s wife accomplished in music and art, who speaks with ease three or four languages, as does my mother?’ “There is something in that; but ‘what is _Hecuba to us or we to Hecuba?’” ‘Nothing to-day, perhaps, but Hecuba may prove everything to us in the future fulfillment of present hopes.” “ Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ my darling. We have a cross ready at hand without borrowing trouble of the future,” “ What is it?’ asked the girl, with a startled look leaping into her wide, clear eyes, as she involuntarily nestled closer to the yeung man’s pide. “Tam going away to-morrow.” “ Going away?’ “Yes, going away. Shall you miss me, or will absence teach you to forget?” - “Forgetfulness never comes to love, Ernest. How can Thelp but miss you? It # the one left who is soonest forgotten, not the one who goes. Women’s hearts are as wax to receive im ions and as marble to retain them, but T read in one of father’s books that— * Men were deceivers ever; One foot on land and one on sea; ‘To one thing constant never.’ “Ah, my dear, that may have been very true of the men of whom Shakspeare wrote, but it can never be true of a man who really. ‘Nothing, Ernest,” answered the girl, while OUIDA’S LOVE, as that of Coriolanus,.and then a hunter clad in Lincoln green re-crossed the rustic willow bridge, and a maiden lay, face downward, amid | the fragrant clover blossoms, lost in passionate thought. Rippling water, caroling birds and murmuring foliage all moved in tender sym- pathy, yet’an hour knit itself into the unrav- eled sleeve of time ere the fair young face was lifted from among the fresh cool grasses. makes the child a woman before the golden dawn is brushed from childhood’s innocence!” soliloquized Ouida, tying the strings of her rice straw hat with its nodding corn flowers be- ‘neath her rounded chin, and gathering her scattered flowers into odorous sheaves, ‘In the shadow of this old tree I played at keep- | ing house, with bits of bark for tea-things, and @ row of crook-necked squashes for my chil- dren. Later on I dreamed of Ariel ant Puck, Peas-blossom and Cobweb, who ‘pluck the wings from painted butterflies,’ and ‘kill can- ker in the musk-rose buds.” Here I kissed each flower as it opened its eyes to the morn- ing sun, and believed a fairy Mab or a goblin would hear my whispers to the blossoms. Here, too, I sobbed away my childish griefs, Spain, and won my woman's birthright. Ah, | cuckoo, thou wert no false prophet!” Thus apostrophized, the cuckoo’s plaintive cry again cleft the languid summer air as if it were an answering voice, and turning her face toward the Mill-house, Ouida walked slowly away from the trysting-tree, ever and anon echoing the note of the invisible bird in the re- frain of this sweet old song: : No bird you see on any tree. But stil f * At noon the forest delis are*bright With slanting beams of gold, At eve the dim and dewy air The growing shades unfold; But morn and eve, repeated slow, The voice is calling, soft and low, Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo! The pine is fragrant under foot, And sweet the spicy air, But still that distant voice allures To seek it everywhere; — Now louder, then far-off and low, What means it, ever calling 60, Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo! “ Still distant and unseen, the voice Some happy spirit seems, That beckons us to fairyland, Whose realms we see in dreams; Where never mortal steps may go, Unless it leads them, calling so, ckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo! “ Tt is the spirit of the woods, That sings in happy rest, Such araiet Bay) pemcenied notes As suits the forest best; Its Pree shades - ber should know But that sweet sound so soft and low, Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!” ‘CHAPTER IIL THE HOUSE OF CASTLEMAYNE, As the tamer of wild beasts lays his head loves. Men sometimes cloak falsehood with | with rash confiderice between the lion’s jaws, Jove’s habit, and thus a true man’s heart is shamed by the onus of knavish pretensions. earnestly, “T did but jest, Ernest. -I could not deubt yeu. How long shall you be away?” “ Three months.” “Three months!” “Yes, love. It seems an eternity, but I must prepare my father for a daughter's love, and a eage for my bonnie bird.” “T shall count the days but os they hasten your return,” “ And I shall think and dream only of the day that is to make you mine,” _“ Shall we say good-by, here new?” “Not good-by, but adiea,"fer I ge te return again.” cigs One clese embraco—eme kiss, leng end sweet rie so had Ouida Haughton given the holy fra- | grance of her white young life into the keep- -, That I am true I will prove to you by love's | ing of a man of whom she knew little besides unfailing test—fidelity,” said the young man, his name dnd that he was her lover, : l that If ever man was loved unselfishly man | nation of both father and son, the Union Col- was Ernest Castlemayne, although there was | much in his position to tempt a woman’s heart, had Ouida known it, But if there was much to tempt there was also much to warn in the history of the Castle- maynes; for there was an heirloom in the family that .had proved a lion’s jaw in crush- ing the hearte of many a» fond wife and sweet- heart in the years that had— “Rolled down the ringing grooves of time,” indulged my girlish fancies, built my castles in | had shown only this one scar, and the world gave them absolution for the one fault that was counterbalanced by every other virtue to which. successful man is heir, And the world could well afford to be thus magnanimous, because the world had nothing to fear from the green- eyed monster, and profited much by the free- handed generosity of its keepers; but it was the fair young brides that came to the graystone “Oh, strange, sweet power of love, that | castle who faded and died inhaling this deadly | nightshade of love, Girard Castlemayne, the founder of the American branch of the family, had built his home in the forest center of an Eastern State. | Hundreds and hundreds of acres of fertile un- and that heirloom was fierce, unreasoning | TN Re oR ek hed a td mother country and reared his “ Lares and | Penates” in New England, the - family record | Vs Ae ee pre Sats aa (yd Sy oe, | claimed land stretched out around him, and though Indians and wild beasts contested every foot of his chosen ground with him, he was nothing daunted and began what seemed then a wild and adventurous work. But Girard had set himself te the task of working through the mountain called Difficulty ; he had faith considerably larger than a grain of mustard seed, and that, with perseverance to the fore, worked wonders, <A few years joined hands with the eternity of the past, and they who had langhed loudest at what they termed the Englishman’s foolhardy undertak- ing were loudest in their outspoken admiration of the bold, enterprising spirit that had reared a granite stronghold in the-midst of a wilder- ness, and was rapidly cutting his way to the very heart of the primeval woods, and chink- ing the golden guineas into the canvas bags that lined his strong-box. A city had now crept up to the very door of ‘* the old stone mansion, and although the de- scendants of the indomitable pioneer built pal- ace after palace in the city streets, they still dwelt within the moss-grown ivy-mantled walls that had withstood the besieger’s hand and the ravages of time. The Castlemaynes were a race of giants famed for beauty of physique and integrity of character, but they were also known to be pas- sionate and stern in their resentments. Every year had marked the increase of their moneys and estates, but every year death had lopped off branches from the fine old lineal tree—no male heir of the house grew to man’s estate uh- der the softening influence of a mother’s smile, it was said, and at the time of which I write there were only two living representatives of | the long descended line—our hero, Ernest, and his father. The present head of the Castlemayne family had worthily perpetuated the family wealth, the family honor and the family jealousy, and he now felt that there was but one duty undis- charged, and that was to insure the perpetua- tion of the family name by the marriage of his son. And here the old gentleman was.in danger of falling between two stools, _He was morbidly afraid that his son might entail the family® acres upon a posterity of dwarfs instead of the truly begotten giants Antinous, by marriage | with some one not quite his equal socially, men- tally or physically; or else that he might not | marry at all, and so, the race dying out with him, the ancestral possessions should fall piece- meal into the mouths of the dogs that now fat- tened upon the crumbs falling from his table. These cOnsiderations had been kept carefully in view in the rearing and education of. the son and heir, and as everything ‘suggestive of Holland and the Dutch was the especial abomi- | lege in old Dorup was selected as the most un- likely location of aJl kindred institutions to con- tain anything dangerous to the family hope, and the young gentleman was packed off to fin- ish his education in that phlegmatic Germanes- que atmosphere, while the father drank his old port and took his after-dinner nap with happy confidence in such local protectives as Amster- dam and Rotterdam. But, “ L’homme propose et Diew dispose,” and. fancied security often overreaches itself! Ernest having received a diploma from his alma mater, and being somewhat enervated by close application, was directed by hismaneuver~ _ + nad Ma H t Tn 5 A ROE Pt hl rae ie, rear aes Nees
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eee Be ESD ing parent to spend some littie time recuperat- ing in the salubrious safety of the lohawk val- ley before returning to his native city, and af- ter six weeks of rusticating among the Glen- ville hills we find him, unmindful of every con~ sideration of pride or position, avowing a man’s loyal love for the miller’s daughter and asking her to become his wife. Ah, well hath the great one said: “ There's a divinity that shapes our ends Rough hew them as we xi Truth to tell, Ernest was not so confident in respect to the coming isstie between himself and father when he started upon his homeward journey, as when in the proud elation of trium- phant love he pressed the farewell kiss upon the sweet young lips of his betrothed. But, deter- mination lurked in every curve of his mobile countenance, and though his father had “ An eye like Mars’, to threaten and command,” Ernest was a true chip of the Castlemayne block, with a will that an avalanche of opposi- tion might stimulate to Herculean deeds but could never break nor bend. CHAPTER IV. SUNSHINE, THEN STORM. “The ample propositions that hope makes, lesigns begun on earth below Fail tn “the promised largeness; check and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest reared.” TaREE times the moon had hung full over the old buttermut-tree and saw itself reflected in the deep pure’eyes of pond and mill-stream. ‘Three months and a day had passed since Ouida plighted ber troth and, parted from her lover, and now she awaits his return to keep their tryst where bi se a less as a flo ocgied on ieabes ty Go aye bye is the light Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance— Shadows and sunshine intermingling quick, © FAnd darkening and enlight’ning—as the leaves Play wanton—ev’ry moment, every spot. The russet brown of early autumn had touch- ed lightly the grassy slopes. Here and there a royal gleam of crimson-and-gold madea ban- ner of color against the dark-green background of the distant wood, and a little chill as of com- ing frosts lurked in the fresh, exhilarating eee heal ueetagred bee buzzed in and out a late but fainting bunch of crimson clover-heads, busily conscious that the honey-harvest was nearly over. Fleecy clouds looking like great toot «_On tip-toe for a flight, With wings of delicate flush, o’er virgin white,” flew southward, driven before trooping gray- wrapped, precursors of coming gloom—a, little brown bird feasted daintily and industriously in the thorn-apple hedge, and on the distant hill, where the public road wound. like a nar- row dusty ribbon around. its brow, a yoke of meek-eyed oxen dragged patiently a creaking cart, loaded with sso of Skin one piled f round, ripe, golden pul onthe fallen ost across the Mourning Kill groaned as_if with sudden weight, and the warm red paled in the watcher’s cheek. .One moment in which the pulsing Llood left a cool faintness on breast and brow and the heart for- got to beat its joy, and then eager hands clasped hers in greeting, eager lips sought hers for kisses, and the heir of the Castlemaynes was come to make ggod his pledge. -hour later and the lovers stood hand- Sie ea tho old mill-house parlor, while the young mau made his’ plea for the one ewe lamb ~ a fashion but little followed by the young sic 876. : ee i a picture whose:artistic grouping would have charmed a critical eye—the young couple all life, light and hope—the miller firm, dark and haughty, leaning against, yet dis- daining the support of, the smoke-stained man- tel-piece—his wife, like some pale embodiment of despair framed in the vine-wreathed win- dow-seat—and the coop nein) sunshine ingi ricksy darts of lg r all. ee 4 “ > inderstand, you, sir, that your father forbids you to marry my daughter? asked the miller, in clear, cutting tones, « Alas, yes, sir. But be will soon relent. I am his only child, and, after him, the sole sur- viving representative of an ancient and honor- able family,” answered Ernest. “He locks upon your marriage with my daughter as a mesalliance for ‘the sole sur- viving representative of an ancient and honor- able family? ” again demanded the stern, clear Voice. “He does not know Ouida, sir, and the prejudices of class, long cherished, are not to be blown away. with a single breath,” said the young man, an intercessory tremor agitating his words. ‘That was very wisely said, young gentle- man; and now be so good as to bear my great- est respect to the head of your ‘ancient and honorable family,’ and tell him that Hugh Haughton declines, with all due deference, the henor of an alliance with the house of Castle- mayne, for his daughter.” “You are mocking me, sir. You cannot mean to part us upon an excuse so light as a foolish prejudice that will vanish like the dew before the sun when once my father knows your daughter ”—and the youth’s grasp tight- enéd with involuntary cruelty upon the little hand for which he sued, “Tt is not my habit to jest, and I repeat, sir, more emphatically, that I will not give my daughter to you in marriage.” “Have you any personal objections to me?” “None, young man. But I know the ac- cursed pride and jealousy of your class, and that happiness is not born of a marriage where there is the shadow of condescension on either side.” . “There is no condescension here, sir. Na- ture has endowed Ouida with a nobility above the patent of kings. Could I place the coronet of a duchess upon her brow it would be but a just acknowledgment of the honor unto which she was born.’ .A white flame played about the miller’s thin, set lips; his hand clenched beneath the dusty shadow of his sleeve, but he only said: ‘“‘T tell you tt shall not be!” As the flint strikes fire from its steely tinder- box, so the Castlemayne tiger flashed from its nervy jungle and gave proud passion to the quick reply: . “ And I tell you, sir, that I will not sacrifice her happiness and mine to the false and unjust promptings of -reasonless whims. I love your daughter, and if she does not renounce that love the will of all Christendom combined shall not suffice to separate us. Farewell for the present, my Ouida;” and, bowing lowly as a prince before his sire, Ernest quitted the house. As a mountain-sfream glides in gentle sub- mission to the restraining power of its rocky girl; “do so, ere I curse the fate that gave me | | such a father.” “By the gods! I'll cure this impertinence!” shouted the miller, and fastening his iron gripe upon the delicate girlish shoulder he dragged her unresisting form to the entrance of her lit- tle chamber, and then with sayage cruelty flung — her from him. xo With ringing tread he crossed the little par- lor and strode across the open green between the house and mill. Back he came with the same hard face and step, bearing in his hands a hammer and some iron spikes, and with dey- ilish deliberation proceeded to nail the heavy bedrogm-door to its oaken frame. This done, he once more turned upon his heel, passed out of the house, unmindful of the despairing face in the shadow of the vine-curtained window, and was lost in the restless chaos of the clatter- ing mill. “ Oh, God, so do our sins transforms us! there no power in time or place to 6 i iseased Pluck from ho some ' tol one Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?’ Oh, my child, better hadst thou never been ig than to have been born of such asI!” moaned Ss Mrs. Haughton, in tones of intensest angu: and sunk a quivering heap upon the san floor, +e CHAPTER V.. LOVE LAUGHS AT LOCKSMITHS, “ All within is dark as night: In the window is no light; And no murmur at the door, So frequent on its hinge'before.” “ Farewell: and if my fortune be net crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost.” Tux little chamber that was Ouida’s maiden bower, and in which she had been fastened by her infuriated father, was in a sort of lean-to that had been added to the main building, and a projected out over the stream emptying from the mill-race. Attached to the sill-timbers there still remained a part of the carpenter's scaffolding, forming .a narrow ledge scarce wide enough for foothold, ‘There was but one ' small window, and that was shuttered by the ~ banks until iv meets the jagged resistance of | some sharp bowlder, spouts upward, and flash- es in violent torrents adown its shrinking bed, rocky. bank rising some three feet distant in bold derision of the puny, ever-restless cur- Sh rent dashing perpetually against its flinty base; wreathing woodbine..climbed here and there adown its sides, and flung graceful tendrils over the gray old house, but their Dp 1 fhoxe-- we er-cups were now closed in dewy slumber, and “the hour when grave-yards yawn” was fast approaching. No winking light cast fitful shadows over the snow-white couch and dainty feminine appointments of this little room, yet the aching heart imprisoned within its walls | had not found peace even in the s0 the current of young life flows in equable | obedience between its parent banks until a | bowlder cleaves it to the heart, then it shoots | upward, Overleaps confinement, and dashes de- fiance in cold, mad passion over the thing that would obstruct. : For an instant Ouida stood like a marble Eve before the closing gates of Paradise; then, turn- | ing like a young pythoness with blazing eyes, | she demanded: ‘“Pather, why is*it- that you thus set your foot upon the brightness of my whole future? There is more in this than appears upon the surface. Is it because you fear to give any one the right to question you*concerning my an- tecedents? Have you murdered any one that you have hidden from the world and would im- molate me upon a pyre of your transgres- gions?” A change like that which stamped the coun- tenance of the fallen Lucifer smote the fea- tures of the man with unspeakable fury as he thundered, with the power of a Stentor: . ‘‘Hold! Hold your infernal tongue; girl, or by all the powers of Hades 1’ll drag it from be- ‘tween your unfilial Jips!” “Do so!” came fro the stung soul of the a a " a = “ US Of Sleep, that, sated, will restore to Grief A sweet space from his cruel clutch.” ~~ ~- Treacherous arms dy eae Close by the window she kneels, mingling = ‘el : her passionate thoughts with the roar and dash - of the falls, while the cool winds of‘heaven — er om steal’ through the brilliant vines to kiss the fever from the maddehed brain, Re" * Ouida!” An electrical thrill passed over the bowed figure, and pushing back the tangled masses of her hair, the girl murmured in quick aspirates: “Hark! was that a voice piercing softly the | sound of wind and water?’ * “ce Ouida !” she \ and chokes me.” “Ouida! It is I, Ernest! Lean your head | far out the window; I must speak with you, and would not rouse the sleeping tiger.” “Speak on, dear love! my father sleops; I ‘a hear his breath come and go as steadily as the ticking of a clock.” “My darling, can you brave your father’s 6 anger to be my wife? Is your love strong — enough for this?’ asked the young man, with suppressed eag’rness, from his rocky coigne of vantage. bie en i ‘7 je xt Est) Ploy é 7 BA no vs S ‘: r a p Ms my a as, rig PMR as aap he AE a pers ic MN er Ey 2 ae ee ) “ Who calls? my heart bounds to my throat ’ oe ; 4 Zs 35
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air > eee > ods (? ‘lovely woman in royal attire, framed in gold | _ atid circling diamonds. = and the droop ead resting upon the 6 ‘thing but being separated from you,” was the soulful answer. : “Then, come what will, mine you shall be. Are you fastened in your room?” ‘* Yes; but there is a door of ‘escape open to me whenever I choose to pass through it.” “Come, then.” “ Now—to-night?”’ * Yes, to-night. To-morrow may bring us fresh disaster. I will not wait for it.” ‘*Have you considered this so well that you are assured against regret?” **Can the day regret its sunshine?” ‘And will your love be sosure that remorse for having ceased for a moment to honor those who gave me:being shall not visit me!” “May Heaven’s justice guide the dagger lightning to. my heart when it be found in but an instant’s wavering allegiance to thee.” “Wait for me, then, at the old butternut | tree, and with God lies the issue.” A loosened stone fell from its unsteady rest into the water with echoing splash, a startled night-bird flew screaming from its perch on some swinging bough, and then silence like a specter hand clutched at the breath of the waking world. Five minutes passed and the little room, with all its familiar comforts and cherished belong- ings, was photographed upon the girl’s mind, The little daily joys that went to make up the _ sum of her sixteen years of existence pressed which trailed the crimson magnificence of a . / _QUIDA’S LOVE, ~~ velvet court-train. A great round tear had fallen upon the pale wan hards clasped so tightly over the weary breast, and millions of tiny rainbows flashed from its translucent heart into the nooks and crannies of thedrearyroom. But the sleeper’s | eyes are closed to the signal of hope, and the moisture still gathers where the dark lashes sweep the blue-veined cheek, Ah, Mrs. Hemans gathered wisd}m from the sighs of humanity when she wrote— “ Are they forgotten? It is not so? Slumber divides not the heart from its woe.” A mighty agony swelled in the bosom of the daughter as she looked and felt the abandon of despair that had fastened upon the soul of the mother who had foretasted the bitterness of death that she might live, and whom now she would abandon to darkest desolation. beneath her feet, and faltering in her purpose, she half-turned again toward the swinging woodbine ladder. Then the low, sweet call of a cuckoo trembled on the midnight air, and crushing back with wildest effort the rising throe of her yearning heart she bent beneath the power that commands the most filial to forsake father’ and mother, and like a frighten- “ed lapwing flew over the drying fragrance of upon her with fond association, until the mel- | ancholy hoot of an owl brought her wandering thoughts back to him who waited at the mid- night tryst. Some short, sweet hours of joy _lay within her reach at all events, “ Then let come what may, No matter if I go m I shall have had my day.” ~ With still white face, but unflinching hand, Ouida took her hat and a long dark cloak from their accustomed hangings and tossed them across the parting chasm onto the firm land be- - yond; then, noiselessly as a shadow that parts our eyes ‘from light and is gone, stepped over the low window-sill and swung fearlessly through the gloomy rustle of trembling leaves. Some new courage had infused the once timid heart, for though the water hissed hungrily . from its sharp stone bed, and the scarlet berries ‘vattled like summer rain from the torn and strained vines, her steady foot never once faltered nor her firm nerves weakened through- '- Out the perilous descent. : A light glimmered from the best room win- _ dow, and the escaped girl approached with cau- tious step and peered into the room. _. The candles had burned low in their silver sticks and the slender snuff-capped wicks blazed with blue and sickly light. Upon the hearth the smoldering skeletons of departed fire lay blanketed in ashen white, and the night winds stole through the open windows carrying Ahe chill of a death-damp. The little sharp- cornered table, spread with its blazonry ‘of broidered dragon’s heads, was pushed squarely back against the wall, the gilded morocco upon " the book-shelves gleamed like Egyptian hiero- glyphics ip the uncertain light, the claw-footed beaufet stood grimly unmindful of the silver | pomps and vanities hidden in its capacious stomach, but the grave face of the tall old * ‘lock looked down into the open depths of one of the oaken chests and upon such a gorgeous ' sheen of satin and of silk as must have made '. The dark purple. stains under the eyes, the | little depressions in the once rounded cheeks, seat of a chair, across Chae eM hy tee eae dead clover, through the checkered green and white of dying mandrake beds, under dew-wét arches of wyeathing eglantine, on to where a star-eyed fate stood under the old butternut | tree, murmuring: a She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; e red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near;’ And the white rose weeps, ‘She is late;’ The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear;? And the Lily whispers, ‘I wait,’ “ She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, y heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth, in an eer. bed; ba A would hear her an beat, ad I lain for a century dead; Wigalg start and tremble under her feet, , d blossom in purple and red,’ CHAPTER VI. IN WHICH “THIS WORLD'S POLLY’S” GOOSE APPEARS. “Gone! flitted away! Taken the stars from the night and the sun from | through the spout of a tin teapot; but Lve given up breathing now; it ain the day Gone, an & Flown to the east or the west, flitted I know not ” where! “ And now art thou cursed—” Tae morning sun shone brightly over the mill-stream, and threw dancing, slanting shafts of light in at door and window where Mrs. Haughton moved here and there arranging upon a little tray a dainty, tempting breakfast. A plump-breasted wild-bird, done to a nicety, reared its pedal bones from the white, warm breast of a tiny platter, the smell of buckwheat cakes escaped appetizingly from beneath the silver cover of their heated prison; a cut-glass jar of quivering jelly cast a crimson shadow upon the snowy linen cover of the tray; as com- ! cloud in my heart, and a storm in the panion-piece, a s:im-throated pitcher gleamed . with the amber deliciousness of maple syrup, and a golden pat of butter, stamped with a waving fern-leaf, formed the repast that would have tickled the palate of an Epicurus. The mother surveyed her work with a sigh of satisfaction, and cast anxious glances from the clattering mill back to the barricaded chamber door, and then to. a little pot of fra- grant coffee heaving impatient puffs of steam upon the hearth. There were no traces of last night’s disorder about the quaint old room; all wasas clean, and tidy, and bright as hands could make it; but the deepened circles about the heavy eyes of its occupant, and the long-drawn breath from the depressed breast, testified that, for her, yes- of thy sorrowful mouth are | ternight’s sun had set in tears and risen not _ ‘thrown into pitiful relief as’sho slumbers, her | with the morn. se A little, thin, treble voice became audible through the din and roar of the mill, singing that sad little song of old King Alfred’s: Lo, I sung cheerily In my bright days, But now all wearily, Chant I my lays Sorrowing tea A Saddest of hen, - Can I sing cheerfully As I could then?” ‘©¢This world’s Polly,’” murmured Mrs Haughton, flushing slightly.as the voice came nearer and she caught the words of the song. “Worldliness brought me here, Foolishly blind, Riches have wrought me here Sadness of mind; When I rely on them Lo, they depart, Bitterly! bitterly Rend they my heart.” The small, shriveled figure and: sharp fea tures of our “ this world ” friend, Polly, appear- 1 | ed in the doorway as the last note of the chan- For a moment the earth seemed sli pping from | sonette died away. She was attired in the cos- tume always worn by her on state occasions, and her silver-white hair streaming down to her waist, from the scarlet confines of a tur- baned kerchief, added greatly to the weirdness of her appearance. About her waist a red woolen scarf was' gathered over her dark stuff gown, the tangled fringe of which hung near- ly to her naked feet, and a chain of bones and beads, bits of leather, fragments of red flannel and pipe-stems ornamented her thin neck. ‘‘ Did anybody ever steal anything from you in this world?” she asked, with a bobbing cour- tesy. Mrs. Haughton smiled a gentle equivoke. ‘Well, I never had nothin’ stole from me before in this world, no, never! and this morn- ing, in the ‘wee, sma’ hours ayant the any- time,’ some scalawag stole my goose, that the parson give me, and that I wasn’t never to cook in this world, no, never, but keep it till the dy- ing day of my death to remember the parson by; but, somebody broke into my treasure- house, where moth and rust doth not corrupt, and stole my goose from the hengag; and the parson won’t never give me another goose in this world, no never! because he has gone where the woodbine twineth and the whang- doodle mourneth for her young.” ‘“*Won’t you rest a bit and get your breath, Polly?” asked her hostess, placing a chair. “T ain’t got any breath—never did have any in this world no, never! I used to breathe any use in this world, though I’ve got twenty-five teapots at home all as good as new, except that they | hain’t got no handles and the noses is battered some. La, there goes the Devil, painted white!” suddenly concluded the singular creature, as she caught a glimpse of the miller “passing along on the open green before the mill-door. “Won't you have a cup of tea, Polly? in- terposed’ Mrs. Haughton, shivering in nervous dread that the miller might hear her visitor's remarks, and, his rage once aroused, her hopes: for the silent prisoner would be. balked for the: day. ‘ ‘La, since you be so good, I believe I will. I hain’t had a cup of tea in this world, no, never, since I was bridesmaid to. Ruth when she married Boaz, and I never expect to huve — another till the dying day of my death, no, never! There goes the Devil aguin! It was a. white devil that stole my goose that I wasu’t. never going to cook jn this world, no, never.. It was a big goose, and a tough goose, and an old goose, and I’ll never see it again in this world, no, never!” Polly sighed lugubriously, drank her tea in infinitesimal sips, then arose gingerly to de- part. Sliding across the floor toward Mrs, Haughton with mincing side steps she thrust a little, three-cornered note into the lady's hand and said: “T must be going or some rascal will break ‘in my house, and steal the finest collection of teapots in this world. There is a feather Pll _ leave with you, and if you meet a goose that matches that feather you'll know that it ain't _— i ra a SER \ dha " “3 ait: re ik Ne ete et ri hae oe et Ae i ee ae ee Pee ake ee tee oe
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| poot--God “knows from where, ‘Castlemayne six winged months w. \ the goose the parson give me, and that I wasn never a-going to cook in this world, no, never!” The door clanged shut with a hollow jar that made the dishes on the waiting-tray dance a little jig, and Mrs. Haughton stood as if rooted to the floor with the slip of paper trembling in her nervous clutch, Her quick eye scanned the written page, and a groan, such as was wrung from the surcharged breast of Lady Macbeth in the curdling anguish of her sleep- walking hours, smote the echoing silence. _ Again and yet again she read the missive, slowly, as if forcing her dazed mind to an un- derstanding of its import. A ringing boot-heel crunched on the gravel outside the door, and stern and dark, yet with the flush of” exercise dyeing his cheek, the mil- he room. As if his presence had | a ae | of those with whom he was associated to his | wishes. pierced her understanding the pallid-lipped woman sprung into conscious anguish and with a heart-rending moan, exclaimed: “Oh, Hugh, our child has gone! You haye driven all of life from me save breath; now fasten your iron gripe about my throat, and crown your cruelties with mercy. For an instant the miller staggered as one who perishes for air, and the warm color faded from cheek and brow; then, with the power of a Hercules, nerving his muscular arm, he wrenched the oaken door from its fastening, and a current of cool air from the open win- dow struck as a chill from an open vault. There was the little white-curtained bed with tidy,’ unruffled coverlid and pouting pil- lows undented by the bright young head i there were her sewing-basket—her rustic pencil pic- tures—her books—a half-withered bunch of latest autumn flowers, and the .numberless dainty details with which womanhood, even when bound down by the “Short and simple annals of the poor,” delights to surround itself, but the cage was empty——the bird had flown. Gone! gone!” the miller echoed, in tones like the hollow roar of ocean 10 the heart of some rocky cave, while the hardness dropped like a mask from his forehead, upon which the beaded dew started, sick and cold: The curse of Cain is upon mei” ‘Gone! CHAPTER VI. MORNING. » re softer than butter, re pa besa He 7 ony were smoother tea a and yet be they Very Pa as, + my purpose to follow ieimecae little delicious nothings that made the first, sweet blush of matrimony a f heaven. inion are rarely of interest to any but principals, and I esteem neglect the aa est treatment one can give newly-marrie uth. ; ie will not be disposed to feel seriously any breach of etiquette Madame | a oe makes in not calling during the orief, i weeks of mutual absorption. toe = weakest and silliest w Baier io % consummation lasts, and he lamour of love’ : = would his hero still worship must draw a il, in deli iendli the folly- vail, in delicate friendliness, around ‘ decked dawn of that hero’s first weeks of mar ried life. : ha wife of Ernest Ouida had been the happy Paagioes = t’s moned to the death bed of Ernes father, and now the miller’s daughter reigned over the gloomy splendor of the old stone man- sion, and fared sumptuously every day. Ecnest had refitted and modernized certain portions of the interior, and the morning upon which we catch up the thread of their lives finds Ouida the occupant of an exquisite little boudoir looking like a big blue convolvulus from the bay-window, maar sat a Bins ae of a wreathin : al Sie vee ling the red rose come i -plant, and wa Pe a ii te cheek of the fair mistress of the the talked. yes oor ‘was Emile St. Pierre, who had der the Castlemayne come, «child, to Myer where, or through ) ‘ if pi et r VOR Hele, Se Carlee ge Sa ae: Pied ee Me pe MRT Sora MAY Ne a tas rd Me) OUIDA’S LOVE. what claim upon its master, but the world did not share in the knowledge. He had grown to manhood under the same influences—favored with the same advantages, sharing qually with the heir in all things, and at the old gentle- man’s death had received by will a handsome property from the Castlemayne estate. He was a man about the medium hight, with square, firm-knit shoulders and well-developed muscles, His head was evenly balanced, and bis eye, flashing’ the black fire of a charm- weaving serpent’s, illuminated a pale, opaque face set in curling masses of midnight hair. Only one defect appeared in the physical perfectness of the man, and that was that hide- ous birth-mark--a cloven foot! Socially ‘he was a person of singular fascination, and by some subtle tact he managed to bend the will So cunningly was this done that few ever suspected the favorite’s agency, though they might experience a vague uneasiness in feeling their personality somehow undermined. Emile St. Pierre was the only person of whose influence over her husband Ouida was in the slightest degree impatient. With a woman’s wonderful intuition she saw through those scintillating eyes down into the yenom- freighted soul of the man, and with the pro- tective quality of love strained to eternal vigi- lance she watched and madé their home agree- able to her husband’s friend that she might an- ticipate and thwart any stealthy designs upon their domestic happiness. She had rightly estimated the man, yet in the innocence of her leal heart she attributed the evil she felt to he in him to a feeling of re- sentment toward her for having won the warm- est love of his friend and so.in a manner exiled him from Ernest’s heart and hearth. She re- solved to say nothing of her secret fears, but with infinite discretion to set about disarming the rankling demon and so ward off the ills of which a presentiment always came to her at sight of St. Pierre. ‘ Emile and Ernest had never known a break in their brotherly intimacy until they left col- lege and Emile sailed for a three months’ tour through France, while Ernest was ordered to rusticate awhile among the health-breathing Glenville Hills. Upon Mr. Castlemayne’s decease and Ernest’s domicilage with his fair young bride in the family mansion, Emile had moved his posses- sions to a house in the city that had become his through a provision in the dead man’s will, and there he set up a bachelor establishment. Ernest protested against his leaving their boyhood’s home, but Emile insisted upon go- ing, giving as a reason that he wished to pur- sue his favorite studies, chemistry and science, without fear of being molested or annoying any one with his experiments. “If | blow my own roof off, it will be a small matter, but to uncap the ancient stronghold of the Castle- maynes would be quite a different affair,” he said, and as usual carried his point. Still, he was almost a daily visitor at the | gray-stone house, and Madame Rumor assured his friends that he had not found the young Mrs, Castlemayne so great a bugbear as he had imagined her. Aa ‘So you do not echo Lord Byron’s epigram- matic remark: ‘ Ihave been two years married; whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth? ” St. Pierre was saying as we enter the sky-tinted boudoir on aerial wings, ‘Most certainly not,” was the lady’s answer, a lovely light shining in the violet eyes, ‘I could rather, with Faust, *——-To the passing moments sa’ Stay! thou art.so fair!” é “Then you have mastered the art of life?’ “Yes—-if that be to enjoy.” ‘¢ Ah! but to enjoy we must live in the in- stant we grasp. When once we look back or forward, then the trail of the serpent has mar- red our Eden!” =) “Y have no wish to look either way. The present crowns my existence with a golden sum of sweet content. The past is irrevocable; the future past finding out!’ | Si “ And you will not borrow the sackcloth and serge before it is forced upon you! ‘Well, it is wise to regard life as a fete des roses, but the roses usually wither before the festa is over, and there is no magic to make them bloom again, for there is none that renews us—youth: The Helots had their one short joyous festival in their long year of labor; life may leave us ours.” “Yes, and I shall not make anticipation a harder master than was the Pharaohan king by making bricks of trouble without straws with which to prematurely bow my back and. so make welcome the hour when I shall tirn my face to the wall and die.” “Your theoretic acceptance of life is certain- ly not without wisdom, and your rose-wreaths _ are as alluring as those of Aglae and Astarte; but for one or two exceptions I might say * Al- most thou persuadest me.’ ” “To marry? I wish you would!” “Heaven forefend! I am already wedded to Science.” l “‘So one might believe if they were to credit all the wonderful stories concerning that mys- terious room at the top of your house, across Ps the threshold of which no vandal of our world is allowed to pass.” ‘Ah, madame, that mystical room contains nothing but the proper appointments of a la- boratory. It is only the fact that it is the only _ room in my house not open to the public that |, unkind hand over all the Y Waka ances. eb + MEAG AL eds Year a ee PT Pie yan ey as © makes it remarkable. Some day I hope to have the honor of revealing its barrenness to your curious eyes.” “Oh, fie, St. Pierre! You speakas if curiosity was my besetting sin. Suppose I test your manly superiority a little: would you not like to attend me at my last sitting for the portrait I am having painted as a birthday surprise for Ernest? You are such a connoisseur that I should like your opinion upon it,” “Indeed I should be delighted; when a0 you visit the studio?” ‘* At two o'clock this afternoon.” ‘Very well; I haye an engagement at twelve, soI will bid you good-morning now, and come around again in time to attend you.” rf “morning! Please be careful in speak- ing before Ernest, as I want the surprise to be complete,” ; “ Certainement, madame!” and with a slight inclination of his head and a blue flame dart- ing from his active eye, St. Pierre quitted the azure hung apartment, caressing nervously the pad aieagee waxed tips of his silky black mius- tache. ~ CHAPTER VIII NIGHT. / e own f: “But it was eyen thou, my compen my guide, “4 liar frien: “Let death come hastily upon them, and let them go . down quick into hell.” THE drawing-room of Castlemayne House’ was all ablaze with light, and the glowing warmth of sea-coal burning in the open grates were better nurses of content than incitives to. injustice and contention; but, the soul of the master was convulsed with the fiercest of al) _ - stately —» passions ‘as he paced up and down the apartment in restless waiting. A little spark had some weeks agone fallen _ upon the bit of tow that bound the Castlemayne | lion, and within the hour a slight breeze had | _ a fanned the smoldering fire into a bla: aces | the ferocious beast had broken loose ed vee : shaking his tawny mane in terrible menace __ above the smiling infant, peace. Six months of such happiness as rarely falls to the lot of man had been Ernest’s, but now in the twinkling of an eye the inherent jealousy of his race had sprung into life and wiped its spotless record of votion and confidence, Prat : rae Alas, poor Ouida!, The curse of the sins of — the fathers visited upon the children had fallen, and she was to be crucified between the pitiless _ treacher- jealousy of her husband and the foul, ous love of her husband’s friend! yee Yes, Ernest was jealous—jealous of the Pe aay between him and whom a love akin to that.of Damon and Pythias had so long existed;—the” 4 2 ", 1 tgs yo ae ‘. +: Ge 1.
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- my tardiness with mock anger? man with whom, as boy and boy, he had shared his sports and penanees, whose battles he had fought in their hot, impetuous youth, and whose ‘ambition he had fostered in their early man- He had held himself above the ungenerous promptings of the foul-eyed passion with manly scorn, until, entering his wife’s dressing-room an hour before, he had found her absent and a tell-tale ncte upon the toilet-table, and now, like Saul of Tarsus, ‘“‘he breathed out threat- enings and slaughter ” against the wife whom his jealousy had condemned upon the evidence of a bit of paper, and the man who had been | anto him as a brother, but whom he now thought of as the betrayer of his honor. For the fortieth time he reads the, te him, ’ damning evidence: — “Drar MApame Ovrpa: ' “Tam unavoidably detained and so cannot keep myengagement at twoo’clock, but I shall give my- the pleasure of meeting. you at the place of ap- intment sometime during the afternoon, I don’t bink Ernest suspects. “Yours, Sr. Prerre.,”’ . This wasethe ‘ trifle light as air” to our en- lightened understanding, that was to the ‘‘ jeal- ous mind” of the husband ‘confirmation - strong as proofs of holy writ.”’ Ob, that mine eyes had never beheld her | fair false face, or had the light of heaven faded forever from them ere they gazed upon such cruel evidence of her dishonor! I have loved her well, and she did leave the tender safety of _\ her mother’s arms for mine embrace., And yet a little while she loved me too; but is it not frue that woman’s love is a mocking, cursed jack-o-lantern that mires deepest those who most do trust its allurings? I gave her the warmest, truest, and most perfect love man ever gave to woman, and she, with face as smooth and smiling as if no guile had ever stirred her blood to shame, kept my faith to make it the byword of my friend! Curse him! I found not his kisses on her lips, though oft they may have fallen there, Curse him! He fatted upon my substance; made my neck a stepping-stone to most ambitious fortune, and then with cursed wiles he wins my white dove from me to defile and then destroy. Curses on him! Had he a million lives they were but drop in the eup of my revenge!” So groan- ed the strong man as he bowed in reasonless anguish before the onslaught of the green-eyed - monster, The trailigg of silken robes and the patting | ' of tiny boot-heels adown the oaken staircase Andicated a woman’s coming, and, with a hap- py flush in her rose-leaf cheek, Ouida stood ' smiling and tender-eyed before her husband. “JT am sorry to\have kept you waiting, dear,” she said, as she crossed the room and rested her hand gently upon his arm, “Your latest fancy is doubtless more exact- ing in his, humors than I have been. Make no apologies madam; your ingenuity is equal to your dissembling, but, unfortunately, it is only wasted in further exercise,” answered the Cas- | tlemayne lion, spurning the tender hand. “My latest fancy! Ingenuity! Dissembling! Are you mad, Ernest, or do you but rebuke These are strange words with which to fright your wife,” “You play the innocent to the life, madam, but it will avail you nothing. I mean that _ your relations with Emile St. Pierre are known to me.” _“* My relations with Emile St. Pierre?” “Eiven so, madam, To-day, as I went to pay my usual visit to your chamber, I found the evidence in. his own handwriting upon . ee ae’ and with these eyes I saw I beg you will make no scene; I do not choose to be made the butt of servants’ vul- gar jokes, and tears will not soften a heart turned to adamant by your perfidy.” “Tears! Z eave your farriage returning from the |: meeting. Do you think that I shall shed a | _QUIDA’S LOVE. could curse you, but that I feel ’tis retributive justice. Istooped too far to pick up nothing, and my stooping has fulfilled its prediction, for from it comes the first blot upon an honorable name,” “Nothing! Wanton! Say on, Sir Oracle; these are brave words for delicate ears, and yet I shrink not from them.” “I could crush you where you stand, thou fatal fairness, but that I must take two lives for the one you forfeit; and yet, in taking that, I might but kill an adder’s spawn.” _ ‘Soft, most generous lord! a spirit fearless as your own and tremble not before the demon of your wrath. The life you thirst for is not woith the spilling, therefore | tarnish not the immaculate home of your fore- | fathers with it.” ‘Hold, do not drive me into forgetting that you are a woman—at least in semblance, though your tongue distills venom through the laboratory of your falsity. I would not that the world should commiserate my wrongs, a 1so I will not turn you from the home you have contaminated, I will take care that you do not further shame the name you bear, and, | for the rest, 1 would never more see your face, | nor hear your voice, except as the hollow form | we call society demands the blinding of its Ar- | gus eyes. “Oh, love, oh, friendship—what cockatrices’ eggs ye are!” ‘You shall have your wish, sir. You have insulted, outraged and wronged me, and I re- pudiate the vow that made me the chattel of such a monster. Were fifty hells the conse- quence I would accept them all rather than re- turn to your thralldom. No child of mine | shall eat your bread, and if in the fullness of time I may find the vein wherein flows kin- dred blood to such as thou, mine own hand shall let it out even to the shedding of the last drop that animates the heart now beating be- neath mine own. I throw thy foulness in thy teeth—thou traducer of defenseless woman- | hood—thou coward!” A devil of passion leaped into the man’s eye at these stinging words, and like lightning he sprung toward her and by a single blow struck | her to the floor. |. Stunned and motionless she lay across the velvet lion upon the Persian carpet like some ' fair Una slain by her fierce, false playfellow. For a moment Ernest thought her dead, so white and deathlike was her face, and sick and faint, with anger held in sudden paralysis, he gazed as if fascinated by the spectacle that branded him the most despicable of all beings —a woman-striker, Slowly, as if rising from the weight of some _ hideous nightmare, Ouida regained her feet: | n ; I Baebly. alia, raised yl hand. and put back from | angels, and a hand and arm like the Venus de her face the pitying ripples of her golden hair. | She shuddered as she caught the reflection of one bright spot of blood upon her temple, and with a strange, slow smile, said: | . “It-is only one little drop, my lord—yet if thy life should exceed the limit allotted to mor- tal man thrice-told, thou couldst not find a | Lethean stream with power to wash it out!” | Then he heard a sound as if the ‘f Sable garments of the night Trailed through her marble halls,” - and he was alone with his pride, his jealousy | and his remorse. : — | ! CHAPTER IX, HOUSELESS BY NIGHT. “The wind and the wet, the wind and the wet} Wet west wind, how you blow, you blow.” ‘Let me resign a wretched breath, Since now remains to me No other balm than kindly death To soothe my misery!” THe March wind swept swiftly through the broad avenues, and howled dismally down the dark alleys, and the pitiless rain and sleet beat -eruelly down upon the upturned face of a wo- _man lying prostrate upon the wet, cold pave- oki a; x > - . pe ere a. 4 the murky night. ia ‘and may. well be slow in the shedding. I | 0ld tenement-house cast an angular shadow into. It was a night in which every living thing — sought shelter. The mangy cur that was wont to make the darkness hideous with its howls lay silent and miserable under the dripping cover of a broken step. The ragged little gamins that people the midnight air with horrid and ghostly sounds crowded their shivering frames into the reeking kennel of some overturned ash-barrel or lay curled in the comparative comfort of some emptied dry-goods box. The beetling arches of every xilent church door had its I face you with | quota of chilled limbs and chattering teeth crouching beneath gway from the pelting storm. Even those wretched creatures whom, in hideous mockery, the world calls nymphes du pave, shrunk from the bitter wind and rain, and hid their hollow painted cheeks where noi- eyed rats turned from, their shrunken limbs to better food. Only some careworn toiler over accounts that would not balance —some fast young debauchee reeling away from the green-baize table, or some whose daily toil reached far into the hours God made for rest, aroused, with echo- ing footsteps, the guardians of the night from peaceful noddings in some sheltering doorway; yet a woman, young and fair to look upon, lay beneath the starless sky, and wind and storm, cold and pain, fought in vain to wound her, | for she was as one dead. Up the street—past the row of lamps looking like sickly fireflies in the thick darkness, came a tall, lank-limbed figure, who, but for his stooping shoulders, would have seemed some skeleton shadow stalking with the storm. Lit- tle could be seen of his face, so completely was he muffled in the shabby-genteel folds of along ~ Spanish cloak, such as some cavalier in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella might have worn when seeking stolen sweets under soft Castilian skies. On he came, with one hand holding his black drapery between his face and the driving sleet, seeing not, but walking with the confi- dence of one who knows every foot of the ground whereon he treads, until, passing the prostrate figure, his long feet tangled in her wind-tossed garments and his bones rattled in violent elongation upon the wet and slippery stones. “Bless my soull” he ejaculated, gathering himself up; ‘‘bless my soul!: I hope I’m all here. ‘Let him that standeth take heed lest he faiJ.’. That was an exceedingly nasty place for a careful man to lay down ‘his clothes.” God bless my soul, what is this?” and the wiry figure started back in horror and amazement as the captious wind bared a white jeweled hand to his startled gaze. ‘A woman with a face like one of Raphael’s Milo, lying in the mud of the streets on such a night as this! Ah, it was not thus that beauty ' slept in the days when chivalry made all men spring from dry wells” ment, just where the jutting corner ofa rickety. | knights! Bless my soul!l—and she wears the badge of wifehood, too, guarded by a diamond keeper! Ah, well! ‘There is but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet’; she is not yet dead, I'll carry her in. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. Lucky it happened so near my local habitation. ‘“asy—easy, Pas- tengon. , ‘**Make her up tenderly— : Fashioned so slenderly!’ God bless-my soul! I wonder how it hap- pened?” Pushing open with his elbow the unlatched door of the swarming old tenement hive, he toiled with his unconscious burden through creaking, tortuous halls, until he came toadoor | around which there shone an even seam of light, and halted, calling: “What ho, there! Meme!” / “Coming, father!” answered a fresh young voice, and hasty fingers undid the clumsy fas- tenings; the door swung on its creaking hinges, ‘and she who had been “‘houseless by night” found that God had been able to raise her up _friends even from the very stones ' some bat-wings brushed them close, and flame- _ of the street,
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CHAPTER X. THE SINS OF THE FATHER. — a! beyond all other griefs, when fate Sirs ioav es the eng beer ioe lone and desolate In the bikes without only tie For which it loved to live or fear’d to die.” THREE weeks of alternating sunshine and shadow had passed since the night when Ouida .Castlemayne had been found by Carl Pastengon fand carried, a senseless, almost lifeless burden, into the warmth and comfort of the little room he called his home. During those three weeks the storm-driven woman had lain upon the very borders of the shadow-land, with the cold tide of the river Styx rolling up to her trespassing feet. In the wildness of her delirium she had told enough of her pitiful story to touch a sympa- thetic cord in the hearts of those who so kindly ‘ ministered to her, and now at last youth anda good constitution had wrested 2 victory from the covetous gripe of disease ad death, and the patient was convalescing, though wan and weak as a new-born infant, She lay among the pillows of a motherly, chintz-covered lounge, looking for the first time with seeing eyes around upon the material ap- pointments of the refuge unto which she had been led. Pastengon’s family consisted only of himseif and a young daughter who, at the moment Ouida’s inquiring gaze fell upon her, was en- gaged in holding a piece of bread impaled upon a toasting-fork over the scorching coals, Meme Pastengon was a pretty’ girl, and the apple of her father’s eye. Her cheeks were a little pale now from protracted watching, but her eyes were bright and brown as a moun- tain thrush, and a cheerful look always upon her face made it good for chronic discontent to look upon her. In complexion she was a clear brunette, and her black-brown hair clus- tered in infinitesimal rings all over her round little head.: Pretty Meme was as unlike her father as it is possible for one person to be unlike another. He now sat in long-drawn-out ungainliness, in a homely arm-chair, dividing his attention be- tween the invalid’s couch, the culinary opera- tions of his little housekeeper, and a snuff-box carved in the shape of a huge dragon-fly. His clothes were cut after the fashion of a half- century ago, and were worn to a condition of painful glossiness, His forehead was high and narrow, and his scant gray hair crept away from a crown as bald and shining as the monks of old rejoiced in. His nose once had been im- posing when flanked by full cheeks, but it now stood out between the cavernous hollows of his dim and watery eyes, over the thin, shrunken lips, like a sharp rock over a chasm—a monu- ment that told the departed glory of a onca handsome face. He wore an enormous black stock, above which a white rim of scrupulous neatness showed, and his vest was, like good old Grimes’s coat, ‘¢ double-breasted ’ * and but- toned down before.” Carl Pastengon was by birth and edneation an actor, but his day of great parts was past and gone, and not being content to bend his genius to minor ones, he had left the stage and devoted his time to the teaching of elocution and the diligent snuffing of snuff. Meme had _taken up the thread of her father’s ambition, $and was soubrette in one of the city theaters; and here they lived, happy in themselves and each other, envying none in the wide world in the satisfaction of their mutual content. “What place ks this, and how came I here?” asked Ouida, as her quick eye noted her strange surroundings. “God bless my soul!” jerked out Pastengon, in his quick, nasal tones, while Meme dropped her toasting-fork and crossed the room to the side of the couch. _“ Among friends, madame, but please do not talk much; you have been very sick,” answered the young nurse. ' “Tt must be so, for I feel my strength all ooze out at'my finger-tips with the mere ton- sciousness of breathing. How mane have I been here?” , Henne eee eee ccc en nn eT es ee “Three lady. ‘Father found you in adead faint at our very door. He brought you in, and ever since you have been battling with a terrible fever.” “Has Er—has no one been here inquiring for me?” ““No one, madame. You were too sick to tell us your wishes, and father thought it best to await your convaléscence before making any move to find your friends,” “Suck thoughtfulness is what I scarce hoped to find but am most grateful for. By-and-by we will converse at length; but now a strange drowsiness presses on my eyelids and thickens my speech,” “Then drink this strengthening draught and sleep. It will do you more good than a whole apothecary shop or an army of doctors,” said Meme, who watched with grave, bird-like eye, until her patient’s breathing indicated the effi- cacious touch of nature’s sweet restorer. Then with deft and noiseless motion she cov- | ered the little round table with a spotless cloth, and set abcut preparing their simple | breakfast, Soon all was ready, and the father and daughter began their pleasant meal. ‘‘ What is to be, wii. be, and that proves it,” said Pastengon, sipping his coffee with slow en- joyment, and jabbing his thin nose in the di- rection of the chintz nosegays on the lounge.’ “How so, father?’ asked Meme, between savage little bites of Her sharp white teeth at a chicken’s wing. ‘‘It has seemed to me all along as if you knew more about this lady than being here.” “So I do, child, and not much about her either, except to know that she is the child of parents whom I knew in our palmy days. Bless my soul! how time does fly!” “Did you come to identify her through her ravings, father?” Yes, daughter.” “Ts there any reason why you should not tell me all about it? 1am dying to know, for I’m sure it’s almost like a play.” “Curiosity is a womanly weakness, my dear,” “And its gratification a manly one. ,Father, won’t you tell me the story? I am sure there is romance in it” | “Ay, and tragedy, too. Many a novel has grown from smaller germs of both. The poor child little knows what a claim she has upon my sympathy. Ah, ‘God is great and Maho- met is his prophet!’ ” “Yes, father; but please ‘gc on with the story, of urged Meme, clasping her small Fangs in impatient entreaty. The, old man continued in reflective wear “It seems as if it were only yesterday week that I saw ber mother, in ber royal robes of crimson velvet, looking -a very queen as she came before the curtain at old Drury Lane to | the truth was a very sad matter! | that Lola and Lord Hugh had been privately * married, but Lola insisted on playing out her... ‘engagement before the marriage was made . receive the homage of applause after her | matchless reproduction of Queen Catherine.” “Was her mother an actress, father?’ ““Yes,” answered Pastengon, a heavy, wake- ful sigh "from the region of the lounge pillows passing unnoticed in the absorption of their mutual interest. “Yes; her mother was an actress, and made one of the most promising debuts ‘the English stage has ever witnessed. The house was packed from gallery to pit, and she took them by storm. “ Bvery body predicted a failure, and voted the manager mad in permitting her to make her first appearance in a part requiring such peculiar talent as Queen Catherine; but the manager’s head was level, for, from thé first | line until the fall, of the curtain, she was the | noble, injured queen, full of deep and awful feeling, going beyond the province of passion, yet displaying the most intense passion of which the human heart is capable. Bless my soul, how she held the house in almost breathless | ate | tention, and when she exclaimed: Ms A as vie me what ye wish for bothe-laniy. ruin. Ts this your Corigs counsel? . Outupon ye} 7% | direct opposite of Hugh, being low and licen- NE - the simple circumstance connected with her | 4 “ther, too, if report did not belie him, =~ ee, _ thought she most favored Hugh, although she _ Bare nsmes tte teveion meee and lifting her hand, swept back her straying tresses with a gesture of settled but resigned — ; despair, you might have heard a pin dropin the e “ist theater except for the labored breathing.of ei: audience.” “Tf her genius was 80 great, how came she he be living in an obscure mill-house bere im America, as this poor lady’s ravings would ines timate?” “Ah, child, by reason of a blight ‘pallets love that falle too em upon beauty and talent !” “Why, father, I am sure love is very nice unless people take it too hard.” “Very true, daughter: but there’s the Soh There are some constitutions that ever yihauaeal is ‘ goes hard with. In England, whether itbe be om cause the customs of society so hedge. the aa young people in that no woman darebenatura} enough to be lovable, or because the women of our profession, being the only actually free ce ‘ women on God’s earth, monopolize agood share ~ of the feminine wit and attrattiveness, nearly fia every actress numbers one or more of the titled — gentry in hér train of admirers. Lola Mon- of “4 teith, this Jady’s mother, was unfortunate — enough to win the admiration of the eldest and second son of the old Duke of Lorne, Hugh, the eldest, was a fine fellow, full of dasha and spirit, a very devil in his tempers, but. honorable and generous to a fault among his — fellows; but Sintram, the second son, was the — ‘tious in his habits, and wearing the white fear «Both of these young men were very de- ee, voted to Lola, but we people of thé pe sed oh was wonderfully discreet in showing her pre ference. One morning, some two weeks before — the ‘close of the season, all London wag com , — vulsed with the report.of the death of the old ~ duke and his second son, Sintram. Dame Ru- — mor said that Sintram had come to his apres the hands of an unknown assassin, and t shock of the terrible deed had killed his fa It was a nine days’ wonder, aggravated by fe ae departure of the yourg duke for parts unknown ~~ and the retirement of the popular Lola from the stage, but it was soon forgotten, and buried — under succeeding events, and very few over got rt the truth of the story.” Ge ’ “Well, what was the truth of it, father?” eas if “The truth, child! Ah. bless my soul, but © It seemed — public. This was very unfortunate, as it turn- ite ed out, for Sintram, not knowing her to bé his a brother's wife, and bent upon the gratification — of his own dishonorable passion for her, was. otra shot through the heart by Hugh in an attempt — to abduct Lola on her way home from bec “ theater.” te Oh, him?” ae “Nothing, child. The law is very courteous ; to the nobility in England as in other countries. © a The old duke was dead; the duchess lost her | reason and had to be put under medical re- we straint to protect her against herself, and Hugh, “ ag then Duke of Lorne, found it not difficult to keep the matter from the light of day, partie- ularly as he took his young wife, and left Bng- land immediately—indeced, left the world so” g far as the pomp and circumstance of his-hered-" ~ itary position were concerned, for his younger = brother bears the title, and but few know that it is not rightfully his.” ey, “Oh, father! Do you really mean to” tell me that this lady’s mother was once a famous’ English actress, and that her father is @ real we toe nt father, what did they do with | live duke, although living now a8 an humble — a miller among the hills of Central New? Ng York?” : se ’ “Surely, my child. The tnwritten stories of life often exceed in strangeness the most ex- travagant creation of the’ novelists brain. | ee / as A Be it Lay Py oe es - fe, ede espe eel Sard ia ee
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4 0. ‘What Is to be will be,’ and, if I mistake ‘hot, the child now feels the "weight of the + rod that smites from generation to genera- ots GON?" ij - Good friend!” said a voice, quivering, thin ‘and clear; from the pillows of the gay old loungo. “God bless my soul!” exclaimed Pastengon, forgetting in his excited surprise to administer the pinch of snuff he had shoved back from the table to take, and now held between his thumb and finger, suspended midway between the beheaded dragon-fly and his olfactory or- n. “Good friend, I heard your little story, and thank God who led my: wandering fect this way. My mother’s ‘heart beats through Mine, and shows me a path to independ- ir ence,” Exhausted with emotion, the invalid sunk back into Meme’s sympathetic arms. i _ “Bless my soul, why not? What is to be + ‘will be,” said the old teacher of elocution, wip- ing a furtive tear from his cavernous cheek; _ and thus it was that out of the darkness there if came light to the soul of Ouida, and from the ' fullness of her heart she murmured: _ -“ Whereas I was blind, now i see.” CHAPTER XI, A BROTHER'S BLOOD. “Tarn, helthound, turn!” fe Tr was just at sunrise of.a cloudless April abi morning that two men reached, from opposite _ directions, a little grassy plateau hedged in by nodding oaks and cedars. The air was vocal with the jubilate of return- - ing summer birds, and fragrant with the breath of early apple-blossoms. Violets peep in half- opened timidity from the bosom of springing _ grasses; wild crocuses lift their purple heads in “ courageous defiance of late frosts, and yellow dandelions stare with a million sunbright eyes f _ from the warm south slope of every bank. i . ' Silently, and all unmindful of the beautiful ‘miracle of nature’s spring-time resurrection, these men faced each other. _' + ‘Below them the peaceful river rolled like a 4 shimmering silver thread through the wooded -yales and across the smiling meadows that marked the glowing landscape, and beyond the ‘ ‘climbing hills raised their verdant crowned . heads im ambitious towerings to meet the lower- _. those opposed eyes blinded the perceptions of _ the souls speaking through them to every benign é influence of earth and sky. A strange and terrible calmness sat upon the - gallant beauty of Ernest Castlemayne as he stood thus in the presence of the man to whom _ he. owed the deepest anguish life holds within “s ‘its galled cup. Upon his brow there rested a _. tranquillity more horrible than the fiercest out- "breaks of rage, or the most hopeless abandon- i oy pee of woe, He stood as, in the days of Philip the Fair, one of his race had stood to be bound to the _' Templar’s pyre; his hand was clenched and a * . quick shudder ran throngh all his limbs, shak- “ing him as with the shudder of an icy cold; but his eyes flashed like tempered steel, and he fronted his Nemesis with a look under - which that dark soul writhed through its con- | scious lesson—‘‘I am nobler than thou!” It was no longer Alcibiades amidst the gay > levity, the dreamy languor, and rose-garlanded eS _ revels of his Olympian youth-joys with whom St. Pierre was called to cope, but Alci- _ biades grander in his dethronement than in his me i“ ne triumphs, who looked at him with eyes that ‘menaced danger, and all unquailed by mighty , Pad as the roused Sybarite might have looked | his murderers. Peat Emile St. Pierre was none the less .a Pee ecns because his joy-crowned Greek had - Jooked upon the ashes of his rose-wreaths and | become a warrior. He looked with unflinching | | gaze toward the rising day-god in bloodless . - calculation ‘of its effect upon the accuracy of | aim, ane Fees won Se Nayiaarees rs to attend QUIDAY ae LOVE. a morgiix concert instead of being bent upon an errand of blood. His manner was as replete with debonair grace as if he were about to lead some fairest of Eve’s daughters through the in- toxicating mazes of the dance, instead of stand- ing up before the leaden vengeance of an out- raged friendship; and his beaute du diable as fresh as if remorse were powerless to touch the fountains of his life. “‘ Hell-born! where did you: hide that my vengeance> must needs wait upon those creep- ing weeks past?’ demanded Ernest, his white teeth glaring with a wolfish hungriness for life. “You wrong me, mon ami; absence is not always hiding,” answered St. Pierre, a devilish sneer curling his blood-red lips. A, tigerish impulse impelled the injured man to tear out the taunting tongue that mocked his--misery, but he restrained the passion that tempted him, and with unnatural severity un- did the fastenings of a mahogany box he car- ried and throwing it open upon the grass pointed to the silver-mounted pistols there dis- closed with a gesture that indicated the limit of endurance was almost reached and not to be mistaken. ‘¢T understand!” said St. Pierre, with an in- imitable shrug of his shoulders; “but I beg you will wait one moment; I have a word to say before indulging in that little pastime. Do you know why I hate you, Ernest Castle- mayne?” ‘‘No, unless it is because such.natures as ' yours hate naturally those who serve them, and because you have robbed me of love and honor,” angwered Ernest, in bitterest loathing. i“ Bah, that but helped to fill the measure of my hate. Ihate you for the very reason that Cain hated Abel, because you had the favor of | both heaven and earth, while I am outcast. Girard Castlemayne was as much my father as yours; but I was an unknown mongrel, banned before my birth to wear my mother’s name, while you were the legitimate scion of the ‘an- cient and honorable’ stock. But even mongrels love their dams, and I sucked hate from mine, as the Caligula sucked blood. Above my mother’s swore to drag the Castlemayne honor in the dust, and wring from the proud bearers of the name the last vestige of their crimson joy- blossoms, and I have kept my oath, Your wife, upon whom I cast the blight of suspi- cion, and whom you drove in bitter wrath from the shelter of your roof, was as pure and spotless as yonder white-winged dove. You thought she fled with me, but I swear to you that I have never seen her since the day you witnessed our parting. "Tis more than likely the river gave her kindly welcome when all else had failed her; yet, should she still live, | and the devil, whose hoof I wear, deserts me not, Pll find her and drag her to your graye— | a ruined woman!” Oh, dear Christ!” Bh the listener, “can this thing be?” A mocking laugh, like fee droge ringing upon sounding metal, reminded him that his tormen- tor still lived; and with the red fury of a wounded lion shooting from his eye, he hissed: “Curse you! The ground whereon you stand shall'drink your blood. Take your choice, of the weapons,” “ And stamp the last of the Castlemaynes a second Cain! So be it, mon prince! It is not the first time we have played with these ivory-handled toys,” retorted the taunting devil incarnate, pacing off the ground. “Stand back to back; count three, and turn at the word fire!” spoke Ernest, hoarse with savage impatience, ~ No sound save the gentle rustle of growing _ leaves broke the awful silence that then reign- ' ed, until St, Pierre’s unshaken, mellifluous yoice || gave the count; “‘ One!—two!—three!—fire!” Then a quick double report cleft the har- mony of the soft spring air with sudden dis- Sit and like pi shooting of a star the Titan L i“ Tout est perdi fors Phonneur!” deserted and shame-killed corse I | With a smile such as Lucifer inane have worn when gazing upon the desolated garden of Eden, St. Pierre approached the fallen man. Quiet and passionless enough he lay now among the purple crocuses, with the golden sunlight wrapping him in the sheeted glory of its royal colors. A crimson stream dabbled the short grasses, buf the triumphant fiend by short ex- amination, knew that his bullet had fallen so far short of its murderous intent that his Vic- tim would not die. Still there was satisfaction written upon his sardonic countenance as he daintily cleansed his slim white hands with a delicate cambric handkerchief, and mur- mured: “‘The hirelings of Pym baehe slew the Greek; but I save my honorable kinsman alive to suffer.” CHAPTER XII. IN THE SERPENT’S COILS, “Unmerciful disaster Follows close, and follows faster.”’ OvurpA CASTLEMAYNE had risen from her sick-bed' a very different woman from the Ouida Castlemayne that left the shelter of her husband’s roof, mad with outraged love and pride. Vainly Ernest whispered to himself as | he languished pain distraught by the leaden | philter of St. Pierre’s hate: “‘She will come back to me when her anger has spent itself.” So far from going back was she that she would have torn her tongue out rather than with it sue for pardon when she knew herself to have been the one injured. 1 It isa pleasant sophism that makes a woman’s _ heart the only worldly tribunal where a man’s transgressions are forgiven him the seventy and seventh time; nevertheless—it is a sophism. There is a point beyond which the power of | womanly forgiveness does not: reach, and the truest, most conscientious soul that ever throb- bed finds a something within itself, uncontrol- lable, unappeasable, unchangeable, that wrench- es from the heart the image that occupied its holy of ‘holies; and when the will would rein- | state the fallen hero, alas! the power to accom- plish it’is gone for aye. | Women who love well, love but once; and | when the object of that love so forgets the ; Jewel he wears as to pick a flaw in its rare gold | setting, he picks a flaw that no jeweler in the wide world can mend—he brushes a bloom from off the apricot that ne human power can | replace, and henceforth shall blame himself | that its most exquisite flavor is lost. | And—‘‘ He whom a woman once has loved can never be to her like other men.” Ouida was not made of the mettle that curls like a hound at the feet ef its maltreater. The mother-love, which sometimes softens, but more often hardens, the mother’s heart to- ward the lips that have dared to cast a slurring : doubt upon its paternity, had just escaped her; and she arose from fever-tortured sleep with a fierce regret at heart, and a burning desire to fill the weary hours with something that should strangle the gnawing memory of her desola- tion. The desired nepenthe she had found in inces- sant study under the direction of that cada- verous mentor, Pastengon. After weeks of untiring application, she had at last made her | debut as Portia in ‘The Merchant of Venice,” A critical audience had given her an encour- aging reception, and the play was working’ smoothly.. Now dressed as a doctor of law, she waited her call in the greenroom. Pastengon was pacing up and down the apartment, playing in a fidgety way with his- snuff-box, and looking like an animated ex- clamation point in an uncertain state of punc- tuation. ‘‘Thig scene decides the question whether I ; am to be or not to be Konica uncle,” said the | debutante. ‘Well, there is no reason why it should not be success. Bless my soul, I’ve seen people | with half your genius make great successes. I hope you don’t. feol nervous?” Vi On the contravy I feel as it I were Portia’s
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Self, and eager as a peliaaoatinig pitas to be- gin ‘the case.”” “No word of the text has escaped you?’ “No, uncle; ‘I am informed thor roughly of the cause.’” “The manager’s Shylock is very hard on a debutante.” ‘Well, if the debutante make a blunder— *then must the Jew be merciful.’ ” “<Qn what compulsion must I? tell me that,’” declaimed the old actor, catching her humor; and striking an attitude. * The aap of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from lieaven Upon t a lace beneath. It is twice blessed; It blesses him that gives and him that takes: ‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptered sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, * It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show like God’ 8 When mercy seasons justice. Thérefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this— That, in the course 0. tation, none of us Should see salvation. e do pray for mercy, And that same prayer doth teach us all To render the deeds of mercy.’ ”’ ‘Good! good!” applauded Pastengon, in a fervor of gratulation, throwing his snuff-box toward the fair Portia; missing her by a nar- row chance, and sprinkling the call-boy freely in face and eyes with the pungent powder. ‘Bless my soul! I forgot that the poor old snuff-box wasn’t a bouquet. Ah, my bouquet days are past and gone!” apologetically ex- claimed the old man, hasting in search of his precious dragon-fiy. “Dern the snuff! It’s a bokay I wished had gone up Pastengon’s old proboscis before he’d past it inter my eyes,” muttered the call-boy, between sneezes, while Ouida escaped into the wings to await her cue, ‘¢What’s the matter?” demanded a smooth, persuasive voice, and a man, thin of lip and wily of eye, came in from the direction of the manager’s box just as Pastengon retired, fol- lowing in the wake of his pupil. ‘¢¥Jell—ocution Pastengon!” answered the irate lad, rubbing the saline drops from his reddened. eyes. *‘ Where is he?” “‘There!” said the boy, jerking his thumb in the direction of the stage. “ Atch—tehezu! seems to me I smell snuff. Boy, will you tell Mademoiselle Lola that the manager will send her home in his carriage, after the play?” “Yes, mister, if I don’t forget.” ‘There is something to help your memory. And tell Pastengon that the manager wants to see him in the office immediately after the cur- tain falls.” oF zactly, mister.” *¢ Confound the snuff! A man might sneeze his head off with half the dose. Atch—chtzee! Pll get out of this infernal hole, Atch—thneize!” and he of the thin lips and scintillating eyes beat a hasty retreat. “‘Eif there’s anything in phizermahogony, you'll get inter an infernal hole one of these fine days that ain’t to be sneezed at, Mister \ Clubfoot, soliloquized the preter-sharp youth, and in turn left the besnuffed atmosphere. Alas, poor Ouida! Her mother’s name had proved but poor protection against so subtle an enemy as Emile St. Pierre. After weeks of unremitting search he had found the escaped quarry in the much-talked-of debutante, and with a quickness devils might have envied, he formed a plan to consummate his hate-born re- solves, Being one of the critical few who either “damn with faint praise” or make their ap- proval the cordon of fashion to a new play or @ dancer’s ankles, and so on intimate terms with the manager of the theater, he had ob- tained admittance behind the curtain and so laid a train by which he hoped to spring a miné upon the woman already warped with double misfortune. ; . ‘ b | ny i Waecine et eee aky nce : re Be, Ben hh) ah the = oe SLi dt ee, UY Ss eee Pee ee OUIDA’S LOVE. The curtain rung down upon the last scene, and twice Ouida responded to the tumultuous call of the enthusiastic audience. Her Portia had been a success, and something that feebly counterfeited joy swelled in her breast as she ran across the pavement from the stage entrance to the carriage awaiting her. The side lamps of the brougham were not lighted and the shut- ters were close drawn, but in the preoccupation of her mind Ouida did not notice this until the carriage was in motion and a faint closeness in the atmosphere impelled her to lower a window. She leaned forward to put her thought in force, when a strong, firm grasp drew her back with silent suddenness; a quick, dextrous arm pinioned her hands helpless at her sides, and then a handkerchief was pressed tightly over her mouth and nose, and the deathly sweetness of chloroform stole all her frightened senses. - The mania for scientific investigation and dis- covery had so grown upon Eneile St. Pierre that he had come to regard human life as little more than an alchemic problem. A second Dr. Faust in his desires to penetrate the secrets of creation and hold communion with them that | are ‘__Not like inhabitants of earth and yet are onit,” | he had devoted much time to the study of the black arts. In the uppermost story of his ‘house there | was a room, octagonal in shape, draped from center-ceiling to floor with heavy folds of black velvet, wherein he worked out his half-insane fancies, All about this room were scattered the beloved results and appurtenances of his monomania, From the ceiling a golden cen- ser was suspended, burning blue, and filling the apartment with a pertume as of Araby the blest. At one side a grinning, ghastly skeleton rattled its wired bones in horrid obedience to an electrical hand that held it in its place. A magnificent painting of the Head- less Horseman hung opposite it, and a hideous satyr in bronze stood guard over the crucible wherein were ‘mixing the subtle essences that were finally to produce the elusive elixir of life, near which a human heart glowed redly through the transparent prison of a glass jar. A splendid magnetic battery occupied a marble trestle, and near if was a marvelous combination of polished ste¢l, shining brass and unvarnished oak, that was at once a: clock and a musical instrument. This was the off- spring of St. Pierre’s erratic inventive genius, The lower part of the nondescript was inclosed like an organ, while above arose fluted brass columns supporting the dial. Between the central two of these columns a round metallic plate rested upon a cylindrical spring; a chime of tiny bells, hung between each column, told the quarter and half-hours, but as the hands upon the dial marked the hours, a hammer de- scending struck this metal spheroid, causing, by the action of its spring, the ergan to play a tune. It was in this*room Ouida found herself when consciousness returned, and the first: ob- ject upon which her gaze rested was the man whom of all others she most feared and hated. Struggling to arise she found herself bound tightly to a funereal throne-shaped chair in which she had been placed. “Tt is useless to beat your wings, my bird; your cage is secure,” said ‘her abductor, beam- ing with hateful exultation. ‘““Why have you a a ce me here, Emile St. Pierre?” “To make you happy, and gratify your cu- riosity to see what is within this Pandora’s box, beautiful Ouida!” ‘‘ What do you intend to do with me?” “Love you if you will be loved, if not, then kill you.” \ “Kill me then, you venomous abortion! Ten thousand deaths were better than your love.” “A woman’s no is often changed to yes, sweet madame. Life is very*sweet and you are young. “ Yot fia enone to die if so I ‘scape dis- honor.” ~ “Dishonor is a thing of time, and love makes tte Bre it laste. 2: , mother’s memory, fostered passion where only gs Ma cnet piped a star spn! | “Do you presume to call the mad infatuation — | that leads you to force a woman’s inclination ~* love? You know not what love is, sir! Re- ‘lease me, and let me go my way unmolested . ‘and your protestations. would find some faint 8 corroboration.” ‘Impossible, most charming of women! Violent means are sometimes necessary to ans sure peaceful ends— ai “<TF T woo you harshly of eo My temper is to blame for’t.’ 4 For love of you [I have turned traitor to my fiercest hate should have reigned, and cursed myself for being what I am—a spawn of Satan, vi. For love of you I could battle the world singlo handed, dare the vengeance of heaven, or roast — f -in hottest hell. I have staked all upon the as ‘ turning of a die. Life is stale, flat, and um- | profitable without you, and since you so will it =~ | we will quit the stage together and ‘ count the | world well lost.’ ” “You surely cannot mean to murder met) Have you no mercy?” <3 “Love me and my mercy shall be as infinite ie as the soul’s existence,” . ig “Never! I would not buy my life atsuch -@.price, were it possible to love a thing so | mean,” : d, “Very well, beauteous Ouida, then death itis, © Do you see this little can? It contains nitro- ; glycerine enough to raise this house fromits ~~ foundation. r ll place it just there where you saw the hammer, a half hour gone, strike. When next it falls the curtain falls with it upon our little drama of life. Listen! How silvery sweet those bells sound! «They are our passing bells, caro! Does your heart fail you? Not : Then, by all the powers of darkness, you are ss ke doomed. Yonder grinning skeleton isa fairer | sight than you soon will be. How loudly the | clock ticks. It measures swiftly our ebbing — Ae | life-throbs, Ten minutes more of time isleftto Ye | Say prayersin. How tenderly will your fond — ae. | husband cherish thy memory when he knows ~ ' _ in what good company thou didst die!” Cd ae ae A slight swaying of the velvet ey : ey passed unnoticed by Emile St. Pierre as he a faced and taunted the hapless victim of his in- Vas ‘ | fernal purpose, a | Five minutes stretched their puny space'be-. * a | tween them and the falling of the bhammer,, | but “Man proposes and God disposes.” S A boyish figure crept from under the velvet — curtains, gathered a coil of bright brass wire ‘in his cautious hand and with unerring aim— | only possible to one of our Arab yee : almost imperceptible lasso circled for a second over St. Pierre’s head and then fell, imprison- ing the villain’s arms in temporary helpless ness, “Throw that ’ere spontaneous combuttion’- out the winder, perfessor, while I shock the , 3 cuss,” piped the voice of Jake the call-boy, ag he seized the handle of the battery to Whales the wire rope was attached. ““God bless mysoul! A pretty time iuantals Reet. been if we had been five minutes later,” breathed Pastengon through his nose as he ~ at emerged from the sable drapery and lifted the can of death from its fatal resting-place, “I~ don’t like such jokes, bless my soul if Idol and depositing the can gingerly wpon the floor — my, _ he proceeded to unbind the poor pale prisoner, 5 . whose head had fallen on her breast. Saas “You'd better secure this chap first. EF reckon every bone in his infernal body is_ cracked by this time.” “Right, Jake!” said Pastengon, turning in — response to the boy’s suggestion. ‘‘ What is to, ane be will be, and this proves it.” = = aa Round and round the foiled and writhide's litre man they twisted the yellow wire, and when he was bound, past all danger of sone Jake came round to view him. m “ How is that, mister pg he asked. “TI smelt your little game whenI see’d it wasn’t the manager’s brougham, so I phe iat | Jumped up behind for a free ride. Yer 5 too much on yer hands fer to lock the door, ae it * Meee ta te ipa, ee eo Ce ete a eee Nee OE,
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Pasty, and here we be! Unfort’nit for you, ain’t it? Why, you ought to be grateful ter me for saving your life, but it ain’t yer nater to. Ef yer don’t take my advice and reform - ye’ll be stretching hemp, first thing you know.” St. Pierre glared at the boy with the ma- lignity of a fiend, but answered him not, and ' Jake turned from the contemplation of the yfallen' foe to where Pastengon was mingling nasal condolence and execrations in a very con- fusing way and undoing the silken scarf that _ <bound Ouida to the chair. A strange, vacant, yet terrible look was on . her face as she turned it to the light, and the old man urged on by a sudden fear, said: ‘ You are safe now, child. Come with me, _ There is no further cause for fear.” ‘ “Soft! The Jew shall have all justice—soft! -.» mo haste.” ; - **Good Lord, perfessor, she thinks she is at ? the the-a-ter!” gasped Jake. o% Pastengon shivered as if the. mortal enemy _ had fastened upon his vitals, and for once, for- ‘petting his favorite form of expression, ex- _, / claimed: | ‘The curse of the old duchess has fallen—she | as mad!” “**Parted from herself and her fair reason’— ‘Oh, spirit of darkness, thou didst my bidding + well!” hissed the bruised serpent as he watched them lead her away through the parted gioom | _ 0f the black chamber. | 4) CHAPTER XIII. GOING HOME! . - “The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul ~* Of that waste piace with joy, Hidden in'sorrow " *° * * * And the bag a mosses and clambering weeds, And the willow branches, hoar and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, Aad the waye-worn horns of the echoing bank, And the silvery mav'sh-flowers, that throng The desolate creeks and penis among, Were flooded over with eddying song.’ FatrHFuLyy and tenderly did Pastengon and his daughter keep watch and ward over poor ae _ *@uida. Indeed, she gave them very little = trouble, for the hour of terrible dread in the % - black-draped laboratory seemed to have blotted a _ from her mind all memory—all will, and she _ © at in the sun through the bright summer days / thridding, with restless fingers, the wavy masses “of her hair—repeating and re-repeating the text of Portia as if conning a task, or singing softly that exquisite poem called ‘“‘ The Long, ' Weary Day.” * Occasionally at the striking of the clock, or did she come in contact with anything black, her eyes would dilate as if in sudden terror, and she would start as if some giant hand had seized her; but these were only momentary } ‘gleams that, passing, left her in the same hope- less, harmless cundition. ~ At the close of a warm and lovely day, the . trio composing the ex-actor’s family were seat- ed together enjoying the quiet hour when na- "ture ‘holds her breath to hea the footsteps of ~ . the coming night. Ouida sat with listless - folded hands by the west window, bathed in a ae pink flush, following the sun’s passionate good- night, and singing, as was her custom— ty ei “The lonely day at last In pain and woe has passed, fan: oy) “ When I my window raise, ‘is Upon the night to gaze, nL And Iam weeping, While all are sleeping.” s __-** Alas, poor lady!” said Meme; “if she only ould weep, perchance it might lift the weight - that darkens her sad mind.” __ i * fie often said to me, __ When sad my heart would be, , ‘or ine some time shalt thou be weeping; When I have left thee lone, _. And far away have gone, ’ Shalt thou be weeping, \ While ali are sleeping,’ ” - gang the mournful voice, unconscious or unmind- - ~* ful of Meme’s interruption. G2. ‘‘Where do you suppose her h in yt - this time, father?” a, ae Seo band is all a kt wn . * ie Ric. : a af =. ae & tment of that poor child,” replied Pastengon, | wrathfull, find redress in this world, except in plays and noyels,” philosophized Meme. “Nevertheless, there is such a thing as retri- butive justice on earth. ‘What is to be will be.’ ” © | Again the mournful music struck tearful chords in the listeners’ hearts: Oh, better far to me Than silent death would be, To live and mourn, his memory keeping, For he might come again, Upon his heart to strain And say, ‘Thou art mine, love} Oh, stay thy weeping.’.” §< Meme!” ‘What, father?” “J have a great notion to write to her father. It is barely possible something might be done for her that we have not done, and, however fierce his anger may have been, her present condition would melt the heart of a stone. Bless my soul, it would!’ and the old man brushed away a tear from his skinny cheek. “JT don’t think it would be anything more | than right to let her parents know tow she is, “On the point of Satan’s trident, if he is | getting his just deserts for his dastardly treat- drew nearer the home from whence she had ‘se ; ‘ i IE ; 2 A ; f 1 ; n but I fear me it would break her mother’s heart to see her. Her singing makes me think of Lalla Rookh’'s, that was “¢__Tike the notes, half-ecstasy, half-pain, ; , The bulbul utters ere her soul departs.’ Just listen how her voice wails through that song.” . ; “Oh, Lord, my love is dead, To Thee his soul has fled My heart and soul were in his keeping, Ne'er shall Isee him more, For that I grieve so sore, For that am weeping, While all are sleeping.” The sunset glow faded into twilight gray; the evening star flashed and softened like a heavenly eye; the harvest moon shed chaste, cool smiles on the heated brow of earth, and peace, like a cooing dove, brooded over that homely little parlor in the old tenement-house, Alas, that change is inevitable! That night when all slept the insane woman erept, with stealthy cunning, from beneath the roof that had given her such kindly. shelter, out into the yellow moonlight. Through the silent streets she fled like some swift shadow. Now dropping into the hiding of some doorway until the watchman passed— now running swiftly along the pavement, she reached the city suburbs, where the shrubbery of full-leaved gardens lent hér friendly con- cealment, Still on she ran, and, anon, the open country stretched out before her. Past sleeping villages and quiet farm-yards she fled until miles inter- yened between her and the city, and her feet, all unused to such cruel flittings, became un- steady. Then, creeping into a dense thicket of sapling birch and maples, she laid her weary head upon the soft green ferns and slept while little ‘birds, waking to the sweet surprise of early day, plumed their feathers in silent won- der as they peeped from nest and branchlet at | the invader, and then, seeing naught of menace in her deathlike repose, sung sweet lullabys above her leafy bed. Six days came and were swallowed up in the ortex called yesterday, while yet Ouida wan- List, and by some strange chance or provi- dence she now approached the vicinity of her old mill-house home, | Distant stars shone dimly through the sheet- silvery Mourning Kill, and looked adown its current to where the falls in double cascade leaped and tumbled in foam-white agony over the cruel rocks, ive Above the falls the dark still waters of the pond glided soft and placid, bearing peace within its bosom, and the mill-house stood like a great black bat with motionless wings out- _ spread, casting somber shadows over the mir- rored heaven of water. With weary step and slow the wanderer 8 asa I ’ ys : e “ Ah, father, the wrongs of woman rarely ed pallor of the moonlit night as she gained the , I never did see such times in this world, no, | flourished triumphantly a long scraggy piece , of crinkle-root that she had after much tugging aA a bee Bie: j PEND De a Sa Re ere ia EA oe ae flown in the innocent cloudless dawn of her life. Alas, how love had wrecked her! A little boat in which she had passed many sunny hours of her happy girlhood, was moor- ed upon the grassy bank of the pond, and me- chanically the exhausted woman crept over the side and sunk upon its timeworn seat, With fever-distended eyes she looked out over the fa- miliar scene, and as its influence permeated her shattered brain she began once more to sing a song that often her mother had sung when nestling the winsome baby-girl to sleep upow her breast, ; The rippling waters rocked the little craft with eager lightness, but the singer heeded not that her weight had abetted the grasping waves. Slowly the lightsome bark parted froma its anchorage and drifted with the strong and noiseless current, and still the thrilling notes of ‘‘ Der Wanderer” pierced the mid- night air. Nearer and nearer the falls she drifted, but neither fear nor consciousness rob- bed the music of its steady sweetness. One quick whirl—one moment’s halting upon , the rocky brink, and the torrent lifted tho cockle-shell in its giant arms, and boat and burden were lost in the roaring, seething chasm, while echoing back from wood and hill there came eA et whisper, ‘ Exile, come To © own land, and to thy tomb,’ CHAPTER XIV. SIC TRANSIT! “Fold thy palms across thy breast; Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest, Let,them rave!” Just where the groaning willow, across which young love had lightly leaped to kiss the tender lips of Ouida of the mill, sparined the ‘sighing Mourning Kill, a woman's face lay among the waving water-grasses shining white- ly as the marble features of some fallen Niobe, One slender arm clasped the old log with the tenacious clasp of rigid unconsciousness—her long, bright hair floated upon the water like tangles. of gold-thread torn from its earth - warm bed, and two white feet cleft the lim. pid element with the pinky pallor of pond- lilies, Over the swaying form the old butternut tree cast leafy shadows, and the boughs bent in vain endeayor to raise the body from its watery crypt. The south wind tossed dewy tears from the opening eyes of the tall white daisies, and the robins flew low over the rip- pling stream, like minor strains of sweetest music borne on wings. Along the sinuous grassgrown path leading from her home in the willow copse to the mill came ‘ This world’s Polly,” singing and solilo- quizing after her characteristic fashion. She was intent upon gathering certain roots of rare medicinal qualities that grew along the margin of the sad-voiced creek, and car- ried a basket half-filled with odorous plants, and a staff, hook-shaped at one end, with which she fished some of her’trophies from their native path. “This is the wickedest world I ever expect to see till the dying day of my death, Fée- fi-fo-fum, cut off the head of Christopher Co- lumbus with: the sharp edge of an illuminated cotton-bale; Napoleon Bonaparte has gone to glory in a patch-work quilt made of forty-four thousand and a half-pieces of bass-wood bees- wax; the man in the moon has been fatally in- jured by the explosion of a cabbage-head, and the king of the Cannibal Islands has gone up in a balloon with ten thousand porous plasters and a small black-bottle of hair invigorato~. ‘ = ‘ ee ee ~ never! “ *Ha, ha, my boy, I’ve got you fast at last,” at which burst of song the singular creature and twisting succeeded in wresting from the soft moist soil. : ‘‘Land o’ Goshen! I never expect to get into another such world, no, never—not ii I live till thé dying day of my death! Why, | I 5 Pil A) ’ ate
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they de say that Queen Esther has run away with the Grand Turk, while Mordecai sat at the king's gate holding a battering-ram by the horns, buf I’ never heard of anybody wanting a Turk before in this world, no, never! A Turk ain’t a turkey, and a turkey never was a goose in this world, no, never, so it couldn have been Queen Esther that run away with my goose that the parson give me and that I wasn’t nover a-going to cook in this world, no, never, but keep to the dying day of my death to remember the purson by. I won- der what Methuselah would say if pretty Poll was ever to die in this world and they put a white cap on her head and put her in a long box with the back breadth cut out of her dress? “Methuselah was such a big boy—tall as the church steeple and his beard trailed three miles on the ground, but, that was as much as three hundred and sixty-five years ago, and I'll never seo the like again in this world, no, nevert 33 here has m: OE where, oh ps on ay, old goose gone? That ain’t her in the creek is it? No, thatain’t a goose—that is a ghost!” Polly had caught the reflection of the white human face through the rippling wavelets ed- dying around the piteous obstruction. She dropped her basket, and walked with steadiest deliberation toward the spectral figure lying in such awful quiet against the vivid green of the floating grasses. “T never expected to see a ghost in this world, no, never, and if I live to the dying day of my death, I hope I won’t see another, no, never! It ain’t Christian to drown ghosts in this werld, po, never!” said Polly, as by dint of hooking and pulling she dragged the drip- ping, inanimate body out upon the flower- decked — ward beneath the cathedral arches of the giant butternut. “T& can’t be a ghost, because ghosts ain’t never alive in this world, no, never, It ain’ta goose, nor a teapot, and i’d never have any use for. it if I lived to the dying day of my death. Vl go and get that white devil to blow a little breath in its mouth, and see if it won’t open its eyes once more in this world!” and away Polly hobbled toward the distant roaring mill singing ** We'll talk about mildews and blights, And we’llall be unhappy together.” . i a this be death? there’s bloom upon her cheek, t now I see it is no living hue, But a strange hectic—like the unnatural red Which autumn plants upon the perished leag, } Itisthesame! Oh, ! that I should dread e Tolookupon the same,” The last red splendor of the afternoon sun reddened the white stones of the old mill, and struck a glory of light from the windows of the vine-embowered house as we approach itfor our last look within its familiar Walls before the curtain falls upon a tale that is toid. The little. parlor, with all its time-worn and fncongruous appointments, appears much the game as on the sunshiny morning when an empty chamber wrought sorrow and desolation in the hearts of hoth just and unjust, except that it is unoccupied, and from the open door of that little chamber come sounds of grief smothered in their utterance, Within the little room no change has laid its unfamiliar finger upon the slightest evidence of the bygone happy girlhood that once made its low walls echo with life and song. Still great ,change is there, for on the snow-white bed a woman, murdered by the divinely appointed supremacy ef man, lay passing into the valley where “ Death—and after death great darkness—” waits, The dying girl was strangely like the -Ouida of other days as she reclined, her head raised high upon bolstering pillows. Her hair glistening and spvay-like laid in golden masses about her head and face; a hectic flush dis- guised the pain-wrought hollows in her cheeks; her temples were like polished marble—death- veined—and a supernatural light had gathered over the film that precedes death in the wide \ t / - ay LU [| = um OUIDA’S LOVE. ° blue eyes. Pale hands lay passively at her side, and the snowy breast, partially uncover- ed, ross and fell with fainter and still fainter growing respirations, The miller sat by the woodbine shaded win- dow with bowed head, and agonies of grief and remorse conyulsing the iron frame. At one side of the bed the mother knelt, watching the life of her darling fade out, with all the anguish of a mother’s riven heart draining the fountain of tears; opposite her was Ernest— Ernest, aged and emaciated almost beyond be- lief in the past few months, but still the Ernest who had won and wounded unto death the heart that now throbbed so feebly beneath his hand. No tears came to his relief; only great dry sobs told how deep his sorrow toueh- ed, and his lips were set with the rigid pallor of despair. The miller approached the bed, all differ. ences forgotten in that dread hour, and in the strong yearning of his spirit cried: “ Daughter!” She smiled as if her soul was going out in the light, and answered faintly: ‘Yes, father, it is all right now!” Then for a moment she lay as listening for some far-off calling voice, and with another smnile felt feebly for-her mother’s hand. “Don’t stay long after I go, mother; Ouida wants you!” A low wail parted the mother’s lips as she kissed again and again the fair child-brow upon which the death dews were gathering. “* Raise me higher, Ernest; the day is fading.” Another smile illuminated with seraphic light her countenance, and with sudden energy she raised her lips to the tremulous face bending above her, and fell back into his encircling arms with along sigh as of release—dead! ‘OTis the curse of the sins of the fathers visited upon the childten from generation to neration!” groaned the miller, and the sun t behind the western hills leaving gray gloom and night-born tears to earth, The old mill is fast falling into decay. The water-wheel no longer beats with steady pad- dle the falling torrents of the moss-grown race; only the rank luxuriance of clambering vine, and the glistening web of the busy spider indicate aught of life left to the echoing, de- serted house. On a little grassy knoll, rising just back of the old butternut tree, there are three graves overrun with dark green cypress. A broken marble shaft above them bears this:simple le- gend, ‘‘ Requiescat in Pace!” and here lies all that was mortal of Hugh Haughton, his sad- eyed wife, and hapless, beautiful Ouida, The earth lies tenderly upon their pulseless breasts; the gray light of heaven falls gently over their resting-place; at morn and eve cool- winged zephyrs love to linger there; sweet- voiced birds sing requiems from the swaying butternut boughs, and the Mourning Kill flows by with ceaseless sigh and dirge. Here must we leave them whispering hope- fully to the infinite to come: “ Resurgant!” “This world’s Polly ” still lives in the willow copse, refusing to be comforted for the loss of the goose that she ‘never expects to see again in this world, no never,” and keeping jealous watch and ward over her precious collection of tea-pots, which she still insists she shall do “‘ to the dying day of her death.” Emile St. Pierre died as the fool dieth, in his sable-draped laboratory, strangled by the noxious gases arising from the impious experi- ments by which he strove to wrest the power of endless life from the hand of Deity. And Ernest Castlemayne still walks beneath the kindling eye of day, for— “ Men have died, and eet be fp Stet at id worms have Sqten Fey, THE END, BEADLE AND ADAMS’ - a STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS. oh Speakers. ames volume contains eine . ec m. clear, 0 com. tion of Diatogues, end Rectetiges, é The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four volumed, 2 National Speaker.” ationa er. 8, Patriotic Speaker, 15. Komikal Speaker, 4. Comic Speaker. 5, Elocutionist. 7. Standart Speater, er , er. | i tie 19. Serio- 8, Stamp Speaker. Comic o Juvenile Prey se my oe yi 0. read- is) er . nn, ° ns Dime ce 22. Jolly Speaker. 12, ibition Speaker. 23, Dialect 3 24, Dime Book of Recitations and These books are replete with choice pieces for the — School- the bition, for Homes, ete. 75 to 100 Declamations and Recitations in each book, Dialogues, The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, om, brace thirty books, viz.: ons Dialogues No. Sixteen. . Dialogues No. Seventeen, Dialogues No, Four. Dialogues No. Nineteem, Dialogues No. Five, 4 ialogues No. Twenty-two, Dialogues No. Twenty-three, Dialogues No. Twenty-four. - Dialogues No, Ten. Dialogues No, Twenty-five. = Dialogues No. Eleven. |Dialogues No. Twenty-six. pose Dialogues No. Twelve. |DialoguesNo. Twenty-seven. 7a Dialogues No. Thirteen. | Dialogues No. Twenty-e , Dialogues No, Fourteen Dialogues No, Twenty-nine, yj Dialogues No. Fifteen, ‘Dialogues No, Thirt ; ; y- su 15 to % Dialogues and Dramas in each book, ae Dramas and Readings. ‘ied 164 12mo Pages, 20 Cents. ¥5 crams gp d standard, of th a i ai ocinted intererts n Rdited by Prof, A. bei oe DIME HAND-BOOKS: » Young People’s Series. Brapie’s Dive Hanp-Books ror Youne Prorum: Hi cover a wide range of subjects, and are ospecially © adaptea to their end. i fa Ladies’ Letter-Writer. Book of Games. Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller, Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Casket, Book of Verses, Ball-room Compahion. Book of Dreams, Book of Beauty. Hand-Books of Games. Handbook ef Summer Sports. Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing. ess Instructor. Riding and Driving. Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism, Guide to phar apg Handbook of Winter Sports—Skating, ete Manuals for Housewives. ‘ Cook Ag vial |é reais, Physician. : 8, Soupekeeper'e Guide. linery. hae a Lives of Great Americans I.—George Washington. | VII.—David Creek ae IT —SonmPanl Jones. | Vil -Tereal Pateaaee ol) ae TI.—Mad Anthony Wayne X.—Tecumseh, : IV.—Ethan Allen, XT.—Abraham Lasceln. wily Ve de Lafay-'| XIL— pee A mes 7 ette. xn0L— Ait sses 8, Grae } - ” Song Books. ; Brapin’s Dru Sone Booxrs, Nos. 1 to 88, eontaining: wae the only popular collection of copyright songs. ' School Melodia, } Muste and Words, a . Joke Beoks. _ Mae Pocket Ji Jim Crow Joke Book: Oe oot Wreck Jeke Book. ; The above publications fer sale by all newsdealers: head er will be sent, on receipt. of price, by BEADLE & AD Wituan Sr. N.Y. , sd 5 ; nN pte. PP ¥ 4 7 pv< Wrest
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Beadle & Ada - -pIME NOVELS. * Incomparable in Merit, Unapproachable in Price, 556. The White Tracker. ms SEES ae 888. Tahle, the Trailer. | 449. The Traitor Spy. 339. The Boy Chief. 450. The Gray Hunter. 440, Tim, the Trailer. 451. Little Moccasin, 41. Red Ax. 452, The White Hermit, ~42,' Stella, the Spy. 453. The Island Bride. 343. The White Avenger. | 454, The Forest Princess. 544, The Indian King. 455. The Trail Hunters. 245, The Long Trail. 456. Backwoods Banditti. 346, Kirk, the Guide. 457. Ruby Roland, $47, The Phantom Trail. | 458. Laughing Eyes. 848. The Apache Guide. | 459. Mohegan Maiden. 349. The Mad Miner. 460. The Quaker Scout. 850, Keen Kye, the Ranger | 461. Sumter’s Scouts. 351. Blue Belt, Guide, 462, The Five Champions, 852. On the; Trail. 463. The Two Guards. 353; ‘The Specter Spy. 464, Quindaro. 354. Old Bald Head. 465, Rob Ruskin, 255. Red Knife, Chief. 466,.The Rival Rovers. | 356. Sib Cone, Trapper. | 467. Ned Starling. | 357. The Bear Hunter. 468. Single Hand. | 458. Bashful Bill, Spy. 469. Tippy, the Texan. 359. The White Chief. 470. Young Mustanger. 860. Cortina, Scourge. 471. The Hunted Life. 361. The Squaw Spy. 472, The Buffalo Trapper. | _ 362. Scout of "76. 473. Old Zip. 863. Spanish Jack, 474, Foghorn Phil. | 364. Masked Spy: 475, Mossfoot, the Brave. | ' 365. Kirke, Renegade. 4%6. Snow-Bird. | 366. Dingle, the Outlaw. | 477. The Dragoon’s Bride » 867. The Green Ranger. | 478. Old Honesty. 368, Montbars, Scourge. | 479. Bald Kagle. . 369. Metamora. 480. The Black Princess. . 870: Thornpath, Trailer. | 481.. The White Brave. 871. Foul-weather Jack. | 482 Riflemen of the Miami 372, The Black Rider. 483, The Moose Hunter. 873. The Helpless Hand. | 484. The Brigantine. 874. The Lake Rangers, | 455, Put. Pomfret's Ward, $75. Alone on the Plains. } 486, Simple Phil. $76. Phantom Horseman, ; 487. Jo Daviess’ Client, 877. Winona. 488. Ruth Harland. 878. Silent Shot, Slayer. | 489. The Gulch Miners. - 879, The Phantom Ship. _| 490. Captain Molly. 880, The Red Rider. “1 491, aeioiton 881. The Grizzly-Hunters. ; 492. The Partisan Spy. 882, The Mad Ranger. © | 493. The Peon Prince. 883. The Specter Skipper. | 494. The Sea Captain. 384. The Red Coyote, 495, Graybeard. 385. The Hunch : 495. The Border Rivals, _ 886. The Black Wizard. 49%, The Unknown. 887. The Mad Horseman. | 498. Sagamoreof Saco. | - 888, The Privateer’s Bride | 499. The King’s Man. 389. The Jaguar Queen, (| 500. Afioat and Ashore. 390, Shadow Jack. 501, The Wrong Man. men Eagle Plume. » | 502, Rangersof Mohawk. | . The Ocean Outlaw. { 503. Double Hero. 293, Red Slayer. 504, Alice Wilde. \ 394. The Phantom Foe. 505. Ruth Margerie. 895, The Blue Anchor. 506., Privateer’s Cruise. ‘396, Red-Skin’s Pledge. 507, The Indian Queen. » 397. The ‘oon'Spy. | 508. The Wrecker’s Prize. _ 898, The Black Rover. . 509. The Slave Sculptor. 399. Red-Belt. 510. The Backwoods Bride 400, The Two Trails. 511. Chip, the Cave Child. 401. The Ice Fiend. 512. Bill Biddon,Trapper. 402. The Red Prince, | 513. Outward Bound. —_ | 403, The First Trail. 514. Kast and West. 404, t-Anchor Tom. | 515, The Indian Princess. 405, Olid Avoirdupois. 516. The Forest Spy. ‘ 406, White Gladiator. 517. Graylock, the Guide. i m4 Blue Clipper. 518, Off and On. : . Red Dan. 519. Seth Jones. ’ 409. The Fire-EKater. 520. Emerald Necklace. “10. Blackhawk, 521. Malaeska. 411, The Lost Ship. 522. Burt Bunker. 412, Black Arrow. 523. Pale-Face Squaw. 524, Winifred Winthrop. 526. Wrecker’s Daughter. 526. Hearts Forever. 527. The Frontier Angel. 528. Florida. 529. The Maid of Esopus. 580. Ahmo’s Plot. 581. The Water Waif. Scout... | 582, The Hunter’s Cabin. 533. Hates and Loves. 584, Oonomoo, the Huron 535. White-Faced Pacer. 425. Death Trailer. 536. Wetzel, the Scout. | 426. Crested Serpent. 537. The Quakeress Spy. 427, Arkansas Kit. 538. Vaiied Benefactress. 428, The Corsair Prince, | 539. Uncle Ezekiel. 429. Ethan Allen’s Rifles. | 540. Westward Bound, 430. Little Thunderbolt. | 541. Wild Raven, Ranger. 431. The Falcon Rover. 542, Agnes Falkiand. _ 482. Honest Hah 543. Nathan Todd. _ 483. The Stone Chief. 544. Myrtle, the Child of , 434. The Gold Demon. the Forest, _ 435. Eutawan, the Slayer | 545. Lightning Jo. 436. Masked Guide. 646. The Blacksmith of . 437. The Conspirators. Antwerp. ' 438. Swiftwing. 547. Madge Wylde. , 439, Oaribou Zip. 548. The Creole Sisters, _ 440. The Privateer. 549, Star Hyes, ’ 441. The Black Be » 1550. Myra, the Child of a The Doom unter. ae os 84 _ 443, Barden, the Ranger. } 551. Hawkeye Harry. 444. The Gray Scalp. 552. Dead Shot. ' 445, The Peddler Spy. 558. The Boy Miners. _ #46, The White Canoe, 554. Blue Dick. _ #47, Eph Peters. 555. Nat Wolfe. _ 448. The Two Hunters. ean nn rE rnnEIInIET EIN Nang NEINESSSSSEEE ESSERE | 123, | 124, Giant Pete, The Outlaw's Wife. . The Tall Trapper. . The Island Pirate, | The Boy Ranger. . Bess, the Trapper. . The French Spy. ’ Standard Dime Publications. 563, Long Shot. 564. Gunmaker of Border 565. Red Hand. 566. Ben, the Trapper. 567, The Specter Chief, Others in Press. THE ILLUMINATED DIME POCKET NOVELS. . The Bar-Killer. . Wild Nat. . Indian Jo, the Guide. . Old Kent, the Ranger, . One-B} . Godbold, the Spy. . The Black Ship. . Single Kye. . Indian Jim, . The Scout. . Hagle Eye. . The Mystic Canoe. . The Golden Harpoon. . The Scalp King, . Old Lute. . Rainbolt, the Ranger. . The Boy Pioneer. . Carson, the Guide, . The Heart-Eater. . The Huge Hunter. . Wild Nat, the Trapper . oe ae fy Trapper. e White Outlaw. : The Dog Trailer. The Hk King, ; Adrian, the Pilot. . The'Man-hunter. . The Phantom Tracker Moccasin Bill. . The Wolf Queem . Tom Hawk,Trailer. . The Mad Chief, . The Black Wolf. . Arkansas Jack. . Blackbear'd. . The River Rifles. . Hunter Ham, . Cloudwood. . The Texas Hawks, . Merciless Mat. . Mad Anthony’sScouts . The Luckless gree r Ss . The Florida Scout. . The Island Trapper. . Wolf-Cap, . Rattlin, . Sha 68. Iron- . The Yellow Hunter, . The Phantom Rider, . Delaware Tom. . Silver Rifle. Dick, -Hye. and, 78. The Skeleton Scout, ax 79. EESSLSSSASRELSSS 96. 97 . 98. 99, 1 112 . The . Little Rifle. . The Wood Witch. . Old Ruff, the a i . The Scarlet Shoulders The Border Rifleman. Outlaw Jack. Tiger Tail, Seminole. Death Dealer, Kenton, the Ranger. Specter Horseman. e Three Trappers. Kaleolah. The Hunter Hercules, Hunter. : The Indian Scout The Girl Avenger. The Red Hermitess. Star-Face, the Slayer. The Antelope Boy. The Phantom Hunter Tom Pintle, the Pilot. . The Red Wizard. The Rival Trappers. uaw Spy. Dusky Dick. Colonel Crockett. 00. Old Bear Paw. . aw. . Wild Rube. . The Indian Hunters, . Scarred Eagle. . Nick Doyle . The Indian Spy. . Job Dean. . The Wood King. . The Scalped unter, . Nick, the Scout. : The Texas Tiger. The Cr ‘ossed. ves, 118. Tiger Heart, Tracker 114, 15 The Masked Avenger . The Pear! Pirates. : Rodiel the Av “ ie e Avenger. , Cato, the Creeper. . Two-Handed Mat. . Mad Trail Hunter. . Black Nick. . Kit Bird. The Specter Riders. 1 188. j 125. The Girl Captain. . Yankee Eph. . Silverspur. . Squatter Dick, 129. The Child Spy. . Mink Coat. . Red Plume. . Clyde, the Trailer. . The Lost Cache. . The Cannihal Chief, . Karaibo. 7 136. Scarlet Moccasin. 137. Kidnapped. Maid of the Mountain. 139. The Scioto Scouts . The Border Renegade 1, The Mute Chief. . Boone, the Hunter. 143. Mountain Kate. . The Red Scalper. . The Lone Chief, . The Silver Bugle. . Chinga the Cheyenne . Lhe Tangied Trail. . The Unseen Hand. . The Lone Indian. . The Branded Brave. . Billy Bowlegs. 538. The Valley Scout. . Red Jacket. . The Jungle Scout. . The Cherokee Chief, . The Bandit Hermit. . The Patriot Stouts, . The Wood Rangers. . The Red Foe, . Beautiful Unknown. 2. Canebrake Mose. 3. Hank, the Guide. . The Border Scout, . Wild Nat. . Maid of Wyoming. . The Three Captives, . The Lost Hunter. . Border Law. . The Lifted Trail. . The Trader Spy. . The Forest Specter. . The Border Foes. . Border Vengeance. . Border Bessie. . The Sons of Liberty. . The Lost Bride, . Keetsea, . The Tonkawa Spy. . The Prairie Scourge, . Red Lightning, . Brave Heart. . Night-Hawk Kit, . Mustang Sam, . Hurricane Biil. The Red Out!o-w. . The Swamy t. . The Shawne: . | oe, . Mohawk Nat. . Old Jupe. . The Prairie Rifles. . Old Kyle, the Trailer. . Big Foot, the Guide. . The Red Brotherhood . The Man in Green. . Glass Hye. . The Prairie Trappers . Black John. Keen Knife, The Mad Skipper. . The Young Spy. The Indian Avenger, Rival Lieutenants. The Swamp Rifles. The Balloon Scouts. Dacotah Scourge, The Twin Scouts, Buckskin Bill. 209. Border Avengers. 210. Tim Bumble’s Charge 211. The Shawnee Scout. 215. ‘The Prisoner of, La *Vintresse, 216. Peleg Smith, 217. The Witch of the Wallowish, 218: The Prairie Pirates. 219. The Hussar Captain. 220. The Red Spy. 221, Dick Darling. 222. Mustang Hunters, 223. Guilty or Not Guilty, 224, The Outlaw Ranger, 225. Schuylkill Rangers, 226, On the Deep. AS, 227. lrona. 242, sak D 228. The Mountaineer. 243, Will-o’-the-V 229. The Hunter’s Escape | 244. Dashing Dick. 230. The'Golden Belt. 245. Old Crossfire. 231. The Swamp Riders. | 246. Ben Bramble. 282. Jabez Hawk, 247. The Brigand Captain 233. Massasoit’s Daughter | 248. Old Strategy. 234. The Mad Hunter. 249, Gray Hair, the Chief, 285, The Reefer of 76. 250. The Prairie Tigers. 236. Antelope Abe. 251. The Rival Hunters. 237. The Hunter’s Vow. | 252. The Texan Scout, 238, The Hunter’s Pledge. | 253. Zebra Zack. 239. Rattlepate. 254. Masked Messenger. 240. The Prairie Bride. 255. Brethren of the Coast 241, Old Grizzly. 256. The Boy Spy. Speakers. Each volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collec- tion of Dialogues, ramas and Recitations. The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four volumes, Ze: viz.: 1. American Speaker. 13, School Speaker. 2. 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Dialogues No. Seven. |Dialogues No. Twenty-two, Dialogues No. Kieht. (Dialogues No. Twenty-three, Dialogues No, Nine. \Dialogues No, Twenty-four.. Dialogues No, Ten, ‘Dialogues No. Twenty-five. Dialogues No. Eleven, | Dialogues No. Twenty-six. Dialorues No. Twelve. 'DialoguesNo. Twenty-seven. Thirteen. | Dialogues No, Twenty-eight. Dialogues No. Fourteen | Dialogues No. Twenty-nine, Dialogues No. Fifteen. ‘Dialogues No. Thirty. 15 to 2 Dialogues and Dramas in each book. Dramas and Readings. '- : 164 12m» Pages. 20 Cents. For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am» ateur Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas, Comedy. Farce, Diess Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by uoted writers: and Recitations and Readings, new «nd standard, of the ——— celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof. A. M. Russell, DIME HAND-BOOKS. Young People’s Series. Brapie’s Dime Hanp-Booxs ror Youna Prom cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially adapted to their end. 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| I Adventures of Buffalo Bill. From Boy- hceod to Manhood. Deeds of Daring and Roman- tic Incidents in the early life of William F. Cody. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. . 2 ‘The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of Leviathan. A Romance ,of Perilous Adven- ture. By Captain Mayne Reid. arr An Extra Large Number.-Za $ Adventures of Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. Remarkable career of J. B, Hikok, (known to the world as ** Wild Bill,”) giving the true story of his adventures and acts. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 4 The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle Herders, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. § Texas Jack, the Mustang King. Thrill- ' {ng Adventures in the Life of J. B. Omohundro, “Texas Jack,” By Col. Prentiss.Ingraham., in Ceylon, By C, Dunning Clark, der Ruffian.” Joseph B, Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post, 8 The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys ‘Round the World. By C. Dunning Clark. 9 Bruin Adams, Old Grizzly Adams? Boy Pard. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 29 The Fortune-Hunter; or, Roving Joe as Miner, Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post. 30 Walt Ferguson’s Cruise, . A Tale of the Antaretic Sea, By @. Dunning Clark. 31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page and a Fool Saved a King. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 82 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine Chiefs; or, The Romantic and Adventurous Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell. By Col. Ingraham. 83 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer; or, The Centipede Among the Floes. By C. Dunning Clark, 34 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of the Haps and Mishaps of a Party of Boys in the Wilds of Northern Michigan. By Morris Redwing | 85 The Lost Boy Whalers; or, In the Shadow @ Cruise of the Flyaway 3 or, Yankee Boys | | 86 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level Head. 4 Roving Joe: The History of a Young “Bor- | Brief Scenes from the Life of . | 89 Night-HMawk George, and His Daring 10 The Snow-Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land. By Tf. C. Harbaugh, 11 Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer} or, The Mongrch of the Mountain. By Dr. | Frank Powell 12 Woods and Waters or, The Exploits of | the Littleton Gun Club. By Capt. F. Whittaker, 23 A Bolling Stone: Incidents in the Career | on Sea and Land as Boy and Man of Colonel | Prentiss Ingraham. By Prof. Wm. R. Eyster. 14 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amatenr | Hunters on the Buffalo Range. By Ol Coomes. 45 Kit Carson, King of the Guides’; or | Mountain Paths and Prairie Trails. By A. W. Aiken. i6 Red River Rovers; or, Life and Adven- tures in the Northwest. By C. Dunning Clark. 7 Plaza and Plaimg or, Wild Adventures of “Buckskin Sam,” (Major Sam §. Hall.) By Colonei Prentiss Ingraham. a8 Rifle and Hevolver3 or, The Littleton Gun Club on the Buffalo Range, By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 49 Wide-Awake George, The Boy Pioneer; or, Life in a Log Cabin, Incidents and Adven- tures in the Backwoods. By Edward Willett. 20 The Dashing Dragoon; or, The Story of General George A, Custer, from West Point to the Big Horn. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. »1 Deadwood Dick as a Boy; or, Why Wild Ned Harris, the New-England Farm-lad, be- came the Western Prince of the Road, By Ed- ward I. Wheeler. 22 Whe Boy Exiles of Siberia; or, The Watch-Dog of Russia. By T. C. Harbaugh. 23 Paul De Lacy, The French Beast Charmer; or, New York Boys in the Jungles. A Story of Adventure, Peril and Sport in Africa, By 0, Dunning Clark. 24 Whe Sword Prince: The Romantic Life of Qolonel Monstery, (American Champion-at- arms.) By Captain Frederick Whittaker, @5 Reund the Camp Fire}; or, Snow-Bound ‘at “Freeze-out Camp.” By Jos, E. Badger, Jr, 26 Snow-Shoe Foms or, New York Boys in the Wilderness. A Narrative of Sport and Peril fn Maine. By T. C. Harbaugh. 27 Vellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the Pawnees. The Adventurous Career of Eddie Burgess of Nebraska. By Colonel Prentiss In- graham. 88 The Chase of the Great White Stag - and Camp and Canoe, By ©. Dunning | 41 The Pampas Hunters; or, New York | of the North Pole. By T. OC. Harbaugh. By Edward Willett. 37 Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or,, The Monsters of the Esquimaux Border, Roger Starbuck, 88 The Settler’s Som or, Adventures in the Wilderness and Clearing. By Edward S. Ellis. By Deeds and Adventures in the Wilds of the South and West. By Col. Prentiss ngraham, 40 The Ice Elephant; oy The Castaways of the Lone Coast. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. ’ Boys in Buenos Ayres. By T. OC. Harbaugh. 42 The Young *Land-Lubber3 or, Prince _ Porter’s First Cruise. By C. Dunning Clark. 43 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 44 The Snow Hunters; or, Winter in the Woods. By Barry De Forest. 45 Jack, Harry and Tom. The Three Champion Brothers; or, Adventures of Three Brave Boys with the Tattooed Pirate. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 46 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures at the Equator, By T. C. Harbaugh. 4% The Boy Coral-Fishers3 or, The Sea- Cavern Scourge. By Roger Starbuck. 48 Dick, the Stowaway }3 or, A Yankee Boy's Strange Cruise. By Charles M. joris, 49 Tip Tressell, the Floater; or, sortunes and Misfortunes on the Mississippi. By Edward Willett. 50 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie, (Charles E. Burgess.) By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, 61 The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 52 Honest Harry; or, The Country Boy Adrift in the City. By Charles Morris, 53 The Boy Detectives; or, The Young Cali- fornians in Shanghai. By T. C. Harbaugh, 54 California Joe, The Mysterious Plainsman, . By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 55 Marry Somers, The Sailor-Boy Magician. By 8S. W. Pearce. 56 Nobody's Boys; or, Life Among the Gipsies. By J. M. Hoffman. $7 The Menagerie Munter3 or, Fanny Ho- bart, the Animal Qneen, By Major H. Grenville. 58 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines; or, Life Among the Black Diamonds, By Charles Morris. 59 Lud Lionheels, the Soune Tiger Fighter. By Roger Starbuck. 60 The Young Trail Hunters; or, New York Boys in Grizzly Land. ByT,C. Harbaugh. 61 The Young Mustangers. By C. D. Clark. 62 Whe'Tiger Hunters; or, The Colorado Boys in Tiger-Land. By Joseph EB. Badger, Jr. 638 The Adventurous Life of Captain Jack, the Border Boy. (John W. Crawford, the Poet Scout.) By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. —_——_— <<< SS 64 The Young Moose-Hunters; or, Trail and Camp-fire in the New Brunswitk Woods. By Wm. H. Manning. : 65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker; or, Two Brave Boys to the Rescue, Starbuck. 66 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Mountain Kid’, Mission. By Morris Redwing. 67 °Longshore Lije; or, How a Rough Boy Won His Way. By C. Dunning Clark, 68 Flatboat Fred3 or, The Voyage of the “Ex periment.” By Edward Willett. 69 The Deer-Efunters ; or, Life in the Ottawa Country. By John J. Marshall. 70 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Plaing, or, The Boy Trappers of Oregon. By Roger Starbuck, 71 The Boy. Pilot; or, The Island Wreckers, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 72 Young Dick Talbot. By Albert W. Aiken. | 73 Pat Muiloney’s Adventures} or, Silver Tongue, the Dacotah Queen. By G. L. Edwards. 74 The Desert Rover; or, Stowaway Dick Among the Arabs. By Charles Morris. 75 The Border Gunmaker; or, The Hunted Maiden. By James L. Bowen. %6 The Kit Carson Club; or, Young Hawk- eyes in the Northwest. By T. C. Harbaugh. 77 Left-Manded Pete, the Double-Knifo, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 78 The Boy Prospector; or, The Sceut of the Gold Ravine. By Roger Starbuck. "" 79 Mimonee, the Wood Witch; or, the Squatter’s Secret. By Edwin Emerson, 80 The Boy Cruisers; or, Joe wed Jap’s Brg Find. By Edward Willett. 81 Whe Border Rovers 3 or, Lost on the One. land Trail. By J. Milton Hoffman, 82 Alaska, the Wolf Queen; on, is ity Brothers’ Double Crime. By Capt, C. Howard. 83 Whe Young Nihilist; or, A Yankee Bog Among the Russians. By Charles Morris, 84 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters By Capt. “ Bruin” Adams, 85 Fighting Fred 3 or, The Castaways af Grizzly Camp. By T. C. Harbaugh. 86 Dr. Carver, the “ Evil Spirit” of the Plains; or, The Champion Shot of the World. By Col, xrentiss Ingraham. 87 Ruff Robsart and His Bear. By Coat, * Bruin ” Adams, 88 Font; the Cowboy. By Major H, B. Stod- 89 Gaspar, ‘the Gaucho 3 or, Lost on the ' Pampas. By Captain Mayne Reid, err An Hvtra Large Number. Gee 90 Texas Charlie, the Boy Ranger, By Cou Prentiss Ingraham, 91 Moscow to Siberia; or, A Yankee Boy to the Rescue. ‘By Charles Morris. 92 Boone, the Hunter; or, The Backwoods er SY) Brothers. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker, 983 Oregon Josh, the Wizard Rifle; or, The Young Trapper Champion. By Roger Star- buck. 94 Christian Jim, the White Man’s Friend. By IM By Edwacd §. Ellis. 95 Placky Joe, the Boy Avenger, Hoffman. 96 Roving Rifle, Custer’s Little Scout ‘ByT. C. Harbaugh. 97 Hurricane Kits or, Old Lightning on the ae Rampage, By A. F, Holt, 98 The Broadhorn Boy. By Ed: Witlett. 99 Little Buck, the Boy Guide; or, The Gold “Hye” of Montana, By Barry Macauley. | A new tesue every week, $ Brabir’s Boy’s’ L y is for sale by all news erick dh five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re ceipt cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, paar), an 8 98 William street, N. ®, By Roger :
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2B Leap Year} or, Why we whe Wo&iO Qu £eO NKOS ‘43 Whe Baronet’s Secret. averley Li ] } e rary. American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! ——+ ¥ Whe Masked B ide; or, Will She Marry Him? By Mrs. Mary Read Crowell. 2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet- hearts. By Wm. on Turner, M, D, ife. By Bartley T. Gam 8 The Girl bell. 4 A Brave Heart; or, Startlingly attange. _ _By Arabella Southworth. 6 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl. By William Mason Turner, M. D. 6 The Secret Marriage. By Sara Claxton. linded by Love. 4 A Daughter of Eve; or, By Mrs. Reed Cro y well. 8 Meart to Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 9 Alone in the World; or, The Young Man's : By the author of “ blifton,” ete. 10 A ‘Pair of Gray Eyes. By Rose Kennedy, ous Game, '¥ or, Myra, the Child of Adoption. By ytA 8. Stephens. 13 ss “may. ees Little Se Gerunes or, The Naval et’s hee Corinne Gantdican: 34 Why I Married Him, y, Sara Claxton. . Campbell. 156 A By ees | :p rue Knight. By 16 Trust Her Not; or, A . Margaret Leicester. 17 A Loyal Lover, Arabella Southworth, 18 His idol. By Mrs. Mary Crowell. 19 Khe Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus 20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl rphan Nell, the Orange rl3 or, The Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. ss ; or, Why Did She Mar- Thackera; y. By the author » “ Clifton,” ete. Proposed, By Sara 24 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea- nor ne. 25 Only a Schoolmistress3; or, Her Untold Secret. Arabella Southworth. 26 Without a Heurt. By Col. P. 27 Was She a Coquette? or, A Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. 28 i ong Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By 1 Ann §. . Stephens. ; 9 For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. The Bouguet Girl, By Agile Penne. A Mid Marri ge. ByMary A. Denison Mariana, the Prima Donna, or, Roses and ies. By Arabella Southworth. The Three Sisters, By Alice Fleming. A ap tate of Convenience 3 or, Hea Count? By Sara Claxton. Ali Against Mer. By Clara Augusta. Sir Archer’s Bride; or, The Queen of H Heart. By Arabella Southworth. 37 The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy, 38 His Own Again: or, Trust Her Not. By Arabella Southworth. 39 Flirtations or, A hye Girl’s Good Name. By Jacob Abarbanell, (2alph Royal.) -40 how ie to Miarry. By Sara Claxton. 41 Blind Devotion. By Alice Fleming. 42 Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second Love. By Arabella Southworth. By Sara Claxton. 44 The Onl i GP je: or, Brother against _ Lover, By Alice Fleming. ‘4&5 Her Hidden Fee. . By A. Southworth. air Face. eir, 21 Now and Ferever; Him? By Henrietta 22 e Bride of an Actor. ** Alone in the Wor raham., as , 46 The Little ‘Heiress; or, Under a Cloud. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. ¥ Di MT i a a She Loved Him; or, How Will End? By.Alice Fleming. 48 In hae of Herself; or, Jeannette’s Repa- ratio ood. ang | ve if ~ io) oe h- ‘A Wicked Heart, ie 7 Yi My You Wite, y re Sand ibis n. By S. R. Sherw 49 His HWéart’s' Mistress; or, Love at. First Sight, By Arabella Southworth. . 560 The Cuban Heiress; or, The Prisoner of La Vintresse. By Mrs. M $61 Two Youn iris. ary A. Denison By Alice Fleming. , . 62 The Winged Fiessenger; or, Risking All fen eh a Hi “a By 8 og Crowell. nes ope e ‘ iiagon easter. “. D yoy Reed Actress. By William d 3 Arabella Southworth. 6&6 Love-Mad ; or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced , d —. y Wm. Mason Turner, M.D. 57 A Brave Girl. By Alice Fleming. & e bom ask; or, The Mysterious t Mrs Reed. Crowell. . Mary W Wiles. By Rachel Bernhardt. By Mrs, Jennie D. Burton. By Sara Claxton. By Margaret Blount 63 The Creole Sisters, By Anna FE. Porter. 64 What Jealousy Did, BY Alice Fleming. 65 The Wife's Secret. 1. Juan Lewis. 66 Brother's Sin. By hel Bernhardt. 67 Forbidden Bans, By Arabella Southworth. ; Weavers and Weft. By M. E. Braddon, 69 Camille. By Alexandre Dumas. 70 The Two Orphans, Rees. y Young Wife's ‘us : 42 The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas. 93 Rose Miche), Ry MandsHilton, Nae? om 59 A Widow's / 60 CecilPs Deceit. if ‘ i t ‘ Cle ’ : i - et, ie ih ae - ~o, The Cheapest Library Ever Publish : 44 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage; or, The Story of a Broidered Shield. By Ouida. 75 one Black Lady of Duna. By J.8. Le anu. 76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 77 Christian Oakley’s istake,. By the author of * John Halifax, Gentleman,” ete. 78 My Young Husband; or, A Confusion in the Family. By Myself. 79 A Queen Amongst Women. By the author of ‘‘ Dora Thorne,”’ etc., etc. 80 Her Lord and Master. By Florence Marryat. 81 Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte. 82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred. 83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas, ‘ 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of ‘John Halifax, Gentleman.” 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 86 Janet's Repentance. By George Eliot. 87 The Romance ofa Poor Young Man. By Octave Feuillet. 88. A Terrible Deed; or, All for Gold. By Emma Garrison Jones, ° 89 A Gilded Sin. By the author of ‘Dora Thorn,” etc. 90 The Author’s Daughter. By Mary Howitt. 91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade. 92 Eileen Alanna. i Dem O'Sullivan, 93 Love’s Victory. By B. L. Farjeon. 94 The Quiet Heart, By Mrs. Oliphant. 95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh. 96 Haunted Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt. 97 Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 98 Alice Learmont. By Miss Mulock. 99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary Patric 100 Through Fire and Water. By Fred- erick Talbot. : 101 Hannah. By Mss Mullock. 102 Peg Woffington.. By Charles Reade. 103 A Desperate Deed. Erskine Boyd. 104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. L. Far- eon, 105 The Great Hoggarty Diamond, By W. M. Thackeray. 106 From Dreams to Waking. By E. pe Linton. 107 Poor Zeph!. By F, W. Robinson. 108 The Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos Barton. By George Eliot. 109 Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses, By B, L. ego. 110 The Wandering Heir. By Charles Reade, 111 The Brothers Bets or, Within Six Weeks. By Emilie Flygare Carlen. 112 A Hero, By Miss Mulock. 113 Paul and Virginia. From the French of Bernardin De St. Pierre. |.114 “was In. Trafalgar’s Bay. | By, Wal- ter Besant and James Rice. 115 The Maid of Killeena. By Wm, Black. 116 Hetty. By Henry Kingsley. 117 The ayside Cross or, The Raid of Gomez. By Captain BE. A. Milman. 118 fhe Vicar of Waketield, Goldsmith. , 119 Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas. 120 Whaddeus of Warsaw. Porter, 121 The King of No-Land, By B. L. Far- eon. 122 Lovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack- eray. 123 An Island Pearl, By BE. L. Farjeon. 124 Cousin Phillis, By Oliver Walter Besant and'James Rice. . 127 One of.the Fem tli. By James Payn,. 128 The Birthright. aH! Gore. no 129 Motherless; or, The Farmer’s Sweetheart. . By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. . : 130 Homeless; or, Two Orphan Girls in New York, By Albert W. Aiken. § 131 Sister aczainst Sister; or, The Rivalry c* Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 132 Sold for Gold. By Mrs. M.V. Victor. 133 Lord Roth’s Sin, By Georgiana Dickens. | a dg Kile Love Her? By Bartley T. Camp- ell. Sinned Against. By Lillian Lovejoy. Was She His Wife? By Mrs. Mary Crowell. se : The Village on the Clif. By Miss lount, Thackeray. 4. Poor Valeria. By sam ea LT Sony Graham, G. PR. James. Without Mercy. Re Sortie T, Campbell. Honor Bound, By Lillian ovesOy. Fleeing from Love. By Mrs. Harriet, Irving. ; Abducted; or, A Wicked Woman's Work. By Rett Winwood, A Strenge Marriage. By Lillian saa Two Girls Lives. By Mrs. Mary Crowell, ~. - oe 13 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 | 144 45 {3 {| | { | By Miss Jane | ed! 146 A Desperate Venture; or, For Love's Own Sake, By Arabella Southworth. 147 The War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush- man, 148 Which Was the Woman ? or, Strangely Misjudged. By Sara Claxton, 149 An Ambitious perl or, She Would Be Actress. By Frances Helen Go eager? 150 Love Lord of All, By Alice Ma; ming. A Wild Girl. By Corinne Cushman, A MWMan’s Sacrifice. By Harriet In \ Did She Sin. By Mrs. a Reed Crow He Loves e Not, illian Lovejoy. Winning ays. By Margaret Blount. aks ges She Cost Him} or, Crooked Paths. A y Arabella Southworth. Girls Heart. By Rett Winwood. A Bitter Mistake; or, A Young Girl's Folly. By Agnes Mary Shelton. La elen’s Wow: or, The Mother's Secret. By the Late Mrs. B. F, Ellet. 60 Buying a Heart. By Lillian Lovejoy. Peari of Pearls. By A. P. Morris, Jr. A Fat:ful Game, By Sara Claxton. Whe (reole Cousins}; or, False as Fair. By Philip 8. Warne. A Scathing Ordeal; or, May ley's Mad Marriage. ee Mrs. Georgiana D DS, Girl. By Albert W, Aiken, re Rett Winwocd, A Strange A Man’s Sin. Whe Hand of Fate; or, The Wreck of Two Lives. By Arabella Southworth 8 'f'wo Fair Women. By Wm. M. Turner. 9 Tempted Through Love; or, One Woman’s Error.. By n Lovejoy. 70 Blind Barbara’s Secret. By Mary Grace Halpine. 171 A Woman’s Witchery. By S. Claxton. 172 Black Eyes and Blue. By Corinne Cushman. 178 The Cost of a Folly. By Georgiana Dickehs. 174 aap ak iaae Puritan, By A Parson's F ter, 175.%s Love a Mockery? or, Revenge is Sweet. By Arabella Southworth. -. 176 Adria, the Adopted. By Jennie Davis Burton. 177 Kor the Woman He Loveds or, Fate- ful Links. By Agnes nae: | Shelton, 178 Whe Locked Heart. By Corinne Cushman, 179 Parted by Treachery, By Harriet Irving. 180 Was She a Wife? By Rett Winwood, 181 Under a Cloud, By Claxton. 182 18 18 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 An American Queen. by G, Mortimer. 3A P int of Honor, By Lillian Lovejoy. 4 Pursued to the Altar. by Corinne Cushman. : h 18% Put to a Test. By Georgiana Dickens. 186 Rhe Terrible Truth; or, The Thornhurst Mysiery. By Jennie Davis Burton. 187 Outw:tted by Herself; or, A Mother's Scheme By Arabella Southworth. 188 Flerette, Child of the Street; or, A Pear Reyond Price, By Col. Prentiss Ingrahari. 189 Wer Guardian's Sacrifice; or, A Name in the Balance. . By Sara Claxton. 190 Prett. and Proud. ly Corinne Cushman, 191 A Women’s Maneuvers = or, Purse, not Heart. By Lilian Lovejoy. A 192 The Bitter Feud. By Jennie, D. Burton. 193 Breaking. the Fetters;, or, The Gypsy’s Secret.’ By Georgiana Dickens, “" 194 The Mysterious Guardian, or, Little Claire, the Opera Singer. By Corinne Cushman, 195 Im the. Balance; or, A Shadowed Love. By Arabella Southworth. 196 Fule, the Jeavess; or, the Miser Million- nire. By Dr. Noel Dunbar, ; 197 A Sister’s Crime. By Agnes Mary Shel- on r 198 Wilma ‘Wilde 3 or, The Inheritance of Hate. By Jennie Davis burton. : 199 The Beautiful Demon. By Frances Helen Davenport. 200 Fiorley Hecchiess or. Girlish Charms and Golden Dowers. By Corinne Cushman. 201 A Young Girls Ordeal; or, “I Love You Still.” By Sara Claxton. : 202 Her Evil Genius. By Harriet Irving. 203 Passion’s HBeprisal; or, The Bargain , ween Them. By Lillian Lovejoy. Elegant. Egbert; or, The Gloved Mand, oa a niyo 15. or, Royal Thorn rim * : S Re eis ie y Georgiana Dickens. leigh's Mistake. 206 Oulda’s Love; or, From Generation te ’ Generation. enrietta E. De Conde. 207 A Masty arriage; or, Was She an Adventuress? By ee. i. L. Fordham. 208 Bowie, the Knight of p ahr pee or, What a Woman Will . By Philip 8. Warne, A new tssue every week. ae’ Waveruey Lyprary is for sale by all News- sent. by mail on re- dealers, five cents per copy, or ceipt of six Cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, New York. / f ts » 4) ‘ . " Y act re J '