Harper's Weekly 1862-01-04: Vol 6 Iss 262

Page 1

Vou. VI—No | 262 2.) _ JANUARY 4, 1862. 18 $1. by “Harper 7 Brothers. Pi al ~~ ye ith, # , yu D y rs SINGLE OOPIES Six ¢ $2 50 PER YEAR | 3s. ° apace wane meses REST wee 3 / wn! ce >} DW, e wif gene P Hua Ni si a Christmas Boxes in Camp—Christmas, 186). . : inn i ee eS OE a EEE, 5S TIT HRS, TFT EI une f /

Page 2

2 HARPER'S WEEKLY. OUR WAR ILLUSTRATIONS. On page 4 we illustrate Sure Isianp, lately oc- cupied by our troops ; on page 13 the vessels com- posing GexeraL Burnsipe’s Exreprrion; on page 12 a view of Green River Brivee, Kes- reeky; and on page 5 SAVANNAH AND ITs Ap- PROACHES. Sutp IsLawp was occupied by the advance-guard of General Butler's expedition on 3d December. Thetroops consisted of the 26th Massachusetts and 9th Connecticut Volunteers, under command of Brigadier-General Phelps. They left Massachu- setts in the stearaer Constitution ; their embarka- tion was duly illustrated in Harper's Weekly at the time. Gn $d inst., as we said, they arrived at their destination, landed, and oecupied the island without molestation. It is understood that they are to ve followed by other troops, on whose arriv- al operations will be commenced against Mobile or New Orleans, or both. The following account of Ship island will, with our illustrations, enable our readers to understand the importance of the movement ; =F Ship [stand is sitoated in longitude 89 and a little north of latitnde 30, and ts the property of the State of Missis- ‘ippl. It is about sixty miles from New Orleans, nearly the same distance from the Northeast Pass, at the mouth fississippi River, forty miles from Mobile, and rom Fort Pickens. It lies between Horn Island on the enst and Cat Inland on the west, and is distant about five miles from each. Some ten or twelve miles the north, on the main land of Mississippi, are the towns of Balexi, Pascagoula, and Mississippi City. These towns are favorite summer resorte for the wealthy planters and merchants of the Gulf States, and, in consequence of a bar off their shore, are now the places of refuge for rebel n-boats Ship I-land f« somewhat undulating, and extends in a slight curve about seven miles east-northeast and west- southwest. At West Point (ihe western end), where the fort is joeated, the island is little more than an eighth of a mile and is a mere send spit, utterly barren of grass or foliage of any kind. This ern end, or East Point, is 1 jaarters of a mile in width, and is well wooded elar, and live-oak. ie whole island contains a fraction lees than two square lea of territory. Excellent water can be obtained in inlimited supply by sinking a barrel any where on the pia The great advaatage of thia is too palpable to re- comment, island possesses a very superior harbor, into which teen feet can be ed at ordinarily low water. It is d north of th t end of the island. The anchor- «qual to the depth on the bar, is five miles verages three and a quarter miles in width, harbor is safe for the most dangerous storms in the those from the eastward, southward and eastward, and southward—anl might be easily entered during these storme without a pilot, if good light-houses were placed in proper positions. The rise and fall of the tide is only from twelve to fourteen inche Crulf Forr Massacnvsetts, of which we give an il- lustration, is thus described in the Jerald letter: This fort, which is situated on the sand «pit at the ex- treme western end of the island, i# nearly circular in shape, somewhat resembling a pear in form. As I have stated elauewhere, its construction was commenced by the Federal Government, and when in a state of considerable progress was burned by the rebels, who afterward rebuilt and then abandoned it. It is of brick, and rendered bomb-proof by sand-bags placed five or six feet deep in front of the walls The rebels built eleven casemates, and our forces have built two more since they have occupied the fort. The ecacemates are bormb-yroof. The fort is at present but one tier high. Jt is provided with Dahigren's 9-inch shell guns of very heavy calibre and in perfect order, and they are hourly expecting sixteen more very heavy guns from Pensacola, Besides this, Captain Manning's battery have landed five of their steel rifled cannon, with the Sawyer projectile, There were six of these guns on board the Constiiucion, but unfortunately one of them was lost over- hoard in removing them from the transport. It is hoped that they will be able wo recover it, as a buoy floats right over the spot where it full. The vessels composing GexyeraL Brrnsipe’s Expeprrion will be found portrayed on page 13. They comprise vessels of all kinds, from steam- sloops to schooners. The principal craft, compos- ing the expedition proper, are North River pro- peilers altered inte gun-beats. These vessels, it is believed, will prove very useful, as they can carry a large number of men, besides acting as gun-boats. They have been strengthened throughout, and car- ty from two to four guns each. The destination of General Burnside’s expedition is, of course, a se- cret. It is surmised, however, that it will operate in conjunction with General M‘Clellan, and form a base not very far from Fortress Monroe. Green River Briner, Kentocky, near which the contending armies under Schoepf and Zolli- coffer have been encamped, is 73 miles from Louis- ville, Kentucky, on the line of the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. This most elegant structure was built in the fall of 1857. It is nearly 1000 feet in length; the centre pier is 115 feet high. The first, or south pier, was blown up by the rebels and entirely destroyed. Our birds-eve view of SAVANNAH AND ITs Ap- Pexoacues will convey a clear idea of the theatre of Commedore Dupont’s operations. OUR WAR MAP. Ga We have republished separately the admirable War Map of the Southern States, Which appeared in s late Number of HARPER’s WERKLY, and are prepared to farnish it, BEAUTIFULLY COLORED, at Srx Cents per copy, with the usual discount This Map is generally admitted to be the Most compLere War Map 1x EXISTENCE. to Agents. TO ADVERTISERS. cz” Tur great exertions made by the proprietors of ILARPER’s WEEKLY to illustrate the WAR have been rewarded by a large increase of circulation. During last year over Five Honprep Iuiusrra- TIONs oF THE War have been published in Har- pen'’s WeEeKkny. It now circulates One Hen PRED AND Twenxry THovsanp Corrs WERKLY : which is, we believe, the larnest circulation of any Journal in this country in which Advertisements sre published. Price 50 and 75 cents per line. [2 Evrorran Dealers will be supplied with Hanrer's Weexuy by John Adams Knight, Publisher of the Lon- don American, 100 Fleet Street, London, England, where Subscriptions and Advertisements will be received, and «in- gle copies of Hazren's Montuty and Weekty furnished. HARPER’S WEEKLY. Saturpay, January 4, 1862. THE “TRENT” QUESTION. T is well understood that Great Britain has demanded satisfaction for the Trent affair, in what terms and to what extent is mt known at the time we write. It is inferred from the tone of the British press that the degree of sat- isfaction required is such as can not be granted without subjecting the United States to decided humiliation. And the question which has en- grossed the minds of all loyal Americans during the past week has been whether we should sub- mit to humiliation, or go to war again with England. The answer to that question has not been unanimous. Some of our leading men and some journals are for war with England if the British demands growing out of the Trent affair are such as can not be honorably complied with. Others again hold that in our present straits we can not afford to embark in a foreign war, and that it is better for us now to submit to the de- mands of England, whatever they may be, and to trust to the future for opportunities of redress and vengeance. The latter view appears to be entertained by those whose opinion is entitled to the greatest weight. They argue that if the British navy and Brit- ish credit were placed at the service of the rebels, it would be a work of superhuman difficulty to conquer them. We might, and we probably would, do infinite injury to British commerce. We might, if it were deemed worth while, over- run Canada, and add that wild and worthless region to our dominion. We might even stir up serious disturbances in Ireland. But all this would not compensate us for the permanent division of the Union and the erection of a hos- tile power on our own soil. There is no ques- tion but the navy of Great Britain is at present so superior to ours that our blockade would be speedily broken, and thus the great object for whose accomplishment we have taken up arms would be placed beyond our reach. The war between the insurrectionary and the loyal States would be prolonged indefinitely, and our ulti- mate success would be rendered extremely doubtful. In view of these considerations, and of the paramount importance of preserving the Union at all costs, a majority of our leading men are understood to be of the opinion that the wisest course now is to comply with the demands of Great Britain whatever they may be, and to re- serve to ourselves the right of reopening the con- troversy hereafter. That this is the view of the Administration we do not know. But there is reason to believe that Mr. Lincoln is as keenly alive as any one to the vital importance of main- taining our nationality at any sacrifice, and that he will not risk the main point for the sake of incidental controversies and side issues. Of the conduct of Great Britain in this affair it requires unusual self-control to speak in meas- ured language. It is as well known in England as here that the United States are engaged in a life struggle; that every man and every dollar are enlisted in a contest for the maintenance of our nationality; that there never has been a time since the conquest of our independence when this country was less fitted to embark in a foreign war. It requires some self-command to remark upon the conduct of a nation which chooses this moment to offer us the option of war or humiliation. History, we think, may vainly be searched for a parallel. Half a dozen times since 1814 occasions of war have arisen between this country and England, and have always been adjusted by diplomacy. It is only now, when our whole energies are engrossed in a domestic struggle, that England ventures to threaten us with war. But a just Providence rules, and to Him the issue may safely be intrusted. No wrong, in national affairs, ever goes unpunished, No such baseness as England has evinced in the course of the past nine months can escape retri- bution. A time will come—and in our day, too—when we shall call England to account for the unnatural enmity she has displayed toward the United States; for her base sympathy with traitors and pirates, and for the unspeakable cowardice she now evinces in trying to drive us to the wall in the hour of our most trying ex- tremity. She should be the last Power in the world to make us her foe, for she has not a friend in the world. There is not a nation in Europe that would not exult over the ruin of England, for there is not one she has not insulted, outraged, or injured at some moment when they could not strike back. France, Russia, Spain, Ger- many, Italy—all will sympathize heart and soul with us when the time comes for our retribu- tion, our vengeance. Millions of poor creat- ures in India, and millions in China, will bless the day when we strike to the heart of the bru- tal oppressor, who, fer a century, has trampled them, and robbed them, and cheated them, and tried to convert them into mere instruments for the consumption of Manchester and Birming- ham goods. Twice in our history we have fought with England, each time for causes which even Englishmen now admit to have been just. We have one mere fight in prospect: but it will be the last. 1862. Harper's Weexty wishes its friends a Happy New Year! It has every reason to do so, for it be- lieves firmly in the prospects and promises of the coming time. Nor can it be unmindful of the prosperity which has followed it during the event- ful year that now closes—a prosperity which it may fairly say is not altogether undeserved. With a weekly issue of 120,000 copies, an illustrated journal like this is necessarily a power in the land. To-day, at least, while it compliments all others, it may be forgiven for not forgetting itself; espe- cially if it means, in good faith, not to forget itself in the coming year, but to serve its friends as faith- fully as in the past. A Happy New Year! It can hardly fail to be that. The tempest upon our Southern horizon is already wasting itself away, and it will leave the land fatter and fairer in all good purposes and prin- ciples. The cloud that rolls up for the moment from the East, beyond the sea, is a cloud that is transparent, and a peaceful sky shines through it. We have come in the last year to our national con- sciousness. We have proved to ourselves that the sons are worthy of the sires. The proof has cost money and blood, and will yet cost more. But that retrospect makes even the dark year of war welcome, and the consequences will make each fu- ture year of our lives a Happy New Year. EO A CHAPTER OF HISTORY. WHatever be the result of the difficulty between this country and England, history will record but a few simple facts: That this was a great friendly power at peace with Great Britain ; That under different political systems each coun- try was working out the problem of constitutional liberty ; - That our commercial relations were most essen- tial and intimate ; That the traditional mutual jealousy and dislike springing naturally from the circumstances of our earlier history were fast disappearing ; That while England was distinctively an Anti- Slavery nation, and the system of Slavery still lin- gered among us, yet that public sentiment here was rapidly ripening and preparing the peaceful and lawful solution of the question, of which the proof was the election of Mr. Lincoln; That that result being clearly foreseen by a fac- tion in the country, they raised the standard of re- volt professedly to destroy this Government and to establish another upon the corner-stone of Slavery ; That no other reason for the revolt was seriously presented or accepted ; That immediately upon the declaration of this rebellion, before it had struck any significant blow, or achieved any result whatsoever, the British Gov- ernment, without waiting for a word from this Gov- ernment, at once recognized the rebels as a bellig- erent power, thereby treating a faction aiming to subvert a friendly government for the purpose al- ready indicated as the warlike equal of that gov- ernment; " That in reply to the natural incredulity, sur- prise, and indignation of loyal American citizens, the chief organs of British opinion, leading states- men, and public men, assumed the destruction of this Government as a fact already accomplished, and accused the citizens who were maintaining the integrity of the nation of waging a wicked and fratricidal war ; That the thinly-veiled sympathy with the rebel- lion, and selfish delight in the difficulties of this nation, which, with few exceptions, have been man- ifested by Great Britain from the beginning, at length induced the captain of an English passenger steamer, in open and deliberate violation of the Queen's proclamation—which was intended to em- barrass this Government by granting belligerent rights to rebels, but which expressly forbade all English subjects to carry “‘ officers, soldiers, dis- patches, arms,” ete.—to receive as passengers two men personally known to him as emissaries of the rebels to foreign courts, and so publicly declared to be by the ringleader of the rebellion ; That in pursuance of the unquestionable rights of a belligerent power, a naval officer of the United States stopped the offending steamer, and, after seizing the traitors, kindly permitted the offending ship to proceed ; That Great Britain had always exercised, and still asserted, the right of stopping any American vessel upon the high seas, and removing any Brit- ish seaman found on board ; That she had thus stopped hundreds of Amer- ican vessels, and removed thousands of sailors ; That upon hearing what this nation had dones the English were as furious as if they had the pre- seriptive right to do precisely as they chose, and other nations only what Great Britain might per- mit ;— At this point the record,-for the moment, closes. If it shall be completed by the further fact that thereupon England declared war against us, recog- nized the rebellion as a successful revolution, and, in concert with the slaveholders, sought to oven throw this Government and consummate the ruin of the country, no student of history will be sur- prised. No nation is disinterested. None is so little so as England. Only the greatest firmness and care upon the part of this Government can pre- = ———————————————— [Janvanry 4, 1869. — - ——, vent her hastening, in the hour of our peril, from dealing a blow which she will hope may remove her most formidable rival forever. WHAT WILL BE DONB? Tue attitude of the country and the tone of the newspapers since the news of the English excite- ment are most admirable. Perfectly calm and perfectly firm, neither inviting nor evading a war, which could not fail to fall most heavily upon all sides, the feeling of the nation undoubtedly is to acknowledge frankly any wrong that may have been committed, and to it to no dish J Unquestionably the Government will insist that, by all international law and usage, and especially by the uniform conduct of England upon the ocean, nothing can be clearer than the right of a national ship to stop a neutral vessel and remove contraband of war, dispatches, and agents. If the British Gevernment should claim that, as we do not recognize the rebels as belligerents, they must be considered political refugees invoking the protection of the English flag; and that there. fore England can no more allow them to be taken by force from an English ship than she could allow Mann and Yancey to be taken by force from En- glish soil—the reply is final, that, without going further, it is quite enough that Great Britain has recognized them as belligerents, and has formally warned all English ships that they carry officers, dispatches, and contraband goods at their peril. If England shall ask an explanation, there will be an explanation and correspondence. If it fails to satisfy, the matter can and should be left to ar. bitrament. This nation wishes to do nothing wrong, But, of course, it does not accept England as the expounder of what is right. ‘That must be de- termined by a congress of nations, or by an arbiter mutually selected. If England sends an ultimatum, Lord Lyons will have received his passports before this paper is printed. Should that be the course, it will be evident that she wished only war, and necessarily the responsi- bility will be hers. The chances for war are—the English hatred of America; the want of cotton; the danger of loss of office by the present Ministry if they do not raise the war-cry ; and the opportu- nity of striking us and finishing us when we may be hit at a disadvantage. The chances for peace are—in the unquestionable justice of our position ; in the wisdom and coolness of our Government; in the traditional jealousy of France toward England, which would not fail to strike when England was most exposed; and the universal tumult in the world which such a war would occasion. The probability is, that the black cloud will mutter hoarsely and roll away. The possibility is, that the whole vexed question of belligerent rights may be settled by an international congress. WHY IS ENGLAND OUR ENEMY? Why should England wish a war with us? Is she not our natural friend? are questions that are instinctively asked by many who have fondly cherished the tradition that England was a pecul- iarly magnanimous power, and that community of language and race is sufficient to secure perma- nent friendship between us. But the case is very clear to a moment's calm consideration. If we emerge victorious from the suppression of the rebellion, as no sane man doubts, we shall have demonstrated the superiority of our system to ev- ery other in the world; for no other gevernment could hope to subdue a conspiracy so vast and vig- orous as this has proved to be. Our success will be the most fatal argument against an aristocratic system. Every English coronet, from the crown down, will feel itself cracked. Bright will be the Englishman of proved deepest insight; and what wquld not English toryism and the testy prejudice of John Bull do to avoid seeing John Bright justi- fied? Our success will be a tremendous political argument against England. But again, if we are victorious, we come out with an army and a navy which make us absolute masters of this Continent, and America master of the seas. What, then, becomes of the mistress? If John Bull bears, like the Tark, no rival near the throne, what is he likely to do with a superior? Our domestic struggle is thus really the crisis of Engiand. She has seen it from the beginning, and hence all her conduct during the contest. Doubtless she will strain every point now to pre- cipitate war. But if she does not at once insist upon an ultimatum, this effort will be defeated. The cue of England at this moment is to insist upon the right of secession, in order to pave the way to a recognition of the Confederate traitors. This spirit appears in all quarters. ‘‘ Senator So- and-so has the temerity to deny the right of seces- sion!” exclaimed an Englishman the other day, who had been in the country four months ; and the Atheneum, a purely literary and scientific London paper, begins a review of a work upon the Amer- ican Union by a Mr. James Spence, with these words: *‘ Although Mr. James Spence takes the right side on the main question raised in his book, and arranges with lucidity and force the arguments which establish the existence of a constitutional right to sécede in the States of the American Union,” etc., ete. This is amusing, because nothing is more pro- found than the ignorance of every Englishman ia the matter of our political system. That they should be ignorant is not surprising. But that they should now, whether in the person of Mr. James or those mysterious and final gen- tlemen “the Law Officers of the Crown,” under- take to enlighten the world at large, and especially the President and his Cabinet, as to the proper in- terpretation of our Constitution, is »o ludicrously preposterous that it must be turned « ¥ with a loud laugh. And yet, notwithstanding this practical absurd- ity, and the unquestionable alievation of English — oan ao ele ee eS Ob ae a &

Page 3

Janvary 4, 1862.] HARPER'S WEERLY.

3

feeling from this country, and the imminent dan- ger of a collision, there is no good reason for sup- posing that the collision may not be avoided. A century, however, will not repair the mischief worked by the jealousy of England at this time. We may be ceremonious acquaintances, panctil- jously careful upon every point of etiquette, but we shall not for many a generation be the friends that we ought to be now, and that so many believed we already were. Nor can any just judge declare that the reason is to be found in any tariff system that we may have adopted. Nosuch purely super- ficial question explains so deep a difference. It is to be found in the eagerness and evident joy with which England hailed the prospect of our national ruin.

AN ARMORY IN THE NORTHWEST. Tur letter of the Hon. Isaac N. Arnold, of Chi- cago, representative from Illinois, to the President— the appointment of Mr. Kellogg, ‘of the same State, upon the Committee for the establishment of a Western Armory, and the memorial of the citizens of Chicago to the Government setting forth the claims of that city as the proper site, all show that the Northwest is thoroughly alive to the import- ance of securing that armory for the great capital of that region. The case of Chicago is a very strong one, and its chief points are the following : That the arsenal should be somewhere in the Northwest is generally admitted. There are three on the eastern side of the Alleghany—namely, Watervliet, West Point, and Springfield; but the Northwest, whose population exceeds that of all thé loyal Eastern States, has none. The western and northwestern frontiers are the points where arms will be required for the next century; and at’ the beginning of the present war there were no arms of any importance in the whole region. In Hlinois there was the greatest difficulty in getting even a few thousand, and the troops when posted as sentries were for a long time compelled to do duty with clubs instead of muskets. The great security of the works at Chicago is an- other consideration strongly urged. From the seat of domestic rebellion Chicago is separated by hun- dreds of miles of territory filled with a brave and loyal people. From foreign attack she is vulner- able only through the Straits of Mackinaw. The small expense of a fortification there, as Mr. Ar- nold shows, would make the lake inaccessible. The immense commerce of the lakes, exceeding in the whole the entive foreign commerce of the country, could, in case of need, be sheltered in Lake Michigan, and by means of an arsenal the merchant marine be rapidly converted into a navy. The economical view is not less strongly pre- sented. The iron, copper, lead, and lumber could be furnished, according to estimates, more cheaply in Chicago than elsewhere. Provisions are cheap. Mechanical labor abundant. Thirteen trunk lines of railway, counting, with their connections, more than five thousand miles, centre in Chicago. The futility of reliance upon on line of road has been shown painfully enough in the Baltimore and Ohio and Baltimore and Washington roads. But besides the railroads, the water communication by the great lakes and the Illinois canal and rivers, all improv- able at an expense entirely disproportioned to the value of the results, is unsurpassed in the West. Pittsburg is the rival claimant with Chicago. But in regard of building material, lumber, iron, copper, lead, coal for smelting, provisions, trans - portation, and security, the advantages seem tr, lean to Chicago. In skilled labor the two placus are fully equal. The advantage of Pittsburg ap- pears to be in motive power, in the cost of bitumin- ous coal. But Chicago pluckily claims that this difference in the cost of coal for one purpose is more than counterbalanced by the other important con- siderations And as the Government owns ground at Pittsburg on which the armory might be built, Chicago will willingly furnish ground free of cost. and interesting statements. ‘are very properly expended annually in protect- lag std hetitlag tiie Willies poummeres of the ne- tion. The expense to the national treasury of the enormous trade on the great lakes is merely nom- inal; a few light-houses and a single revenue-cutter armed with a single gun.” Again he says: “ A line drawn north and south through Pittsburg will show a majority of the people of the Union west of that line. Yet vast country, furnish- ing fally one-half of the soldiers now in the field, is entirely dependent upon eastern armories for the manufacture of arms. A national armory at Chi- cago during the last year would have saved the Goverament millions of money, the lives of many gallant men, and would have materially shortened the war.” Every year of our history will confirm one strik- ing remark of Mr. Arnold’s: “ The provincial his- tory of the Northwest terminated with the census of 1860.”

A WORD TO “BOSTONIAN.” A FriEenp, who says that Harper's Weekly circu- lates twenty thousand or more copies in Boston and its neighborhood, suggests that the paper might wisely give a few more illustrations from that re- gion. The is good ; and-we do not need Boston authority for believing that city to be a metropolis, But our friend should remember that diocese. In Maryland and the District of Colum- bia twenty thousand are also taken; and as that region is the seat of present public interest, we nat- py Pave pergeagcerned oe ote te If our friend has any suggestions of particular sub- jects to make, Harper's Weekly will be always very glad to receive them. Meanwhile we may observe that since the war broke out Harper’s Weekly has illustrated Faneuil Hall, Fort Warren, and other Boston “lions.”

HUMORS OF THE DAY. Frawery Pansonace.—aA critic says: ** There is a cer- 2 eee a “about it that pleases all” That the parsenage iteelf, and the winmkasaaen

2 epnnied Diteeen Sete baes fom the henytiet, and finished up by saying, “I've fought for this country, I've bled for it, and I | soon be able to say I've died ior it.”

That his savings are _ away. And the city banks go And pa py their eutdhene still; , But oh! for a tonch of my vanished That has gone from the Pall Mall till. Break, break, break, Let the world thy rottenness see; But the hard-earned gold that has fled Will never come back to me. seuieeinaenetiiipdiibcmmies A century ago, the lady of one of the “City” knights wrote a note once to an old acquaintance, verbatim, as fol- lowe: ** Lady —— precents compeiments to Mra. ——, and beggs she'll abstane from calling on her, as she sees now nobody but folks of fashion since her Ladyship and Sir —— has been nighted by his we a

In a discussion with a esepemene lecturer, a toper ask- ed, “If water rots your boots, what effect must it have on the eoats of your stomach "

At an election dianer a voter said he had never received a bribe to the extent of afarthing. “Oh, Mr. Smith, how can you say so,” observed another voter, ** when I know Mr, Wilks sent you a hare?" “ Ay, that's true enough; but it was full of maggots” ‘* Well, then,” was the re- joinder, **‘ if it were not bribery, it was corruption.”

bed Now, children, who loves all men?” asked a school- i tion was hardly put before a little girl, not four years old, answered quickly, ** All women!"

An old man, when dangerously «ick, was urged to take advice of a doctor, but objected, saying, **1 wish to die a natural death." ps iene cahscemass legs be considered a foot passen- ger An old maid, speaking of marriage, says it is like any other disease—while there's life there's hope.

“So you are going to keep a school!" said a young lady to her aunt. ‘“ Weil, for my part, sooner than 7 that, I would marry a widower with nine children.” “I should prefer that myself,” was the quiet reply; “but where is the widower" An eminent and witt ee wn ane a te euch a one ed his conscience. “ Yea,” ee ome a8 —— A Drtrrerence or Orrxton.—A short man became at- tached to a tall woman, and somebody said that he had fallen in love with her. ‘* Do you call it falling in love ’" said the suitor. ntedonenemoramne te cational

A QvatiricaTion.—A auienh, lately advertising for a “* who could bear confi d an answer from one who had been seven years in jail. i

Can a man be said to be in a stew when you make his blood boil ¥

A late lecturer remarked that it wouldn't be a very vio- lent stretch of the imagination to believe “that a thought- ful Massachusetts baby, six months old, sits in his mo- ther's lap eying his own cradle, to see if he could not invent a better; or at least suggest some improvement."

A learned young lady defines a thimble as a diminutive, argenteous, truncated cone, convex on its summit, and semi-periorated with symmetrical indentations. A milkman was awoke by a wag in the night with the announcement that his best cow was . He forth- with jumped up to save the life of hix animal, when, lo! he found a turnip stuck in the mouth of the pump.

A truly rural young lady is about to publish a work on “ The Rise, Growth, Culture, and Progress of the Hen, as an Element of Civilization.”

Test or Cuntsrian Cuanacter.—*“ Well, doctor,” said to a witness, “‘what is the character of this “ He is a Christian, Sir." “ A Christian “Yes, Sir; a good Christian; a most exemplary Chris- tian.” “ Well, how do Yn know this?" “I know it, Sir, because I attended him a er never once heard him swear.” The testimony was con- sidered satisfactory. Lady Yarmouth asked Garrick one day why Love was always represented as a child? He ** Because Love never reaches the age of wisdom and experience.”

Hr Nie atl I'll scream !” as the engine-whistle said to the stoker.

“Did you ever go to a military ball?” asked a lisping maid of an old veteran. ne ee soldier; *‘in those days I once had a military ball come to me, and what do you think ?—it took my leg off!" People who cross the ocean for mere pleasure generally , before finishing the voyage, that they were retch- ed fools.

The story is told of a certain New Zealand chief, b Gate young missionary landed at his island, to succeed a sac teacher deceased some time before. At an interview with the chief, the young minister asked: “Did you know my departed brother?” “Oh yes! Me deacon in his you knew him well; and was he man?” “ Yes,” replied the o, “ be very good and very him”

A gentleman traveling across Salisbury Plain saw an old man at the door of a cabin, weeping bitterly. “My " the gentleman, ** what is the mat- ter with your" “Why,” replied the man, “daddy jist

DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE. CONGRESS. Ow Tuesday, Remaiier 3s, & Go Senate, cowont tions were presented for emancipating the slaves of re A bill was reported to increase the number of cadets at West Point. Lane in 4 speech the ac-

= = eral conduct of the war. The House ~eolution for an ad- jourmment until January 6 was laid op the table. An exec Uve session was held, and the Senate adjourned. —— In the House, Mr. Bingham, from the Judiciary Com- mittee, reported back the joint resolutions requiring the Provost Court at Alexandria, Virginia, to hold the prop- erty of rebels until Congress take further action on the subject. The resolution then . The resolutions of Mr. Eliot, for the emancipation of slaves, being the « order, were then resumed. On motion of Kell gz, the resolutions, and ali others relating to the ew in the same special order, were seferred to the Jud y Com- mittee by a vote of TT against 57. A bili was reported from the Foreign Affairs Committee appropriating one thousand dollars to pay the owners of the —_— ship Perthahire for losses incurred in ion by our blockad ing fleet off Mobile, in June last, our naval officers at the time acting on a ng of the c The bill was Snally passed, but not until after it had given rise to a somewhat lengthy and discursive debate. A bill was reported from the Naval Committee to author- ize the Secretary of the Navy to construct twenty iron- clad steam gun-boat«, at a coet of from five hundred thou- sand to six hundred thousand dollars each, which, after a brief debate, was laid over for further consideration, and the House adjourned. On Wednesday, December 18, in the Senate, petitions for the emancipation of slaves, and for the repeal of the Fugitive Slave Law, were presented by Senators Dvolittle and Sumner, respectively. Senator Sumner offered a res- olution that Trusten lolk, now a traitor to the United States, be expelled from the Senate. It was referred to the Judiciary Committee. Senator Summer's resolution that the army shall not be used to surrender fugitive slaves was taken up and adopted. After an executive session the Senate adjourned.——In the House, the Committee on Elections reported adversely to the claim of Charles Henry Foster to represent either the First or Second Congression- al District of North Carolina, and the report was adopted. A bill appropriating one million dollars for gun-boats on the Western waters was passed. The Pension Appropria- tion Bill was taken up, amended so that no pension shall be paid to rebels, and then passed. The bill authorizing the payment of troops mustered into service in Missouri was passed. This provides for the pay of the forces under General Frémont, as well as thoeee under other —- The Contract Investigating Committee was req

——— —_ —— = fantry and one of cavelry, whe were concealed in the bushes, The fire was returned from our rifles and the battery, and after an hour’. fighting the rebels fled toward Fairfax Court House, leaving 156 killed and wounded behind them, together with two calesons of aromunition and « quantity of clothing an“ stores. General Mall had up General Keynolds to « point on the Leesburg turnpike to support General Ord, in anticipation of an at- tack ; but before Generals Reynolds and Mall reached field of action the rebele had becn defeated by Easton's battery and the rifles of Colonel Kane's Pennsylvania regiment. Our loss was about six killed and twenty-seven wounded. GENERAL POPE'S OPERATIONS IN MISSOURI. Di received from General Pope state that on Wednesday he got between the engny encamped in two bodies, one at a point near Chilhowee and another in Clin- ton and Henry counties; that they retreated apon his ar rival toward Rove Hill, leaving all thecr baggage and, val- uables in his possession. General Pope followed them up, but at , Bates County, they erattered in all diree- tions. With a strong cavalry reconnoissance General Pope 150 rebels near Ovceola, and at different other about as many more. The whole coautry between Hill and Grand River ts now clear of rebela. Mean- while another portion of his force, under Colonel Davis, a second rebel camp, on the evening of the 18th, near Milford. The rebele, who were thirteen hundred strong, surrendered upon finding themeelvee surrounded. Among the prisoners were three colonel, seventeen cap- tains, 1000 stand of arms, 1000 horses, sixty-five wagens, and « large quantity of supplies, tents, and baggage. The loss of the enemy ix not known, but the Union lose was but two killed and eight wounded. MORE BRIDGE-BURNING IN MISGOTRI. The rebels of General Price's army, in Missouri, made another raid upon the railroads on Friday night, dest ing the track, water-tank», wood-piles, and bridges my North Missouri railroad for a distance of a hundred miley, commencing at a point eight miles south of Hudson, and continuing to destroy the rails and telegraph lines as far as Warrentown. It appears to have been 4 preconcerted movement, in which the inhabitants of that distriet par- ticipated, as no single party could have accomplished so

inguire into the policy of abolishing sutlership:, or tng lating them so as to prevent impositions upon soldiers. On Thursday, December 19, in the Senate, Sum- ner presented a number of pumerously signed petitions in favor of the emancipation of slaves, with com tion to loyal masters. Senator Willey, of Virginia, offered a reso- lution to the effect that the existing war was forced upon the country by the rebellious States without provocation, and with the design to destroy the Union and the Coneti- tution, and repudiate the fundamental principles of repub- lican government. The Senate discussed the resolution of the House to adjourn till the 6th of January, in order to participate in the Christmas holidays, but adjourned with- out arriving at a determination on the subject.——In the House, the bill providing for the construction of twenty iron-clad steam gun-boats, to be built by contract or other- wise, as the Secretary of the Navy may deem best for the public interest, was debated and The Consular and Diplomatic Appropriation bill was passed. A bill abolishing the franking privilege was introduced by Mr. Colfax, and the second Tuesday of January assigned for its consideration. On Friday, December 20, in the Senate, petitions for the emancipation of the slaves of rebels, for an armory at Rock Island, for the establishment of a system to exchange prisoners of war, and for the expulsion of Senator Bright, of Indiana, were presented and appropriately referred. A bill appropriating one thousand dollars to the owners of the British ship Perthahire, as indemnity for damages by rea- son of illegal detention by the blockading squadron, was reported by the Committee on Foreign Affairs and laid on the table. The Judiciary Committee were discharged from further consideration of the subject of the abolition and reconstruction of the Supreme Court. Senator Sauls- bury’s resolution, calling for a copy of General Phelps's proclamation to the loyal citizens of the Southwest, and by what authority it was made, was taken up, briefly dis- cussed, and laid om the table. Senator Willey, of Vir- ginia, then resumed and concluded his on national affairs.——In the Liouse, a bill complete the defenses of Washington was tions of the Kentucky Legislature in favor of relief to Ire- land, in view of a probable famine there, were referred to the Committee on Foreign Affaire. A resolution that the Committee on the Judiciary be instructed to report a bill so amending the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850 as to forbid the recapture or return of any fugitive from labor without satisfactory proof first being made that the claimants of such fugitive was loyal to the Government was adopted by a vote of T8 to 39. Mr. Lovejoy, of Illinois, offered a reso- lution instructing the Judiciary Committee to report a bill providing for the confiscation of all the property of all rebels, and their aiders and abettors, and the uncondi- tional liberation of their slaves, and protection of said slaves from recapture by their masters. The proposition was laid on the table by two majority. Mr. Wilson, of In- diana, offered a resolution directing the Military Commit- tee to report an additional article of war, prohibiting offi- cere of the army from employing the force under their com- mand to return fugitive slaves to their owners, and pro- viding for the punishment of such officers by dismissal from service. No action was taken on the subject. Both Houses asijourned till Monday. On Monday, December 23, in the Senate, Senator Davis, the new Senator from Kentucky, app appeared -_ took his seat. A memorial was pr of Boston. representing that the freedom of th the press had been abridged, and asking relief. The bill me | an priation of $1,500,000 for the construction vieets for operations on the Western rivers was seperted from the ape on Finance, and Senator King, of New York, offered a resolution, which was laid <a Lene the President to institute law m5 in custody by Executive authority. a tor Wilson, of Massachusetts, introduced a bill providing against the re- turn of fugitive slaves by the army, and for the punishment of any officer ordering it. The bill to increase the number of cadets at West Point from 170 to 850 was taken up and de- bated at considerable length, but was not definitely acted upon.—In the House, Mr. Vallandigham introduced a bill to enforce the writ of habeas corpus. It was referred to the Judiciary © ittee. A resolution introduced by Mr. Wilson, of lowa, on Friday, requesting the Military Com- mittee to prepare a new article of war for the punishment of all officers using any forces under their command for the return of fugitive slaves was considered, and finally adopt- ed. The bill to increase the duties on tea, coffee, and sugar was reported from the Committee on Ways and Means, and passed after some debate, 77 to 29. It was im- mediately sent to the Senate, and passed that body also. The revolution introduced by Mr. Morehead, of Pennayl- vania, requesting the Judiciary Committee to report a bill debarring forever any rebel from holding office under the Constitution and laws of the United States, was passed. ESCAPE OF COLONEL CORCORAN. The papers publish an interesting statement made by Lieutenant Hurd, of the Second Maine Regiment, who was wounded and taken prisoner at Bull Kun, and has recent- ly been released. He, together with Colonel Corcoran and some three hundred others were confined in the Charles- ton Jail at the time of the great conflagration there, and they only escaped from the jail, which was burned, by leaping from a window, no effort being made to save them by the Charlestonians. Colonel Corcoran, Lieutenant Hurd believes, escaped during the confusion, as he ex- reseed his determination to try to reach Beaufort or the forth, and has not since been heard of. According to Lieutenant Hurd's representations, the National prison- ere now in the South are treated in the most brutal unjustifiable manner. SKIRMISH NEAR WASHINGTON, A brisk and succesful conflict took place last week on the lines in front of Washington. General M‘Call's bri- gade went out one morning on a foraging expedition to- ward Dranesville. His advance force, commanded by General Ord, consisted of four regiments of infantry, a regiment of Pennsylvania rifles, and Easton's battery. Near Dranesville « fire was on them by the rebels, under UColone Forney, four regiments ef in-

EE

divast: a work in the short epace of time which it took to complete the extensive damage. OUR NATIONAL DEFENSES. The report of General Barnard, Chief Engineer of the Army, which has just been submitted to Congress te be me tary Cameron, shows that the defenses around Washington consist of forty-eight works, mounting three hundred guns; that the whole defensive pertmet: r oce upied is about thir. ty-five miles—exceeding by several suilee the famous field- works of Torres Vedras, the most extensive fortification of this kind known in modern times. Geveral Bernard asks the appropriation of $150,000 from Congress for the com- pletion of these works, as many of them were thrown up ip the face of the enemy, and therefore require considorable labor to make them perfect. Secretary Cameron has aiso submitted to Congress a report in favor of the appropria- tion of $4,710,000 for putting our coast defenses in order, from the lakes round to San Francieco, a large portioa of which is to be devoted to defenses of New York EACHANGE OF PRISONERS. The exchange of rebel prisoners has commenced. The bark /eland City left Boeton last week for Fortress M me with two hundred and fifty of the rebels captured at Hat- teras, who have been released from captivity at Fort War- ren by the Government. THE FIRE AT CHARLESTON, Somewhat fuller particulars of the great fire in Charles- ton have reached us by way of Fortress Monroe, The Courier, published on the 14th, gives a Met of between two and three hundred enfferers (property owners) by the fire, and estimates the loss at seven millions of dol and the Mercury of the same date gives a list of five hum dred and seventy-six buildings, which were totally de- stroyed on Wednesday alone. Five churches were burned, and various prominent public buildings used for secular purposes. The Richmond papers state that a Measage was sent to the Confederate Congress, on Friday, Jef Davis, in which he recommended relief for the ew’ and two hundred and fifty thousand dollars were conel ingly voted the next day—an advance upon the claims of South Carolina upon the rebel Government. MORE INCENDIARISM SOUTH, Tt is not in the least improbeble that the fate of Charles. ton may be shared before long by other Southern cities. The Montgomery (Alabama) Advertiser says that no les than seven attempts were made to set fire to that city within two days, and that two of them were partially euc- cessful. COTTON COMING TO MARKET. The Atlantic, from Port Roval, brought the first inetall- ment of Sea Island cotton— 1,000 pounda—and the iniel- ligence that 400,000 pounds heve already been secured by General Sherman. The expedition which was expected to leave for some point further South, under command of General Viele, has been sbhandoned for the present, the military and naval authorities having come to the concle- sion that the force could be used to mere advantage in the vicinity of Port Royal. MORE DISTRESS AT NEW ORLEANS. The New Orleans Delta of November & says chat 1808 families were =r at the free market on the preceding — i increase of cne hundred families during a single

FOREIGN NEWS. ENGLAND. DEATH OF PRINCE ALSERT. ‘Tae consort of Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, expired st noon of Sunday, 15th alt., his disease being gastric fever. THE CHIEF OF THE TORIES FOR WAR. The Earl of Derby is said to have been consulted by the British Government relative to the 7rent affair. He is said to approve of its war policy, and to have counreled ship-owners to instruct cutw ard- bound vessels to — any Englich vessels that war with America is probable PREPARATIONS FOR WAR, The excitement in England continues unabeted, as far as the expression of newsp»per opinion and public speeches are concerned. The war rations of the Briti«h Gov- ernment show no signe of diminutien. Tranrpory were til! fitting out, and a Seing onfered in increased numbers to Canada, The Black Prence and Chanficlrer, the steamships Persia and Australasia, with 1),000 men, artillery, and ae were under orders to esil on the }lth December. The Hero, carrying 89 guns, sailed on the Sth. — Sutle), 01 guns, wae ordered to start for Cauada as noon he Fifth Dragoon Guards and the Grenua- dier Guards have received orders to proceed at once to Canada. The Admiralty Agont, Captain Willlame, who was on board the Trent when Mason and Slidell were taken off, received a letter from the Britieh Government es of his conduct in protesting against the cepture the rebel emissaries. FRANCE. NAPOLEON OFFERS TO MEDIATE, General Scott, previous to embarking in the Arago, had an interview with Prince Napoleon, at which it is reported that the Prince stated that the Emperor had expressed a desire to bring about a pacific elution of the impending difficulty between Fngland and Americs GERMANY. THE FEKLING THERE. The Austrian papers are fearful that a war between Bn- and America would remove the only obetacle ie 4 to French ambition, and that France would begin war against Germany

Page 4

ee FO Oe —eEEEyYyee — DN ee en "oe «mien. Bea. oe!) ee eee ee, ok | ee Se A |. Oh Sheenett. bane 44 ¢ o han * ae oa. ee. | a2 064 _. iawe Preinne.— © | 19. Jones Island.—11, Turtle Island.—12. Long Pine Isiand.—18,. Wilmington Island.—14. Tybee Ieland.—15. Martello tower 16. Dawfuskie Ielend —17. Savage Islonds,—18. Bull Island.— 19, Calibogne Sound.—20. Colleton Neck.—21. Bluffton 2. Rowe . -* : .~ oo 8 The Florida —44. The M'ClcMan. a 87. Beaufort.—28. Pariss Island.—29. Helena Island.—20. Pinckney Island.—3!. Skull Creek.—8%. Fort Beauregard.—83. Port Royal entrance,—34, Fort Walker.—35. Camp.—36. Hilton Head Island.—3T. Braddock's Point.—38. The Savannah,—39. The Flag.—40. The Augusta.—41. The Seneca.—42. The Pocahontas. —43. The Florida . [% aevg ag) —~astL1y Ivi0adg Yao Ad GENOLAYG—"JqVOINd GSU TAHd IVYANAD 40 ONIGNVI AHL ONIMONS ‘GNVISI dINS 40 AIA IVUANAD

= = - ——— = = = jauwoys Burp uy 0) - fi 2c . -* Wi eve ) — - - = = . —— = a1 i ( 5) aZ1g t

HARPER'S WEEELY. ONVISI dIHsS ao ons mOn LuV

HTH Hill | tf lh ce LIAO

HAL lh Pa |) i MutT . i Ty J Wi i Ute

wr

Page 5

January 4, 1862. ] a HARPER'S WEERLY. 5

‘ul Mh il ; ew _" ey Vn OB — . — ee 1 It iN \ af | | é ‘ . hu 4 4 | , Lh, ™ f arnt / ra ; ; : - ‘ or" | Il ! Viti % vis] Sou0r i) = H | a F} 2 sa 5 t Z 2 | I enany, *I "pu SVOO 3H1 40 MBIA JA3-Sauia

4] Hi in } i Vy M4 Buoy “g)—"puw uy uve © P BIS] AUR “QE—"puvyesy wuajazy “gz “pu Viel GOPFUIUIIM “SL “pu Nha rn Jo Smee 3 aa i Oh | Mi Me MAMI i Ni ! | ft | . : Hilt Hit " \~é ’ ' = , " | i ill iN} | | | \ 3 . ( | ‘ | =) : wm i Pa | ae . . i i Mi Ht My . ane aN mi "” ' hy ‘ ' i i ; hs de a3 | aie iI Ii | i] ail ys De _* |) AnwOd MOT “FE "AH [AAG “1 E—- “i | Hl Ae ti a = Ay | a = = ——— == — <= = = ———, = : — m4 i) | n : i i . ‘Wajog #,YOoppwg “Le—"puvysy pwoyy uoyryy “g¢—derey “go—-s0ye NIDUS ousoqipe “sl “puss 1% s ~ parts IuARy *y d ‘le WeN uojro On Tas el ave] Se “p— BM “EG uosupyounyy % | : LL ‘OP — SULA OUL ES" GeauTaty oy, Y

a pare, esoy “25 veneer meg OL “LF Viensay pdael uous ud itt Hill

Peta we temer ey ma Se es

Page 6

v | } H HARPER'S WEEKLY. [January 4, 1862. ————: CHARLES DICKENS'S NEW CHRISTMAS STORIES. 1—PICKING UP EVENING SHADOWS. Ir is a tale, this that I am about to tell, of good deeds revealed, of good instincts roused, of a work done, and a good result attained, aud all through Evening Shadows. I have often thought what tell-tel! things shad- ows are. I mean the shadows that one who stands outside sees in the windows of a lighted-up room or building; the shadows thrown on a blind by figures interposing between it and the lamp-light. I have noticed these in churches during divine service, when I, wandering about outside, have looked up at the windows and seen the shades of a pair of lovers reading out of the same hymn-book ; of children evidently chattering and grinning to- ether; and sometimes a shadow which, bobbing firward from time to time in a jerking fashion, then catching itself, still with a jerk, then remain- ing preternaturally erect and still, and then begin- ning to bob again, has suggested to me that the fourth head of a sermon in eight compartments was being developed, and that the shadow before me was that of one who was taking refuge from oratory in sleep. Among the number of the shadows which my memory retains there are some that lie upon it with no dark and shuddering chill ; some that were cast by objects in themselves so pure and noble that the shade itself seemed only a subdued bright- ness, and the light that cast it—a glory. My story begins at the time, some years ago, when, as a single n, I was living in a narrow and rather crowded street in one of the old parts of London—one of those streets where very decent houses are mixed with much poorer ones—and in one of the best and cleanest of which I occupied two rooms; a bedroom and a sitting-room. av- ing at that time, as | have now, a great dread of noise while at work, I made use of the back room as my studio, sleeping in the front of the house, which was quiet at night, but not in the daytime, by reason of the day traffic. My painting-room then waz on the second floor, and at the back of the house ; and as there was a street running at an acute angle to that in which I lived, and joining it only a few yards higher up, it will easily be un- derstood that the backs of the houses in this slant- ing thoroughfare, which was called appropriately enough Cross Street, were in tolerably close prox- imity to my painting*room window. I have been thus exact in describing the topography of my place of aode, because then you will be better able to understand how it happened that my at tention was directed to the circumstances which I am about to detail. You will be able to understand how it was that, sitting, especially during the short days, as the dusk was beginning to fall, looking meditatively out of window and thinking of my work, my at- tention would often be drawn, almost without my knowledge, to some of the windows in the slantin street which I have described, and how I foun myself not unfrequently speculating about some of the inhabitants of the rooms whic were separa- ted from that in which I was sitting by so small a space. There was one window more than all the rest , which, for some reason or other, used especially to eccupy my thoughts. It was a window exactly level with my own, and exactly opposite to it. During the daytime, though the bitnd was always drawn up as high as it could be, I could see but little of the room, but what I could make out only showed me that it was a very poor place indeed. Long habits of a speculative use of my eyes, if I may so express mnyself, have perhaps given me a tendency to attach much importance to the ex- ternal aspects of things as indicative of what goes on within. Be that as it may, I sess that tend- ency, and poseess it very strongly on the subject of windows, I think that the windows of a house give one a great idea of the dispositions, the hab- ts, and the tempers of the occupants. Who has not felt, in passing by a house whose well-cleaned windows are filled with flowers, where the solid white and green of the Arum, and the delicate shades of color in the rows of blossoming hya- cinths, stand out in pleasant freshness against the dark back-ground formed by the interior of the room—who has not felt that the inhabitants of a house whose windows are thus decorated are in a calmer and happier condition than their next-door neighbors, where the yellow blind hangs crooked- ly across the dirty window, and the wire screen be- neath has got a bulging ragged hole in it? Holdiny, then, the theory which I have ventured thus to put forward, it will be readily believed that I avgured the better of the occupants of the room opposite, from the fact that I could see through the lower panes of the window the leaves and branch- es of a great big fuschia spread out fan-wise on a wooden frame. Other little contrivances and adernments there were about this poor casement, which, though of the cheapest and most two-pen- ny order of decorative art, showed yet some love the gentler side of things, and a wish to put a good face on poverty. _ But itis, as [have already said, toward dusk and ip the evening that my attention has been oftenest xed on the window which I have been describ- ing. It is then that, the room being lighted up, the shadows of things and persons within it are thrown upon the blind with a clearness and dis- tinctness which those who have never observed such matters would hardly credit. The shadows tell me then that the room is tenanted by a hus- band and wife, both young, I am certain. The man, as [I gather from his position, and what I take to be the shadow of a tissue-paper screen be- hind which he stoops over his eee. is a poor drudging engraver, for whom the days are not Jong enough, sitting cramped up at his patient toil through many hours of the night. As I watch him, he will rise and stretch back his head to Te- lieve the muscles of his neck, and then I see that the shadow thrown on the blind is that of a youn figure, spare but well-made. The light shows me also that be wears a beard ; it is a very strong light indeed, and this makes me more sure than ever that he isan engraver. The shadow of his wife is there beside him—almest always. How she watches over and tends him; how she hangs over his chair or kneels beside him! I had never, at the time i speak of, seen her, but I could not help fancying that she was pretty and good enough to light ‘up a darker room than that in which she lives, and to make her husband’s life of toil—if he can keep it up—not only bearable but delightful. Ir he can keep it up—but can he? His shadow is ail that 1 have seen of him, but it looks like the shadow of one in delicate health. I never miss him from his place at night, and I can see the edge of his blind by which he works at his window all day. “If he sits drudging there,” th t I, “he will surely, as is the case in all excess, his own object, and end in being disabled alto- ther.” ore was not long before I began to fear that what I had apprehended had taken place. There came a day when the blind was not drawn up to let in the light on the engraver’s work, but remained drawn down the whole day. It would be difficult to express how anxiously I longed for the even- ing, and the shadows which should tell me more. that evening the light was burning in the room as usual, but the straight-edge of the engraver’s blind was not seen cutting against it. There was the shadow of but one person—it was that of a wo- man—and as the figure which cast it moved so quietly about, I il wie out that she was pour- ing out drugs and mixing the different compounds wanted in a sick-room by the light of the lamp. Sometimes she would pause in these occupations and look toward one end of the room, where I con- cluded the bed was placed ; and sometimes I could even imagine—but this must have been pure fan- cy—that, looking still in the same direction, her lips would move at times, and that she was speak- ing. I could even see her tasting the food she was mixing, with her head a little on one side ; alter- ing and tasting it often before she carried it across the room to where, I felt sure, the sick man lay. So much will shadows tell. From my front window I can see a long way up and down the gtreet, even to that corner where the early-breakfast depot is found every morning—a r stall enough, and driving a poor business, I should have thought; a business, however, in which I am so deeply interested that my first morning act is to go to the window and see if the r old proprietor has got a customer—nay, ence T pas on a pilot-coat and a wide-awake hat, to ap- year in character, and purchased a cup of his cof- ee, which was a prc coffee enough, though a little gritty, and perhaps a thought weak. Enough of that. I can see to the coftee-stall one way, and nearly as far the other, and at the back [ com- aaite bit of a court, two mewses and a half, and, by great dislocation of neck, a little scrap of Brew- er Street, Golden Square. Now in all these re- gions, which are continually under my eye, I have noticed one constantly-pervading presence, one figure which comes upon the scene without fail every day in the year and at all conceivable hours, it is the figure of a tallish gentleman of about five- and-thirty, who stoops a little, has a very round back, wears spectacles, is always dressed in a but- toned black becvaneh. is always in a hurry, al- — expected anxiously at the houses he visits, and always followed to the door, on coming out again, by some who question him eagerly as he leaves them, and who seem to seek for comfort in his most inscrutable face. Of course I have not watched this gentleman's proceedings long with- out coming to the conclusion that it is Mr. Cordial, the parish doctor, whose surgery in Great Pulteney Street I um so often in the habit of passing. If there had been any previous doubt on my mind as to the state of things in the house oppo- site, it would at once have been put to flight when on the day succeeding that evening on which I hac watched the engraver’s wife in her capacity of nurse, I caught a dark glimpse of this gentleman's head (rather a bald head for so young a — at the window of the room opposite, which he had come to, to prepare some mixture or other. “* Now here,” I thought to myself, “is a pretty business ! This is just what I feared. Here is this poor fellow laid up, unable to work, and probably not only ill in body, but harassed in mind by the consciousness that, as long as he is ill, there can be no money coming in to supply the daily ex- age which, however poorly they live, he and is wife must of necessity incur.” I thought over this matter, and turned it all sorts of ways, as people who are unlucky enough, or unwise enough, to live alone do turn and twist things, and was so haunted by the thought of what was going on in the room opposite that, in the course of the afternoon, I was obliged to go out and take a long walk, in order to fill up the time that must necessarily intervene before the lamp would be lit and the shadows thrown upon the blind. When I got back from that walk I was in such hot haste for such silent news as I might reasonably hope to gain, that I did not even stay to light my candle, but felt my way as well as I could across the room, and stationed myself at the window. At first I thought that there were no shadows at all on the white glaring blind, except those of the poor bits of curtain and of the spread-out fuschia fore-mentioned ; but by-and-by, noticing a small and continually moving shadow mixed up with that of the curtain, and observing that it rose and fell regularly avd quickly, I presently connected it with another mass of shade a little above it, and arrived at the conclusion that this last was thrown by a woman’s head, and by the moving shadow by her hand, as it rose and fell in the action of work- ing with the needle. It was not long before I found out that my hypothesis was well grounded ; for a little while the shadow of the hand was still and that of the head was raised, as if the person whose silhouette lay thus upon the blind was in the act of listening—and then it rose, and I saw the well- known figure of the éngraver’s wife pass the light, and knew that she had moved toward that quarter of the room in which I had made up my mind that the bed with the sick man in it was placed. During the greater part of that evening, as I watched, and my occupations were frequently in- terrupted that I might do so, I made out no shad- ow but that which I have just mentioned. But, at about nine o’clock, I saw another shadow pass be- fore the blind, and as it was that of a man, I had for a moment the hope that it was cast by the in- valid, It was only for a moment ; another glance showed me that this person wore no beard, and that there was greater bulk of figure than would have been cast by the poor engraver. I soon con- cluded that it was the doctor; and if I had any doubt on this subject it was removed when I pres- ently observed the workman-like angle of elbow made by the shadow as it stood before the light, pouring something into what I suppose, from its size, must have been a tea-cup. * Twice a day, then. He was ill enough for the doctor to come to him twice a day. My determination was taken as I made that re- flection. [ had got wrought up to a great state of Interest and suspense about this case which I could hardly explain to myself. I felt a strange longing to know more of it, and I came to the resolution— | it was like what might have been expected of a man half cracked with living alone—that I would £0 out, then and there, wavlay the doctor as he came away from his patient, and ask him all aboutit. I had lost some time in reflection, and when I looked hastily across before leaving my room I did not see any shadows on the ope yet it was rea- sonable to suppose that I might still catch the doc- tor in the street; so out I rushed. Sure enough, there was the doctor just coming out of No, 4 Cross Street. How lucky I was to be in time! I found the parish medical authority not very communicative or prone to take a very romantic view of sickness and suffering. He was a good sort of man enough, no doubt, but dry and matter- of-fact. He had seen so much of sickness and mis- ery that he was used to it. He answered all my questions, however, politely, though seeming a good deal surprised at them. , X “He had just been visiting a sick man in that house, had he not *” I asked. “Yes,” he replied, “he had. Bad case of low fever.” “ Second floor—a married couple ?” was my next inquiry. gain an answer in the affirmative. ‘* Was it a case of great distress ?” “Yes, of very great distress.” “They have nothing to live upon but what the husband makes by his labor?” I asked. ‘* Nothing,” was the answer. ** And he is laid up and unable to work ?’ “* That is the state of the case,” replied the doc- tor. “Ah! I thought so,” said I. “Would you be kind enough, Doctor Cordial,” I continued, ‘‘to take charge of this small sum” (it was a very small one) *‘for the benefit of these poor people—on no account mentioning how you came by it?” The doctor promised that he would, and I was just going to ode him, when I thought I would ask the poor fellow’s name. * His name is Adams,” said the doctor; and so we parted, I now felt quite a sense of proprietorship in look- ing at my poor shadows opposite, and watched them more eagerly than ever, There was one ac- tion of the shadow, now unfortunately the only ac- tion to watch, which used to puzzle me not a little. The sick man’s wife used at times to stand before the light, and, as it appeared to me, used to hold some article of clothing, or other piece of drapery, and examine it closely ; sometimes I fancied that I could make the object out to be a shirt, or a coat, at another time a pair of trowsers. After this she would disappear, and I always noticed that the lamp onal then be turned down till its light was very low, and would remain so for a considerable period. I could not understand this at the time, though I did afterward. She was testing the con- dition of different articles of clothing before taking them to the pawnbreker’s. And now I began to discover one of the bad re- sults of my solitary life. Though I had given Dr. Cordial a small sum to go toward helping these poor people, it was quite impossible, in my strait- ened circumstances, that 1 could spare more. If I had resolutely kept my friends about me, there would have been somebody or other to whom I could apply in behalf of my poor shadows, while now it was impossible to do so. Even when the idea entered my mind of trying to revive some for- mer friendships with this view, the fear that any one so applied to might imagine I wanted the help for myself at once deterred me. While I was engaged in turning all these things over in my mind, there came across it the memory of one individual to whom I really felt as if I should not mind applying in this difficulty. There was a certain Mr. Pycroft, a copper-plate rinter, with whom I had formerly had dealings. He was an old man, and it so happened that at one time in my life I had been in a position to do him a service, and had done it. There was something about his age, his position, and our former rela- tions, which made me feel less shy of approaching him than I should have felt with any one else. He was a fat, jolly-looking old boy, and was, as far as I had had opportunities of judging, as good- natured as he looked. There was, however. one circumstance enrnected with his history which seemed to show him in a less amiable light, and the remembrance of which made me for a time hesitate about applying to him. I remembered to have heard that some short time ago he had acted with great severity toward his eldest son, who, having contracted a marriage against his father’s wishes, had been deprived of his share in the business, which he had formerly enjoyed, and left to make a living as well as he could by his own exertions. The fact is, that the old man had had a darling project of marrying his eldest son to a young girl whose father was a busi- ness connection of hisown. The old copper-plate printer was not only thwarted in this, but was fur- ther outraged by his son’s choice having fallen in a direction particularly distasteful to him for pri- vate reasons. I suspected also, from what I had heard, that the conduct of the eldest son, which had been represented to his father as being violent and rebellious in no ordinary degree, had been made the worst of by the younger brother, who not only stepped into the lion's share of the busi- ness on his brother's removal, but himself contract- ed the marriage which his brother had declined. I could not help thinking, when I heard the cireum- stances of the case, that this younger son had had a great deal to do in poisoning the old man’s mind with regard to his elder brother's conduct. At all events, old Mr. Pycroft was the only per- son I could think of just now as likely to help my unfortunate shadows, and to him I determined to apply, but in a roundabout way. It occurred to me that if I could enlist his sympathy in the fate of these r people, just as my own had been awakened, by means of the shadows, it would be a far better plan than any other. It so happened that T had often promised my old acquaintance to show him a collection which I had of Rembrandt etchings, and it occurred to me that now was the time when these might come into play with great effect. So, making an excuse in relation to the matter of business which had for- merly brought us together, I called on my old ac- quaintance, and, in the course of conversation, in- vited him, naming an evening, to come to my lodgings and examine these curiosities, intimating that we would moisten that pleasing labor with a glass of brandy-and-water. Punctual to the time named Mr. Pycroft arrived, and we got through the first hour very comfortably, though I could not help feeling rather anxious about the success of my scheme, After oxamining the etchings, Mr. Pycroft, over the second glass, began to rally me about living in such a labyrinth of streets, asking me if I did not find it dreadfully confined at the back. ** By-the-by,” I said—and here I must own that I was guilty of some small amount of deeeption, for I spoke as if the matter in hend were of no rort of importance —*'| y-the-by, Mr, Pyecrofi, you wouldn't imagine how much recreation I derive from observing my neighbors in that very cross street which you find comes too near my windows.” “If you was to come out of this kind of solitary life,” replied Mr. P., ‘‘ you would have other things to amuse yourself with besides the goings on of a parcel of people whom you know nothing about.” “* Now here, for instance,” I went on, unmindful of the interruption, as I drew aside my own curtain and pointed out the window of the room occupied by my poor young couple—“ here is a window which has revealed to me all sorts of interestin matter—enough to make a story out of almost, 1 can tell you.” : “What, this window opposite? But do you mean to say, Mr. B., that you think it right to look into people’s rooms like that ?” ; “*T have scrupulously abstained from doing so,” was my answer, ‘and have made all my observa- tions with the blind down, as yeu see it now.” “With the blind down? But how could you make any observations with the blind down ?” ‘* By means of the shadows of the occupants of the apartment,” was my answer. “Shadows?” cried Mr. Pycroft, obviously in- credulous. ‘* You don’t mean to tell me that you could make out what was going on in that room by means of the shadows on the blind?” — ‘Something of what goes on.” I replied, “at any rate. Enough to interest me in the fortunes of those to whom the room belongs.” “Well, really, Mr. B.! If I had it on any other testimony than your own I should have thought it simply impossible.” : Woul you like to look for yourself?” I said. “I dare say something will take place behind the blind before long which will give you 2n opportu- nity of testing the accuracy of what I have said.” “Well, without doubting that at all,” replied my guest, “I really think I should.” Mr. Pycroft was sitting near the window, but my reading-lamp upon the table made the recom rather too light for our observations. So I pushed the table away to the other end of the room, turned down the wick of the lamp, and lowered the shade over it as well. “Well,” said Mr. Pycroft, “I see nothing at present but a white blind with a light behind it.” The shadow of the little wife’s head was there in the corner by the curtain, and the shadow of the hand rose and fell as usual; but Mr. Pycroft had not such a practiced eye as I had for detecting such matters, | pointed these out to my friend. **1 do see something bobbing up and down,” he said, ‘*‘ now you mention it. But I should never have found it out without vour help. Stop! there's a shadow now covering nearly the whole blind. What's that?” “] suspect that it is the shadow of the same person,” was my answer. ‘She will probably go nearer the window and farther from the light pres- ently, and then you will see.” In a minutegr two the shadow appeared again, and this time not so large. “Il can make jt out now,” said my friend, “ quite easily ; it is the shadow of a woman. I can see the line of the waist and of the skirts of the dress.” “Can you make out the face at all?” I asked. “Oh yes,” answered Mr. P. “It is turned side- ways, looking t6 the left there. She’s gone now,” he added in a moment. In a few minutes her shadow was thrown again upon the blind, ** What's she about now ?” asked Mr. Pycroft. “Nay, you shall tell me,” I answered. “Well, she seems to have some small object in her hand, which she is shaking.” “And now ?” I gsked again. “T can’t make oft, her elbow seems raised—both hands are raised. No, | can't make out at all.” “7 think she is pouring something out,” said I. “So she is, no doubt,” answered my guest, who was evidently becoming much interested. “ Stay,” he continued, after a moment's pause, and looking at me quite anxiously as he spoke—* shaking, pouring—‘ to be well shaken before taken'—why, it must be medicine.” ‘*T suspect it is medicine,” was my answer. “Is there some one ill, then?” asked Mr. Py- croft. “Yes,” I replied, “* her husband.” ** And did the shadow tell you that, too?” “Yes, the shadow of her husband used to appear on the blind as often as hers, now I never see it. Exactly coincident with the disappearance of the husband's shadow has been the arrival of another shadow, which has been that of the parish doctor.” “And pray,” asked Mr. Pyeroft, with the air ef one whose credulity had been really too much tasked at last, “‘ may I ask how you knew it to be the doctor’s shadow ?” X “ Doctor Cordial has the roundest back you ever saw in your life,” was my answer. x “Well, this is really ‘very curious,” ejaculated the old copper-plate printer, who was now evident- ly powerfully interested. $s we continued to look the light was suddenly removed, and the room wes left in darkness. “What do you suppose has happened now ?” in- quired my companion. “I suppose,” was my answer, “ that she has left the room for a short time. We shall see more pres- ently, no doubt ;” and almost as I spoke the light reappeared, and another shadow was in the room besides that of the little wife. “The doctor ?” asked Mr. Pycroft. “There!” I cried, triumphantly, “ you see how much may be discovered Y shadows. You are expert already.” ‘ “He has a round back, certainly,” said the old copper-plate printer. 2 : e round-backed shadow now faded off softly in the direction toward which the profile of the little wife was turned so often. The white blind remained for some minutes shadowless. ‘I suppose he is examining his patient now,” said Mr. Pycroft ; ‘here he is again,” he added in another minute. The doctor, however, stood so near the light this time, and so completely with his back toward us, that we were unable to de- termine what he was doing. This was, naturally, often the case with the shadows. Much as one was able to make out, there was, of course, infi nitely more, an explanation of which it was impos sible even to guess at. In a short time the round-backed shadow was joined by that of the sick man’s wife, and then the two stood for some time in conversation; at least it was reasonable to suppose so. “Giving her directions, I shouldn’t wonder,” said the copper-plate printer. “Most likely,” I answered. ‘* | wonder if he’s very bad,” said my companion. After this there was a pause. The two shadows continued standing by the tal'e. At last we both thonght that the doctor's shadow appeared to give something to the shade of the engraver’s wife, and thee meee dat eh emenen oke aA ek

Page 7

blind. same bly go L pres- stay’, oking king, -why, fo . Py- air of much to be 1 ever ilated ident- denly Janvary 4, 1862. ] immediately after the light was removed as it had been before: it had been probably taken out on to the landing in order that the doctor might see his way down stairs. i “ and so they're very poor,” said Mr, Pycroft, as if talking to himself. “They had notking but what the husband could earn,” T answered, “and he is wholly incapable of working, and will remain so probaly for weeks to come. The light had now reappeared in the room. The shadow of the little wife seemed to linger by the table after setting it down. Her ficure was mo- tionless for a considerable time, and then we noted that the head fell forward, and that the face was buried in the hands, as if in an agony of silent grief. We neither of us spoke, and at the same moment I dropped the curtain of my own window, which had before been fastened back ; for I felt that this was sorrow with which a spectator had no right to intermeddle. Soon afterward my old friend rose to go, and we spoke not another word on the matter. Just be- fore I retired to rest, however, I looked out once more. The shadow of the little wife's head was in its usual place, and the shadow of her hand rose and fell as usual. She was at work again. The next day, by an early post, I received a let- ter from Mr. Pycroft. He had been thinking a t deal, he said, of what he had seen the night fore, and inclosed a little money, which he asked me to see applied to the benefit of the young cou- ple in whose fortunes I had interested myself. Fe also be me, from time to time, to let him have tidings of what ‘‘ the shadows” were about. I handed the money over to Dr. Cordial, asking him to apply it as might seem best to his judg- ment, but making no mention of who it came from. T asked him alse to let me have news as frequent- ly as possible of the condition of his patient. These I transmitted pretty nearly as often as I received them to the old copper-plate printer. For some days there was not much to report, nor did the shadows tell me any thing different from what they had before revealed. © poor engrav- er’s shadow was still wanting, and that of his lit- tle wife was either stationary in the corner, when she did what she could to earn a little momey with her needle, or else was seen flitting about the room in attendance on her sick husband. At length there came a time when the fever reached its cri- sis, and when it was clear, according to the doc- tor’s report, that the sufferer must sink under it or recover. To make my story as short as possible, I will not dwell on the details of this period of sus- nse. The one quality of youth possessed by the patient enabled his constitution to rally, and after this crisis in his disorder he began to mend. And now a long convalescence followed, and a time arrived when one evening the shadow of a wasted figure moved slowly past the light, and | could guess as I watched it, and observed that it was accompanied by the well-known shadow of the little wife, that the sick man was moving from his bed to a chair by the fire. Of course I made this advance known to my friend, the copper-plate printer, and kept him well acquainted with all the particulars of the gradual improvement in our invalid’s health, even to the period when it was so far re-established that he was able at last to sit up for a certain number of hours every day at his engraving-table, and work once more for his wife's support. “They are very grateful,” I said, when I made this announcement to my old acquaintance, “to the unknown friend who has assisted them from time to time throughout their trouble.” “Oh no, . se; it’s nothing, no- thing at all—nothing at all!” ejaculated the old fellow, trying te get away from the subject. ‘And they are very anxious,” I continued, res- olutely, “to thank him personally, if he would but reveel himself and give them the opportunity.” “No, no, not for the world,” was the answer; “‘oh dear no—impossible. Here, here's a little trifle extra, just to set them going, you know, be- cause he mustn't work too much at first.” “And you won't let them see you?” I asked again. “No, no, no—on no account,” said the old boy. “Tl tell you what, though,” he continued, in a moment, “I should like to see them—see them as I did before—the shadows, you know,” he added. “Tl come and have a glass of brandy-and-water with you some evening, and have a look at the shadows again.” I was obliged to be satisfied with this, and, mak- ing an engagement with my old friend for an early day, I left him and went home. e evening came, and with it an unusual amount of stir and bustle in the quiet room oppo- site. The figure of the little wife was continually flitting backward and forward in front of the light, as if she were engaged in smartening up the poor apartment. Hanging in the very middle of the window, and so tan to the thin white blind that I could see it distinctly, there was a bird-cage with a bird in it; and it was owing to the presence of this ebject that I had been chiefly able to form some idea of what my two friends opposite were like. When either of them approached the bird- cage, as would sometimes happen, to give a chirp of encouragement to its occupant, I could see the profile of the person who did so as distinctly as one used to trace the silhouettes of the old black its which itinerant artists were wont to cut out at fairs. Except at such times as this, when the engraver or his wife stood thus near the win- dow and far from the light, I could distinguish lit- tle but a shapeless mass ; and when either of them approached the candle nearly, their shadows be- came so gigantic that the whole space of the win- dow —an unusually large one — was completely darkened, even by wey opt I must repeat what I have said before, that the opportanities were very rare when I could make out what the shadows were about, and that in all cases in which I could detect such processes of mixing drinks, pouring out of medicines, and the like, it was owing to the fact that some y object ted with the pro- ceeding was placed on some article of furniture which stood in or near the window. Punctual to the appointed time, my old ——— the copper-plate printer, made his appearance, an his first question, after the usual greeting had been exchanged, was: ** Well, how are the shadows ?” I placed his chair in the old position, and ave both sat down. The bustle and movement to which I have #d- verted as going on in the room opposite were still | noticeable, and I had little doubt that the apart- ment was being “cleaned up;” an impression to which additional force was soon given by the dawn- ing on the scene of a thin, straight shadow, which I took to be a broomstick, and which was now brought into active service. as by what he I must not omit to mention that at the moment of a certain pause in the career of the broom the figure of the poor engraver was thrown with great distinctness on the blind. He had come to the window to stick some object, probably a piece of groundsel, between the wires of the bird-cage. When this happened I noticed a great change come over the countenance of my guest. He raised himself in his chair, and, looking eagerly forward, said, in quite a strange tone of voice ; “What did you say was the name of these peo- ple?” “ Adams,” was my answer. * Adams—you are quite sure ?” “Quite,” [ replied. By this time the shadow had vanished again, but I remarked that for a con- siderable time Mr. Pycroft seemed absent and un- comfortable, and we had talked of many matters foreign to the me I had at heart before he again returned to the shadows, “They seem quiet enough now,” said Mr. Py- croft at last. they've got? that!” I darted at once at the opening which I saw here. “The shadows will not show it,” I said; “but why not go across and see it in substance? It would socio their supper all the sweeter to them, I am sure.” The old gentleman had just finished a tumbler of hot grog. He was in high good-humor, and as I finished speaking his eyes began to twinkle, and a latent smile developed itself about the corners of his mouth. ** It wouldn't be bad fun, would it ?” he said. I wanted nothing more, and in another minute I had him on his legs, and we were on our way to I wish the shadows would show us o. 4, A little girl was on the door-step with a pot of beer in her hand, and we had no sooner stopped before the house than she made known a want in- cidental to the lives of maidens who stand only three feet two inches in their stockings : ** Please, Sir, will you ring the second bell from the top?” ** Second floor?” I said, as I complied ; * that’s where Mr. and Mrs. Adams live, isn’t it?” “Yes, Sir, and he’s my father,” said the young lady, who evidently looked upon the couple al- luded to as one flesh. I thought it odd I had never seen this child’s shadow on the blind. “ Well, I want to see him, then,” I replied, “‘ and so does this gentleman.” “Oh, but you can’t, though,” said the little girl —who, by-the-way, appeared to a precocious shrew—‘* for father’s at supper, and there's a fowl, and father’s been ill, and you can’t disturb him just as he’s a little better—so that you can’t.” “You just hold your tongue, Miss, will you?” said a voice at this juncture, “ and let me talk to the gentleman.” I looked up, and saw that the door had been opened by a tall, gaunt-looking woman with a large nose. “Who did you please to want, Sir?” she asked, in a whining tone, which I disliked very much. I told her briefly who we were, and the object of our visit. “Oh, what a joyful surprise!” said the gaunt woman, whining as before in a manner infinitely offensive to me. ‘“‘Get along up stairs, Lizzy,” she continued, addressing the child, “ and tell your father that the kind gentleman as assisted him in his illness is coming to see him; I'm his wife, kind gentlemen”—(this the shadow that I had interested myself in !}—‘‘ I'm his poor wife that nussed him through his illness, and—take care of the stairs, kind gentlemen—and this is the room, gentlemen ; and here’s a joyful surprise, James ; the gentlemen that’s been so kind all the time you've been ill: and be pleased to take a seat, gentlemen, and honor our poor room by sitting down in it.” I was thunder-struck. A little common-looking man was sitting at the table on which a smoking fowl, a bit of bacon, and some potatoes had been placed. He bore the evident marks of recent ill- ness, and rose with some effort at our entry. He resumed his seat, however, as I and my companion sat down. I took a chair, as I should have taken any thing that was offered me in sheer surprise and bewilderment. I looked once more at the man’s wife. What, was that the substance of the neat little shadow which I knew so well—that great unt sloping creature? Were shadows so decep- tive as this? Would any body tell me that my opposite neighbor could have had such a nose as I now saw, and that it would not have stood out in bold relief and left its mark upon my memory every time she approache 1 the window ? The husband too. That was not my poor en- graver. He was an inoffensive man enough, as he sat there full of clumsy expressions of gratitude to my companion for the assistance accorded to him during his recent attack of fever. He was a harm- less little man, no doubt, Not quite such a heavy blow as his wife ; but still he was not my engraver. All this time, even while her husband was speak- ing, the gaunt woman kept up an under-current of gratitude of the slimiest description, to which the old gentleman answered not a word, for he seemed little pre for the real Mr. and Mrs. Adams ad seen of their shadows as I was. In short, beyond a few words of inquiry as to the state of the invalid’s health, which | had managed to utter on first coming into the room, we had neither of us spoken a word, Suddenly the tremendous idea entered my mind that there must be some mistake. I had been star- ing some time at the little girl whom we originally met on the door-step, and who, to do ber justice, returned the compliment with interest, when it struck me that her head came considerably above the window-sill, and that, consequently, it was a most extraordinary thing that its shadow had never caught my attention. My eyes havingin the course of this comparisun of the yeung lady with the win- dow-sill been directed toward this last part of the , room, I next observed that there was no bird-cage hangin in the window. “Halloa!” I ejaculated, “ you've taken down the bird-cage.” * Bird-cage, Sir?” whined the gaunt woman, deferentially. “ We ain't got no bird-cage,” burst out the small child of the door-step, “‘nor never haven't had none—nor yet no bird neither.” “ Will you hold your tongue, Miss ?” interposed ” her mother. HARPER'S ——— WEEKLY. There was an“awkward pause. I looked again about the room, I looked at the woman, I looked at her husband—he had no beard, I now observed. I had, however, presence of mind ane not to ask after that missing appendage as I had done after the bird-cage. f determined to make assur- ance doubly sure, and walking toward the window and pulling aside the blind, observed, as an excuse for looking out : *]T am afraid you must be a good deal choked up at the back with houses. Isn't that rather un- wholesome ?” A voluble answer on the subject of confined lodgings, their advantages and disadvantages, fol- lowed, but I did not hear it. 1 was looking for my own window in the house opposite. I had left the lamp alight and the blind half drawn up. The window before me, exactly in front of that which I was looking from, was fastened up and secured with shutters, Stretching my neck, and glancing in a slanting direction toward the next of the op- posite houses, I saw that the second-floor window was illuminated, and that the blind was half low- ered. “Your supper is getting cold,” I said, coming back to the table, and exchanging a glance of meaning with my companion ; ‘my friend and I only wished to come in and see how yeu were en- joying yourselves, and so now we will leave you to do better justice to the fowl than you could if we remained here.” So saying, and resisting all entreaties to stay and take a share of the good things, I made for the door, and was soon on the staircase, followed close- ly by Mr. Pycroft, who, speechless as long as we remained in the room, did nothing now but repeat, “Wrong people, eh ?—been feeding the wrong people, haven't we?” in a loud and perfectly au- dible whisper. The gaunt woman was, however, too loquacious herself to hear what was said, and during the time that she lighted us down the stairs never ceased whining out her gratitude for a single moment, When we got into the street I turned round and looked my companion in the face. ** It is some comfort, at any rate,” I said, “to think that you have been assisting people who were really in need of help, but it is evident that every sany of your bounty has gone to the family we ave just left.” *“And how do you account for the mistake?” asked my old friend. “IT can only conclude,” was my answer, “ that by a curious coincidence there have been two sec- ond-floor lodgers ill in two houses next door to each other; that after my seeing Dr. Cordial at the win- dow opposite to mine, he had gone from the one house to the other; that he had had time to pay a short visit to the invalid we have just left; and that then I had met him coming away, as I thought, from attending on our poor shadows, but in reality from the deserving personage whose supper has been supplied by your benevolence.” “ And the shadows?” gasped Mr. Pycroft, utter. ly aghast. “fave, through my unfortunate mistake, not received a single shilling,” was my answer. Mr. Pycroft stared at me for some time in petri- fied amazement. ““We can never leave the thing like this,” he said, at last. ‘* Do you think you could be sure of the house this time 7” “TI can understand your feeling some mistrust about it,” I said, *“‘ but I own that I feel none my- self. This is the house, beyond a doubt.” I looked up as I spoke at No. 5. * Then let's bring the matter to a conclusion at once,” said the old copper-plate printer, stoutly : and with that we actually rang at the second bell- handle on the left hand door-post. After the proper amount of delay the door was opened by a slatternly woman. ** Second-floor back?” said I, in a mellifluous voice “* Front,” replied the slatternly woman, in rather an injured tone; “ you should have rung the bell on the right door-post.” I begged pardon with all humility, and the slat- ternly woman relented a little. “The two pair back’s at home, I know,” she said, ‘and if you're coming up 1 may as well light you.” We availed ourselves of this offer, and in a few seconds we were on the second-floor landing. slatternly woman pointed out the door at which we were to knock, and opening her own, and letting out in so doing a blast of onions that almost made vapor, and shut herself in with it. fi curiosity was now powerfully piqued, and I felt as if some great stake hinged upon the open- ing of the door at which we stood and tow be 3 A clear, cheerful voice called to us to enter, and in another moment we stood inside the room. Two people, a man and a woman, occupied the apartment. One of them, the man, was at first hidden from view, but in the other, as she rose upon our entrance, I recognized at once the shad- ow with which I was so familiar. The room was a great contrast to that which we had just left, which was tolerably well provided with furniture. This room was utterly bare, look- ing as if all available objects had been removed, as probably they had, to be turned into money. A mattress and some bedding were on the floor at one end of the room. The table, and a couple of old chairs, were the only articles of furniture I could see, ¢ engraver'’s lamp was on the table, and the materials for a very poor meal which the two had evidently just been cooking—a very little serap of bacon and some boiled rice. The bird-cage was hanging in the window, if I had wanted any con- firmation of my conviction that I had found my shadows at last. Of course, all these things were taken in by me at a single glance, it being necessary that I should at once account for my visit and that of my friend. I had begun to do so in.a few hurried words, when my attention was suddenly arrested by an ex- clamation from Mr. Pycroft, who had followed me. The second oceupant of the room, whom we had at first seen but imperfectly, hed now risen to his feet, and stood, with the light full upon him, strainin his eyes into the shade where my companion stoc behind me. I turned hastily round, and met the stern gaze of my old friend. “Tf this is a trick, Mr. Broadhead,” he said, speaking very thick, and with choking utterance, *T can tell you that it does you little credit.” “What do you mean?” I asked, in utter be- wilderment. “I mean that if this has all been a planned thing to bring about a reconciliation between me and my son— “* Your son ?” I gasped. “*T can only say,” continued Mr. Pycroft, “ that | it shall meet with the success it deserves.” 7 —— He turned as he spoke, and made for the door, but I was beforehand with him. “ Stay, Mr. Pycroft,” l cried. “If you choose to retain this feeling of animosity, which so ill be- comes you, you must, but you shali not go away with a false impression of this matter as far aa I am concerned in it. I swear to you that your eus- picions of me are false, that when we cane to thia room I had no more idea of who were its ocen- pants than you had, and that I never knew your son was living in this abject misery ; though, if I had, I would certainly have done my best to rouse you to a feeling of what, under such cireum.- stances, you owe to one who bears your name.” Mr. Pycroft had glanced once searchingly toward me when I denied his imputation of having been concerned in a plot to trick him into a reconcilia- tion, and now his eyes were directed toward the place where his son stood before hin. He was a fine, manly-looking fellow, and as he stood there holding his wife's hand in hia, and with the refining influence of recent illness showing on his worn but handsome face, | could not help feel- ing that surely this picture must complete the work which the shadows had so well begun. * Look at them!" I said—*' look at this room— look at that meal! Can you see such wretched- ness and not be moved? If your son has dis- pleased you, has he not suffered? If he has dis- obeyed, he has paid the penalty.” I looked in my companion’s face, and I thought that I saw some shadow of compunction working there. ** Do not,” I said, “let the sympathy which you bestowed upon the shadows be wanting for ‘the realities which cast them.” The little wife at this moment left her husband's side, and, advancing to where we stood, laid her hand timidly on that of my old friend. 1 looked at him once more, and then, beckoning the poor engraver to his father’s side, I passed quietly ion the room, where I felt that my presence waz no longer needed. About an hour afterward I was sitting discon- solately in my room, reflecting on the loneliness of my own position, and rather envying my op- posite neighbors, when I beard my own name shouted in a cheery voice from without. I looked in the old direction, and saw my friend Mr. Pycroft standing at his son's open window. “We want you to come over,” said the old gen- tleman, “and spend what is left of the evening with us.” I assented gladly, and was just drawing in my head when I heard myself called once more by name, “ And I say,” said Mr, Pyeroft, in a stage whis- per, ** as we are rather short of liquor here, perhaps you wouldn't mind bringing a bottle of brandy in your pocket: and if you happen to have such a thing as a lemon—” In a few minutes I was sitting one of a comfort- able party in the room opposite, “Do you know what is one of the first things we intend to do now?” said the little wife, smiling as she looked at me. “T have not the least idea,” was my answer “Why, we are going to nail up the thickest eur- tain we can get, in order to prevent our opposite neighbor from seeing what we are about whenever our lamp happens to be alight.” “You need not be afraid,” I said; “and you may save yourself the trouble of putting up the curtain, for the opposite neighbor hopes henceforth to see so much of his new friends in their Sul- stance, that he is not likely to trouble himself much more about—their Shadows.” — I.—PICKING UP 4 POCKET-BOOK. OrFick-HOURS were over, and we were all taking down our straw-hats from the pegs on witich they dangled; ledgers were clasped, papers put away, desks locked, and the work of the day was at an The | , ‘ : |} man born and bred. my eyes water, she disappeared into the refreshing | end, when the white-haired cashier came sidling toward me. ‘‘ Mr. Walford, Sir, would you stay a moment? Would you step this way?’ The firm wish to speak to you.” Good old Job Wiginton always described his em- ployers, collectively, as “the firm.” They were sacred beings in his eyes, were Spalding and Hau- sermann, and he had served them for a quarter of a century with exemplary fidelity and respect. Job Wiginton, like myself, and like the senior part- ner in that great mercantile house, wos an English- He had kept the books of Spalding and Hausermann for twenty years at Philadelphia, and had cheerfully followed them to California, when they decided on settling in San Francisco City, five years before. The younger clerks, French or American for the most part, were rather disposed to make a butt of the simple, honest old cashier; but he and I had been very good friends during the four years of my employment, and I always entertained a sincere respect for the old man's sterling good qualities. Now, however, for a reason I will presently explain, I was eon- siderably taken aback by the communication which Mr. Wiginton made in his own formal way. “The firm wish to see me?” I stammered, with a tell-tale color rising in my face. Old Job nodded assent, coughed, and carefully wi his goid- rimmed spectacles. I had noticed, in spite ef my own confusion, that the cashier was dejected and nervous ; his voice was husky, his hand trembled as he rubbed the dima glasses, and there was an unwonted moisture in his round blue eyes, As [ followed Job into the inner parlor, where the mer- chants usually sat during business hours, I mar- | veled much what this wholly unexpected summons might portend. I had formerly been on terms of great and cordial intimacy with my employers; but for the last three months, my intercourse: with the senior partner in especial, had been strictly con- fined to business matters and dry routine, Tt was not that I had done any thing to forfeit the good opinion of the firm. My emplovers had still the same confidence in me, the «ame regard for me, as heretofore ; but there was an end, if not of friend- ship, at least cordiality. This partia! estrange- ment dated from the day when, with Emma Spald- | ing smiling through tears and blushes at my side I had ventured to tell the rich merchant that i loved his only daughter, and that my love was re- turned. It is an old, old story. We were two young persons of the same country and creed, alike in tastes and education, and in other respects, wealth excepted, not so ill matched; and we were together on a foreign «hore, among strange people. We had been suffered to associate familiarly to- gether, to read poetry, sing duets, and so forth; for Emma had no mother to watch against the ap- | roach of poverty-striken suitors, and Mr. ld. Ce was a proud man, and not given to suspicion, Hence we glided—as millions of couples have done | | Continued on Page 10.)

Page 8

IRDS-EYE VIEW OF WASHEHISTON ANS TUS — BRNERAL 1. Binff Polnt.%. Matthias Point. —8. Marlboro’ Point.—4, Maryland Point.—5. Smith's Poiat.—6. Shipping Point.—T. Cockpit Point.—S. Freestone Point.—9. High Point.—10. Sandy Point.—11. Indian Head.—12. Hallowing Point.—13. White-house Peitta—14. Moun’ Batteries,—25. Railroad to Richmond.—26, Fredericksburg.—27. Stafford Court House,—%, Aquia,—29. Dumfries. —30, Occoquan and River.—31. Pohick Creek.—82. Accotink River.—33. Fredericksburg Turnpike. —34. Mount Vernon Road.—35. Infantry breast-wor! and Alexandria Raflroad.—46, Springfield Station. —47, Fort Ward.—48. Fort Blenker.—a9. Four Mile Run.—50. Fort Seott.—51. Fort Runyon.—5S2. Fort Albany,—S38. Fort Richardson.—S4. Fort Craig.—5S5. Arlington Mills.—56. Bailey's Cross Roads.—57. Mason's 1 ©. Upton's Hill —T0. Taylors Tavern.—Tl. Annandale.—T2. Aquednct Bridge.—T3. Fort Bennett.—T4. Fort Ethan Allen.—T5. Falls Church.—76. Chain Bridge.—TT. Little Falle.—78. Fort Marey.—T79. tie. 80. + Iam 84. Bocate iL 83. Pros Gorloneville. 98, Ferry. —09. Oheerentory.—1, Georgetown.—101. Rock Creek.—102. President's House and Treasury Building.—103, Washington Monument.—104. Smithsonien Institnte—-106, Patent Offes—105. General Pc i ). Pieeataway Croek.—121. Rockville Tarnpike.—122. Tiber Creek.—123, Washington City Canal.—124, Mason's sland. On. Paicfur. 0, Warrenton (Fe 1 sen Ror

Page 9

MINTY, SHOWING THE FORTS, CAMPS, RAILROADS; RIVERS, ETS. puse Peintx14. Mount Vernon.—15. Chapman's Point.—16. Sheridan's Point.—17, Fort Washington.—i8, Port Tobacco.—19. Chickamoxen Creck.—20. Mattawoman River.—21, King Coorg t Touse.__92 Rappahannock River ; 1a Infantry breast-works.—36. Fort Lyon.—ST. Port Elleworth.—33. Alexandria,—39. Chesapeake and Ohio Canal.—40, Loudon and Hampshire Railroad.—41. Alexandria and Leesburg Turnpike.—42. Fairfax Seminary.—48. Fort Worth.- ating Creek, —45. (ran ST. Mason's Hill 68. Columbia Turnpilke.—89. Benton's Tavern.—60, Pairfax Station.—61. Fort Tillinghast.—62, Fort Rains.68. Fort Woodbury..64. Arlington Honse.—65. Arlington Heights. —66. Fort Corcoran.—6T. Ball's Cross Roads.—68. Munson's Hille at Hill. 82. Prospect Hill. 8%. Vienna.84. Hunter's Mills. —S5. Flint Hil_96. Geemautown.—ST. Fairfax Court Honse.—88. Little River Turnpike.—89. Cub Run.—90. Centreville. —91. Bull Ran. —92. Union Mills. —93. Yates Fort.—04 Manassas Junction. - 15 Gemeral Post-office,—107. City Hall —108, Cepitcl.—109. Railroad to Baltimore,—110, Baltimore Twrupike.—111, Long Bridge.—112. Arsenal.—113. Navy-yard.—114. Marine Hospital.—115. Potomee River—116, Fastern Branch.—117, Piney Creek.—i18 Mill

Page 10

10 HARPER'S WEEKLY. [January 4, 1862. [ Continued from Page 7.) before, and will again—down the smooth rose- strewn path that leads from friendship to love. I am sure of one thing: it was not my employer's wealth, or the idea of Kmma’s probable expecta- tions from her fether—who haa but twe children, a son and a daughter, between whom to divide the aceumulations of a life spent in honorable toil— which allured me. But the time came when soft words and fond looks had to give place to an avow- al of attachment. 1 spoke out to Emma, without premeditation ; and, once across the Rubicon, other considerations, undreamed of as yet, came to beset me mockingly. What would Mr. Spaitiog think of me? Surely he could form but one judgment of the poor clerk, with no property beyond his vitiful savings, who had dared to entangle the af- factions of his master’s daughter? My course was clear, I must tell him the truth, at whatever cost to myseif. { did so. The disclosure was hurried on by some slight unforeseen circumstance, as my pro- posal had been, but I was at least candid in my avowals. To do Mr. Spalding justice, he rejected iy suit in as gentle and courteous a fashion ag the harsh operation weuld admit of. But, cut to the heart, | withdrew from his presence, very very wretched, and had for many | noe afterward seri- ous thoughts of excluding myself from observation, becoming a solitary man, and leading a gloomy and moody life. Better thoughts, however, lying deeper within me, admonished me of the utter worthlessness of a purposeless existence, and of the utter contemptilility of the soul that can sink into it. And thus it fell out that I ceased to visit my employer as a private friend, and yet remained in his employ. Was I meseagunes for staying on thug? I can not pretend to decide so nice a point, but I know that it was a great stimulant to me to have ob- tained a moral victory over myself, and some re- lief to the disappointment of my dearest hopes that 1 was still allowed to breathe the same air as Emma Spalding, to catch a glimpse of her sweet saddened face, were it but on the way to church, though for three weary months we never inter- changed a word, So I was not a little surprised when Job Wigin- ton summoned me to the presence of ‘the firm.” My heart beat quickly as the old cashier turned the handle of the door, What could Mr. Spalding want ofme? [had kept the promise he had wrung from me; I had abstained from any intrusion, any unlicensed correspondence. Surely, surely he could not send for me merely to say that a rejected suitor was ineligible even as a servant, and that cur con- nestion must cease? In the larger of the two ad- acent rooms, a room hung in Snanish fashion with stamped and gilded leather, and heavily fur- nished with dark mahogany from Honduras, I found the firm. Mr. Spalding, @ tall, thin, gray-headed gentleman, was pacing up and down the apartment in great agitation. Mr, Hanusermann, a German as his name implies, sat before a table covered with papers, ejaculating guttugal exclamations of wonder from time to time, and with a look of hope- less perplexity in his fat pink face. The cashier entered along with me, a closed the door. ** Ach, mein Himmel !” mustered the junior part- ner—a hale, portly man, byt of a flabby nature, morally and physically, compared with the ener- yetic chief of the house—" ach! we were petter to have never peen porn than live to see this!" Job Wigiaton gave a groan of sincere sympathy. I quickly perceived that something had gone wroag, and as quickly did I see that this mysteri- ous something had no direct reference to my au- dacity in winning the heart cf Emma Spalding. What was amiss? There is one grisly zhost that always haunts the imagination of the more intel- livent subordinates of g commercial firm—Bank- ruptey. But the house had been such a prudent houve, so steady and well ballasted, had glided so demurely along in safe old-world groove, that it wae rather ridiculed in consequence by the mush- room) firms that daily grose or collapsed around us, But I had little time to think, for Mr. Spalding stopped in his walk, came abruptly up to me, and took me by both hands. ‘George Walford,” said the old merchant, with more emotion in his voice and features than he had ever shown before, “I have not been kind to you lately. You were a good friend to me—before—before—-” and here he red- dened somewhat, and ceased speaking I planeed toward Mr. Hansermann, but he looked so fat and helpless as he sat in his arm-chair, mur- mur ug phrases in his native tongue, that I saw no explanation was to be looked for in that quarter. So I told Mr. Spalding, in as firm a tone as possi- ble, chat our mutual esteem had, I hoped, survived our intimacy, and that [ still felt myself a faithful friend to him and his, and would gladly prove my- self one. . thought so—I thought so,” said the merchant, looking pleased for a moment; “you are a good lad, George, and that’s why I come to you for help in my sore need, hard and harsh as you may have thought me the other day—when— Never mind!” ‘| was first to say it,” exclaimed Mr. Hauser- mann, ‘“**Let us eall Shorge Walford,’ say I. ‘He has got ver goot prains; ver goot young nan. A quarter of a century spent among Anglo-Sax- ons had never taught Mr, Hauserraann the English language in its purity. Indeed, his life, out of nf- fice hours, waa spent entirely with Teutons like himself, who swarm all over America, and with whom he could enjoy German conversation, Rhine wine, and the black coffee of the Fatherland, I should never get to the end of the interview if I described it verbatim, chronicling the broken sen- tenees and vague talk ef the junior partner, and the comments of Job Wizinton. The confidential cashier sympathized with the distress of his em- ployers as « faithful dog might have done, and was about as likely to euggest a practical remedy. Mr. Wiginton was worthy of all trust; he was as close as wax and as honest as the day, but he was a mere machine for the casting up of sums, the balancing of books, and locking of safes. Mr Hausermann was not much cleverer than the cashier; he was an admirable arithmetician, could detect an error of a halfpenny in a problem involv- ing billions, and his penmanship was magnificent. But, with these attainments, he owed his present | position in commerce not to his abilities, but to -— the florins he had inherited, and to the talent and keenness of his English partner. 1! was from the chief of the house himself that | heard the follow- ing tale: Mr. Spalding, as I lave said, had but two children, Kwma and her brother Adolphus ; his wife had die.) on the voyage from Philadelphia, and his affectiv;, centred in his boy and girl, Un- luckily, Adolphus did not turn out well, was wild and extravagant, and squandered his literal allow- ance among horse-ockeys and gamblers, Mr, Spalding, strict with all the worid besides, was rather lax and indulgent where his son was con- cerned, The young man was very good-looking and of pleasing address; he had been the darling of his dead mother; and the father was very pa- tient and forbearing with him for her sake. The youth went from bad to worse, got deeper into debt and evil company, seldom came home, and seriously impaired Ihis health by a long course of excesses. All this I knew, for Adolphus was a clerk in the house, nominally at least, though he hardly ever occupied his stool in the office. But what I did not know was that Adolphus Spalding, in his eagerness to settle a number of so-called debts of honor, had been led to rob his father. He had forged the signatures of Spalding and Hauser- mann to a check for thirty thousand dollars, paya- ble at sight, and purporting to be drawn by the merchants on their bankers in New York. More than this: he had abstracted from his father’s desk a Russia-leather pocket-book, containing bills and securities to a great amount, and this he had placed in the hands of the same vile associate who had undertaken to present the check at the counter of the New York bank. ** The scoundrel is gone Northward already. He started last Tuesday, by the way of Panama, along with the mail,” said Mr. Spalding. ‘ You know the man, I dare say, for he was very notorious in the town—Joram Heckler.” ‘Dr, Joram Heckler!” I exclaimed, as I recall- ed to mind the dark, clever face of the young man alluded to : a plausible, well-mannered person, who had been sub-editor of a San Francisco newspaper, “Yes, Doctor, or Colonel, Heckler,” responded Mr. Spalding, with a bitter smile ; “for it appears that he has assumed a military title on the journey back to the North. He possessed great influence over the mind of my misguided son; he was the tempter in this accursed robbery ; and I doubt not that he intends to appropriate the entire spoil to himself.” I now asked Mr. Spalding, as delicately as I could, how he had obtained his information. It appeared that Adolphus, whose feeble frame, exhausted by hard living, was ill-fitted to sustain the fierce excitement of the felonious act he had committed, had sickened of a fever immediately after the departure of his accomplice. “The wretched boy lies on his bed up stairs, quivering between life and death,” said the father, with a faltering voice, ‘* and in his delirium he has betrayed his guilt. His sister, who has watched at his bedside like an angel as she is, dear girl, she was frightened at his ravings of self-accusation. She called me, and with my own ears I heard the son I was so proud of—my perted boy—tell how he had cheated and plundered me.” The old merehant staggered to a chair, and I saw the tears trickle between the fingers with which he tried to hide the workings of his wrinkled face. After a time he grew more calm. Then he de- veloped his plan, in which broke out his habitual decision and force of character. Before all things, the honor of the house must be saved. The value of the money at stake (though a large sum) was trifling compared to the disgrace, the loss of cred- it, the blot upon the name of Spalding. Yes, at any cost, the young man’s shameful act must be hidden in darkness. The check must not be pre- sented, the bills must not be a, But how to prevent the tempter from realizing the benefits of his ill-gotten booty ? He was off—he was speed- ing toward New York by the quick Panama route ; in a few weeks he would be there. No pursuit seemed possible. The delay till the start of the next mail would be fatal. I remembered the Pony Express, the swift overland mail whereby we Cali- fornian residents can most rapidly communicate with the civilized world, and I suggested this re- saurce. Mr. Spalding shook his head, ‘No, that would never do: I might send a dispatch, no doubt, to stop the payment of the check. I might pemaee gr we Heckler’s arrest on his arrival in New York, yut thence would spring inquiry, doubt, suspicion, and the whole black affair would creep into the journals before a week was out. No. I have but one hope, one chance ; I must send a trust-worthy person—lI am too old to go myself—a trust-worthy person to hasten to New York by the perilous route across the Rocky Mountains, and he must arrive before Heckler, and must get the papers from him by violence or stratagem. .George Walford, you are the man I have selected.” “J, Sir?” I was stupefied. Before my fancy rose, like a panorama, the long route, then but lately explored, that traversed the enormous continent from sea to sea—a route teeming with dangers. All I had ever heard or read of prairie travel, of famine, fire, the assaults of wild beasts, and of human foes more pitiless still, crowded on my memory at once. I thought of the vast distance, of the almost Hercu-, lean fatigues to be undergone, of the icy barritr which the Rocky Mountains stretched across the track, as if to bar the progress of presumptuous man; and though I am no fainter of heart than my neighbors, ji dare say my countenance ex- pressed dismay and repugnance. Indeed, I am sure it did, for Mr. Hausermann groaned, and said, ‘**Donner! what shall we to now?” “Walford,” said Mr. Spalding, ‘1 don’t wish to dissemble with you. I am asking you to incur the certainty of very great fatigue, hardship, and dan- r. Iam asking you to risk life itself to save the 1onor of the house and that of my own family. I do not make such a request without proposing a sroportionate reward— ‘There, hear me out! I ion’t offer you money for such a service. Come back successful, and you shall be a partner in the house of Spalding and Hausermann; and if you and Emma are still of the same mind three months hence—” I trembled with joy as I interrupted my em- ployer. “I'll go, Sir, gladly and most willingly.” “That’s a prave poy! I knew he would!” ejaculated the German; and the cashier rubbed his hands joyfully. “When can you be ready to start?” asked Mr, Spalding. ‘Directly. In half an hour, if you please.” “An hour will do,” said Mr. Spalding, with a smile at my eagerness, ** Bodesson shall be at the door by that time, with his carriage and his best horses. You must save your strength as much as you can for the prairie. " You have a six-shooter, I know. Get ready what requisites for the journey will go into small compass. You shall have an ample supply of money—spend it freely, lavishly, and don't spare horse-flesh or gold upon the way. I would give half my fortune to place you speedily on the pavement of New York. You are an em- bassador with full powers, George, and your own wit and courage must carry you through. Now, you had better prepare for the road.” I lingered. “ Any thing more to say ?” asked the merchant, good-humoredly. , “If I could speak for a moment—just an in- stant—to Miss ding ?” : “She is at her brother’s bedside,” replied the old man, hurriedly. ‘* But—yes, you are right. You shall see her before you start.” I seemed to make but one step to the house where I lodged. I spent ten minutes in hastily arranging my belongings—and it is wonderful how much a man can condense into ten minutes when he is under the influence of strong excitement— char my revolver, packed a few things in a small bag, and ran back like a greyhound. Mr. Spalding gave me some fuller instructions, and handed to me a heavy parcel of gold and silver, as well as a bundle of bank-notes. I was to keep the bank-paper until I reached the civilized world ; in the desert my only hope would be to bribe in specie the half-tamed wanderers of the West. Mr. Spald- ing was still talking when Bodesson, one of the principal liverymen of San Francisco, drove his spanking pair of Spanish horses up to the door. Then the merchant went up stairs, and returned with his daughter. Dear ma! she was pale, and thinner than of old, but her eyes were bright and loving, and her words, full of hope and con- stancy, gave me fresh courage, and a resolve todo or die. Our parting was very brief. A few hur- ried whispers—a hasty renewal of the old vows and troth-plight—and for a moment I caught her in my arms and kissed her cheek, and in the next I was gone, I sat by Bodesson’s side; the whip cracked; off flew the foaming horses along the street; and I looked back and waved a farewell in answer to Mr. Spalding’s waving hand and Em- ma’s handkerchief. Then we turned the corner, and darted along the road, Bodesson was well paid, and he kept the mettled horses at their work over many a mile of ground, I seemed to start cheerfully, and under good au- spices. My heart was fullofhope. The gay French Creole by my side was a merry companion; he sang Canadian songs, whistled, chirru to the bounding bays, and chattered incessantly. *** Monsieur was going to the prairies! Ah, trés bien! The prairies were ver intéressantes, ver moch so. But Monsieur must take care when he got there —must not stir from the protection of ze dragoons, or les sauvages, ze ferocious Indians, would off Monsieur's cheveux—what you call scalp!” So the Frenchman prattled on. He believed I was going to Salt Lake City on business, and never doubted that I should voyage with a caravan under escort of the States dragoons. What would he have said had he known that | was to traverse that land of danger and hunger alone ? My journey to the eastern border of California was not remarkable enough to justify me in dwell- ing here on its details, Spending money freely, I was able to proceed almost entirely in wheeled carriages more or less rude, and I contrived to push along over sorry roads at a respectable pace. I slept in the vehicles during the dark hours, snatch- ing a broken slumber as best I could in the midst of jolting and swaying. Sometimes even a bribe could not induce my Heateon or American drivers to risk the perils of a stony road at night, and then I recruited my strength by rest, but was always ready to start at cock-crow. I knew well what was before me, and that all the fatigue I endured was child’s play to what was in store. I had been on the prairies before—those, at least, which lie east of the Rocky Mountains. Mr. Spalding was well aware that I was a horseman, expert in the use of fire-arms, and of a robust constitution. These are not the common attributes of a clerk, but I had not beer bred to the desk. My father had been esteemed rich, till at his death, inf’ embarrassed circumstances, I had been left to battle with pov- erty as I might; I had kept hunters at ord and had been passionately fond of field-sports. i had kept up the habit of taking brisk exercise, and now I was about to find the benefit of trained muscles and robust health. I did not disguise from myself that I was embarking on an enterprise full of risks. I might starve in the desert, whit- ened as it was by the bones of many an emigrant. I — perish miserably in one of those fires that rush like flaming serpents through the boundless sea of grass. And if my scalp did not blacken in the smoke of some Indian wigwam, fever or sheer fatigue might make an end of my life and hopes at onee. Or, I might reach New York too late. It was gall and wormwood to me to think that Joram Heckler was pressing on toward the North with all the speed of a fast steamer. The very thought made me bound and stamp my foot on the floor of the rude mail-cart, as if I could quicken my pro- gress by such a gesture. How I prayed that con- trary winds might delay the packet on its passage from Aspinwall to the Empire City ! I reached Carson City, on the border of the des- ert, and there I made a brief halt that I might pre- pare for the coming effort. I was perfectly well aware that the most dangerous and difficult part of the road was that lying between California and the Mormon settlements. Once beyond the Utah territory, I might well hope to escape the arrows and tomahawk of the savage. I found Carson full of returning ———_ algae ing back with their pelf to the Atlantic States, Mormon converts and traders who had emptied their wagons in Cali- fornian markets. These good folks were all wait- ing for the regular escort of national sc under whose guard they were to travel. It was impossible for me to move so slowly, and I accord- ingly bought a bag of sun-dried beef, another of parched corn, some blankets, and such matters, and a powerful horse handsomely accoutred with a bridle and saddle of Mexican make. I bought the latter from an American dealer, who was mightily tickled at the idea of my making my way alone over the prairies. “I give you credit for your grit, sartainly, mister,” said he; “it is oud, and no mistake ; but I guess you'd better sleep upon the idea a few times more. mi Indian sealpers will lift your ha'r, sure as hogs yield bacon. Won't you believe me? Come along, then, and ax an- other man’s opinion!” And he dra me toward a sort of tavern, the porch of which was crowded 4 men and women, French, Spanish, Ge ankee, and mulatto, all of whom were gathe’ round a lathy, dark-haired young fellow in a trim half-military dress, that would have passed for that of a policeman but for the red flaynel shirt and Mexican sombrero he wore. This man had keen mobile features, and was hardened by con- stant work and weather into little more than mus- ele and bone; he wore spurred boots and thick “savers,” and was cracking a whip as he gayly chatred with the crowd, who langhed at hi« wit in a way that proved him a prime favorite. He was, | in fact, one of the salaried riders of the “ Pony Express,” ready to start with the hag of dispatches the instant the courier from San Francisco should arrive with it, “Yes, Colonel; yes, gals,” I heard him say; “I'm downright sorry to leave, but duty is duty, ain't it? If the Indians don't rub me out—” “Rub you out, Shem? Catch a racoon asleep!" one of the rider’s admiring friends. “ Wa'al !” said Shem, with a modest voice, but a boastful twinkle in his restless eye, “ the varmints have tried a time or two, but they’ve found Shem Grindrod rather a tough nut to crack, they have. When a chap’s Kentucky bred, real, right down hickory, ‘tain't so easy to lift his ha'r as— Serv- ice to ye, stranger!” For his eye had lighted on me. “Shem,” cried the horse-dealer, “here's a gen- tleman wants to cross the para all alone, on hoss- back, Broadway fashion. hatdo ou say to that ?” There was a general laugh. Shem took off his hat with mock respect. ““Whoop!” he cried, “ If that ain’t clear grit in the down-easter dandy! You'll see snakes, mister, Ireckon. There's ne accommodation for igen-teel persons, and you'll are get your hoss stole, or chawed up by the wolves, and you'll lose yourself and die for want of a dinner, if you don't fall in with the Injuns—and if you do, Jehoshaphat !” All this would have been provoking to some men, but I knew the American eharacter too well to be out of temper. Shem evidently took me for a presumptuous townsman, plunging wantonly into the lion’s mouth, and was -naturedly dis- couraging my rashness. With some trouble I drew him apart, and commenced a private conver- sation. I told him that I was bound for the Eastern States; that my business was imperative, but that if he could help me I would py nim most liberal- ly for the aid rendered. For I had formed a crude idea that if I could procure the privilege of using the relays of spare horses kept at the different sta- tions on the route, for the use of the mail-bag riders, I might accomplish the most awkward part of the journey with great rapidity. Shem, however, though not ill-natured, dashed my hopes to the ground. Such a concession would be “agin ail rule.” ‘The servants of the Express Compan “*darn’t do it.” It was not to be thought of. } must wait forthe caravan. , I did not wait for the caravan, but set forth that very day. The —— gave me a half ironical cheer as I rode out of the straggling street of Car- son, but I saw the Yankee dealer shake his head and screw up the corners of his mouth, as if he considered me little better than a suicide. There was no use in letting the grass grow un- der my feet, so I pushed briskly ahead. I was riding a powerful horse, one of those bred in Ken- tucky or Tennessee, and which will sell for a high price on the western border of prairieland. To find the way in broad daylight was easy. There was a b track made by the passage of count- less wagons and beasts of burden. I had a com- pass, but I really did not need it. I covered many a weary | e of ground in the course of that day’s ride, Here and there, among the forked streamlets which were feeders of the Carsen, I came to farms where I | recured corn for my horse and food for myself. Rod come to two reso- lutions : one, to economize my little store of jerked beef as much as possible; the other, to refuse all hospitable proffers of whisky, being convinced that on water only could such trying work as that be- fore me be accomplished. | kept on, with brief uses through the day, and held to the track as ong as the moonlight served me, urging on my flagging steed to the very limits of his pe Then, in the dark, I dismounted, took off saddle and bridle, hobbled my horse, and tethered him so that he had ample space to graze. Then I lay down, wrapped in my blankets, pillowed my head upon my e, and fell asleep with my weapons by my side. I awoke with a start, in the pitch dark night, and could not well remember where I was. My horse was uneasy, and his abrupt motions had dis- turbed me. I heard a rustling in the long grass, a scratching, a pawing of light feet among the herb- age, and a whining sound as of hungry dogs whim- ng for food. mee There were no dogs there. Wolves! And my horse, on whose secur- ity my life might ary was trembling and bathed in perspiration. I had kindled no fire, apprehen- sive lest the light should attract some d of prowling savages ; and now the coyotes were gath- ering around us like flies about honey. For my- self, I felt no fear: the wolf of America is very dif- ferent from the *‘ gray beast” of German forests or Pyrenean snows. But my poor nag was in dan- ger, and his very tremors were adding perilous] to the exhaustion of the long and hurried ride. rose, and began ping about for brushwood. Luckily I was still in a well-watered region, where shrubs and undergrowth abounded, and where the gigantic cotton-wood trees reared their majestic orms beside the streamlets. I soon came upon a clump of brush, and cutting with my sharp and heavy knife as much as I could carry in both arms, I returned with it, and cleared a little space of the , which was long enough to be dangerous in the event of its catching fire. I then took out my tin box of lucifers, struck a light, and kindled a tire: though not very easily, for the heavy dew stood in great glistening beads on grass and shrub. and the moistened wood emitted many a cloud of pungent and dark smoke before I could coax the sullen embers to burst forth in the required blaze. All this ti:se I had to give an occasional halloo, rattling a tin cup against the barrel of my revolv- er, for the purpose of intimidating the wolves ; while it was necessary to pat and soothe by voice and hand the poor horse itself, which was tugging at the tethering-rope in a way that threatened to break it every instant. At last, to my great joy, the fire leaped up, red and cheery, its bright beams illumined a little radiant patch of prairie, and, hovering in the shadows on the edge of this il- luminated spot, I saw the slinking coyotes, the smallest and most timid, but also the most cun- ning, variety of the wolf of America. Presently I flung a firebrand among the pack, and they van- ished into the darkness, but for half an hour [ could hear their howls of disappointment growing faint- er and fainter as the distance increased. My horse was quieter after the disappearance of the wolves, and in about an hour I ventured to return to my blankets and my repose, after piling a fresh hea of brush on the steadily glowing fire. Not vot long afterward a feeling of intense cold awoke me by slow degrees. I opened my eyes. The fire was low ; its embers glowed crimson, fading gradually into blackness. Overhead was the des sky, the vast host of stars having the peculiar pale and sickly hue which heralds the dawn. It was very cold. There was a rushing sound in the air, and the grass of the prairie was tossed to and fro in wild confusion ; a strong wind was hlowing—the norther. This was the first blast of the chilly north wind that annually sets in at the close of the wn- healthy season in the South. It hac a piercing ~~ . » er seer rt vue MPenawmeoenenwve &

Page 11

January 4, 1862.] 11 HARPER'S WEEKLY. ~—y ~ —— and glacial effect, coming, as it did, from the Polar ice-fields, and across the Rocky ntain range ; but I gladly hailed it, for I remembered that it would be dead against the mail steamer that was breasting the waters of the Mexican Gulf with Joram Heckler and his plunder on board. I might beat him yet! , But the wind increased in force ; it was blowing like a hurricane, and I shivered in spite of my warm poncho and blankets. My horse had lain down, and was trembling with cold. I was obliged to spare him a blanket; he was a “ States” horse, pa my but not so hardy and useful for prairie travel as the mustangs of the plains. The wind did not diminish as the sun rose, red and angry, and a new cause of alarm n to haunt me. I[ had heard of travelers utterly weather-bound for days among the prairies, on account of the fury of the resistless wind. And time was so valuable to me! I felt sick at heart as the chilly hours of early morning crept on, and almost despaired of suceess. I was benumbed and stiff; the dew had been turned to icicles by the sudden cold; and now every waving blade of oo seemed crested with a diamond, glittering end flashing in the level sunshine. By nine o'clock the wind began to abate; it slackened very gradually, and at half past ten I considered that I might resume my journey. My breakfast was not a luxurious one ; a mouthful of beef and parched maize, swallowed in the intervals of ing my horse and rolling up my blankets. Then I drew up the iron peg to which the halter was attached, rolled up the hal- ter, lasso fashion, at my saddle-bow, and mount- ed. I was less awkward in the everyday routine of prairie life than might be supposed. Years ago, ore I entered Spalding and Hausermann’s em- ploy, 1 had spent some weeks in a frontier fort, as the guest of the officers of a United States Ranger regiment. I had accompanied my hosts on several hunts and scouting expeditions against hostile In- dians, and had found some amusement in picket- ing my steed, lighting camp fires, and so forth: little dreaming that my whole earthly happiness would ever depend on my proficiency in such arts. As the sun rose in the pale blue sky nature as- sumed a more che@rful appearance; the icicles and hoar-frost melted, and the air became merely bracing and agreeable, as the bitter cold passed away. On we went, following the plain trail of the wagon. trains, up and down the gently rollin slopes of the undulating prairie. noticed wit some dismay that my horse was no longer the met- tled creature that had pranced so gayly out of Carson the day before. At first he certainly an- swered my voice and the pressure of my knee, by stepping out gallantly; but after a while he be- gan to flag, bore heavily on the bit, and required a frequent touch of the spur. It was clear I had taxed his pewers too severely on the previous day. He was going weakly under me, in a spiritless way that spoke volumes, What was I todo? I had plenty of money, but money can not prove a talisman in the wilderness. There was not a farm between the place where I stood and the Great Salt Lake itself. My only chance in procuring a remount lay in meeting some one who would sell me a steed, and this was far from a certainty. I was chewing the cud of bitter reflections when I heard the light tramp of a galloping horse behind me. Quickly I turned my head, and saw a booted rider dashing gayly along over the swells of the prairie ; his trim po ae opened, showed a red flannel shirt; and his Mexican sombrero was bound with a cord of tarnished gold. He had a revolv- ing carbine pistol at his saddle-bow, and at his side hung from his shoulder-belt his leathern dispatch- bag. It was my acquaintance of yesterday—Shem Grindrod, “*Mornin’, stranger!” he called out, cheerily ; “T didn’t skear you yesterday, it seems, by my yarns about Ivins, “Twas Gospel truth, for all that. Camped out, I reckon? Your hoss does look a little the wuss for wear, mister, though. You've pushed him a ish stretch, you have.” We rode on for some distance side by side. My poor horse was inspired to do his best by the pres- ence of the other horse, and together we sped over the country: my steed trotting, Shem’s mustang galloping, for Spanish-American horses have but one when urged beyond a walk. Shem was much more kind and even polite in his manner than on the previous day. He told me, bluntly, that he re a fellow that proved himself a man, but that what he hated worse than copper- head snakes was a Broadway dandy giving him- self adventurous airs. My horsemanship had won Shem’s esteem, and he sympathized heartily with me when he saw that I was really bent on crossing the desert at any risk. : “Your hoss is a bit of stuff, mister,” said he, “* but I’m afraid he’s pretty nigh used up fer one while. Now you listento me. The best thing you can do is to buy a mustang fust chance you get. There'll be hunters passing south, and p'raps they'll trade. When _ get right out among the plains, you stick to the trail well, and if a grass fire blinds it, you take your compass and bear up for east by north. Keep that pistol of yourn ready, and if you do see Injuns, keep cool. Don’t waste a shot. Every round bit of lead is worth a life on the parara. -by, wish you luck!” Shem headed his horse for one of the Express stations, a little lonely block-house, with a stock- aded yard, which was garrisoned by a few of his comrades, and where a relay of fresh horses was kept. I looked wistfully at the block-house and the well-stocked corral, and then turned away with my tired steed to resume my weary travel. I knew that early in the aftersoon I should reach another station of the same kind, and there I meant to ap- ply for refreshment and shelter in case my horse should knock up altogether. Before I had gone a mile I saw my friend Shem, on a fresh steed, scour- ing the plain. He waved his hand, and gave me a cheer of recognition, and I looked after im en- viously as he flew like an arrow up the slope, and vanished in the distance. By luck, however, I almost instantly encoun’ a party of white men, the first travelers I had seen. These turned out to be three returning from Oregon, with a fair stock of peltry loaded on two mules. They were all well-mounted on “ Indian ponies,” vad one of them led by a lariat a powerful and thapely mustang, whose bright eye and wide nos- trils matched well with his wiry limbs. He had been captured on the plains, not two months be- fore, one of a wild herd; but he was sufficient! broken in to be useful in prairie fashion. I struc a bargain with the trapper, by which my exhausted but more valuable quadruped was bartered for the half-wild mustang ; the trapper also receiving four Id eagles. The arrangement was mutually sat- sfactory, and as the tall Kentuckian helped me to shift my saddle and bridle to the spotted nag I had just acquired, I saw his eyes twinkle with self- congratulation, ** One word of advice, Colonel,” said the trapper, as I placed the gold in his hard brown hand; “keep your eyes skinned as you along, an don’t let the cussed Redskins double upon you. There’s Indian sign about, there is. I saw the print of a m n down yonder by the in where the Indians never come for any , mis- ter. You mind—Utahs ain't to be trusted, and Shoshonies are worse. As for Rapshoes, Heaven help you, Colonel ber ketch you alone! There's ians about. 1 smell 'em.” “IT wish you'd a good rifle on your shoulder, mister,” said another, as I mounted ; “ six-shooters is very handy tools, but nothing sickens the In- dians like a good five-foot bit of holler iron, that air true.” I took leave of these fellows, who wished me a safe journey in the heartiest way, though ev- idently disbelieving in the likelihood that a “ green- horn” could carry his property and scalp safe across the desert. The mustang was fresh, and darted along at that untiring though not very speedy gal- lop which animals of that hardy race can maintain for a very considerable time. We made capital progress: the country grew drier, and the grass shorter, and the swampy bottoms and trickling brooks were fewer. I met with no adventure, ex- cept that my new purchase put his foot into an outlying burrow, as we skirted a “village” of rairie dogs, and gave us both a roll on the turf; ut we were unburt, and I had luckily kept my grasp of the bridle, or I should have lost my horse. ce I thought I saw something hovering on the edge of the horizon, but whether savages, buffaloes, or wild horses, I could not determine. After rid- ing several miles I came to a place where the trail dipped suddenly into a low tract of alluvial earth, intersected by a stream of some magnitude, and shaded by a belt of lofty cotton-wood trees. traced here the fresh footprints of a horse, which must just have passed, for the bruised grass had but partially risen around the edges. “Crack, bang!” went the sharp report of fire-arms ringing from the thicket below, and with the reports min- gled the horrid war-whoop of the savage. Grasp- ing my pistol, | dashed in among the trees, and beheld poor Shem Grindrod, bleeding, reeling in his saddle, and beset by a party of six or seven Indians, mounted, and in their hideous panoply of war. Shem had been pierced by three arrows ; he was fainting with loss of blood; but he fronted the savages boldly, and one Indian lay at his feet, rolling iu the agonies of death. My arrival changed the current of the fight; two rounds from my re- volver, the second of which laid low a muscular barbarian, smeared with yellow ochre, who was pressing on Shem with an uplifted tomahawk, suf- ficed for their discomfiture. Probably they took me for the advanced guard of a party of whites. At any rate, they fled at speed across the plain. I was just in time to break Shem's fall, as the poor fellow dropped from his saddle, feebly mur- muring, ** Thank ye, mister. You've saved my scalp, any way, if "twas just too late to save—” His voice was hushed here, and he fainted in my arms. There was a metal flask of whisky dangling at the mail-bag rider's saddle-bow, along with his blanket and haversack; I hastily unscrewed the stopper, and contrived to force a few drops into the mouth of the wounded man. Then I tore my cravat into strips, and with it and my handker- chief tried to bind up the hurts Shem had received, after vainly attempting to withdraw the barbed ar- rows. Two of the injuries were mere flesh wounds, more painful than dangerous; but the third was of a serious character: the shaft was imbedded in Shem's side, though the hemorrhage was trifling in appearance when compared with the abundant flow of blood from the other injuries. In about a couple of minutes Shem sevived sufficiently to look up. I was touched by the gratitude his eyes ex- pressed. Probably, poor lad, he had received but a scanty share of kindness in his scrambling life. “Do you suffer much pain from the arrow wounds?” I asked. ‘Take a drop more of the whisky; it will give you strength; and if I can ones help you to proceed as far as the block- house—” “*Tain't no manner of use, stranger, my duty to re, all the same,” replied the rider, after swallow- fag a small quantity of spirits. “I've got my finish at last. A chap that’s fit in the border fights ever since he could squint along a gun don't need no doctor to tell him when he’s got goss, he don't.” I could not disguise from myself that Shem was right. His face showed a ghastly change; it was ashen white, pinched, es thin; while the lips twitched, and the eyes had acquired that peculiar eager glance, and restless, craving brightness, which we never notice except in those over whom death hovers. But I tried to cheer the poor fel- low; succeeded in stanching the blood that flowed from his arm, transpierced by two of the iron- tipped reeds ; and begged him to keep up his hope and courage. “*Tain’t worth wasting words upon, mister,” gasped Shem; “I knowed I'd my call: onst I felt the cold and the rankling pain that follered the smart of that cussed arrow in my ribs. I'm jest bleeding to death inwardly, I am, and all the sur- geon chaps in the States couldn't help me, nu, ror yet the cleverest bone-setter in the pararas. But you cheated the curs out of my scalp, stranger. They had a hanker to get this child's ha’r, they had, to dance round in their darned village, them Shoshonies. My! How the squaws will jeer and mock ‘em when they go back empty-fisted, and leavin’ two of the pack behind ‘em too!” And Shem, with death in his face and at his heart, act- ually laughed. He had to catch painfully at his breath before he spoke again. ‘* Stranger, it's an ill wind blows nobody any good. You hark to me. What I couldn’t give you, nouther for dollars nor axin’, you'll get now. Go on to the station; take this here mail-bag along; give it ‘em, and tell ‘em the rights of what's chanced. They'll turn out fast enough, I'll warrant, and they'll put me under the turf afore the wolves pick my bones, And anoth- er rider must go on with the bag. And tell ‘em ‘twere my dyin’ wish they'd give you a fresh hoss at each block, and so let you go with the rider and push ahead. The Co. won't be riled at the brea ‘ of rules—seein’ you saved the bag, let alone my scalp, and—” He broke down here. I was quite melted at the unselfish thoughtfulness of this poor dying creat- ure, this untaught, half-wild frontiers-man, who could care for my speedy jouzwey while his own vital breath was trembling on his livid lips. I gave him a third sup of whisky, begging him to let me know if I could communicate his last wish- es to any distant friend or relation ? “There a gal that lives to Hampton Town,” said Shem, almost in a whisper, ‘ the darter of a deal- er that trades in mules, she be; and uth and I— | Oh, ‘tis a pity the wedding-day were put off, cause the Co. gives sions to wives, but none to sweet- hearts, and Ruth's father met with misfortins in trade, and she'd ha’ been glad of a few dollars a year, r thing !” I asked his sweet-heart's name, for, as I assured him, I felt certain that the house of Spalding and Hausermann would befriend her for his sake, if through the service I had rendered Shem I were really enabled to do my errand with a sucgess oth- erwise unattainable. “Ruth Moss,” said Shem, in his weak voice; “that’s her surname and given name. She's a good girl, pretty and good, is Ruth, and only too tender a fiower for a rough borderman like me; goes to chapel reg’lar, and writes like a print k ” He then begged that I would send to Ruth a cer- tain knot of ribbon which he had received from her as a keepsake, or merely snatched in a lover's whim I do not know which; at any rate, I found it carefully wra in deer-skin, in the bosom of his dress, but ah! with a deep dark stain of blood marring the gay blue of the silk. The arrow had assed nearly through that humble love-token. Shem further prayed me that, as I passed by the Round Pond Station, between Fort Bridge and Red Creek, I would tell his old father, Amos Grind- rod, that he, Shem, had “ died like a man.” “The old man ‘ll be cut up, I'm afraid,” mur- mured Shem, whose eyes were getting dim; “* but he'll be glad to know my ha’r warn’t lifted. Tell him I were wiped out by the band of Mad Buffalo, the Shoshonie. "Twar Mad Buffalo hisself that sent the arrow through me just as I kivered him with the carbine. The skunk! Many a noggin of drink I've given him when he come tradin’ to the fort. But there war a grudge atween him and me, and he's ped it; but let him mind how he ever comes within range of old Amos Grindrod's rifle!" Shem was anxious to know whether the Indian I had shot was quite dead, and what painted de- vice his half-naked body bore. His own glazing eyes could not distinguish; but when I described the yellow ochre barred with white, he said it must be the “ Little Owl,” one of Mad Buffalo's best war- riors. The other Indian was of slighter make, and daubed with black and vermilion. Both were stone dead. Shem asked me, half timidly, if I would be so good as repeat “‘a bit of Scripture.” He had not been much of a chapel-goer, but Rath had ** got religion,” and his mother too had been ‘‘a Christian woman,” as he quaintly observed. I knelt beside him, and held up his head as I utter- ed aloud the words of a brief and simple prayer, such as little children are taught to lisp with their innocent lips ; and once or twice I heard the husky tones of the dying man repeat the words. But there was a strong shiver through his frame, and poor Shem Grindrod was dead before the prayer was prayed out. About an hour later I rode up to the station, mounted on my own horse, and leading Shem’s by the bridle. “ Halloa! pull up, pull up, or I'll plug ye, sure as my name's Bradshaw!” shouted a stern voice through a loop-hole of the lonely block-house. And T saw the long clouded barrel of a frontier rifle pointing in my direction. I halted, of course. « Phat's one of our hosses!” cried a second voice; “the critter’s stole it, I reckon. What is “T am a friend,” I called out; “a traveler from California. Let me come in, and | will explain all.” The garrison held a short but animated debate. One man avowed his belief in the truth of my sto- ry, another broadly hinted that I might turn out a “renegade” or “ white Indian ;” that I merely wanted to open the doors of the fortress to my fero- cious allies, ambushed somewhere hard by, and that it would be as well to shoot me, as a provi- sional act of prudence. But the majority carries the day in America; and, luckily for me, the ma- jority decreed my admission. Loud was the sur- prise, and sincere the sorrow, with which the little garrison received the news of their comrade’s mur- der. Three of the men caught up such rude tools as they posseased, and, slinging their rifles, pre- pared to take the “‘ back trail” to the spot where the unfortunate young man’s body lay, and where his remains would be hastily laid in earth, after the custom of the frontiers, Another hurried, with all the instinct of discipline, to saddle a horse for the purpose of carrying forward the mail-bag which poor Shem had resigned only with his life. This rider was the most affected of the group by the melancholy tidings I had brought. He would have preferred to be one of those who were to lay his old associate beneath the prairie turf, but this could not be. He was “next for duty,” he said, simply, with tears standing in his hardy eyes. So he hurried to equip himself and steed for the peril- ous road. I now ventured, rather timidly and awkwardly, te prefer my request for the accom- modation of fresh relays of horses along the rest of the route, speaking as modestly as I could of my own preservation of the dispatches. The men looked puzzled as they scrutinized me and weighed my demand. One of them—he who had taken me for a renegade white in the Indian interest—gave me a piercing glance, and gruffly said, ‘‘ How do we know he ain't been bamfoozling us with a pack of lies? He may have murdered Shem, ye see, jest to get a remount, and—” “ You jest shut up!” thundered, in tones of deep indignation, the rider who was to carry on the mails, ‘* You oughter to be ashamed of that tongue o’ yourn, Jethro Summers. Here's a gentleman, and, what's more, an honest chap, has fit by poor Shem’s side, has saved his scalp from them Sho- shonies, and brought on the bag for us, and yeu're to insult him with your mean talk. See! his hose is fresh, and he’s brought in Shem's hoss ; and you to go telling him he'd murder a white Christian to get a lift. It’s a burnin’ shame, Jeth Summers !” “'Tis, “tis!” exclaimed the other two men. “ Did ye ever know a darned renegade look a chap in the face, bold and honest, like the Colonel there ? He's a good chap, is mister; and if ever he wants a friend in a rough-and-tumble fight, we're his men, sure as minks can swim.” The trio shook hands with me with genuine warmth. Now, when the iron was hot, was the time to strike. I therefore made an energetic ap- peal to them to supply me with horses, assuring them that my whole p' and happiness, as well as those of others, ded on my speed. They listened with interest ; but when I uded with the words, *‘Shem Grindrod wished it; he bade me ask it of you, as he lay d ” the was won, To be sure, the one itioned member of the community grumbled out some- thing about “soft sawder, breach of rules, cun- ning Yankees, and dismissa).” But the tall rider cut him short, by affirming with an oath that “if the Co. chose to ride nasty on such a point, after the stranger's services, why the Co, was a ——T_ = - x = mean scamp, and he wouldn't serve ‘em, for one.’ I did not at first exactly comprehend this fro. uently-recurring phrase of the “Co.," and was isposed to regard it as the name of some over- ered that this monosyllabic impersonation meant the Express Company. “ Look sharp, mister. You shall have a mount, but there's time lost a'ready, and we shall have to ride whip and spur. Come and pick a nag out of the corral. There's a drindled mustang your sad- die will fit like his skin. The roan’s best, but his back’s rubbed raw. Ask Jonas to give you some beef and biscuit: we sha'n’t pats many hot-els, that air positive. Charge that revolver o’ yourn, Colonel ; I see two bullets a-missing. Have a hors of whisky—old Monongahela? No! Do be spry with the saddle, you Jeth—a man should belp in a case like this. Easy, mister, with the bridie—the mustang bites—so! We'll take care of your nag, and you'll find him as sleek as a slug if you come back our way. Good-by, boys!” So saying, the impatient nder finished his prep- arations, sprang to his saddle, waved his repeating carbine over his head, and set off at furious «peed. I followed as rapidly as I could, shouting a fare- well to those left behind, who were on the point of starting for the place where poor Shem was lying beside the corpses of his copper-hued foes, stiff and stark. The brindled mustang was fat and laxy, com- pared with the nimble cream-colored pony on which my guide was mounted. It took all my exertions to overtake ‘Demus Blake, whose name was probably Aristodemus, though thus curtailed by usage. We rode at a tremendous pace. “ Larrup your beast, Colonel,” cried the rider, “we're woeful behind. Don't be stingy with the spur-iron, for that brindle does sllavs shirk when hecan. Mind—'ware the sappy ground, where you see them clubby mosses! Jordan! they'd take a hoss up to the girths, and there you'd stop like a tree'd coon. Bash on, Sir, Rattle him across them riv'lets: not that a parara hoss can jump like the critters from the U-nited States.” It struck me that "Demur Blake was bawling and flogging in this excited way for ne other pur pose than to quiet bis own nerves and drown care. I was confirmed in this view by the fact that, after six or seven miles had been ewallowed np by the rapid career of our foam-fiecked steeds, the rider reined his horse into a steady hand-gallop “There, mister,” said he, “we'll go quiet now. I feels kiender easier under my left ribe. Teli’ee, Colonel, little as you think it, to look at such as me, I was as near making the biggest baby of my- self—there, | was! Poor bow Shem! I knowed him, Sir, oncemmon well, and oncommen long. We played about together, when we were as high as a ramrod, in Pequottie village, nigh to Utica, in old Kentuck. And when old Amos and my daddy, | | looker, or superintendent, but afterward discov- } | } Jonathan Blake, calculated to move West, they chose the same location. Sad news for old Amos —a white-haired old chap now, but pretty tough, too. He's at Brown's 'iole—no, at Round Pond— trading for peltry. I wouldn't care to have the tellin’ on him.” The rider was sHent for a good while after this. He did not speak again till I paid a merited tribute to Shem's courage. I had found him, I said, front- ing seven Indians Nike a stag at bay. The front- iers-man's eye glittered proudly : “A brave boy, Sir. { was with him, first fight —that is, Shem’s first, cansa I'm two year an older man. "“Twarn't hereaway. South of Fre- mont’s Pass it wur, and bloody Blackfoot Indians war the inimy, three to one, on’y they'd no fire- arms. "“Twarn't child's play that day, mister!” The backwoodsman expanded his broad chest, while his nostrils dilated, and his lips tightened, as he recalled the arduous struggle long past. He was a much stronger man than ae tn, of a spirit less gay and lightsome, but not without a certain amount of rude practical poetry in his dis- position. He knew Shem's sweet-heart: a very nice-looking girl, of rather a quict, subdued, and pious nature. ‘‘ Not too commen on the border, nouther, where even gals mostly has a spice of the wild-cat, but, melybe, that pleased Shem.” Of the distress in store for old Amos Grindrod—a hunter once renowned for his prowess and skill, whether in warfare or the chase— Biake spoke feel- ingly and with deep conviction “Twill shorten the old man’s days, Sir, but it’s lucky the old woman's not alive to hear it; she was that tender of Shem, if his finger ached she'd flutter like a robbed hen Good old soul che Was, Mrs. Grindrod, and nursed my old mother when she took the fever in that murderin’ swamp.” Honest "Demus had too much innate good-breed ing to be inquisitive as to the purport of my un usual journey. In this respect, as in some others, he far surpassed in tact and politeness many an accomplished citizen in varnished boots and satin vest. But he offered me some wel! meant advice. “Take it coolly,” said he, “and don't flurry yourself, Colonel. You've got more color in your cheeks than need be, and your hand was as hot, when I shook it, as a bit of deer-meat toastin’ over the fire. I don’t know as you ain't right, shirking the whisky, though ‘tis food and comfort to such as me. Buta smart touch of fever would tie you by the leg, stranger, so don't fret overly, and sleep all you can. As for Injuns, they'll hardly trouble two white men, when there's nouthin’ te be got but a kipple of nags that can be bought for a cast of the lasso, or larist. The emigrant trains is differ- ent, for the Red devile scent plunder in the wag- ons, and only the dragoons skear'em. “[war «pite med the Mad Buffalo fall on Shem Grindrod. Shem give him a coat o’ tar and turkev feathers one night, at Bridger’s Fort, when the Injan got sv drunk with whisky some rascal sold him, he lay like a hog on the ground. They never forgive, them Injuns. Shoshonies have no pity, compared to the savages east of the Rocky Mountains. Keep a look-out for outlying war parties, mister, when you get to the mountain parks. Crows will take hoss and clothes; Biackfeet allays hanker arter , ” I took my guide's well-meant advice, and en- deavered to get through the journey as phiegmat- jeally as might be. I snatched every opportunity of repose, if only for a few minutes, while the reek- ing saddles were being shifted to the backs of fresh horses; and it is wonderful how much re- freshment I at times derived from a nap so brief as not much to exeeed the traditional “ forty winks.” More than once my companion said to me, “Colonel, you’re about dropping with sleep Shut your eyes, if you like, and give me your reins. I'll guide both hosses, and you can't bard- ly roll out of that cradle o' yourn.” And, indeed the deep Mexican saddle of demipique cut, which I had luckily provided on starting, was admirably adapted, with its lefty pommel and cantel, te the | use ofa dozing equcstrian. Curious spells of sium.

Page 12

12 HARPER'S WEERLY. [Janvary 4, 1862. ber those were, when my head would nod like that of a porcelain mandarin, and my eyelids droop as if weighted with lead, and when, after a few min- utes, [ would start up, broad awake, as my mus- tang stumbled over broken ground, Once—it wa while "Demus Blake was still with me—I had a long and most delicious period of slumber, unin terrupted by jerks or concussions ; and when I awoke quite a new man, and revived to an extent at which I now wonder, I found myself supported by the strong patient arm of miy conductor, who had been galloping by my side for miles, manag- ing both bridles with his disengaged hand. a thought it would fresh you up, Colonel!” said the brave fellow. Not all my mentors throughout that phantom ride across prairieland were as frank as Blake, nor as merry as Shem. But che mail-bag riders turned out good fellows in ali main points, and | can safe- ly say that I found but two or three surly or ill- natured persons among all those who garrisoned the block-houses; while fortunately it fell to my lot on no occasion to be accompanied by one of these. In the prairie, as in the world at large, I found good-feeling the rule, cynicism or malice the exception, though I am bound to say that the ill- conditioned individuals made twice as much noise and stir as their more amiable mates, The first start had been difficult, but at each succeeding sta- tion I rece). ad my remonnt without much delay or parley. The “ privilege of the post” was conceded to me, while I was alw Lys we leome to a share of the rations jn each litle community. On the whole, I found the men cheerful in their strange isolation. They were liberally paid and not ill- fed, and they looked forward to a pension in the event of becoming crippled by some Indian hatch- et-stroke or arrow-shot. Planted in the wilder- ness, with the prospect of being presently encom- passed by deep drifts of snow, over whose frozen surface the wolves would come to howl and scratch at their doors, like dogs seeking admittance, the; were in fair spirits and undismayed. Their ha- bitual talk was of the wild adventures that formed the everyday life of that frontier of Christendom ; of Indian stratagems and cruelty, of panthers and grizzlies,” prenghorns and buffaloes. Several of them had consorted familiarly with the painted tribes of the desert, and spoke sundry Indian dia- lects as fluently as their mother tongue. I found these hardy men kind hosts enough; they would hush their talk, not to disturb me as I lay down on a heap of skins and blankets to sleep, while the guide saddled the horses: and they soon ceased to ridicule my apparently capricious refusal of whis- ky ‘* Mebbe the Colonel's right”—Colonel is the Western title of courtesy-—they would say in their blunt politeness, Once | found the inmates of a station, built on swampy ground, quite helpless and prostrate with fever. The fever had abated when the healthy norther began to blow, but the poor fellows were cramped with pains and very feeble, and only one of the party could crawl about to cook and feed the fire I had need to fix my mind on the reward of success, on the distant goal glittering far ahead, for it was no light task that I had undertaken. The thought of Emma nerved me, and I felt an Englishman's dogged resolve to win, to fight on, and to break sooner than bend. But the fatigues of that journey surpassed all my conceptions. By day and night, under a glaring sun or through the frost and cutting northerly winds, on we pressed, fording streams, threading the way through marshes, stumbling among the burrows of prairie dogs, or dashing across bound- less plains. I almost learned to hate the long ter- races of turf, the illimitable sweeps of dark-green surface, the blue horizons, the swells of gently sloping earth, smooth enough for the passage of wheeled carriages. On we went, till the long grass, mixed with flowers and wild tufts of the flax-cotton, gave place to a shorter anc crisper herbage, the true ‘‘ buffalo grass” that the bisons love; or till water became scarce, and the sage pliant replaced the blossomed shrubs of the west, and the springs were brackish, and here and there our horses’ hoofs went cranching over a white stretch of desert, strewn with crystals of salt that giittered in the sun. We saw little of Indians, and of game still less. The latter, my cuides told me, had been chiefly scared away by the constant pas- sage of emigrants, As for the savages, we some- times saw the plumed heads, the tapering lances, and the fluttering robes of a troop of wild horse- men against the crimson sky « fevening: but they offered us no molestation, and the riders said they were Utahs on the look-out for “‘ buffler droves” returning from the south. Of the fatigue of that interminable ride, the aching joints, the stiffened sinews, the pains that racked my overstrained mus- cles, I can give no just idea. Still less can I con- vey any sense of the continual strain upon the in- teflect and the perceptive faculties, or how my brain grew as weary as my limbs, , I shall never forget the evening of my arrival in Salt Lake City, tie capital of Utah Territory, and New Jerusalem of the Mormons, I had been encouraged by the guides to look upon this town in the deserts as a turning-point in the journey, beyond which I should be in less peril from In- | | dians, and after which a comparatively short ride would carry me to more civilized regions. But, to my surprise, I found the inmates of the station at Salt Lake City quite as lonely as, and more suspi- cious and moody than, in the far-off posts amon the prairies. ‘They were Gentiles in the midst o a fanatic population, wholly swayed by the hier- arcltv that strange creed whose standard had ’ up in the lawless wastes of the West. Nor was it long before | heard the cause of their dark looks and low spirits. **Where’s Josh Hudson ?” asked the rider who had come with me, when the first greetings had been exchanged. ‘Who knows?” answered the man addressed ; ** 7 don't. «Seth said he went to the town, while I were in the corral with the hosses. If so, all I can say is, he never come back.” “When was that, Seth?” asked the newly-ar- rived rider. ** Two days agone,” answered Seth, as he scraped the surface of a half-exhausted quid of tobacco with his long sharp bowie-knife, ‘* jest afore sun- down.” ‘* He’s not desarted. Josh was too honorable to make tracks that way,” said the rider, confidently. **Desarted! Nothe. But that’s what'll have to be put in the report—leastways, missin’,” said Seth. The rider looked Seth in the face, and drew his foretinger, with a meaning look, slowly across his own throat. Seth nodded. ** Least said, safest,” said Seth, looking dubious- ly at me. "Colonel's safe. You may speak afore him, same as myself, boys!” cried the mail-bag rider, who had come with me; ‘‘do ye mean them blood- thirsty Mormons—-?” “Whist, Jem! Whew! You'll get all our throats cut,” cried the oldest man, starting up in great alarm; “there may be one of the brutes within ear-shot.” He looked through the window, and opened the door, to satisfy himself that no eaves-droppers were near. “I forgot,” apologized Jem; “but about Josh Hudson ?” ‘* I'm afeard,” answered Seth, in a voice dropped almost to a whisper, “that he’s gone for good. Josh was troubled about his sister, Nel] Hudson, that jined the Mormons last winter, up in Illinoy, and was coaxed off, and is here, somewhere.’ ** Ah,” said the listener, ‘‘ I heerd as much.” “* Tt’s my belief,” continued Seth, ‘* that Josh got on, this station a purpose to seek the gal out, and get her to go home to the old folks and the Church she were bred in. Mormons won't stand that.” ** Ah!” said the guide Jem again. ** So, in short, S. wid me some think, we do,” said the oldest of the group, “that Josh has been at his scoutin’ onst too often, and met ‘ shanpip.’” ‘*Shanpip!” I repeated ; ** what is that?” The man eyed me curiously. ‘* Never heerd of ‘Shanpip Brethren,’ then, harn’t ve, mister? So much the best for you, P’raps you've heerd tell of Danites ? I had heard, vaguely and obscurely, of that spir- itual police of Mormondom, of those tierce zealots who obey their Prophet blindly. ‘**Then you have reason to fear that your com- rade is—” ** Ts lyin’ under the salt mud of one o’ them briny pools nigh to hand,” (ery ome the man, * and not alone, neuther. Theer’s been a many missin’, been sé | that never went back to settlements nor on. to | Californey. And theer they'll lie hid, I reckon, till the Day of Judgment, when Great Salt Lake shall give up its dead, like the rest of the airth and waters. I asked if an appeal could not be made to the Mormon elders themselves ? ‘“Twouldn’t answer, Colonel. Suppose I goes to-morrow to Brigham’s own house, or Kimball's, or any of their big men—elders, or angels, or high- riests, or what not—and asks after Josh Hudson. Firighain’s very mealy-mouthed, afraid the man’s run away; what could be expected from a be- nighted Gentile, and that; gives his own aceount of itin preachment next Sabbath. P'raps one of ‘em gives me a glass of wine or a julep, and mebbe it disagrees with me, and I die of it. You may stare, but didn’t the States Treasurer die that way arter takin’ refreshment at Angel Badger’s house? And a pretty angel he be. P’raps I don't drink under a Mormon roof, and then, mebbe, I walk home late, and lose my way, or some other acci- dent happens me—true as death, mister, on'y last week, as I passed Big Lick, I saw a dead woman's face looking up at me, all white and still, at bot- tom of the salt pool.” Thus far the elder man had spoken, but now Seth, who had evinced great uneasiness, jumped up with an oath, and cautiously opened the door. No one was listening. ' “ Tell’ee what,” said Seth, “‘ we'd best keep this discoorse close till we're outside the territory. They're that sharp, Mormons, blessed if I don’t think they're all ear. And if they get's a notion what we're sayin’, the Colonel won't never see New York, and I sha’n't never happen home to Montgomery agin. Indian Walker and his pesky Utahs mostly got a knack of tomahawking them | cabalistic flourishes of a ten-dollar note I pre- | | | } | pertruanteau, and so forth, and saved off my as Mormons don’t much like. .And mebbe we'd meet other Indians, with blankets and red paint on their faces, jest like the real Utahs, and pretty sharp knives in their belts.” ‘ * Seth’s right,” said my former guide ; “* we don’t want to set up any chaps to me Injun on our ac- count, as Angel Brown and Young Harris and the Danites did, when Martha Styles and Rachel Willis chose to go home to Illinoy—so, Colonel, you get a snooze, and Seth, you needn't hurry about saddlin’ —we've rode awful quick.” I was not sorry when day-dawn found me, after a hard gallop by moonlight, approaching the con- fines of the Mormon territory. The rest of the journey was unmarked by adventure. Hardships there were, but no great perils. We traversed a route on which the bleached bones of many horses and mules lay white and ghastly, and on which many a low turfen mound marked the last resting- place of an emigrant, or his wife or child, never to reach the Promised Land of Hope. But provisions were more plentiful now, and water more regularly stored and easy of access, than when the expelled Mormons made their fa- mous march across the desert, marking the un- trodden route with graves. We narrowly escaped being smothered in the snow, in passing the outlet in the Rocky Mountains, and this was our last sem- blance of peril. Previous to this, it had been my sad duty to tell old Amos Grindrod, whom I found at the Round Pond Station, of his son’s death, and to commit to his care the bit of ensanguined ribbon that was to be returned to poor Shem’s sweet-heart. The old man tried to bear the tidings with the stoicism of those Indians among whom he had passed much of his life, and expressed great pleasure at hearing that Shem had ‘died like a Kentucky man, clear grit,” and that I had come up in time to save his scalp. But in a few minutes nature conquered. The old man’s bronzed features worked and twitch- ed, and tears trickled from his aged eyes as he sobbed out, “Shem! dear boy Shem! ‘twas I that oughter be dead, not he.” At last the weary ride was over: we had passed outlying farms guarded by a strong stockade, then the farms grew thicker and the stock&des were dispensed with,and at last the roofs of a village, called by courtesy a town, came in view. Glad- ly did [ dismount, gladly did I shake the hard hand of the last rider of the Express Company! Leaving that honest fellow puzzling over the sented to him, I hired a pair-horse wagon of light build, and set off at once. The wae bore me on until | exchanged it for a coach, the coach did me the same good office until I heard the snort of the steam-horse, and took my ticket. by railway. How delicious, how snug and luxurious was such a mode of travel, after so much hard sad- dle-work! Corduroy roads seemed smooth, and American railroads not in the least addicted to cause the trains to jerk or rock. The gliding mo- tion was charming, and I made amends for lost time, by sleeping in a manner which provoked more than one fellow-traveler, eager to know my business and station in life. I had already telegraphed to New York briefly thus ‘*Has the California mail, via Panama, ar- rived ?” briefer still was the answer: | ‘. No.” That was right, so far, My toil was not yet pur- oseless. I might hope to be in New York before r., or Colonel, Joram Heckler. The victory, to be sure, was not yet won. The valuable papers remained in the scoundrel’s keeping. But my pres- ence in New York would be unsuspected by him, and any overt act on my part would have the effect of a surprise. I was too exhausted to devote my- self to spinning air-drawn schemes for outwitting the intriguer. I should have need of all my facul- ties when the tug of war began, and’ I must sleep now. Sleep I did, over miles and miles, over leagues and leagues, of the iron way : resting ob- stinately, and being as passive as possible. ** Massa get out? Dis New York, Sare.” Some one was shaking me by the arm: some one else held a lantern to my face. A black man and a white. The conductor and a negro porter. **I'm going to the Metropolitan Hotel. I want a hack: no luggage. Has the Californian mail arrived ?” Yes, it has,” said a news-vender, who stood by, with a heap of journals under his arm; “ got all the news here. Herald, Tribune, Times. Which will you have ?” I bought one of the papers, and glanced at the list of arrivals ria Panama. So much gold dust, so much bullion, distinguished European traveler, Postmaster-general, Signora Cantatini, Colonels Tom, Heckler, etc. The driver of the hack-car. riage was an Irishman, as usual, and, luckily, not a new arrival, He readily conducted me (at that late hour all other stores and shops were closed) to the emporium of a Jew dealer in ready-made clothes, who was willing to turn a cent even at irreeular time. I puréhased a new suit, linen, a stubbly beard with razors supplied by the Jew, and before the Jew’s private looking-glass. My driver drove quite a trim, colianrp lohing gen- tleman to the Metropolitan Hotel. instead of the shaggy, flannel-shirted Californian who had first en him. Bore I engaged a room I civilly asked the book-keeper to let me look at the addresses of ests: I was expecting my brother, I said, from Ibany. I took good care to say not ing of Heck- ler or California, and the book-keeper had no sus- picion that my voyages had commenced at any more remote spot than Philadelphia or Baltimore. Yes—Heckler’s name was down. _ T had guessed he would put up at the Metropol- itan, for I had heard him mention the house a provingly in conversation. I hung about the bar and the staircases until I happened to hear that he had gone - —_ Then I a y to think over my own plan of operations. I own I was puzzled, I tossed and tumbled uneasily on my pillow. While hurrying onward it had appeared as if I had but to arrive in time, and the difficulty was at an end; but now, what was I todo? ‘The battle had yet to be fought. What should I do? In the morn- ing, no doubt, Heckler would repair to the bank, to present the forged check, if not to get the bills discounted. I must stop him. But how? Should I go to the police, and return with the police myr- midons? Not to be thought of! Scandal, ex- posure, must follow such a step; nay, in the eyes of the law Heckler might seem an innocent man, and I a false accuser. | next thought of confront- ing him boldly, und forcing from him, with a pis- tol at his head, if need ve, the property of the firm. But this was too Quixotic a proceeding to be adopt- ed in a first-rate hotel in New York. I was at my wit’s end. Heavens! What a smell of burning, and how stifling and thick the air! Smoke! The house is on fire.. Up I sprang, and flung on my elothes in hot haste. ‘‘It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good.” I thought of Joram Heckleras I rang my bell to alarm the people. ‘Fire! fire!” The awful cry broke upon the ears of the sleepers like the tramp of doom. Dark clouds of volleying smoke poured along the cor- ridors, flecked here and there by thin ribbons of flame that licked the walls and floors like the tongues of fiery serpents. Shriecks were heard; doors were burst open; men, women, children, rushed out, half-dressed and screaming. There was panic, terror, and wild confusion. The fire gained ground, the smoke was blindingly -thick, and all ed before it—all but myself. 1 steadily groped my way toward Joram Heckler’s room.” I knew the number, and where to find it. I knew that I risked my life, but the stake was worth winning at such a risk. I was very nearly suffocated as I pushed on, holding by the wall, into the thickest of thesmoke. Some man, half-dressed, and winged by fear, came rushing by with extended arms, and nearly overturned me, He uttered a savage oath ; the red glare of the fire fell on his face; it was Joram Heckler. He did not recognize me, but dashed on, on] mindful of his danger. Had he the papers wit pp: I thought not. I hoped not. That was room then, the door of which was ajar, and dntowwhich the smoke was rolling. Not the smoke “alone; I saw a thin red tongue of fire creeping im over the floor, beside the wainscot. I das in. My eyes smarted with the smoke, and I gas for breath, but smoke and fire could aot turn me now. Heckler’s clothes and dressing-case were as he had laid them ; the latter was open: no papers! His valise, too, lay open: no papers! I struck my forehead despairingly. He had them about him then! I was risking life idly. Emma was lest tome! The smoke choked me: the intolerably hot fire had gained the bed: valance and curtains were flaring high in a tall yellow pillar of flame. The subtle tongues of flame almost touched my feet. I must fly,if I would not perish. Outside I heard the noise of the engines and the cheers of the mob, and then the dash of water, as prodigious ef- forts were made to extinguish the fire. I was staggering away when I saw, peeping fron under the bolster of the bed, a Russia-leather poct:- et-book. The rascal had forgotten it in his Ulind, terror. The blazing curtains fell in fragments — me, and my hands were a good deal scoreh- ed, but I rescued the precious prize. I tore it open. Yes, check and bills, all were there! Thrusting it into my breast-pocket, I left the room, and strug- gled as [ best could down the passage. Dash aft- er dash of water, flung from hand-buckets, had partially subdued the flames, and the firemen were aining the victory. Half smothered, singed, lackened, bit with a proudly-beating heart, I forced my way down the heated and crowded staircase—reached the outer air, and fainted. I have little more to tell. I am a partner in the firm: Emma is my wife; her brother recevered from his illness, and is now, in another land, an altered and penitent man. The house of Spald- ing, Hausermann, and Co. (I am Co.) have grant- ed a pension to the poor girl who was to have been the bride of the luckless Shem Grindrod. Of Heck- ler we heard no more. ee GREEN RIVER BRIDGE, KENTUCKY.—Sxercurp sy Me, H. Moster.—[{Sex Pac 2.) “SND Wowey “SUH aaquing ee | saapwenig swyNEOIOT “hyp soqend “eyUO a i wIOIVIeNL, waoddiyD OOSUAQD 7H

Page 13

Janvary 4, 1862. ] HARPER'S WEEKLY. 18 | . % 1 ; tit = } | 3 a vd ) | : r . aN nas | A \ by A i | | HHH Wt ra 4 tA seal A i i) : i i f\ Ba % , | | = / ci iy | iN a q ‘Ny NN il we ) ii wi eS i i a | ih Zz \\i| iW =~ PWIA NT Mh oS nn . ie 7 NW se | | TT os | i “J Ht ) = Z | se ie “wyV000Q WIOIVINL, ~emadidyy) : | i A ih ; y Al TMA me Ma om VI" ae” - ~~ se a ea mers ale Fy

Page 14

14 HARPER'S = i = FT a ae (Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1861, by Harper & Brothers, In the Clerk's Orfice of the Dis- trict Court for the Southern District of New York.) A STRANGE STORY. By Sm E. BULWER LYTTON. a — tw Printed from the Manuscript and early Proof-sheets purchased by the Proprietors of ‘*Herper’s Weekly.” amatipe oun CHAPTER LV. Ir seemed incredible that Lilian could go far without being observed. I soon ascertained that she pad not gone away by the railway—by any public conveyance—had hired no carriage; she must, therefore, be still in the town, or have left it on foot, The greater part of the day was con- sumed in unsuccessful inquiries, and faint hopes that she would return; meanwhile, the news of her disappearance kad spread: how eould such news fail to do so? An acquaintance of mine met me under the archway of Monks’ Gate. He wrung my hand, and looked at me with great compassion. “1 fear,” said he, “‘ that we were all deceived in that young Margrave. He seemed so well con- ducted, in spite of his lively manners. But—” ** But what?” ‘Mrs. Ashleigh was, perhaps, imprudent to admit him into her house so familiarly. He was certainly very handsome. Young ladies will be romantic.” ‘How dare you, Sir!” I cried, choked with rage. ‘‘ And without any coloring to so calum- nious a suggestion! Margrave has not been in the town for many days. No one knows even where he is,” ‘« Oh yes, it is known where he is. He wrote to order the effects which he had left here to be sent to Penrith.” “When?” ‘«The letter arrived the day before yesterday. I happened to be calling at the house where he last lodged when at 1 , the house opposite Mrs. Ashleigh’s garden. No doubt the servants in both houses gossip with each other. Miss Ashleigh could scarcely fail to hear of Mr. Mar- grave's address from her maid; and since serv- ants will exchange gossip, they may also con- vey letters. Pardon me, you know I am your friend.” ‘‘Not from the moment you breathe a word against my betrothed wife,” said I, fiercely. I wrenched myself from the clasp of the man’s hand, but his words rang still in my ears. I mounted my horse; I rode into the adjoining suburbs, the neighboring villages; there, how- ever, I learned nothing till just at nightfall. In a hamlet. about ten miles from L , a laborer declared he had seen a young lady dressed as I described, who passed by him in a path through the fields a little before noon; that he was sur- prised to see one so young, so well dressed, and a stranger to the neighborhood (for he knew by sight the ladies of the few families scattered round) walking alone; that as he stepped out of the path to make way for her, he looked hard into her face, and she did not heed him—seemed to gaze, right before, into space. If her expres- sion had been less quiet and gentle, he should have thought, he could scarcely say why, that she was not quite right in her mind—there was a strange unconscious stare in her eyes, as if she were walking in her sleep. Her pace was very stead y—neither quick nor slow. He had watchea her till she passed out of sight, amidst a wood through which the path wound its way to a vil- lage at some distance. I followed up this clew. I arrived at the vil- jage to which my informant directed me, but night had set in. Most of the houses were closed, so I could glean no further information from the cottages or at the inn. But the police superintendent of the district lived in the village, and to him I gave instructions which I had not given, and indeed would have been disinclined to give, to the police at L——. He was intelli- gent and kindly; he promised to communitate at once with the different police-stations for miles round, and with all delicacy and privacy. It was not probable that Lilian could have wan- dered in one day much farther than the place at which I then was; it was scarcely te be con- ceived that she could baffle my pursuit anc che practiced skill of the police. I rested but a few 1ours at a sma!l public-house, and was on horse- back again at dawn. A little after sunrise I again heard of the wanderer. At a lonely cot- tage, by a brick-kiln, in the midst of a wide common, she had stopped the previous evening, and asked for a draught of milk. The woman who gave it to her inquired if she had lost her way? She said “ No,” and only tarrying a few minutes, had gone across the common; and the woman supposed she was a visitor at a gentle- man’s house which was at the further end of the waste, for the path she took led to no town, no village. It oceurred to me then that Lilian avoided all high-roads, all places, even the hum- blest, where men congregated together. But where could she have passed the night? Not to fatigue the reader with the fruitless result of frequent inquiries, I will but say that at the end of the second day I had succeeded in ascertain. ing that I was still on her track; and though I had ridden to and fro nearly double the distance —coming back again to places I had left behind —it was at the distance of forty miles from L—~— that I last heard of her that second day. She had been seen sitting alone by a little brook only an hour before. I was led to the very spot by a woodman—it was at the hour of twilight when he beheld her—she was leaning her face on her hand, and seemed weary. He spoke to her; she did net answer, but rose, and resumed her way along the banks of the streamlet. That night I put wp at no inn; I fellewed the course of the = —— -- = brook for miles, then struck into every path that | I could conceive her to have taken—in vain. Thus I consumed the night on foot, tying my horse to a tree, for it was tired out, and return- ing to it at sunrise. At noon the third day I again heard of her, and in a remote savage part of the country. The features of the landscape were changed ; there was little foliage and little culture, but the ground was broken into mounds and hollows, and covered with patches of heath and stunted brushwood. She had been seen by a shepherd, and he made the same observation as the first who had guided me on her track, she looked to him ‘like some one walking in her sleep.” An hour or two later, in a dell, among the furze-bushes, I chanced on a knot of ribbon. I recognized the color Lilian habitually wore ; I felt certain that the ribbon was hers. Calcu- lating the utmost speed I could ascribe to her, she could not be far off, yet still I failed to dis- cover. The scene now was as solitary as a des- ert; I met noone on my way. At length, a lit- tle after sunset, I found myself in view of the sea. A small town nestled below the cliffs, on which I was guiding my weary horse. I entered the town, and while my horse was baiting went in search of the resident policeman. The informa- tion I had directed to be sent round the country had reached him; he had acted on it, but with- out result, I was surprised to hear him address me by name, and looking at him more narrowly I recognized him for the policeman Waby. This young man had always expressed so grateful a sense of my attendance on his sister, and had, indeed, so notably evinced his gratitude in pros- ecuting with Margrave the inquiries that term- inated in the discovery of Sir Philip Derval’s niurderer, that I at once confided to him the nawure and object of my seach. His face im- mediately became thoughtful. He paused a minute or two, and then said : **T think I have it, but I do not like to say ; I may pain you, Sir.” “‘Not by confidence; you pain me by con- cealment.” The man hesitated still; I encouraged him, and then he spoke out frankly. ** Sir, did you never think it strange that Mr. Margrave should move from his handsome rooms in the hotel to a somewhat uncomfortable lodg- ing, from the window of which he could look down on Mrs. Ashleigh’s garden? I have seen him at night in the balcony of that window, and when I noticed him going so frequently into Mrs. Ashleigh’s house during your unjust detention, 1 own, Sir, I felt for you—” ‘*Nonsense; Mr. Margrave went to Mrs. Ash- leigh’s house as my friend. He has left L weeks ago. What has all this to do with—” “Patience, Sir; hear me out. I was sent from L—— to this station (on promotion, Sir) a fortnight since last Friday—for there has been a good deal of crime hereabout ; it is a bad neigh- borhood, and full of smugglers—some days ago, in watching quietly near a lonely house, of which the owner is a suspicious character, down in my books, I saw, to my amazement, Mr. Margrave come out of that house—come out of a private door in it, which belongs to a part of the build- ing not inhabited by the owner, but which used formerly, when the house was a sort of inn, to be let to night lodgers of the humblest descrip- tion. I followed him; he went down to the sea- shore, walked about, singing to himself, then returned to the house, and re-entered by the same door. I soon learned that he lodged in the house, had lodged there for several days. The next morning a fine yacht arrived at a tol- erably convenient creek about a mile from the house, and there anchored. Sailors came ashore, rambling down to this town. The yacht be- longed to Mr. Margrave, he had purchased it by commission in London. It is stored for a long voyage. He had directed it to come for him to this out-of-the-way place, where no gentleman’s yacht ever put in before, though the creek, or y, is handy enough for such craft. Well, Sir, is it not strange that a rich young gentleman should come to this unfrequented sea-shore, put up with accommodation that must be of the rudest kind, in the house of a man known as a desperate smuggler, suspected to be worse? Or- der a yacht to meet him here—is not all this strange? But would it be strange if he were waiting for a young lady? And if a young lady has fled at night from her home, and has come secretly along by-paths, which must have been very fully explained to her beforehand, and is now near that young gentleman's lodging, if not actually in it—if this be so, why, the affair is not so very strange after all. And now do you for- give me, Sir?” ** Where is this house? Lead me to it.” **You can hardly get to it except on foot; rough walking, Sir, and about seven miles off by the shortest cut.” “Come, and at once; come, quickly. We must be there before—before—” Before the young lady can get to the place. Well, from what you say of the spot in which she was last seen, I think, on reflection, we may easily do that. I am at your service, Sir, But I should warn you that the owners of the house, man and wife, are both of villainous character— would do any thing for money. Mr. Margrave, no €oubt, has money enough, and if the young lady chooses to go away with Mr. Margrave, you know, I have no power t« help it.” ** Leave all that to me; all I ask of you is to show me the house.” We were soon out of the town; the night had closed in; it was very dark in spite of a few stars; the path was rugged and precipitous, sometimes skirting the very brink of perilous cliffs ; sometimes delving down to the sea-shore —there stopped by rock or wave—and painfully rewinding up the ascent. “Tt is an ugly path, Sir, but it saves four miles; and any how the read is a bad ene.” We came, at last, to a few wretched fisher- men’s huts. The moon had now risen, and re- vealed the squalor of poverty-stricken ruinous hovels; a couple of boats moored to the shore; @ moaning, fretful sea; and, at a distance, a vessel, with lights on board, lying ‘agree 4 still at anchor in a sheltered curve of the bold rude shore. ‘The policeman pointed to the vessel : “The yacht, Sir; the wind will be in its favor if it sails to-night.” We quickened our pace as well as the nature of the path would permit, left the huts behind us, and, aout a ats farther on, came to a soli- tary house, larger than from the policeman’s de- scription of Margrave’s lodgment I should have presupposed: a house that in the wilder parts of Scotland might be almost a Jaird’s ; but even in the moonlight it looked very dilapidated and desolate. Most of the windows were closed, some with panes broken, stuffed with wisps of straw ; there were the remains of a wall round the house: it was broken in some parts (only its foundation left). On approaching the house I observed two doors, one on the side fronting the sea, one on the other side facing a patch of broken ground that might once have been a garden, and lay waste within the inclosure of the ruined wall, encumbered with various litter —heaps of rubbish, a ruined shed, the carcass of a worn-out boat. This latter door stood wide open—the other was closed. The house was still and dark, as if either deserted or all within it retired to rest. ‘*T think that open door leads at once to the rooms Mr. Margrave hires; he can go in and out without disturbing the other inmates. They used to keep on the side which they inhabit a beer-house, but the magistrates shut it up; still it is a resort for bad characters. Now, Sir, what shall we do?” “Watch separately. You wait within the in- closure of the wall, hid by those heaps of rub- bish, near the door; none can enter but what will observe them. If you see her, you will ac- cost and stop her, and call aloud for me; I shall be in hearing. I will go back to the high part of the ground yonder, it seems to me that she must pass that way; and I would desire, if pos- sible, to save her from the humiliation, the—the shame of coming within the precincts of that man’s abode. I feel I may trust you now and hereafter. It is a great thing for the happiness and honor of this poor young lady and her mo- ther, that I may be able to declare that I did not take her from that man, from any man— from that house, from any house. You compre- hend me, and will obey? I speak to you as a confidant—a friend.” **] thank you with my whole heart, Sir, for so doing. You saved my sister's life, and the least I can do is to keep secret all that would pain your life if blabbed abroad. I know what mischief folks’ tongues can make. I will wait by the door, never fear, and will rather lose my place than not strain all the legal power I pos- sess to keep the young lady back from sorrow.” This dialogue was interchanged in close hur- ried whisper behind the broken wall, and out of all hearing. Waby now crept through a wide gap into the inclosure, and nestled himself si- lently amidst the wreck of the broken boat, not six feet from the open door, and close to the wall of the house itself. I went back some thirty yards up the road, to the rising ground which I had pointed out to him. According to the best calculation I could make—considering the pace at which I had‘cleared the precipitous pathway, and reckoning from the place and time at which Lilian had been last seen, she could not possibly hove yet entered that house—I might presue it would be more than half an hour before she could arrive; I was in hopes that, during the interval, Margrave might show himself, perhaps at the door, or from the win- dows, or I might even by some light from the oA \ LAN, , ee ee ‘ W dies ; [Janvary 4, 1869, latter be guided to the room in which to find him. If, after waiting a reasonable time, Lilian should fail to appear, I had formed my own plan of action; but it was important for the success of that plan that I should not lose myself in the strange house, nor bring its owners to Margrave's aid—that I should surprise him alone and un- awares. Half an hour, three quarters, a whole hour thus passed—no sign of my poor wanderer; but signs there were of the enemy, from whom I caieed, at whatever risk, to free and to save her. A window on the ground-floor to the left of the door, which had long fixed my attention because I had seen light through the chinks of the shutters, slowly unclosed, the shutters fell back, the casement opened, and I beheld Mar- grave distinctly ; he held something in his hand that gleamed in the moonlight, directed not to- ward where I stood nor the path I had taken, but toward an open space beyond the ruined wall, to the right. Hid by a cluster of stinted shrubs, I watched him with a heart that beat with rage, not with terror. He seemed so in- tent in his own gaze as to be inattentive or un- conscious of all else. I stole round trom my post, and still, under cover sometimes of the broken wall, sometimes of the shaggy ridges that skirted the path, crept on, on till I reached the side of the house itself; then, there secure from his eyes, should he turn them, I stepped over the ruined wall, scarcely two feet high in that place, on—on toward the door. I passed the spot on which the policeman had shrouded himself: he was seated, his back against the ribs of the broken boat. I put my hand to his mouth thet he might not cry out in surprise, and whispered in his ear; he stirred not. I shook him by the arm; still he stirred not. A ray of the moon fell on his face. I saw that he was in a profound slumber. Persuaded that it was ne natural sleep, and that he had become useless to me, I passed him by. I was at the threshold of the open door; the light from the window close by falling on the ground; 1 was in the pas- sage; a glimmer came through the chinks of a door to the left; I turned the handle noiseless- ly, and the next moment Margrave was locked in my grasp. **Call out,” I hissed into his ear, “and I strangle you before any one can come to your help!” He did not call out; his eye, fixed on mine as he writhed round, saw, perhaps, his peril if he did. His countenance betrayed fear, but as I tightened my grasp that expression gave way to one of wrath and fierceness; and as, in turn, I felt the gripe of his hand, I knew that the strug- gle between us would be that of two strong men, each equally bent on the mastery of the other. I was, as I have said before, endowed with an unusual degree of physical power, disciplined, in early youth, by athletic exercise and contest. In height and in muscle I had greatly the advantage over my antagonist, but such was the nervous vigor, the elastic energy of his ineomparable frame, in which sinews seemed springs of steel, that had our encounter been one in which my strength was less heightened by rage, I believe that I could no more have coped with him than the bison can cope with the boa; but I was ani- mated by that passion which trebles for a time all our forees—which makes even the weak man a match for the strong. I felt that if I were worsted, disabled, stricken down, Lilian might peated bk ager’ and, on the other hand, Margrave been taken at the dis- advantage of that surprise which will half un- nerve the fiercest of the wild beasts; while as we grappled, reeling and rocked to and fro in our struggle, I soon observed that his attention was distracted—that his eye was turned toward an object which he had dropped involuntarily when I first seized him. He sought to drag me toward that object, and when near it, stooped to seize. It was a bright, slender, short wand of steel. I asa‘! - n> 4 VG “IN 4 DELL, AMONG THE FURZE-BUSHES, I CHANCED ON A KNOT OF RIBBON.” @» 3 1 - = «4 ~errs =F Be 4S = 4S = © eS — os es ee ee Se oe hee Of ma eonea.eegpna ss =. -«

Page 15

farthest end of the cram Janvary 4, 1862.] HARPER'S WEERLY. 15 remembered when and where I had seen it, wheth- er in my waking state or in vision, and as his hand stole down to take it from the floor I set on the wand my oy = Apo not tell by what rapid process of thought an association I came to the belief that fhe ion of a little piece of blunted steel would decide the conflict ‘n fa- vor of the possessor, but the struggle now was concentred in the attainment of that seemingly idle weapon. I was becoming breathless and exhausted, while Margrave seemed every mo- ment to gather up new force, when, collecting all my strength for one final effort, I lifted him suddenly high in the air, and hurled him to the arena to which our contest was confined. He fell, and with a force by which most men would have been stunned; but he recovered himself with a quick rebound, and, as he stood facing me, there was something grand as well as terrible in his aspect. His eyes literally flamed, as those of a tiger’s; his rich hair, flung back from his knitted forehead, seemed to erect itself as an angry mane; his lips, slightly parted, showed the glitter of his set teeth; his whole frame seemed larger in the ten- sion of the muscles, and as gradually relaxing his first defying and haughty attitude, he crouched as the panther crouches for its deadly spring, I felt as if it were a wild beast whose rash was coming upon me—wild beast, but stil! Man, the king of the animals, fashioned forth from no mixture of humbler races by the slow revolu- tions of time, but his royalty stamped on his form when the earth became fit for his coming.* At that moment I snatched up the wand, di- rected it toward him, and, advancing with a fearless stride, cried, “Down to my feet, miserable sorcerer !” To my own amaze, the effect was instantane- ous, My terrible antagonist dro»ped to the floor as a dog drops at the word of his master. The muscles of his frowning countenance relaxed, the glare of his wrathful eyes grew dull and rayless ; his limbs lay prostrate and unnerved, his head resting against the wall, his arms limp and drooping by his side. I approached him slowly and cautiously ; he seemed cast into a profound slumber. ‘** You are at my mercy now!” said I. He moved his head as a sign of deprecating submission. “You hear and understand me? Speak!” His lips faintly muttered ‘* Yes.” “I command you to answer truly the ques- tions I shall address to you.” “IT must, while yet sensible of the power that has passed to your hand.” “Ts it by some occult magnetic property in this wand that you have exercised so demoniac an influence over a creature so pure as Lilian Ashleigh ?” ** By that wand and by other arts which you could not comprehead.”’ “* And for what infamous object ?—her seduc- tion, her dishonor ?” “No! 1 sought in her the aid of a gift which would cease did she cease to be pure. At first I but cast my influence upon her that through her I might influence yourself. I needed your help to discover a secret. Circumstances steeled your mind against me. I could no longer hope that you would voluntarily lend yourself to my will. Meanwhile, I had found in her the light of a loftier knowledge than that of your science ; throngh that knowledge, duly heeded and culti- vated, I hoped to divine what I can not of my- self discover. ‘Therefore I deepened over her mind the spells I command—therefore I have drawn her hither as the loadstone draws the steel, and therefore I would have borne her with me to the shores to which I was about this night to sail. J had cast the inmates of the house, and all around it, into slumber that none might witness her departure; had I not done so, I should have summoned others to my aid, in spite of your threat,” “And would Lilian Ashleigh have passively accompanied you, to her own irretrievable dis- grace?” “She could not have helped it; she would have been unconscious of her acts; she was, and is, in a trance; nor, had she gone with me, would she have waked from that state while she lived; that would not have been long.” “Wretch! and for what object of unhallowed curiosity do you exert an influence which con- demns its victim to the grave?” “ Not curiosity, but the instinct of self-preser- vation. I count on no life beyond the grave. I would defy the grave, and live on.” * And was it to learn, through some ghostly agencies, the secret of renewing existence that you lured me by the shadow of your own image on the night when we met last ?”’ The voice of Margrave here became very faint as he answered me, and his countenance began to exhibit the signs of an exhaustion almost mortal. “Be quick,” he murmured, “or I die. The fluid which emanates from that wand in the hand of one who envenoms the fluid with his own hatred and rage will prove fatal to my life. Lower the wand from my forehead ; low—low —lower still!” “What was the nature of that rite in which you constrained me to share?” “lean not say. You are killingme. Enough that you were saved from a great danger by the apparition of the protecting image vouchsafed to your eye, otherwise you would—you would— Oh, release me! Away! away!” The foam gathered to his lips; his limbs be- came fearfully convulsed. * “And yet, even if we entirely omit the consideration of the soul, that immaterial and imo “One question more: Where is Lilian at this moment? Answer that qsestion, and I depart.” He raised his head, made a visibiec effort to a ——— and gasped out, “Yonder. Pass through the Mm space u the cliff beside a fuailie—ste wih ‘ind her there, where she halted when the wand dropped from my hand. But—but—beware! Ha! you will serve me yet, and through her! They said so that night, though you heard them not. Tuer said it!” Here his face became death-like; he pressed his hand on his heart, and shrieked out, “ Away—away! or you are my murderer!” I retired to the other end of the room, turning the wand from him, and when I gained the door, looked back; his convulsions had ceased, but he seemed locked in a profound swoon. I left the room—the house—paused by Waby ; he was still sleeping. ‘“ Awake!” i said, and touched him with the wand. He started up at once, rubbed his eyes, began stammering out excuses. I checked them, and bade him follow me. I took the way up the open ground toward which Margrave had pointed the wand, and there, motionless, beside a gnarled fantastic thorn-tree, stood Lilian. Her arms were folded across her breast ; her face, seen by the moon- light, looked so innocent and so infantine that I needed no other evidence to tell me how un- conscious she was of the peril to which her steps had been drawn. I took her gently by the hand. ‘**Come with me,” I said, in a whisper; and she obeyed me silently, and with a placid smile. Rough though the way, she seemed uncon- scious of fatigue. I placed her arm in mine, but she did not lean on it. We got back to the town. I obtained there an old chaise and a pair of horses. At morning Lilian was under her mother’s roof. About the noon of that day fever seized her, she became rapidly worse, and, te all appearance, in imminent danger. Delir- ium set in; I watched beside her night and day, supported by an inward conviction of her recov- ery, but tortured by the sight of her sufferings. On the third day a change for the better be- came visible, her sleep was calm, her breathing regul ar. Shortly afterward she woke, out of danger. Her eyes fell at once on me, with all their old ineffable tender sweetness. “Oh, Allen, beloved, have I not heen very il? But I am almost well now. Do not weep; I shall live for you—for your sake.” And she bent forward, drawing my hand from my stream- ing eyes, and kissing me with a child’s guileless kiss on my burning forehead. IMPORTANT FACTS. — Constant writing for six months is done cheaper with Gold Pens than with Steel Pens; therefore, it is economy to use Gold Pens. The Gold Pen remains unchanged by years of continued use, while the Steel Pen is ever clanging by corrosion and wear; therefore, perfect uniformity of writing is obtained only by the use of the Gold Pen. The Gold Pen is always ready and reliable, while the Steel Pen must be often condemned and a new one select- ed; therefore, there is great saving of time in the use of the Gold Pen. Gold is capable of receiving any degree of elasticity, so that the Gold Pen is exactly adapted to the hand of the writer; therefore, the nerves of the hand and arm are not injured, as is known to be the case by the use of Steel Pens. See **The Pea is Mightier than the Sword,” in the next column. ADVERTISEMENTS. Printing Offices for the People. Prices. Printing Office No, 2, press prints Sx § inches, $25 00 ” “ 8, “ “ x10 “ 40 00 ixis “* oe Ly 4, Ld o 60 00 ADAMS PRESS COMPANY, 81 Park Row, New York. JEWELRY! JEWELRY | — The Head-uar- ters for © Buyers of and cheap Jewelry, Mini- Pins of all the Heroes. Persons wish ature to see Sam- ay enclose stamp for full lars. W. A. HAY- ARD (Manufacturing J: ), 208 Broadway. A New Cartridge Revolver, Carrying Six Balls (80 to the pound). Any one wanting & superigr Pocket or Belt Arm will find this to be the best in the market. Send for circular. MERWIN & BRAY, Agents, 245 Broadway, N. Y., Or MERWIN & ©0O., 354 Pennsylvania Avenue, Up Starrs, Washington, D. C. - “Something New for All.” EN. GEO. B. M‘CLELLAN and our New Union Prize Packages are to be wondered at. Seventy-five iepensable articles for 25 cents, Agents are making from $5 to $10 per day. Agents wanted, male and female, everywhere. Address, with stamp for circu- lar, RICKARDS & CO, 102 Nassau Street, New York. MPORTANT INFORMATION to all irregularities, will oa to JOSHUA F. BRIDGE, M.D., Resident Phy- Grefenberg Company, No. 2 Bond Street, N. Y. The best Books for Holiday Presents! ! THE GOLD PEN—THE BEST OF ALL PENS. MORTON'S GOLD PENS. The Best Pens in the World. F On receipt of any of the following sums in cash or post- stamps, the eubseriber will send by return mail, or other- wise as directed, a Gold Pen or Pens, selecting the same according to deseription, viz. : GOLD PENS, WITHOUT CASES. For 25 cents, the Magic Pen; for 38 cents, the Lucky Pen; for 50 cents, the Always-Ready Pen; for 75 cents, the Pen; and for $1, the Excelsior Pen. The are, Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6. THE SAME PENS IN SILVER-PLATED EXTENSION CASES, WITH PENCILS For 50 cents, the Magic Pen; for 75 cents, the Lucky Pen; for $1, the Always-Ready Pen; for $1 25, the bie- gant Pen; and for $1 50, the Excelsior Pen. These are well-finished, good writing Gold Pens, with lIridoemin Points, the average wear of every one of which will fur outlast a gross of the best Steel Pens. The name “A. Morton,” “Number,” and “Qnality”’ are stamped on the following Pens, and the Points are warranted for six months, except against accident. The numbers indicate size eniy: No.1 being the smallest, No. 6 the largest, adapted for the pocket; No. 4 the smallest, and No. 10 the largest Mammoth Gold Pen, for the desk. Long and medium Nibs of all sizes and qualities, Short Nibs of Nos. 4, 5, 6, and 7, and made only of first quality. The engravings are fac similes of the sizes and styles. GOLD PENS, WITHOUT CASES. For 75 cents, a No. 1 Pen, ist quality, or a No. 3 Pen, 34 quality. For $1, a No. 2 Pen, Ist quality, or a No. 8 Pen, 2d qvality, or a No. 4 pen Sd quality For $1 25, a No. 3 Pen, Ist quality, or a No. 4 Pen, 24 quality, or a No. 5 Pen, 8d quality. For $1 50, a No, 4 Pen, lst quality, or a No. 5 Pen, 2d quality, or a No. 6 Pen, 34 quality. For $1 75, a No. 5 Pen, Ist quality, or a No. 6 Pen, 2d quality. For $2 25 a No. 6 Pen, let quality. THE SAME GOLD PENS IN SILVER EXTENSION CASES, WITH PENCILA. For $1 50, a No. 1 Pen, Ist quality, or a No. 8 Pen, Sd quality. For $175 a No. 2 Pen, ist quality, or a No. 3 Pen, 2d quality, or a No. 4 Pen, 8d quality. For $2, a No. 3 Pen 1st quality, or a No. 4 Pen, 2d qual- ity, or a No. 5 Pen, 3d quality. Por $2 50, a No. 4 Pen, lst quality, or a No. 5 Pen, 2d quality, or a No. 6 Pen, 3d quality. For $3, a No, 5 Pen, ist quality, or a No. 6 Pen, 2d quality. For $3 50 a No. 6 Pen, Ist quality. GOLD PENS, ALL lst QUALITY, IN SILVER-MOUNT- ED DESK-HOLDERS. For $2, a No. 4 Pen; for $2 25, a No. 5 Pen; for $2 75, a No. 6 Pen; for $8 50, a No. T Pen, For $4, a No. 8 Pen: for $5, a No. 9 Pen; and for $6, a No. 10 Pen. The “ Ist Quality” are pointed with the very best Irod- osmin Points, carefully selected, and none of this quality are sold with the slightest imperfection which skill and the closest scrutiny can detect. The **24 Quality” are superior to any Pens made by him previous to the year 1860. The “3d Quality” he intends shall equal in respect to Durability, Elasticity, and Good Writing Qualities (the only true considerations) any Gold Pens made elsewhere. In regard to the Cheap Gold Pens, he begs leave to say that, previous to operating his New and Patented Ma- chines, he could not have made ae Good Writing and Dura- ble Pens, for the price, had the Gold been furnished gra- tuitously. Parties ordering muat in all instances apecify the * a" and “ quality” of the Pens or Pens and Cases want S#~ For sale by all dealers in the line throughout the country. Address A. MORTON, No, &% Maiden Lane, New York Any one sending a single letter post-etamp will receive a circular with the engravings above referred to. jNKLE &LYp r Office, 293 Washington Street. Philadelphia Office, 9223 Chestnut Street. - Grand Display Cloaks! ° Cloaks! For the Holidays, at BRODIE’S OLD STAND, 300 Canal Street, and His Palace of Fashion, Under the 5th Avenue Hotel, Cor. of 234 Street, New York. _ 6¢ \MOUSTACHES AND WHISKERS IN A? DAYS."—Do not buy “ Onguents” at $1 « box, but (coin), and receive a BOOK, contain- ing this GREAT SECRET, and many others, never before ished. publ 4th . Mailed free on receipt of 2 dimes, ©, E. HUNTER & CO., Hinsdale, N. H. © YOU WANT LUXURIANT WHISKERS OR MUSTACHES ?—My Onguent will force them to grow heavily in «ix weeks (upon the amooth- est face) without stain or injury to the skin. Price $1— rent by mail, poet free, to any address, on receipt of an or- der. k. G. GRAHAM, 100 Nassau Street, N. Y. The Current and Back Numbers of Har- per’s Weekly can be had of J. P. HUNT, Wholesale and Re- tail News Agent, Masenie Hall, Fifth St., Pittsburg, Pa. 7 The Wide World! A racy and spirited complete Story Paper! Printed every week in Boston. Seld by News Dealers everywhere. 4 centa. Something New for Ladios. OWNERS PATENT HEMMER AND SHIELD eaves one-half the labor of band-sewing, as it proterts the finger from the needle, and makes « neat hem while the operator is sewing. Sample sent on receipt of the price, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. A liberal discount te the trade. Enterprizing Agente can realize $150 per Month. Descriptive Vireulars furnished on application A. HH. DOWNER, No. 442 Broadway, New Yor. een ae ~ a — “Matrimony made Basy.”—A vew work, show ing how either sex may be eultably married, trreepectiv® of age or position, prepusseeseing o: ctherwise, with a trear ise on the Art of Fascinating eny person you wich. A cw rious scientific experiment which never fails. Free tor % cents. Address T. WILLIAM & OO., Publishers, Box 2300, Philadelphia ge ES | Oda dadadedidd Ore? Ln adedadadadadadahed A sure cure for Rheumatiem, Neuralgia, and Sali Rheum. Wholesale Agents F.C. WELLA & CO., 115 Franklin &t., New York. Sold by Apothecaries everywhere. ATENT ARTICLE JUST OUT.—LOCAL or TRAVELING AGENTS wanted in every town in the loyal States; it is no humbug; mater and females wanted. Samples sent on receipt of 30 cente in stampa; aleo Cireular of all the articles we manufacture, with prices to agents, &c. A. RICHARDS & Oo., New Lon- don, Conn. T GIMBREDE’S Stationery Depot and Card Engraving Extablichment, 588 Broadway. a Box of Note Paper and Envelopes, sixteen varieties, stamped with your Initials, forwarded free of charge on receipt of Three Dollara. 12 varieties, $2 00. HANDSOME HOLIDAY PRESENT — One of Gimbrede’s Artistie Monograms and pack- age of note paper (colored initials) sent free on receipt of $5 DO. 588 Broadway. IMBREDE, LEADER OR FASHION in the Wedding Card Department of New York Olty, offers a style of work, at reduced prices, which will, by comparison, surpass the general style furnished by book- sellers and jewellers. The price of our bert and most high- ly finished work will remain the same. Samples of both qualities on inspection at 558 Broadway. 500 Wanted! Something New! Patent Work Molder, made of The New Gold, and 5 other curious inventionsn. Address @end stamp) BHAW & CLARK, Biddeford, Maime, The Now Issue of Postage Stamps, « denominations, for sale. Apply to HARPER & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, WS. Y. RS! All Articles for Soldiers at Baltimore, Washington, fill- ton Head, and all other places, should be sent, at haif rates, by HARNDEN'S EXPRESS, No. 14 Broadway. Sutlers charged low rates. Comuencta, TRave tiers wanted. Large commision, honorable business. Circular sent. A.W. Harrison, Phila. $ WANTED. — Energetic Aoxwvs for our 6 new- ly patented Articles, wanted in every family. Circulars sent free. Satisfaction gauranteed For terme: send stamp. RICE & ©O., N. Y. COOLEY’S (abinet Printing Office for email Print- ers and Amateurs, the beet thing out. Sené for Circulars. J. G. COOLEY & OO., 1 Spruce Street, N. Y Dickens’ Christmas Stories. Tom Tiddler’s Ground. From “ All the Year Round.” Printed from Author's Advance Sheets. Svo, Paper, Price & cents & CARLETON, Publisher (iate Rudd & Carleton), New Yorx. *,* Sent, post free, on receipt cf price, 25 cents. ‘O CONSUMPTIVES. — A Clergyman having cured his son of Consumption in ite worst stages, after being given ap to die by the most celebrated physicians, desires to mak» known the mode of cure, which proves successful in every case to those afflicted with Coughs, Colds, and Consumption, and he will send the same to any address free of charge. Address DANIEL ADEE, 878 Pearl Street, New York - § HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. TERMA. One Copy forome Year . . . « « « . G80 Two Copies for One Year .. . - »« 500 Three or more Copies jor One Year (each). 2 09 And an Extra Copy, gratia, for every Club of kxent SUsscRinens Haxrre’s Magazine and Hasree’s Weex yr, together, one year, $4 (#). HARPER & BROTHERS, Prwurswens, Peanciim Sqvann, New Youn. HARPER’S WEEKLY. Single Copies Six Cents. Notwithstanding the great amount of rpace devoted to Tilustrations of the War, Harper's Weekly commenced in No, 241, dated Angust 10th, 4 wWEeW AND THEILLING 5e- RIAL Taus, by Sir Epwanp Borwee Lyrros, entitled, “A STRANGE STORY,” which will be continued from week to week till completed. TERME. One Copy for One Year . . ooo Two Copies for One Year . er - 40 Harper's Weekly and Harper's Mavarine, one year, $4 00, HARPER & BROTHERS, Pvecienena, PRanglin Squazn, New Youn. j \ nese aa

Page 16

16

= a y es xem Burn! Let the Women and Children Suffer! I’m bound to keep Warm !” HARD TIMES IN OLE VARGINNY, AN’ WORSE A CUMIN’! Scene.—Rebel Pickets in Western Virginia. yes, an’ I'm jist gitting another Shake of that Ager, and no Got them Biue Devils after me, an’ nary drop 0’ Whis- [ They part, singing, mournfully, Dixre, without the Variations. |

Best Thing for Agents. ff Cares WANTED—To sell something entirely new and original—none others like them-— the Union Prize Stationery and Receipt Package. Each package contains a beautifal and correct engraving of GENERAL GEORGE B. MoCLELLAN, 6x19. 7 Valuable Receipts. 6 White Flag Envelopes, in colors. 6 Ladies’. White Flag Envelopes, in colors, 6 Buff Envelopes. 6 sheets Commercial Note Paper 6 Sheota Pine Ladies’ Note Paper 6 Sheets Ladies’ Billet Paper. 1 Accommodation Penholder. 2 Fine Steel Pens. 1 Fine Pencil. 1 Sheet Blotting Paper. 1 Gift of Valuable Jewelry. Reteil price for the whole, twenty-five cents. Agents vanted in every city, town, and village. Call on or ad- . enclosing stam p, RICKARDS & C°., 102 Nassau Street, New York.

Business, Persons can or- der the amount they would like to have sent, and pay the Express, and have the privilege of returning any thing they may wish to. W. A. HAYWARD, Ting a First Picket. “ Awful Cold, ain’t it?” “3 Srconp Prower. ‘‘Co-o-ld! Quinine in the ’Federacy !” F First Picket. ‘* Worser still! key.” (With much feeling ae Secoypy Picket, “I wish I was Ho-o-me.” The Lights and Shadows of Slave Life. Maum Guinea An her Piantation “Children.” ' J . I AVES. a ~ ae , ; I rm ty nta. ; Th 1 rice 3 : Aa I \DLE & j New may ? : Holiday Presents. Take a Second Look 4 At WT f A in Harper's Week es ol W Chains, Jew etry, ry ’ for ¢ j Pr cente eu Ww ORSYTH «& (% % Broadway, N. ¥ MUSICAL BOX=S, Playine 1, 2, 4. 6, 3, 19, 12, 16, und 24 differewt tanes, and costing | from $2 to $050 ‘or sale | AT RETAIL By M. J. PAILLARD, Importer. 1 Ma n Lan » st

“Practical Advice on Advertising,” 4 + OR) Address Ropexteos & oe Jeweler, 208 Broadway, New York, \V 2DDINGs supplicd with the new style of Marriage Cards and Envelepes, by A. DEMA- REST, Engraver, 192 Broadway. Samples by mail. HARPER'S WEEKLY. [January 4, 1862.

| The Christmas Gift. Op Christmas had come, with his bright, merry face, i And bracing airs joyous and keen, And while the gay holiday folks at each place, Selecting their gifte, might be seen, | An old man walked on, at a very briek pare, in search of a Sewrne-Macnrne. Perplexed he appeared—nay, bewildered in mind— Amid all the vast moving scene, Uneble to meet with precisely the kind Of thing he was seeking, I ween; (Indeed, it is not quite so easy to find A really good Sewine-Macneng). For hours he paced up and down all Broadway, With pcb! = pet sorrowful mien ; For all his researches, throughout the long day, Entirely fruitless had been, Till Fortune benignantly threw him in way Of Finxie anp Lyon's Macnee. * Ah, here!"—he exclaimed, as a happy smile graced His features so bland and serene * Ah! here I have managed to find out, at last, “The very Macuine that I mean ; * Yes, yes—I'd forgotten the name in my haste— "Twas Pinkie anp Lyon's Macuine! ** Was ever invention like this ‘neath the sun! ** What movements !—how rapid and clean!” Continued repeating the joyous old man, As he on his elbows did lean, Beholding what wonderful things can be done By Frvxue anp Lyon's Machine. His choice of a gift was no longer delayed ; (And here his great wisdom was scen) That Christmas, his daughter—a blooming young maid— Was rendered as proud as a queen; Next morn, when she rose, in her boudoir there laid A Frxxe anv Lyon's Maontne! Superior Winter Clothing, Consisting of ’ OVERCOATS, BEAVER AND CLOTH PALETOTS, | } WALKING COATS, CASSIMERE SUITS, And every description of MEN'S and BOYS’ CLOTHING, ALL AT LOW PRICES.

DEVLIN & CO., Broadway, corner of Warren Street, Broadway, corner of Grand Street. Unceasing Wonders. Parisian Cabinet of Wonders and Anat- omy, 563 Broadway, New York. (Next door to Ball and Black.) Where man may trace his development from the 21«t day of coneepfion, and where at one glance ix seen 1700 parts sighte, a monster child, with FOUR legs, TWO heads, and FOUR erms, has just been added to this already in- teresting and iustructive institution. LECTURES DAILY. | Open for gentlemen only, from 10 A.M. till 10 P.M. Admission 25 cents. JOHN F FEEES & CoO. Wholesale News Dealers, PACK AND FORWARD All the Daily and Weekly Newspapers, Magazines, Books, éc., &e., with great diapatch. Misce..annous Oxpers PROMPTLY Fittep. We sell at prices that defy competi- tion. We have unequaled facilities, and guarantee deal- ers the closest attention. Send for price-list and give us a trial. JOHN F. FEEKS & CO., No. 24 Ann Street, New York. O CONSUMPTIVES.—The advertiser, having been restered to health in a few weeks by a very simple remedy, after having suffered several years with a severe Lune Arrgcrion, and that dread disease, Consumprtios, is anxious to make known to his fellow- sufferers the means of cure. To all who desire it, he will send a copy of the prescription nsed (free of charge), with directions for preparing and using the same, which they will find a sune curs for Consrurtion, Astuma, Brow- curtis, &c. The only object of the advertiser in sending the prescription is to benefit the afflicted, apd he every sufferer may try his remedy, a« it will cost them nothing, and may prove a blessing. Parties wishing the prescription wil! please address Rev. EDWARD A. WILSON, Williamsburgh, Kings County, N. Y.

of the human bedy. In conjunction with these wondrous:

To Military Officers and The Public. MILITARY SINGLE and DOUBLE SPY-GLASS. ES for Land and Sea use, with extraordinary power and defination. ACLES of the greatest transparency, to improve the sight. For sale by & CO., 345 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, and 669} Broad- ‘ way, New York. N. B. By enclosing stamp, Catalogues sent free. Snow’s Pure Confectionery, 200 Kinds, 623 Broadway, N. Y. Wholesale and Retail. Dealers enclose stamp for catalogue and prices. Astounpine !— $100 per Month salary, _ and all expenses paid. A New Article. Every Fumily and every Soldier must have it. Retail price, $1. For conditions of Agency address A. C. BALLOU & SON, Haverhill, Mass. Samples furnished by mail to applicants for Agencies for 28 cente.

——& Skates 25 cents to 25 dollars. Everything in the skating line (except ponds) to suit all ages, sexes, \astes, and purses. CONOVER & WALKER, 474 Broadway, N. Y. Out of town orders attended to carefully and prompély.

| EXCELSIOR

rj . For FARMERS, MILLERS, and OTHERS. Also AN- TI-FRICTION HORSE POWERS. These Mills and Powers have taken NINE FIRST PREMIUMS at Western State Fairs this Year, and are superior to all others. Agents wanted in every county. Rights for eale. Send stamp for illustrated circulars to BENNET BROTHERS, 42 Greene St., New York. The McClellan Gift Writing- Desk. << ™~ — —_ Something New for Agents. A portable writing-desk, containing three kinds of writ- ing paper and envelopes; also a pen, pencil, pen-holder, blotting-paper, and a bottle of ink. EACH DESK CON- TAINS A GIFT OF JEWELRY, ECLIPSING ALL AND EVERY GIFT JEWELRY ARTICLES EVER OFFER- ED TO THE PUBLIC. The retail price for the McClellan Gift Writing-Desk IS ONLY QS CENTS! Agents wanted all over the country. For particulars address, with stamp, W. H. CATELY, 102 Nassau Street, New York City. SENT BY EXPRESS Retailed at Wholesale Prices, Made to Measure at $18 per doz. OR SIX FOR NINE DOLLARS, MADE OF NEW YORK MILLS MUSLIN, With fine Linen Bosoms, and warrranted as good a Shirt as sold in the retail stores at $2 50 each. ALSO, THE VERY BEST SHIRTS THAT CAN BE MADE AT $2 EACH, P. §.—Those who think I can not make good Shirt for $18 per dozen are mistaken. Here's the costof one dozen $18 fine shirts. 30 yards of New York Mills Muslin at 14} ¢. per yd. $4 25 ™»)

7 yards of fine Linen, at 50c. per yard. 3 Making and cutting 600 Laundry, $1; buttons and cotton, 50c. 180 i eS ae a eeeese Eecccsencessccceh 26 Self-Measurement for Shirts. Printed dircetions for self-measurement, list of prices, and drawings of different styles of shirts and collars sent free everywhere. These rules are so easy to understand that any one can take their own measure. I warrant a pertect fit. The cash can be paid tothe Express Company ou re- Treeeipt of the goods. The F xpress Company have orders to allow all parties to examine the goods before paying for them. Ifthe are not as represented, you are at liberty to return Ss. W. H. WARD, from London, 387 Broadway, up stairs,

Between White and Walker Streets, NEW YORK.