Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper 1879-01-04: Vol 47 Iss 1214

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78, by Paanx Leavis, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress a ashington. No. 1,214—Vor. XLVII_} _NE W YOR K, JANUARY 4, 1879. (Price, wira Supprement, 15 Cents. $.054%si'ee Ll seg wy i 7” nn me ” ‘i si lt pe uy oa wh i re Wik HH Pe iat 4) i i u ead Y M Aint = iy it Ms a ea) f la, Ny i set a I cnt il ‘i Ne | AY. ijt r a Nhe a hi I c i I NA A Hy § play? ae | a aul Rie i \ HAM i Wig jeu yi ae CN A Wan Vn"t ip * en Dt “ rd r Pet i ) far... i \@ wh weap 4: = aS , Ny , : a a Hin > hh SO aii B ws J r Aut alfa Mihy i ! y Ma , , fs Hil Oa il ADB yt)” i ‘ . | i ly | Hl Wibprsttems | | a) iS . + Hi ii ahi, GMa La! iS Hf" Miah, seaiie Bt paves he Bs ~ ee ee = RERES | Le i” pe tae a. ‘i 2 os ea ne € — | ald al . ic A pee oe asa : a ra Pte ne Ninh) i } i Hs hy AT EHRICH’S.—A GARDEN PARTY IN DECEMBER—LITTLE FOLKS LOST IN ADMIRATION OF THEIR MIMIC REPRESENTATIVES. THE HOLIDAY ATTRACTIONS OF THE METROPOLIS,—INCIDENTS OF MR, AND MRS. BROWN’S CHRISTMAS PEREGRINATION, — Sze Pags 298,

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294 FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER, 53, 55 & 57 Park PLace, New YOR FRANK LESLIE, EDITOR AND PUBLISHER, NEW YORK, JANUARY 4, 1879 TERMS TO SUBSCRIBERS. One copy one year. or 52 numbers . $4.00 One copy six months, or 26 numbers - 2.00 One copy for thirteen weeks 1.00 CLUB TERMS. One copy Lapy’s MaGazine and ILLUSTRATED NEWS PAPER, one year, $7 One copy ILLvUsTrRaTepD NEWSPAPER, CHIMNEY CORNER aud Lapy’s MaGazing, one year, $10. One copy Popvtark Monray, and any one of our $4 Publications, one year, $6 One copy Sunpay MaGazine, and any one of our $4 Publications, one year, $6 One copy Peasant Hovrs, and any one of our $4 Publications, one year, $4. 75 Any subscriber sending for five copies of either of our Publications, at the full rates, to be sent to different ad dresses, will be entitled to an extra copy free Subscribers can remit direct, by P. 0. Order, Drafts on New York, or Registered Letter, at our risk. Those who find it more convenient to subscribe through an agent can doso at their own risk, but should lirst assure themselves of the agent’s responsibility, POSTAGE IREE. Frank Lesiie’s ILLUSTRATED NewspaPEr is the oldest established Illustrated Newspaper in America a It is specially requested that all Photographe) and amateur, throughout tche and incidents, and of notable personages, to Frank 57 Park Place. the United s of important ists, professional States will send photographs and ske event Le lies Publishing House, 53, 55 and | ' FRANK LESLIE’S ILLU | incontestable facts that out of the entire annual product of industry in Massachusetts a proportion ranging from 95 to 98 per cent. is directly distributed to labor. To | this effect Mr. Atkinson argues as follows: et { trade, manufacturing capi nt. It cannot yield more LW h it yields capital into it that the etitio For , and, speaking for the cotton manu anything at all 1 normal nd yield ten per ce that percentage profits are kept it has < any naustry n. some years past i not now be yield tw ng except for the utilization of ly saved now in consequence Taking al in ordinary times, that used to replace worn-out machinery y made useless by new inventions. It has lding, pay insurance, and cover various and in the aggregate the amount taken veral purposes reduces the ten per cent. ve per cent. is used in the payment of 1 other service employed by the capitalist ly of the actual necessities of the capital wits of the manula have been stimulated ten per cent, as t amount has to be turers he yield of capit nd machine ilso to expenses yut for these s¢ to SIX lomesti repair bu Or this an and in the sup st and his Pp y be deve tami ly ted to the increase of capital or to lux irious indulgences, ”’ In the face of these statistics, which we leaving only one per cent. that can | beg leave to repeat are authenticated in their facts and inferences by similar statis- | tics compiled in England, we see how idle Ali such sketches as may be used will be paid for at liberal | ra tes WILKIE COLLINS'S New Nove Z. entitled “THE FALLEN LEAVES,” from advance sheets obtained at large cost, will be commenced— simultaneously with tion in England — in No. 1,215 of Frank Les.iz’S ILLUSTRATED NewspaPER, fo be issued the first week in January next. The ap- pearunce of this latest work of one of the greate st novelists of the age will he a leading lite rary event of the New Year. its publica- RELATIONS OF LABOR AND CAPITAL. R. EDWARD ATKINSON, an intelli- M gent writer and accepted authority on questions of political economy, has recently made before the Congressional Committee on Labor, of which Mr. Abram 8. Hewitt is chairman, some very instructive statements which shed valuable light on the relations between capital and labor in Massachusetts; and as Massachusetts is, comparatively speaking, the richest of our States, it follows that the field from which he draws his inductions is the one within which capital might be expected to display its greatest advantages over labor, if it has apy advantages atall ina country like ours. It appears, then, from the facts gathered by the Massachusetts Statistical Bureau that the aggregate value of property, as re- turned for that State in the year 1875, and embracing property of all kinds, amounted to $2,194,000,000. After making the neces- sary deduction from this aggregate on account of property subjected to a double assessment (as in the case of mortgages), and on account of notes and other paper obligations which merely certify the exist- ing distribution of property, without add- ing to its volume, Mr. Atkinson estimates that $1,000,000,000 represents the present accumulation of fixed capital in Massachu- setts, as the net result of the actual pro- duct of labor in that State during the two centuries which have elapsed since its first settlement. He next considers the product of industry in Massachusetts for the same year, and found that it isset down at the total of $643,000,000, from which, after deduction made for duplicate returns, he calculates that the annual product of industry in that State may be estimated at a maximum of $500,000,000, and cannot fall belowa mini- mum of $300,000,000. From this exhibit it appears that the aggregate capital accu- mulated in this thrifty State out of the labor of two hundred years is no more than equal to the net annual product of labor for two, or, at the most, of q little over three years. We may add that these tables, representing the comparative rela- tions of capital and labor in Massachusetts, are confirmed in all their essential features by similar tables which have been com- piled from the accurate statistics of Eng- land under these same heads. It is scarcely necessary for us to inter- pret or enforce the lessons taught by such re striking exhibit. It appears from these and groundless are the clamors raised by vaporing communists and ‘‘sand- lot” agitators against what they call the ‘‘dom- ination of capital.”” Itis labor, not capital, which takes ‘‘the lion’s share”’ in the an- sand Art | nual product of each year’s industry, and it is nothing but the highest intelligence, combined with the strictest economy, which enables the capitalist to hold and retain the existing accumulation which he now | possesses, and which he must manage with a liberal eye to the welfare of those who labor under him, and with a wary eye to his own self-preservation, for his prudence has an exceedingly narrow limit within which to act for the protection of his ac- cumulatidns. Those who talk and write about the de- structive competitions of labor would talk much more to the purposes of truth and reason if they would also take into account the fact that capital, too, has its destructive competitions. And the competitions of capital are as much more destructive than those of labor, as the brain of the capital- ist is keener and sharper than the brain of the laborer. It is for this reason that the accretion of capital is so slow in any country, after a certain aggregation of capital has been reached, and it is for this reason also that the accumulations of capital so frequently change hands in a country like ours. It remains for us to say that the deduc- tions drawn by Mr. Atkinson from the labor statistics of Massachusetts are confirmed by the philosophy which underlies all the facts of a progressive public economy. Everybody can see that in a settled coun- try the rate of the accumulation of capi- tal must tend to a constantly increasing decline, or, as the political economists phrase it, the general theory of economical progress ends in what is called ‘‘the stationary state,’”’ where the forces of capital and of labor come into equilibrium. As John Stuart Mill truly says, the richest and most prosperous countries would ‘‘ very soon attain the stationary state if no further improvements were made in the productive arts,” creating a new distribution of wealth and giving a new impetus to industry by starting it in new directions or by accelerat- ing its movement in the old channels. Indeed, as he shows, all old societies may be said to be perpetually skirting on the verge of this state, and if they do not reach it, like China, ‘‘it is because the goal itself flies before them” at every new amelioration of industrial arts and pro- cesses. Because in all new countries and in all progressive civilizations political economy is mainly called to concern itself with the phenomenaof production and consumption, it has been common to suppose that these two factors are the main elements of public welfare. But, in fact, at a certain stage of economical development it is no longer the production but the distribution of wealth which becomes the predominant object of public concern in this matter; and we may know that this stage has been reached in any country where the profits of labor and of capital have been so far diminished that each begins to feel the pinch of that in- exorable law which ordains the reduction of profits to a minimum wherever competi- tion is allowed to have full scope—a law which presses with equal stringency on the capitalist and on the day laborer. We would like to show that this law has its beneficent as well as its relentless aspect, but we have already exceeded the limits of the present discussion. FINANCIAL DISTRESS ABROAD. HE financial and commercial situation in Germany is by no means encourag- ing. Trade is generally depressed, and to add to the distress, new indirect taxes are proposed to cover the deficit of 73,000,000

marks in the Prussian Budget. There have been numerous and heavy failures recently, not only throughout Germany, but also in material formerly wasted and | of services to which the |

STRATED NEWSPAPER, Denmark and Sweden. The Berlin Com- mercial Company has been obliged to re- duce its capital, and in Hamburg and |elsewhere a number of banking-houses | have gone into bankruptcy. In Austro- | Hungary the financial position is equally | critical. The dual empire, according to some, is fast on the road to ruin. The | annual interest on the debt has now in- | | creased to 96,000,000 guilders, an increase | of 18,000,000 guilders, or about $6,840,000 | since 1873. The occupation of Bosnia and Servia requires 200,000 men, and | the charges are excessively burdensome. | ‘Stop the occupation, or wo are ruined,” }is the burden of both Vienna and Pesth | | papers. Some 140,000,000 guilders of rentes | must now be placed in order to meet ex- penses, but the Austrians themselves are beginning to fear that the credit of the country will not afford such outlays. In Great Britain, also, the financial and in- dustrial depression still continues, grow- ing apparently more serious every day. |In Birmingham the distress is so great that the authorities have been compelled to organize means of relief; in Sheffield 2,000 children and 3,000 adults are receiv- ing aid; at Stockton hundreds of families of iron-workers are destitute; in North Staffordshire the laboring classes are gen- erally suffering from want of work and food; in Glasgow the streets are swarm- ing with idle and starving men, women and children; in Aberdeen and Dunfermline private charity and municipal resources are sorely taxed in relieving the neces- sitous; in Manchester vast numbers of the middle-class poor, who will not appeal to charity, are suffering keenly; in Liverpool, the working classes are enduring greater distress and privation than for many years ; while in Bristol, Wigan, Wolverhampton, and other centres of industry, the distress is almost unprecedented. Meanwhile, our own improving condition is attracting attention everywhere abroad. Thus the London Globe, after referring to the fact that our national credit has been placed on a sound basis, remarks: ‘‘If the public debt is no longer being reduced at the rapid rate witnessed immediately after the civil war, its burden presses much less heavily than formerly, as the process of redeeming six per cent. bonds by replacing them with four per cent, bonds makes steady progress, Most welcome sign of all, perhaps, the debt is now being largely brought home. The return of American securi ties from Europe has assumed such proportions that, instead of owing the great bulk of their debt to foreign holders, it is now mainly held by the American people themselves, as is the case with the English; for the total amount of government loans held abroad, the President says, does not exceed $200,000,000, or, say, £40,000,000, which is scarcely one-tenth of the whole. This is a very gratifying picture, and it may be well believed that sound-headed American statesmen will be anxious that it should not be disturbed by the currency quacks, With a restored credit, revived trade and a sound financial policy carried into eflect by the resump- tion of specie payments on a gold and silver basis, the promise of prosperity of which the President speaks ought soon to to be fully realized.” THE REIGN OF SANTA CLAUS. ERHAPS the best that can be said about Christmas is that it is one of the few things that do not go out. It is neither old-fashioned nor out of fashion; and this is something in an age when fashions change every hour, and novelty is the only permanent fashion; when nothing more is thought of changing one’s religion than one’s bonnet, and it is even considered more fashionable to be without a religious faith than to possess one. But in the very teeth and face of this condition of dissolv- ing views and general tendency of all things old to go out and all things new to come in, Ohristmas has held its own. Whether we be skeptic or believer, trans- cendentalist or materialist, we all believe in the creed of a yearly merry-making. Christmas, like every other institution which has survived the decay of other customs, and outlasted the life of other festivals, has had to take its share of historic and critical analysis. Unde- piable proofs have been brought to show that we, as Christians, are only perpetuat- ing a pagan festival. There is scarcely one of its tender observances or holy rites that cannot be traced to some heathen practice. Nations, long before the Chris- tian era, held a similar festivity about the same time of the year. It was nothing more or less than a festival in honor of the sun, which, recovering at this season his upward course, announced that mid-Winter was over, and the advent of Spring, with its blessings of light and warmth and blossoms. With the Romans the feast was called Saturnalia, which the early Chris- tians changed from a feast of the wildest orgies to one of religions observance, some of the more innocent rites of the Roman feast, however, being perpetuated. When we hang up the traditional ever- green, we may be sustained by the con- sciousness that the custom has at least the stamp of antiquity. Roman matrons decked their houses with similar festoons and in- terchanged presents as we do. There was, however, probably no advanve in the price of évergreen trees, nor a demand for an un- | on

fJanvary 4, 1879 Claus is a mystical personage, and the lighting of the Christmas-tree and the hanging-up of the festive stocking are mys tical observances, handed down from cer tain old Teuton ceremonials. Our Christ mas is thus seen to be a curious medley of pagan, Scandinavian and Christian rites, offering an interesting study to anti quarians. But what matters the history of blessed Christmas-time, so long as it the be | Still among us the festival, of all others, fullest of real and beautiful significance? What need to know from what people de- scends the custom of lighting the tree, since with that glow are lighted the fires the hearth of the affections ? All the knowledge of all the rites in the world has no power to change the present experience of pleasant things. Whether the Druids did or did not look upon the mistletoe as sacred makes a certain osculatory process performed beneath that bough neither more nor less a delightful occurrence. Mirth, joy and generosity are of no age or date; they are as old as the human heart and as fresh as human feeling. It is certain that all things, whether to give or to take, to eat or to buy, seems doubly good when they wear their Christmas dress. Our chil- dren’s laughter is never so sweet as when they find the Santa Claus stocking, and the wife of one’s bosom seems doubly attrac- tive when she proudly wears the Christ- mas Offering. Of all puddings in the world is there one that can equal the flavor of the odorous plum? As for the poor at our gate, for one day in the year, at least, we are glad they are always with us; for the fragrance of their grateful thanks follows us like a breath from heaven. In this blessed season the well-springs of happiness are let loose, the frozen cur- rents of selfish egoism being turned into active streams of benevolence. Even the Scrouges among us must hearken to the voice of the Tiny Tims, and the surliest feel some touch of the holiday glow. And it is always well to keep in mind that this is the time, of all others, when at least some of Christ's poor should be made richer through our generous offices. THE CITY RAILROADS. HE annual reports of the city horse-car companies, recently made, do not justify the public expectation that the elevated rail- ways would destroy their business. On the contrary, it appears that the traffic of these lines has suffered a comparatively small decrease, and nearly all of them are mak- ing larger profits on their investments than the elevated roads. The Sixth Avenue line, which probably feels the influence of ele- vated railway competition more directly than any other, shows a decrease in re- ceipts in the five months ending with last October, compared with the corresponding period in 1877, of only $47,764, equal, in other words, to a falling off of about 6,000 passengers out of the 50,000 previously earried daily. But, in spite of this decrease, the profits of the company amounted to about twenty per cent. on a capital of $750,000, according to its own report. The Third Avenue line, which has also been affected by rapid transit, is said to have made a profit last year of $740,000, or thirty-seven per cent.,-on a watered capi- tal of $2,000,000. The reports of other street-car lines tell practically the same story. The Broadway and Seventh Avenue lines—one company—managed to divide $318,500 protit, besides purchasing cars to the tune of $37,852. The Eighth Ave- nue Company lost about half a million passengers, as compared with the previous year, in the four months during which the Metropolitan Road was running, namely, June, July, August and September. Even this road divided $155,220 profits. The Belt Line carries about 40,000 passen- gers per day, and last year divided about $300,000 profit. As a rule, it may be set down that even now, in spite of rapid transit, there is no business in the whole City of New York so lucrative as that of the horse-car lines. It would seem, in view of all the facts of the case, that the justice of the demand for a reduction of fares on these lines cannot be reasonably resisted, and the Legislature should, by statute, re- quire the companies to render, either in cheap fares or in taxes, an equivalent for the valuable franchises which they have so long enjoyed without adequate compen- sation. DEATH OF BAYARD TAYLOR. MERICAN literature suffers a serious loss in the death of Mr. Bayard Taylor, which occurred at Berlin on the 19th in- stant. While not positively great, Mr. Taylor possessed many qualities which made him a representative of what is best and purest in our culture and life. Versatile, con- scientious, industrious, painstaking, fear- less, he did well and thoroughly whatever he undertook, and, dying, has left behind him a name, both as author and traveler, which his countrymen will cherish with pe-

limited supply of Roman hose, since Santa culiar affection. His career as‘a publicist

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Jaxvary 4, 1879.] was brief; and the post he occupied as Minister to Germany was not of his own seeking; but he had met its requirements to the entire satisfaction of the Govern- ment, while to the Court to which he was accredited his presence was from the first exceptionally welcome. The a Minister who shall be in every way as ac- ceptable, both at home and abr-9d, as was the appointment of Mr. T’ she BEYOND THE SEAS. YRINCESS ALICE, Grand Duchess of Hesse-Darmstadt, and the first of Queen | Victoria's nine children to die, expired, by a striking coincidence, on the anniversary of her father’s death, which occurred seventeen years ago. notices have already been given of this lamented Princess, it may only be noted here that she fell a victim to the same dis- ease, diphtheria, which but a few days ago carried off her four-year-old daughter, Administra- | tion will be fortunate, indeed, if it shall | succeed in naming for the place now vacant | FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. | cused of complicity with the conspiracies against the Sultan. The late Ingraham set a better example to United release of Koszta within eight hours, and then forcibly rescued him from an Austrian brig-of-war at Smyrna. But this happened long ago, when naturalized and native citizens of the United States alike had rights which foreign Powers were bound to | respect. They have the same rights now, and, unless it be proved that they have for- feited these by crime, their rights should be enforced by war, in case of the failure of diplomacy to secure that end. The Afghan war, as carried on in Parlia- ment, resulted in victory for Lord Beacons- field, although Mr. Whitbread's resolution in the House of Commons censuring the action of Government was rejected by a | majority of only 101 instead of 120, as As full obituary | some of the more sanguine Conservatives had anticipated that it would be. And al- | though sickness has visited the camps of | Se invaders of Afghanistan, and General | | Robert's Anglo-Indian army has been at- tacked with loss by one of the fierce hifll- Princess Marie, and which, preventable as | tribes, and Winter must soon prevent the it is; has been allowed to seize so many victors from marching far into the interior, other victims among the dwellers in Euro-| yet the triumph of the Viceroy over the pean palaces built long before the laws of | Ameer seems now to be a foregone conclu- hygiene were so well known as at present. Even now these laws are neither so gener- | ber 20th. ally known nor so faithfully observed as} Meanwhile, the they ought to be, alike in the humblest hut and the proudest palace. Two other con- spicuous names must be added to our mor- tuary list—the name of the Hon. Bayard Taylor, United States Minister to Ger- many, who, in his fifty-fourth year, bade fair to surpass the distinction he had already won in the sphere of letters and of travel, and the name of Karl F. Gutzkow, an eminent German writer of romances and philosophical essays, and a journalist as well as a dramatist. Speeches from a throne are proverbially commonplace, and words are usually put in them to the very use for which a famous | diplomatist once said that words were expressly invented, namely, to conceal thoughts. In theseeventful days when deeds first interpret the real intentions of sover- eigns and the news is rapidly flashed every- where along telegraphic wires, less attention even than formerly is in general commanded by royal discourse. But}those recently made by the Emperor of Russia, the Emperor of Germany, and the Queen of England and Empress of India, are all noteworthy for one thing—they seem to agree that nothing really definitive has yet been settled by the Berlin treaty. They verbally indorse the testimony of facts that the peace of Europe has not been consolidated by it. Indeed, the few words addressed by Kaiser Wilhelm to the functionaries of his court are avowedly sad and foreboding, like the harangue of the Czar to the Muscovites; and Queen Victoria only ventures to ex- press a hope, more or less confident, that the terms of the Berlin treaty may some- how be carried out satisfactorily. Lord Beaconsfield, however, speaks in a bolder and more cheerful tone. He told a depu- tation from the Pacific Coast, who pre- sented him on the 19th of December with a casket and congratulatory address from British residents in California, that he believes the Berlin treaty will effect the pacification of Europe; that it was made with this end in view, and that the signatory powers are determined to exe- cute it. He added that Cyprus as a sta- tion was not inferior to Malta. There is a great variety of opinions on this point. Butin Austria the special commit- tee of eighteen has advised the Reichsrath to assent to the Treaty of Berlin. The Aus- trian Ministerial crisis may be regarded as at an end. M. Waddington, the French For- eign Minister, has defended himself in the Senate against objections to his course at the Berlin Conference, and has announced that all the Cabinets have come round to the opinion which France was the first to maintain—that the execution of the Berlin treaty is the only way not to jeopardize the peace of Europe. A large number of its clauses are already carried out, and he believes that the rest will be in due time. M. Waddington says that he now has posi- tive assurance of the cooperation of the Powers, without exception, and everything done in favor of Greece particularly will be done through the collective action of Europe, at the instance of France—and, it may be added, to her great honor. The new Council of Ministers at Constantinople has decided to settle, without delay, the questions pending with Greece, Persia, Montenegro and Austria, and to conclude, as soon as possible, a definitive treaty with Russia. The recent conspiracy against the Sultan, it appears, was a serious attempt to dethrone him and to replace him by his brother, Reshad Pasha. The Sultan was with difficulty restrained from puiting Reshad and Mahmoud Damad Pasha to death in true old Turkish style. It is far from being creditable to United States Con- sul Hess that he still acts, apparently, in behalf of the Turkish and not his own Government, as the jailer of the natural- sion. Jellalabad was occupied on Decem- The Ameer has fled from Cabul. power of the British Em- pire is confronted at home by a more formidable enemy than has yet directly threatened it in India. The wisest and most charitable measures cannot hope at once to subdue the general distress aris- ing from bank failures, from strikes and mercantile troubles, throughout the United Kingdom. WE present with the present issue our usual holiday supplement, crowded with original poems and tales written expressly for this number, by authors of acknow- ledged prominence. RESUMPTION is already an accomplished fact, gold having sold on Wall Street on Tuesday last, December 17th, at par. Now that we have actually returned to a specie basis, it seems almost impossible to believe that gold ever sold at 285, as it did in 1864. The currency quacks who have de- clared resumption on January Ist to be an impossibility, are not likely hereafter to command much confidence as trustworthy prophets. THE ‘Old Whig Party” is on its feet again, the Senate having confirmed Hon. Henry 8. Foote—the sole surviving repre- sentative of the ghostly organization—as Superintendent of the Mint at New Orleans. President Hayes is to be cungratulated upon this discovery of fossil remains, which is only equaled in importance by the dis- covery of ‘‘the Northeast passage’”’ from Western Europe to Behring Strait by the Swedish Arctic expedition. Ir is stated that Mr. Bret Harte is to deliver his lecture on ‘‘ The Argonauts of 49” in London and the principal provin- cial towns during the Winter. If we re- member rightly, this gentleman was some time ago appointed as the Government re- presentative at a certain commercial agency inGermany. Are we to understand that the rules of ‘‘civil service reform” permit our consular and other representa- tives abroad to engage in professional and money-making pursuits to the neglect of their official duties ? THE joint committee appointed by Con- gress to investigate the causes which lead to yellow fever epidemics, has already mapped out its work. Thirteen experts, distinguished medical gentlemen, have been appointed to assist in the inquiry. One portion of the committee will pursue its in- quiries at New Orleans, while another por- tion will go to Memphis and the adjacent towns and cities visited by the fever last Summer. Itis expected that the committee will be able to submit a full report in time to have it acted upon by the present Con- gress. It is probable that one result of the inquiry will be a proposition for the estab- lishment of a national quarantine and the creation of a sanitary board charged with the whole general subject of enforcing pre- cautions for the protection of the public health. THE resolution of Mr. Blaine relative to the investigation of alleged outrages upon the suffrage in the recent elections, as finally passed by the Senate, provides that the in- quiry shall extend to the North as well as the South, and shall cover all charges of the collection of money from Federal office- holders by assessment or otherwise for election purposes, a8 well as the action and conduct of United States supervisors of elections in the several States. An investi- gation thus comprehensive and thorough, if ized American citizen, Romer, who is ac- honestly made, should develop the precise Captain | | facts as to the matters covered by it, and must either disprove or confirm, very con- | Clusively, the allegations of intimidation, | States officials abroad by demanding the | bribery and fraud which noisy partisans have so freely bruited in Congress and elsewhere since the November elections. | THE recent matinée musicale given by Pro- fessor A. F. Christiani, the eminent pianist, ;}at his residence, 24 Irving Place, was a Supreme success. Assisted by his pupils, the Professor placed before an audience consisting of the créme de la créme of New York society a programme that for taste, variety, estheticism, novelty and charm, | could not by any possibility be surpassed ; and when we mention as one of the mor- ceauc an aria from Gounod’s ‘‘ Polyeucte,”’ we need add no other word. Professor Christiani’s mode and method of training is admirable, leading to a proficiency of which the visitors to the matinée had ample and all-satisfying proof. Madame Gerster was present, and the gifted cantatrice, in common with the remainder of the audi- ence, was intensely pleased, both with the programme and the very complete manner in which it was carried out. ONE of the Oregon Senators has intro- duced in Congress a Bill prohibiting the employment on Government works of any person who is not a citizen of the United States. The design of the Bill, it is under- stood, is to prevent the employment of Chinese laborers in Government service on the Pacific coast. We cannot suppose for a moment that so proscriptive and intoler- ant a measure will command the approval of Congress. If the Chinese can perform the work required by the Government 'as efficiently and satisfactorily, and more cheaply, than Irishmen, Italians, or per- | sons of any other nationality, why should we discriminate against them? The laws of supply and demand in the labor market cannot be reversed or controlled by statute, and we shall only make ourselves ridiculous by attempting to erect a Chinese wall of ex- clusiveness about the Government work- shops, in the hope that we can isolate ourselves from the influence of natural laws. THERE are few Americans who will not concur in Mr. Gladstone’s estimate of the British war against Afghanistan, as stated in his recent masterly speech to his con- stituents at Greenwich. This war, judged by the evidence so far furnished, is abso- lutely and utterly unjust, and its injustice cannot be wiped out by success, however brilliant or complete it may be. Mr. Glad- stone well said: ‘‘The question of its jus- tice cannot be settled by military successes, for, thank God, the arbitrament of the sword is not the sole nor the supreme arbi- trament in the affairs of civilized man. It cannot be settled by Parliamentary majori- ties, for that responsibility which at the moment I speak is undivided upon ten or twelve men will next week, or the week after, very likely be divided between them and the Houses of Parliament, and within no very long period—it may be within a very short period—the people of England will have to say whether they will take upon themselves their share of that respon- sibility of guilt and shame.” Mr. Glad- stone’s speech is said to have produced a great effect, and we cannot doubt that, sooner or later, the conscience of the British people will array itself, on this question, on his side. CAREFUL statistics furnished by the United States Consul at Wurtemberg show that the number of cabin passengers who left America for European ports during the year ending with June last was 36,555, while the number leaving European ports for America was 30,974. The number of steerage passengers leaving America for European ports during the same period was 50,334, and the number leaving European ports for America 77,360—showing the arrivals in America to be 27,026 more numerous than the departures. The move- ment of this vast multitude across the Atlantic Ocean was effected without acci- dent of any kind. The same authority gives the number of American visitors con- stantly but temporarily abroad as 58,488, and their daily expenditures as $292,444, or, $106,594,600 per year drawn from the United States in gold. The number of Americans who are in Europe exclusively for educational purposes is stated at 7,048. There can be no doubt that the sums spent by American citizens in educating their children in European educational institu- tions would go a long way in building up and sustaining similar institutions in their own country that would be superior to any others in the world; and where, too, they would be free from the influences which are antagonistic to our republican system. It | is to be hoped that this tendency of our | people to go abroad for what they are | pleased to term ‘‘the best forms of cul- | ture’ may be arrested before it shall be- | come universal. 295 | . NEWS OF THE WEEK. Domestic. In Executive session th+ Senate has ratified the new Commercial Treaty with Japan For the first time in seventeen years gold | reached par in New York City on December 17th. | ARRANGEMENTS have been made for the estab- lishment of a new steamship line between Philadelphia and Amsterdam, Holland. CuatrMAN Porrer and Messrs, Stenger and Cox, of the Potter [nvestigating Committee, will go to New Orleans for additional testimony. SecRETARY SHERMAN has called for the remain- der of the outstanding Five-Twenty bonds of 1865, new series, amounting to $10,996,100. Tue St. Louis Bridge was sold at auction on December 20th, to a new company of New York and St. Louis capitalists for $2,000,000. Tue banking house of C. F, Adal & Co., at Cincinnati, suspended on December 18th, with liabilities at $780,000, and nominal assets of $400,000. Concress has passed and the President signed the Bill to duplicate the Government bonds stolen irom the Manhattan Savings Bank, of New York City. A GENERAL strike of disaffected car-drivers on the Third Avenue Railroad, New York City, occurred on December 16tb, resulting in a little delay and few arrests. Samugt B. Lupa has been indicted for setting fire to the Ocean House at Cape May, N. J., last Novem ber, by which a vast amount of hotel property was de- stroyed. Tue Committee on Ways and Means have de- cided to devote three days immediately after the holiday recess to a hearing of persons interested in the sugar question. A coMMITTEE has been formed of Southern Sen- ators and Congressmen to draft an address thanking the North for the promptness and liberality of the aid ex- tended during the late epidemic. Senator Conkiinc, to whom the New York nominations were referred in the Committee on Com- merce, has asked of Secretary Sherman the cause of the removal of General Arthur and Mr. Cornell. AttHoves Judge Wallace, in the Killona plan- tation suit, decided that General Sheridan bad no right to issue the order for the seizure of the estate, the jury brought ina verdict for the defendant on December 20th. Presipent Hayes sent a communication to the Senate on December 19th, accompanying it with a re- port from Secretary Evarts, on the importance of foster- ing commercial relations with South American countries. In the prosecutions under the Local Option Law at Norwich, Conn., Judge Kellogg has decided that the hop beer and cider sold there come under the prohibi- tion, both articles being found on analysis to contain alcobol. Jupcz Joun Lowsgtt, of Boston, has been nominated and confirmed as Judge of the First United States Judicial Circuit, and it is thought that Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., will be appointed his successor in the District Court. Ex-Presmpent Jonn 8. Morton, of the Market Street Railway Company, of Philadelphia, and Samuel P. Hubn have pleaded guilty to the charge of fraudulently overissuing stock of the company. and have been sen- tenced to ten years’ imprisonment each. In the Senate on December 17th the Consular and Diplomatic Bill was passed alter being considerably amended, and Mr. Blaine’s resolution was adopted by a vote of 56 to 6. The House passed the Postal Car Ser- vice Bill. On the 18th the Senate passed the Pension Appropriation Bill, and also the amendment to the Posse Comitatus Bill. The Soutbern Investigating Com- mittee, provided by Mr. Blaine’s resolution, was an- nounced on the 19th, Mr. Teller, of Colorado, being chairman. The committee organized on the following day, and appointed a sub-committee to take testimony in Louisiana. On the 20th the resolution to purchase the papers of the Count de Rochambeau, and a Bill to amend an error in the Revised Statutes about challeng- ing grand jurors who rendered aid to the rebellion, wero passed in the Senate. Both branches adjourned to Jau- uary 7th. Foreign. Srtenor Depretis formed a new Italian Cabinet which the journals dislike and doom to a speedy disso- lution. M. WapprneTon, French Minister of Foreign Affairs, has expressed strong hopes of the faithful fulfill- ment of the treaty at Berlin. Count Anprassy declares that the annexation of Servia and Montenegro would be a most perverted and unhappy policy for Austria, Mr. Guapsrone has intimated his intention to present himself as a candidate at Midlothian at the next election for the House of Commons. Arter an illness of several months from dropsy, Hon, Bayard Taylor, United States Minister to Germany, died suddenly at Berlin, on December 19th, aged fifty- three years. Ir is rumored in Constantinople that Russia will not oppose a scheme for a vew Turkish loan guaranteed by England if the question of the war indemnity is settled simultaneously. Citizens of Berlin have decided to commemo- rate the escape from assassination and the return to the capital of the Emperor, by erecting a monument of bronze and marble, to cost $75,000. ‘Tue steamer Byzantine, from Marseilles to Con- stantinople, collided with the English steamship Rinaldo, near Gallipoli, in the Sea of Marmora, on December 18tb, and 150 lives were lost. CoMMUNICATIONS are passing between the Gov- ernments of Germany and Switzerland looking to an abrogation of the privileges acquired under the latter by Socialists driven from the country by the former. Ow1ne to the death of the Princess Alice of England, Grand Duchess of Hesse-Darmstadt, it is im- probable tbat there will be any State entertainments at the Viceregal residence in Canada for three months. Tue new Spanish copyright Act protects tele graph dispateh paper articles, Parliamentary re ports, legal documents, musical and dramatic, and anonymous and posthumous works and literary collec- tions. NEGoriaTIONs are pending between Great Bri- tain and the Porte concerning British jurisdiction over foreigners in Cyprus. England concedes the Sultan's covereignty over the Island, but denies that the regula tion about Consular jurisdiction is sull applicable there.

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ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. January 4, 187% The Pictorial Spirit of the Tllustrated European Press.— See Pace 299. == === BLACK SEA.— ACCIDENT TO THE RUSSIAN IMPERIAL YACHT ** LIVADIA,”’ AT TARANHUT. ITALY,—- PROFESSOR PALMIERI’S OBSERVATORY AT THE FOOT OF THZ CONE OF YVESUVIVS, ENGLAND. THE DARE ‘! MOEL EILIAN” AFTER THE COLLISION WITH TUE '' POMMERANIA”’ OFF DOVER.

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Jaxvary 4, 18%.) FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. 297 Half a Dollar. if wen A Christmas Story. il , By Sy | ' kind soul that would buy her wares for enough to give a little food and fire for Christ- mas Day. The widow had listen- ed to the child with a patient smile when she followed her to the basement-door and thus begged her to come back soon and tell her how to spend the m mney she was sure to make— a smile such as hopeless women wear, some- times, when their hearts are breaking. Then, stooping down, she kissed the sweet, eager face,and turned mourn- fully away in her dreary search for bread. Thus tenderly en- couraged, the little girl tied the strings of a rusty cloak-hood, out of which her pale, but most lovely face, shone like a flower as she went back to the base- ment resolved to do VJ AS | \\ \\ Yj \) \ WN GY ify \\ \ \ “ NN | AQ \ \X AW | » AW i] | ye i t\\\ \ 4 Mrs. Ann 8S. Stephens. \ \ \ .\ \ A WW A Wa WCE A HM AW May CHAPTER I |’ HEY stood to- \\ gether that cold morning—the wi dow and her child—he- sitating in the half-open basement - door. She looking drearily through the rusted 1ron-railings of the area as if she dreaded to go out on a search for work that seemed hopeless. The little girl more cheer- ful, but subdued and saddened by the mourn- ful pallor of her mother’s face. “Don't go very far, mother, and keep the shawl tightly round you, for it’s going to be awful cold,” she said, striving bravely to keep “ \\ \\ \ AN AYA \ AY \ \ ee herself from shivering, under the cape of an old cloak that had little warmth in it “ I’m sure to sell some of these things—they are wonderful things that would surprise her mother when she came home. Sear hing out a poor little market- basket long out of use in that household, she 30 useful, you know, ind lots of people will want them, when it is so close to Christmas.’’ Ruth looked wistfully into her mother’s face as she made her hopeful ergument. The day be- tore, when her mother was out in search of work, and there had been neither fire nor tood in the basement for twenty-four hours, she had found, in an old, disused chest among other things too worth- less for use or the pawnbroker, some frag- ments of a worn-out shawl, which, being of wool, held in its decay some gleams of bright coloring. Out of this poor ma- terial she had made holders for smoothing- irons and little, starlike pen- wipers, in the piti- ful hope that in the crowd of purchasers thronging the streets she might find some arranged her precious articles in the bottom, putting the brightest side uppermost, and made her way into the busy part of the citf, far more hopeful than her mother had been. Once in Broadway she began to look around for customers, holding her merchun- dise well in sight and lifting her beautiful eyes in eager appeal, almost in astonishment, when so many went by without deigning to look in her basket , for it was the day before Christmas and _ ihe throng she wandered through were in search of far more sumptuous gifts than she had to offer. Sometimes the heart would leap in her bosom as some lady turned her eyes that way, attracted by the loveliness of her face rather than her HALF A DOLLAR. ‘‘*NO, YOU MUST PUT IT ON FIRST,’ SHE SAID, RESTING HER HAND SOFTLY ON HIS BOSOM, AND HOLDING THE RING TOWARD HIM.” merchandise ; but only Whi Mt Mi f Le : j 7 ae rs a i] = een ah 2 s . LS i TWA teeter, . Aw 4 S Soe a ~ S82, Frrrrieererre vers THE SHUFELDT EXPEDITION, IN FURTHERANCE Ny THE EAST—THE UNITED STATES MAN-OF-WAR “ TICONDEROGA’? LEAVING NORFOLE, VA., DECEMBER 7ru, ’ 4, AFRICA.—SEE PAGE 299.

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998 to sink heavier and heavier as a glittering toy-shop or gorgeously draped window lured even that small notice away from he Poor child; no one in that moving panorama cared for her or the wares on which sbe had built So,sad at heart, and faint with ch loving hopes disappointment, she struggled on with the un- seemly basket on her arm, urged at last to call out ind beseech people to look on her humble store vut this she did so timidly, and in a voice thatonly rose high enough in the geneial din to frighten herselt No one else heeded it. Still the girl toiled on, hour after hour, hoping gainst hope; for it seemed impossible to her that some one in all the group she passed should not care for the things on which she had lavished so much hopeful ingenuity. At last the gathering of a great storm thinned the streets and drove her homeward utterly chilled, (on the way into her own dingy neighborhood she passed by a carpenter'’s-shop where one of the workmen had sometimes given her shavings to kindle the fire with. } She could hear his plane moving to and fro with | a soft, rushing sound, and knew that shavings were dropping in a soft heap of curls beside his workbench ; perhaps he would give them to her. K:ven one flash of heat in that cold basement would be better than nothing when her mother came home. Her poor, dear mother, who would be so disappointed when she found that none of her holders had been sold. She was right ; the carpenter was at work, buried knee-deep in pine shavings. He smiled as she came in, and, seeing her basket, motioned that she should help herself, In a moment Ruth had her arms full of shavings, and was crushing them into the basket, leaving a quantity of chips that lay underneath untouched ; but, with unusual benevolence, the carpenter thrust them toward her with his foot, and, when her bas- ket was full, picked up some fragments of lath which he tied into a bundle and asked her, kindly, it she could carry it, Carry it! The girl absolutely laughed as she | | called for it so often that it seems hopeless ; | be some luck for us. } lifted the basket with one hand and took the bundle | under her arm. good fire when her mother came home. She lifted her grateful eyes to the man and thanked him so earnestly that he gathered up a few more blocks aud heaped the basket to overflowing. Ruth was right ; when her mother came in, faint and heartsick, a cheerful fire was erackling on the hearth which illuminated the whole room, while Ruth stoed before it, half forgetful of her disappointment, feeding the flames with shavings and smiling as the warmth spread its glow all around her. All those weary hours the poor woman had been in search of work, sewing—something—anything that would bring food and warmth into her miserable home, for the terror of absolute starvation was upon her. Starvation for the child she loved better than her own life, and had shielded from want almost at the expense of her life, as any one might have known by her thin figure, the haunting hunger in those large, sad eyes, and the tender devices by which she led the little girl into believing that she got plenty out-of-doors, which made her appetite s: slender at all other times. This terrible dread that Ruth must suffer as she had done drove the poor woman to desperation that day ; never in her greatest need had she pleaded for work with such persistence; but people were too busy and would not listen to her importuni- ties. Some dismissed her curtly as an annoyance. Others, more kind for the moment, told her to come again when the holidays were over; but no one seemed to understand or care for her great need of work. So at last she crept home again and stood in the door amazed by the fire that spread its glow all around her dwelling. ‘* Come, mother,”’ said Ruth, shoving a chair to the hearth. ‘“ Isn’t this a famous fire to warm oneself by? Sit up close and enjoy yourself, while I take off your bonnet and just smooth your hair a little.” The widow seated herself, held ‘out her numbed hands to the fire, and drew a deep breath—the heat was so grateful to her. Ruth took off the rusty straw bonnet, but folded the shawl which ber mother had worn tightly around her; for she knew how thin and scant were the garments un- derneath, and dreaded to think how soon the fire would burn out, “| haven’t got anything else, mother,” she said, faltering a little in her speech. “ _—_ didn’t want my poor little holders, though I did try so hard to sell them; but never mind—another day i'm sure to do better. You see, ey didn’t seem just like Christmas presents; so don’t be dis- couraged any more than you can help.” “Ah, my child, I am so used to disappointment that it seems natural to me now!” said the mother, looking tenderly into the sweet, upturned face that was making such pathetic efforts to smile. “ But I feel it dreadfully. I had laid such plans for to-night! I saw the man at the corner gro- cery cutting off such a lovely slice of ham for a woman this morfing, and you don’t know how I wanted one of them for your supper. If I could only have sold my holders—-only one of them—it would have been so nice.- But it wasn’t my fault ; I tried and tried, till it was like begging.” ‘The poor woman burst into tears, and kissed the face now lovingly pressed to hers. “ Begging, begging !” she repeated, mournfully. “ Your father little thought that our girl—his child and mine— would ever be brought to speak of that.” But he did not know how hard it is to be hun- gry and cold,” answered Ruth, meekly, while her eyes drooped beneath their thick lashes, and a look ot shame stole over her features; for she under- stood her mother’s words as a reproach. ‘ He had not felt you shivering with cold, as you are doing now, spite of the fire.” } - “Thank God that he never did see it!’ said the mother. ‘ But even hunger and cold shall not make us beggars till we have made one effort more. You have never gone so long without food in your life before, my darling. Are you very hungry ?”’ Ruth looked down quietly. “* No, not very.” “J have tried to keep you from it.” At any rate, they would have one | LESLIE’S FRANK ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. [January 4, 1879. ‘“ And so you have, mother. See how round and | home, but not by any means safe, tor the display of | ing ‘ bster ant champagne rae. —_— o oe rosy I am. while you grow thinner and colder | 4'ticles was of so classical and so elegant a nature, | of the creme ue (a creme on the roof o ie COaCc - ’ and withal so cheap, as to cause me to conclude | were worthy of Worth. every day.” The child took the pale, famished face of her mother between her two little hands, and kissed it tenderly. For ‘a while the mother and child sat together, | gazing into the firelight, which was going down almost as suddenly as it had been enkindled. The night had set in earlier than usual, because of the storm and, in very weariness, those two sat upon the broken hearth until the last shavings had sunk into a handful of black ashes with } spark darting through them. When the last vestige of warmth had departed from the yawning fireplace, the woman arose to her feet, and, gathering the shawl about her, sear hed for the miserable straw Ruth had put aside. “ What is the matter? mother ?”’ “Out again. It is Christmas Eve, ana Christ died for us as well as others.” ‘* Yes, mother ; I know that.” bonnet Where are you going, ere and there a | that a punch-bow!— opposite to which stood riveted an elderly gentleman whose eves glistened and whose nether lip protruded in the ecstatic imagining tastoup from out of one of the twelve surround ing tankard would look the very thing up my carved oaken sideboard. Mrs, B. was lost in ad miration of a case of spoons, forks and cutlery, got ten up in the highest art, and this I purchased as a Christmas-box tor Mrs. Spuyten Duyvle, an old flame of mine that—ahem! We crossed the Square and turned into Stein way’s Pianoforte Warerooms, in Fourteenth Street, where, amid a grove of pianos the firm have | turned out 2,600 during the year—our attention was drawn to a recent production called the Parlor Grand, which is only six feet long by four feet seven inches in width, but which, it is claimed, has the same interior construction and actionas the Concert Grand. ‘* This will fit our alcove as if it was made for it,”’ said Mrs. B., and she requested the gentleman | who waited upon us to send it home, a liberal allow- | ance to be made for the one to be exchanged. | could not remonstrate, as the sweetness and power “ We must not sit here and perish while there is There is a person who owes me a ago. I have but one hope left. half-dollar tor work done months we cannot sit here and freeze to death.” ‘May I go with you?’ asked Ruth, tying on her hood by the light of a street-lamp that came dimly through the frosted window. ‘ There, now, you see I’m ready.” “ Yes, dear, storming as it is, anything must be better than sitting here alone. Perhaps there will It has been so hard to reach the lady through so many servants, and she may not know that I have been to her house so often. Besides, the amount is so little she may have for- gotten. Come, dear, wrap your cape about you, and keep under my shawl.” Ruth crept under the apology for a shawl, and, thus clinging together, the two went up the broken steps into the street, which, narrow and squalid as it was, had made some pretense at illumination ; for the windows of a baker’s-shop at the corner were unusually brilliant, and the grocery opposite met the little river of light it cast across the street more than half-way, hedging it over with radiance, * (Continued on page 322.) HOLIDAY SIGHTS IN NEW YORK. THE SHOPPING EXPERIENCES OF MR. AND Mrs. Brown. | WAS very agreeably surprised, upon descending to the breakfast-room on Monday morning last, to find Mrs. Brown very neatly and becomingly at- tired, her Grecian fringe denuded of curl papers, and her face adorned with a smile that denoted “set fair’; her manner, too, instead of being jerky and snappy, reminded me of the brief but blissful period immediately subsequent to my lead- ing her to the Hymeneal altar, while certain delicate attentions, such as asking me if my tea was all right, if my toast was crisp enough, if my mutton- chop was done exactly as I wished it, if my egg was unexceptionally fresh, terded to place me, | freely confess, in a condition of good humor such as I have not reveled in for two long years. When breakfast had been discussed, and Mrs. Brown had gayly chatted all through the meal, her conversation being of so agreeable a nature as to cause me to hang over the table and almost forget my morning paper, she suddenly exclaimed : ‘George, dearest, ! mean to take a walk with you to-day. See,Iam ready. I have only to slip on my sealskin and my hat. Here they are,” pro- ducing the articles of apparel as she spoke. This action on Mrs. B.’s part was so novel as to startle me. My habit of life was to wait—ay, for hours ; but I’ll not grumble just yet. When we emerged into the Avenue she playfully observed, ‘‘ Now, Georgie, I’ve got you, and 1 mean to keep you the whole day. You'll devote vourself to your tootsywootsy, won't ’oo?’’—a form of endearment that had passed soy with the honey- moon—‘‘ I want to visit all the beautiful stores— not to buy anything ’’—observing a decided inclin- ation on my part to bolt—‘ but just to /ook at the exquisite things on show for Christmas,” What could I do but yield? And, like a lamb being led to the slaughter—for I did entertain secret misgivings that my better-half meant business as much as pleasure—she jubilantly marched me off, leaning upon my arm just as she used to when she was still Miss Arabella Sophonisba Smith. Her first visit was to Tiffany’s, that superb, be- jeweled palace in Union Square. The crush, as we entered, was so great as, happily, to prevent my wile from approaching too near, or remaining too long over the too seductive cases, and we filtered slowly along until we found ourselves in the Dia- mond Room. Here Mrs. Brown uttered an exclamation otf mingled bewilderment and delight; her eyes sparkled as they did at the moment | asked her to be Mrs. B., for she was standing —— a glass- case containing precious stones to the value of a quarter of a million dollars. Her raptures knew no bounds when a diamond necklace, valued at $35,000, was placed confidingly in her hands, fol- lowed by a single white diamond worth $15,000. These were tollowed by a hand-mirror of Champ- levé enamel, set with oriental onyx, cut to bear the appearance of Oriental cat’s eyes, each stone held in its place by diamonds, the handle of gold, and the whole valued at $10,000; by a yard of diamond lace, first produced at the recent Exposi- tion at Paris, consisting of diamonds laid on silver wire, woven into point d’ Alengon, or Rose-point, or Guipure, at will, and only $10,000 a yard. She then tried on a necklace and earrings—-diamonds, of course, valued at $100,000; a diamond for which the Duke of Brunswick paid £6,000 visibly affected her, while a pair of opals, the finest for sale in the world, neti forth a sigh such as she uttered when I was obliged to postpone our wedding-day on ac- count of the alarming illness of my maiden aunt from whom I had expectations. I was not sorry when Mrs. B. came down to a bangle bracelet of $6,000 ; and when the courteous Mr. Cook showed her some Cyprian ornaments of mere gold, | felt that the crisis was over. Mrs. B. somewhat con- temptuously fancied a Pompeian bracelet at $300, and—well, I didn’t like to say No. “Let us get out of this,” she exclaimed, in a low tone. ‘*Why—oh, why did I not marry one of tle Van Boomgees? Then l’d—but no matter.’ Our next visit was to the Meriden Britannia Com- any in Union Square, the finest establishment of its kind in the world. Here I felt much more at | a rich musical treat, for Madame Gerster was sing- of the Parlor Grand proved too much for me. We were in luck during our visit, for upon enter- ing an apartment sacred to prize pianos— the firm of Steinway & Sons have carried off first prizes from all the Great Fairs of the World—we dropped in for ing like a nightingale to the superb accompaniment | of Mr. 8. B. Mills. . Again crossing the Square, we paid a visit to Mason & Hamlin’s organ establishment. ‘* A cabinet organ would be such a nice, thought- ful present for the Rev. Mr. Slowsermon,” observed Mrs. B., as we pushed aside the glass doors. To my wife’s astonishment, and, indeed, genuine pleasure, his reverence, as though divining her inten- tion, was there before her—a very grave, dignified, but somewhat prosy son ot the Church, accom- panied by hs pretty daughter, lottie, and | am free to confess that ‘‘the chords of a great Amen”’ as pealing forth from those superb instruments quite reconciled me to the idea of the presentation to Mrs. b’s. pet clergyman, especially as Tottie seemed 80 grateful to me on the score of the gift. We had rather a pleasant walk along Broadway— Mrs. B. and his reverence, Tottie and I— and parting | them at Twenty-third Street, 1 was for returning home, but my wife wouldn't hear ot such a thing. ‘* Let us see the newest things in furs,” she said. ‘* We'll just take a look into C, G. Gunther's Sons, only for half a second, dearest! There it is on the | avenue.” In a few minutes I was surrounded by sable, | chinchilla, black fox, silver fox, blue fox, lynx and | other skins too numerous to mention, shiny and | glossy, as if the animals to whom they had once be- | longed were io full possession and enjoyment of } them, and Mrs, B. did really look so chic in a “ prin- | cess cape’’— she isa fine figure, there’s no gainsaying | that—and as she exclaimed, ‘* My dear, I must have | it!”? Lcould not resist the pleasure of presenting her | with it, and so pleased was she at this token ot | my admiration, that, while the attendant went in | search of a pen and ink— unfortunately I had | brought my check-hook with me—my spousey, under pretense of examining a sealskin sacque, and | vehind the cover of the body of a gigantic polar bear, | gave me an unexpected but refreshing hug. } Emboldened by my expression of pleasure and | gratification at this unlooked-for mark of her grati- tude, she proposed a visit to the jewelry store of Theodore B. Starr, Fifth Avenue, and thither we repaired, to be charmed with the exquisite taste ex- hibited in the ‘‘get up’”’ of the store, charmed by black pearls, and pink pearls, and Oriental pearls— by lockets, set with diamonds in crescents, fit for | the breast of the Commander of the Faithtul, with | crosses that infidels might adore, and after purchas- | ing a cameo brooch set in brilliants—a present for | my mother-in-law—we once more emerged into the open air. ‘** Let us take the crosstown cars,’’ said Mrs, B. ‘*T want, of all things, to go to Ehrich’s—it’s on Eighth Avenue and Twenty-fourth Street.” ‘*T am in for it now,’ | murmured, “‘ and I may | as well go through with a good grace.” At Ehrich’s establishment, which was crowded | to the doorway, there was so much to attract the | eyes, that for a few minutes [ was fairly bewildered. Of course Mrs, B. darted in the direction of the | ladies’ mantles, whither | reluctantly followed. [am | bound to confess that the display was both hand- some and unique, and the prices not even on the verge of alarming. Having to purchase some toys for | our children—we have two at present—we directed | our steps to the toy department, and I sighed as I | thought of the rude playthings which were in vogue twenty-five years ago when compared with | the ingenious mechanical contrivances of to-day. | Here were young ladies waltzing the five-step | waltz, their partners keeping a step that would have | delighted the heart of Monsieur Cartier; young | ladies inhaling the fragrance ot blooming flowers; | young ladies fanning themselves as naturally as though they were on the Puerta del Sol, at Madrid ; sailors who danced hornpipes; gymnasts twisting themselves into black knots; and other figures equally lifelike and diverting. Mrs. B. and I were especially fascinated by the “ Interrupted Seren- ade.” This, as performed by the mechanical | figures, was immensely funny. An amorous swain serenades his mistress through the medium of a guitar. After a little, three windows open, and two young ladies gaze with ardor upon the serenader, while an elderly dame regards him with a frown. Presently an elderly gentleman pops his head ont of the window, the ladies disappear in the twinkling of an eye, and the amorous swain betakes himself and his guitar to regions unknown. | in no way regretted my visit to Ehrich’s, or the money J ex- pended in mechanical toys for my own and other people’s children, while a long gaze into the win- dow—at the garden-party— amply repaid me for the * scroogin.” ‘* Now for Macy’s,’”’ said Mrs. B. I was power- less, played out, and yet this delicate young woman was as fresh as ‘“‘ a new-blown rose’”’—I was going to say a clam, but that’s vulgar. We found Macy’s as usual. A throng of anxious par hustling one another to the music of the shrill cries of diminutive cash-girls, attired in black aprons. All was life and bustle, while every counter was lined three deep, and every person seemed bent upon buying up the whole store, cash-girls and all. Mrs. B. and I forced ourselves up one flight of stairs into a new pottery, porcelain and glass department—a very esthetic collection, where we invested in Wedgewood, as Mrs. B’s. mother has a craze for white or blue. The centre point of at- traction was, however, the steeplechase, set up in one of the windows, around which old and young, rich and poor, craned their necks, stopping there and seemingly lost in admiration. The course was admirably marked out, the jocks being dolls, the stablemen dolls, the betting-men dolls, the starters dolls, the spectators dolls. Dozens of dolls dressed in the most correct form lounged about the course, nor was the fovr-wheeled drag, with its accompany- From Macy’s we wended our way to the lordly establishment of A. T. Stewart & Co., and in much less time than it takes to write it my wife was en- shrined in a lace shawl such as the nuns of old dreamt of in their gloomy Belgian cloisters, and woven apparently by fairy fingers. Mrs. B. has a very piquante figure, and | do of regret the invest ment, ‘*] want to give dearest rhamma aset of cut-glass tumblers and glasses, and | also wauta sinali but elegant dinner-service for ourselves. Blossie”’ our youngest—‘ played Aunt Sally with the set we brought from Paris. Poor dear ehild! was greatly attracted by the flowers on the plates and dishes.” If | had been within ranze of Miss Blossie the at- traction of my open palm would possibly have yroved more siriking. At Bassford’s, in Cooper nstitute, we repaired these little deficiencies, and Blossie will soon be herself again. Ot course my wife’s mother's interests were looked after, and, in addition to the glassware, several fancy articles of cutlery were thrown in, while our little dinner- service, 1am in justice bound to admit, has been very much admired ; even Mrs. Plantagenet Jones, who lives next door, and who imitates Mrs. B. in everything, was heard to say to Mrs. Tudor Smith that it was the choicest set she had seen since the Paris Exhibition. I was fairly used up—as used up as Sir Charles Coldstream. Human nature jas its limits of en- durance. I felt that a glass of sparkling champagne would alone pull me together. There are moments when champagne means life; this was one of them. I uttered no word, but, seizing Mrs. B. by the arm, stepped into a passing stage, and, alighting at 308 Broadway, plunged at a bottle of Werner’s she | ‘* America” champagne, and filling a tumbler till | the beaded bubbles seethed and danced at the brim, tossed it off—the delicious nectar—and felt a new man. Talk of imported brands, at fabulous prices! I'll give nothing but Werner at my dinner- parties for the future. Having helped my wife to a third of the bottle she proposed to start anew. ‘* My dear,’’ said Mrs. B., her eyes sparkling like the wine, “ I’ll walk now till midnight.”’ “Walk!” “Yes, walk. I’ve on a pair of Burt’s shoes and I can do anything in them. I never had real, gen- uine, solid comfort until I invested in Burt.” Mr. Burt, in his new manufactory, No. 150 Duane Street, employs 400 workmen and workwomen, and by the use of machinery is able to turn out from 600 to 800 pairs every working day in the year. He received the gold medal at the Paris Exposi- tion, which is the highest award ever given to a manufacturer of shoes. Yes, we did walk, and walk, and walk, into stores, and out of stores, up streets and down streets, across town and around avenues till I thought of the Wandering Jew, and until I had to be assisted by the butler up the steps of my own house. I never got further than the dining-room, and, drop- ping into a chair, 1 feebly called for ‘‘ America” extra dry. In the evening Tudor Smith and his wife paid us a visit. Smith looked wan and worn and done up; his wife, like my own, was all triumphant smiles. When the ladies had retired to have a gushing gos- sip, | poured out Smith a tumblertul of wine and | asked him what was wrong. ‘*Oh, I’ve had such a day,’’ he groaned. “Ina moment of weakness I consented to accompany my wife, just to Jook at tue Christmas stores, and ?’— here he groaned dismally again—‘‘I’m almost dead.”’ ‘“* Where did you go to?’ I asked, a fiendish joy permeating my system. ‘*Where did we noi go? To Horsman, William Street and Maiden Lane, for toys; to Stern Brothers, Twenty-third ; and Waller & McSorley, Grand Street; and W. Jackson & Co., Broadway ; and Aitkin, Son & Co., Broadway, for dryzoods ; to Freeman & Woodruff, Broadway and Park Place—I wanted some articles of clothing; to J.& P. Coates, White Street, for cotton threads; to Barbour Brothers, Church Street, for linen threads; to Palm & Fechteler, art amusements; to J. Marshing & Co., decorators; to the Parisian Flower Co.: to Ridley & Sons, 309 Grand Street, brilliantly illu- minated by their new electric light, and a host of others, I need not name. Our last visit was to E. A. Morrison’s, and although the last, it did not prove the least attractive, as the holiday gifts imported direct from London, Paris, Vienna, Switzerland, Italy and Russia, by Mr. Morrison, were unique, rich, handsome, and cheap. The Russian leather goods were alone worth a prolonged inspection, and | invested heavily in purses and pocketbooks for gifts for some of my “ pals” in Wall Street. Tudor Jones had not as yet recovered, Monday last; and, as for myselt, when Mrs. B. catches me again, may I—well, be—beatified. HOLIDAY ATTRACTIONS IN PHILADELPHIA. A TOUR AMONG THE PRINCIPAL DEALERS. JPON one thing representative dealers in Phila- delphia allagree. Trade is better this season than it was for the corresponding season last year. The leading houses have their hands full. Shop- windows were never gayer. Costly presents were never more sought after. Preparations were never more complete to satisfy the popular demand. This demand has already had the effect of diminishing the number of clerks out of employment and adding to the torce of the regularly employed. There has been a race, lively, determined and spirited, among men of akind in business, to excel each other in the display of holiday goods. To describe the results would take columns. The leading houses are like expositions. Howipay Books. Two Christmas shoppers, a lady and gentleman, started out last week to see what was to be seen. Their tastes being literary, they first dropped into Porter & Coates’s book-store, on Chestnut Street, above Eighth. Whata jam! Everybody else seemed to have been impelled to Porter & Coates’s irom the same instinct. The literary couple squeezed their way up to the centre of the store, where Mr. Henry T. Coates was trying to wait on two or three customers at once. Mr. Coates is himself a literary man, the author of the ‘‘ Fireside Encyclopedia ot Poetry,” a very fine work, just out of the pres:. “Your work is meeting with very favorable criticism throughout the country, Mr. Coates.”’ The gentleman expressed himself gratified. His work is nosmall one. It contains over 1,200 poems by over 400 different authors, English and Ameri- can. Books is a subject upon which Mr. Coates talks with enthusiasm at all times. “I do not exaggerate,” said he, “‘ when I say that I think we have the largest and most complete col- lection of books in the country. George W. Childs took a stroll through our store, shortly after retu:n ing from his last trip to Europe, and remarked that

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Jaxvary 4, 1879.) he saw no collection of books anywhere while abroad that equaled ours. You cannot name any style of book that we do not have here.’’ Porter & Coates have always been noted for their rare books. Some years ago, when it was be- lieved there was only a single copy of the first edi- tion of “ Pickwick Papers” in America, which copy was in possession of a New England bookseller, Porter & Coates got the impression that they had a similar lying book around somewhere, looked among their stock, and found two copies of the original edition. Leaving Porter & Coates’s, the lady and gentleman took themselves to the store of J. B. Lippincott & Co., on Market Street, below Eighth. The tall brown building, with an imposing front, incloses a world of activity. Here ‘‘ Lippincott’s Magazine ”’ is published, and all Lippincott’s books. One-half the store seems to be offices and the other half books, yet the latter half is large enough for six good- sized bookstores. They have an immense stock on hand. Their holiday assortment is the largest ever brought out by them yet. Among the works upon which they have been doing and are doing and expect to continue doing a good trade, aside from the holiday trade, are ‘* Worcester’s Dictionary ’’ and ‘‘ Chambers’s Ency- clopedia "—works of which they have the exclusive right of publication. The dictionary is got up in six different styles, ranging in price from ten dollars to sixteen dollars and a half. The ‘‘ Encyclopedia” is complete in ten royal octavo volumes. Lippincott & Co. have already announced in their monthly bulletin an arrangement with the Cam- bridge Bible House in England for the sale of a series of books of the Bible, with notes, for school use. The lady and gentleman next visited Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger, whose book-house towers up almost opposite Lippincott’s on Market Street. The shelves and counters of this spacious store were freighted to their utmost with books of every sort ; and customers were there, as elsewhere, to the size of a regiment, trying to reduce their stock. The lady and gentleman encountered Mr. Camp, cashier of the establishment, in their rambles, and he told them something about the new “ Shake- speare " they were getting out. “It’s the ‘Avon Shakespeare,’ said he. ‘‘ We are publishing it in large, clear type, and have em- bodied in it the latest revisions by the best Shake- spearean scholars. All the improvements of this or that previous edition is embodied im one. The work includes a descriptive analysis of the plot of each play, an alphabetical index to the character of each play, an index to familiar passages, and a complete glossary of the words used in the text that vary from their modern significance.’’ Another book brought out by this firm this season is ‘‘ Heavenly Dawn,” a poem by a Philadelphia lady. ‘The rapid sale which this book has already met with has astonished even the publishers them- selves. JEWELRY. The next place visited by the shoppers was James E. Caldwell & Co’s jewelry-store. The great marble-fronted building, on the corner of Ninth and Chestnut Streets, was found in the midst of the rush and throng which comes with the season. The store was full, the clerks were busy, Mr. Caldwell was busy, and the sales were multiply- ing. Mr. Caldwell’sstore is indescribable. There was a@ panorama of gold and silver, a dazzling flare of diamonds, a soft gleam of ceramics, a flash of pol- ished bronzes, imitatiogs of the olden style, and of ebony boxes, ornamental clocks, Sevres, porcelain, china and glass. And there was so much ot it and such a bewildering variety, that the eyes got dis- couraged looking at it. ‘*Tell as what you are doing most in just now, Mr. Caldwell.” ‘‘ Dear me,”’ says the sagacious head of the firm, *‘there’s so much to do and so many to wait on, we’re turning away two hundred customers a day, because we can’t attend to them.” Mr. Caldwell found time to say they were doing a business at the present time beyond anything ever known to their experience before. ‘* We lead in the watch trade in this country. Ever since we bought the Waltham Watch Com- pany’s Exhibit at the Centennial Exposition, we have led in the trade in American watches. Then we sell the Ekegren Swiss watch, manufactured in Geneva, the best waich in the world. We have the exclusive right of sale in this country. Old man Ekegren, the maker, isa Dane. He took a medal at the Paris Exposition, a medal at our own Exposi- tion, and has been taking the first prizes for years for his make of watches.” This firm manufactures in its own workshop re- pousse, or chased silverware, and had on hand the largest stock exhibited by any house in Phila- delphia. MISCELLANEOUS. A visit to ‘‘The Arcade’’ of the Brothers Os- theimer found a warehouse of the most attractive gems in Philadelphia. Foreign art in the way of fancy porcelain, and everything else which Euro- pean skill in ceramics has produced, was found there. Artistic work in pottery, antiques, mosaics, malachites, articles of vertu, bric-d-brac, sent from Europe to Ostheimer Brothers as the American consignees for the Centennial Exposition, and after the close of the Exposition purchased by the con- signees, form a part of the choice collection they have on hand now. Large purchases of this line of articles have been made by them at the Paris Ex- position, and are being received now. Some fine work in the line of chandeliers are on exhibition at Gibson, Shaw &Co’s, 710 Chestnut Street. This firm have succeeded Baker, Arnold & Co., and are following a business plan not more re- markable for its enterprise than for the individuality which originated it. All the work they turn out is from the designs of the second member of the firm, Mr. Shaw, and they allow no lithographic copy to be taken of anything they make, thus securing to themselves the certainty of exclusive possession. They are fertile in original designs—so much so that, after placing a chandelier in a man's house, if their customer desires they will not duplicate it. They have secured the best trade in the city by this means. A contract was given them by the Social Art Club the other day to place chandeliers in the whole building. jilliam B. Kempton, the dry- oods merchant, has had one of the finest chande- iers of the lot put up in his own house. John Wanamaker’s great depot is a small Cen- tennial Exposition. He has added to it books, toy- books, and the classics. There was never a greater stock of goods to be found under one roof than his place shows now. The grand depot is practically twenty-eight stores in one, each a large store in itself. To visit it any day is like going to a great menagerie. China, glass and Queensware is displayed in every variety at Frymier & Edwards, successors to B. Dorsey & Sons. This is the oldest firm in this line of business in Philadelphia, B. Dorsey estab- lis) ed the house in 1815. Their sales this season have been largely among table sets and fine glass- ware. Almost within shadow of the Western Union Tele- graph Building at Tenth and Chestnut Streets, a fine collection of optical instruments is displayed in a shop window. it is R. & J. Beck’s establishment, a London firm. W. H. Walmsley, the Philadelphia manager, is building up a splendid business. Re- cently large shipments of stereoscopes, telescopes, microscopes and other articles in the same line, were received from England for the holidays. They have been arranged conspicuously and make a fine display. The Model Printing Press, J. W. Daughaday & Co., has penetrated almost every corner of the globe. The large building, a tew doors below Fighth Street and Chestnut, contains thousands of these presses of every size, from that of printing a small card up to the size of a large pamphlet, This firm have built up an immense trade within the past four years, and have shipped presses to every portion of Europe, and even to Africa, as well as to the Sandwich Islands, Australia, and other re- mote points, besides building up a large and con- stantly increasing trade in America. Printers’ ink, they say, did it ail. HOLIDAY BOOKS. THE tidal wave of progress that sweeps over our ‘‘rushing ’’ country bears high upon its crest an en- terprise so unique, so perfect in wondrous detail, so admirable in its mighty mechanism, so eminently suited to the imperious requirements of the hour as to compel a tribute of admiration to enforce an ex- pression of respect. ‘‘The American News Com- pany,’’ 39-41 Chambers Street, is an institution of which this country may well and justly feel proud. Its arteries extend all over the length and breadth of the land. From Alaska to Texas, from Maine to Florida, it is familiar in the mouth as a house- hold word. Its operations have pierced the prime- val forest, have cut through snow and ice, have traversed lake and river, have crossed moun- tain and plain. It is the mighty machine that distributes tens of hundreds of thousands of news- papers in every known tongue, North, South, East and West. Through its agency every periodical — from a child’s magazine to an esthetic review, trom a two-cent journal to an essay on the Dio- phantine analysis—finds its way to lordly dwell- ings, houses, and log-cabins, to learned colleges and village clubs, to blasé cotton-raisers, or desperate and hardy trappers. The wondrous store palace in Chambers Street contains every sheet printed for the readers of the world. Within its walls is a modern, library, such as would have flung Mezzo- fanti into a lunatic asylum, In addition to books and papers and periodicals, the dealer finds a superb assortment of stationery, of notions, and of various kindred nick-nacks. The American News Company have recently started a new branch of business, namely, cigars and tobacco. This with a view to supplying news-stands with a first-class article at a cost only to be reached through enor- mous dealings. The marvelous success of the American News Company is but the inevitable out- come of enterprise based upon energy, ability, and good faith. “Little Stay at Home and Her Friends,’’ b L. Clarkson, author of ‘Gathering the Lilies,” and “ Violet with Eyes of Blue,’’ is a very charm- ing little book, gotten up with exquisite taste, while the illustrations are on the borderland of very high art. ‘Just Out,” with its pert little chicken, gazing saucily at its empty shell, is an ex- cellent piece of workmanship both as to design and color. ‘‘ Tiny Tittens” is also admirable, while dear ‘Little Stay at Home,” all in white, and seated upon the tender green leaf of a lily- of-the-valley, is a truly poetic conception. F. W. Robinson & Co. Philadelphia. “The Rag Fair,” by L. Clarkson. This reverie, for we can only designate its dreaminess thus, is a book of poems, enforcing the great Christian truth of sanctification of the heart through the mediation of the Great Father, who said, ‘‘ Suffer little children to come unto me.’ It is beautifully preteeny illustrated, and its tone is “‘ thorough.” F. W. Robinson & Co., Philadelphia, publishers. Among the holiday publications of E. P. Dutton & Co., No. 713 Broadway, are ‘‘My Boyhood” and ‘* Prairie Days,’’ the former of which will be sure to delight the male juveniles into whose hands it may fall, while the latter will prove scarcely less ac- ceptable to both girls and boys than the famous * Little Women.’’ Among recent publications of J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, is ‘‘ Paul Faber, Surgeon,’’ by George MacDonald. This agreeable writer has a multitude of admirers in this country, and the book just issued will add to his reputation, being marked y the acute analysis of character and profound insight into the recondite problems of life and re- ligious faith for which ‘all his later works have been remarkable. Holiday buyers of books will find a complete and attractive assortment at the establishment of R. Worthington, No. 750 Broadway. The catalogue is pe ge rich in the publications of Chambers and other famous Edinburgh publishers. A special at- traction is the quarto, just issued, containing por- tions of the works of Burns, Scott, and Ramsey, with fine illustrations. Indeed, there is nothing ta the way of superb books, fitted for the holiday or general trade, which cannot be found at this estab- lishment. THE SHUFELDT COMMERCIAL EXPEDITION, T's expedition of Commodore Shufeldt in the United States man-of-war Ticonderoga, which recently sailed for the coast of Africa, is one of the most important movements for the development of American trade which has been undertaken for many years. The expedition will go directly to Liberia and look after American interesis, as well as the interests of that colony, and Commodore Shufeldt, while in Liberia, will act as a commis- sioner representing tle Liberian Government in the settlement of the question of the boundary line be- tween that country and the British possessions in Africa. After these duties are completed he will sail up the Congo River and investigate the natural resources of that region. He is also authorized to establish commercial relations with Burmah and Borneo, and will extend his cruise among the Pacific Islands. His instructions from the Navy Department embody some valuable suggestions from the Secretary of State, and he is authorized to report directly to the Secretary of the Navy, in- stead of forwarding his communications through the commandants of American fleets abroad. The Secretary expects to have monthly reports from the expedition showing the success and progress of the work. SECOND PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, CLEVELAND, OHIO. HE Second Presbyterian Church of Cleveland, Ohio, is located on the corner of Prospect Street and Sterling Avenue. It is cenciform in shape, with four gables, each forty-six feet wide. FRANK LESLIE'S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. | and six feet, the auditorium eighty-four by one The main building is one hundred by one hundred | hundred, arranged in amphitheatre form, with seat- | ing capacity tor eleven hundred people, the chapel, sixty by one hundred, containing the usual lecture, dining, class, sociable, kitchen and school rooms. A central dome, filty feet in diameter at the inter- section of the arched lines of the gables, forms the ceiling of the church proper. ‘The main tower is one hundred and fifty feet high and twenty-six square at the base. There are ten entrances to the | building. The structure is faced with Ohio stone, | is constructed in the Norman style of architecture, has three immense stained glass windows, besides | numerous smaller ones, is heated by steam, and cost, | with the ground and chapel, $141,647.89. The Rev. C. 8. Pomeroy is the pastor, and Joseph Ireland was the architect. PICTORIAL SPIRIT OF THE EUROPEAN ILLUSTRATED PRESS. Military Cemetery, at Champigny, France. In the early part of November, 1870, the French Army defending Paris crossed the Marne under the orders of General Ducrot and endeavored to cut through the Prus- sian lines and seize Montmesly. They were defeated by the Prussians, and 6,000 men were left on the field of battle. Five years later the Commune of Champigny raised a | commemorative monument to a number of the lost, and subsequently the Government decided to collect the re- mains of as many as possible and bury them at the same place, This was done, and on the 2d day of De- cember last the crypt was formally dedicated. The monument is situated on the left of the plateau on the road from Champigny to Provins, and consists of three galleries, a principal and two laterals. In the centre ot the principal gallery is a very fine mortuary chapel. The crypt contains from 2,500 to 3,200 exhumed skeletons, and is under the surveillance of the local hygienic council. Accident to the Russian Imperial Yacht | “ Livadia.” The imperial Russian yacht Livadia, having on board the Grand Duke Alexandrovitch and suite, and Count Schouvaloff, the Russian Ambassador to England, which left the port of Yalta, on November 2d last for Odessa, ran upon a submerged rock near the lighthouse at Taranhut during an intense fog. The passengers and | baggage were saved, but the vessel was injured so severely that it is believed she is beyond repair. During the last war she was transformed into a war vessel, having the elegant pavilion on her deck cut down to make room for an Armstrong gun, and at the signing of the armistice she was placed at the disposal of the Grand Duke Nicholas and sent to Constantinople. Maori Meeting, New Zealand. This interesting gathering took place at the end of June (baving been delayed some days by inclement weather) in the Taranaki district, New Zealand. The time chosen for the illustration is the moment of the distribution of the food to be eaten at the feast. It consisted of some 2,500 baskets of potatoes, kumeras and taros, a large number of dried shark and ninety- one pigs) The whole was stacked in a solid heap, like a wall, The preliminary ceremony of welcome having been concluded, a Maori, armed with a long wand, step- ped on to the pile of food, and proceeded to call on the tribes present by name, and to allot to each a portion pre- viously marked off by a dried shark stuck on end. After the distribution the food was taken by the tribes and rapidly cooked on hot stones in Maori ovens made for the occasion. An hour or two was devoted to feasting, and in the afternoon Rewi, the chief of the Ngatimania- poto, and head man present, opened the meeting with Sir George Grey and the Government party, which lasted several days, many topics of interest to the natives being discussed. Restoration of the Palace of Justice, Paris. The portion of the Palace of Justice in Paris kuown as the salon of the ‘“‘ Lost Footsteps,’’ is at length re- stored. It occupies the site of the great salon of the palace of the ancient kings of France, which was burned in 1618. Jacques Desbrosses bad charge of the rebuild- ing of the palace, and he laid out this apartment with the same dimensions it has to-day. During the brief régime of the Commune in 1871 it was again destroyed; but to-day it appears in its old-time magnificence, beau- tifully illustrating the Doric style of architecture and de- coration. The name of the ‘* Lost Footsteps "’ is derived from the fact that owing to its extreme length, breadth and height, the footsteps of persons walking at one end are entirely unheard at the other. The staircase shown | in the engraving gives access to the judicial chambers. AT HOME AND ABROAD. —Tue American Government has expended for freedmen’s schools $3,711,225. 47. universities cost the State There are 1,300 professors and —Tue German $2,500,000 per annum. 20,226 students. —Tue total endowment of the public schools of the United States is $8.000 000, and it is estimated that the average daily attendance is 4,500,00u —A COMMISSION, composed of experts, will meet in Berlin during the Easter holidays to decide on the measures to be taken for the compulsory teaching of drawing in the higher schools. —Tue Citizens’ Relief Committee of Memphis have wound up their affaire by distributing the cash on hand, $7,253, among the poor white orphan asylums, and setting aside $1,208 in county warrants for the co! ored asylum, if it shall be organized. — Tue electric light will make a valuable saving of coal in England. According to a very careful esti- mate made a few years ago, the quantity consumed in gas-making was set down at 6,560,000 tons, against a production of coal of 114,300,000 tons. —Tue Indian Government has lately taken steps for providing places of refuge on the main line of railway throughout India, whereat women, children and invalids could be collected under protection in case of disaffection being evinced by the native army. —Tue value of silk ribbons annually exported hither from Switzerland bas fallen from four million to one million dollars since 1873. Patterson silk mills are running on full time a.d employ eight thousand to ten thousand hands, and the greatest demand is for ribbons and scarfs. —An examination of the salaries of clergymen in Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia, Kentucky and North Carolina, shows a lower average in North Caro- lina than in either of the other States. Georgia sup- ports her ministers best, Kentucky next, Virginia third and South Carolina fourth. —Tue new line along the right bank of the | | Rhone, from Nimes to Teil, is being prosecuted with the utmost dispatch by the Paris, Lyons & Mediterranean Railroad Company. It will cost $2,000,000. Five thou- sand men are at work (Sundays and fife days included), and their number is increased daily. —Tue absconding bank director of Glasgow escaped from Ireland in a ventilated coffin. The coffin was driven in a hearse to the steamer, and the detectives, who were closely examining every passenger on board, actually helped to place the coffin in the ship, little thinking it contained the object of their search. —From the débris of the coal mines France makes annually 700,000 tons of excellent fuel, and Bel- gium 500,000 tons. In England, where there is not so much waste in coal-mining and where coal is much cheaper, the manufacture of artificial fuel is only about 200,000 tons a year. Germany makes tuel, for the most part, from peat and similar earths. —TuerRE are in Denmark 173 noble families, only twenty of which are of pure old Danish nobility, all the remaining families being originally of foreign ex- traction, or Danes ennobled within the last 200 years. The richest nobleman is Count Fris-Frisenberg, whose income reaches $200,000 a year. There are only two families descending from an illegitimate child of a king. —Txue London diamond merchants have built a palatial club-house for themselves in Holborn bars, but, unhke most club-houses, it is used not for recreation alone, but partly for business purposes. It is, in fact, a combined club and diamond exchange. Some of these diamond men are accustomed to carry fortunes about with them, and sales take place where they would least be expected. —Tue Russian Minister of Finance has at his disposal for the construction of barracks throughout the Empire a special fund, as yet untouched, amounting to 35,000,000 roubles, and bearing interest to the extent of 1,779,000 roubles yearly. This vast sum is said to have been almost exclusively formed by the amounts | paid to the Government during a number of years by in- dividuals desirous of being freed from the obligation of military service. —Tue sales of one of the largest firms of hair merchants in Germany have fallen off 25 per cent. in bulk, and 40 to 50 per cent. in value, within the last three years, entirely through the increased demand for Chinese, Japanese and other cheap hairs, In 1871 the ex- ports of hair from the treaty ports were 286 tons; in 1874, 330, in 1876, 670. This serves in some degree to | explain the pigtail robbing which bas been rife, and | which is also said to have been prevalent at the peruke The Afghan War—An Elephant Battery. The use of elephants in the present Afghan campaign, as conjectured in a recent number of this newspaper, has become quite a feature in the field movements of the British columns. The powers of traction and endur- ance of these animals are greater than those of the horse, and the wisdom of employing it for heavy moun- tain work was shown in the attack upon Fort Ali Musjid, when the battery of 40-pounder Armstrong cannon, which, by their long and accurate range and well-de- | livered fire, led to the silencing of the Afgban guns and | the capture of the fort, was drawn up the mountain and into position by elephants. Observatory on Mount Vesuvius. | period 150 years ago. —Tue work of fortifying the two lines of de- fense of Constantinople proceeds with great activity. The Government factories are occupied in the manulac- | ture of 10,000 wagons and barrows for the conveyance of the material, cartage of earth, etc. These fortifica- tions will, when cemplete, be armed with 800 guns of large calibre. The defensive works are constructed in parallel lines, so that the first is commanded by the second, the second by the third, and so on. They are ted by trenches, with embankments serving as shelter lor the infantry. —Rovumani has made a good thing out of the war. They Russians paid for everything they got, and settled all the accounts for supplies and railway trans- The observatory of Professor Palmieri, the courageous | portation. The payments, moreover, were made in silver, savant, who has devoted his life to the study of this mountain, is situated on a long and narrow ridge of rock on Mount Contaroni, almost at the foot of the actual po | and not in depreciated paper. Before the war the Roumanians could not pay the interest on the public debt; but this year they have Yione it easily, and not- cone of the volcano. Owing to the slight elevation of | withstanding their military expenditures, have a good the rocky ridge, and to the sharp point which it pre- sents to any stream of lava which maycome curling | down the mountain, the Observatory is much safer | than at first appears, During the recent eruption, as | well as that of 1876, the most valuable results have | been chronicled by the Professor, who has been able | to calm the exaggerated fears of the inhabitants of the surrounding villages, who were terrified at the threaten. | ing appearance of the mountain, by making a very fair forecast of the proceedings of the volcano. Loss of the Steamship ** Pommerania.”’ The fatal collision which took place off the Foreland, in the British Channel, on Monday, November 25th, resulted in the deaths of fifty-four persons, thirty-seven of whom were passengers. The accident bappened at night, soon after most of those on board the Pommer- ania bad retired to their berths, after indulging in some | festivities in the main cabin in celebration of their near | approach to port. Both vessels were built with water- | tight compartments, but the Pommerania sank like a | log because her doors had been left open; whilst the Moel Kilian, though frightfully damaged in the bows, harbor, the water never penetrating further than her first compartment, Captain Schwensen went down with his ship, but having risen again to the surface, he was picked up by the City of Amsterdam, and subsequently landed at Maassluys) The majority of those saved were taken on board the Glengarry and landed at Dover as will be seen in our engraving, was safely towed into } } surplus. The peasantry have laid up money against a rainy day, and, seeing that their tills are filled with silver, are disposed to think tolerably well of the Rus- sians after all. —Tue Government of Honduras is making great efforts to develop the agricultural resources of the country. Coffee-planting has been vigorously carried on, and the Government makes free grants of land to all | persons desirous of undertaking the cultivation of coffee, sugar, or of cocoa, and gives free transport of the necessary material and labor to the site of the grant. Besides these advantages, planters are exempt {rom military service, and all implements and materials neces- sary for the use or formation of plantations are admitted into the eountry free of duty. Strangers are admitted to the same privileges as citizens of the republic. —On Friday, December 27th, the completion of the viaduct extending from Superior Street on the east to Pearl Street on the west of Cleveland, will be formally celebrated. The extreme length of the viaduct and ap- proaches is 3,200 feet; general width, 64; height of roadway above the river, 68; span of large arch, 97; span of eight small arches, each 83; length of draw- bridge, 330; and width of each sidewalk, 11. Including | the right of way, the structure has cost $2,200,000, and the additional cost of removing the canal and weighlock and lowering the railroad tracks is estimated at $500,000. A little over three years’ time has been om cupied in the work. Te Sa ae ee anna I i

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[Janvary 4, 1879. FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER, | Si | AAA ene qh | ! i i _ EL : N ‘ Bh i r | NMA AAA bs MN if 19 > i win 4 tit jay if A yf th ayy Oe i yg AY ee: cy WW ye )) A ua Wil cit Ady, 4 Oca A) OU 120. OVERCOME BY THE DAZZLING ARRAY OF BRILLIANTS., i BROWN ch | i oa i N we ty . | I = y ] 7 “SS 7 om . " iT J | - P L é Hh ‘i MATA Z i Yee — 4 F * va a % ee 4 == : De (f us. * 1 " ly Sl 3 : y 3 = “ y - P ZB WP 0 i" . Th yy) }} mi) — — EXHIBITION OF THE TREASURES OF THEO. B. STARR’S DIAMOND SAFE. Y YY, y Y Yo YUjYyy Ly Z Y Z 4 Yj J tYjz Yi) hhbddddddiddda THE CHILDREN’S DELIGHT—MACY’S GRAND MODEL, WITH DOLLS, OF THE JEROME PARK RACECOURSE. MR. AND MRS. BROWN’S CHRISTMAS PEREGRINATION.—Ser Pace 298. HOLIDAY ATTRACTIONS OF THE METROPOLIS.—INCIDENTS OF THE

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rian Jen FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. 7

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AT GUNTHERS’.—“ MY DEAR, I CAN’T LEAVE WITHOUT IT.” (MR. BROWN SUBSIDES.) i

<3 aN | bel : oA AY r \ . wlll Al Vp a ‘ual al ee HK HM “, {) fHE LACE-ROOM AT A. T. STEWART’S—THE SUPERB HOLIDAY DISPLAY OF VALUABLE LACES. THE HOLIDAY ATTRACTIONS OF THE METROPOLIS.~INCIDENTS OF MR. AND MRS. BROWN’S CHRISTMAS PEREGRINATION.—See Pace 298, fe - — ters

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502 HER NAME. QQ" ALL I call my lady, Birdsong hk Of the glad, spontaneous melody s To the garden-ways that feel their incompletene When her absence stays the thrush that loud! for the sweetness he brivg y the lark abates his buoyant strain and fleet ness And the drooping roses dream While bygone Springs? Shall I call my lady, Sunshine, for the brightness That continually encompasses her soul; For the tender, fostering warmth and airy lightness That abide within her body's sweet control For the deft-spun webs that clothe her dainty white- ness And the silken hair that forms her aureole Shall I call my lady, Fragrance, for the essence That around her gracile lissomness distills, Like the consciousness of some celestial presence Which in all the sentient being moves and thrills, When, at her touch, the world grows vague and lessens In the heart's desire her amorous breath fulfills ? Ali! Could compass yet the music of my love, And no Raphael, all his subtiest colors blending, Could depict the iridescence of my dove, As no emulous, attar-laden breeze ascending Could reach the redolent air she breathes, above! But all names I give her in my hours of waking Go echoing through the far domain of dreams; And, of old as Flora’s, wintry fetters breaking, Her presence fills the land with flowers and beams, While, from my soul, life’s soil and taint off-shaking, I dweil within the realm her grace redeems! Joun Moran . A SECRET MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. By THE DUKE DE POMAR, Actnor or ‘Tae Honeymoon,” ‘‘ THROUGH THE AGES,”’ ‘““Whrous Sug?” ** Fassion anp Passion,’’ Etc SECOND. THEM? BOOK FURGIVE CAN YOU CHAPTER X.— FORGIVEN. THEN ‘Lady Rollingford entered her hus- \\ band’s chamber, she found, to her astonish- ment, that not only a woman knelt by his bedside, but that a little child, dressed entirely in white, was playing beside him upon the bed. ““Come here, Laura,” he cried, on seeing her, in a feeble voice, yet with great pathos. ‘“ She has forgiven us—she has forgiven us!’’ “Forgiven us! What—what do you mean? What has this woman to forgive? It is your for- giveness that she came to seek.’’ “Oh, Laura, Laura, how can you speak so? You know that she is my wife. You know that we were really married. Oh, what is the deception her love prompted her to practice upon us com- pared to the great crime I have since committed.”’ ‘‘ She has been turning your head ; she has been making you believe all sorts of stories. You know how weak you are, and that your mind is unfit to reason just now. How can you believe the tales such a creature chooses to invent, taking advantage of your illness to gain some selfish ends of her own ?” The lady by his bedside rose to her feet and turned towards her. Her face was deadly pale, and her beautiful black eyes were dimmed with tears; but even thus she looked most wondrously handsome. * You need fear nothing from me, madam,” she said; and her voice betrayed great emotion. “1 came here only to seek the forgiveness of a man whom I had deeply injured, and whom I had heard was dying. I have obtained that forgiveness, and 1 willgo. You will never hear from me again. I will never cross your path. To me, as to every other person in this world, you will remain for ever Lady Rollingford. Can I do more,” she added, turning towards the poor man on the bed— “can I do more to atone for the past ?”’ ** Oh, Marie, Marie, you are an angel!” “Hush! you must forget me now; you are mar- tied to another.”’ “ See, see!”’ Frank cried, taking the child that was playing beside him on the bed in his arms. “« See, Laura, this is my daughter—my darling little Louise !’’ Lady Rollingford could not repress a cry of rage which rose to her lips and almost choked her. “ Your child? THar your child ”’ With a rapid movement Marie caught her little girl in her arms and clasped her to her bosom. ‘1 did not bring her bere for you to look at. I brought her that her poor father might see her and bless her before he died— my “se little orphan !"’ and hot tears rolled down her handsome face. “ But do you think that I will let her go now that I have seen and blessed her?’ Frank cried, with all his old eagerness. “What do you propose doing, then?” Lady Rollingford muttered between her teeth. “TI tear that I can do but little for her,’ he said, taking her again in his arms and looking with a loving gaze that had already something more than human in its hectic intensity into the sparkling black eyes of the child, who was a miniature copy of her handsome mother. “1 am dying—t feel it —I cannot live twenty-four hours longer, whatever the doctors may say ; but this child is mine— she is my own, and while I live 1 must provide for her as well as | can. Laura,” he added, turning towards her, ‘ by the will I made in London, after my poor father’s death, you are sole mistress of all I ess. I cannot alter that will now, there is no time; but I want you, for the love you bear me, and as an atonement to this poor woman to whom we have both been so cruel, to adupt this child — to bring her up as if she were really your own daughter —to give her our name, and at your death to leave her the fortune you receive from me,” “ Frank !” ‘Nay, Laura, you must promise to do this for my sake.” no Mozart, all his God born genius lending, | } FRANK LESLIE’S “My daughter does not need her protection or her charity,’ Marie exclaimed, coming forward and drying her tears. *‘ Thank God, I am not so desti- tute as to have to accept that!” “But, Marie, it is my wish,” he said beseech- ingly ; “you must allow her to remain with us for my sake. I cannot have you—do not take away my child also from me.’’ There was something so sad and pathetic in the tone of voice in which he this that both the ladies were moved, and Laura, approaching the bed, raised the child in her arms and kissed her.” ‘‘T cannot let the sins of the mother be visited on the child,” she said; “if this pretty girl is indeed my husband’s daughter, it is my duty to adopt her, and to bring her up as mine.” “You, will, then, love her for my sake ?” “Yes; but this woman must never claim her. said | lived in a world of visions and of fancies ; ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. and I | now see how vain have been these dreams, and how idle will ever be my fancies, My fate is stronger than myself. I cannot hope to change my nature. | I was not born to love; I was born to accomplish | a mission, and that mission alone must hencetorth fill my thoughts. This boy that I have so loved was no better than the rest. I see it now, yet I | must try to forget it, as I must leave something of the past worth regretting, or else what a blank my future will be! Surely, I have not raised up my ideal visions, only for my own entombing !”’ ‘Then her eye fell upon the table, and she saw the check which Lady Rollingford bad inclosec in her letter, and a rapid change came over her thoughts. ‘“‘She sends me the money,” she exclaimed with | | scorn—‘‘the money with which she would have | Frem the honr she enters my house, she must be | mine, and mine only.” “*] will never consent to that. Abandon only child! part from my only daughter! Oh, never! never! | cannot turn her over like this into the hands of my bitterest enemies.” “Surely you do not look upon Laura as an enemy ?” pleaded the poor invalid. ** She has been very bitter to me.”’ “Oh, Marie, forgive her, forgive her. This con- founded illness of mine has turned her head.” ‘“‘T bear her no resentment, Francois, believe me. I, who am in such need of forgiveness, ought to forgive my enemies.” ‘* Let her have the child, then. I am dying—I know it; you would not deny me this iast wish. Marie, it is the first thing I ever asked you to re- nounce for me.”’ “And she will bring her up and make her happy ?” “Yes, 1 promise to do that,’’ Laura said, her cold heart warming at the sight of that lovely young face which lay against the pale cheek of her poor young father. “Perhaps she will be happier with you than with me. Alas, what can f offer her? position can I give her? I have not even a name to bestow upon her—my poor little one !”’ “TI will give her her father’s name, and at our death she shall have all we possess. But you must never come between us again ; you must swear that from this moment you will give up all claim to be Lord Rollingford’s wife.” “I never wished to be called his wife; no one in the world knows that 1 was married to him.” ** You swear that you will never claim this child as yours, and that you will nevercome between us ?” “Yes, on one condition, and that is that my Louise shall be brought up a Catholic, and that she shall marry none but a Catholic. I will give her up to you, as I see that it is for her good, but I cannot consent to her ever becoming a Protestant. It is the only request 1 make.” “Tf you promise never to come between us, | will promise you in my turn that she shall be brought up as you desire,” “Upon that condition, I swear it.” Phd “ And I shall die in peace ! CHAPTER XI.—TO HIM WHO LOVETH MUCH, MUCH SHOULD BE FORGIVEN. HE next morning, when Mrs. Champion came down to breakfast at her hotel, a letter was handed to her, which had been sent a few seconds before from the Hotel Mirabeau. With a trembling hand she tore open the en- velope and read the following : “ Dear Mrs. Cuampion—I write just one line to inform you that Lord Rollingford died last night at eleven. “As you know already so much of our un- fortunate family history, I think it right to tell you that I have adopted my husland’s daughter as mine, and that I will bring her up as if she were indeed my own daughter — providing for her during my life, and at my death making her sole heiress to all the property which Lord Rollingford has left me, as it seems that she is really his child, and I desire in all things to do what is right by her; for the poor child is innocent of the sins committed by her mother, both before and after her marriage to Lord Rollingford. “*] inclose you the check I promised for ten thousand pounds—for the ambulance you have de- termined to provide for the Italian campaign, and whieh my bankers will pay over to yours as soon as my affairs are settled and Lord Rollingford’s will is proved. But, I must, however, remind you again of your promise never to divulge to any one—even to your husband - this unfortunate secret, that must for ever remain a mystery to the world, as both my honor and that of my dear deceased husband are concerned in it, ‘“*On this understanding pray believe me yours, ete., Laura Rouuincrorp.” It was with mingled feelings of grief and indig- nation that Mrs. Champion read these lines. Grief at the news of the death of poor Frank, for whom she had always entertained a deep regard; and indignation at the calm way his wien treated the event, and at the business-like manner in which her letter announcing it was written. Her first feeling was one of sorrow and desola- tion; she had allowed the image of this young man, almost unknown to herself, to take a very deep root in her heart, And now that he was gone for ever out of her life she realized how dear he had been to her. She was not a woman to give way to weeping— tears are only for the weak—but the grief that filled her heart was almost greater than she could bear. ** T never could have believed that I loved him so much,’’ she muttered to herself; and then her face became radiant, and her eyes acquired a strange briiliancy, and she continued, as if in- spired: ‘‘I must forget him—I must try to forget bim—1 need —y thoughts for other things—I must not allow his image alone to fill them. I have already wasted too much of my life upon him, and the brief moments of joy he has afforded me have only left my soul more desolate. I was never meant to feel like others. I was never made to love and to be }oved: mine must be a very differ- ent lot—to dream that I felt, not really to feel, has been my fate. My life hitherto has been spent in idle dreams of things that could never be. I have What | my | | seems hateful in my eyes. | of the man | bribed me to keep her secret. Am I justified in taking it? Ah, this money, which would have | been so welcome to me yesterday morning, now Am I justified in tak- ing it? My honor says No; and yet have I not promised of my own free will to keep the fatal secret? It was not to obtain this paltry piece of paper that I gave my word, but to save the honor loved. I refused to accept it as a bribe, but as a present ought I to refuse it? It is not for me, it is for others that she sendsit. It is, as it were, the last bequest of that poor boy, who, had God spared him, might have been of the greatest service to the cause.” She looked around her, and everywhere the different articles for the ambulance which she had lately provided met her gaze. There they lay all about the room — surgical instruments, cases of medicines, bundles of bandages, piled up on every table, just as they had come from the various shops, all ready to be packed and — to Italy, She thought of the brave soldiers who were fighting for their country. She saw in her mind’s eye the bloody battlefields and the thou- sands of wounded and dying who lay helpless on the ground, bathed in their own blood, with no one to look after them or relieve their suffer- ings; and instinctively she grasped Lady Rolling- ford’s check and pressed it to her heart. ‘* It is the price of blood,’’ she said; “it comes from one that is no more, and it shall be the means of sparing blood and of saving many lives. No, no, I cannot—I cannot refuse to take it.’’ Again she read the letter through, this time with deep attention. “ It is written in a most business-like manner,” she thought; “she puts it in such a way that I can- not but keep her secret even in spite of myself, for she knows well that I cannot refuse her money ; yet by this very letter she commits herself. If I had a mind to betray her, these words in her own handwriting would witness against her. This letter confirms all. She has outwitted herself in her anxiety. What could have induced her to put all this in writing, and to sign it with her own name? It burns my hands. Shall I allow the flames to consume it ?”’ For a few moments she remained buried in deep thought. : ‘*No, I shall keep this; no eye shall ever see it; yet it may be the only means of helping this poor child of his. It will be a power that will force her, even in spite of herself, to keep the promise she made to this child’s father.’’ And she locked it up in her dressing-case where she kept her most private papers, and there, amongst letters from secret societies written in cipher, and mysterious dispatches from Garibaldi and Cavour and Mazzini, she made her mind up it should rest for ever. She put on her bonnet and her shawl, and with- out stopping to partake of any breakfast, she hur- ried to the Rue de la Paix, bent on seeing once more the face of the man she had so loved, though the spirit of that man no longer animated the cold clay. She found the hotel in great confusion, and on being shown to Lady Rollingford’s sitting-room she met the chaplain of the English Embassy, who, in his character of God’s minister, had resorted at once to that lady’s side to comfort her in her affliction. wa is Lady Rollingford ?’ she inquired of im. The sanctimonious little man shook his head with oon resignation. ** Wonderfully supported,’ he said—“ wonder- fully supported. It has never been my lot to meet with a lady who bore her sorrow so composedly. Her religious fortitude is a pattern to every one. A wonderful woman—truly,a wonderful woman !” “* Shall I be able to see her?” she said, paying little attention to his stereotyped sentences. “Her ladyship begged that she might not be disturbed ; the poor thing must shed her tears alone. No one can comfort her in such a calamity save a clergyman. Ah, who would have thought that this poor young nobleman would die so sud- denly’? Such a superior person, too—a_ true nobleman both by birth and feelings; a man to whom so much had been given, and for whom life opened so brilliantly. He had only been married two months ; and to be snatched away like this in the very prime of life! Ah, mysterious, indeed, are the ways of Providence! One can only say, ‘The Lord loveth whom He chasteneth.’ ” Mrs. Champion felt deeply moved; but she could not quote texts appropriate to such an occa- sion; and the sight of this sanctimonious man, who had never seen or known Frank in life, mourn- ing so much over his death, jarred upon her nerves. “IT must see her. Will you be kind enough, sir, to inform her that Mrs. Champion would like to speak to her for a moment ?”’ “The sight of a stranger might reawaken her sorrow. I left her so full of Christian fortitude that I fear to disturb her; Already this importu- nate Sister of Charity, who insisted on attending the poor young nobleman in his last moments, has caused her unnecessary grief ; and now her present frame of mind is so very edifying.” “A Sister of Charity, did you say ?”’ “Yes; one of these French Seurs d» Charité whom hotel people, with their mistaken anxiety, | reading a prayer-book, and looking quite « summon to attend their guests whenever they fall ill-- a most distressing custom, I really begin to [J anvaRY 4, 1879. believe that the priests pay them todo so. They are very deep, indeed the Roman Catholic clergy he re Pe The little clergyman’s stereotyped phrases and petty bigotries were more than Mrs, Champion could bear at that solemn moment, and, making an imperative gesture, she insisted on being admitted to Lady Rollingford’s room. She found that lady sitting alone by the fire : m- posed, There no traces of tears on her cheeks, and her strange sell! possession contrasted greatly with the excitement and agitation which she had shown on the previous day. She rose to meet her visitor, and in a calm voice she muttered something about “in the midst of life we are in death.” “This is a most unexpected blow,” Mrs. Cham pion said, taking her hand. “I feel greatly for you, dear lady. Is there anything I can do for you” “No,” she murmured, “I think not; every one has been most kind to me. Have you seen Mr. James ?—a truly good man. He came immediately he heard the sad news, and has afforded me great consolation.” “1 am glad to see you bear the blow with so much Christian fortitude.” ** Yes; this is the advantage of having received a truly religious education. 1 never felt the com- forts afforded by our religion so much as now. Yes, Mrs. Champion, it is a Christian’s duty to bow to the will of the Lord, and to accept His chastenings as mercies.’’ Mrs. Champion felt all her blood freezing in her veins. She had come prepared to meet a desolate widow, and to try and soothe her grief; but she certainly could not have hoped to find that widow in such a very blessed state of mind, as Mr. James would have said; and yet, somehow or other, she was not wholly pleased with her. “If you take it that way, Lady Rollingford,”’ she said, ‘‘ of course I can do nothing. I am glad to find you are able to bear your bereavement with so much fortitude.” “Thank you. It was very kind of you to think of coming to see me. By-the-by, did you receive my letter ?’’ “Yes; and I came to give you the receipt for the handsome gift you have been kind enough to send me for my poor wounded soldiers.” She took the paper which Mrs. Champion handed to her with a steady hand, and read it attentively. ‘I see you say nothing here about your promise, you know.”’ Mrs. Champion's face flushed with indignation. “ No!” she exclaimed; “I do not accept your money as a bribe, but as a free gift. I gave you my word of honor vesterday not to discluse your secret. I gave it to you of my own free will, and I can accept no money for it. If you like to have your check back, here it is.” Lady Rollingford gave a long sigh. “No-oh, no; keep it. Only you can ima- gine how anxious I feel, particularly just now ; and what a consolation it would have been to me, under the circumstances, to have had your promise in writing. But if you refuse, why, I must sub- mit.” And she turned her eyes to heaven with the air of a Christian martyr who has learnt to suffer in silence. Mrs. Champion was too indignant to continue the subject; so she tried to give a new turn to the conversation. “Were you with him when he died ?”’ “ Oh, yes.’ “ And was he conscious at the last ?” “He was conscious till the very last, and he died calm and full of hope.”’ ‘*] hear that a Sister of Charity was with him.’ Laura’s face darkened. “You can guess who that was. Yes, he insisted on having her near him, and I, of course, could scarcely refuse him anything at such a moment. Poor Frank! he is gone to a better world now! But, to save appearances, I insisted on her being dressed like a Seur de Charité. Such women often attend sick people in this country, and in that guise no one could suspect anything.” “IT see your grief did not destroy your rea- soning faculties. You have acted with a great deal of caution and forethought.” “What could Ido? Ah, Mrs. Champion, only you can know what I have had to suffer - to be forced to allow such a woman to remain by the side of my poor dying husband! Ah, it was really too dreadful! Fortunately, no one guessed the truth. She is with him now, I believe. Ah, I have been up the whole night, and have no more strength left.” “You should lie down; I think a little sleep will soon set you up again. I will intrude upon you no longer. I leave for Rome in a day or two, and shall probably not see you again for a long time. But make your shed easy ; your secret is safe with me; and if astray bullet kills me one of these days, why, then your secret will die with me. Good-by.”’ ‘*Good-by, Mrs. Champion. you to have come. Good-by.’’ On quitting Lady Rollingford’s room, Mrs. Champion directed her steps to the apartment where Frank’s body had been conveyed. With a cautious step and a beating heart she en- tered the spacious room, and with profound rever- ence she approached the bed, and looked for the last time in her life upon that face she had so loved. The handsome features she remembered so well were now perfect in repose; the glossy fair hair was brushed back, disclosing the noble fore- head ; the eyelids were carefully closed over the eyes, and he seemed as if asleep; the delicate, small, sweet mouth, with its voluptuous-looking lips, which she had so many times longed to.kiss, looked far sweeter now than even in life; and, stooping down with great reverence—for there is something in death which always inspires rever- ence—she pressed her trembling lips to the dear mouth wiich that cruel sleep that knows no waking had closed for ever. As she did so she perceived for the first time that she was not alone in the room. On the other side of the bed, on her knees, and with her head were , So very kind of

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January 4, 1879,] buried in her handa, was a motionless figure in the | dress of a Sister of Mercy. ; Mrs. Champion immediately recognized her. She walked softly round, and laid her hand on her shoulder. A shudder ran through the girl’s frame, she looked up halt-trightened, and rose to her feet. For an instant she remained motionless ; then cast- ing her eves on the bed, she burst out crying. Mrs. Champion was greatly touched : there was something so sad and despondent in that beautiful young face, bathed in tears of supreme anguisl, that her heart was warmed towards her, and taking both Marie’s hands in hers she kissed her tenderly, and said in a low voice, ** Poor Marie !”’ : Marie, for it was indeed she, looked at her for a second, and then, burying her face once more in her hands, she cried: *‘ I thought I was prepared, but I was not.” ‘“‘T cannot tell you how I feel for you.” * Ah, Mrs, Champion, Mrs. Champion! I never could have believed I loved him so dearly. How happy we might have been if—ah, a horrible fatality attends on love; the beings whom we most | fondly love are given to us but to perish— too soon or else too late the heart-beat nines. We desire and we worship, but those to whom we are united are seldom those we love. Woman's destiny is to love, and when love is done, to weep must be her only portion ; henceforth my heart will be a sealed book, at the contents of which | tremble.’’ * You loved him ?” ‘* Ah, no one will ever know how deeply ! Cruel- hearted men say that such as I cannot love. Ah, I suppose the words do sound mockery on my lips ; yet here in this supreme moment, with my hand upon this heart which loved me so well, I swear to you that I worshiped this man.”” And stretching out her hand, she laid it upon the breast of the dead man. “‘ Mrs, Champion,” she said, after a solemn pause, “ he spoke of you at the last; he told me how much he loved and respected you, and what a deep regard he entertained for you. I am sure that you will not shrink from me, and scorn and despise me, as others do,” “No, I cannot scorn you, Marie, for love and sorrow have made us sisters.” Marie then came closer to her, as if she longed to seek her protection; and there, by the body of that man they had both loved so well, she told Mrs. Champion the sad history of her life, and opened her heart to her, not shrinking from laying bare every fault and weakness of her nature. Dorothea was greatly moved ; her tender heart swelled and rose up within her. And when the poor forlorn creature looked at her with her large, earnest, imploring eyes, and asked at last in a tremulous voice whether she thought God would ever furgive her, she raised her in her arms, and in a voice full of pathos she said, ‘“‘ Daughter, our Lord said to a woman who was even a greater sinner than you have been, ‘ Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.’ Try and repent, and make atonement for the past.” “1 will try; oh, yes, I will try hard now,” she cried, in a piteous tone; “ but it is so hard, so difti- cult. Twice before I have tried to reform. The first time when I was trying to be good I met this man, and I was again drawn to sin. When ! left him I was determined to shut myself up in a con- vent, and to devote myself to God; but, alas! my nature was stronger than my good intentions, I could not; and now you see 1 have sunk even lower than before !’’ “ Oh, Marie!’’ “] will try again; I promise youl will. But my child! I am going to abandon her. Lady Laura has promised to adopt her ; will you promise me in your turn that you will look after her, and teach her not to think too badly of her poor mother? I fear Lady Laura will teach her to hate me, and the thought of this makes me miserable ; rou loved her father; try to love his daughter for his sake.” ‘*] will, Marie, I will; think not of her, think only of yourself.” And thus that strange woman bound herself, in the presence of the man she had so loved, to protect and cherish the little girl whom he had left in charge of the woman the world believes to this day to have been his wife. BOOK THIRD. THE MYSTERIOUS HEIRESS. CHAPTER I.— IN THE HEART OF MAYFAIR. \ ORE than twenty years have elapsed since the events I have narrated in the two preceding books. During this long lapse of time a great many changes have taken place. There have been wars and revolutions and changes of government with- out end. France has witnessed two great revolu- tions and a mighty war. Spain has become a republic, then a monarchy under an Italian prince, then a republic once more; and Italy has at last obtained her liberty and become one united nation, with the Eternai City for a capital. The good day- dream of the divine Dorothea has been realized after all, and perhaps it is thanks to her that this great event has come about. In the other personages of our story, however, these twenty years have not been particularly eventful, and so | shall pass them over in silence, and take up their history as it were anew, in the present. We are in the lovely month of May, in the middle of a gay and unusually brilliant London season, and our lot is cast with the sayings and doings of that bright, effervescent world which calls itself “ the great world.” ; It is a fine, starry night, and the carriages of the aristocracy roll in every direction through the now gay streets of ge oe conveying the wor- shipers of fashion to the various temples where they intend devoting the evening to the god of pleasure. In one of the most fashionable squares of the metropolis Lady Oddicums holds a select reception, and it is to her house that we first direct our steps. A brilliant crowd is gathered in the elegant and artistically-decorated saloons of the marchioness, and her ladyship stands at the top of the gilt and velvet-carpeted staircase receiving her guests. In the back drawing-room, which opens into a FRANK LESLIE'S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. large conservatory, profusely adorned with flowers, we perceive a group of persons who seem unusually preoccupied in some all-absorbing topic of conver- sation. Let us approach them, and listen for a moment to what they are saying. “She is very beautiful,” is the general remark ; “but what is ber true history ?’’ is asked on all sides; and, strange to say, a long silence follows the question. The old ladies shake their heads, while the younger ones smile and look unutterable things. The men, for the most part, remain silent, and cast on the young ladies looks that imply a great deal of unspoken scandal. * Do you think that she can be her daughter =” at last, murmurs a little lady, who evidently is but a recent arrival amongst them. “Oh, dear me, no,” answers an elegantly- dressed lady, whom, by her fair curls, tall, grace- ful figure, and unmistakably patrician features, we recognize at once as Lady Boursetile, the reigning queen of many a royal feast—‘ Oh, dear me, no. Why, my dear, two women more uniike never existed in this world ; no one who knows them can possibly say ¢/at. Lady Rollingford is a fresh- colored, fair-haired Scotchwoman, who, though no longer particularly young, has lost none of the un- mistakable characteristics of her race; whilst Miss Reymond is a brunette, with an olive complexion, dark hair and black eyes, that speak of a Southern country and reveal a Southern blood.” ‘* Was Lord Rollingford dark?” asked the little lady, again. “Lord Rollingford? Oh, no, he was fair and very English-looking. I remember him quite well —poor fellow, he died in Paris whilst on his wed- ding tour !” “Then you do not think that she can be his | daughter ?”’ **T do not think it at all probable; besides, would a woman like Lady Rollingford have adopted a daughter of her husband's’ I say no—what do you say, duchess ?” The lady to whom this question is put by the charming countess is a tall, frisky dowager, in a pale-pink satin dress. She is the well-known Duchess of Warrington, and by her side stands her equally admired daughter, a young lady who, though perhaps no longer in her first youth, adds to her by no means common charms of person a most uncommon mind. The duchess smiles graciously, and after a short pause answers : ‘“*] agree with you, Lady Boursetile; I do not believe that Miss Reymond is any connection what- ever of the Rollingford family.” “Yet she bears the family name,” urges the stranger. “Ah, because Lady Rollingford has adopted her, so of course she bears the family name.”’ “ But what is her real name ?”’ says Lady Bour- setile, shrugging her alabaster shoulders, amply disclosed by the lowest of black tulle bodies, and making the splendid diamonds and sapphires on her neck glitter and sparkle —“ that nobody knows.’ “ How very strange !’’ “Yes, it is certainly one of the mysteries of Mayfair.” “T wonder Mayfair has not found it out long before this, or faute de mieux, invented a story, to account for it some way,” exclaims a tall, fair- haired young lady of most condescending manners. “Oh, as to that, Miss Oscott, Mayfair has not been behindhand ; believe me, the worst of it is that it invents far too many stories. ‘Twenty or thirty different accounts of Miss Reymond’s birth and parentage, all equally inconsistent with each other and with common sense, are in circulation at the present moment.” This is said by a young nobleman of manly ap- pearance, fair mustache, and expressive eyes, who 1s evidently anxious to win the regard of the young lady before bim. “What is the last account, Lord Kingsford ?” asks this young lady, with a look of expectation. ‘“* The last account is that she is the daughter of a certain high personage whose name had better not be mentioned.”’ “But his daughter by whom ?’’ inquires the countess. “You want to know too much, Lady Bourse- tile. I am sure your imagination is lively enough. Can’t you guess ?’’ “Well, yes, perhaps,” she says, laughing, and then adds, turning to the duchess, “ Oh, my dear, is it not too shocking ?”’ (To be continued.) THE NEW PLAY AT UNION SQUARE THEATRE. N page 305 we illustrate the duel scene and groupings which mark the fourth act of a most remarkable play, ‘‘The Banker’s Dauglter,’’ now running at the Union Square Theatre, in this city. This play is purely American in its characters and its morale, and is probably the most effectively suc- cessiul yet written on a purely American theme by a purely American author. In its construction, its climaxes, and its manipulations of dramatic situa- tions, however, it is evidently based on the best French models. This already popular play is the handiwork of Mr. Bronson Howard, and has a double moral running through its every scene—the first being the folly of marrying for money; the second being that a true love—a love unto sacrifice and unto faith—will win back love under circum- stances seemingly most adverse to its development and growth. There are fourteen characters in the play and five scenes. The characters are dis- tributed among such artists as Mr. Charles R. Thorne, Jr., Mr. Jolin Parselles, Mr. J. H. Stod- | dart, Mr. J. B. Polk, Mr. J. W. Lemoyne, Mr, M. Lingham, Mr. Walden Ramsay, Miss Sara Jewett, Miss Maud Harrison, Mrs. E. J. Phillips, ete. The scenery, which is certainly as gorgeous in effect and as perfect in detail as any that ever was set on a New York stage, is from the pencil of Mr. Richard Marsden. The interior of the banker’s house, the salon of the rich American in Paris, the vestibule and stairways ot the American Legation, the ruined and snow-covered chateau, with the sleeping city and ice-locked river in the distance (which our picture reproduces), the boudoir of the alarmed wife, with its delicately stenciled roses, make a series of stage pictures that rival each other in beauty and are rivaled by nothing else The story of the play is a story of the heart, ap- ealing more to sentiment than to passion, but eautitully and sequentially told by the action of the play, and admirably rendered by the actors. The sentiment is cunningly relieved by a vein of humor pouring out of the presentation of some purely American characteristics ; and the dénoue- ment, at once poetical and domestic, ieaves the spectator pleased to see a story that has interested him end precisely as he wanted it to end. rhose who take an interest inthe American stage feel no little pride in the success of this beautiful work, and, pointing to it, ask “Is it necessary always to go to London and Paris for plays we like to see ?”’ It certainly would not be if our American dramatists would supply our stage with such plays as ‘‘ The Banker’s Daughter.”’ SCIENTIFIC INTELLIGENCE. Meteorology.—The physicists of the French Central Bureau of Meteorology are engaged in establishing a nomenclature to diminish the number of letters used in signaling. Resignation of Professor Marignac,—Professor Marig nac, after having filled for a period of thirty-eight years the chair of Chemistry at the University of Geneva, with the greatest distinction, has recently resigned. He has been replaced in the chair by Professor Graebe, of the University of Konigsberg Preparation of the Nitrate of Soda,—By fusing sodium nitrate with iron of filings Menke bas succeeded in preparing the sodium salt of nitrous oxide. The compound is not formed when zinc is employed in place of iron. The new salt is readily soluble in water, crys- tallizes in colorless needles coutaining three molecules of water. The silver salt was prepared by Divers in 1871, Longitude of Rio Janeiro.—M. Liais, Director of the Observatory of Rio Janeiro, has informed the Geogra- phical Society of Paris by letter that, through the liber- ality of the Emperor of Brazil, he is now in a position to commence the important work of fixing, by the aid of the electric telegraph, the longitude of Rio Janeiro with relation to that of Greenwich. When that opera. tion is concluded it will determine with exactitude the geographical position of each town in South America. Researches in Astronomy.—Professor Lebmann has just completed his mathematical investigations relative to the small planet Ismenia, His conclusions are that this planet is receding {rom the sun in the same propor- tion as the little planet Hilda. These two bodies being simultaneously close upon their perihelion are at no greater distance from one another than double that which intervenes between the earth and the moon. It is worthy of note that these planets are, in certain cases, liable to approach Jupiter much nearer than we ap- proach the sun, and may consequently experience con- siderable perturbation from their proximity to this gigantic planet. : Arrival of Fish Spawn in Paris.—The Société d’Ac- climatation has just received from the United States the spawn of some California salmon, a gift of Professor Spencer F. Baird, General Commissioner of the United States Fisheries. The mode of packing in ice and the care bestowed on the charge during the journey by Mr. Mather, of Newark (N. J.) has enabled the spawn to reach the garden in the best possible condition. The salmon of California, which is remarkable for its hardi- salmon would have but little chance of propagation. The gift consists of about 100,000 eggs. Iron that will not Rust.—Professor Barff’s process for preventing the rusting of iron is exceedingly simple, and consists mainly in the subjecting of iron to the ac- tion of superheated steam—steam having a temperature of 1,500° Fahrenheit. Water-troughs and saucepans treated in this way can be left filled with water for weeks without showing a particle of rust. Iron piping and ornamental castings have been exposed for seven months without the least alteration. The cost of the process is said to be less than that of galvanizing and decidedly cheaper than the constantly recurring neces- sity of painting. The application of the process to sani- tary purposes is destined to be very important. Cultivation of Mushrooms in Paris.—An interesting subject of study to the market gardener is the cultiva- tion of mushrooms in the caves under Paris, where, at a depth of from sixty to eighty feet below the surface of the ground, in old stone quarries, this edible fungus is grown systematically on a very large scale. These caves furnish not only the daily supply to the Paris markets, but to a large extent those of England and other countries also, preserved mushrooms to the extent of 14,000 boxes anuually being exported to this country by one house alone. It is estimated that in and around Paris the daily production of mushrooms amounts to about twenty-five tons, of the value of about £1,000, or close upon £400,000 ($2,000,000) per year. One large grove near St. Denis is described as employing nineteen horses and fifty men. Mushrooms are very extensively used in France, not only in their fresh state, but pre- served in various ways, either by tinning, bottling, pre- serving in butter or oil, or reducing to powder. A Scientific Hospital in Paris.—The new hospital of Ménilmontat, in the northeastern part of Paris, has just been opened to the introduction of patients. This hos- pital has been built upon the most thorough scientific principles. The buildings are constructed on the system of isolated pavilions, The wards are spacious and hold each twenty-two beds, with a supply of air equal to filty- three metres per each patient. There are apartments with one, two, three and four beds. Each ward has its private staircase, and in the centre of each pavilion there is a staircase for the transportation of provisions and for general service. An enormous chimney is intro. duced into the system of ventilation. In the first story of each pavilion there are balconies where the conval- escents can repose in pleasant weather. There is also a maternity ward entirely isolated and separated from the general hospital, in which there are single rooms adjoining pleasant gardens. The cost of the new hospi- tal, ineluding the site ($300,000), was about $2,000,000. There are accommodations for 650 beds. Electrical Communication with Trains in Motion. —™M. de Baillehache bas invented a mode of communi- cating with a moving train, which has been tried with success on the Western Railway of Paris, Along the centre of the line, between the rails, runs an ordinary | telegraphic wire, placed so near the ground that the ash- pan of the locomotive passes over the wire freely, but it | is very carefully isolated. In the train is a van contain- | ing a telegraph apparatus attended by a competent | clerk. From it descends a movable metallic lever witha conducting pad which runs along in contact with the wire, the ends of which are in communication with a special apparatus at the varioue stations, so that a con- | stant circuit is kept up and a transmission of messages between the train and the station is as easy as be. tween any two fixed points on land. As soon as the train bas passed a station the communication is cut off, so that nothing may impede its intercourse with the ove it is approaching. Notice can also be sent to the mov- ing train to stop, in case the track is impeded, and the train can give notice of its whereabouts at any given | moment by the ringing of a bell or by sending a message, 303 PERSONAL GOSSIP. Tue exhibition lottery tickets, which were origin- ally disposed of for a franc apiece, have been sold on the Paris Bourse at twenty-five francs Tue Empress of Austria will go to Ireland early next month to begin the hunting season, tor which ex. tensive preparations have been made Mure. Saran Bernnarpr, the celebrated French actress, is diligently studying English, with a view to playing in London in that language, Mr. Cuarues Francis Apams has bought lots at Kansas City, Mo., worth $40,000, and will build on them a cotton mill and cottages for workmen. ans P , — I'ne trial of that famous Belgian forger, T’ Kint, lasted one month and cost the Government $40,000. The jury were given 595 questions to consider. Principat Amprose P. Kersey, of the New Hampshire State Normal School, has been elected Stone Professor of Natural History in Hamilton College. Mr. Danrex Winkx.ey, of Philadelphia, has added $10,000 to his gift of $25,000 to Dartmouth Col- lege. The money will probably be used in establishing a professorship. Ex-Srnator Ramsay, of Minnesota, bas given his private library to the Historical Society of that State. It contains many valuable historical and docu- mentary works. Dr. Livinastong, the explorer, is to have a tablet erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, Dean Stanley having consented. It will take the form of a stained-glass window. Tue Baroness Burdett-Coutts is interesting her- self in gathering clothing and money for the relief of the 100,000 fugitives who have been driven to Constanti- nople from the districts devastated by the late war in Turkey, Tue late G. H. Lewes’s funeral was of the simplest character, only old and intimate friends being present. Among them were Robert Browning, Frederick Locker, Anthony Troliope and Herbert Spencer. He was buried in Highgate Cemetery. Proressor Henry A. Warp, of Rochester, has started on a three months’ tour in foreign lands. He first goes to Europe and then sails for South America, where he will collect botanical specimens for the Brooks Museum in the University of Virginia. Mapame Cuaristive Nitsson is soon to be in- stalled as the Grand Mistress of the Ancient Charitable Masonic Order of the ‘Eastern Star.’? The Order is composed chiefly of English ladies of rank and distinc- tion, whose male relatives belong to the (raternity. Dvunrine the first three of the ten years Presi- dency of Dr. McCosh at Princeton, he received gifts of money for the college amounting very regularly to $1,000 per week. After that subscriptions rose to $10,000 ata time; and in all there have been received about $2,500,000. Tue Chinese envoy at St. Petersburg (Chung- How) has received, by imperial decree, the titie of ‘*Ch’iian-Thian-ta-ch’en,” which formidable designa- tion implies that he is now an ambassador altogether, absolutely plenipotentiary. The promotion of C: ung- How is not without significance, It is said that the } Chinese Government has never yet honored any of its ness and extremely rapid growth, will prove a valuable | acquisition to some of the French rivers, where ordinary | representatives at foreign courts with so high a title. Mr. Henry Tuomas Ricnanpson, of Brynhy- fryd, Wales, who recently died, was, in conjunction witb his father, the inventor of the tubular lifeboat, in which he performed a daring voyage along the English coast, and which is in use at Rbyl and New Brighton, and which bas been the means of saving many lives. By his will he bequeaths $50,000 at the death of Mrs. Richardson, for the purchase and maintenance of life- boats at Pwiheli and Deal. His Hotrness Pore Leo XIII. is anxiously en- gaged in drawing up the scheme of a joint deed to be entered into by all the European Powers with a view to the repression of Socialistic and International tendencies, which have lately been productive of such lamentable results. The Vatican authorities are working out the de- tails, and the whole will, when completed, be dispatched to the Papal representatives abroad for submission to the Governments to which they are accredited. Tue son of the celebrated police minister, Fouché, Duc d’Otrante, has just died in Sweden. He was formerly aide-de-camp of Charles XIV., better known, perhaps, as Bernadotte, who from the ranks of the French army rose to be first prince of Ponte-Cory and then King of Sweden. It is rather curious that at the outbreak of the revolution both Fouché and Ber- nadotte were lawyers, and that alter the fall of Napo- leon, who had loaded them with honors, both conceived the hope of succeeding him. In the end both died abroad, Charles XIV. at Stockholm and Fouché at Trieste. Mrs. Oate Taytor has donated her rare and valuable collection of china to the Corcoran art building. Next Spring an annex is to be built. The plans have been ready for three years, but thero is a strip of land between the building and Admiral Philip Lee’s residence which is owned by Mrs. Lee. Mr. Corcoran hopes to purchase the lot, as it is necessary for the addition which he wishes to make to the art school and the Tayloe collec- tiop. Mrs. Tayloe has a superb cluster diamond ring which she intends to bequeath to her successor as presid- ing officer of the lady managers of the Louise Home. The ring is to be the insignia of office. Tue death of the late King of Burmah was re- ceived very quietiy in Mandalay, and the ministers had so carefully arranged matters that the Theebaw prince succeeded to the throne as a matter of course, The body of the King was formally laid out in the palace, and Europeans, Moguls and Chinese were all invited to take their last look at a monarch who. with all his faults and vices, was not altogether unpopular. One sad incident is reported. The royal princes, to the number of twenty or thirty, who had been heavily ironed and placed in prison, were released for a few hours and taken to the palace to do obeisance to the corpse. In token of their sorrow they are said each to have given a lock of haiy, with which the hands and legs of the dead king will be tied prior to burial. The unlucky youths were then marched back to jail, were again fettered and placed under a strong guard. Mr. Munpe.zia, Member of Parliament, in a speech at a banquet of the Sheffield Traders’ Council, lately, said that America was just recovering, after five years of unprecedented depression in trade, and her re- covery was cue to her boundless resources, for thou- sands of her artisans had been driven by trade depression to the cultivation of the soil. Now she was not only supplying her own people with goods, but exporting her manufactures to such an extent that she had become a powerful rival to England. It did not follow, however, that America's growth would be England’s decadence, for he believed that Englaud would grow with America’s growth, and strengthen with her strength Still, it was important that English workmen should be fully alive to the strides America was making, and should know that America had been able to export so extensively because of ber labor-saving machinery, and that, owing to the improved state of her patent laws, she could more easily utilize her inventions,

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FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. JANUARY 4, 1879.

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IME ELECTRIC LIGHTUS, GAS.— EFFECT OF THE NEW ILLUMINATOR IN THE ESTABLISHMENT MES. BROWN'S PERPLEXITY AT BASSFORD'S. OF E. RIDLEY & SONS. . THE HOLIDAY ATTRACTIONS OF THE METROPOLIS.—INCIDENTS OF MR. AND MRS. BROWN’S CHRISTMAS PEREGRINATION.—See Pace 29°,

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FRANK January 4, 1879. WWAw sss ~ SS THE LATE BISHOP J. B. P. WILMER, OF THE DIOCESE OF LOUISIANA. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY C. D. FREDERICKS & CO. THE LATE BISHOP WILMER. HE Right Rev. J. B. P. Wilmer, Protestant Episcopal Bishop o/ the Diocese of Louisiana, died suddenly of apoplexy in New Orleans, on Monday evening, December 2d. He was a native of Alexandria, Va., and a graduate of the University of Virginia and the Protestant Episcopal Seminary near Alexandria. After ordina tion he had charge cf two parishes in the southern section of Vir- ginia, and left that State to assume the rectorship of the old Church ot St. Mark’s, in Philadelphia, retaining the position until the break- ing out of the war, when he resigned, returned to Virginia and became a chaplain in the Confederate army. During the war he was sent to England to procure Bibles and Testaments for the Southern armies, and in attempting to run the blockade, on his return, he was captured in Chesapeake Bay, and taken to the Old Capitol Prison at Washington. On his release he rejoined the army, and served to the close of the war. On November 7th, 1866, he was NEW YORK CITY,—'' THE DUEL,” 14ST SCENE, ACT IV., LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. 305 elected Bishop of the Diocese of Louisiana. A short time previous to his death he had returned, ap- parently in good health, to New Orleans, from an official tour of the northern parishes. He officiated in Christ Church the day and evening prior to his decease. The remains were brought to the North, and funeral services were held in Christ Church, Baltimore, on December 6th, after which the body, dressed in full vestments, was interred in Green mount Cemetery. THE LATE JOHN E. VASSAR ee FT ’NCLE JOHN VASSAR,” as he was affec | tionately called by all ‘his intimate ac quaintances, died at his home in Poughkeepsie N. Y., on Thursday, December 5th, after a long and tireless work as an evangelist, colporteur and missionary of the American TractSociety. Closing an extended experience in the Far West, he began in the early part of 1863, his labors as a missionary in the Army, and was chiefly with the Army of the TTT POEL da | po, OB1I0.— SECOND PRESB\TERIAN CHURCH, CLEVELAND,— FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY LIBBICH.—S=ZE PAGE 299. OF THE PLAY, ‘TNE BANKER’S DAUGHTER,” NOW BEING PERFORMED AT TUE UNION SQUART THEATRE,--SEE PAGE 303, THE LATE JOHN E. VASSAR, VETERAN MISSIONAKY.—FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY MYERS, Potomac. He seemed to be everywhere that he was most wanted. He marched with the soldiers and endured all their hardships, many times, though over fifty years of age,carrying the guns and knapsacks of younger men whose strength had failed them. All his time was devoted to personal intercession with the soldiers, who came to love him dearly. In the hospital he was as tender as a mother to the wounded men, and could often be seen feeding ‘‘ the dear boys,” as he called them, when they were too weak to feed themselves. Many times he took a spade and dug the grave of some soldier who would otherwise have been left unburied on the field. A large audience gathered in the Church of the Holy Trinity on Sunday evening, December 15th, and Dr. Tyng, Jr., as he opened the service, said: ‘‘I had thought of draping the pulpit with the tokens of mourning, but a second thought showed me how impertinent it would be, for the Christian warrior is also the victor, and Uncle John Vassar has entered upon his reward.” Dr. Fulton echoed all that had been said. ‘To me,” he said, ‘Uncle John Vassar isthe marvel of the age. I know ,of at least three funeral services that are at this moment being held in his memory, and thousands of Christians all over the land are drop- ping tears upon his grave.” He told many incidents of the wid veteran’s devotion to the cause of Christ, and in concluding said: ‘* America will make of the memory of John Vassar what England + | ponent

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has made the m ry of Bunyan General Clinton B, Fis ~ n camp and mar and bivouac it and g and hospita John Vassar was a true soldier of tl ( Ss He was a perfect ‘ y and Sankey ined. His sweet V ild eard at allt e elling the praises o! Jesus. When after hard days in the field the officers wo say I e John, you’re tired his cheery v e W reply in son Oh, how sweet to work for Jesus You will find all over this country, in mes desolate by the late wa! the precious letters of Uncle John Vassar, in which the last words of dying soldiers were sent to the loved ones at home, with other words of comfort w hi o man knew better how to speak.” At the close of the service a committee Was ap pointed to receive ntributions to a fund to place the family of the deceased beyond all pecuniary want, e THE MUTUAL LIFE INSURANCE COM. PANY OF NEW YORK, 144 and 146 BROADWAY New York, November, 19th, 1878. To THE Po.ticy-HOLpDERS OF THIS COMPANY: ** Shall Corpora as shane and manage their own business, or sha 4 ivals dic‘a and nanade a This Company commenced business in 1843 asa Mutual Company, and without capital. The first money it received was . $108.50 in payment of a premium. len years afterwards, February Ist, 1853, the amount at risk was And its assets and accumulations In June ot that year the present ad- mini-tration began. that time it has issued 181,000 policies, ? 060,649.30 Since 00 DOO 000,00 insuring . . It has paid for death claims, on origin il policies . 30,700,092.00 And tor death claims on additional assurance given for over-premium payments on the same, called divide ds : ° ° - : Its entire over- payments, called dividends, paid out in cash, or for Insurance, amount to . . It now holds assets, c of Bonds and Mortgages on property in New York and adjueeut Siates amounting to - - - - It owns Real Estate, consisting of its three office buildings in Boston, Philadelphia, and this city, and such as it has purchased under foreclosure of its Mortgages, amounting to . . - It has Steeks— United States, State, Cotinty, and City—paying interest, and worth par and over amounting to - - Its gross Assets, on the first of Oeto- ber, ultimo, were . The amount now insured is The increase of its assets in twenty- five years is - - - - £5 580,028.00 ynsisting 57,041, 941,84 17,766 ,081.38 84,849,714.15 It representa more assets than any known financial institution, and twenty-one millions of dollars more | than tle combined capital of all the banks in this city. Its assets are ample for all purposes, as its An- nual Report will shortly show. These are the principal figures which exhibit the history and condition of this Company. It has al ways met every honorable and just financial claim | with cheerful promptitude. No stain, it is believed, rightfully rests upon its record. Of all known business, that of Life Insurance re- quires the most forecast, as to future contingencies, and the closest attention to all the different princi- ples and features of its management, upon which its prosperity depends. Abundant and undoubted assets are necessary to pay its claims on the one hand, which must be kept in absolute security and readiness for that purpose; on the other is the equally important duty of maintaining and keep- ing intact its vitality at or above the standard mortality tables, on which its premioms are based. Some Companies are believed to be so short-sighted as to neglect this second great principle of the busi- ness, while they effect to bestow uncommon atten- tion to the other. In view of the possible depreciation below the vital standard, by reason of the unusual number of retiring members during the last three years (for, as a rule, those who elect to retire are sounder lives than those who decide to remain) , it was incumbent upon the management to check this decrease by such means as would be efficient to the end sought, and the least burdensome to the existing policy- holders of the Company. After due consideration of all points involved, embracing equity, economy and efficiency, it was proposed that thirty per cent. rebate on the first two years’ premiums should be allowed to entering policy-holders, whether old members or new. We should have been wanting in proper forecast and ability, had we not foreseen the necessity for this action and provided for it. As the members who retired sought to sunder their connection with the Company, of which they had agreed to remain members for lite, the just and universally admitted principle governing all busi- ness, led us to say to each of them: “If you leave us, to our damage, you must supply the place you leave vacant by another life equally acceptable with your own.” To accomplish this end, we de- duct from the surrender value allowed these retir- ing members a sum sufficient to satisfy all the claims of the Company and existing policy-holders, upon the party withdrawing, and an additional sum to constitute a fund to replace the loss. Not one penny of the moneys contributed by the existing members went into that fund. It was a specific source of accumulation, the use of which was leit to the discretion of the Executive Officers in their administrative capacity, for the purpose of obtain- ing new members. Whatever remains beyond that necessity will go into the common fund. Whatever is used for the purpose explained, will be iike the wheat cast into the ground and lost for a time but to bear a tenfold harvest to its owner. No measure that we know of could have been devised which is more thoroughly just, economical | or equitable to our policy-holders than this, and none that will be so advantageous and profitable to them. This we assert from a full knowledge of all the principles involved, and with absolute con- fidence in the results which will be obtained. The ability of the Company to iower its rates of premiums has been demonstrated by its past ex- | perience, and we have unwillingly taken premiums in amounts quite beyond the necessities of our business for years past. Why should we have been compelled to take the forty-five millions which we have returned to our policy-holders as over-pay- ments, called dividends’ The public, in its own time, will ask this question with emphasis. We $17.917,418.00 § 121,977.00 | | is as | the child, asked 86,910,363.45 | 289,081 ,295.00 | | of the parish.’’ have given back from year to year to our policy ders ail that has not been necessary to gimrantee tracts beyond question ; but why shoald the iwman, who pinches himselt to insure his life for benefit of his family, be mequired from year to | year to pay us a sum beyend what is necessary, the effect of which is to involve him in unnecessary commission and loss of interest? There has been no year in the history of the Company when it could not have taken premiums upon a far cheaper scale than it has done, and even then have been able to return a respectable percentage in over payments at the end of the year. But now, when this Company proposes to benefit its policy-holders and the insuring public by are for two years upon their premi with no present designs beyond that time, and in a way in which old policy-holders are benefited ana! not in jured, are we to be maligned and misrepresented by rival companies who club together to contro the press, and send paid emissaries to this and other cities to poison the minds of our policy holders by false statements? Ve have neither leisure, dis} bate ms, osition, nor funds to y,e (follow our defamers; but preter quietly to state our case and leave it with those it interests. We give this history and condition of the Com- pany as the truest tests of its management. By these tests we are content to stand or fall. In conclusion, we repeat the question: Shall corporations shape and manage their own business, or shall their rivals dictate and manage it?” Your obedient servants, F, 8. WINSTON, President. RICHARD A, McCURDY, Vice-President. WM. H.C. BARTLETT, Actuary. - ' FUN. currant events.’ PUDDINGS just now are yw of a bar-room is like a great many ul only on Sunday rHE side dor people’s prayer books A SHREWD patent-medicine man has been chasing Alex, Stephens around for three months, trying to draw a bead on him with a pocket camera. He wants him for preface to his advertisement to illustrate ‘* before taking OF COURS! Juda to ‘Now, Job Trowel, you made an Witness : ** Yes, sir.’’ Judge affidavit is, I suppose? Wy ** Yes, sir, it’s the se witness, a bricklayer): affidavit in this **And you know t nfl cond course of bricks.’’ case?’’ what an dently 4 MEDDLESOME old woman was sneering at a young mother’s awkwardness with her infant, and said Ieleclare a woman never ought to have a baby unless she knows how to hold it!”’ Nor a tongue either,’”’ quietly responded the young mother. ‘**My SON, would you suppose the Lord’s Prayer | couled be engraved in a space no larger than the area of a nickel cent?’ ‘‘ Well, yes, father, ifa cent | big in everybody’s eye as it is in yours, I think there would be no difficulty in putting it on | about four times.” **T WANT five cents’ worth of starch,’’ said a little girl to a grocer’s clerk. The clerk, wishing to tease ‘*“What do you want five cents worth of starch for?” ‘* Why, for five cents, of course,”’ she answered, and the clerk concluded to j attend to his own business. A JUSTICE OF THE PEACE in a Pennsylvania rural town married a couple the other day, and the groom asked him his terms after the knot was tied. ** Well,” said the Justice, ‘‘the code allows me two dollars.”” *“‘Then,’’ said the young man, “ there's a dollar; that will make you three.”’ SYMPATHIZING BYSTANDER (about an unfortu- | nate man who has been knocked down and stunned by the train): ‘Poor man! Take him to the station——” 1 /njured Ove (recovering): ‘*‘ Tyek me to th’ station! What for, then? If aw’ve dune ony harm to yo’r engine, aw’s willin’ to pay for ’t! } WHILE a country parson was preaching, the chief of his parishioners, sitting near the pulpit, was fast | asleep; whereupon he said, ‘‘ Now, beloved friends, } I am in a great strait; for if I speak too softly those at the further end of the church cannot hear me, and if I talk too loudly I shall wake the chief man IN the middle of a fast thing with one of the Surrey packs on a Tuesday, reports a contempo- rary, one of the fleld, who was well up in the first flight, went a tremendous cropper into a brook The master heard the noise, looked round, saw that a disaster had happened to somebody, and, turning | to the first whip, who was close beside him, said, | *““Who’s that, Will? Hadn't we better help him out?’ “Oh,” returned Will, coolly, ‘it’s only the parson, sir, and we sha’n’t want him till Sunday!’’ WHY, VERILY! Way be an animated tallow-shop when Allan’s Anti-Fat is a safe and sure remedy for obesity, or corpulence, and will reduce the most ill-propor- tioned form to a graceful outline within a few weeks. It contains no ingredients that can possibly prove deleterious to the system. A well-known chemist, after examining its constituents and the method of its preparation, gives it his unqualified indorsement as a remedy that “‘ cannot but act favorably upon the system and is well calculated to attain the object for which it is intended.” Baltimore, Md., July 17th, 1878. Prop’s ALLAN’s AntI-Fat, Buffalo, N. Y.: Dear Sirs—I have taken two bottles of Allan’s Anti-Fat and it has reduced me eight pounds. Yours respectfully, Mrs. I. R. COLES. BEFORE THE Hon. James Howe tu, Mayor of the City of Brooklyn, personally appeared William R. Beeston, who, being sworn, says: My boy, Henry R. Beeston, 127 South Second Street, Brooklyn, E. D., aged seventeen years, has suffered with epileptic fits tor two years. They troubled him every night, lasting over an hour, and were so severe that they reduced him greatly in health and intelligence. | ad him constantly under the advice of physicians and followed their direc- tions, but without benefit. On 3d November | took him toa physician in New York, and, discon- tinuing ali other medicines, he put him under the use of ViTaLizeEp PHospHares three times a day. Upon this treatment his fits became siorter and less violent every night. On 9th November his fit lasted but a few minutes, and was a mere tremor with no violence. Since that time he has had no fit and is improving daily in health, strength and intelligence. He continues taking ViraLizep Puospuares for relief of his nervousness. Sworn at the City Hall, Brooklyn, December 11th, 1878. To F. Crossy, 666 Sixth Avenue, N. Y. FRANK Lesiiz, Esq.: The Wheat Gluten and Cold Blast Flour Breads of the Health Food Company have done a really wonderful work upon two mis- erable dyspeptics—Mrs. Wilson and myself. Iam confident that there are thousands of badly-nour- ished sufferers who only need these delicious foods to make them well. Isaac R. Wiison, Trenton, N. J. | ; itts perfect. FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER, INDIGESTION, DYSPEPSIA, nervuus and all forms of gener! debility relieved by MENSMAN’S PepronizeD Breer Tonic, the paration of beef containing its entire nutri s pe rlies ing and life-sustaining properties; is invaluable in all enfeebled conditions, whether the result of exhaustion, nervous prostration, overwork, or acute disease ; particularly if resulting from pulmonary complaints. CASWELL, Hazarp & Co., New York rue well-known and popular seedsmen, Messrs. are again be annuoul D. M. Ferry & Co.. of Detroit, Mic fore our readers with their annual Their catalogue, which is mailed ail of our readers. themselves of this offer. NOT city, all light, large and cheerful. not surpassed by any in the world. West Broapway, Reape anp Hvupson Srs,, | New Yor August 2d, 1877 Messrs. H. W. Johns Ma icturing Company, 87 Maiden Lane, New York Dear Sir n my application of it, as Boiler and Steam Pipe Covering, your Asbestos Felting (single and double air chamber) gives me complete and thorough satisfac tion, and is f superior to any of the various non-c on- luctors that I have tried or am familiar with I very willingly ymmend it to engineers and the public gen- erally as the best non-conductor of heat that has been put upon the market. Yours respectfully, CoHarLtes D DousLepay, Engineer for H. K. & F. B. Thurber & Co reduced prices EvGENE Ferris & Son, No West Side Street ] Keep your Bird in health and song by SINGER 8S PATENT GRAVEL PAPER, ind cage-dealers. Depot, 582 Hudson St., New York. GRATEFUL COMFORTING. EPPS’S COCOA.) ‘By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws which govern the operations of digestion and nutrition, and by a careful application of the fine properties of well- selected cocoa, Mr. Epps has provided our breaktast- tables with a delicately flavored beverage which may | save us many heavy doctors’ bills. It is by the judicious use of such articles of diet that a constitution may be gradually built up until strong enough to resist every tendency to disease. weak point, We may escape many a fatal shaft by keeping ourselves well fortitied with pure blood and a article in the Civil properly nourished frame.’’ — See Service Gazette Sold only in soldered tins, labeled JAMES EPPS & CO., Homeopathic Chemists, London, England, prostration, taking only pre- i pro It is not a mere stimulant like the extracts | of beef, but contains blood-making, force-generat Proprietors, ent. free, is offered to We would advise them to avail a dark room in the St. Nicholas Hotel, of this In construction lis table and attendance generally are Easy Shoes.—Superior quality for gentlemen at 81 Nassau using For sale by druggists | Hundreds of subtle maladies are floating around us ready to attack wherever there is a At Reasonable and Endowment Insurance Policies and Mortgages :; bought ; panies. nsurance of all kinds effected with best com- J. J. HABRICH & CO., 165 & 167 Broadway. Invested in Wall St $10 to $1, 000}: every ani ee free explaiming everything. Address, BAXTER & CO., Bankers, 17 Wall St., N. Y. SHOULD BE IN EVERY LIBRARY ! Lhe Avon’ Shakespeare Imperial Octavo, 966 Pages, 24 Illustrations Cloth, $3. Cloth, Gilt, $3.75. Turkey, Antique, $8. , CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, BURNETT‘s Standard —-— Flavoring E X TRAC 1 Ss BURNETT’, E RAGRA Nr , \ : lasting AO Delie ate FEFPRESHING COLOGNE NO CHIMNEY USED. Useful Present Sent C. O. Best Light for Reading, Sewing, and Study. D. for 86.00. Circulars sent free. W. P., 6) Warren St., N.Y. C. WEIS, wii & CO., Manufacturer of MEER- SCHAUM GOODS, wholesale and retail, 27 John Street. Send for Circular to P. 0. Box 5009. SICK HEADACHE AND NEURALGIA. SPEEDY RELIEF and CURE by using the Compound Musk Pills. Price $1. Sent, postpaid, to any address by DR. E. W. McALLISTER, South Send, Ind. FOOD BETTER THAN MEDICINE, We provide vital, blood-making foods for all diseases, Sufferers from Dyspepsia, Constipation, Nervous Prostra- tion, Diabetes, etc., should write for our Free PAMPHLET HEALTH FOOD CO., 74 Fourth Ave., New York Rates—Money on Life same 11879. [ JANUARY Vital force in the brain is mind force, in th nerves, nerve force, but both brain and nery need their appropriate nourishment or ther: is nothing to sustain vital force. © Vitalized j Phosphates feed the brain and nerves, as they are composed of the vital or nerve sustaining principles of the ox brain and wheat geru similar to that which sustains the human brain and nerves. Physicians have prescribed 160,000 packages, restoring lost energy in all weakness of mind or body, relieving debility and nery- oushess and preventing consumption. F. CROSBY, 666 Sixth Ave., N. Y. For sale by Druggists. | }A BRAIN AND NERVE FOOD. | t THE LOUISVILLE Courier-Journal. YONCEDED TO BE THE BEST, news brightest and most attractive weekly paper in th United States—good for all latitudes, climates and peo ples, popular with the old and young, invaluable to p ticians of both parties, fair and liberal in its treatment all matters of public interest, a representative South newspaper, edited by the Hox. HENryY WATTERSON—ofl remarkable inducements to new subscribers and agents. Specimen copies free. $2 a year; $1.50 in clu Elegant and valuable premiums. During the Holiday A DOUBLE NUMBER Will be printed, consisting of eighty long columns, on a single sheet, 48x6) inches—THE LARGEST PA- PER IN THE WORLD with novelettes and choice reading matter in variety, a copy of which will be Address W.N. HALDEMAN, Louisville, presented to every ncw subscriber President Courier Journal Co Ky BRAINARD’S MUSICAL WORLD. MONTHLY Musical Magazine Each number co taining from forty to fifty paces of choice new Mu and interesting musical reading. The Music gi et each yearly volume would alone cost over $25 in sheet form. Terms, $1.50 per year, or $1.60 with choic five premium books Send 15 cts, for sample copy, taining over $2 worth of New Music and S. BRAINARD’S SONS, Cleveland, 0. K€ korg . —— ‘ Te FLORAL GUIDE : a) a — > — A beautiful work of 100 Pages, One Colored Flower Plate, and 300 Illustrations, with descriptions of th best Flowers and Vegetables, and how to grow them All for a Five Cent Stamp. In English or German, ull particular The Flower and Vegetable Garden, 175 Pages, Six Colored Piates, and many hundred Engravings, For 50 cents in paper covers; $1.00 in elegant cloth lo Ger man or English. Vick’s Illustrated Monthly Magazine--32 Pages, a Colored Piate in every number aud many fine Engravings. Price, $1.25 a year; Five Copies for $5.00, Vick’s Seeds are the best in the world. SENo Five Cent Stamp for a FLORAL GuibE, containing List and Prices, and plenty of information, Address, JAMES VICK, Rochester, N. Y. These goods are made from waste silk and wool, and a sure remedy against cold feet and rheumatism, and are to the foot what silk underwear is to the body. They are Warm, neat, thin, and a luxury at little cost. Sent by mail at 25c. a pair. State size of shoe, and if for gent, lady or child. D. W. JOHNSON, 323 Arch St., Phila., Pa. J tH) | ° e * j RBSCESTOS: LIQUID PAINTS, ROOFING, BOILER COVERINGS, Steam Packing, Sheathings, Fire Proof Coatings, (ements, SEND FOR SAMPLES, ILLUSTRATED PAMPHLET AND PRICE LIST H.W.JOHNS M’F’G Co., 87 MAIDEN LANE. N.Y We. Local Salesmen Wanted. SICK HEADACHES ARTERS RIESE these Little Pills. ITTLE They also relieve Distress from Dyspepsia, Indiges PILLS. tion and Too Hearty Eat- ing. A perfect remedy for Dizziness, Nausea, Drowsi- ness, Bad Taste in the Mouth, Coated Tongue, Pain in the Side, etc. They reg- ulate the Bowels and pre- vent Constipation and Piles The smallest and easiest to take. Only one pill a dose. 40 in a vial. Purely Vegetable. Price 25 cents. H. C. LEET, Gen- eral Agent, 22 Park _— New York. A GOOD PLAN The most profitable way for operating in stocks is by uniting capital of various sums in combining or pooling orders of thousands of customers and using them as on- mighty whole. which is done so successfully by Mess: Lawrence & Co , Bankers, 57 Exchange Place, N. Y. City By this co operative system each investor is placed on a1 equal footing with the largest operator, and profits divided pro rata among shareholders every 30 days. $10 invested makes $50 or 5 per cent. on the stock during the month $50 returns $350 or 7 per cent., $100 pays $1.000 or 10 per cent, and so on according to the market. The firm's new circular (mailed free) contains ‘* Two unerring rules for success in stock operations,” and explains ever, thing All kinds of Stocks and Bonds wanted. New Government Loan supplied. LAWRENCE & CO., Bankers and Bro’ ¢) 57 Exchange Place, N. Y. City. 5 Perfumed, Snowflake, Chromo, Motto, Cards name in gold & jet, 10c. G. A. Sprinc, ZB. Wallingford, Ct HOTO-COPIES. Every style of finish. Oldest and largest house in America, Agents, send for new Price List. TEN EYCK & CO,, Auburn, N. Y. ARDS. 10 Lily of the Valley, 10 Scroll, 10 Engraved / 10 Transparent, 1 Model Love Letter, 1 Card Case same on all, lic, WARD & CO., Northford, Conn.

Page 15

January 4, 1879. ] THE WILSON PATENT ADJUSTABLE CHAIR,

With 80 Changes of Positions. Farlor, Library, Invalid Chair, ¢ i Cr Be or Lounge, combining beauty, lig nes Strength, simplicity comtort Brersibing to an exact science. Orders by mail prompt = ‘ attended to. Goods shiy READING -OSITLON ped to any address, C.O. D Send for Illustrated Circular uote LESLIE'S WEEKLY Address, THE WILSON ADJUSTABLE CHAIR MFG. 661 Broadway, New York co., CONTINUED SUCCESS — 7) — GRAND DRAWING Commonwealth Distribution Co., OF KENTUCEY,

In PUBLIC LIBRARY HALL, LOUISVILLE, KY., on Thursday, January 30, 1879. Drawing and details under supervision of prominent witizens of Kentucky. In consequence of its popularity, and in compliance with request of numerous ticket Duyers, the management again present the following attractive and UNPRECEDENTED SCHEME!! eeeeeoee ss $30,000 100 Prizes $100 ea. $10,000 eoseee . 10,000 800 Prizes 50ea 15,000 BO. wccccsccees 5,000 500 Prizes 20ea 10,000 ze ,000 each 10,000 | 1,000 Prizes 1l0ea 10,000 20 Prizes $500 each 10,000 9 Prizes $300 each, Ap proximé ation P TIZES...... $2,700 9 Prizes 200 eac h’ cncces 1,800 9 Prizes 100 each sed TT TTT 900 1,900 PriseBs ...ccccscccccecesccccccsccccccess $115,400 Half Tickets, $1. 55 Tickets, $100, Money Order, Registered Letter Whole Tickets, $2. 27 Tickets, $50. Remit by Post-office Bank Draft, or Express. Full list of Drawing published in Louisville Courier-Journal and New York Herald, and mailed to all ticket-holders. For tickets and infor address COMMON WEALTH DISTRIBUTION CO., Build- mation or, T. J. COMMERFORD, Sec’y, Courier-Journal ing, Louisville, Ky., or B. H. PORTER & CO., Eastern Agents, 1,227 Broadway, New York.

all applicants. It con. ~ tains 2 colored plates, 500 engravings, about 150 pages, and full descriptions, prices and directions for planting over varieties of Vegetable and Flower Seeds, Finnie, Roses, Ete Invaluable Do Send for it. M. FERRY & CO. Detroit Mich

Brilliant with Story, Sketch and Serial - the Best Living Writers for our Boys and Young Men, viz: BRACERIDGE HEMYNG, (Jack Har kaway,) OLIVER OPTIc, CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, Capr. FRED. WHITTAKER, ETC. With Specialties and Departm ents under the Editor- ship of well-known Authorities in America in the World of Spots, Exercise and Games, embracing: BASE BALL, CRICKETAND FOOTBALL; HARE AND HOUNDS; SwimMinG, Rowina, YACHTING AND SKATING; FISHING, HUNTING, TRAPPING AND CAMPING; SHOOTING, ATHLETICS, GYMNASTICS, LEAPING AND PEDESTRIANISM. In brief, everything to entertain and interest, amuse and instruct our Boys and Young Men—to advance them hysically and mentally :—a paper that shall have no aint of impurity, but’ wort M of the confidence and co-opesatton of every one who would have a Boys’ Weekly sans reproche in their homes and hands. One year $2.50; six Months $1.25; four cee 75e. two copies one year $4. 50. in cues of 5 Ene oe SPECIMEN Copy, five cents, post-paid. ADA COMPANY, Publishers, 98 WILLIAM Sr.,

Young People’s Hand-Books, The HAND-BOOKS, for Young People, cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially adapted to their end. They constitute at once the cheapest and the most useful works yet put into the market for popular circulation, Ladies’ Letter Writer, Gents’ Letter Writer, Book of Etiquette, Book of Verses, Book of Dreama Book of Games, Fortune Teller, Lover's Casket, Ball Room Companion, Book of Beauty. Speakers, 1to2l. Dia logues, 1 to 28. A... by a Newsdealers, or sent ‘post: Sue 8 5 We ten cents each. AD PAN illiam St., New York. re-paid, on Me as and COM

An —SS"AND S i} — weekly. Contains ever week a portrait and ar of some eminent person. sermon Rev.0 C. by Rev. De Witt" Brooklyn, and occa- sionally a sermon by a other well known preacher. It likewise gives social and religious sketches, narratives, anecdotes, articles on prophecy by clergymen and others, a serial of thrilling interest, &c. Sent ont pa, Waite, annum. Sample Copy Free. AGE AN Liberal commission allowed. Jos. Spurgeon, 63 Bible H Souecs N. Y. City. A large, new, THE POULTRY MONTHLY f.0iSinciy lustrated monthly, devoted to Poultry, Pigeons, Dogs, Rabbits and other pets. Every specialty treated prac- tically and scientifically, J. F, FERRIS, Editor, aid d by a score of the best writers in the country. 82 large quarto pages, printed on beautiful tinted book paper. Subscription only One Dollar per ,ear! Sample copies, twelve cents. Advertising, ten cents per line. Address, FERRIS PUBLISHING CO., Albany, N.Y. \ medical treatise, indicating how confirmed disabili- ties may be removed. The experience of 20 years’ study, observation, and professional practice, showing the agen- cies that will insure restored manhood, strengthened vitality, and sound conditions of health, that have been impaired by overtaxed powers. A statement of obstacles to marriage and of the means by which they can be removed. By mail, 25c., currency or postage stamps. Address SEC’Y MUSEUM ANATOMY AND SCIENCE, 1166 5 Broadway, New ¥ ork,

AN’S MISSION ON EARTH.—A thorough

AND THINGS WORTH BOOK OF SONGS {3307328 Hook. Sent free, Address, PAUL LEE & CO., New York. Photos of Actresses and Books, 3c. 6 for 25e. Special subjects, 3 for 25c. Catalogue of Photos Frank D. Torey, 238 State St., Chicago, FRANK PATENTS In connection with the pubi lication of the Sctentific American, we continue to act as Solicitors for Patents Caveats , Trade-Marke, © pyrichts, etc., for the United States, anada, Cuba, England, France, Germany, etc. In this line of business we have had thirty- -three years’ experie mce. Pate nts obtained through us are noticed in the Scien- tiie American. This large and splendidly illustrated week y paper shows the current progress of Science, is very interesting, and has an enormous circulation, Subscriptions $3.20 a year, postpaid; single copies 10 cents, Sold at all Book-stores and News-offices, Can I Obtain a Patent? The quickest and best way to obtain a satisfactory answer, without expense, is to write to us (Munn & Co.), describing the invention, with asmall sketch. All we need is to get the tdea. We will immediately answer, and give the necessary instructions. For this advice we make no charge. We also send /ree our Hand Book about the Patent Laws, Patents, Caveats, Trade-Marks, their costs, and how procured, with hints for obtaining advances on inventions, Address MUNN & C O., Publishers of the Scientijic American, 37 Park Row, New York.

Laflin’s Patent Parlor Rowing Apparatus. Price, complete, $10. Grand Medal American Institute and Paris Exhibition. A complete gymnasium in your bouse. Fifty diflerent exercises for both sexes. The only apparatus invented by a professional athlete of ten years’ teaching in Europe and Americap Coileges. Send 3-ct, stamp for illustrated book on physical culture, J. M. LAFLIN, 35 Union Square, and 108 Broadway, New York.

NGELS: FYRHIS picture at once beautiful, innocent, holy, ou BR SAVIOR, ‘ the treasure. LESLIE’S ILL UST Rz ATED

NEW VSPA PER. CHAMPLIN’ Ss LIQUID PEARL AGENTS. An Unequaled Toilet Preparation. Restores, Preserves and Beautifies the Complexion Used and indorsed by Mrs. Scott Sippons, Clara Loviss KELLOGG, Lotra, JANAUSCHEK, and hundreds of others. Coutaius nothing that will injure the most delicate skin. Sold by all druggists, 50 cents per bottle. CHAMPLIN & CO., Proprietors, Buffalo, N.Y. BOHEMIAN BIER. |. SCHMITT & KOERHNE, Central Park Lager Bier : Brewery, Brewery & Office, 159-165 E. 59th St. Ice-house and Rock-vaults, 56-57th Street, Ave. A, and East River, N. Y. We guarantee * BOHEMIAN BIR” to equal Imported Bier in all respects, and to Kxcel Domestic and Western Biers in Taste, Color and Substance, thus making it the “BEST SHIPPING BIER.” Sold cheaper than Western Bier,

DHOTO Visiting and Business Cards with name and p'oto on choice cards, 60c. per doz. Sample and circular, 10c, N. L, Wuiryey, 67 Jackson Street, Chicago.

From S Decdactine saat iaamenn world renowned Reintins cuissinn ty Gee dieadiins a the Greatest Master of Art BAPHAEL. which sola for $82,000 ciin GIVEN AWAY! appeals to the truest and noblest sympathies of the human heart. and pure expression — the Angel Faces, as they turn their es toward their Home in Heaven, 1s such as to ‘Of such is the kingdom of heaven.’’ very personification of pure angelic sweetness and perfect happiness. be without this picture, and to those who have We own the copyright of the American edition of this wonderful picture, lished it as a Crayon Drawing, in a large variety of colors, making each figure life-size. This beautiful drawing Semt Free on rece ipt of Postal Charges and Certificate cut from this paper. THIS WILL NOT APPEAR AGAIN A BEAUTIFUL CRAYON DRAWING: THE HEAVE The ad all who look upon them to exclaim with The artist has succeeded in making this No mother should lost Little Omes this will be a valued and have pub-

Dedicated to the Howard Association,

ESS THE HELPING HANDS _

_, GOD BL Sw foe ae

Where the or - ange groves are bloom - A New Sheet of Music—Song and Chorus ~ tian Helping Hands have done during the Yellow Fever i SENT FREE with every copy of * The Angels,”’ making the sum~-mer nev - er dies. —in memory of the good The Chris- Seourge in the South. Premiums worth 65.35. ing and

On receipt of this Certificate, entitled and the Sheet of Minato, entitled said. ddress all Orders to long by 14 feet wide, THE ANGELS Free, by mail, post- ane at State. 00D FOR ONE VER FROM DATE uO” CUT THIS CERTIFICATE OUT, IT IS WORTH $5.35 TO YOU. 64 together with Nineteen Cents (19e.) in Currency or Postage Comes to pay postage and mounting charges, we will send the @3 Cr: ayon Drawing, 2 feet GOD BLESS THE HELPING HANDS Send at once, stating Name in full,

EEIFEE ELEFEOEELEI with Post-Office Address, NTINENTAL PUBLISHING CO,, 4 Home St., Cincinnati, 0. CERTIFICATE WORTH $5.35.

Giood, Better, Best. For a Holiday Present, A PRETTY SHAKER CHAIR. Do not delay, but send your order at once Address, R. M. WAGAR, Mt. Lebanen, N.Y.

EVANS’ IMPROVED Rotar~ Job Presses Prints 3,000 an hour. No. 1, size5x8 in,. $45; No, 2, 6x10, $80; No. 3, 8x12, $125. Hand Lever Presses, $1.50 up to $10. Self-Inkers, $3 up to $20. Print- ers’ Supplies. Catalogue for stamp. Chromo Cards, etc., at WwW. Cc. EVANS’, 50 North Ninth St., Philadelphia, Pa TOY MOUSE! LIFE SIZE AND COLOR, Fun for Kit. The best and cheapest To Toy in n the World. run 35 or 40 feet. Sent post paid, for 25 cts, ‘SMITH & EGGE, box 105, Bridgeport, Ct. v TOR AN.Y. SINGER SEWING MACHINE, with drop-leaf table, cover, and case of two drawers, as shown in cut. Warranted New, Latest Improved, and Perfect. No pay asked ti!l seen and tried. Send for circular and save money. Address ECONOMY EMPORIUM, 199 Dearbora St... CHICAGO

Cheapest Toy Lantern to Best Stereopticon MAGICLAR TEEN e 60 VIEWSS

Great ‘Needham | THEO. 3 rea’ eedham La HA R Musical Marvel. { 809 Filbert St., ARBACE, CARD and Label Press, @8, Larger Sizes for larger Work. ENTERPRISE VICTOR RINTING ESSESe , Cards, ete., for 2 est Meriden, Conn l}lustrated Catalogue of Presses, Ty stamps. J. COOK & CO., Mfrs. etc., can learn of a certain SUFFERERS scrote by addressing, Dr. JAQUES & CO., Cincinnati, Ohio

from Nervovs Dssrurry,

MIXED CARDS with name, 10c. and stamp Ageut’s Outfit, 10c. L. C Coz & Co., Bristol, Ct. Perfumed, Snowflake, Chromo, Motto, etc. Cards, with name, 10c. G. A. Spring, E. Wallingford, Ct, HIGH-TONED CARDS 10c.. or 18 ALL CHROMOS 10c. Postpaid. Dime Card Co., Nassau, N. Y. of the Prettiest Cards you ever saw, with name 10c., postpaid. Geo. L Resp & Co., Nassav, N. ¥. Floral and Rose Cards, 13c, Outfit, 10c. Free Watch to Agents, Sxeccomsr & Co,, Kinderhook, N. Y.

name in Gold, 10c. Star Card Co, Clintonville, , Cte 4 Address, B. FOX & Co., 391 Canal Street, New York. SHORT HAN Made Easy. 10 cents postpaid. Rosebud, Snowflake and Chromo Cards, no 2 alike 2 E,Goodrich, Williamsburg, N.Y. in gold or jet, 10c. Electro Card Go., Northford, C t, 65

Fancy Carbs, with name, 10c.,

New Style CARDS, Gold Border, Chromo, Motto, etc. PAGE BOOK OF WONDERS for a 3 cent stamp. jet or gold. Agent's Outfit, 10c. 150 stylea Hutt & Co., Hudson, N.Y.

OFFICIAL PRESS. EVERY BOY should have one for amusement, instruction and to make money, by doing Society and Business Printing. Any one can work tt. EVERY MAN should have one to do his own printing and advertising. At the Centennial it re- ceived the Highest Award, and attracted purchasers from all parts ofthe world. Prints IOOO an hour. Cost $ GO. Send €e stamp for Cataloque, GOLDIN 'Gé CO, Manufact'rs, Fort- Hill Sq., Boston. Imitation Gold Watches. $8, $10, $15, $20 and $25 edch; Chains $2 to 3 tomatch. Jewelry of the same. Sent C.O.D., by Express. Send stamp for Illus- trated Cireular. COLLINS METAL WATCH Factory, 335 Broadway, N. Y. Box, 3696.

‘Iv PAYS | Terms free, G.

307

| Agents Wanted. eee — Catalogue, Free Boston, Mass, 64-page Illustrated Boston Novelty Co,, to sell our rubber hand printing stamps A Hanres & Bro., Cleveland, 0. to agents $5A DAY ; agents FINE ART NOVELTIES. OUTFIT FREE. J, H. BUFFORD’S SONS, Boston. MEN WANTED for Detective Serview American Secret Service Co., Cincinnati, O. Pay liberal.

A WEEK MADE.—New Good's Catalogue and Samples free. FEL TON & Gvu., New York. A DAY to Agents canvassing for the Fireside Visitor. Terms and Outfit Free. Address, P. O. VICKERY, Augusta, Maine. A MONTH-—-AGENTS WANTED— 36 best selling articles in the world ; one sample wo Sree. Address J. Baouson, Detroit, Mich. Mich. ALESMEN a Month rT selling to pies ( $120 29%: at PLES yREE CaS xy. AMP LADY AGENT WANTED for. the most popular Corset ever made. Sold only by agents. Address, WARNER BROS., 351 Broadway, New York,

a OMEN wanted ev ‘or the greatest 1 to $2 per hour erywhe MONEY MARING <stseate ine ocality. Will easily made in an: prove it or forf Goods entirely new. Samples free ; ei at once. WILDES & CO., Bosto ass Waterproof Over-Cuff. Best selling articie in the world. Agents can send 50c. for sample pair and circulars. W. T. HAMMOND & C 0., No. _99 Madison St, Madison St., Chicago, Ii. AGENTS, READ THIS We will pay Agents a salary of $100 per month and expenses, or allow a large commission to sell our new and wonderful inventions. We mean what we say. Sample free. Address, SHERMAN & CO., Marshall, Mich

Sr Milker & 4 Collar. _— — ——— oe . You can make A DOLLAR every hour you \ work for us. Send this cut and : a stamp for particulars.

I. W. GUERNSEY, Agent, 78 Courtlandt St., is VY New York. OPIUM! HABIT CURED. DR. S. B. COLLINS’ Painless Opium Antidote is now Sold to Pa- tients for a small margin above the cost of compounding. For full particulars send for Magazine of 100 pages, sent free. Address, DR. S. B, COLLINS, Or MRS. DR. 8. B, COLLINS, LaPorte, Ina. BYSEAL_SEARE_ BLIXIR Gen.

s » + caieak dony + po ol = from ite — kh workslike ™ cad aiete fis Ke = Jomsible :njury to the skin, eas: and cer i'n e effect. LT ereg moh" Stor Dew. L.L.aMiT &Co. 2’ "a, Palatine. Il. Allothers-cou:

Very Beautifal Chromo Cards, with name 10c. Good Watch free to Agents, Agts’. Card Co., Arcade, N.Y, 25

An Elegant Set o that retails ati 4.50 FPIVE-BOTTLE CAS the next 60 days one 8 The Tea-spoons we send ticular. ach article is to cost you n Read the following : OUR ALE lee AT ‘GIFT. or express charges, we will send free name engraved, send only 60 Cents. emember we make this offer send for the Silverware as soon as possible

be engraved m’t neglect to send your name with order to be engraved. Subscribers will therefore cut out the following Premium Order from this m tothe Eacie Gotp ayp Sitver Puiatixe Co., for redemption, together with su the expense of engraving your initials, boxing, post but if you do not wish your initials engraved, only send 60 cemts. verware is img more than the expense of engraving your initials, boxe ing, postage or express oher} ges, and then it is to DELIVERED TO YOU FREE AND PROMPTLY. OUR $4.50 PREMIUM GIFT — OF —— Given Away TO = SUBSCRIBER OF THIS MAGAZINE! Warranted Extra Coin-Silver Plated TEA-SPOONS er Set,and an Ele ed ‘ER that retails A NEW-YEAR’S GIFT TO EVERY SUBSCRIBER. Table Silverware furnished under this New-Year’s Premiu well-known and reliable EAGLE GOLD AND SILVER PLATING CO. of Cincinnati, 0. Jnder a very favorable proposition from said house, we offer our subscribers i508 Set of Extra Coin-silver Tea-spoons 4s Premium New-Year’s Gift, and with the set received the Eagle Gold and Silver Plating Co. will send a list of other Premium Silver Tableware for your selection. ou are of the latest-style pattern, and warranted first class in be” with your name or Assure your subscribers that the Silverware is first class in every res tern, and that we do not retail a single set at less than $4.50, and will not send Geom ‘to any of your subseri at a less price unless accompanied with the sellow=es or oe iw 8S CUT THIS PREMIUM ORDER OUT, AS IT IS WORTH $4.50. “=a O*% receipt of this Premium Order and 73 Cemts to pay cost of engraving name, postage ONE SET OF EXTRA COIN-SILVER PLATED TEA-SPOONS worth $4.50, at retail, and each article is to have your name engraved. If you do not wish your geet onl y for 60 days from date of om magazine. Address this Premium Order t EAGLE GOLD AND SILVER PLATING CO., 180 ELM 8T., CINCINNATI. 0.

See Extra Coin-Silver Plat 7.0 m Proposition is from the dart ing initials if desir ine and send same cient to simply pay or express charges, which is 75 cen er our arrangement this Crnctnwatt, " November 15, 1878. ect, and of latest style of m Order E GOLD AND SILVER PLATING CO. "1419 SESE YNMO

80

as we = — send the Silverware will be ehipped you promptly and delivered free. Be sure and cut out and send us the above Order so that we may know you are entitled to it, at less than $4.50 unless the and when that is received, with the EAGLE GOLD AND SILVER PLATING CO., 180 Elm St., Cincinnati, 0 OUR NEW-YEARS GIFT. you send amount named in same, the goods Address all orders to

Page 16

308 FLORILI i! THE TEETH LINE °—FOR AND BREATH, Is the best liquid dentifrice in the w It thoroughly 66 FLOR cleanses pa illy decaved teeth fro 1 parasites or living inimalcula leaving them lragran¢ to the or g a delighttul PHE FRAGRANT “FLORILINE” impart removes instantly all or ur t {ror a nach i extracts of soda a sweet herbs 1 | ts, it I fectiy harmless and del US as aherr Prepared by HENRY C. GALLUP, No, 49 Oxford Street, London, England, and retailed everywhere CHAXITPAGNEI , SS. PER CASE—Quarts, $7; Pints A. WERNER & CO., 308 Broadway, N. ¥- “DOMESTIC” SO SIMPLE IT REQUIRES NOCAR FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. [January 4, 1879. HOLIDAY PRESENTS. THE Meriden Britannia Co, No. 46 East 14th St., UNION: SQUARE, OFFER, OF THEIR OWN MANUFACTURE, Elegant & Complete Assortment \ FINE SILVER PLATED WARE ALLAN’S ANTI-FAT is the great remedy for. Cor- pulence. It is purely vegetable and perfectly harm- t acts upon the food in the stomach, pre- venting its being converted into fat. Taken in accordance with directions, it will reduce a fat person from two to five pounds per week. “Corpulence is not only a diseuse itself, but the harbinger of others.” So wrote Hippocrates two theusand years ago, and what was true then is none the less so to-day. Sold by druggists, or sent, by ex- press, for $1.50, Quarteredozen $4.00, Address, BOTANIC MEDICINE CO., Prop’re, Buffalo, N.Y EATTY’S HOLIDAY GREETING. BEATTY PIANO, Grand, Square, and Upright, best, excellent $1,000 three-string Extra Grand Square Pianos, only $225; new Pianos, $125, $135, $145 and upward; ess. ESTABLISHED 18R0, (6. Gunther'ss 184 FIFTH AVENUE, Broapway & 23p Sr.) New York. m= \! QV Extra Long Seal Skin Saeques, In New and Large Assortments, of all Sizes and Qualities, and at Moderate Prices. T : Ja a Useful Present for Holidays. = Ryp.Jj Yoak ; ys: Fur-Lined Circulars and Cloaks, | Ke ep raat Shirts In Choice Styles, and Very Low in Price. * Fur Trimmings, Fur Robes, Rugs and Mats. | KEEP’S CUSTOM SHIRTS. MADE TO MEASURE, The very best that can be produced at any price, 6 for $9. PERFECT SATISFACTION GUARANTEED. KEEP’S aes *} aie MADE DRESS The very best that can be produced at any price, 6 {or $7, Easily finished by any little girl. KEEP’S CINGHAM UMBRELLAS. The very best Patent, Protected Ribs, fifty per cent. stronger than any other umbrellas made, $1 each. KEEP’S KID GLOVES FOR CENTS. THE VERY BEST. One Button, Plain or Embroidered, $1.15 each, Two Button, Plain or Embroidered, $1.25. KEEP’S UNDERWEAR IN ALL STYLEx. DNOULS OS sOILSAWOQG,, PERFECT iT NEVER FAILS TO PLEASE. NO SUV3M YIAIN so = SO LIGHT A CHILD CAN RUN IT. “DOMESTIC” © Ian —) Lid = 2) QO An inspection is respectfully invited. N. B.—Orders by mail, or information desired, will receive special and prompt attention. | And STEREOPTICONS, all prices. VIE WS illus- (rating every subject for PUBLIC EKXHIBITIONS, Etec. gg A profitable lusiness for a man with smail capital, Also MAGIC LAN'T E. RNS for home amuse- ment. .74-page catalogue fre. McALLISTER, Manufacturing Optician, 49 Nassau St., N.Y, NELSON’S | THE LATE HON. BAYARD TAYLOR, UNITED STATES MINISTER TO GERMANY.—SEE PAGE 294. | 287, 289, 291, 293 and 295 Eighth Avenue, large pipe Organs, only $135; Church Organs, $84 to $120; beautiful Cabinet Parlor Organs, $65, $75, $85, $97. etc. No second-hand stock; bran new. Pay for instrument only after you have fully tested it at your own home. Please order now, Warranted 6 years; 15 days’ test-trial. I defy competition. Holiday circular and illustrated newspaper sent free. Beware of bogus imitators. Address, _ DANIEL F., BEATTY, Washington, N. J. FANCY GOODS 2 f + y FASHION QUARTERLY. Subscription Price only 50c. per Year. | JUST RECEIVED from PARIS, BERLIN and VIENNA, comprising a CHOICE COLLECTION of ws ae ’ We have a limited number of the Winter issue (1878) i le ant N ove | ties on hand, and will send a copy of same gratis to any new subscriber on receipt of postage (5 cts.), provided the edition is not disposed of The following is from the N. Y. World: “Instructions in regard to what to wear and how to make: it, while an important feature of Ehrich’s Fashion Quarterly, are by no meahs the sum and substance of nearly one hundred pages which comprise this popular gazette of fashions and family magazine. Short stories for grown people, a department overflowing with a whole- some admixture of fun and science for the little folk, practical hints for housekeepers and nurses, and direc- tions in the observance of social etiquette, combine, with numerous illustrations, to make it an instructive as well as agreeable visitor,” All communications should be addressed to EHRICH & CO., In LEATHER, GILT, BOHEMIAN and GLASS-WARE, BRONZES, Etc,, SPECIALLY ADAPTED For Holiday Gifts. A. T. Stewart & Co., BROADWAY, 4th Ave., 9th & 10th Sts. Frank Leslie’s COMIC ALMANAC For 1879. NEW YORK. Handkerchiefs, Hosiery, Ties, Etc. All Goods warranted to give perfect satisfac:ion, Sam- | ples and Circulars mailed free. Shirts only delivered free. Merchants will be furnished with Trade Circulars, on application, as we are prepared to furnish the trade on the most favorable terms. KEEP MANUFACTURING COMPANY, 631, 633, 635 & 637 Broadway, New York. ATP Is THE BEST. /. DELICIOUS JELLY made with the greatest facility in COMFORT FOR THE FEET. Wie, corns, dress the feet with a view to health, . good taste and comfort. Shoes made on our lasts, modeled from nature—an essentially differ ent style—and latest improve- ments. They press the foot evenly, Price, only 10c,, postpaid. The publication combines, with a great deal of ure- ful information, highly amusing jokes, witticisms, ant mirth-provoking iliustrations, In view of the quantity and quality of the contents, Frank Leslie’s Comic Almanac for 1879 would certainly not be over-estimated at double the price Frank Leslie’s Publishing House, a few minutes, We refer, by permission, to publishers of this paper, FOR SALE BY ALL GROCERS. A CHRISTMAS GI Will be appreciated all the more if it is USEFUL as well as BEAUTIFUL. Goods of this class—such as Tableware in| Plain or Decorated China, Glassware, Cutlery, Silverware and Household Goods, Fire Seis and Stands, Brushes, Hardware; Copper, Brass and Enameled Iron Ware; Black Walnut, Plain and Painted Woodenware; also Fancy Goods, Smoking Sets, Cologne Sets, Bohemian Classware,Clocks, Bronzes, and | thousands of articles both useful and beautiful, AT VERY LOW PRICES —can be selected at E.D. BASSFORD’S GREAT HOUS=FURNISHING EMPORIUM, Cooper Institute, New York City. Goods promptly shipped, or delivered the same day FT as selected, by our wagons, to any part of city or vicinity. giving elasticity in walking, and by the . ingenuity of their construction, they appear smaller than they really are, giving an elegant appearance even to the largest and clumsiest feet. EUGENE PERRIS & SON, 81 Nassau Street, West Side, N. Y. 53, 55 & 57 Park Place, New Yorks EveryMan rend bels,carda HIS OWN PRINTER, Stes THOSE CONTEMPLATING The purchase of an elegant and durable Gold Watch will find that the LADD PATENT H o2$3 Press etc, (Self-inker $5) 8 Le For business, pleasure, yo Catalogue of Presses, Type, for 2 stamps. KELSEY & Co. Meriden, Conn STIFFENED GOLD WATCH CASE, with a good movement in it, is the article they want. Elaborately or simply engraved, beautifully engine-turned or left plain pol- ished, thése cases are designed to meet all tastes and most purses, their price being much less than solid gold. They are finished in hunting and open face—key and stem winding—in Ladies’, Gent’s and Boys’ Sizes, and in all shapes and styles. Ask yout dealer for them.. REFUSE ALL OTHERS. None genuine that are not stamped G. W Ladd’s patent, with date under the bezel, Send for full descriptive circulars to th» manufacturers, J.A. BROWN & C0., 11 Maiden Lane, N. Y,

Page 17

Wo 1214—VoL XLVII THE GOVERNOR'S DINNER. By EDWARD E. HALE, CHAPTER I r | old State House in Boston In those days men were more apt to call it the Town House. This was the old Town House, which was burned down in the hor- rid tire of 1712. That fire was fourteen years after the time we write about. The old Town House stood where our dear Boston friends see their “Old State House” every day when they go down to State Street to draw their dividends. It was in the Council Chamber of the old Town House —as I was saying when you. titerrupted me t,.as the Coun. eilroke up after a suf. tigieutly stupid session, the day before Christ- mas, Master Danforth talked with Major Cooke, Captain Ser- geant talked with Gen- eral Winthrop, but Judge Sewall stood alone, while Colonel Hutchinson was talking with Lord Bellomont. Judge Sewall was not used to standing alone, and he did not like to stand alone, all the same he stood alone, and the rest laughed and talked together. Before the day was over, the secret came out why Judge Sewall stood alone. All secrets are sure to come out, some time or other. The Governor was to give a dinner-party the next day, and while he had asked General Win- throp, and Master Sar- gent, and Colonel Hut- chinson, and all the rest to his Christmas dinner, he had not asked Judge Sewall. Judge Sewall was a little silent at his own dinner that day, and when in the afternoon half the Council came in, pretending to talk about some matter of affairs, he’ knew very well that that was not what they came for. The thorn was well down in the bottom of the judge's’ heart, and he knew Major Cooke would drag it out before he went away Sure enough, as they threw on their cloaks in the ample hall of old Father Hull’s house, and as they tied scarfs round ‘theit ears against the biting cold, Major Cooke asked the judge if he would be at the governor's dinner the next day The major knew per fectly well that the judge was not asked, VHEY were in the old council chamber of the | gpeihity and everybody knew THE GOVERNOR’S DINNER.—" THe DooR tS PUSHED GENTLY OPEN, AND A DARK FIGURE CROSSES THE GRAY OF THE TWILIGHT SKY.” rel according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1 NEW YORK, JANUARY 4, 1879. Hormay Dovuste Numser. 8%8, by Franx Leswie, in the Office of the Librarian neress at Washington for sixty-nine years., And when Christmas Day that he was not asked. The judge said, without had come round, men had hewed their wood and telling a lie, that he knew nothing of the gover- nor’s dinner. Nor did he. nor what the dinner a. truth was that Governor Bellomont was as | drawn their water. They had split their toughest was to be. But he knew that it was Christmas sorry not to ask Samuel Sewall as Samuel | knots and broken their hardest ice into little Day, and he knew what a Christmas dinner was | Sewall was not to be asked. But what could a | blocks , they had sent the boys to school and set the likely to be, and he knew that they knew that he | man do? irls to spin, they had taken care that the dinner CHAPTER Il, ] | knew it. Here had this town of Boston lived and thrived | should be a little more plain than common, and if they heard any man whistling in the street on that particular night they set the watch to see that he was not go- ing to a dance-house, On any other night he might have whistled as he pleased. Only for the year or two when Andros the tyrant had been here had there been any Christ- mas dinners at the Gov- ernor’s. And when An- dros the tyrant gave a Christmas dinner, he knew very well whom to ask and whom not to ask. But now Andros the tyrant had gone, » And Lord™Belttomont is not a tyrant in the i least. “To be stre on if Sunday he goes to the ii | = h King’s Chapel, because Ih) li Z, 3 at} it is the Kings Chapel ; | but he goes to Thursday lecture on Thureday, and the countess goes to Thursday lecture. Lord Bellomont was walking back from Thursday lecture one day with the gentlemen of his suite, and they yassed the apothecary, meow Hie at his shop- door. “Oh, my dear doctor,” said the lord, *“‘you have lost a precious lecture this morning.” **T sbould have gone, my lord,” said the wretch, “had I been paid as well as your lordship for going.” For men will say that Lord Bellomont lives in Boston and not in New York, his other capital, because this colony pays him better than New York does. So Lord Bellomont is no whit of a tyrant. He is a loving and yeaceful Governor, who ets us have our own way if we pay him two thousand pounds a year for it, and among other things goes to Thursday lecture. Such a gover- nor is no tyrant, and he will not rum us even if he do have roast beef and roast turkey to eat on the twenty-fifth of December. And Lord Bellomont and the countess will have roast beef and roast turkey, and they will have oyster - pies, too, and roast partridges, and they will have squash- pies, and cranberry pies, and minced-pies spelled with the letter y. Marl- oorough pyes have not yet come in. And they will have a great plum - pudding, boiled in a bag, and when it is brought upon the table, Lord Bello.

Page 18

310 mont’s lackey will pour a glass of brandy over it, and, just as he stands at the door, the cook will set fire to the brandy, and he will bring it in, all blazing, to the table. And every gentleman of the Council and every magistrate in the town will be at the dinner ex- cepting Samuel Sewall. Now, Samuel Sewall, the judge, has heen Hill the other day? It is all dug down now, Emma, and you cannot go there. down, But that was the year I was twelve years old. If you want to see.the view which Judge Sewall showed the countess, go to 15 Pemberton Square, and ask Mr. Ladd to give you the key to the attic- | stairs, and put your head out of the open scuttle- way, and look around and you will see, udge Sewall showed the countess the view, and then he brought ber down through the gateway of the garden— which opened about opposite where the Museum is now- and when she said she had been charmed with the view, he said he was glad, and might he not call the gate Bellomont Gate afterward? And she tapped him with her fan, and said : “« Why, you are quite a courtier, judge.’ And then he asked her into the house, and Betty Sewall brought her a glass of better Madeira than she had ever drank in her life, on a bigger silver waiter than there was un the Bellomont sideboard. And she said pretty things to Misiress Sewall, and Mistress Sewall said pretty things to her. And this was so a few weeks ago, and yet the Governor has not asked the judge to his dinner. The truth is, the Governor is too wellbred to ask the judge to dinner. The judge is the last of the old luritans; ie would whip any of his small- est children who cracked a walnut or ate a raisin | And if any of | because Christmas Day had come. the larger children went to the King’s Chapel on Christmas Day to see the evergreens or to hear the singing, why, the judge would put them on bread- and-water for a week. Lord Bellomont is a good-natured man ; he does not want to burt anybody’s feelings, and so he does | not ask the judge to dinner. And, on the other hand, the judge would have died before he went to dinner, only—and this is human nature, dear George and dear Harry—-only he would have liked to say “No.” It was not be- coming that Major Cooke should ask him if he were going, and he have to confess that he had not been asked! What will people say? What will the church-members, even, say? What will the freemen say? And what will this rough-scruff of as } courtly to Lord Bellomont as any man of them all. | Did not he take the countess to the top of Cotton | I had a good | crying-fit the last time | went there when I saw | the horses, and the carts, and the men who dug it | FRANK LESLIE’S } Cesk. | round till they came to the Creed ; but after she had looked round she looked round again ; ana, by- and-by, under pretense of handing to the Governor the right psalm in the Psalter, she took occasion to say: ‘The young gentleman in the form opposite will do; bring bim home to dinner.” And, at last, the Christmas sermon of the parson was done. It was according to the true Episcopal standard of those days—twenty minutes tn length, | 7 The and of no depth atall, or breadth either. wellbred and courtly worshipers, perhaps a bun- Miles, the minister, and then for the Governor, to pass. Lord Bellomont himself bowed courteously to the young stranger, who was thus pre-ordained to be the twenty-fourth person at his table. The stranger was standing in the form of Mas- | ter Turfrey. The Governor loitered a little in the porch, shaking hands with the more distinguished of the worshipers, and courteously wishing them a Merry Christmas. As Master Turfrey approached him among the last, the Governor even stepped forward cordially ; and, as he put out his hand to that gentleman, he bowed again to the handsome young stranger. Master Turfrey, well pleased, named him to the Governor. “ Let me present to Your Excellency,’’ he said, ‘* Master Grove Hirst, one of our townsmen, who | has just returned from London. He came in in Shepherd, this morning.” This meant that Master Hirst was a passenger in a ship of which John Shepherd was the master. The Governor saluted the young man courteously, detained him for a minute or two in conversation on his vovage and the news he brought trom Eng- land, and thus he was able to extend to him the invitation which the countess had suggested — that he should join them at-their Christmas dinner. would have had in England, Mr. Hirst, and | think, Dr. Miles, that the turkey will be bet- ter.” The young man, all amazed at the ease with things, was no such fool as to hesitate. took the goods the gods had provided. ‘The Governor's procession went on, and Master Hirst, who had gained audacity in his foreign travels, said with alacrity, “I think this is Judge Sewall and Madam Sewall, is it not?” The young gentleman had never seen either of them in his life. CHAPTER IV. HE Governor and the parson and the countess and young Master Grove Hirst walked down School Street together, for even if the Governor's those who are not “ freemen” say ? Christmas comes on Sunday this year, and the | other gentlemen, as soon as meetin: is over, will | wear their gay red cloaks and will loiter outside | the Governor's house, so that people can see them. | The major and the colonel will clatter in from the | country on horseback—the major with his black | boy, the colonel with that old Indian whom he bas made a lackey of, to take care of their horses. | Then the boys in the street will know that they go | Then the boys will wait | to the Governo’s dinner. to see Judge Sewall’s carriage; it is the only car- riage in town. They know that he will be going, of course, and he will not be going. By eight o’clock Monday morning, in every barber’s shop in the town the news will be told that Governor Beliomont did not ask Judge Sewall to dinner. CHAPTER III. OR us, who read this story, more things de- pended on that gap in the table than the mor- tifieation, great or small, of the rejected guest. The countess knew that this was a State occa- sion as well as the judge. ‘The countess was a woman, and she therefore knew some things which the Earl of Bellomont did not; for he was only a man. The countess had therefore advised, and ad- vised pretty earnestly, that the judge and his wife should be invited ; the countess thought they would come, in truth. Whether they came or not, they remembered the glass of Madeira, and she did not want them to be mortified. But the earl had been stanch, and he said, “‘ No.”’ He represented His Majesty, and he was not going to be rebuffed by any man, though he was a good- natured earl. All the same, the countess kept two seats till the very last. * J tell you,” said she, ** that you can do it by accident, as it were; you can do it without any fuss. You can one-half invite him, and take the rest for granted; or I shall meet her, and I will ask her, and then she will make him come.” And the earl had let it stand in this mixed-up way till the very last. This was because he was a man. But Christmas morning came, and there had been no chance, and no invitation had been iven. Twenty-four plates, all marked with the Bellomont crest, had been set on the table the night before, and Lady Bellomont had only twenty guests certain, beside her husband and herself. Who should fill the two vacancies ? Thus it happened that when the governor and his party went to church that morning, the count- ess had to come to the attack again. “ My dear,” she said, “ nothing has been heard from the judge, has there ?” “ Of course not,” was the reply. “Then,” said the jolly countess, “never speak to me again, unless you bring some gentleman home with you. J will make Martha put on her silk dress, and she shall fill one seat, if you will only make sure to fill another; but I will not have an empty seat at my table on Christms Day.” Whether the Governor would have remembered or not, I am sure I do not know. But so it bap- pened that when the parson had well advanced in ** Dearly beloved brethren,” there was a little clat- ter at the door of the little chapel, and steps were heard up the little aisle. A handsome young man, whose ruffle and boots showed plainly to every girl in church that the ruffle was not cut by a Boston snip, nor the boots made by a Boston cobbler, was led up the aisle by John Beadle. He was made to sit in the form, almost empty, which was opposite the Governor's, and just wm front of the reading carriage had arrived—and | do not think it had— he would not have used it for so short a journey. The Governor and the parson walked in front, and Master Grove Hirst and the countess walked behind, and behind them walked Mistress Martha Coote, and I don’t know how many others of the Governors suite. So it made in all quite a little procession. And as the powers ordered which had any hand in the management of this story, just as they passed Mas- ter Cheever’s house—the Master Cheever who kept the school in those days—they came full on Judge Sewall and Mistress Sewall and Betty Sewall and Joe Sewall and all the little Sewalls, who were walking up School Street from the old South Meeting-house towards Cotton Hill. So all the Bellomont party had to lift their hats and drop their courtesies to all the Sewall party, and all the Sewall party had to do the like to the Bellomont party. And this had to be done, even more carefully than another day, because the Governor had not asked Judge Sewall to dinner, and every one except Master Grove Hirst knew that he had not asked him. Master Grove Hirst was quite at ease, because he did not know. He was quite at ease, until, as he lifted his hat for ceremony, he saw the pretty face of Mistress Betty Sewall. Here all mere cere- mony vanished from wellbred Master Grove Hirst, and he bowed profoundly as he recognized the girl. And she, ah me! she was prettier than ever, as she blushed to her eyes in the sudden recognition. Captain Tuthill was walking by her side. He | was rather dull, but I don’t think even he was so | dull but that he observed the special politeness | with which Master Grove Hirst bowed to the young | lady. You see, it was more than a year ago since Grove Ilirst had seen Letty Sewall, or as much as heard her name, It was a year ago last July that Betty Sewall was on a visit with her cousins at Salem. And one afternoon, on a frolic, they had all gone over in a boat to Marblehead Neck. And there had been aclambake on the shore. And who should appear at the clumbake, among other young men and maidens, but Master Grove Hirst? And Mas- ter Grove Hirst and Miss Betty Sewall —well, they | had spent most of the afternoon together at the clambake. 1 don’t know what he said to her, and I don't know what she said to him. I dare say most of it was nonsense. Indeed, I never heard a word of it. But I am sure that this Christmas, when Miss Betty Sewall met Master Grove Hirst, she remem- bered a good deal of it, and I know that he re- membered every syllable, and could have written it all down if it were necessary. But the very day after the clambake, Master Grove Hirst had gone out in a brig laden with barrel-staves to Lisbon. And from Lisbon he had gone to Leghorn, and from Leghorn he had gone ack to Marseilles, and from Marseilles he had gone to Lisbon again, and then he had found an- other brig of his father’s, and from Lisbon this time he had gone to Bristol, and from Bristol he had gone to London, and from London he had gone tack to Marseilles : then from Marseilles he had gone back to London again, and so it was that for the year and a half he bad 1 nev Betty Sewall. Still Master Grove Hirst had remembered Mis- that Betty Sewall had remembered him, although she = heard no word of him in these seventeen mouths, The Countess of Bellomont did not look | dred in number, stood and waited—first for Dr. | ‘*You shall have as good a bit of beef as you | which honors were distributed in the new order of | He gladly | er heard a word of pretty Mistress | tress Betty Sewall all the same, and I am afraid’ ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. And this was the reason why Master Grove Hirst bowed so profoundly when he met the young lady. As 1 have said, Captain Tutuill was not pleased that Mr, Hirst bowed so profoundly, but the Captain could not help himself, and he was fain tv make no remark on the occasion. When the Sewall party arrived at old Father | Hall’s house, about where you stop to-day if you want to buy a plaster from Mr. Metcalf, Captain Tuthill bad to bid Betty Sewall good-day. Had it been any other day but Christmas, Judge Sewall would have a#ked that gentleman in to dinner. For he was hospitable, and he knew that Captain luthill had a good estate. It would have been very queer had he not guessed also how much Cap- tain Tuthill liked Betty Sewall. But it was Christ- mas Day, and by the same token that Lord Bello- |} mont could not ask Judge Sewall, Judge Sewall could not ask Captain Tuthill to dine. So the captain went woefully away. CHAPTER VY. ND so it was that the Reverend Dr. Miles, and Mr. Grove Hirst were the first guests to ar- rive at the Governor’s dinner. But it was not long before generals, and colonels, | and judges, anu their wives began toappear. They were all a little frightened, perhaps; for they knew, every mothers son of them, and every tather’s daughter of them, that their fathers and mothers would have died before they would have bowed down to such idolatry. But they had quieted their consciences in some way, and here they were. The men rubbed their hands in front of the cheer- ful hickory fire. ‘lhe women gathered in little knots, scrutinized each other's dress, and said little. ‘** We should treat these gentlemen well, dame,’’ whispered the Governor, as Wait Winthrop and Mr. Addington came in. ‘They give us our bread.” ‘“‘ Never fear me with the gentlemen,’’ said the jolly countess ; “ only you take care of the ladies.”’ And, to tell the truth, the earl’s share was harder than the countess’s. But he did his best, and Le- fore long he had the pleasure of seeing all the twenty-four chairs filled. Master Grove Hirst, as the last comer, and of the lowest rank, sat half way down the table. He had taken into dinner Miss Martha Coote, a cousin of the Governor’s — the same lady who would have been overseeing the cook in the kitchen had Madam Sewall and her husband come to the dinner. The talk went on as briskly as it might. But where there is a little awkwardness at the bottom, even a cordial earl and a jolly countess find that things drag a little. They had pounded away on the last news from Captain Kidd — on the messenger who came from the Penobscots on Thanksgiving Day, oa the reason why wheat had been blasted, or the misfortune to the oysters in the Plymouth colony. ‘The Governor had kept the Madeira going | pretty freely, and the dame had pressed everybody to eat turkey from the thirty-five-pounder before her, till they could eat no more. At last, in despair, the earl spoke down the table, where Mr. Grove Hirst had been keeping up small- talk with Miss Martha Coote. “‘ Did you see the Czar, Mr. Hirst, in London P”’ ‘‘T had very good luck, my lord. He came on board Captain Shepherd, with a party of Mus- covites. ‘hey wanted to see some of our New Eng- land ways.” “Ah, ha! Indeed! So you could teach the wild bear a thing or two.” “Did he hug very hard?’ said the countess, from her end ot the table. “ Not so hard but that I am here, my lady. To say the truth, they all liked the good Ja- maica our captain gavethem ; and when he treated with some figs we had on board, they ate them as Mashpee Indians would have done. Their tooth is as sweet as any savage’s.” ‘‘T like a good fiz myself,” said the earl,‘and I hope your good friend Shepherd has not given them all to the Czar.” At this there was a little laugh, and Mr. Hirst hastened to say, that he was sure Captain Shep- herd would give the earl a chance to see what cargo he had brought with him. And so a safe subject was well introduced, and what with Peter the Great, and the fire at Whitehall, and Lord Portland's mission to France, the dinner went for- ward bravely, till the plum-pudding and the burning brandy came. And before the dinner was over Mr. Grove Hirst was in prime favor with the earl and the countess, and every counselor and every magistrate knew it. Pretty well for a young man of twenty-three years old, who had followed the sea for half his lite and had never dined with a governor before, But such are the chances on which turn the fate of kings and of nations. What would have happened to Mr. Grove Hirst if Judge Sewall had been asked to dinner, I am sure I do not know! CHAPTER VI. ETTY SEWALL had made very short answers to Captain Zachariah Tuthill as they walked up the hill together, and I am by no means sure that she knew what she said to him. I think she would have known if she had not met Grove Hirst. But, to tell the truth, the moment she saw him her mind ran back to the Marblehead rocks and to that pleasant Summer afternoon. It was only a day or two after, that Betty Sew- all’s father went round tosee Mr. Mico. He pre- tended he went to inquire about some lumber which Mr. Mico wanted to sell. But he did go to inquire about Captain Zachariah Tuthill. Mr. Mico said that be never heard any ill of him. He said he was in good business and like to be in better. He said his estate was six or seven hundred pounds. He saidif he had a sister whose father was Boing to settle a thousand pounds on her, he would be glad to have Captain Fathill ask for her. This was all Judge Sewall got from Mr. Mico, and this the judge told his wife, and this Madam Sewall told Mistress Betty. But I appeal to any young lady who read Frank Lesuin’s ILLustrateD NEWSPAPER, to know whether she thinks this amounted to a great deal. If Captain Tuthill bad been tender and entertaining, and un- affected; in short, if he had been “ nice,” this [Supp_EMENT, January 4, 1879. would all have been very well. But as it was, to | know that old Mr. Mico bad never heard any ill of him was certainly very little. “Why.” said Miss Betty, pertly. but truly, “1 do not suppose Mr. Mico ever heard any 1 of old Rocket.” Now old Rocket was the Indian who cleaned the judge’s boots, and split the wood for the judge's fire, But it made no difference what Mistress Betty said. ‘lhursday night came round, ten days aite: Christmas, aud, aiter the candles were lighted, Letty found herself sitting alone. Her father and mother had gone over to Mr. Willard’s, to see about Mrs. Moodys funeral. So the judge said ; but Betty knew it was so they might be out of the way. None of the boys or girls were at home, and Betty knew that they had been sent off. She was ‘‘ mad as fire,’’ as she told Eunice Scott after- wards; but the poor girl could not he!p herself, or thought so. So at seven o'clock came the knock at the front-door, and then that grinning Dinah showed in Captain Zachariah Tuthill. He was got up in his best sailor finery. A gold chain from the Congo coast hung at his fob. A great turquoise blazed on his finger, and his ruffles, said Betty, when she told Eunice the next day, looked as if they had been starched by the Queen of Ashantee. Captain Tuthill urged his suit a goud deal as he might have urged the men in the tops to take in the top-sail in a gale. At least,so Betty pretended, when she saw Eunice. I am afraid Betty exag- gerated. But on the other hand I am afraid he was a little peremptory. As for Betty, she was ut first silent, then she screwed herself up to the point. She succeeded in keeping her temper, and she suc- ceeded also in saying, “* No.” Then the captain was more peremptory. Betty was still civil, but she was as firm as the rocks below Mr. Eliot’s meeting-house. Then Captain Tuthill was indignant, and talked about what her father had said, and what Mr. Mico had said, and what he had expected. ‘Then Betty’s wrath waxed hot. She told him that he didn’t know how to speak toa gentlewoman. She stood up and opened the door and asked him to go. And when the Captain blundered out an apology and talked about his love for her, the girl’s rage upset her completely. She told him that if he staid in that room a moment longer she would call old Rocket, and old Rocket should put him out of the door, This was outrageous in Miss Betty, but, as has been said, she had been put in an outrageous mood. Captain Tuthill went out of the door without Rocket’s assistance. Then Betty Sewall ran up crying to her room and flung herself on her bed. \ EANWHILE, Master Grove Hirst had been following his hand, as the ungodly say. But no such wanton expressions were spoken or heard in circles where Betty Sewall moved. On Monday morning, a package of the choicest figs had gone to Lady Bellomont with Mr. Grove Hirst’s respectful duty. ‘The same afternoon, a box of a dozen bottles of Alicant went to Lord Bellomont, to his private room at the Town House, with Mr. Grove Hirst s humble respects to His Excellency. Within a day or two, Mr. Grove Hirst had been sent for to see His Excellency. His Excellency had given the young man a very courteous recep- tion; had talked with him about English politics ; had asked about his next voyage, and in every way had shown that he would be his friend. Nay, he had asked him to call and see the countess, and this the young man was fain to do. And this time the bright young courtier asked if he might have the privilege ot presenting to Mistress Martha Coote a little box of feathers which he had brought from Nantes with him. He was told that they were quite the mode at the French court. Really, Master Hirst, for a youngster who went to Nantes to barter salt codfish for olives, you are coming on very well! And Judge Sewall saw Mr. Grove Hirst once and again at the Council Chamber. But the audacious youngster could contrive no way in which to be presented to Judge Sewall. The wound in the judge’s heart was too sore. All the town knew who took his place at the Governor’s Christmas party. In the judge’s eyes Mr. Grove Hirst was, to all men, the visible symbol of his disgrace. What- ever other man the judge would speak to in the little town, he would not speak to Mr. Grove Hirst. And, as you know, the poor judge has many things just now to make him testy. Here is Mr. Mico enraged with the treatment of his friend. Here is Capiain Tuthill coming in, three times a day, to know when he may see Mistress Betty again. And Betty's eyes ure red, and her cheeks are pale every time the judge sees her. Every way the poor - judge is very unhappy. But, all the same, he lunders on, tor he is only a man, though he be a magistrate; and he tells Captain Tuthill to try again. He tells him that “ faint heart never won fair lady.” And Captain Tuthill sends round to Madam Sewall, with his respectful duty, a Pan- ama basket with two ostrich eggs in it, and some cowries and other shells. And Betty Sewall laughs like a wild creature, and says this is what the King of Ashantee— for so she chooses to dub Captain Tuthill has sent for purchase money. Mark you, 1 donot know that Captain Tuthill was in the slave-trade. 1 only know that Betty Sewall said he was. Poor Betty Sewall! I can almost forgive her if she were a little enraged. The week before Christmas she did not speak of Captain Tuthill as if he were the King of Ashantee. When Eunice Scott, and Miriam Addington, and Esther Aspin- wall, and the other girls, talked of Captain Tut- hill, whom they had met at a husking-party at the Williams’s,in Roxbury, nobody had called him the King of Ashantee. And even on the morning of Christmas Day, when he called at the judge’s house, and walked down to meeting with Madam Sewall, nobody called him the King of Ashantee. And, when meeting was over, and her father and mother went first, nobody called him the King ot Ashantee. Jt had only been since she met Grove Hirst that day that she had called him the Kinz of Ashantee, CHAPTER VII.

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Scpr.ement, January 4, 1879. ] “ And what was Grove Hirst to her ?’’ the poor | girl kept saying. “ Why should she be thinking FRANK LESLIE’S Day, it is since that day at the beach, that I have | thought of you, and hoped for you, and prayed for | | [ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. ing the infant appetite for wonder. Magic lanterns | are at hand, and many another apparatus, profuse of Grove Hirst morning, noon, and night, and be- | you, every hour of my lite, Mistress Betty. Every | of grotesque figuwantes that appear and vanish, tween whiles? Grove Hirst showed no signs of day since 1 landed here | have wanted to say as | causing intense amazement and provoking obstre- thinking of her! Here it was a fortnight or | more since Christmas. All the other girls had | seen Grove Hirst, and she had not seen him.”’ Poor Betty did not remember that she would not go to Madam Sergeant's quilting, and that it was after the quilting that the other girls saw him. Poor Betty did not know that Grove Hirst was at meeting on New Year's Day, and waited at the wrong door, in hope of at least bowing to her again. Poor Betty forgot that she would not go to meeting in the afternoon. Poor Betty forgot everything but that people wanted her to marry the King of Ashantee, and that she hated him! CHAPTER VIII. ND Madam Sewall had to tell Betty that the captain was to call again. Betty was very wild; she would only say that she expected him— that after he had paid the ostrich eggs he was entitled to his wife. Poor Dame Sewall tried to laugh at this. She would have soothed Betty if she could, but Betty would not be soothed. Her mother told her to be ready in the evening to see him. It was a very quiet table at tea-time, you may be sure ; and in the evening, at last, he came. but where was Betty? She was here just now. There is the stocking she was mending, and her ball of yarn. ‘Ihe captain looked round meekly; Madam Sewall was courtesy itself, and so was the judge. Atanod from their mother, the children took their books into the kitchen. Talk dragged a little, and at last the judge said, “ Will you call Betty, my dear ?” So Madam Sewall went to call Betty, and at last she called very loud ; but no Betty came. And Madam Sewall sent the boys to Mr. Cotton’s, and even as far as Captain Southack’s and the Endi- cotts’. The boys were to say that their sister must come back for a very particular reason. The giri’s hood and her hat were in herroom. Madam Sewall came back with an anxious look, and said Betty would soon be there. And Judge Sewall and the captain droned on and on about cowries and Congo and the middle passaye. And Betty did not come at all. The captain staid an hour, and went away in a rage. Then Madam Sewall told her husband, and then he was well frightened. He put on his cloak and went out; he even demeaned himself to ask the watch if they had seen her. Poorman! He went down tothe dock and looked weakly over. There was a sort of joy to him to see tne ice, which he had forgotten. But how many coves there were, where a wild girl might run down upon the ice, and who should say how far she would go then? Poor Judge Sewall! He came home sadder than ever; and as he passed the Governor's house there was music and dancing. Could they dance so and his poor Betty stark and cold in the bay yonder ? ‘*No, Hannah, I have not found her !” ‘¢ And she is not here!” sobbed his poor wife. So they sat an hour, or sat and stood, or they walked the room, looked out at the door, and sat again, eit was not till the clock pointed to eleven that quietly the door opened and Betty came in. “ My dear child, where have you been ?” “Where should 1 be?’ my dear mother. “1 have been sitting in the coach in the coach- house !’’ Was the girl stark mad ? No, 1 think she was not stark mad ; but I think she would have been had she not gone into the coachhouse. Sometimes our good angels take better care of us than we take ot ourselves. When the horrid knocker sounded, when the judge went into the hail to meet his guest, when er mother passed round and snuffed the candles, Betty had stepped out at the side-door, run through the back entry, and, wholly without being noticed by Dinah or by old Rocketts, run across the plank path to the coachhouse, where stood the judge’s carriage. The carriage was crowded on one side, that the sleizh and the ‘ booby-hut,” as the Boston of that day called a coach on runners, might be ready. The girl caught up a bear-skin and wrapped it round her, and sank into the corner of the carriage, sobbing. For two minutes there was dead silence. Then, tap—tap — tap at the door. Betty did not breathe. Tap — tap--tap. Still she made no answer. They had driven her to the walls, and now they might send for the watch or the sheriff. But she would not surrender. Tap—tap— tap, avd then the door is flung open. Aman comes in. Betty does not move. He crosses the light of the open doorway. She does not breathe. ‘Mistress Betty, Mistress Betty. Can I not serve you in any way ?” No answer. ‘I beg your pardon for breaking in on your privacy. But if you knew how I had sought to see you. Indeed, Mistress Sewall—I was—I was watching your window from the hill-top. I saw you cross the court—and—and I made so bold as to come in.” The girl did not speak then. But she sobbed. And the young man knew where she was, and came where he could speak in low tones. She sank back in the great carriage, sobbing. The young man did not know what to do, and he did the right thing without knowing it. This was because he acted on the impulses of a gentleman. Grove Hirst turned to the open sleigh beside him and took out a heavy woli-skin. He wrapped it around the lady, as if he were making her een for a sleigh-ride. He asked her if her head res easily, as simply as if it were a matter of course that she should be sitting there. ‘Oh ! dear, yes,”’ stammered the poor girl. And then she rested, and after a moment, ‘* Now please leave me, leave me alone.” “T will leave you, if you sayso,’’ said the young man respectfully, ‘* but 1 cannot leave you till I tell you why 1 came, It is not only since Christmes much to you, but your father is displeased with me, | perous mirth. I know not why. 1 sent a basket of fruit to you, and he sent it back again. I made bold to send a letter, and the Indian brought it to my lodgings again within an hour. If this is at your order, | will receive your judgment like a man. But 1 am proud, and I will take my fate from no lips but yours.”’ Betty had sprung up in the carriage, and had her foot upon the step. ‘‘ They sent back your letter ?’’ cried she, “ then I am a prisoner indeed!” For an instant the young man was as happy, perhaps, as he ever had been in his life. But for an instant only. The girl had fallen back on the seat and was sobbing, almost hysterically. The youngster did not know what to do or to say, to comfort her. “Shall I call your mother? shall I call your maid ?”” “Call nobody. Do not speak aloud,”’ said Betty, almost whispering. And then when he hesitated a moment, ‘*I am very foolish, do not think I am bold,” and she laughed, “ for I am frightened to death, It is because I am frightened taat I say what I say. Please do not go away,’’ and she laughed again. ‘* That’s a pretty speech for a girl to make, but I am so frightened. I must stay here. Nobody must know it. And I dare not stay here alone.” Now is your chance, Mr. Grove Hirst, to show yourself what you are—a gentleman through and through, The youngster bowed most respectfully, as he might have done to his queen. ‘1 am so ~ I can serve you,’ he said, in a whisper. “1 will stay till you bid me go. Are you sure you are warm ?” And once more, without a single allusion to what he had said of his own passion — without pre- suming, even in a breath, to inquire as to her se- cret, he assumed the tone which he might have taken if she were Mrs. Martha Coote — if she were sitting in.a chair at the Governor's and he stand- ing at her side, with a hundred people looking on. In a minute the girl had recovered her composure in the contagion of his. In a minute more she had almost forgotten where she was, as the young man skillfully used up the time in inquiries about their Salem friends and in other commonplace. And when she was at last at ease, and did forget her- selt so that she could speak like the gentlewoman that she was, he cherished every word, so simply but so grandly! And he answered what she said about his travels so modestly! And then what he said—it was just what a gentleman should say. It was what a gentleman should have seen—it was told as a gentleman should tell it. Ah, me! how the time flew by! It is absurd to say they forgot where they were, but the truth was they often did forget it. Please to remember that he had been waiting for this hour for a year and six months more. They both started when the hall-clock struck eleven. “It must be ten o’clock,”’ said poor Betty. “ He must be gone now. I will go in.”’ Grove Hirst led her to the door of the house. “When may I have the honor of waiting upon you ?”’ said he. “That will be for my father to say,” said Betty, as proud as ever. CHAPTER IX, AND LAST. APTAIN TUTHILL came the next day, and .spoke with Miss Betty in her father's pres- ence; but nothing came of it. The next day he came again; but there was company, and the judge sent him away and bade him come again. I am sure I do not know how often he would have come, but that one day, after the Council, the Earl of Bellomont, with great cordiality, asked Judge Sewall it he would stay a moment for pri- vate conterence. He then told the judge that he wanted his confidential advice in regard to that knotty matter about the title to Martha's Vineyard. ‘** Young Hirst tells me,” he said, “that your no- tion of such things is worth more than that of a dozen of our friends here, and that all the prov- ince says so. I had guessed as much already. They will all be gossiping if 1 keep you here. Could you and Madam Sewall come and take pot-luck with us to-morrow at dinner? And bring your pretty daughter. The countess has taken a fancy to her. ‘Then people will not think that we mean to talk business.” The judge walked on air as he went home. But when they went to the dinner the next day, he did not walk on air— they rode in the coach; and as her father put the wolf-skin over Betty’s knee, she remembered who was the last person to wrap it round her. It was not quite a family dinner. Besides the Governor's household, was Master Grove Hirst. And at the beginning of the Martha’s Vineyard conference, Master Grove Hirst was called in; but long before it was ended, he was sitting by Betty Sewall’s side, while Lady Bellomont and Madam Sewall and Mistress Martha Coote dis- cussed the best recipe for diet-drink. What did he say to Betty Sewall ? I am sure I do not know; I only know that the Hirsts of to-day are his great-great-great-grand- sons, and hers too. I believe his courtship had its ups and downs; but in her older years she used to tell the children on Christmas Days that none of ein Woud lave been there it her father bad Leen bidden to the Governor s Dinnzr. —————————_—— The Shadow Dance. A’ all -constitutions are not strong enough for outdoor amusements, and Santa Claus is too kind-hearted a genius not to care for these, and to provide for the tender plants that require the at- mosphere of the drawing-room, paterfami/ias shall not call on the monarch of the closing year in vain when he requires appropriate recreations for the little ones, who, at festal seasons have vague longings for strange enjoyments, but forth- with shall be supplied with the means of gratify- by a simple arrangement on the illuminated screen, the shadow of the cardboard figures can be cast, and made to perform all manner of eccentricities. | Here you may see Punch and Judy dance the most fantastic of ‘ hops,’ both curiously and turiously dance, in a word, “like mad’’—tossing about their legs and arms in preternatural fashion, for surely no man or woman of real flesh and blood could ever make so queer a use of either. They put the goblin Puck to shame, and make Queen Mab and her court blush with envy and rage. And yet they are but shadows of pasteboard, impaled on wires and move briskly about under the direction of a clever mortal. If our young readers desire to pass a pleasant evening, Tet them “rig up” a Shadow Puppet Show and peals of laughter will crown their efforts, Janet’s Hair. OH! loosen the snood that you wear, Janet, Let me tangle a hand in your hair, my pet; For the world to me has no daintier sight Than your brown hair behind your shoulders white, As I tangled a hand in your hair, my pet. It was brown, with a golden gloss, Janet, It was finer than silk of the floss, my pet; *Twas a beautiful mist, falling down to your wrist; "Twas a thing to be braided, and jeweled and kissed ; ’Twas the loveliest hair in the world, my pet. My arm was the arm of a clown, Janet, It was sinewy, bristled and brown, my pet; But warmly and softly it loved to caress Your round white neck, and your wealth of tress, Your beautiful plenty of hair, my pet. Your eyes had a swimming gloss, Janet, Revealing the dear old story, my pet! They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky, When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly, And they matched with your golden hair, my pet. Your lips—but I have no words, Janet— They were fresh as the twitter of birds, my pet; When the Spring is young and the roses are wet With dewdrops in each bosom set, And they suited your gold brown hair, my pet. Oh! you tangled my life in your hair, Janet! *Twas a silken and golden snare, my pet; But so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore The right to continue a slave evermore, With my fingers enmeshed in your hair, my pet. * + + * + * Thus ever I dream that you were, Janct, With your lips, and your eyes, and your hair, my t; In or entient and desolate years I moan, And my tears fall bitterly over the stone That covers your golden hair, my pet. JOAQUIN MILLER. From Thanksgiving to Christmas. ‘By Amanda M. Douglas. ITTY TREVOR walked slowly along that K chilly November day. To-morrow was Thanksgiving. For a moment a bitter thought came into ber heart, What had she to give thanks for? The copying had stopped. Welsh & Bender were using a type-writer and liked it. Their young man was to do the copying for several houses from which she often had chance work. And Madame Fleury had said, an hour ago : “T am very sorry, Mrs. Trevor, but I do not believe I shall have any more flannel embroidery. People are getting so poor and the machine-work interferes; then my daughter doesa good deal. Still, you might call in a week or two before Christ- mas,” She had in her poor worn little pocketbook, four dollars and sixty cents. They must have coal on Saturday. There was some flour, some apples, and a little bacon in the house. How tempting the Thanksgiving turkeys looked! She had in- tended to buy one and a bottle of wine for Dick. “Feed him up well, Mrs. Trevor,” the doctor had said. ‘Good, generous living, will do more for him than all my medicine.” All the long Autumn Dick Trevor had been wrestling with typhoid fever, brought on largely by light living and discouragement. Five years before he had been a happy man, busy, prosperous, hoping in time to own the little house to which he had brought Kitty as a bride. They had planted the roses and vines and trees together; they had welcomed three little baby lives, and giving one back to God, amid many tears. They thought then there could be no deeper sorrow save that of losing each other. But a sudden blow had fallen. Joe Hildreth, whom he loved and trusted like a brother—laugh- ing, gay-hearted Joe, whose truth and honor he a have sworn to—had suddenly disappeared, after robbing his employer's safe. Dick Trevor was one of his bondsmen. He had meant in a year or two to lift the small mortgage on the house; now it bad to be sold. For a year longer they hired it; then Dick’s firm failed, and for months he was out of employment. Car-fares were quite an item, so the next Spring they moved in town. But it had been ill-luck all the time. Loss of employment, low wages, and general dis- couragement. All the Summer there had been nothing but chance jobs, then the fever, and he was still weak and miserable. Kitty's was a gay, buoyant, fun-loving nature, interested and pleased with the least trifle. Asa girl, she had been the prettiest dancer in all Nor- bury, and it seemed as if the twinkling feet always danced about in pure gladness. She was beautiful, too, and all the stress of trouble and work had not made her old or ugly, But much more convenient than | most of these is the Shadow Puppet Show, where, slender pittance by various devices. 311 True, she had grown graver, and the merry laugh was not heard so often; but the light, elastic step, the slender figure and trim dress seemed always the same. ‘Tbe gloves and boots did grow shabby, I think, but the air about her compensated For the last two years she had eked out their Now it ap- peared as if all was to be swept away, work was so dull, prices so small. She stopped at a shirt- store—no, they would starveon that. If she could go out washing, and the dollar and a quarter a day lovked large to her. ; Vhat was this? A flaming advertisement for women still young and pretty. Could any one walk that difficult path and keep pure in soul P Some spell stronger than herself urged her in. Fifteen minutes later she came out with a scarlet face and glowing eyes. “Never!” she said, shutting her lips firmly over her dainty white teeth. ‘* Never that; oh, my God!’ Late that evening she crept out to market and bought a poor tumbled-about chicken that others had refused; a few cranberries, since Dick could have no wine; and a bit of celery—all at a bargain. How she made so bright a Thanksgiving she could scarcely have told, Nell «ad Joe went out to a children’s party, dressed up in their brave Sunday clothes, Nell’s gown a piece of her mother’s old one; the coal the next day, some medicine, and then—must they begin to sell off everything they held sacred P All the next week she crocheted early and late until her eyes ached. No, she could not support the family on that. Then the temptation came back to her. Why should they go hungry and cold? Why should little Joe be compelled to give up school for want of a pair of shoes? There was money to earn. A month, perhaps, God might send something by that time. She could not see poor Dick waste away belore her eyes. So she dressed herself in her shabby silk and went out. “* Nelly,” she said, a few evenings later, as she stood wrapped in a waterproof, and a thick blue vail tied over her hat, “ Nelly, 1 have had an op- portunity to earn a little money. A class meets every evening around in Bond Street, and— and——-”’ how her voice faltered! Could she tell the child an untruth? ’hen she cleared her throat. “I depend upon you to take care of papa, and wait upon him, and at eight o'clock put little Joe to bed. At nine you may go yourself. 1 shall, be home a little after ten.”’ “Oh, is it the Bond Street School?” cried Nelly, eagerly. “Jennie Dailey’s two sisters go there.” “* It is not the ave reply. Rittle Joe” With their kisses warm upon her lips what harm could befall her ? Twenty minutes past ten she was home again flushed and bright. Two dollars in that little while! Next week two dollars and a half! ** So you're teaching evening school, Nelly tells ~" Dick said, reproachfully, a few days after this. “Tt is only a temporary matter—about a month. I was very glad to have the chance just now.” Why did she turn her face from him? And she had always been so ready to plan everything with him. “You might have mentioned it,’’ he returned, moodily, wounded by her manner. “1 thought it would worry you a little, Dick. The copying fell off, and—tbis happened to fit in. And I take a street-car to come home, from the corner of Bond and Walnut.’ “* And there’s the theatre on Strang Place.’’ “ Still, 1 think a woman who goes quietly about her business is seldom molested. In a street-car you are certainly safe—if you have no pocket to be picked.’’ With that she gave a little laugh. “ Yet, I do hate to have you out alone in tha evening. I wonder if 1 am never to be anything but a burden and a clog on you? Kitty, has good fortune, or Providence, or whatever you call it, forsaken us ?” ‘* Dick !’’—and now she raised her lovely eyes, swimming i “1 can’t help it!” he flung out, d iringly. “ What evil ote we done that all this should pd upon us? 1’m sure | have always been honest and upright, never defrauded a man of a penny or an hour’s labor that was due him; and yet I eps seen others preferred to me whose record was anything but clear, and every day some defaulter or thief goes unpunished. Yet do we fare any bet- ter, being honest? It was bad enough to be well and out of work, but this——”’ “ Dear Dick, it will all come right some time— it must.”’ ‘*In the grave, maybe !"’—bitterly. She kissed him. He was too sick and morbid and despondent to be argued with. Out of ber first twelve dollars she bought him his wine again. She fed him on generous beef- steaks and duinty little messes, to tempt his appe- tite. He was improving. ‘* We shall have you out by Christmas,” said the good doctor. Something curious went over Kitty’s face. He had been so used to its varying emotions. This surely was not a gleam of pleasure; he would have called it a spasm of fright, if he was in the habit of questioning. And yet, now that he thought ot it, she Aad acted rather strangely of late—some- times breaking out into a burst of gayety and hum- ming a snatch of opera music. Then, too, she was so peculiarly reticent about her school. ick Trevor sat there in a rather faded dressing- gown, though it was whole, and his wristbands were scrupulously clean. Kitty had taken up her crocheting and lapsed into silence. He studied the face. How pretty it was!—a trifle thinner than in girlhood, but with the lovely contour of cheek, chin and snowy throat; the clear, bright complexion ; the dainty ear; the shining chestnut hair, a mop of riotous curls and waves, and the dewy, lucid eyes. Ten years ago, almost, he had married her. She was twenty-eight, and yet she seemed to have the glamour of perpetual youth about her. She was one of the kind of women who could throw off care, and be merry in a mo ublic school, my dear,” was the “ Kiss mamma good-night, dear

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ment - laugh while t were vet in her eyes tlil, hers was not a shallow or heartiess nature. If he were dead! A par wrenched his very soul, Would nother kiss her dimpled lips, would another man draw her to his heart with a fond clasp, and whisper words of tenderness in her ear? Before their marriage he had been jealous of her once he shivered now with the remembrance of the torture ‘** Mamma ! exclaimed Nelly, flying into the 100m, **think of it, a whole week of holidays. Christmas is on Wednesday, you know, so school closes on Tuesday, and does not begin until the week after, on Thursday. Will your school have a holi- day, too ?” ** No,’ answered her mo- ther, quietly. “ Grown people do not care so much for holidays.’ ‘* But can’t you get off Christmas Eve.”’ I wish you could take Joe and me down town after the lamps are lighted. You know you did last year, and it was so merry! And we went to the storeto meet papa. Oh, mamma, please do ask for that evening. You have never been away a Christ mas Eve,’ “My child, I cannot.’ Then she suddenly glanced up. ‘* Why, yes, Nelly, we could go out a little after five and stay an hour.’ ** Oh, delightful!” Then with a child's half shy, eager ness ; “ I've been saving up my money and | want to buy something “ Very well, we will yo.”’ * And how funny mamma that there 1s sehool on Sa- turday night,” Nelly went en, im a. surprised tone “ Why, I never thought of it before. I] should not like to go to school Saturdays and all.’ Kitty Trevor's face was scarlet. Her husband saw the flush, and the sudden paleness. “* Tt ought not to be called a school at all. There are various things taught to people who cannot attend in the daytime. Yes, Joe dear, I think Nelly will go out with you and your sled Bi FRANK LESLIE’S Werte ihe ‘nn sd NA isn wk i ‘ } , : . " Her nN P Th 4 . y i , 4° | L f ‘ | i \, y J : (i N % | " } ; y ¥ y i f Hi "We v ie ' Hh i \ Pith rN Tr! " \ , ht Yas N 4, ( ida! |) . DAN “i I, | Hi} N “il | I HAAN FROM THANKSGIVING TO CHRISTMAS.—‘sHe sar DOWN ON THE SOFA BESIDE HIM. HE PUT OUT ONE WHITE, TREMBLING HAND, AND SHE COVERED IT WITH KISSES—TEARS, TOO.’ MENT JANUAI ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. Sur: oo i little while to the cluld who stood beside ber. “ Nelly. i Yes, m imma. She glanced up at Dick after the children had lett the room. He was watching her intently. An embarrass- ment akin to terror over. spread the fair face Si e had some secret , i e knew it then Pride and anger surged up in his heart It was not about money she had told him freely the amount of her earnings. And he knew now there was no schoolteaching on these evenings What did she do? Surely she would not be afraid to tell him of any honorable occupation! What was she blushing about now ? He was well enough to walk out a little in the sun- shine, but tke doctor had said, ‘‘ Be careful of damp ness and nightair.’ And yet know this secret he must, even if it cost him—what ? Life itself? What was life worth if she had deceived him ? Something surely had come over her during the past few weeks—a distance had grown up between them. If she ceased to care for him —no, it was not that; she did care in the way of pro- viding comforts, but if he had not her whole heart why, then, God help him! For two or three days he brooded in silent misery, making a desperate resolve. He would follow her, he would know the worst. His brain Was on fire, his eyes were wild with a feverish light, and she, looking at him, trembled in every pulse of her body. There was a little drizzling rain Monday evening. When it came to the point he had not the courage or strength, and she slipped away so quietly. To-morrow night then—Christmas Eve. Let him know the truth or falsity of this maddening doubt. ‘The next morning dawned gloriously. She spent most of the day in making some little preparations for the children’s Christmas. Then just at dusk she took them out *Oh, if papa could only come,” said little Jée, be- seechingly. CHRISTMAS AMUSEMENTS,— THE SHADOW DANCE,.— SEE PAGE 311.

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NEWSPAPER. ~~ — je 2 — c aA ae — - _— . — . ce % — —_— LESLIE’S se 4, 4 “St. hnd FRANK THE CHILDREN’S PRIVATE VIEW OF THE CHRISTMAS TRER. BEE PAGE 314 StipPLEMENT

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314

FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. | “Papa must keep nice and warm by the fire,” } There was a pistol-gallery somewhere. Ah, here she answered. Then she stooped suddenly and kissed him on the forehead, but she looked past him, not daring to meet bis eyes. After they were gone he rose with unsteady step, a bright spot burning on either eheek. All his apparel must be ready to slip into. His boots, his thiek overeoat, his sloueh hat. tler somewhere—she had laid {it in the burean- drawer, or was it in the closet ? The drawer was locked. Dick Trevor started at There was a muf- | it was! dered. He entered and glanced furtively around. There were no familiar faces. He loaded his pistol and drew near to a little group firing at a mark. He did not shiver so much now, and his brain felt pre- ternaturally clear. No, his hand had not lost its Would he dare try his hand, he won- cunning. It could do deadly work if need be. Trevor glanced at his watch, it was high time | to start. Ten o’clock. What had she been doing so unusual an occurrence. The washstand key fitted | it, so he tried that. What was all this finery of tarletan, and lace, and gilt? Something for Nelly, no doubt, Had she money to spend on such trifles P Ah, yes, there was plenty of money nowadays, This morning he had tound a bouquet on the table. Another thing used to be hidden in a box in this drawer. His pistol. What evil genius put that in his head P Vie hunted it up now. It had not been loaded for a long while - indeed, there was no- thing in the house to load it with—but he thrust it into his bosom. The muffler was not here, and yet this had been its place until within a day or two. He locked the drawer and searched the closet. Gathering the things together, he hid them in the corner ot the chamber that opened out of the living room. Every article that he could put on he did ; then he lay down on the bed and waited breath- lessly. They came at last, full of glee and brightness, only wishing mamma could have staid longer, And, ob, had papa gone to bed? They had so much to tell him! “ Don’t disturb him now,” she said, softly. ‘It will all keep until to-morrow. Now I must be off in a hurry. Oh, my darlings, I wish I could stay home with you. Dick, dear, do you feel worse ?” “1 am tired,”’ he said, in a strained, hard voice. She unlocked the drawer, and took out the fan- ciful finery, thrust it into a satchel, standing be- tween him and the light. It was for herself, then ! “ Good-night. I hope you will be able to sleep a little. You look tired out. I think you must have walked too far to-day.” “ Good-night,’’ he answered, huskily. Then she kissed the children again and again. Always she kept their little faces before her eyes. When he heard her shut the door, he sprang up and locked that between the room and the chamber. Hurrying on hi; outer garments, he emerged into the hall, and stole softly down the stairs. The confusion of night and lamplight blinded him as he first stepped into the street; but presently he dis- tinguished the slender figure in a waterproof threading its way along rapidly. She evidently did not mean to ride. Bond and Walnut Streets— he kept that in his mind. She certainly was going in that direction, How she hurried! He was beginning to get short of breath, and paused a moment when she disap- omg He strained his eyes; he ran a few steps. as that she with a tall man bending over ber, apparently talking? On and on they sped; now others intervened ; then he caught sight of them again. They turned into Bond Street. She seemed to fly, while the man strode beside her. Then they paused, stood a moment or two talking, be gesticulating with both hands, as if imploring. Ah, if he could but reach them! The street wus in a whirl; bis breath came in great gasps. It seemed as if he would fall dead at their very feet ! “No, no! Be here at ten—this very spot. Do not come in forme. We will go home together ; I bave not another moment,” The wind seemed to bring the words to him. She disappeared, and the man stood still, as if astounded. Dick Trevor sank down upon a stoop, panting. The man glanced at him in an idle, half-curious way. Where had he seen the face before? A good-looking, rosy, fnll-bearded face—a tall, fine figure—a something oddly familiar about the eyes. He strode off down the street. The keen wind blew through Dick Trevor, and he drew his muffler closer round his throat. What place was this ? No school or office, surely ; and yet she had disap- peared within. Why, it was one of the entrances to the Strang Place Theatre! What could she be doing here? And at ten this man was to meet her! Dick was shivering with the cold. Opposite was 4 saloon, and he crossed over. The smell of beer and tobacco disgusted him, but the warmth of the stove was comforting. Two or three of the men Stared at him; indeed, his pallid face was fright- ful. He called for a little brandy, and it seemed to revive him. Then he began to think. It was very madness, Was he losing his senses? Visions danced before his eyes. Kitty in her youthful beauty and gayety; their first, fond, pas- sionate love ; their pretty home that he had been wronged out of by his friena’s perfidy; the years of tender happiness ; and in vivid contrast rose the cheerless present. Her heart had been turned from him, from her home. Fora little longer she might play the hypocrite; he knew the story and how it ended. Some day be would have no wife, and his children would be worse than motherless. Then he remembered the pistol in his bosom. This was why he had hidden it there. Yes, let them both go out of life—be had lostevery thing a man holds dear—wife, home, health ; and she—oh, a hundred times better it would be for her to die now, than to tread the terrible paths leading to de- struction. The man was wild, maddened with suspicion ! Little incidents flashed across his mind that seemed to stamp his fancies with strongest proof. Ah, how sweetly deceitful she had been, pretending to care for him, bringing him trifling luxuries, when all the while her heart was being weaned from him. She had not dared to look.him in the eyes, she had evaded his questions, and held aloof in some strange way from caresses. If he hud only died weeks ago when he was at the worst! If he could have gone to his grave without knowing aught of this! rhe city clocks were striking nine. He rose and walked tremblingly to the door. His work was not all done yet. Ah, how bitter keen this wind was! The streets were full of Christmas cheer; merry young fulks running to-and-fro; shop win- dows alight with glitter; laughing voices, eager eyes, and light fect. Down the street he went,

all this time, he wondered. Was the man watch- ing for her? Had she really been in the theatre ? Not as an actress, surely. She would not need to hide that from him. ‘This was a variety theatre, used mostly for scenic plays. Wh, my God! What if she should be there among those tawdry, vulgar women ! Yes, here was his enemy tramping up and down. He crouched a little behind the stoop to be shel- tered from the wind, and watched with a tigerish glare. The ponderous bell told off the hour again. There he waited, waited. Would she never come? Was she deceiving that watcher as well ? A light step on the stone pavement. figure, and the man halted. ‘Oh, bere you are! Are you wrapped warmly ? Take my arm, I have been thinking of what you told me of Dick, poor tellow a Dick ‘Trevor was beside them. With the grasp of a madman he tore them apart, and the next in- stant a pistol gleamed, was wrenched from his hand, and the three stood in deadly silence. 6 Dick !” Such a wild, pitiful ery. “ Dick Trevor, old fellow, you've cause enough to hate me; but I am not so black as I seem. A muffled

Good heavens! What are you doing here? You don’t remember me — Joe Hildreth ?”’ Others were coming out of the theatre. One or two turned to glance at them. ** Oh, let us go!” she cried, in anguish. “ Dick, dear Dick, everything is against me, I know; but I can explain. Oh, why are you here in the cold ?”’ Dick Trevor staggered like a drunken man, and threw out his arms wildly, Hildreth led him along by main force. At the corner a cab was passing, and he hailed it, lifting in Trevor as if he nad been a child, and then Kitty, who was now sobbing hysterically. The fictitious strength that had upheld Dick gave way altogether, and he fainted in Kitty’s arms. “ Faster, faster!” shouted Hildreth to the driver ; and, though it was but a few moments, it seemed ages to the poor wife. “Oh, he is not dead f” she cried, as Hildreth took him out. “No, | am sure not’’—with a cheerful ring in his voice. ‘* Where is it—up-stairs? Ah, how warm and cozy! I'll lay him right here on the sofa, and go pay the hackman.” Joe and Nelly had fallen asleep in the big arm- chair, but were roused by the sudden noise. Dick opened his eves. Kitty was clinging to him and sobbing. What was it all about? He could not | remember. ‘Lhen Joe Hildreth came in, with his breezy, in- spiriting air, threw off his coat, and began to un- wrap poor, bewildered Dick. ** Haven’t you some sort of stimulant ? He looks like a ghost. Dick, old chap, it’s good news all the way through! Thank God I found you before it was too late! And right here this blessed Christmas Eve we'll have the mysteries cleared up, and you will forgive the wrong I so anwittingly worked you.” “ Kitty !’’ Dick said, tremulously. “ Kitty is the best and bravest of little women. It was through her I found you, though I should have turned this great city upside down before I'd Sie up the search. There, are you comfortable ? Yow the wine. And this is little Joo—” ‘“*T had better put them to bed,”’ said Kitty. When she returned, Joe had drawn the sofa u nearer the fire, and arranged the pillows. Dic looked ghostly enough, but, as he turned his eyes upon Kitty, he felt that whatever mystery there might be, she was pure and clear; she still loved him. Oh, my God! Had there been a dream of murder in his mind ? She sat down on the sofa beside him. He put out one white, trembling hand, and she covered it with kisses—tears too. She was his, every though of her soul! Hed he been mad, and dreamed this horror ? “Can you listen, Dick? I want to get along with my story by the dawn of Christmas, Dear old friend, can we not come back to. the love of the past? And yet I have sinned against you grievously.” “Go on,” said Trevor, in a husky tone, wonder- ing still how Kitty had come in contact with him. “* Well, let us go back to five years ago the past Autumn. I think you suspected a little, Dick, that I had fallen into some bad ways. I was wild to go off to California and join some chums there, and had partly made arrangements, you know. You had warned me against too much intimacy with young Brisbin, and a little coolness between us had re- sulted. “1 believe I was half fascinated with him. He drank, he gambled, he kept bad company; still, he was the son of the head of our house, and when he singled me out as his friend and equal | felt elated; my wretched vanity was in a flame. Still, the worst I ever did with him was to drink a little and bet. One night he cleaned me out—more than that, I was a hundred dollars or so in debt.”’ ‘“** Here’s a chance, Joe,’ he said, ‘a ticket to California, Steamship leaves to-morrow at noon. I took it of a poor devil who had meant to go, but was sick of his bargain. I'll put it up against nothing and give you a chance,’ “ Well, 1 won that and fifty dollars beside, and then it was almost morning. I threw myself on the sofa in his room and tell asleep. I shall al- ways believe the wine I had been drinking was drugsed. At nine he woke me.” “*Come,’ he said, ‘if you are going to start at twelve you had better bestir yourself.’ “ Aiter a few minutes it all came back to me. I was in a reckless mood. As well go now as any time. Here was my ticket and some money. had just begun a new month at the store, and the

(ScppLement, Janvary 4, 1879.

few days’ salary was no object. I went to my board-) They clasped each other’s hands in silence, and ing-house and packed my trunk, and Brisbin sent | for many minutes no one spoke. a hack. 1 found him in it.”’ Hark! What is that? Christmas bells are “My dear tellow,’ said he, ‘I’ve been to the} ringing, for midnight has come, and ushers in the store and made it all right. They were quite taken by surprise, especially the governor; but it’s a jolly | lark! Now, if you want to write any farewells to any one I will see them safely delivered.’ “<1 was thinking, I returned, ‘ that it is a very sudden move, but 1’m not in debt save a trifle to you, and I have been doing nothing criminal, so I can go off with a clear conscience. But if you will take charge of two notes for me?” “* Gladly, my dear fellow.’ “One was to you.” “‘ And it never reached us,” interposed Kitty. “There was a very good reason. I used to wonder on shipboard, when I came to my senses, why he was so interested in getting me away.” ‘And you mean to say, Joe Hildreth, that there was no reason for your sudden disappear- ance P”’ Dick Trevor sat up as if roused by an electric shock, his eyes staring wildly, his whale frame shaken as if in an ague. “No criminal reason, thank God! It is a hand elear of murder or dishonesty,’ and he clasped Dick’s warmly. ‘* Well, I reached San Francisco, I hunted up Sam Bender, found a boarding-place and a situation, and in a month’s time was down with a fever. When | was getting well 1 wrote again.” “ But we did not receive that either,” explained Kitty. “The fates were against me, surely; I had all kinds of bad luck. I tried the diggings and failed, I made a little money and was robbed, and so it went on for three years. Then I started off for Black Hills, and made a fortune in time. I heard the old house of Brisbin & Chapman and that of many others had gone under. I resolved to start for home and hunt you up, Dick. The last night of my stay a new party came in, among them one poor miserable fellow at the point of death. My own misfortunes had given me a tender feeling for others, and I went to inquire about him. Dick, as I live it was our old office-boy and messenger, Murray Thorne! I watched him that night, for it was plain to see that his hours were numbered ; and, Dick, he made me a curious confession, You know one part of it. The very day I sailed he ab- stracted a package of money from the safe, and handed it over to James Brisbin. It contained twelve thousand dollars, and he had two thousand for his share. It was laid to me very naturally. My bondsmen made good six thousand of the sum, and young Brisbin interceded to have the matter hushed up. This was the very first I had heard of it. 1 wrote out the deposition, and Thorne signed it before witnesses.” “Good heavens! and you were innocent!” cried Dick ‘Trevor. ‘*] was innocent,” said Joe Hildreth, proudly. “You may fancy that J lost no time in coming back. The first man I sought out was James Brisbin. He bas married an heiress, you know, and is a great railroad man. If I had risen from the dead he could not have been more surprised. l read him Thorne’s confession, He asked to see it. There was a grate-fire burning in the room, and, like a flash, he threw it in the flames. ‘«* Where is your proof now?’ he asked, jeer- ingly. “* Safe in a lawyer's hands,’ said I. ‘ Did you imagine that I was fool enough to trust the original with you ?’ “‘ He undertook to brave it out, but the fact was, I had been in his company all that night until the time of my sailing, and Chapman had put the package in the safe, and locked it up. Thorne took it out tie next morning. I had my man cornered, and then he begged abjectly that I would not disgrace him by raking up the old story. He would reinstate me in the good opinion of those | really cared for, and return the six thousand to my two Leshenee, When I saw this done, I tore up oor Thorne’s confession. Meanwhile I had been unting for you. I found you had been compelled to give up your pretty cottage, and that somehow in all the changes you had dropped out of the fa- miliar haunts. Day after day it was the same fruitless search. Then some one told me you were dead, but I still resolved to find Kitty and the chil- dren. Last evening I entered the theatre——-” ** Oh, let me tell him,’’ interposed, Kitty, with a burning, tearful face. ‘ Dick, my darling, I could not see you and the children starve. Every- thing else failed. I could get this engagement to dance at the theatre. It was no school. I tried hard not to deceive any one. I went and came with the utmost secresy, but I began to feel that ou suspected something, and last Saturday night gave up my post ; for, oh, Dick, it was better to starve than to make you miserable. They could not get the woman they wanted until to-morrow, and so I went these two nights.” Kitty broke down, sobbing. “* My darling !’’ and her husband laid his hand on her bowed head. For his sake! Oh, how he had misjudged her! There was a long silence that Joe Hildreth broke, in a tremulous voice: ‘*T knew that was Kitty Trevor. She danced so differently from the rest, so bewitchingly. I made some inquiries, but I fancied she would use an assumed name. Then I followed her home, and this morning I learned you were living here, and had been iJ] a long time. I scarcely knew how to thrust i ra upon you. I saw Kitty go out with the ¢hildren, and come back again. FT Gum. dered if she would go to the theatre, and waited, resolved to waylay her. She tripped down the stéps presently, and after a block or two I came u ¢lose in the crowd and said, ‘ Kitty, 1 am Joe Hil- dreth, an innocent man, and not the villain you have thought me. Ihave a long story to tell you and Dick, but I would like you to listen to a .ew facts first’; and Kitty, brave little woman that she is, neither screamed nor fainted.” ‘**T knew the voice in an instant,” replied Kitty, “and it seemed like the voice of a heaven-sent friend. I had given up every earthly aid, and was trying to cling to Providence only. Uh, my friend! On, my husband !”

new dawn; and in the street below go by a youth- ful group from a neighboring church, singing a tender carol It is a time to forgive and for et, to clasp hands anew in friendship, to trust in the God of yesterday and the Christ of to-day - new-born, and yet a part of the eternal mystery. “T have been crazy to doubt you, Kitty,” said Dick Trevor, with a sob in his voice. ‘ My God! To think——” And he shuddered. “Tt is all past with the old day,’’ said Kitty, with the voice of an angel. She could see how it would end. Love had been given back to her purified, friendship had returned with stronger bonds than those of the past. And thus began Kitty Trevor's Christmas. The Private View. WEN the managers of theatres and other places of amusement have got ready, with infinite cost and pains, the most popular exhibi- tions of the season, it is the usual custom to invite a few not unfriendly critics to inspect ‘the pro- perties,”” look at the effective pieces of scenery, and in due time witness the rehearsal. Such seems to have been the idea of some good-natured but treacher- ous nursemaid—so may the reader conjecture —who has permitted three or four young specta- tors of the Christmas Tree shown in our illustration to taste the perilous and unadvisable enjoyment of seeing before the due time, and in a very improper place, the rich and splendid fruitaye of the splendid plant which blooms in the warm rays of the festive hearth on the night of the 24th of December. It isa a improper place,as any mother of a family would say. A Christmas Tree in bed! Why, it’s turning the world upside down to think of such a thing. What if the children did lie awake talking about it, Miss Mary and Miss Lucy in their bed together, saying they hoped there would be a nice doll to be sister to their old dolly ; while Master Frank, in his cot, was calling out to them, saying he knew his papa had brought home a lot of swords, and whips, and drums? Was that any reason for fetching the Christmas Tree out of the back parlor, where their mamma and Aunt Jane had left it when it was finished, meaning to have it locked up in the coal-cellar and kept there all next day, to be brought out at the party in the evening, between the last game at forfeits and the supper? Certainly not. This is very wrong, nurse ; we have a great mind to give you warning. And, God bless those children, will they ever go to sleep, now that they have seen the Christmas Tree? Oh, you foolish little folk, all your pleasure for to- morrow night will be miele and when the tree is ever so beautifully lighted up you will not care so much about it because of this Private View. CAVALTO. By Mrs. M. V- Victor. And the litile lady grew silent and thin, Paiing and e er paling, As the way is with a bid chagrin. — BROWNING. CHAPTER I. ATHLEEN GARLAND went to bed very tired and very happy. In fact, so tired and so happy that she could not rest. To-morrow, the 6th of September, was set for her wedding-day. She was to be married at eight o'clock the next evening, in Grace Church, to Coventry Faye. She had been to a concert with her father and Mr. Faye, and the latter, knowing, as he said, that she must be _— worn out with the many excitements of the ay, had bidden her good-night at the door. Kathleen had obeyed his expressed wish and gone straight to bed, promising that she would not think of rising before ten in the morning, since he had whispered that he wanted her to be fresh and bright for the afternoon. : The trying on of her costumes from Paris, the being constantly consulted about the arrangements, the anticipation of the stately ceremony at the church, had wearied Kathleen. She shut her eyes together tight, counted one hundred, tried to fix her mind on the monotonous rise and fall of the sea—as she had been told to do when she desired to wou reluctant sleep—to no avail, Suddenly she slipped out of bed and went to her open window. The night was close and warm for the middle of September. A high, bright moon shone down be- tween the tall city houses on her pretty, childish face--Katnleen was just eighteen —gilding the npples of gold-brown hair which streamed down either side of it and curled up on her shoulders. Her dreamy eyes fixed themselves on this glorious moon for a few moments; then dropped slowly down the azure spaces until the opposite roofs came in view—down past the closed blinds of the upper story of the house facing her, down until they suddenly rested on an open window of the third floor, For the girl’s eyes saw something there which held them. Kathleen’s chamber was also on the third floor of her father’s house—a rear room, looking across the two small yards into the one which con- fronted it. There were lights in that other apartment. One of Kathleen's high-bred delicacy would, ordinarily, have turned away from looking into a private room; yet she was so fascinated by what she saw, from the first—so fascinated and so amazed, that she utterly forgot any lesser consideration. hat she saw was this: four persons, one of them a young, wasted creature, a girl, with long black hair falling over her pillow, as she lay ropped up in her sick bed. (n one side of the stood a woman, supposably a nurse, with a her yaw ready in her hand, in case it should be needed. On the opposite side, two men: one, a white-haired clergyman, holding a prayer-book ; the other a young man, who stood as close to the sick lady as possivle, his right hand clasping her right hand. From the position and movements of

the parties, it was perfectly evident that a mar-

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SuprieMent, January 4, 1879 riage ceremony was being solemnized. distinctly saw the young gentleman take a ring from his little finger, hand it to the clergyman, receive it again from him, and place it on the sick | girl’s band, She almost imagined that she heard the words uttered; and when the minister and the new-made husband knelt, she, too, dropped on her knees in complete sympathy with the scene. Then the hero of this midnight marriage arose, kissed his pale wife on the brow, and turned to speak with the clergyman. Then it was it seemed to Kathleen that a knife was driven into her heart and that she was dying. A horrible pain went through bosom and brain; sparks floated before her darkening eyes; she could not see. But she had seen enough! As the bridegroom turned, the light of two burn- ers each side of a dressing-mirror, shone full upon his face. It was Coventry Faye! Without the shadow of a doubt, it was the man Kathleen ex- pected to marry on the morrow. She had recog- nized, all the time, a strange familiarity in the tall, lithe figure, which she did not understand until she had that one conclusive look at his face. Kathleen seemed to herself to be falling down eternity in blackness and flame. She had only swooned, poor child. When she came to her senses, she was chilled by the damp air rushing in ; the moon had set, the first faint glimmer of dawn was in the sky. She crept back into her soft nest, and lay there shivering. Hours ticked themselves away in the heart of the jeweled watch under her pillow. It had been broad daylight a long time. No one came to arouse the bride-elect, for they liked her to have a good rest before the excitement of the day began. Kathleen looked more than once at her watch. When it told her the hour of ten had arrived, she arose, rang for her maid, and began to dress. “You are very pale, Miss Kathleen; let me bring you a cup of tea.” Her young mistress did not object, and the girl brought it, strong and hot, and Kathleen drank it. “Your father’s love, and hopes you are well this morning.” * Quite, quite well, tell him, Susan.” Susan shook her head and muttered to herself as she went on dressing her young lady in a dark- blue silk which she was to wear until it came time to assume her wedding attire. Word came that Mr. Faye was in the drawing- room before Kathleen was ready to godown. Susan saw a single chill or tremor run through her. “ Perhaps it’s only nervousness that makes her look so stranze.”’ Kathleen took her way through the front cham- ber, where a white satin robe and a lace vail lay on the silken counterpane of another bed. There was evidence.of quiet stir and excitement through the house as she went down the stairs; the odor of flowers was oppressive; men were wreathing the staircase with smitax and roses ; plants, confections, wedding-presents were crowding in. Coventry Faye stood expecting her, impatiently, as she entered the drawing-room, closing the door behind her. ‘Thin, tall and dazzling, she came toward him, the golden masses of her crimpled hair gleaming like an aureole about her stern, pale young face. He sprang to clasp her to his bosom, when she recoiled a step, holding up her hand in warning. “ Why, Kathie, sweet! Is my Kathieill? What is the matter ?”’ He, too, changed color as he spoke. Guilt, or anxiety, or both, drove the blood away from his warm, olive-tinted face. Betore she answered him, Kathleen glanced at his left hand; the ring he usually wore, the ring she had given him, was gone! “ Kathie, dear,” he repeated, after a silence; and his wooing voice never before seemed to her so irresistible. “Not Kathie and not dear, to you, Mr. Faye ! I have changed my mind at the eleventh hour. I shall not marry you this evening, nor any other time !’’ “Do not speak my death-sentence! I infer from your manner, Kathleen, that you know—have heard—that you believe me——’’ “‘T know what I saw, looking across from my room into the one opposite at half-past twelve last night. You were married to one woman a few hours ago; would you marry another in a few hours more, Mr. Faye ?”’ “That poor girl is dead, Kathie.” “The more shame on you then, as a creature utterly without heart or conscience! What! I, Kathleen Garland, am to wed a widower who has mourned for less than twenty-four hours the loss of-his first dear wife! I thank you—no!’’ The unutterable scorn which flashed from her tips and eyes seemed to wither her lover almost as if he had been scorched by lightning. He shrank a step back, and his head sank on his breast. After a moment, during which he tried hard to recover himself, he said, still not looking her in the face, and speuking in 2 low, constrained voice: “Do not look, do not speak like that, my own Kathie! I can explain to you the strange and complex circumstances which drew me on to the culminating episode of last night.” ‘* You married the woman you loved, I have no doubt, Mr. Faye; and now you would secure the one who brings you money and position. That is easy to comprehend. I desire no explanation— refuse to listen to any. You have always assured me that I was your one and only love. To be false in one thing is to be false in all. I bid you good-morning, and leave you entirely at leisure to attend to the funeral of your wife.” Sweeping before him a stately courtesy, she walked out of the room. Up the rose-wreathed staircase she returned, sat down to the writing- desk in her room, penned a hasty note to her father ; tien, quickly donning a traveling hat and mantle, and snatching her purse from an enameled box on her bureau, she ran down and gained the street before her maid had reluctantly broken off a brief flirtation with a young confectioner in the dining- room. In the terrible wakefulness of the early morn- ing, Kathleen had arranged in her mind the course she meant to pursue. Kathleen ; FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. CHAPTER II. HE matrons of society were vexed to lose the excellent supper, the clergyman was annoyed at missing an extravagant fee, the bridesmaids were angry at not having an opportunity of dis- playing their Parisian toilets, and Mr. Garland enraged at the scandal brought down about his ears. Yct none of these disturbed persons could alter the situation. Miss Garland had changed her mind: would not marry; had gone to spend some time with a Quaker aunt in Philadelphia. Coventry Faye vouchsafed no explanations, but kept himself nobody knew where, until a week after the wedding-day which was to have been; then those interested noticed his name on the pas- senger-list of a Havre-bound steamer. It was rumored that he intended to remain abroad three years. Nota soul, not even Mr. Garland, was able to say with any precision of facts, which of the two had been to blame. The least of the wild rumors flying about made Miss Garland a flirt and Mr. Faye a fortune-seeker. Worse things were whis- pered, but did no serious damage after the excite- ment had died away. When Kathleen knew to a certainty that Mr. Faye was where there was no likelihood of her meeting him, she returned home, By this time the gay season of New York society was fairly open; and, brightest of the bright, loveliest of the lovely, Miss Garland was to be seen at tea-fights and germans, at receptions and in her opera-box. To superficial observers, her broken engagement— broken almost at the altar—had not affected her deeply. Entering the lists with half a dozen other beauties, she contended for the palm of belleship with brilliant success. Before Lent sent these beauties into penitential semi-retirement, it was freely stated that she was again affianced. A very rich young Cuban, Sefior Carlos Cavalto, had certainly fallen passionately in love with Miss Garland. The contrast of her bionde loveliness to his own dark, intense beauty; the rose-bloom of her delicate face, the golden glamours of her hair, the pure blue of her eyes, bewitched him. athleen, in the wicked, despe rate mood now habitual with her, had played with his heart as if it had been only a blood-red rose; until, suddenly, she found it such dahgerous amusement that, in a mere fright, she engaged herself to this fiery lover, who demanded it of her almost as he would have demanded a duel of the man who had struck him on the cheek. The suspicion that she had been trifling with him made his declaration a challenge. No sooner, however, had she promised to marry Sefior Cavalto, than Kathleen io to lose spirit and bloom. A false excitement had rendered her unnaturally brilliant; now a dull, slow reaction stole the color from her face and the sparkle from her wit. The sefior was very fond of gayety, and when the forty days of sackeloth and ashes were worn through, he wanted his beautiful betrothed to go with him to balls and theatres incessantly. If she refused, he said that she did it to vex him; she had been fond enough of going before their en- gagement, If she went, he told her she was dis- trait— that it was an insult to him to be so pale and spiritless, She made a desperate effort to overcome her fixed melancholy, yet she could not hide from her lover that she was pining, and ever pining. He knew all about her former love affair —at least, all that the world knew—before he offered himself to her; so he had no right to fling it in her face, as he finally did, made perfectly mis- erable by his jealousy. ‘““No, Carlos,’ she answered his accusation, looking straight at him with her sad, clear eyes, “I do not care for that man. He killed my love for him stone dead. ‘Truly, I think Iamill. If I were well, I should have more spirit to go about with you, and be what you like—what you thought I was. You had better give me up. 1 shall never satisfy your eager nature. But then, I am quite sure f shall not live a year.’’ Regarding her with a new anxiety, he saw, almost with terror, that she really was fading; and it seemed to him that he would rather have her, dead and moldering in her coffin, than any other woman it was possible for life to offer him. “Then, Kathleen, I will not tease you or tire you any more; but I shall die when you do—I cannot live without you !’’ “Men may die and worms may eat them, but not for love!’ she said, with that mocking, daz- zling smile that was all her own. ‘* Kathleen, I have never before asked you—have you any objection to telling me why you did not marry Mr. Faye ?” ‘You have a right to know, Carlos. He mar- ried somebody else the night before he was to have made me his wife.” “ The scoundrel! Why did you not shoot him through the heart? Kathleen, I am afraid you love him yet?’ “ | do not think I do. gone, you see,” “ Will you tell me the circumstances ?” She related to him the discovery of that fatal night, adding that Mr. Faye Te to wed her the following day, as if nothing had come between them, knowing that the girl he married was dying at the time. ‘She did die, I suppose, that night. He said she did. It is my a she left him money. He was poor before that ; now, I hear, he is living abroad in luxurious style. His hypocrisy to one or the other of us must have been detestable! He ot her riches, doubtless—yet he coveted mine too. e was doubly false and venal — twice a scoundrel —don't yon think so, Carlos?” Carlos’s head had sunk low on his arm where it rested on the sofa. He did not answer her for some little time. When he raised his face it was white and changed; he looked at her so strangely with those fiery eyes that she grew almost afraid. ‘‘T did not know it until this hour, I swear to you, by Mary, the Mother of God, but it was my own sweet sister who married Sefior Coventry Faye on her death-bed !” t was Kathleen’s turn to open wide her won- dering eyes. ‘“*T cannot tell you anything more to-night; I must have time to think, ‘lhis has come upou me My respect for him has like a hurtful blow—it stuns me. God be with you, my darling, and good-night.” She rose up to follow him to the door, but he did not wait tor her, or turn for a last loving look —rushing out of the house as if driven by an inyi- sible fiend. It was at the end of two long, dragging days, that he again presented himself before Kathleen. He looked ill and haggard ; but he was not so oc- cupied with himself but that he noticed that she, too, was paler and thinner than when he had seen her last. “Swear to me that you do not love that man, and I will tell you my sister’s story.” Kathleen began to tremble. She had had two endless days in which to ponder on (he sejior's strange looks when he learned the secret of Mr. | Faye’s midnight marriage. He had not accused Coventry of any wrong. For the first time, she was sorry she had not allowed Coventry to tell his story to her the day they parted. The first faint breath of a coming storm was stirring and whispering in her heart. “ Swear that you will not break your troth with me, whatever [ tell you!”’ he cried, with rising passion. “Oh, Carlos! do not ask me toswear anything! Tell me the truth,” she pleaded, trembling more and more. “Swear! swear! Swear that you hate him— that you love me! Swear that you will be my beautiful, blue-eyed wife, if you have to wade through seas of blood to meet me at the altar!” ‘* Carlos, are you mad P” He burst into a horrible laugh that surprised and terrified her. ‘What makes you ask me that? Mad? No, nor ever will be. It is in the Cavalto blood—but not in mine. My father spent years, walled up in one room of his great palace, before he died. But I—I am like my mother. She always declared I would escape the doom. My pretty sister—she was a little touched; and, happily, she died early. Let that question go, beloved Kathleen. We will not discuss it. What was it 1 wanted you to do? Let me think. Oh, yes! I wanted to see how you would look if I madea rope of your golden hair, and twisted it about your neck, very tight!’’ They were in the long, double drawing-room, and Kathleen had been slowly backing down the room—away from those burning, blood-shot eyes ; but he had followed as she retreated, and his hot breath was in her face as he uttered the last sen- tence, The door was open into the hall; but she dared not turn her eyes from his long enough to see if any help was at hand; she did not know where her father was, or John, the footman. She dared not make the attempt to dart aside, or even to place a table between them; and so she brought up against the mirrored wall between the two win- dows, and stood there, trying to face him down with calm, smiling eyes, while her heart leaped inside her bosom with short, quick leaps, as if it would burst its bounds. Was her pride in her long, glorious golden hair to be the death of her? She had let it out of its braids that afternoon, simply tying it back with a blue ribbon ; for she liked sometimes to wear it in that girlish fashion, and to see it glimmer and shimmer about her, as if she were a naiad inside a golden fountain. The singular glance of Cavalto darted from the long tresses to the fair, slender neck. He stood ubout an arm’s-length from her, and still she forced herself to smile at him, and keep down the ghastly terror which crouched behind tliat cour- ageous smile. She realized that this was no longer Carlos, her fond and tender lover, but a madman, at whose mercy she was. Her strained ear ached for the sound of a coming step; but the silence was abso- lute. Perhaps her brave gaze wavered from sheer ex- haustion—all of a sudden, the lithe arms were about her with a tenacious grasp, while the faint scream that struggled-in her throat was choked back by thecruel cord made of her own silken hair, wound about and about her throat by the cunning fingers of Cavalto, till all grew black, and she suffered no more. CHAPTER III." + ie Summer preceding that in which he be- came engaged to Miss Garland, Coventry Faye spent at a certain quiet sea-side resort, pa- tronized by a class of wealthy and retined people who shunned the more popular watering-places. Faye was not wealthy—he could afford only an attic-room in a cottage; but the sea-views were superb, and he bad come simply and solely to paint marine pictures. The old-fashioned New England village sprawled itself out on the shore of a lovely bay, which gave safe harborage to the yachts and pleasure-vessels of the Summer crew, as well as to the rough boats and smacks of the fishermen. Fave spent more than half of his time on the water. He was heart-free that Summer, and wooed no goddess but Fame. At one of the two great hotels, there was stop- ping for the season a young Cuban and his sister, who attracted more attention than any other pair. Their riches were known to be princely; they were beautiful, graceful, bright—ready to please and be pleased. The sefior was devoted to his sister—a slim, dark young creature, with eyes as soft as planets, and as bright as fire. The credentials of the Cavaltos were faultless, and everybody was ready to pay court to them. Coventry Faye heard of them some time before he met them. His acquaintance with them came about entirely by chance. He was out on the bay one afternoon of a sultry July day, his row-boat anchored while he made a little study in water- colors of a rocky point, when suddenly a small sailing-vessel which had been hovering near, cap- sized. The flaw of wind which struck it and sent it over, scarcely rippled the bay. Faye was aston- ished to see it go over—a moment's cloud over the face of the sun,a moment's darkness over the ruf- fling waters, seemed insufficient to account for the accident. 315 In an instant he thought of the ill-fated Mo- hawk, which had capsized in just such a passing | flurry of air, which had scaréely kissed the smooth bay. With all the skill of a practised oarsman, he hurried to to the scene of danger— found a gentle | man supporting a lady in the water, both of them nearly exhausted, got them into bis shell of a boat, | and took them ashore; leaving a sailor, who de- | clared himself able to keep afloat until other help | came, to be rescued by a ciesien, who was com- ing up from a more distant point. At first, this little adventure would seem to have been most fortunate for the artist. The gratitude of young Cavalto and his sister was ar dent and boundless, and was expressed with the assionate freedom of the South. Faye was their riend, their savior, their hero. They complained bitterly if he failed to reciprocate their admiration and friendship. They would have his society—he must share their pleasures. No matter about his painting— it was quite too delightful Summer weather for painting ; leave that for the dull Winter! Carlos ordered thousands of dollars’ worth of pictures. Every study in his friend’s portfolio was admired, and a finished work from it desired. Faye could not, in two years, do all thus en- gaged and half paid for in advance. No longer poor and struggling, his future was assured. The friendship of the wealthy Cavaltos was a gold mine. Yet, is it not one of the immutable laws that we must pay to the uttermost farthing for all that we have in this world? Coventry Faye had to pay heavily for cd em of these two. They gave with unstinted liberality of their affection, their appreciation, their riches; but that which was asked in return amounted to more than he could afford to give. Rosa Cavalto could not or did not conceal from him that she loved him. She had the impulsive- ness and passion of her race, with no mother or sister to advise her. She was modest, and she was pure; but she gave her love, unsought and freely, as a young queen would grant knighthood to her hero. She evidently never dreamed that it could he refused. Accustomed to admiration and homage, how could she infer that her hand, her wealth, and her beauty, would be unwelcome to a poor painter ? Faye had his ideal of womanhood—some “ Lily maid of Estalot,” with bright, fair hair, cheeks the faint pink of the wild rose, and a soul so sen- sitive that its petals would close at the approach of love. He meant to win him such a wife as that some day, when his talents would enable him to support ion The open admiration of the dark-eyed Cuban repelled him. He felt awarm friendship for her, as for her brother; but he could not love her— and he would not be tempted by her position and fortune to pretend that he did. He never forgot the quiver of Miss Cavalto’s lip, or the imploring, piteous look of her eyes, when they parted that Autumn in New York— he to go to his studio, she to sail for her home. He seemed cruel, to his own observation, because he could let her go as he did; but Love is a high- flying, willful bird, who will not come or go at command, And scarcely had he begun the Winter, before he met the “lily maid" of his dreams, Kathleen Garland—slim and tall and fair, with delicately blooming face, golden hair, blue eyes, and a na- ture so reserved that it took him months to win one sweet, lingering look from under those long lashes—dawned upon him in her young beauty ; the very girl his fancy had pictured. It took some time, too, for Coventry Faye to humble that pride of his to the fact that Kath- leen’s father was rich, while he was poor. He had now a good income, and some fame; yet he knew, even after Mr. Garland had given him per- mission to marry his daughter, that the old merchant was disappointed in Kathleen’s choice. and would have preferred money to brains. This conscious- ness rankled like a thorn in his breast. Perhaps he needed this pain to keep him from being too happy e had kept up a desultory correspondence with Carlos Cavalte, and as soon as he was engaged to Kathleen he wrote of it to his friend, expecting that Carlos would inform Rosa, and so, if they ever met again, there would be less embarrassment. Summer came round again, and he avoided the little seaside resort to which the @ubans went as before. Carlos seldom wrote to him that season ; when he did, he said always that Rosa's health was failing. Coventry was sorry—he heard this bad news with a bitter regret that was almost remorse ; but he and Kathleen were in the seventh heaven of their betrothal, and their wedding-day was drawing nigh. It is not strange that the lover never mentioned to Kathleen his friendship with the Cavaltos. A chivalrous delicacy toward Miss Cavalto, more than anything else, caused him to shrink from speaking of her. All that Kathleen knew was that a Cuban gentleman warmly admired and freely purchased Coventry's pictures, One morning, only a week previous to the day set for his marriage, Faye sat in his studio, lost in gloomy, half-angry brooding. Mr. Garland had made some remark the previous evening about marrying money, which had wounded and hurt him almost mortally. If he had not felt that to give up Kathleen would be to break her heart as well as his own, he would have flung his scorn in the face of the haughty old merchant. As he nursed his pay od thoughts, who should walk in upon him but Carlos? ‘They embraced as tenderly as two girls, and then Faye saw that his friend was in trouble. “ How is Miss Cavalto ?”’ “ Ah, my dear friend, I am the most wretched brother that ever lived! The doctors have given her up. My only relative on earth, my darling sister, can live but a few days. Ah, Coventry, how shameful, how cruel and hard it was that you could not love her! Her affection for you has been the death of her. She has never been the same sister since she parted from you. | have been obliged to see her fade from day to day—te

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316 feel that I losing her—to know that she, my beautiful, my proud sister, whose suitors have been numbered by hundreds, loved one who te!'t for her only pity. My God! why must this been? Faye, I wonder that I do not curs2 you I wonder that 1 do not hate you tor saving our lives only tu make us Doth wretch- ed Far better my dear liosa had been drowned that day! As tor me, 1 know what is 1n store for me madhouse cell! Yes, I feel it I know what 1s coming. My father died raving, and so shall I. But I did not come to you to complain, I came to ask you to grant my darling’s dying re- quest. She wants to see you once more. Here is our address. Will you call upon us at eight this evening f”’ Coventry's eyes were blind with tears as he promised to go. Carlos did not linger long, top ics of ordinary interest neither of them could discuss, and he soon went away. ‘That even- ing Coventry sent a note to Kathleen that he should not be able to call until late, if atall. He found the address of the Cavaltos to be that of a fashionable boarding- house on a street run- ning parallel with and next to that on which the Garlands lived. Carlos came down to meet him when his card was sent up, conducting him at once to his sister. Although he had been told of her fatal illness, Coventry could not be prepared to see this pale shadow of the beautiful and brilliant girl, who lay on the bed in her large, airy sleeping- chamber, a ghost of the gay Rosa Cavalto, ex- cept for the great, bright eyes which turned eager- ly to smile upon him. A pang weut through Coventry's heart. He had the affection of a brother for this fated girl; he would have given up everything to save her—except Kuth leen. Az he took the little, wasted hand she extended, he burst into tears ‘You pity me,” she whisperéd, * but you do not love me. Are you married yet, Mr. Faye ? He shook his head: he could not command his voice to speak was have after she dies—a MRS PRYNNE'S VTA) ti) Ti, Wie TH / ; Hi | ! {| | 1 oe: yy hl bd FRANK LESLIF’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER, [i Wi} | in al iil i il Ti Hh bt Me ' qi) DY) |) Vp WOT MEO cag 1b. Wd WA wi pt! } wif SANTA CLAUS. | SuPPLEMENT, Janvary 4, 1879 “*T am glad of thar, for | havea plan. The doctors tell me that I cannot live a week. I want you to marry me.”” ; He almost dropped the little, feverish hand, but, looking at him steadily with those glo- rious eyes, she went on : “She you love need know nothing cf this, It will be for a few hours, or days, ut the most. I have confessed to my father; I have made my peace with the world; but I cannot die happy unless you allow me to call ycu my husband for a little, little while! Is it so much to ask? Can you not do this much for one who isdying because she loves you too well ?” Faye felt that he was worse than a heathen, worse than a brute, not to be-able to assent willingly to this eurious proposition.. Carlos stood by, regarding him with restless, burning eyes, as if he would re- sent any hesitation on his part as a deadly in- sult. Still, the image of Kathleen before her lover's mind made it im- possible to consent. Supposing Rosa should live, and his wedding- day but a week off? He caressed the thin hand; he spoke gently and soothingly ; he told her how fond he was of her —how he loved her purely and truly as a dear sister —should never forget her; but that he thought it would be a wrong to the young lady he was so soon to wed to vow such vows to any other. It was by far the hard- est thing he had ever had to do to get out of that room without promising. He did, however, pro- mise to come again. He went the next day, and Miss Cavalto renew- ed her appeal, She clung to it with strange obstinacy. oe “ Oh,”’ said she, with a bitter moan, “1 want to die, 1 suffer so, yet I cannot die until we are married, -You are keeping my soul in my dead body by holding out against this wish of mine. Why, I am dead — dead already! My soul longs to take its flight, and you will not release it, who are so cruel to me who love you so!’ At last the scruples of the strangely “ plexed man Qe 4 ‘f if ll il lil) ' MRS. PRYNNE’S SANTA CLAUS.—*'1F EB GOES BACK, ALL 1S OVER BETWEEN US.’ before such agonized pleading as this, and he compromised with her by solemnly swearing to come and marry her whenever the physician certified that she could not live twenty-four hours ielded to this singular promise, and he returned to his every day hte like one who still sleeps and dreams. He lived in such a state of anxiety, with such a strain was no wonder Kathleen thought, afterward, that his heart had not been with her those days betore the weds \ | SO to him. —' SHE SAW NOT THE VILLAIN WHO STOLE WITH CAUTIOUS STEPS ACROSS THE FLOOR,’’ SEE PAGE 318. upon his nerves, She Nothing appeared natural

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SuprLeMent, January 4, 1879 ding-day Every hour was an ageto Coventry Faye, as the time dragged by. He lived in dread of that summons to Miss Cavalto’s death-bed. The last day before that of his wedding with Kathleen came and passed. be sent for at the last hour made him wretched and restless. It was with almost a keen joy that, on his bridal eve, as he parted from Kathleen, a man put a note in his hand from Carlos, with the one word “Come’’; so great was his relief to think the trial would be over. What would he do if Rosa were still living when the hour for his nuptials with Miss Garland Apprehensions that he might | FRANK LESLI#’°S ILLU SS STRATED NEWSPAPER. wa "| i 7 \ Sg SYD Meigine cng CON CHRISTMAS DANCE UNDER THE MISTLETOE IN THE BARONIAL HALL IN THE OLDEN TIME.,— SEE PAGE 318, came? [It was a miserable position in which, with no fault of his own, he was placed. When he reached the bedside of the dying girl, that fear, at least, vanished. The death-dew was even then gathering on the young forehead. She smiled at him, a smile glorious as the last brave effort of an expiring light, and bade her nurse give her wine to keep her alive until the minister should arrive. Poor child! his heart bled for her. He could not be sorry he had yielded to her wish. There was a table beside the bed with ink and paper ready. The clergyman came, the solemn ceremony was performed. Rosa, bright and | radiant, and, for the moment, apparently | strong, raised herself from the pillows, signed her name to the marriage register, then called out: “The other! give me the other paper, Carlos.” Carlos took up a parchment from the table, and arranged it before hae. Again, and for the last time, she wrote her name, “ Rosa Cavalto Faye,” under the writing on this parchment. The brother and the minister added theirs, and, with a low sigh of content, aud a happy smile, she lay back on her pillows and died. CHAPTER, IV T was not until Kathleen had cast him from her with that cruel taunt that he was marrying her for her money, that Coventry Faye, walking out from her father’s house with a scarlet spot on one of his cheeks, as if he had been struck in the face, went around to see Carlos Cavalto ‘and speak to him a few words of such comfort as he could, and there learned, what he had before not even sus- pected, that Rosa, in her unselfish devotion to him, knowing him to be poor, had desired to leave ‘him her fortune. This she could not do unless he

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became her husband, since the terms of her tather’s | snugly will were, that it she died unmarried her half of the property was to revert to Carlos. Her «ying act had been to sign a will leaving her wealth to her hushand, Coventry Faye. ‘This purpose ol hers, Carius, generous us air, had furthered In the light of such unselfish love, Kathleen’s anger, distrust and accusation looked poor and mean. Coventry felt very bitter toward her. She had refused to listen to his explanation ; again would offer it. Making his preparations as quickly as possible | to quit the country, he did his best to persuade | Carlos to accompany him abroad, believing that | the change would be the most favorable thing which could happen to the bereaved man. Cavalto refused, for some reason of his own, stating that he intended remaining in New York for the Win- ter. Coveutry Faye went abroad, stopped all Winter in fascinating Paris, tasted the pleacure of being a very rich man, was flattered and fawned upon, and learned by experience that all the servile attention | paid to money did not give him half the rapture which used to thrill him when some critic paid a | compliment to one of his dear pictures, He learned, too, that it was not easy to put Kathleen out ot his heart. He had time to reflect that no woman's faith on earth could be expected to con- vince her of his truth against the direct evidence of her senses. loor Kathie! no wonder she telt outraged and angry! No wonder she looked about for motives, and could find none but that he had never loved her, and was after her fortune! The memory of her colorless, drawn face, her stern brow, her blanched lips, and the anguish which she could not quite keep out of her true eyes, haunted him night and day. When Spring came, he felt that there was nothing for both of them unless he went back to her, humbled his pride and entered into explana- tions, He returned across the sea with no announcement to any one. Scarcely waiting to change his garments and lunch aiter the arrival of the steamer, he hastened, one sunny May day, along the familiar street, pausing one moment to still the too-rapid beating of his heart at the foot of the stone steps, guarded by brown carved lions, which led up to her door. In that one instant the door was flung violently open, and a wild-looking young man, hatless, with gleaming eyes, tled down the steps. As he caught sight of Faye he stepped, staring at him. * Cavalto!’’ cried Coventry. ‘* My dear friend, what is the matter ?”’ “Matter P Matter enough!’’ returned the other, a low laugh breaking trom his foam-flecked lips. ‘You killed my sister, you stony-hearted devil! I resolved to have my revenge. 1 stayed behind you, here, in your cold city of ice and snow. made the acquaintance of your blue-eyed sweetheart. Ay, I made love to her, and she promised to be mine. She will never marry either ot us now; for I have killed her, as you did poor Rosa. I have just strangled her with ropes of her own pretty gold hair. She is as dead as Rusa now. Go up and see!” With long strides he hurried away, chuckling to himself at thought of his friend’s horror-wuit- ened face. Coventry dashed up the steps. There was no one in the hall. He turned, blanched and quiver- ing, into the well-remembered drawing-room. A slim, white figure lay on the floor, between the t= windows. “ Kathleen! Kathleen! Kathleen !” He lifted her in his arms. Her lips were blue, her eyes stared out of her head, her face was swol- len. He called, he screamed for help. With trembling finzers he untwisted the silken, cruel, olden tresses trom about the slender neck—poor, lackened neck ! Servants came running. Mr. Garland came out of the library, where he had been quietly reading while the murderer’s work was going on. *Cavalto did it! He has gone mad!” mur- mured Faye, ‘The terrified father sent for physicians. He and Coventry bore the light figure up-stairs and laid it on a bed. Water was brought and dashed in the distorted face. That was a halt-hour of agony. Were you to epeak to Coventry Faye about it to-day, he would lose color and beyin to tremble. “There is a pulse yet,” the doctor had said, when he came in; and Kathleen had gasped, sighed, breathed, opened and shut those staring eyes, and a look ot wonder and joy had come in place of their awtul stare, as she recognized Cov- entry bending over her. Kathleen wore a very broad necklace of pearls and diamonds at her wedding, for the black bruises remained long on her fair skin, and Cuventry would not wait for them to go quite away. Poor Carlos was sick a long time in hospital, where Faye went every day to see him, and take him fruit and roses. It was brain-fever from which he suffered, and when he recovered he was sane enough. Griet for his sister, doubt of Kath- leen’s love, had brought it on. When he was well enough he returned to Cuba, without ever coniessing whether he had purposely sought re- venge on Faye by trying to win his betrothed. He seemed to have torgotten much of the past. Let us hope that life has still enough that is sweet and fair for him. Paterfamilias at Home. R. BEN SKINNER has resolved that he will pass a happy Christmas at home. No N friends are invited, and no friends are wanted, his family circle being large enough to form a respecta- ble party by themselves. And what more charm- ing reunion coud he desire? Adieu, business! Good-by, Wall Street! — to-day all thoughts of the daily routine of mercantile slavery are consigned to the depths of oblivion. Over the door of that happy home “* All those who enter here leave care beliind,”’ could be most appropriately inscribed, Health, prosperity, and happiness; the love of a father, the cure of a virtuous wife, and the ealthy romping of the numerous offsprings of this united family, serve to render the scene at once he never | FRANK LESLIE’S eusconced in the mother’s arms, crows happily as she watches the joyous scene. Young Sammy is gallantly trying to curb the feverish ardor of his fiery wooden steed, while other mem- bers of this venial circle are compelling poor papa to serve as a camel while they drive him round the room. Jimmy and Mary have started a rival con- | veyance, but Jim has come to grief, and with a shout of laughter deposits his rider on the floor ; she, noble aspirant to equestrian fame, seizes the | tablecloth, and brings the contents of a Noah’s | Ark about her head. ‘Christmas comes but once a year And when it comes it brings good cheer ” So this family seems to think, at any rate. Christmas at the Baronial Hall in the Olden Time. [R WALTER SCOTT, in his introduction to the sixth canto of “ Marmion,’’ dwells raptur- ously on the joys of Christmas-time when he sings ; “The feast and holytide we share, And mix sobriety with wine, And honest mirth with joys divine.’ He conjures up with a poet’s magic skill, and | flashes upon us from his magic ylass, a brilliant reflex of Christmas as kept at the Baron’s Hall in the olden time, full of life and reality. We give Scott's lines that the reader, glancing from the poem to the picture, may see how happily they are matched : “and well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year it: course had rolled, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train Domestic and religious rite Gave honor to the holy night; On Christmas Eve the bells were rung; On Christmas Eve the Macs was sung; That only night within the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; The hall was dressed with holly green ; Forth to the woods did merry men go, To gather in the mistletoe Then opened wide the Baron’s hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And ceremony doffed his pride. The heir. with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose; The lord, underogatory, share The vulgar game of “pos! and pair,” All hailed with un ontrolled delight And general voice the happy night, That to the cottage as the crown, Brought tidings of salvation down.”’ 5 Mrs. Prynne’s SantaClaus By Walter Edgar McCann. ‘CHAPTER I.—HIS APPEARANCE. ; 66 H window and drawing aside the blind; “there goes the third alarm.” Marina turned down her novel and listened. The great bell of the distant Ravenhead Prison boomed mourntully, now rising with the swell of the wintry blast, now sinking with a dismal cadence almost into silence. “ Well, there can be no doubt now,” said Mrs. Pyrnne, with an emphatic nod in the direction of the younger lady. “A prisoner has made his es- cape, and Mr. Stanbridge won't make his appear- ance to-night. I think we had better tell Sarah to bring in the tea, dear.” “Just as you think best, Aunt Clarinda,’ re- plied Marina Gale; who called her aunt, though the relationship was rather obscure. ‘You told him what time he would be expected, and he knows that you are peculiarly strict about hours.” “ Not more, I hope, than is proper in a well- regulated household, Marina,” said Mrs, Prynne, a little severely. ‘* But as you seem to make a point of it we will allow Mr. Stanbridge still fur- ther yrace—say a quarter of an hour; and that will make’’—she added, glancing at the queer old Dutch clock, which was as reliable in its movements as one ot the planets —‘‘ twenty-five minutes.” Marina smiled and went on with her book ; the concession was not to her, she knew very well. “A dreary evening—very cold, I think—it has blown up much colder,” said Mrs..Prynne, coming to the fire, and taking her great easy-chair ; ‘ and he will relish a good cup of tea. Christmas Eve! Robert— 1 wonder where he is ? I wonder whether he is thinking of us.” The old lady leaned back, looking into the fire, her mind busy with the past. After a while she took a bundle of letters trom the little desk on the mantelpiece, and putting on her spectacles began looking over them—her habit on Christmas Eve for the last four or five years. ‘These letters were from her grandson, Robert Hurlock—the last dated some eighteen months before. Marina Gale watched her thoughtfully, forget- ting the volume in her own hand; smiling faintly. Every year Mrs. Prynne, besides reading the letters, which she knew by heart, made precisely the same remarks: “ I wonder where Robert is ? I wonder whether he is thinking of us ?’’ ‘To which, of course, she could scarcely have expected a very satisfactory reply. “] hope he has not forgotten his humble friends in this part of the world,’ said Marina; ‘ but Iam afraid it looks very much like it. Eighteen months is a long while ; and when people begin to rise, to get rich and famous, and all that, as Robert Hur- lock has been doing lately, they are very apt to ig- nore old acquaintance and the past altogether.” ‘Some, perhaps; but not Robert. I think he loves his old grannie, and knows how she loves him,’’ replied Mrs. Prynne, her voice trembling a little. “I wish I could feel sure he had got my letter telling him we had moved from Dartford ; perhaps he doesn’t know where we are. A hand- some, noble fellow! I knew he would do me credit. Bank president, and candidate for the Legis- ARK!” said Mrs. Prynne, going to the stranger, he was, with scarcely anything— but the West is the place to rise. 1am pleased with my boy, and I shall try to do something— not much— soothing and exhilarating. Baby, the youngest, I can’t—but a little by him, before I go. Ie will | know of its existence ? lature—that’s very well for five years a perfect ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. | have something like seven hundred a year, and ir the strong-box there’s about eighteen hundred cash | —I think there is; but 1 shall count it again to- night. 1 have gathered it penny by penny, as yon | know, Marina, and I believe my boy will take it | kindly from his old grannie, rich and famous as he | has grown.” | “ He will, auntie; me he may have forgotten, but not you!’’ said Marina ; and then, lowering her voice, she said: ‘ I sometimes wonder whether you are quite prudent to keep so large a sum in the house. It is a great temptation for the tramps and rogues who are always about.” “* How is it a temptation, dear, if they don’t Nobody is aware of that except ourselves and old Sallie; and then we live so near the prison, you must recollect. No,” said Mrs. Prynne, taking otf her spectacles and laying them across the letter with a sigh; ‘*I am not at all concerned about the safety of the money—only I wish Robert would come; I may not be here much longer; and he promised in several of his letters that it should be very soon, and you know what he said when he went away: ‘I will come back, grandma, when I am wealthy and distin- guished ; when you Jook upon me again it will be, 1 hope, the proudest moment, and the happiest, of your whole life.’ ” Aunt Clarinda was in a retrospective mood to- night. Her voice sank and she looked dreamily into the fire again, tracing out 1 know not what strange pictures there. And now, at last —the hands of the famous clock pointing to the expired quar- ter—there was a sudden knock at the door; and there being an individuality even in knocks, both ladies knew that the sound announced the visitor they expected. A moment later in stepped Mr. Stanbridge, Warden of the Ravenhead Prison—a handsome gentleman, rather English looking, a little bald in front, with short side whiskers, clear blue eyes and ruddy complexion. Seasonable greetings having passed, and proper comments upon the weather, in came old Sallie with the tea and muffins and other things, and the little party sat about the table and were very cheery and pleasant. Mrs. Prynne mentioned about the alarm a short time ago. “Oh, yes,” said Stanbridge, looking serious ; “another escape. We have people out searching, and | don’t know whether I did right in coming away under the circumstances; but they were scarcely the more likely to recapture the fellow be- cause | remained.” “How did it occur, Mr. Stanbridge?’” asked Aunt Clarinda, anxiously, having a taste for sensa- tions. “I don’t know precisely. The first alarm came from the watch on the North Wall—capital tea, this, Mrs. Prynne—and I believe he—the convict, I mean—got over on that side.”’ “ And what was his name?’ ‘** We have no names there, you know; but his number was 379—a rather dangerous fellow, as his desperate escape shows. We shall get him again, though; his flight is known all about the neighbor- hood, and he will have no refuge, and very likely pe of his own accord, as they so often 0. “ And, of course, he will be punished. What can prompt them to run away! Such folly,” said Aunt Clarinda, resuming her supper. “ Well,” returned Mr. Stanbridge, with a sigh ; “T trust it will not be my task to punish him. There may be a reply to my letter of resignation before he is caught. The governor promised to act upon it immediately, and a fortnight has passed already. I wish you ladies could only realize how weary I am of the place.” Mr. Stanbridge glanced directly at Marina, and his remark was, in fact, expressly intended for her. They had not exactly agreed about this — that is, there was another matter pending upon the fate of Mr. Stanbridge’s letter of resignation. Marina, however, «id not raise her eyes from her plate, except presently to say in a very careless tone: “the sugar, aunt, please.” It was a little cruel, and Mr. Stanbridge sighed again. This stalwart gentleman—six feet of Eng- lish bone and muscle—at whose look more than a thousand hardened jailbirds quailed, the sound of whose voice made their hearts jump with terror, was himself equally at the mercy of this pretty, fragile girl, and though he, perhaps, did not quite realize it, a living and vivid illustration of the power of love, and of what helpless noodles it will make the mightiest of us. He was now, indeed, about to give up his empire at her bidding, and awaited impatiently the intel- ligence that he was free. The less of power he did not regret; association with so much crime and misery had sickened him ; and he yearned for the other and ineffably brighter existence he had planned with the woman ot his love. His condition, however, was still one of suspense He had sent in his letter of resignation two weeks ago, but the governor had not yet taken action upon it; the State is sometimes loath to part with an efficient officer, such as Stanbridge had proved himself, and what if his resignation were refused ? Very serious complications might arise, and though he could not actually be retained against bis will, yet his retirement might be accomplished under circumstances particularly embarrassing and an- noying to a sensitive man. But while he was Warden of Ravenhead, or any other prison, he could not be the accepted suitor of Miss Marina Gale, who had a special horror of such places, and would not entertain the wooing of any person con- nected with them ; and there being a very brilliant and attractive young clergyman who came some- times to Mrs. Prynne’s cottage, and was always pares received by Miss Gale, Mr. Stan. ridge could not help drawing uncomfortable and unflattering comparisons; so that his suspense about his letter of resignation had lately reached very nearly the point of anguish. Pleasantly they continued chatting, and a pretty picture the little group made, sitting around the tea-table this Christmas Eve. The retection over, Marina went to the homely, old-fashioned piano, and played and sang, while Mr. Stanbridge turned over the music. Aunt Clarinda, resuming her seat before the fire, bus‘cd herself reading Robert's old letters. [Supriement, January 4, 1879. After a while, she relieved Miss Gale at the | piano, and for almost an hour played industriously | all sorts of faded and forgotten tunes—polkas, marches, and quadrilles, such as were popular filty years before—while the lovers sat on the sofa and whispered. At last it was time for Mr. Stanbridge to go -a fact that he recognized with a good deal of reluctance 1 pulling on his coat, and bundling himself in | it carefully, he bade them a wistful good-night, and withdrew. ‘“*A short evening, it has seemed,’’ said Aunt Clarinda, after a few minutes. ‘ He is so very entertaining. I hope you—you acted sensibly with him, Marina. He is a gentleman, and certainly— a—a-— desirable in every point of view, and I am sure he loves you very much. About his position there can beno further objection ; he has resigned, and even if it should not be accepted, the place is really one of so grave responsibility that I scarcely know of a higher distinction than to hold it; and the—the emolument is assuredly a considera- tion ’ the old lady paused, looking down on the table thoughtfully. “ All that is true, aunt,’’ said Marina, quietly ; “but I have told him as betore that I cannot be his wife while he is warden of Ravenhead Prison ; my resolution on that point is fixed. Very foolish and pig-headed you think me, no doubt; but I really could not marry any one associated with such a dreadful place.” “Well, of course you know best, dear, and I sha’n’t try to influence you. Are you going now ? Take the smaller lamp; and I suppose you did not forget to ask him to eat his Christmas dinner with us? That’s right—good-night.”’ So Miss Marina vanished, and her aunt was alone, All now was quiet; old Sallie in her bed, too, by this time; and Mrs. Prynne bethought her of her strong-box. Unlocking the cupboard, she stood upon a chair, and took down trom the top shelf, among the jars of pickles and preserves, that leather-bound treasure-chest, and carried it to the table. And now it lay open, and disclosed its little piles of gold and silver, and its rolls of notes. Standing over it, with her back to the window, and the lamp at her right hand, the old lady contem- plated the treasure with a wild smile aud the ab- sorption of a rapture. he saw for the minute nothing but her hoard- ings. She saw not the stealthy hand raising the window behind her, and the haggard, white, greedy face looking in; she saw not the villain who now emerzed trom the darkness of the night outside into the brightness and warmth of this cozy little room, and stole with cautious step across the floor, fut the next instant his hand was on her shoulder, and his mouth at her ear: ‘*Give me your money, or I'll kill you!” She screamed, of course; but Mrs. Prynne was a rather strong-minded person, and had plenty of courage. She broke away from the man, and re- collecting the revolver in the cupboard, ran there, and found it, and instantly presented it, with a steady hand, in his direction. At the same moment, Marina, who had heard her ery, appeared at the door. The robber wore a convict’s jacket and trowsers; but was without hat or shues—evidently it was the man who had escaped that afternoon. “ Surrender, my man, or I'll kill you!” said Mrs. Prynne, determinedly, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and there were six bar- rels. ‘“* Stop, grannie! Bob!” The pistol dropped from her hand, and she stood looking at him with a strange, wild stare, and then fell back against the wall, and threw up her head, with something between a sob and. an hysterical laugh : “My God, it’s Robert! comes back,” | — Ant Don’t you know me? It’s So this is how he CHAPTER IL-——-HIS STAY, HERE was a lofig and dismal silence. She seemed on the point of fainting, or having a spasm, and Marina was too confounded to stir, while Robert Hurlock had sunk into a‘chair by the table, hiding his face in his arms, and crying bit- terly. Bs last, Marina roused herself, and went to her aunt, and led her to her seat before the fire. She would not have wife, or even water, but asked for a minute to collect ter thoughts, speaking in the voice of a sick woman. So another period of quiet ensued, so painful, that you would have thought some one dearly be- loved was dying. Mrs. Prynne spoke at length, sitting more érect, and without taking her eyes off the fire : ** You have come back, Robert Hurlock.” He raised his head, and it was dreadfully white —the sickly pallor of confinement, the pallor of a great shock—and his features were thin and pinched, and great tears still rolled from his eyes; over all was the indescribable look of a hunted fugitive, the guerilla against society, with every man’s hand against him and his own as pitiless in turn, Hisshort cropped hair and clumsy convict’s dress, no shoes on his feet, and stockings stained with blood, added to his villainous appearance ; he looked wretched, and at the same time formidable. Marina Gale, who knew him so well, had not yet said a word to indicate recognition, and as she looked at him, she added: “T have come back, grandma,” he answered, with a kind of stifled choke. “ And all your letters were—lies ;” it was the first time in her life she had used so strong an ex- pression. ; “No; not a single one, I swear, grandma—on my honor—on my soul!” he added, hearing her disdainful laugh at the other form. * Bank officer and candidate for the Legisla- ture! You meant candidate for the Ravenhead Penitentiary!” she said, bit erly. “ Yon were elected, it seems, without opposition. Mercitul Heaven, who would have dreamed !” She again threatened convulsions, and Marina hastened to soothe her. When she was calmer, Bob Hurlock got up, and drying his eyes on his sleeve, limped across the room, and stood beside his grandmother's chair, with his hand on the back

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Suprrement, January 4, 1879.] - She sat up stifly without turning her head, and after a little hesitating movement, he bent down and kissed her. ‘Grandma, will you hear my story? I am in Ravenhead Prison for embezziement’”’—he spoke in this tense, showing his expectation of going back—*t and 1 took money which did not belony to me, but never used it, and as God is my judge, I am as innocent of robbery as you are.” “ Every convict in the world is innocent,’’ said Mrs. Prynne, with another bitter laugh. * But will you listen to me, grandma? The jury did that, and I was recommended to mercy. Perhaps 1 did not look before them the savage outcast I do here; but wrong has made me des- perate, and I am hurt from climbing the wall, and tor hours I have been skulking in the woods, nearly frozen. Have mercy, grandma, and believe what I shall tell you.” She did not reply, and he went on. His story was not a new one to those who read the news- papers. He had been a trusted officer in the bank, and had used the funds to loan to a friend, expect- ing their immediate return. But they were never returned; the vortex of speculation swallowed them. There was no possible way to replace them. Discovery followed, prosecution, ruin; the friend escaped, but Robert Hurlock went to prison. He got away somehow, but the brand was upon him—fatality pursued him everywhere, and finally, for some other offense, the last link in the same chain, he reached the Penitentiary at Raven- head, Quietly and distinctly, even with a sort of elo- quence, he related this dreary history; and when he had finished, stood looking down, awaiting his grandmother’scomment. The Dutch clock ticked off nearly five minutes before she spoke, and when she did so her voice was clearer, and, he fancied, kinder, certainly relenting, and she said : “ Hadn't you better warm yourself, grandson? I—I suppose you have told me the truth; but I don’t know what is to be done. Your attempt to escape is madness; you will be fourd here and taken back, and, of course, punished.”’ ‘Oh, grandma!” said the unhappy man, with clasped hands, “if I could only get away to some lace where no one knows me, and where I could bogie a new life! All that has happened will be a lesson for the future. Anything rather than go back to that prison and mingle among those brutes who were once human beings! Surely there is some means by which I might be smuggled out of reach.” “I fear not. Our position is peculiarly delicate, Mr. Stanbridge is a constant visitor here- a suitor for Marina’s hand, and we expect him to dine with us to-morrow, and if there should be discovery, or even suspicion Robert Hurlock, you do not know the misery you have brought upon us. If you had written | might have been prepared ; but think of the shock of your sudden appearance, in the guise of a robber!” ‘1 did not know you had moved, and I entered that window a madman. From the outside 1 had seen you counting your money—you, as I sup- posed, a stranger to me, comfortable by your fire and under your roof, while 1 had neither. A fourth part of that treasure, useless to you, I reflected, would enable me to escape beyond pursuit, per- haps; and it was like the sight of water to him who is perishing of thirst in the desert. Think of these things, grandma—and you, too, Marina— and pity me !”’ is words made an impression. Mrs. Prynne placed her handkerchief to her eyes, and Marina advanced to Hurlock and gave him her hand, which, with a kind of rude chivalry, he kissed. Thus, if there was not exactly reconciliation, there was at least compassion and a willingness to consider his case. But what could be done? If anything, it was growing late, and there was no time t6 lose. Mrs. Prynne stood up and faced him, with something of the old tenderness he remembered so well in her countenance. “ Robert,” she said, “I don’t believe there is a hope, but if the mere shadow of one exists, we must not let it pass. Let us put our heads to- ether before we lay them on the pillow to-night. You are exhausted, grandson; I must get you some wine.” And so it was brought, with more substantial refreshment, and over both they sat for a long time, in deep conclave. Next day, as we know, was Christmas. Old Sallie learned that during the night Mrs. Prynne’s friend of many years before, Captain Tempest, had euenpestelly arrived, and rather in bad health, and with a particularly severe cold and neuralgia, which necessitated his keeping his face and head tied up. The captain proved to be an extremely quiet visitor, never once, in Sallie’s presence, uttering a word. He puzzled Sallie considerably ; she could almost have sworn that he had on one of the old suits of clothes which had formerly belonged to dead and gone Mr. Prynne, and which had been hanging in the garret closet ever so long. On the whole, old Sallie was not favorably impressed with the captain. Nor was her mistress, she fancied, altogether leased with her visitor, Mrs. Prynne and Miss ra both looked worried and as if they had not slept. Every sound startled them; and once, when there was a rap at the door, both ladies turned ale as death, and did not recover until they saw it was old Mr. Hoggins, who had stopped on his way to church to bid them merry Christmas. Mr. Stanbridge was expected at a quarter before two, dinner being exactly at two. Mr. Stanbridge knew Mrs. Prynne’s railway punctuality, and had never failed to respect it, except onve, ard that was last night. To fail twice together was im- possible. But this is an uncertain world. At half-past one, Marina being up-stairs dressing and Aunt Clarinda and Robert Hurlock in the little dining. room, which served as sitting-room also, there came a knock at the dvor. It must be the man with the milk for the egg- nogg, and she signed to Robert to go into the cup- board, not deeming it necessary that he should re- tire to his own apartment abuve, and he obeyed. Then she opened the front door, and Mr. Stan- FRANK LESLIE'S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. _ bridge entered, smiling and tendering his good- wishes. For a minute she stood ina panic, star- ing at him as \if she saw a ghost, CHAPTER III,—HI8 DISAPPEARANCE. E was a little mystified and stared also, “TI am afraid ] am somewhat early, Mrs. Prynne,”’ he said, taking off his gloves and coat; “but I have been walking ee’ and about for nearly an hour, trying to consume the time, until finally I became so chilled that I was obliged to seek refuge here, at the risk of being premature.”’ Aunt Clarinda, now more collected, welcomed him pleasantly and made some excuse, and not dar- ing to leave the room, sat down by him and en- gaged in voluble conversation. She talked inces- santly, about the weather, past and poet, the prospects of next year’s crops, the political situa- tion at home and abroad, new inventions, literary matters, amusements, and the latest fashions, much surprising Mr. Stanbridge, who had supposed her a rather reticent old lady, with a list of subjects limited to the business of the little world imme- diately about her. They even got up a religious argument, Mrs. Prynne setting forth some views that really startled him. Extremely conservative himself, he found her wildly heterodox, and her extraordinary positions she maintained with a boldness and vehe- mence that gave him an entirely new view of her character. He did not suspect how poor Mrs. Prynne was trembling inwardly all the while she conversed, and expounding her new and amazing theories to absorb his attention and keep him in his place. At length, to her infinite relief, Marina appeared, and then, after a little, dinner. When they were seated, Aunt Clarinda reticed old Sallie fidgeting about the table uneasily and making signals, intended to be covert, but so pal- pable that Mr. Stanbridge could no longer decently pretend not to see them. “What is it, Sallie?” asked Mrs. Prynne, sharply. «Fou have forgotten the strange gentleman, ma’am.”’ ** Oh, he doesn’t wish any dinner. He is not at all well, and has gone to bed,” and Mrs. Prynne explained about the arrival of her old friend, Captain Tempest. inner from this point proceeded very pleasantly. After a while, Mr. Btanbridge said : “Not a syllable yet from the governor, and I think it too provoking.” “So it is; but very likely ke is enjoying his Christmas, and has concluded to postpone business till after the holidays; and certainly we can't blame him, Mr. Stanbridge.”’ “No; it is the season of enjoyment,” laughed the warden, “and we must = even the gov- ernor a short relief. Blessed is the Christmas-time, Mrs. Prynne; all the world looks the brighter for it, | think, Even our wretched convicts share something of the general jubilee.” ‘*H’m! speaking of that, Mr. Stanbridge,”’ said Aunt Clarinda, quickly, ‘1 saw in the paper the other day that some of our astronomers claim that, owing to the spots on the sun, our Winters, in course of time, are likely to be much warmer, and eventually of a really tropic character; and, neces- sarily, our Christmases will lose the charm of ice and snow, and snug fires, and all those delightful features we now associate with them,” Mr. Stanbridge did not, perhaps, quite see the relation; but after a minute of reflection he said: “Yes; very likely; but I think some of our sci- entific men claim just the contrary; and, at all events, neither is likely to happen very soon. With regard to our convicts, we give them an extra din- ner to-day, which | left them already enjoying in anticipation. The fellow wko made his escape last night must be having a cheerless time of it, wher- ever he is.” Mrs. Prynne turned violently red, and Marina looked down at the piece of turkey on her plate, with just the faintest glimmer of a smile on her face — the sense of the humorous sometimes strikes us in the gravest situations, and can be with diffi- culty repressed. “IT scarcely envy him,” pursued Mr, Stanbridge. “ At this moment, I dare aay he is thinking of the good dinners the rest of the world are enjoying, while he has none. Just fancy his sensations if he were to have a view of ws / Miss Marina, it seems to amuse you.” Marina could keep back her laughter no longer ; she laid down her fork, and the sound of her mer- riment was like the chime of silvery bells. Poor Aunt Clarinda, with a crimson counte- nance, glanced at her reproachfully, and seemed to be praying inwardly for the floor to open and en- gulf her. “ Here is a turkey I think he would relish,” con- tinned Stanbridge, with unconscious cruelty. ‘I can’t imagine greater torture than to be hungry and to stand in view of people enjoying a turkey like this, without being permitted to join them.”’ “To change the subject, Mr. Stanbridge,’”” ob- served Mrs. Prynne, with a struggle, ‘1 remark in the daily papers that Russia is involving herself in very serious complications.”’ o That is scarcely changing the subject, Mrs. Prynne,”’ laughed the warden, perhaps emboldened by his wine; “ for to — of Russia at once sug- gests Turkey again, and turkey our unlucky fugi- tive——” Aunt Clarinda looked a little black, and I scarcely know what might have happened had not old Sallie at this moment reappeared. But the di- version was only for an instant and most unfortu- nate. ‘What is it, Sally ?” asked Mrs. Prynne. “The brandy for the pudding, ma’am,”’ replied that faithful domestic, as she stepped to the cup- board, Aunt Clarinda and Marina both sprang up; but it was too late. ° The cupboard was opened; Sallie fell back with a kind of shriek, and Robert Hurlock stood re- veuled. He saw that the situation was hopeless, and he emerged and stood before Stanbridge, with bowed head and abject—the convict in the presence of his keeper. Stanbridge for a few-moments-was-transtixed ; ‘but education in-his-peeuliarsehoo! had given him presence-of »mind*that not:even this surprise could shakelonger ; ‘and, looking sternly at Hurlock with that steady and cold gray eye, under which so many hardened spirits had quailed, he said : “Three Hundred und Seventy-nine ?’ “ Yes, sir,” said"Hurlock, faintly. Mrs. Prynne fell on .her knees, with upraised hands and the tears rolling down her face. ** Have mercy it is my grandson!” With a gush of wild sobs, she told her story and that of the unfortunate mau for whom she pleaded ; and it was pleading something like that we may see at the Last Day! An agony of prayer. Stanbridge had passed through many sad scenes, but never had he seen such distress as this. Her gray hair had fallen down, and she clung to his nees—it was the apotheosis of misery. She besought him to let her grandson go—to give him only an hour’s chance for escape—and repeated the promises he had made for the future, strengthening them with all kinds of protestations of her own; incoherently, and over and over she re- iterated these frantic vows. Stanbridge looked down at her piteously ; he waa moved; it was the greatest emotion of his life. He was moved, as | have said; but not from his duty. Alas! that could not be. He was Warden of Ravenhead Prison, bound by an oath from which not even such a dreadful accident as this could ab- solve him; and sadly, and with a terrible distinct- ness. he told her so. She fell on her face when she had heard, and he assisted in lifting her up and placing her in a chair. “Tt is impossible, Mrs, Prynne. If he were my own brother I could not do it,” he said, in a tone that left no room for hope. And now there was a long and deadly quiet. “You must go back with me at once, Three Hundred and Seventy-nine,” said Stanbridge, in a hard, cold voice. ‘1 am armed,” and he made a step toward the chair where his coat lay. aries advanced and touched his arm. She was pale as death. “ Mr. Stanbridge !” He paused, with a slight bow, but without meet- ing her eyes. ss If he goes back, all is over between us,’’ she said. ‘“* Miss Gale !”” ‘*T declare it, and I am as resolute as you.” ‘“* But remember my oath, Marina. Would you have me a traitor to my duty and a perjurer?” he said, calmly. “If he goes back, all is over between us,’’ she repeated, in a tone like his own. “ But give him only a single hour to try for his freedom—for his redemption—and I will be your wife, when you please.” Stanbridge trembled. He loved her dearly— never in this world could he love another so—but then his honor? his manhood? his sworn fealty to the State? At this moment there was a knock at the door; Stanbridge, being nearest, opened it, contriving to hide the interior of the room. “Mr. Stanbridge,” said a voice without, ‘the letter you expected has arrived, and I have obeyed your instructions to bring it you immediately.’’ “ Thank you.” Stanbridge closed the door and stood: among them again. With a tremulous hand he tore open the letter and read it, and then he said: “T am no longer Warden of Ravenhead Prison! I ceased to be so at twelve o'clock last night. My resignation has been accepted, and a successor is already appointed. Robert Hurlock, this is an in- tervention from Heaven itself; so far as I am con- cerned, you are a free man.” Stanbridge drepped into a chair and shaded his face with his hands; Marina eame over and placed her arms around his neck. “God bless you !”’ she said, fervently. Poor Aunt Clarinda was already clasped in the embrace of her grandson, neither able to utter a word; and old Sallie, who had witnessed every- thing but understood it oe eyet suddenly flung herself across the back of the sofa, and cried and hooted hysterically. Robert Hurlock, I am glad to say, succeeded in getting away without further trouble, and was never recaptured. He is now in Australia, and, according to his letters, a very prosperous tarmer ; also married ; but his family and neighbors know him as William Prynne. Mr. Stanbridge and Marina are man and wife, and live no longer in the shadow of the institution where he was once warden. They have a quiet country-home far away from that spot, and Aunt Clarinda lives happily with them; and when they sit about the fire on Christmas Eve, they some- times refer, with a sigh and a smile, to the story of Mrs, Prynne’s Santa Cavs. The Ghost Story. {ie humorous scene depicted in our engraving sufficiently explains itself. The wide, old- fashioned chimney-place of this homely cottage is decked with holly and mistletoe, betokening a fes- tive evening of the Christmas season. The company, as it should be at this time, hal- lowed by domestic charities, seems to include the kindred of three generations— from the cozy grand- sire and his aged partner, with the youths and maidens at their side, to the little child that cowers upon the floor, and clings in delicious terror to her sister's arm. The curious-looking fellow whose eloquence has engaged the rapt attention of the whole party is a privileged visitor, and sits with easy dignity in the sole armchair, while he repays the household for the welcome bestowed on him by giving them one of the most marvelous stories ever heard. If we may guess the character of his dis- course from the gestures and grimaces of the speaker, we shall infer that itis a grotesque sample of that wild demonology which in every age and country has diverted the popular miud. The old man smoking his pipe in the corner seems to be the least affected of the party. ‘The old woman, with an abstracted look, is musing, per- os __519 haps, on some of her old experiences, which the story may have brought to her mind. The younger women. are seriously alarmed; not so the young man who leans upon the arm of the settle, and regards, with mingled distrust and admiration, the visitor whose wonderfu! talk is tamed al! over the country. At the opposite side of the fireplace is a withered elder, whose tace is strongly expressive of incredulity and contempt. Under the table, at the left-hand corner of our engraving, we see a pont cat tugging at the cloth on which a jug of eer and a lighted candle are resting, whence it may be expected that a horrid crash and sudden darkness will presently attend the catastrophe of the Ghost Story. THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL. I. HARK! for across the clear-starred nizht The bells ring out as in years of yore The air is thrilled with a keen d-light, The passionless moon sails chastely white, And the Angel of Christmas is at the door. Il, Sorrow and hate may harbor here ; Ghosts of dead dreams may wring their hands ; Vehement longing, regret and fear May blind the eyesight and dull the ear, But patient the Shining Angel stands, III. He has come ere, burdened with wrong and wrath, The year goes down where the dead years wait: Pure-robed he stands in its thorny path, And gives, as a precious aftermath, Reprieve from the thousand iils of fate. : IV. The children hear him above their mirth While they circle the fire with tale and jest : They are not yet dulled by the jars of earth Which deciduous days must bring to birth, Nor the ranklings of infinite unrest. Vv. How sweet is the holy gleam that falls From his luminous brows, divinely clear! How tender the tones wherewith he calls Through lowly homes and through lordly halls— ** Rejoice, for the Christmastide is here !’”’ VIL And he weaves the delicate spells that bring Ail happy visions to childish eyes ; They see Kris Kringle’s white reindeer spring With sleigh, gift-laden, whose blithe bells ring Below the scintiliant midnight skies!’ “4 vil. To the heads of gold gray sires bend low, And tell the old stories told so oft, And the breath is held and the bright eyes glow As — and fairies move to and fro Past the firelit hollies hung aloft. VIIl. Yet, beautiful angel, grander far \ Is the influence that you subtly shed Over hearts that guilt’s worst miseries mar, Oh, then like the light of Bethelehem’s star Is the lustrous aureole round your head! IX. Hark! for across the clear-starred night The bells ring out as in yeurs of yore; The air is thrilled with a keen delight, The passionless moon shines chastely white, And the Angel of Christmas is at the door! JouNn Moran. Down in a Coal Mine. By Helen W. Pierson. P in the wide, silent sky, the clouds seem hur- rying back to leave a path of silver for the Lady Moon. A cold sleet had been driving all day, but now all was crystal} elear, on every tree and twig was sheathed in diamond splendor. The trees stood up like great eandelavra of molten silver, fit for service in the woods, which were God’s first temples. Lvery bush looked like a sheeny fountain dripping with jewels. Even the rough gateposts of Phil Trelawney’s humble cot- tage were enameled as with costliest crystal. Phil, rough-looking miner as he was, felt some- how touched by the beauty of the night. I'o one who spent his life among the dusky diamonds in a ‘| coal mine —the fairness, the purity, appealed keenly. It was exactly as if God had decked His world for this great festival of Christmas, and the wonder of it all, the vastness and the splendor, smote on Phil's heart, though he could not put it into words, And here was his home. The little window shone like a warm, oe, jewel in the cold diamond splendor of the night. Phil knew how cheerful, how full of firelight and comfort that little room was, but he could not refrain from going to the window a moment and looking in. There was the table set for him—the dishes fairly sparkled with cleanli- ness, and the fire sent dashes of warm light over all. What a deft little housekeeper Jessie was, and what was she doing? Writing? Yes; she sat there, a slender little girlish thing, with the colder of a white rose on her cheek, and eyes of the grayish-blue of a hare-bell. Her pretty bronze-gold hair rippling back from the sweet, low brow, and catching the firelight in its waves. Such a dainty little creature for great, rougb Phil Trelawney to call his own. “ ] wonder why she ever took up with tne like o’ me? he said, with a half-proud laugh, as he turned away to enter the little coitage, which seemed to be quite tilled up when the great, burly tellow entered. Jessie sprang up, pushed her writing into the old book on her knee, and in a moment was buried,

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as it were, in two strong arms and a rough, shaggy coat. “T declare,” she said, with a little laugh, “ you are like a great Newfeundland cog in that thing.’ “ An’ faithful as one, Jess,;my lass,’’ Philsaid, in a deep, happy voice. .‘‘ Was you a writin’ me a | billey-doo, eh ?” ; ‘“‘ Writing !"’ exclaimed Jéssie, as the color deep- ened on her cheek, and she turned nervously away. “Yes. ‘I took a look at you—out yon.” “Its not like you to be spying, Phil,” she said, with a pretty little air of petulance. ‘* Never mind, lass. No need to talk about it. You can write a book if you like,’’ said Phil, good- naturedly. You're smart enough for it, 1 do be lieve. Butif J aint mistaken it’s tripe that’s sim- merin’ and bubblin’ up in that aggravatin’ manner. Bless my soul! So it is tripe. Well, I’ll soon dispatch em. This frosty night makes me feel nip- | vish.”” ' Jessie placed the hot, savory dish on the table, | and looked on while her husband enjoyed it; but | ehe had a somewhat absent and preoccupied air. “T've bin a thinkin’ of last Christmas,” said Phil, when he sat at last with his pipe in his hand, toasting his feet at the fire, and Jessie with her knitting was at his side. ‘‘ An’ I know I've a deal to. be thankful for, though I did have such a long pull at the fever, as set us back some. We're poor enough to-night, but content, my lass. I hope con- xent and love are in our house.”’ “Why, I'm sure of that, Phil.” ‘An’ yon don’t repent takin’ a rough old fellow, | eh, and makin’ his life bright? Sometimes when 1 look at you, Jess, I think you was made for somethin’ better.’ “There's nothing better,’ said the young wife, with a smile. “You'd do credit toa fine house, my lass, and jewels wouldn't look amiss on that white neck, an’ many a one with finer words might have wooed you, bug never one with a truer heart.”’ ‘Oh, I know that, Phil, dear old boy,’ she said. * I’m not half good enough for you.” “I found out how much you were good for in the fever, lass. I knew I had picked a pretty | little bit of a wild-rose to wear in my bosom, but | how could I know what a faithful little nurse I | had won. Jess, I shall never forget how your hand | felt on my hot, blunderin’ old head. Just like a |

httle cool rose-leaf, for all the world.”’ And then Phil went over to his wife and stroked her soft, shining hair with Ins horny hand in such | a tender way that a tear trembled in the blue hare- | bell eyes | * How trim the little room looks,’ he said, “Oh, I see, it’s the holly But where did ” glancing about proudly. as gives it such a Christmas air. you get holly ?” Jessie flushed strangely. “One of the village boys——” she began. But Phil did not notice her confusion. *« [ couldn’t compass aturkey. Jess, my love, that would have been grand, but I couldn’t; so we'll have to make our Christmas dinner of a bit of beef. It’s a very small bit, just enough for you and me ; but we'll have a deal of love with it, and-——” “ That’s better than turkey, and a contentious wo- man, isn’t it?” laughed Jessie, recovering herself. ** And as for plum-puddin’ us

FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. CHRISTMAS FAMILY AMUSEMENTS.—A FATHER AT PLAY WITH HIS CHILDREN.— SEE PAGE 318. “ Qh, it’s very unhealthy, and, of course we're better without it.’’ laughed Jess. ‘‘ What is it you want, Phil P” little closet near. ve ( Pe = Fn. DOWN IN A COAL MINE.—‘' ae seIzED THE BROKEN WIRE BETWEEN HIS TEETH, AND BEGAN TO CLIMB THE STEEP SIDES OF THE MINE.” And Jessie sprang up in a strangely nervous manner as her husband turned to the door of < 4 1879, SUPPLEMENT, JANUARY ii ne Hl i " | ‘Lf was goin’ to fill my pipe again, that’s all, | child. VPerhaps it’s too much dissipation, eh? You | look so frightened.” | . “Oh, no, indeed! It’s holiday time,’” she*apid, ‘with a forced laugh. ‘ But I'll fill it, dear. Just sit there and toast yourself.” ** How good you are, lass ; but surely you're sort of—— Good gracious, Jess, you're not goin’ to have nerves, eh’’’ In an anxious tone. Jessie, stil) with an unusual flush on her cheek, exclaimed; ‘ Oh, no, indeed,’’as she handed him | his tobacco-box. **T wouldn’t like to see you take to smokin’, dear, and that’s what poor women do when they | has nerves—the fine ladies. I’ve heard they all ; have ’em.” | ] don’t know,” said Jessie, absently. | Phil was starting to his work long before the grand crystal chandeliers were lighted by the sun the next morning. So he could not see the opaline splendors kindle in their jewels and die away as the | warmth unsheathed the diamonds, and they dropped one by one upon the ground. But he saw that it was going to be a fine day, and he was glad. He almost stumbled over a little white-headed lad who seemed hanging about his gate. “Want anything ?’’ asked Phil, sharply “No, in course I doesn’t,” said the younster, pertly; ‘I’m a-restin’.” “ Well, don’t injure your constitution with too much hard work, my boy,” cried Phil, cheerily, as he trudged on over the crisp, white road. \ What a grand place this world was, after all! No wonder its Maker had pronounced it “ very good’’ so many centuries ago-—Summer and Win- ter for ever changing, yet always full of beauty! Buttercups and daisies, or snow-wreaths and scin- tillating ice-jewels, each had its own peculiar charin, Phil had not exactly these thoughts in his mind this morning; but his heart sang within him for joy, and he would not have changed places with young Jack Eversleigh, the son of the owner. God had given him his heart’s desire, and Jack could gain no more—no, rot if he had the wealth of the Indies ! Phil was early, but some of the men wete al- ready at the month of the pit. He was a sort of king among them—partly for his giant strength, which they all knew, and partly for his integrity and tender heart. As they went down into the depths of the earth this morning, somethinz of the | joy of the time seemed to go with them and light | the a avenues and dark tramways, There was young Will Harding, who was to b= married the next day! He was, of course, absent-minded, and responded faintly to his companions’ jokes. There was Jim Brady, who was going to America. This was his last day's work, but he was full of hope and talk about that new land where he had a chance to do something better for his wife and tribe of little ones. There was old Sims, who lived by himself in a lonely bit of a cottage. To- morrow his daughter was coming with her husband to stay with him, and he was full of delight, tell- ing what a housekeeper she was, and what bread she could make. He'd eaten hard enough fare in his time, poor fellow ! So the Christmas joy seemed to penetrate into the dusky mine, and the sweet anthem that has

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SuppLeMent, January 4, 1879 FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. a i mn te } Cees On NDT Ure Naga gsease — Ar nl 2 1h. wis at ty = Wa \ AAS a | ’ Naas WAY ay iis LM Dp V JO LINANKOW aASNALNI GHL — LNAWSLIOXA ——— mz mR ar 2] | | a Zz iv] b> bs] = Z| IHL SS “XYRIIO hi} (i I) ih | IY

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9 _— 32 ~_ sounded down the ages, ** Peace on earth, good will to men,”’ was singing in their heart's with the olden music, which had lost nothing of its gracious sweetness since it was sung for the Babe in Beth- lehem centuries ago. **T say, we'll be eatin’ another sort of dinner to- morrow,’ said one of the men, with a chuckle, as he took out a solid wedge of brown bread at the noonday meal, “I won a goose last night at a raffe, and my wife’s a one at cookin’, and won't she be juicy basted in her own fat and plenty of ingins !” *“ Who—your wife ?” asked Will Harding, mis- chievously. “’Ave we a cannybal among us ?” “Oh, never mind him,” said another, he think Nell's zood enough to eat. Wait till you've been married twenty year, and you won't believe in h’angels,” Phil did not hear these words. He heard no- thing save a strange singing in his ears, and he saw nothing but a queer gray mist about him and a bit of a note he heldin his hand. He had found it in his dinner-pail. Had Jessie dropped it there as she put up his frugal little lunch? Had it fallen from her bosom—his wife’s bosom? How else could it have fallen there? The light from his lantern seemed to play over it with a baletul fire. He stared at it, but he knew it by heart. Each word was burned in on his brain “ with a dim di- lating pain ’’: “ My sweet Jessie! You cannot help being the loveliest woman on God's earth any more than the flowers can help blooming and making the world fragrant! I know you have a kind little heart, too, and that you will not judge too harshly a heart that loves you. I have kept the little rose- bud | stole trom your window the last time I was there asa sacred thing. Let me show it to you to- day. I must see you. I will send a boy for your answer. It will be no Christmas for me unless you ive me one smile and a kind word. You will see con sincere lam. I can lift you out of your com- mon, sordid lite into one of retinement and beauty such as you were made for, ‘Trust me. He will not grieve long ; it is not in such coarse natures to love as I do. Come to me, my little love. My heart is weary waiting. “ Jack EvERSLEIGH.” A ewift, darting flame seemed to flash through every vein as Phil stood there with this note in his hands. Scathing as the hghining’s stroke is such fire, and it left nim unnerved as a little child. Tears came into his eyes — not transient, easy tears such as relieve the surcharged feelings, but big drops of agony, such as gush up “When the deep fountains of the heart By strong convulsions torn apart, Are running all to waste,”’ They rolled down his cheeks unheeded. His wife—his little Jessie—ah, now he was ready to die, now all the sweetness was taken out of his life, and the bitterness of death was gone! He thought of Jack Eversleigh’s handsome face, his blonde mustache, his mocking blue eyes, hie white hands. “No wonder,” he thought, as he looked at his own, grimy and hard with his work; “ his dainty ways have won her. but, oh, Jessie!—oh, my darling, I did not think you could ever break my heart !” “Why, Phil, man—hast seen a ghost ?’’ cried Harding at his side, and he roused himself by a mighty effort to gather his shattered self together. Oh, av! Had he not seen a ghost- the ghost of his love, of his hope —a ghost that could never be laid again ? “You've a fine ear, Phil,” cried Phil Harding again; “just cock it fur the sake of society. Here’s Tom Soames says he hears a strange rumblin’; but I’m thinkin’ it’s just the echo of that raffle that’s in his ears. They had somethink besides the goose there—eh, Tom, old fellow ?” Phil started to his feet, his face grew ashen, his lips quivered. Why, here was death coming to meet him like a friend! There was a low whir— a faint gurgle just the very faintest in the world —but he knew it well. So he might lay down this burden called life, and Jessie would never know that the last throe of anguish was tor his lost love ! But all these poor fellows who had something to live for, they must know they can save them- selves, and go up to upper light and sunshine once more. For him the tace of all the world has grown dark — darker than the mine, darker than death! “It is the water rushing in. Quick, to the tele- graph, my boys!” he cried. ‘They rushed as one man to the spot. Far above them a little sphere of light shone the mouth of the pit. They thanked God that they could send up their cry swift as the lightning to those above. Could they ? Ah! one despairing groan as from one man, burst from the crowd. The wire was broken! One piece lay trailing on the ground. Will Harding sank in a heap on thespot. “ Oh, Nell, Nell!’ be moaned. “To-morrow was to have been my wedding-day, and I—1 shall not see it. Itis too hard. Oh God, it is too hard !” The rest stood staring impotently at the broken wire. Old Sims bowed his gray head and sobbed : “ My girl need not come now,” he groaned. Phil glanced about at the stricken group. The blow that had paralyzed them had scarcely touched him. He had suffered the agony of death before ; but for these —his comrades— these men with wives and clinging little children-—he can still dare some- thing. He seized the broken wire between his teeth, and began a frantic attempt to climb the steep sides of the mine. The otivers stared at him in a dazed way. as if scarcely comprehending his effort. He dug in his nails paintully, he clutched every projection, while the sweat started on bis forehead and rolled in great beads down his face. His strength was miraculous, andat last the crowd gave a teeble cheer. He had reached the spot where the wire had parted ! But a despairing groan followed. He was hangin by his hands. How, then, could he join the p wire’ Even Will Harding, poor boy, had strug- led to his feet, and stood watching with dim, di- ated eyesand quickened breath. Life—lfe—hung on that parted wire, for the sound of rushing water was swelling on their ears. So, the problem is solved! Phil bas caught the other end in his ” * Likely | teeth and has fastened them tovether—chewed them tight in some strange way —and is dropping himself back among his fellows, in the same slow, | | paintul manner. One moment and he is with them | | with torn and bleeding bands, sending up the call | for help. They are saved! they are saved! They | | pant out their words of love and praise, and won- | der that Phil is so silent and cold. Even when all are huddled about him in the air and light once more, he scarcely answers their eager thanks. There is a crowd about the mouth of the pit — Nell is in her lover's arma, laughing and erying, Jim Brady's children are swarming up his legs—but Jessie is | not there ! Old Mr. Eversleigh comes up and speaks nobly | | to Phil of the company’s gratitude. What a dis- | aster it would have been for Christmas-time. so | many homes darkened! Phil gets away from them | all with difficulty; lets them go to their homes, | Like a wounded animal he is sick with longing to | get to his own. He has lost the exaltation of the | terrible struggle. He is feeling now the reaction, and trembles like a child. He fairly creeps along the road which he had trod that morning with such | an elastic, almost aggressive step. Yet how clear | and blue the sky was —-what a bright, heartsome day—strange that Nature could be so smiling when an earthquake had shattered his lite. He cast no loving glances this time into the small, diamond-bright window-pane, but walked | straight into the house. Ah, Jessie was not there! How silent and desolate it seemed, as if there had been a death init! The very holly looked for- lorn, the fire had burned out into glimmering ashes. Phil built it up again, shivering terribly. “Tt will be weary without her!’’ he muttered, with trembling lips. ‘ But I must just go back to what I was atore, only | have some work to do first. I must kill that villain.” Ah, could he ever wipe out the sweet story of the past year and go back to his lonely life as if his love had never lived, and never met a violent | death ? He threw himself on the lounge in a trance of pain and groaned aloud. The next moment a light step is at the door, some one is tripping in and a sweet voice cries: “Oh, Phil! I heard a dreadful story of the mine. 1 almost ran all the way from town. Thank God you are safe!” and she ran to him and threw her arms about his neck, The touch made him spring up. ‘* Where have you been P” he asked, hoarsely. Jessie looked at him in a frightened way. “T! Oh, I have been to the town as I said!” He grasped her hands convulsively. ** Quick, why did you go ’” “You hurt me, Phil !” Jessie cried, drawing back. “ And | think you must be dazed by the accident. You look so—so queer !”’ “Did I hurt you, lass. Well, I have been cruelly hurt myself, you will know how when you see this,” And he threw to her the bit of a note which he had kept in his pocket. Jessie glanced at it, and her lip curled. “Oh, that thing!” she said, proudly. “ Well, I wondered where it was! I wanted to send it back.” ** Jessie !” cried Phil, ‘*an honest woman does not get such letters !”’ The young wife’s eyes blazed. “Do you doubt me ?” she said, fiercely. “Then that is what a man’s love and trust is worth.’’ But the next moment she melted into tears. “Oh, Phil!” she sobbed. ‘ Was it so wicked to like people to admire me? I believe it was now. I believe vanity is at the root of ali evil. If Jack Eversleigh had not found out my silliness, he would not have dared to make love-speeches to your wife,”’ Phil felt a sort of balm steal into his wounded heart. “*] did not meet him! I do not care for bim, the peave !” she cried, angrily, her eyes kindling. ‘1 love only you, dear, dear, old Phil. I thought you knew it. I have been hiding some- thing.” * Ah!’’ exclaimed Phil, with a start. “ And I have felt, oh, so guilty,’’ went on, Jessie, rapidly, the sweet color mounting to her face. “I have been working secretly at things to sell, fleeey things for the head, dear, Miss Tidd showed me how. I wanted to have a grand Christmas feast, and I knew my dear old boy had not the money. I’ve sold them, and bought everything, such a turkey, bursting with fatness, and links and links of sausages, and the rosiest cranberries, and the crispest pip- pens, and Phil had his arm about her now. was true as the angels in heaven. ‘**T was going to keep it secret till to-morrow,” she went on; “ but, oh, I couldn’t I know! Last night when you came in | was writing to Miss Tidd, and to your father and mother, and Boggs, the carrier, took the invitations, and he’s coming too And Aunt Esther, too, poor thing. When you got up to get your tobacco last night I was as *fraid as death you'd see the turkey. It was in that closet, and so big, it couldn’t be hidden.” “My little lass,’’ said Phil, stroking her hair softly, “‘ 1 was a brute!" Then Jessie caught sight of her husband's poor torn hands, and she cried over them a little, an then kissed them ; and—as if that were not a suf- ficient cure—she anointed them and bound them up in five linen, and then, as a great treat, led Phil to the door of the cupboard and showed him the mam- moth turkey. Poor fellow! there was infinite re- pose in his attitude, though his legs stuck out so stiffly. ‘After life’s fitful fever be slept well,” and, indeed, his life must long have been a burden to him from sheer corpulence. There was a huge — of cider, too, and a bushel of nuts and apples. “Now lie down again, poor boy,” cried Jessie, “and you shall have some of those very sausages for supper, done brown.” Lying there at hia ease and watching Jessie's slender form flitting here and there, the memory of the day’s agony seemed like a nightmare dream. Looking in that innocent, girlish face, those dewy- bright eyes, with life’s morning light yet un- quenched, he wondered at his own doubts. He could scarcely forgive himself for wronging his He knew she FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. All at once Jessie left the sausages to brown, and crept near to him “That Christmas holly,” she said—‘‘shall I throw it out? A little lad brought it, but Ae sent it. I had forgotten “* No, let it stand,”’ Phil said. us—the brave, bright holly! I don’t mind. think I don’t mind anything now.”’ And what a happy little supper it was! Phil told the story of the mine, and Jessie ran around to kiss her hero, as she called him. Then through the starlit night sounded the chimes of the village church, far away like “ the horns of elf-land softly blowing ” set themselves to the music—the grand and glori- ous anthem of the time—* Peace on earth, good- will to men.”’ But what an exciting story was the next one! Jessie was up before the first rosy flush crept up [ the Eastern sky; but Phil was soon at her side, | and she showed him a mysterious looking speckled | ball. ‘*Our plum-pudding!” she cried, with a little triumphant laugh. ‘* You never dreamed of that, did you, old fellow ?” ‘* No; but I'm afraid I shall to-night,’ answered | Phil, with a grimace, as he contemplated the fear- | ful and wonderful compound. Jessie made good use of her time, so that they might go to church. The turkey was such a mon- ster that they might leave him in the oven safely with a slow fire, and everything else was in readi- ness. Phil went with alacrity. Never had he felt so much like thanking God for His goodness since the day he first had clasped Jessie in his arms. Now that he had dreamed how utterly bare and flavor- less his life would be without her, he felt like joining in a great, triumphant chant; and an un- utterable joy swelled up in his heart as if for the first time Christ was born for him. And Jessie, although she knew little of the heart-throes through which he had passed, felt a sense of unusual thanksgiving as she remembered how Phil and so many others had been snatched by Ileaven’s mercy and one man’s heroism from a terri- bledeath. Ah, what would this Christmas have been, with Phil buried away from her sight—with that strong arm that she leaned on, that true heart that she rested on, snatched away for ever? No wonder a tender radiance filled her face with new beauty and her shining eyes overflowed with some of the rapture that glows in those of the painted saints. And then the music pulsed through the little church like a joyous beating heart, and seemed to throb up to the very heaven above their heads. And, at last, when they stood outside in the clear morning sunshine, what an ovation there was for Phil! How his hand was wrung till it pained again, and good wishes were showered upon him knee-deep in them. And there was his mother—a rosy-cheeked little woman who wiped her eyes and stared up at him as if he were too dazzling and great for this wicked world. And his gray-haired father—stalwart yet—who proudly spoke of him as “* my boy”’ to all who would listen. And there was Boggs, the carrier, and Miss Tidd, who was extremely genteel, and accordingly never expressed herself quite as she felt. She had been Jessie’s teacher, and was a model of propriety, her only weakness being a fancy that every male with whom she came in contact was in love with her, and this lent to her manner a perpetual smirk and self-con- sciousness ; otherwise she was a sensible person. Then there was Aunt Esther, who had traveled with an invalid on the Continent, and had seen a great deal in her day, only she could not remem- ber names—which rather impaired her informa- tion. But a more jovial party never set out for a Christmas feast. The hard, white paths seemed resonant with the music of their joyous feet, as with the sound of a triumphal march. As the little cottage-door was opened, what a delicious odor diffused itself about the room, and greeted their nostrils with grateful fragrance! That turkey was doing himself credit in the most exem- plary manner, as was to be expected of such a gen- erous bird; and the plum-pudding was not to be outdone. 1t was bobbing up and down in the pot in the merriest manner—‘“* Dancing a sort of Christ- mas jig,” Boggs said. ell, it was all ready at last, and ‘‘a jollier spread was never seen, ’ so Boggs said. As for the tenderness of that turkey, and the brown crackle of his juicy, rich skin—it was enough to haunt one for days, and fill one’s nightly dreams. How really majestic he looked in his bed of sausages, with that broad expanse of bosom bared to the cruel knife! And as for that plum-pudding, which came on blazing, and shed a Christmas light on the jovial faces—it could scarcely be kept together tor richness. Then Boggs, with a huge mug of cider in his hand, proposed the very original toast, “ The ladies—God bless them!” And Miss Tidd flushed and whispered to Jessie “ that he was getting too pointed.’ Jessie smiled, and, leaning over to- ward her husband, whispered : ‘He has blessed me!’ and Phil patted her little hand soitly under the table, Then there was a startling knock at the door, and what should that be but a messenger from the Eversleigh Mining Company with a package for Phil, which he tore open at once, What was this ? hy, a vote of thanks and a urse of thirty guineas for the hero of the day! irty golden guineas that glittered with the promise of many a pleasant thing to come. “The old Squire’s heart’s in the right place,” said Boggs. ‘’Ere’s to ‘im and‘the Eversleigh Mining Company, and to Phil Trelawney, the Prince of Miners!” It was rather a mixed toast, but all drank it heartily ; and then Boggs added : “ And may God bless us, every one!’ But Miss Tidd declared he looked at her very tenderly when he said that. Wuat we employ in charitable uses during our lives is given away from ourselves; what we be- darling in his thoughts, queath at our death is given from others only as our nearest relations “It cannot harm | ; and those two happy hearts seemed to | and his pretty little wife till he seemed to stand [ (Scpprement, Janvany 4, 1879. (Continued from page 298.) HALF A DOLLAR. A CHRISTMAS TALE. By Mrs. Ann 8, Stephens. CHAPTER I.—(CONTINUED.! “ How little of that would make us comfort- able !”” thought the poor woman, turning her fam Fished eyes on the loaves of bread heaped on the baker’s counter. But she moved on in silence, pressing the little hand in hers tenderly, as she turned up a cross- street, facing the wind and sleet with desperate energy. The night would have been dark and dreary enough at any other time of the year, but now tix principal streets were in grand illumination, The shop-windows were all ablaze, and through them came the vivid coloring of holiday gifts, tinting the very storm with an idea of warmth. It was a joyous, pleasant scene, spite of the storm; for the pavements were thronged, and eager traffic was going on; but the widow and her child went through it, blind to everything but their own great want. “Mother,” said little Ruth, as they came in front of a noble mansion where the widow had paused, searching for a number, “‘ mother, will the Pralf-dollar be enough to get a little of the ham too P . ‘‘ Do not think of that, darling. We may get ,nothing at all. Try and be a brave little girl if we should fail. See, there is a carriage at the door! The lady is going out. Keep close to me, ‘for I must speak to her.” While she was speaking, the door of the man- sion opened; a flood of light broke through, and moving down the wet vee came a lady tolded in a cloak of soft, white cloth, with a cloud of lace wound over her head, through which came a gleam of diamonds—a middle-aged lady, sumptuously ar rayed for some dinner-party. A footman was in attendance, carrying an’ umbrella over her head with one hand, while with the other he reverently lifted her velvet train from the wet stones. When the lady reached the last step, the widow came forward, so eager in her distress, that she could only gasp out : “Lady, lady! Only one moment! speak with you!” The lady did not seem to hear ; for the footman had pushed himself between her and the poor wo- man, whom he gruffly ordered to stand back, while he sheltered his charge to the carriage door, closed it with a dash, and climbed to the coachman's seat. Before the mother could speak again, little Ruth darted out from her shaw! and ran after the car- riage as it was about to drive away. “Oh, stop, lady! Make them stop!” she cried out. ‘ We cannot wait. Mother must speak with you.” The only answer she received was the swift curl of a whip lash around her hood, tle end of which hurt her cheek like the sting of a wasp. Then . there was a great stamping of hoofs, and the car- riage dashed away, throwing a gleam of its lamps on the desperately white face of the woman as it turned. “Qh, mother! What shall we do ?”’ Poor little Ruth crept back to her mother as she uttered this woe-begone appeal and stood shivering there. The woman took her hand with a wild, almost fierce grasp, and was turning away when a perfect river of light broke across the pavement at her feet. Ruth looked up at the window from which it came, and cried out, joyfully : “Oh, mother, look! They haven't all gone out! See, what a beautiful lady!” The woman lifted her eyes, and there, standing at a window, holding back its crimson silk and lace draperies with her hand, saw a young lady looking out upon the storm. The light of many rainbows seemed falling on her from a crystal chandelier that kindled up the room with its diamond reflec- tions, and through the open leaf of a folding-door broke in the grander illumination of another room, hung profusely with Christmas garlands, woven in with richer draperies. In the centre of this room a young spruce-tree towered to the ceiling laden down in every branch with glittering and costly gifts—a tree that, to the eyes of little Ruth, seemed planted in fairy-land. ** Mother, mother, look! Isn’t that a Christmas- tree P” cried Ruth, shoving her mother closer to the window. ‘Ob, my, how could she! It is all shut out.” It did seem cruel when that young lady turned from the window, with an air of dejection, and al- lowed the rich draperies to sweep this little vision of paradise from the child’s sight. The widow stooped and quietly wiped away the tears that were filling the child’s eyes. “ Come,” she said, “it seems like good luck to kfiow that some one is at home. We must try the basement bell.” Once in the area the steps above sheltered the mother and child from the fierce blasts of the wind, so, after ringing the bell, they waited long and pa- tiently before any one came. At last a pampered cook, who was regaling herself at a side-table in the kitchen on the last part of a canvas-back duck, which had been kept warm between two china lates after a choice selection from those sent up for er master’s dinner, bestirred herself enough to re- flect that some one must be at the door, so with much deliberation she arose and went down the hall, wiping her mouth with a damask napkin in the progress. As she opened the door, a gust of wind rushed into her red face, and quite took away her breath ; but not before a street lamp had revealed the two persons standing without. “‘ Nothing for you, and serves you right for ring ing like a market-man. We don’t keep cold victuals for beggars that don’t know how to pull a bell- handle. Such a night as this too, when the wind howls and the sleet pricks your face like needles. Just stand back, while | shut the door, There I must

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oe-@rt n Surpiement, January 4, 1879. } now, no use of trying to talk, I can’t have a word, and wouldn't if | could.” With this the woman seized on the door with bath her strong hands, and closed it forcibly against the intruders. The widow looked down upon her child, whose sad disappointment was clearly revealed by the street lamp. She did not know that her own fea- tures were still more wan and despairing. “Oh, God help us! What can we do?’ she said, holding the little hand in hers, as if it were the only frail thing on earth that she could depend on. **Go up to the front door,” said the little girl, earnestly, “ring the bell and ask for that young lady. She isn't like the others, l1’m sure as sure can be. Say that you must see her. You area lady just as much as she.” “| was a lady once,” said the widow, with a sad smile, ‘‘and a proud one, too, but no one would think it now. Come, child, come! Why should we not go in at the front door?” As she said this, the widow hurried up from the area, and mounting the broad entrance steps, rang the bell with a nervous pull that sounded her pres- ence with something like authority. The sound of the bell reached the young lady who had been walking restlessly up and down the room, of which the poor woman had caught a glimpse that seems to mock at her own wretched- ness. She stopped a moment, heid her breatn and listened, then stole to the window on tip-toe, as if ashamed of what she was doing, saw a carriage in the gloom, and knew that, spite of the storm, her lover had come, The servants were moving about in the back- room, so she closed the folding doors, and hid the Christmas-tree, and sat down demurely waiting for him to come in, asif she had not indulged ina thought about the matter till then; though her heart was beating so tumultuously that.a little tult of flowers that lay among the gossamer lace on her bosom fluttered as if a breeze were passing over it. The door opened only to admit a servant, which brought an impatient glow to the girl’s fair cheek. ‘‘A person, miss. One of them sewing women that never will take no for an answer. She says that the madame owes her some change, just fitty cents, and she wants it.”’ “A woman, Robert, about sewing work. You ought to know that 1 am engaged—oarticularly engaged. Why didn’t you tell her so?”’ ‘“*] did, miss, but its no good trying to put such people in their place She says she must see you.” “ Mustsee me! Indeed, | can see no one to-night, that is no one who is not expected. Stay, | will send the money if | can find it, no matter whether it is due or not.”’ The girl went to a work-box onone of the tables, and hurriedly searched for a portemonnaie that she supposed to be there. “I cannot find it, Tell the woman that I can- not be troubled just now. She must call again,” she said, heartlessly, for that moment the step that she had been listening for fell upon her ear. The servant went out with alacrity, for he rather liked the petty tyranny of bis position, and tound the widow shivering. “The young lady is particularly engaged. I told you so before; besides, she don’t know a thing about any money due for work; but being kind-hearted, she says you may come again to- morrow.” “To-morrow! Oh, pray tell her that we are in great need. We must have it to-night. I would not have come so far in this awful weather but for that,” pleaded the woman, “I’ve brought your answer and won’t ask for no other,’ answered the man; for the wind that swept sharply through the door irritated his lordly temper. “ But we need it so much !’’ “There, there stand aside. Can’t you see that a gentleman is coming up the steps ?”’ The poor woman shrunk back with a piteous moan. Her face was so pinched and deadly white that a young gentleman who had alizhted from a close carriaxe at the steps paused an instant in his switt ascent, struck paintully by it; but she shrunk further back, The door was flung wide open, and he passed into the hall. Without ad- dressing a word to those he shut out, the man closed the door, forcing it against the wind with both hands, and obsequiously helped the young gen- tleman to divest himself of his overcoat. Then he held the parlor-door open for him. The poor widow, thus left out in the cold, might, indeed, teel that one glimpse of that luxurious apartment was a cruel mockery of her destitution, for it was, indeed, a nest of artistic luxury. A bed of glowing coal burning in a grate of glittering steel and silver filled every corner with genial warmth. Rare pictures hung upon the walls, rich draperies lent their poser | glow and wealth ot coloring; Oriental vases and rare bits of antique china stood in the recesses and covered the little tables. While the storm raged without, no breath of it reached that dainty room strong enough to stir the basket of tearoses, Japan lilies, and japonicas that had been sent to that fair girl as her first Chriat- mas gift in the morning. Now their fragrance evaded the whole room, and it seemed as if the air owner moved through the calm of a tropical climate when she came forward to receive her guest ; for that portion of her dress that swept the floor was rich with lace, and Summer-like in its texture as if the blast of a storm could never reach her. ‘““ My darling, you scarcely expected me, I am sure,” said the young man, coming forward with his hands extended and a world of lovelight in bis fine eyes ; ‘* but it must have been a fiercer tempest than this that would keep me from you to-night, foolish fellow that | am.’ “| should never have forgiven you if you had not come,” answered the girl, with arch tender- ness. “ Why, sir, 1 have been waiting here half an hour already.’’ “ Wondering what I should bring you for a Christmas gift ?’”’ “No, no—not that,” she answered, turning her Ob, FRANK LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPER. let them put nothing else in this room, for your roses turned it into a little heaven of my own.” The young man took both her hands in his, and held them close as he looked smilingly down into her eyes. * Oh, flowers amount to nothing.” ** You must not say that, George. loveliest things on earth.” “They will perish in a day or two at the best. But I really have brought you something that will keep its own so long as we love each other.” “So long! Then it will be perfect to all eternity.” Smiles and tears both broke into the girl’s face as she said this in the fullness of her glad heart. The young man grew serious. Something in these words had struck him with a thought of death, from which the most intense human love can save no one. ** God forbid that it should not remain so while you and I] live, dear one; for, see, it is the engage- ment-ring I have brought you.” A flood of crimson rose to that sweet fave. The little hand held out for the ring quivered like a falling leaf. Then the girl began to tremble all over with a solemn realization of the bond this ring would seal. She held the star-like solitaire in her hand a moment, gazing on it with subdued reverence, scarcely conscious of its beauty, unques- tioning as to its value. It might have been a lot of glass rather than a limpid diamond for anything she thought of the matter, for every sensitive power of feeling or mind was uppermost just then, and she only felt how solemn and sacred a thing that jewel was. “ No, you must put it on first,’’ she said, resting one hand softly on bis bosom, and holding the ring toward him. “1 shall always love it better if taken from your own finger.” The young man, gazing down into her face, read all the solemn and beautiful thoughts that prompted the action, and his own sympathetic nature was subdued by them into solemn harmony. As he stood betore her, submitting one hand to her sweet will, his figure drooped from its proud bearing, the lids fell over his fine eyes, and he felt like one performing a sacred rite rather than the ordinary presentation of a Christmas gift. “ Now,” he said, taking the glittering pledge from the tip of his finger, for it was too small for more than that —‘‘now, darling, you have made this the very happiest day of my life. If I could give you the whole world it would not be enough.” He placed the ring on her finger, kissing both hands as he relinquished them. She gazed on the sparkling stone a moment, then lifted her sweet face to his, and for one happy, happy moment their lips met and clung together in a lifelong pledge. Then with his arm about her waist, the young man led his almost bride to a sofa, and there, seated among the embroidered cushions, fell into one of those broken conversations in which perfect confidence gives the sweetest zest to love ‘‘And you are happy now, my beloved?’ he whispered, for her face was so near to his that a breath reached her ear. “ Happy! Oh, George, if we could be always so, heaven would begin here with you. To me it seems as if the whole world must be happy to- night.” These words jarred upon the young man, for they brought to mind the shivering child and white-faced woman he had passed only a few min- utes before on the steps of that very house with the storm beating over them. “ Ah,” he said, a little sadly, “ it seems so to us; but while men and women live there will be some who rejoice and some who suffer. 1 was chilled a little on the steps to-night by a sad-looking woman and little girl who seemed pleading with your serv- ant for something. The woman’s face was intel- ligent, but so mournfully hopeless! Who can she be a They are the As he spoke, the young man felt the form his arm encircled shrink a little. “Ob, 1 had forgotten her. I was so glad to hear your step so soon. It was a sewing woman who says she has done work for mamma.’’ “ And your people sent her away f” “1 do not know—you came in just then, and I forgot everything else: but | am so sorry. Did she really seem in distress ?”’ “ Great distress. Indeed, nothing less than that would bring any woman out this fearfully cold night !” “Is itso very cold? I had not felt the differ- ence.” ‘‘God forbid that you ever should feel the in- clemency of a night like ths. Yet, my darling, the poor woman I | poy on your steps seemed irail and gentle, and may have been an object of love and care also.” ** Don’t, George—don't. I am so sorry. How could I beso cruel?” ‘The girl covered her face with both hands, and her voice was full of tears, as she went on: “The poor woman asked for a little change that was due her. Mamma was not at home, and I knew nothing about it; besides, my portemonnaie had been displaced, and - and—you came in. Oh, how could 1 make myself so miserable! but, per- haps she is there yet.”’ The girl sprang up as this hope struck her, and rang the bell; when the servant came in she bade him go to the door and see if the woman who called was there yet. “IT shouldn’t wonder,”’ he said, on receiving this distasteful order ; “‘ she stood on the steps like a statue —as if she never meant to move again, when I| shut the door on her. But the young ’un kept on ringing the bell, and | felt quite sure banged against the door with both her hands, as if the littlecreature was bent on breaking through. P’r’aps they may be hanging about yet such peo- ple never do get tired with waiting.” “Go and see at once!’’ ordered the young man, impatient at the delay this long speech created. he man obeyed promptly enough now, and while he stood in the open door, looking indiffer- ently into the darkness, the eager young couple followed him, and looked out anxiously. There was no one visible. The steps were cov- ered with sleet. that the wind swept in upon that iy her “T can see nothing of them,'’ said the young man; “but they cannot be far off. Bring my overcoat,” he added, “Tell me, if you know, where they live.’’ “ Haven’t got the least idea,’ answered the man, disgusted with all that was passing. ‘“ The- odore, the footman, knows, p’r’aps; but he’s out with the madame. So you see, sir, it would be going out for nothing.”’ The young couple turned away reluctantly, and went into the room they had lett; where the sleet that had fallen over their garments turned to water and hung trembling all over them, like dew that should have belonged to the flowers that glowed in the tropical warmth. Both were greatly saddened, and the soft eyes of the girl were full of tears. : * Do not grieve so. We shall know where these poor souls hive, and I will go to them early in the morning. That is the best we can do,” said the young man, kissing away the tears with more ten- derness than the first kiss of their betrothal had known. “I—I will go with you— quite early, remember, and give her ever so much more than she asked for, and be a friend to her for ever after,” replied the really kind-hearted girl, smiling through her tears. CHAPTER Il. No WORD was spoken between the widow and ber child on the way home. The storm bad abated something of its fury, but a stinging frost set in, turning everthing to ice, over which those two slipped, worried, and made their uncertain way to the desolation of their own basement. Once there, the broken-hearted woman fell into a chair, and beyond that, seemed unable to move, Ruth took off her shawl—now frozen stiff, and hung it over the empty fireplace, where it rattled and shook in the sharp currents of air drawing through from the window, giving out a faint, dismal sound. Then throwing off her cape, she drew close to her mother, and winding both arms about her neck, laid her cheek against her cold face. “Come, mother, come; just try to cheer up. This hug from your own little girl will warm you up —see if it don't ?” A low, convulsive sob, which the poor woman strove in vain to suppress, was all the answer she could give. “Don’t, mother, dear—please don't! Try and bear it a little longer, and Christ will help us, for He died for us al/—think of that! It almost makes one forget being hungry.” The child’s voice had a sweet ring of courage in it; but underneath was a pathetic sound of tears choked back. “ You are tired out; it frightens me, mother, to see you sitting here, with your face falling on your bosom so. Come, now go to bed. I'll stir up the stove beautifully. The wet hasn't got into the corners. Come, mother.”’ There was a straw bed lying in a corner of the room. Ruth had become accustomed to the dark- ness, and began heaping up the straw on the side where her mother was to sleep. Here she per- suaded the worn-out creature in the chair to lie down, and spread the worn quilt carefully over her, tucking it in against the wall. Then she placeda piece of rag carpet between the bed and the floor, that it might seem like a pillow; and hung another piece on the back of a chair, and thus shielded the corner a little from the icy blast that came through the window. “ There, mother; isn’t this comfortable? Now just drop asleep, and I’ll come to bed the minute can.” A low murmur, too faint for a sob, came from the bed—then all was still; and the little girl heard nothing more, though she sat there, holding her breath as she listened. Satisfied that her mother was asleep, the girl athered up her rejected holders, and stole soitly into the street. The sidewalks were one glaze of ice, but, spite of her fatigue, the child managed to reach the corner grocery, just as the owner was looking dejectedly over a pile of chickens and tur- keys that had been left on hand, much to his dis- gust. He looked up as the girl came in, and made a gesture that she should leave the store. “lt is no use coming again,” he said, curtly— “ two shillings is the limit. I won't trust you an- other cent !”’ * Oh, sir, please ; don’t say that! I didn’t come for trust this time ; only, if you would be so kind, to make a little trade. We are so cold at home, and we've had bad luck all day; so I thought that you might let me have just one loaf of bread and a bundle of kindling wood, and keep these to make sure that you would be paid. See how pret- tily this streak of red runs through them. I am quite sure that some of your lady customers would buy them.” “ What—those little bundles of rags? What on earth are they good for?” “ Wky, holders for kittlesand flat-irons. Don’t you see how thick they are—can’t burn your hands through them if you try. Lots of women would be glad to get ’em.” The man turned the humble parcel disdainfully over with his hands, then pushed it toward her. “Take the trash away! I have no use for it,” he said, crossly. “Let me look at them,” said a kindly voice from back of the counter. ‘ Don't be in sucha hurry to drive the poor child away, John. Such things are useful in the kitchen.” Ruth ran eagerly up to the counter and spread her wares upon it, trembling with hope. The woman, whose gentle voice could at all times tame the savage in her husband’s bosom, selected two of the holders and put them aside. “ These will do,’ she said, smiling down on the anxious face lifted to hers. ‘‘ They are real pretty, and just what I want. Give her a nice, fresh loaf, John, and a bundle—two bundles-—of the kindling-wood.”’ ‘Oh, ma’am, how good you are! I—I want to thank you, only—only sometimes when I’m very glad it makes me ery. Isn't that foolish, now £” Even the burly grocer was touched by something in that voice, and some unusual emotion stirred in bis throat as he selected the two largest bundles 323 of kindling-wood from a heap behind the door, and put them carefully in the child’s arms, pilinz the loaf upon them, as the good little wife stood sinil« ing by. “ There, take that too,” she said, rolling a great red apple across the counter. ‘“ Now scamper home, for it’s an awful cold night.” Ruth did not seamper home—the sidewalks were | too slippery for that, and her arms were full; buat she made the best of her way along the ice, through the area, and crept soft!y-into the base- ment, trembling as much from happiness as co!d. “ Mother, mother! are you asleep ?” She scarcely liited her voice above a whisper, fearing to disturb the weary woman if she should be still sleeping. No answer came, and she stole up to the fire- place, thinking : “ T’ll kindle the fire,and when it begins to blaze and crackle she'll wake up and be astonished. Then I'll give her the soft of the bread, and the apple, and —and just sit down and cry for joy to see her eat. After all, won't it be a jolly Christ- mas Eve!” So Ruth broke one of her bundles of wood and set a match to it, took the loaf and cut away some of the crust for herself, then a thick slice for the sleeper ; resolutely refusing to touch her portion till the mother awoke to join in the feast. The match did its work ; the fire blazed up with a cheerful sound, shedding its glow out among the shadows of the room; but this was not enough to awaken the woman prostrate there in one corner. “ Poor mother !” thouglit the girl, looking wist- fully that way. “ She's so worn out, it’s a shame to wake her. Il just wait a little longer, and then x The poor child not finish the sentence. Fatigue, anxiety, and this little glow of warmth had its effect on her. With her feet planted on the rounds of the old chair, and her head resting on the back, she, too, fell asleep. It was daylight when Ruth awoke—broad day- light ; for the clear Winter sunshine was shining in at the window, and afar off she heard the Christmas bells ringing joyously. She started up, bewildered. The fire had all burned out, but there upon the little pine table lay the bread, a knife, and one fair apple. Daylight, and her mother had eaten nothing yet. Everything was so still that the child felt a sort of terror steal over her, and crept toward the bed like a creature afraid. ‘*Mother, dear mother, wake up now. It’s morning, and I’ve got a lovely breakfast. Come, mother! you have had a good long sleep ~ get up now.” The child spoke low and hurriedly at first, then louder, and with a great effort at cheerfulness: but no answer came. ‘The woman on the bed did not move. “ Mother, I say!” Ruth knelt down by the bed and touchied the sleeping woman with her hands. How cold it was in that corner of the room ! “ Mother! mother !” There was alarm in her voice now, and she started up, looking around helplessly. That moment a carriage drove to the door, out of which came a young gentleman, and the lady she had seen the evening before at the grand house from which she had been turned away. She met them at the door, too much terrified for surprise. “ Oh, sir, will you try and wake my mother ? She has been sleeping so long, and the cold has chilled her so! 1 tried to move her, but could not. I only had to speak, till now, and she would hear. Will you try to make her know how she frightens me ?”’ ‘The young man came into the desolation of that room with a sinking heart; for its stillness struck him wi'h inexplicable awe. The young lady, too, felt the chill through all her frame, and sank into a chair, wringing her hands in an agony of self- reproach. The young man knelt down by the bed, and rec- ognized in the white face turned partly against the wall the features that had aroused his sypathy the night before. He touched the thin hand, that was still clutching the quilt as it had been drawn up to her throat. Then he looked up, pale, almost, as the woman he had gazed upon. ** Does she hear? Oh, does she hear?’ wailed the frightened child. “She will never hear again,’ was the solemn answer. “ Poor orphan! poor little thing! your mother is dead.” “ Dead!” repeated the young !ady, white to the lips; “dead !” “Yes; frozen to death. early in the night.” Ruth had not spoken, but crept to the bed, threw out her arms, and clung to her mother, moaning. Those two looked on sorrowfully, one sorely con- science-stricken, the other sad trom intense sym- pathy. Some few broken words passed between them. Then the young man went out, leaving that delicate young girl alone with misery and death for the first time in her life. She strove to lift Ruth from that squalid deathbed, but the child only clung closer to her mother, begging to be left alone. en the lady took off her fur-lined cloak, spread it softly over the two, and sat down in the cold, weeping bitterly because there was nothing else that she could do. By-and-by some neighboring women came in from the tenement-house above, and one of them took the child by kindly force in her arms, and bore her up-stairs into her own room. The young lady followed after, and there, hour after hour, watched by the orphan; sometimes holding her close to her own bosom, in a gentle effort at con- solation, And thus the Christmas, slowly marci. “—" by. hen the coronor’s jury and the undertakers had done their work, a single carriage, in which that betrothed pair had taken the orphan child, slowly followed a hearse from that tenement-house to a neighboring cemetery. When the carriage returned, Ruth lay insensible in the arms of her young protector, and was borne into the house jrom which she had been driven only the night before, to be cared for thereafter as one of the She must have died family.

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Writte ssly for the Holday Num f Frank LEsure' ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAP! THE TRAGEDY QUEEN. Iler Has passed from her brow triumphs are over, the crown And she smiles ‘To whom now does the town My poor laurels allow It has wept for her, dying, a hundred times, With mimic passion, in mimic crime Who cares for her lying diserowned and dying In earnest now ? Only those who have known her strange story, And watched her through all, So serene in the day of her elory, So grand in her fall In the sphere beyond all tragie art Playing her own deep woman's part, A few faithful befriend her, still cherish, attend her, And come at lier eéall. And so, when to-night the old fire Flamed up in her eye, And she said, “Tis a childish desire, I cannot deny, To see the old boards and the footlights again, To feel the wild storm of the plaudits of men ! But grant me this pastime, you know ‘tis the last time,’ What could we reply ? Her form to the carriage we bore In dark mantle and vail ; On my arm, at the gloomy side-door. She hung, 1 ly-like, frail ; But, treading the old, familiar scene, She moved majestic, she walked a queen The rouged ballet-girls staring to see her high bearing, So proud and so pale! At the wing, her swift glance as we waited Swept royally round : I could feel how she thrilled and dilated, And how at the sound, The brief commotion that intervenes In the busy moment of shifting scenes, The creaking of pulleys, the shrill shrieking cow/isse, Her heart gave a bound. The manager hastes and unlocks The small door from the wing ; To the deep-curtained, crimson-lined box Our dear lady we bring. All aflutter with life, all aglitter with light, The vast half-cirele burst on the sight ; The fairy stage showing amidst, like a glowing Great gem in its ring. The strong soul in the weak woman's face Flashes forth to behold The gay world that assembled to grace Her own triumphs of old. **LeT US GU!’ SHE ENTREATS. ‘1 AM ILL!’ AND UNNOTICED WITHDRAWS.” FRANK | | | LESLIE’S STRATED ILLU NEWSPAPER. SUPPLEMENT, JANUARY 4, 1879 ‘THE NEW QUEEN STOOPS AT THE OLD QUEEN’S FEET.” The vision brings back her bright young days For her the Joud tumult, the showered bouquets ; And her fancy is ravished with joy amid lavished Glory and gold. In that moment of dream disappear Sorrow, sickness, and pain : Airy hopes, a romantic’ career, Beam and becken again. Alas! but the life itself could last No more than the dream : and the dream is past- "Tis gone with the quickness of breath, while the sickness And sorrow remain. We saw her, pain-stricken and white, Sink back in her place : Could a pang of sharp envy so smite The brief joy from her face ? Lo, the queen of the ballet ! she waves and glides ; | Upon floods of strong music triumphant she rides, And laughingly pillows each movement on billows Of beauty and grace. And there, in his orchestra stall, The stage-vampire is seen, Foremost once, most devoted of all, In the train of our queen Still seeking a fresh young heart to devour, Still following ever the queen of the hour, Enrapt by so rare a sight, sits the gray parasite, Ogling the scene Not envy—her heart is too great. But for her, for all these, Whose fortunes, like flatterers, wait On their powers to please, Whose substantial happiness draws Its air-plant life from the breath of applause, The powers soon jaded, the flowers all faded And withered she sees ; The unworthy contentions, the strife ; Feet lured from the goals, Hands staid in the contest of life, By the hour that cajoles Wich its wayside-scattered apples of joy ; ‘ The sunshine that. pampers, the storms that destroy, And all the besetting temptations benetting ‘These butterfly souls. And naught, as we know, can. assuage Her keen anguish of heart, Seeing thus from her dearly loved stage The true grandeur depart Now the people prefer these wondrous shows, Scant costume, antics and flushed tableaux : For tinsel and magic, forgetting her tragic Magnificent art. “Let us go!” she entreats. “I am ill !” And unnoticed withdraws From the theatre, thundering still With the surge of applause. As slowly she turns behind the scene For a parting glance, comes the gay new queen, By fairies attended, all glowing and splendid In spangles and gauze. From the footlights, arms filled with bouquets, One is hurrying back ; One gazes with cold marble face From the vail’s tragic black : And there at the manager’s beck they meet ; The new queen stoops at the old queen’s feet, With all her soft graces and sweet commonplaces Of greeting no lack. Me] | hs ** FROM THE COLD DIM COACH ONE LOOKS HER LAST AT THE THEATRE LIGHTS AND THE JOYOUS PAST.” Before her the great lady stood, So gracious, so grand ! ‘You are lovely—lI think you are good ; Oh, child, understand ! Be prudent, yet generous ; false to none ; Keep the pearl of the heart ; be true to one ; Be wise, oh, be gentle !” and from the dark mantle She redched forth»her hand. And they parted. All freshness and fire, One passed in her bloom, Feet swift with delight and desire, Arms shedding perfume ! From the cold dim coach one looks her last At the theatre lights and the joyous past ; And away in the lurid wet night we are hurried, Through rain-gust and gloom. J. T. TRowBripcE.