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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, November 06, 1864, Image 3

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Sunday E&Uien. Nov. G.
pwrt-ien far the New Tori Pitepartehu)
IM MEMORY OF MY BROTHER,
CHARLES L. CADDELL,
ft7!o died in iAe service of Hie Union, Jan. 27,18G4.
By Francis Caddell.
J krtrg no cypress leave* to twine
lb v sacred tomb,
>c»t *a»rels of the greenest n &e
>.n< jeowgre <rf brightest tiMin ;
Bamtls. because thy patriot soul
Fpheld the Starry Fold ;
>m »«w for K thy body sieeps
Beaes iL the barUU mould ;
yjcwers, because thy heart was mill
And loving as the leaves
Tf ben they in morning's ray rejoice,
W feUe naught around thine grieves.
T>cn thv tomb I shed no tears,
Put of er joyous smiles—
They only should be given for those
Wow in the. heavenly aisles—
AMUR where angelic choirs resound
in praises of the brave :
The good and brave who for their land
Vent down into the grave.
©.from thy spirit's glorloue Lome,
Dear Brother, look on me,
JLnd pray that at the last I’ll have
hence place not far from thee 1
TBE PET HEIRESS;
OB THS
BIPSY’S SECRET,
BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN,
AUTBQB OP «QUADROONA," “BLYTHE
HALL," Ac., Ac.
CHAPTER LXI.
AVTERMANY YEARS.
There are moments in a woman’s life when
«Beatb is so welcome that she would bless the
hand that would deprive her of existence.
Buch a moment had come to Rosalie. She
had reached London, delighted at her escape
from the duke, her heart beaming with hope
and joy at the thought of seeing those who
had so recently become dear to. her. Ever
thoughtful and kind-hearted, she had resolved,
before leaving London, to purchase some choice
and valuable presents, not only for the rector
and his wife, but for the servants at the rec
tory.
With this view, she was driven to the city,
and also to some West-end jewelers and others,
the addresses of which were furnished her by
the hotel-keeper.
Phcebe accompanied her, and passing though
Fleet street it struck our open-hearted and
frank Rosalie that there would be no harm in
her just dropping a note into Walton’s letter
box, to make him aware that she was released
from the grasp of her noble admirer.
While making a purchase, she found an op
portunity to write a few lines with pencil on a
•ard, and with this in her hand ascended the
musty stairs of the old chambers, her heart as
light, her face as beaming as that of a school
girl, who is about to return to her home.
She had just found his door, and was about
to put the card in his box, when she heard
voices, and not wishing to be recognized by
a»y of his friends, retreated into the gloom.
The revulsion of feeling which came over her
soul, dimming the brightness of all things on
earth, and in Heaven, can scarcely be con
veyed in words. It appeared at one fell swoop
io darken the horizen of her future, and lix an
Irrevocable weight upon her spirits. N o more
alia]] the merry laugh of childhood be heard
from her, no more the beaming smile, no more
shall she experience the pure and unalloyed
happiness of loving.
For her no more flowers in her path, but
prickly thorns—we paint her feelings.
To return to the rectory, to bury herself in
obscurity, and await in peace the return of her
father, was now all that could be done. Then
she would become Duchess of Trabcaster, and
never should the proud heart, concealed be
neath fur and ermine, allow man or woman on
this earth to suspect its old weakness.
Many a precious freight of love and joy has
been thus wrecked on the strand of jealousy ;
Rosalie was not the first woman who dashed
down her own fair hopes in a moment of pique
—poor girl, the suffering was to be hers. '
Outwardly, except that she was pale, and
her face somewhat hard, she showed no emo
tion, but took lunch ere she started, and then
gave orders to the postillions to drive down
to Tolleshunt with the utmost speed, eager
to be clasped in the arms of one who would
love and console her, the mother of her mo
ther.
The country girl, though usually loquacious
enough, saw clearly that her new mistress was
in no talking humor, and consequently sub
sided into happy thoughts of her future pros
pects, which were sufficiently brilliant for one
in her station.
Rosalie was reviewing in her mind the few
Abort months of her residence in England, to
which country she had come with such high
and pleased hopes ; to her, painted at a dis
tance by well-beloved lips, it was a paradise.
She had reached it to find sisters that repel
led her, a man, who, to win her against her
will, carried her off rudely and forcibly, and
now the one being whose presence had chilled
her against all other men, was faithless; or,
wooing her for love of her money, amused his
leisure with girls bold enough to visit him and
kiss his hands.
“ But I will tear him from my heart; ’tis
but a momentary pang, and all will be over.
My dear father and mother shall decide for
me. I will marry some one else, or remain
single, whichever they like. Walton Mowbray
is in future the merest stranger to me, his
image is forever erased from my heart;” to
prove which satisfactorily, she hid her facejin
her hands and wept.
Time, meanwhile, was flying, and the post
chaise had changed horses several times, so
that they could not be very far from Tolles
hunt. Rosalie’s heart began to beat wildly.
In her despair she fell back upon the love ot
her grandparents, and longed to rest her ach
ing head, to nestle in their bosoms.
The last stage was reached—no more horses
were to be changed,- and one short eight-mile
ride separated her only from her friends, who
in all probability would have heard from her
own father and mother.
It was now nearly evening, and the shadows
lengthened rapidly as they advanced.
But this Rosalie noticed not; her mind was
a chaos, in which grief and joy were mixed up
so strangely, as to make it difficult for her
to know which she was indulging at auy one
particular moment.
There is alloy in the purest gold, and there
is generally some drawback to the purest hap
piness, even if it be only the dread that it may
not last; but with Rosalie there should have
been none.
But now the current of her thoughts is
changed. Yonder is the steeple of Tolleshunt
church, and close under it is the rectory.
©n, on move the steeds, a corner is turned,
and with a loud crash the horses stop, and one
postillion diamounts.
Rosalie opens the door of the carriage, aud
leaps out, followed by I’hcebe, to hear the bell
of the rectory resounding hollow aud loudly
through the house. Rosalie herself had a well
known tap of her own. In vain—there is no
response.
•• ’There don’t seem nobody at home,” said
Hie postilion, with a puzzled” look.
Rosalie fairly tottered, turning whiter and
whiter every moment.
*■ YV hat shall 1 do ?’ ’ she murmured.
“ Please, miss,” continued the postboy, “ the
Talbot will know where Mister Vaughan is
gone.”
"Take me there,” added Rosalie, with a
very vague idea as to what the Talbot was.
Mow, indeed, as she re-enters the post
chaise, is Rosalie desolate of heart.
Hitherto she had been kept up by the hope
of seeing loving faces around her, aud being
welcomed by warm hearts ; but all who know
aid it cognize her are gone from the place, and
to discover where Mr. and Airs. Vaughan have
retired she must consult Walton Mowbray.
Never!
That is one of those things as far removed
fi om possibility as loving him auy more, so
she will do anything in preference.
While these thoughts have passed through
her head, they have reached the Talbot, and,
soon alighting, Rosalie is able to ask the
worthy landlady news of the rectory.
The news is not pleasant. The rector and
his wife have gone somewhere London way,
because Mrs. Vaughan is ill; but if the young
lady will wait, the curate who officiates will
tell her their address.
“ Was my grandmother very ill?” cried Ro
sa’ie.
I hey were alone in the best room of the inn.
T. e landlady, a portly dame about fifty was
h nding a chair to the young girl as she spoke.
The words seemed to have a magical effect
i yen her.
“ Lady, in Heaven’ name, what mean
you? Mrs. Vaughan never had but one child,”
cried the owner of the Talbot—the husband
being really very subordinate.
"lam the daughter of that child.”
“And lam Susan Marks,” continued the
other. “ Oh, do tell me how all this has c jib >
about. How can it have happened ?’ ’
"If you will give me a cup of tea,” said Ro
salie, " I will explain enough to make you
understand. Susan Marks 1 why that was the
name of the nurse ?”
" It was, and Susan Marks I am now, having
married my cousin ; but, Heaven bless your
pretty eyes, I will make tea for you. Yoa
have taken a load off my heart which has
weighed heavy there these years.”
And she bustled away, eager to learn the
explana'.ion ot a mystery, the very allusion to
which hail amazed her.
'l'hc refreshing beverage once placed before
Rosalie, she, in a few words, after obtaining a
strict promise of secresy from the landlady, ex
plained her exact position.
“ Lawk-a-mercy !”■ exclaimed Susan Marks,
with heartfelt delight; “ found and married to
the squire 1 Who could have thought it ? But,
my dear young lady, why not go to the Hall ?’ ’
“ Until my father’s return, I cannot,” said
Rosalie, sadly. “All my papers and docu
euments were stolen from me. Until I can
piove who I am, they will not acknowledge
me.”
Su-an Marks made no reply to this. She,
in common with most within a circle of some
miles, knew the chaiacter of the co-heiresses of
Tolleshunt. Nothing, therefore, surprised her
on their part.
Rosalie now declared her intention of passing
the qjght at the Talbot, and in the morning
she would see the curate, when, doubtless, the
address of Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan would be
made known.
"Of course,” said Susan, who, delighted
and enraptured at the discovery she had made,
could not sufficiently show her devotion to the
granddaughter of her old mistress.
The best bed in the house was made ready,
such best bedroom from its overplus of hang
ings and other adornments, being generally
the most unwholesome aud unpleasant in the
house.
Everything, however, was done to make Ro
salie comfortable, and had her mind have
been at ease, she probably might have slept,
but she was now alone, and could give way to
the torrent of tears which hitherto had been
pent up.
An eminent physiologist has truly said that
groaning and crying are the two great oper
ations by which nature allays anguish. The
eyes and mouth are the safety valves of the
heart.
Having thus relieved herself, Rosalie was
not only better, but slept soundly for some
hours.
There is something strangely powerful in
the effect of health of body over the mind.
The young and wholesome body of the girl,
refreshed by sleep, would not allow that deep
despondency to hang over htr, which the night
before had so powerfirlly affected her heart.
She leaped from her bed at break of day,
and going to the window, gazed without, with
saddened feelings, it is true, but with a calm
ness which on the previous evening would have
been impossible.
There were the woods in which she had g >
often walked with Walton Mowbray, and
where first the mystic veil had been lifted from
her heart, revealing beyond the tempestuous
but entrancing sea of passionate love.
Now, none who understood, however slight
ly, the intimate phases of the tender passion,
which more or less rules the world, can fail to
be aware that there is a lingering charm about
the place where first we were taught the alpha
bet of love, which time cannot efface, which
clings to us as long as memory and sense.
An irresistible longing came over the girl’s
soul to visit those woods once more, and alone,
too, and with it the memory of so much that
wsis'.tender, manly and straightforward in the
conduct of Walton that she really began to
doubt.
What if she had been the victim of some
eiTor, of some hallucination of the brain ?
No ! it was impossible. She had heard the
words, she had seen that earnest kiss upon his
hands, and though it might be that Walton
loved her not now, yet still ho had, it was
quite clear.
While these thoughts were passing through
her brain, she had dressed, and was now de
scending the staircase of the inn, where nobody
as yet was moving.
'The main doorway was not very easy to
open, but at length she succeeded, and went
forth into the bright and beaming morn, her
very soul at once refreshed by the first burst
of the dewy-laden air, that was redolent, too,
of green fields aud budding flowers.
When the whole house were up and break
fast was ready, Phtebe wentto call her mistress
but could not find her. Nor did Rosalie Moly
neux ever return to the Talbot lun from that
hour.
The astonishment and alarm of Phoebe was
great, ■ but that of Susan Marks was really
painful to witness. Just as she found conso
lation for an old error that had weighed heavi
ly on her heart for years, the daughter of the
child she hadjoved and lost, was mysteriously
snatched from her house without leaving a
trace behind.
CHAPTER LXII.
MASTER. ANP RVI'IL.
Mr. Knify Jinks, in all transactions which
might bring him within reach of the law, was
wont to take every precaution that prudence
should suggest.
As soon, therefore, as he found that Rosalie
had taken her way toward home, and felt
the necessity of immediate pursuit, he be
thought him of an accomplice, and with a grim
sjpile determined on the viscount.
He had two reasons for this. In the first
place he knew that the young man could be
trusted, and secondly, he felt a grim and
strange delight in dragging him down to his
own level.
No sooner had he made np his mind, than
he sent a short but earnest note to his victim
to step round, on business that admitted of no
delay. This done he ascended to the upper
part of his house.
The residence known to the neighbors as that
of Laurence Mouldy, had some years before,
that is, soon after its erection in 1700, been in
the occupatiou of a doctor.
The place was then inhabited by notable peo
ple, such as Lord Bolingbroke.
Now this doctor was celebrated for his cures
of mad people, and when he dying the habi
tation came into the possession of old Mouldy,
he found traces of the previous destination of
the building.
Knify Jinks, when on the decease of his old
master, he, by some jugglery or other, suc
ceeded to his business and property, visited
the house carefully, but having no use for the
upper stories, and not choosing to let, allowed
things to remain as they were. Now that he
had entered upon a new trade, that of abduc
tor, he saw a use for these long-closed apart
ments, which he therefore prepared to visit.
They were at the top of the house.
They might have been below the moat of the
Tower of London for what the neighbors could
tell.
The walls, originally thick—bricks were
cheaper or builders more scrupulous than in
our days—were surrounded by some composi
tion to deaden sound, which existed between
the wainscoat and the wall.
There were no windows, but from the roof of
each of three rooms, there fell through a thick
skylight a dim, infernal light, that truly had
seemed to ilhuuine sights of woe.
Knify Jinks, as he surveyed the apart
ments by means of a lantern, smiled compla
cently.
“ This will do—made for her,” he said. “If
this place don’t bring her to rights I should
like to know what would. I defy the gipsy,
the lover, the duke, anybody to find her here
—hem ! if all fails I might let her father find
her here—on conditions.”
And a grim meaning smile passed athwart
his evil countenance.
“I expect few women but would do any
thing to be free of this; heiress of all, if I like,
why shouldn’t she be Mrs. Mouldy ?”
And as the ruffian went down stairs he
mentally added himself to the list of Rosalie’s
lovers.
Just as he reached the ball he heard the
well-known knock of the viscount, and admit
ted him himself.
“What’s up now?” said that worthy, in a
sulky tone.
“If you will step into my office, my lord,”
he replied, coldly, “ we will talk business.’’
Though chafed at a thraldom he had brought
upon himself, the young nobleman followed,
aud throwing himself into a chair began light
ing a cigar.
“Smell rather good,” said Knify, reaching
over and taking one ; "thank you. Now to
business.”
“ I hope it’s somefhing good, for Viola is in
a duse of a rage with me —promised to be tack
in an hour.”
“ Won’t be for days.”
“Sir.”
“ Listen to me. To jump into the ring at
once—suppose that Miss Molyneux is no more
heiress of Tolleshunt than you are of Fellwa
ter ?”
"The duse!” cried the viscount, turning
very pale. “ What on earth do you mean ?
showing your teeth like an old fox. Have you
sent for me to amuse yourself?”
“ I have, while asking you a question, told
you the truth,” said Mouldy, coolly.
“ Mouldy, or Knify Jinks, or by whatever
other alias you call yourself, leave off this
wretched trifling, and if you have anything to
say, say it.”
The other now saw that he was deeply inter
ested, and accordingly began to weave the
meshes of his ugly net around him.
“Three wills are in existence,” he com
menced.
“ How do yon know ?” growled the vis
count.
“ Enough for you that I do know,” contin
ued the money-scrivener. “The first divides
Tolleshunt between the two Misses Molyneux,
the second leaves all Tolleshunt and most of
the accumulations to Miss Viola ”
“ Good heavens! goon.”
‘ l l thought you would be interested —the
third revokes the previous ones, and leaves all
to Rosalie Molyneux.”
“ Rosalie Molyneux—who is she—the man’s
dreaming—never heard of her,” cried the
young man.
“ Never heard of her —why you have seen
her many times at the rectory.”
“ Merciful heavens —you quite bewilder me.
Why, that’s the one I ought to marry,” he
added, emphatically.
" A masterly decision, only the young lady
is pleased to like another friend of yours,”
sneered Knify.
* 1 rv alton —never ! I already felt a strange
yearning toward the girl; but now, rather than
he should wiu her, I will woo and marry her
myself.”
“ You will do nothing of the kind. You
will marry Miss Viola Molyneux.”
*‘ A penniless girl ■’ ’
‘ ‘ The heiress of Tolleshunt. Listen to rea
son. I have in my possession the second and
third wills. The third shall never come to
light.”
“ But, in the first place, how comes this
Rosalie to be their sister ? Give me the
clue ?”
“ I will. The squire married again; but
there will be ample time to explain all that by
and bye. It is first necessary that we exactly
understand one another. In the first place, if
Squire Molyneux comes to England, you will
lose the earldom, and Miss Viola the estates of
Tolleshunt. sJow, I don’t suppose she would
marry you from sentiment, any more than you
would marry her. We men of the world know
all about love, and all that.”
“ Hast ever felt it ?”
The man’s face became livid, his eyes glared
wildly.
“ Y ou are not my father confessor,” he said,
moodily; ‘ ‘ but there were days when I was
fool enough to give up my whole soul to one
thought—a woman. But it’s passed, all
passed,” and he wiped his clammy brow.
“ This is not business, however. Do you fully
understand what I said?”
“ I heard, but I did not understand. Yau
cannot expect me to believe such old women’s
tales.”
“ I have it,” said Knify, sternly, “ here in
the handwriting of Squire Molyneux, that im
mediately on his return to England, he will
bring forward the true heir to the house of
Fellwater. I have it also in the handwriting
of Squire Molyneux, that the young earl, your
father’s half-brother, lived long enough to
mature a most fearful retributive vengeance
against your father, whom he always accused
of murdering him.”
“ Which he did not,” groaned the viscount
now fearfully alarmed.
“That matters not,” continued the money
scrivener; “but the plot is clearly indicated
to me. The earl lived long enough to marry,
and to have before or after death a child—that
child exists in the person of Walton Mow
bray.”
“Merciful heaven! what is to become of
me ? But why this secresy ?” continued Lord
Charles.
. “ The blow will be struck the day before
you come of age,” said Knify.
“ He shall die first,” cried the young noble
man, foaming with impotent rage.
“ I‘ray don’t excite yourself unnecessarily.
His death were of little service. But are you
now prepared, heart and soul, to join me in an
endeavor—no—in insuring yourself the earl
dom, and Viola the sole possession of Tolles
hunt.”
“ I am.”
" First, then, she is to know nothing what
ever of what passes between us—to be unaware
that we know anything. Secure her at auy
price.”
“ That, of course, if I see my way clear. I
wouldn’t have her suspect anything about my
self for the world.”
“ That is essential; any departure from the
cautious course would be ruin. Marry her,
therefore, as soon as possible. I will secure
you Tolleshunt.”
“ How ?—this man may soon arrive in Eng
land.”
“ He will be in the river in a month.”
“ My God !■—then all will be over!”
“Leave that to me. He will never appear
against you. I have arranged all that.”
“You don’t mean ” gasped the vis-
count.
Their eyes met. There was a horrid glitter
in both, while both seemed to snuff up a
mouldy scent of blood.
“We shall be hanged !” whispered the vis
count, who in all his plots with Knify Jinks,
acted the part of Emily with Viola.
1 ‘ Pshaw ! man, I could hang you any day ! ’
coldly replied the money scrivener.
“Liar and scoundrel!” cried the viscount,
jumping up.
“ Burglary is a hanging matter,” continued
Mouldy, playing with a pistol which lay on his
desk ; “ but be net unnecessarily alarmed ; if
we hang, we hang together.”
The young man sat down with some such
shiver as one is supposed to feel when some
one walks over our grave.
“Be not excited; lam only letting you see
that our interests are identical. lu the first
place, this man, Molyneux, must ke kept from
mischief. If you have any doubt about my
playing my part well with regard to him, I
will let you confidentially into a little secret.”
“ Speak out—l shan't betray you.”
“ I don’t suppose you will. If Squire Moly
neux and the gipsy get together, they’ll hang
me— aye, if I were concealed on the either side
of the world. Glidden is a bloodhound !”
“But—l —surely you are not going to ask
me to join in—in—this affair?” said the vis
count, in a trembling voice.
“You! why, ypu’d ruin it. You’ve no
more nerve than a child! ” replied Laurence
Mouldy,-in a contemptuous tone.
"What am I here for, then —and why de
tain me ?”
“In the first place, that you may know pre
cisely the eruptive state of the volcano upon
which you stand, began the master to his
worthy pupil, “and then to ask your assist
ance in securing Miss Rosalie, the pet heiress.”
“ How —why ?”
“She knotfs too much—how much I can
not say. But she does know that by her fa
ther’s expressed wish she is sole heiress of Tol
leshunt.”
“ Do they know anything of her?”
“ They only spurned her from the door as an
impcstor, after securing my evasion, that
I might rob her of her papers,” said Knify,
slowly.
“ Whew !” was the cry of the viscount, and
then he added, with a coarse laugh, “Bravo,
Viola! I didn’t think it was in her. The
girl’s a jewel.”
Such were Lord (:barles Viscount Carewdon’s
remarks on the evil and audacious act of his
future bride. We shall continue to give him
his title, as Knify Jinks’s monstrous statements
are unproved and most improbable.
“ But what is your hurry?”
“ She must be secured to-night or to-mor
row. She’s gone down to Tolleshunt,” con
tinued Knify ; “ we must follow her.”
‘ ‘ The devil we must! The last journey was
not pleasant.”
“It cannot be helped. I can trust no one
else. We had better travel by the stage—out
side, as drovers. Come aud dress. Dolly
Mop will give us some supper; she’s invalu
able.”
“I should like to know your secret—how
you find out all these things.' You’re like a
confounded Bow street runner. ”
“Namesnot mentioned to ears polite. My
secret—well, ifl told it you, it would no long
er be a secret.
And with his coldest and most saturnine
grin, he went down stairs, muttering—
“ I like to tease him; and yet, if he were
NEW ¥OEK DISPATCH.
not such a dused coward—no brains—l feel a
strange liking for him. Pshaw ! what have I
to do with likes or dislikes, alone, without
chick or child in the world, unless in
deed ”
He mumbled the rest so indistinctly, that it
was inaudible, even if he ever finished the sen
tence.
I hey supped, dressed, and rose to go, about <
an hour before the usual departure of the
coaches.
“ You must go to the top of the house,
and clean out the rooms, and furnish them,’’
said Knify, addressing Dolly Mop. “ See it
is done at once. I shall bring you home a
young mistress in the morning.”
Ard he went out, leaving Dolly Mop truly
all of a heap, for she gathered her legs un
der her ou the hearth-rug, and stared wildly
about.
“ Young mistress home —clean out the top
rooms—furnish them —and I that wanted to
give a party!”
Upon which she rose, took a pail, a mop,
some brushes, and a candle, with which she
ascended the stairs.
“ But I’ll have my party yet, in spite of
him.”
CHAPTER LXIII.
THE PARK PIANTATIOK.
When Rosalie left the Talbot by the front
entrance, she knew that she must skirt the
house to reach the wood, where alone, at the
birth of dawn, she could mourn over her de
parted love. It is wonderful what delight the
. brightest and best part of humanity takes in
making itself miserable. Half the cases of
feminine insanity arise from brooding over real
or imaginary sorrows, untilfrom extreme ten
sion the brain gives way.
Such sedentary and merely mechanical oc
cupations as sewing encourage this natural
tendency. While the busy fingers are at work
the mind is not idle, and be it sin or sorrow,
good or evil, her thoughts never rest, as when
the body is more evenly and advantageously
employed.
Rosalie’s was not an idle nature. Though
rich, and above even the thought of work,
which is the horror of eastern bred people,
she found always enough to do. Music,
drawing, study, left her no other idle mo
ments but those which she devoted to society
and her garden. Like many refined and sim
ple natures, she was passionately fond of flow
ers.
But now violet and blue-bell, and wild roYe
and jessamine, might bloom ; they were mer
cilessly trodden under foot, or not noticed.
Even the sweet carol of birds, and the song of
the soaring lark, were sounded in vain, she
knew not of them. Nature might as well have
been dumb, for she was deaf.
Mechanically, or rather instinctively, she ad
vanced into the more sombre depths of the
wooded plantation, and strolled along the
paths they had so often followed together.
She heard his voice, she felt the gentle press
ure of his arm—she could have died.
“ Never again !” she cried aloud, “never..
Hope and joy are dead in my soul.”
“ Never !” saida harsh voice, and looking
up she stood in the presence of mad Keziah.
but mad Keziah in one of her lucid and pleas
ant humors. “Maiden, why so sad? There
is hope and joy much for you to come in this
world.”
“You are a gipsy,” replied Rosalie, quietly,
and without any fear; “ ’tis your trade to
foretell happiness. lam not of those who be
lieve. If you are poor, I have a few shillings
in my pocket.”
“ I am poor ; but not formoney will I speak
to you now. Let me look at your ungloved
hand.”
Rosalie, with a sad smile, let her have her
way.
“ Lady,” said Zeziah, gravely, “ I Was not
always what I n»w seem. There was a day
when even Glidden was proud of me. Know
Glidden—yes ; but my lips are sealed, lest a
greater curse come to me. Suffice you know
him. In him have you faith ?”
“As in”—she blushed, for the word Walton
Mowbray came unbidden to her lips, though
she repelled it—“ as in my own dear father.”
“ Well, be guided by me now. First, you
are unhappy about some unfortunate trifle;
but that will come well. Those who have
love must have faith.”
“ Faith comes from truth.”
“And the stars say that he is true. You
seek the priest of the house-dwellers, and he is
gone.”
“ I do—know you where he is ?”
“I do not, but I can find. But there are
those who know where you are, and if you go
back to the inn will take you in their toils.”
‘ ‘ Whom do you mean ? —who can know
where I am ?’ ’
“ The loved one is not far off. If you will
bide his coming with me, I will hide you.”
“ I know not of whom you speak,” cried
Rosalie, proudly ; “ get from my path—l have
heard enough.”
“ Know you the man who robbed you of
your papers?” hissed Keziah.
“How should I know him when he was
masked?” said Rosalie, now listening atten
tiuely.
“He comes this way, breathe not, speak
not, aud you shall know him again.”
With this she clutched the girl’s hand, and
led her into a close and dense thicket, near
which was a fire. Pointing to a narrow path,
so low as to compel her to stoop, Zeziah began
singing, while Rosalie found herself in a reg
ular lair beneath a briar-thorn, where the
unfortunate creature had made herself a hid
ing place. There was a lied of hay and straw,
a strip of canvas for a roof, some sticks as sup
porters, and that was all.
Zeziah went on singing, even when two ill
looking men, dressed as drovers, halted close
in front of her,
“ Well, you infernal old witch! what say
you ? Shall I cut yeur throat, or blow your
brains out?” cried one.
“ Neither,” said Keziah, calmly ; “ neither,
John Jinks. The fate that unites us is of
solid iron. One hour after my death you will
die yourself.”
The ruffian started back in amazement. For
many years he had not seen the gipsy Yvoman
look the same, or speak so rational.
“ Why sought you to betray me ?” he asked,
reproachfully.
“ 1 betray you !” she said, in a low, hushed
tone ; “ your own conscience should make you
absolve me of any such wish.”
“The old witch has forgotten,” he whis
pered to his companion, “ what happened
when she was mad.”
“ I wish you no harm—l would even do you
good—if you would be less cruel, and tell me
what lecame of the child. Even Gliflden might
forgive me.”
“ Y'ou! Glidden! and the child be eternally
cursed together!” roared the infuriated ruf
fian. “I put the squalling brat into the
work-house, where it died.”
“No ! no ! no ! It died. Was it in my
waking moments, or in my sleep, that I
dreamed I saw it ? But I shouldn’t know it
again, because I cannot recollect the mark."
“ Curse the mark! Come away, comrade—
we have no time to waste on a mad woman.”
And they moved away.
“ Siad ! mad ! well, sometimes I think I
must be. There arejaoments when dark
times come over me, and I seem to be haunted
by all the poisonous vermin of the woods, and
then there is a blank. The child died not in
a workhouse —where was it I saw him the
other day ? It was a beautiful, fair baby—
would that I could recollect the mark. But I
must look after the child of Cara, whom I,
too,loved.”
But when she sought Rosalie, she had walked
away, leaving a handful of silver on the wo
man’s bed, which she cast negligently into a
hollow of the old thorn trunk.
The young girl, who took no interest in the
conversation between Knify Jinks and Keziah,
though, had she possessed the clue, she would
have panted with excitement and amazement,
sought, soon after their arrival, an issue from
the thicket, and though this at first was very
difficult, yet at last she reached a part of the
wood which was quite new to her.
It was a dark fir plantation of singular
beauty, diversified by sloping mounds and oc
casional shrubs. Here she was quite alone,
and could muse at will.
Soon, however, there came a dull moaning
through the tree-tops, a rustling in the bushes
below, accompanied by a chilliness in the air,
which betokened a storm. Rosalie lifted up
her eyes and saw that it was late.
“1 have lost my way,” she mentally ex
claimed; “but hark! some one comes. If
they are not too ill-looking I will ask my
way.”
Cowering behind a bush she complet fly con
cealed herself, and then listened.
The ax ices were enough. She shivered as
she recognized that of Knify Jinks and his
c< mpanion, whose tones were strangely atd
mysteriously familiar to her.
“ Confound the girl,” said the former, in a
voice of anger, “ she has got the hick «f the
devil. She must be in this wood. Well,
theie’s no way out of the fir shrubbery but
this, so if you keep here aud watch, I’ll soon
b< at puss up. Don’t let her past, at any price,
my down-looking pal. Drat that Kezia'n.
wonder if she had anything to
wring her old neck if I thought sne had.”
And with a scowl he entered the fir planta
tion. Good clothes and a fashionable ent, with
all the aid that wig-makers and cosmetics can
give a man, made Lawrence Mouldy, Esquire,
sometimes a presentable personage; but a
drover’s dress, with hobnail high-lows, and a
scratch wig, a black beard and whiskers, the
whole summed up by the addition of a blud
geon, made Knify Jinks a fearful object to
look at.
So Rosalie thought as, muttering fearful
curses, against his own limbs, and specially
against his organs of vision, he entered the
grounds within which she was concealed. Her
terror was too great te enable her rightly to
estimate her danger, or even to speculate an to
the cause of these men being in pursuit of
her. Of course she connected them with her
sisters, as the gipsy, in away not to be mista
ken, had identified to her the man who had
robbed her of her papers.
For some time she watched the glittering
eye of Knify Jinks, as it wandered about the
copses on the edge of the fir plantation, with
something cf fearful curiosity. Had she
known him so consummate a poacher as he
was, her dread would have been proportionably
great. Still, caution was absolutely necessary,
though escape was next door to impossible.
The man began at last to move in a circle,
as if he scented his prey; his eyes began to
sparkle, and the corners of his mouth to quiver
•with anticipated delight.
“ Dang her, its her foot! ” he said, stopping
before the fallen spikes of the firs.
As he spoke, with a wild and nnrestrainable
shriek, Rosalie sprang to her feet and fled
across the plantation, in an opposite direction
to that where the viscount was posted, he at
once bounding after his comrade, under the
impression that he was cruelly ill-using a
woman.
For seme minutes running with a fleetness
which astonished herself, Rosalie, by an im
pulse of nature, which is one of woman’s great
defences against wrong, gave forth some of the
most heartrending shrieks that ever burst from
human lips in mortal terror. The hideous ap
pearance of the man, his fearful bludgeon, the
knowledge of his being in the employment of
her cruel sisters, so acted upon her brain that
for a moment its even balance was overthrown.
But soon reason reason resumed its sway,
and with something of the cunning of the East
—children learn more or less of evil from the
best of ill-taught servants —she stood still, and
ceased her cries at the same time, glancing, as
she did so, warily round.
She was alone ; but at no great distance she
could hear the heavy trampling of the ruffian
behind.
He, too, had the cunning of the serpent;
for when he could no longer follow her by her
cries, he paused and listened.
Rosalie had thin shoes, which enabled her
to tread lightly, while the ruffianly poacher
could scarcely move without betraying himself.
With this hope, she moved along quickly
toward where a dense thicket of oaks promised
her double shelter from the enemy and from
the weather, which had become boisterous,
rain-drops falling rapidly.
The ground she was now going over was low
and grassy, so that, as the rain fell, even her
light step left footmarks. But as she heard
no more of her pursuer, she continued en her
way, sure now that she wAs in safety.
Alas, poor girl! the many who many a time
had escaped from the keepers, headed by his
own father, by a smilar contrivanca, was close
behind her, barefooted. Chancing to turn
round, she saw him, and fear lending wings to
her feet, she bounded forward again with a
shrilly shriek, while he dropping his heavy
boots, with fearful imprecations, rushed after,
trying to make her stop.
“Stop,” he cried, “stop, or it will be the
worse for you.”
“Stop, or it will be the worse for you,” said
a voice, close to his ear. “ Tam, villain.”
And Knify Jinks and Walton Mowbray were
face to face. The ruffian knew his man, in this
bettor informed than his adversary.
“Stay, villain,” began Walton, who had
clutched a stick from a hedge. “How dare
you pursue and annoy Miss Molyneux?”
“Lor, sir,” he said, with affected innocence,
“ she be a escaped 100-natic.”
“ Silence, and tell no impudent lies to me,”
replied Mowbray. “Away, before I call the
keepers.”
And putting a whistle to his lips he began a
shrill call, when a blow from behind felled him
to the ground. It was Viscount Carwdon,
livid with rage and terror.
“ Let’s finish him,” he gasped, with chat
tering teeth.
“ Save yourself,” cried Knify, taking to his
heels. “If you lose sight of me we swing, as
sure as we are alive now.”
No further word was required to urge the
viscount to flight. With a cowardly kick at
his rival’s head, he followed in the track of
the poacher, just as the head keeper came in
sight, followed by some of his myrmidons.
For some time, attracted by the shrieks, they
had been on the look-out.
CHAPTER LXIV.
AN ALARUM.
■lt Is a long time since we have seen any
thing of goodjMistress Sparks, the housekeeper,
or of Mr. Luton Ball: little Rill, as he was
always called by his superiors—sometimes be
fore his face, by his inferiors always behind
his back.
We have, however, all this while, not been
able to bestow that due amount of attention
to them which their merits really perhaps re
quired.
Somehow or other, ever since the departure
of the ladies of the house, Mr. Luton Ball had
obtained a footing in the housekeeper’s room.
“ Well, you see, Mrs. Jones,” she would
say to a poor apothecary’s wife, she did conde
scend, good soul, to patronise occasionally,
“ though little Ball is a small attorney and
rent- collector, still he is now clerk to the mag
istrates, o» trial —and you know it is not right
to be stuck up and look down upon your
neighbors, because they are of humble origin.”
“Certainly not, mum,” replied Mrs. Jones,
the daughter of a poor gentleman, while Mrs.
Clark was a curate’s child.
And so on the evening of the day when we
left Walton Mowbray insensible in the pre
serves which divided Tolleshunt from Carew
don, good Mrs. Sparkes, in all the dignity of
black silk gown and apron, magnificent cap
lace collar, waited tea for little Ball in her
own private room.
There never was a better woman ever lived
than the hearty old maid, the “Sirs.” being
an honorary dignity, much affected by elderly
spinsters, who wish, perhaps, like the spend
thrift, whose debts reminded him that he had
credit formerly, to allow it to appear that once
upon a time they were married. Her devotion
to the house of Molyneux was excessive.
Having risen gradually to her present dig
nity, from the humble post of housemaid, she
was older than Mrs. Molyneux would have
been bad she lived, and "had known her a
child.
The Squire she worshipped.
But except Mrs. Eden, no other member of
the household was a favorite with her. With
Miss Molyneux she was all that the highest
lady of the land could have desired. She was
placid, obedient, and knew her place. With
Emily, whom she liked far better, she was
more of the hearty old housekeeper, conde
scending and motherly.
Emily, who was naturally weak, but not
wicked, liked her, and never was happier than
when listening to stories of her father, whom
she had loved much, until the evil teachings of
her sister corrupted and debased her thour-
Obglrly.
Now Mrs. Sparks would not condescend to
gossip with everybody, but rumors had reached
Her ears, somehow, of what was said in the
county, and Mrs. Sparkes was anxious to re
alize to the full extent the character of these
clandr stinc whisperings, in her eyes an inex
cusable offence against tha dignity of the
house. Therefore did she invite Mr. Ball twice
a week to tea and supper, the said little Ball
having the scandal of the county at his fingers’
ends.
On the present occasion Mrs. Sparkes was
unusually dignified and unusually eager.
Mr. Ball was behind time, but only for five
minutes, as he came up, quite hot with fear of
being too latd*, and made a thousand apologies,
all r< ferring to press of business.
Mrs. Sparkes generously forgave him, and
for some time their whole outward thoughts,
to appearance, weic given to the subject mat
ter before them, namely, tea, though both
were bursting with impatience—the one to ask
questions, the other to tell news. But neither
ior some time would make advances, like skil-
ful generals, leaving tike epposing foe to com
mence operations.
At length, however, the magic sight of hot
water, some special Schiedam, and plenty of
sugar, thawed the little man’s resolution.
“A —hem—strange rumors afloat,” said ths
attorney, with a preliminary cough—“ not
quite so much sugar, thank you—matters
which I think in your responsible position you
should be made aware of. The dignity of your
house is in question.”
“ It is very strange that people cannot leave
our name alone ; everything here is straight
forward and above-board.”
“ A—hem—people say not, and if I may
presume ” began Luton Ball.
“Tell me all!”
‘ ‘ The squire has married again—been mar
ried seventeen years," began Ball.
“Who to?” gasped Mrs. Sparkes, with an
eagerness never evinced by her before.
“ Can’t say. But people do aver that his
favorite daughter came here some time back,
and was turned forth as an imposter by Miss
Viola —it was the day after Knify Jinks es
caped.”
“It is impossible—it cannot be true,” cried
Mrs. Sparkes.
“ 1 believe it is true.”
“ But who has seen her
“ I have!”
“You!” cried the housekeeper, with an
intonation of voice so peculiar, it might have
been admiration, it might have been contempt.
“ Yes, Mrs. Sparkes, humble individual as I
am, I had the honor of seeing her win the
prize for all comers at the archery meeting,”
said Ball, pursing up his lips, and elevating
his shirt collar, by mqans of his thumb and
forefinger.
“Why man, that was a yonng lady visiting
at the rectory, who came here to apply as
governess to the schools —and was rejected as
incompetent—so Viola said!” cried Mrs.
Sparkes.
“ That was Miss Rosalie Molyneux, grand
daughter of Mr. Vaughan, daughter of the
squire, and sole heiress of Tolleshunt,” said
the little man, slowly.
"What, the child of lost Mary Vaughan?”
screamed Mrs. Sparkes, wildly enough to
startle a nervous man.
“ No other.”
“Then, for all thy mercies, Heaven be
thanked. Mr, Luton Ball, you have told ine
good news;-but to Susan Marks, oh, what
blessed intelligence. But how can it be—who
is your authority?”
“Susan Marks,” said Luton Ball, now evi
dently believing he had reached a climax.
“ I’ou will drive me clean out of my mind,”
said Mrs. Sparkes. “ I don’t know what it is
—I suppose it is the weather. Fill yourself
another glass—l will take one. Deary me ! I
feel quite faint and queer.”
Luton Ball gravely did as he was told.
Well might the good housekeeper speak of
the weather ; it was a terrible night, the wind
howled round and round the old place, and
finding hundreds of nooks and corners where
to lodge, made horrid moans, and sighs, and
groans, as if the wicked got loose, while the
rain pattered wildly without. The hoarse,
harsh sound of the blast was fearful.
“ Thank Heaven for home and a fireside V ’
said Mrs. Sparks, with a shiver.
Her room was on the side of the house, with
a small bow window, looking on a small lawn,
appropriated to herself, where she had pots of
flowers, and, indeed, reigned supreme mistress.
There was a door to go out.
“ Yes !” replied Luton Ball, gravely, “you
see, Mrs. Susan Marks has always behaved re
speetfrdly to me as a humble friend of the
house, and to-day she called me in, and telling
me that though to strangers she was bound to
secrecy, yet under the circumstamces, she must
ask my advice.”
“Well, well.”
‘ * You won’t be offended ?’, said Luton Ball,
speaking under his breath, and sipping his
grog, as if to give himself strength.
“ No—speak; and do not torture a poor wo
man’s feeling.”
“ Well, mum, last night, Miss Rosalie, who
—ahem —I’m very sorry to say it, had been
kidnapped by Miss Viola, came home to the
society, having escaped.”
“ Kidnapped by Miss Viola Molyneux, ” said
the house keeper, rising to make a dart at the
unfortunate lawyer, whom she caught by the
collar of his coat; “how dare you, you half
starved changeling, you mean pettifogger.”
“ Madame, you bade me tell you all—l have
done. Such insults ”
“ My dear Mr. Ball, pardon me, I am beside
myself. Bray go on—but the honor of the
house makes me harsh. Forgive and forget,
I really knew not what I said.”
“ Enough, madame; we are both deeply in
terested in the matter—l understand your
feelings. Finding the rectory deserted, she re
tired to the Talbot, and made herself known
to Susan Marks, who was enraptured. She
went to bed, agreeing to go to London in the
morning, when what should she do, but get
up early and go for a walk, from which she
has never returned.”
“Merciful heavens!”
“ One mcment,” said Luton Ball, eagerly ;
“ after her departure some ill-looking villians
inquired for her; and finding she was out,
went away hurridly—and then came Mr. Wal
ton Mowbray, and he heard, and went in pur
suit. And then there were dreadful shrieks in
the wild preserves, and then—then ’ ’
“ What then ?”
“ Mr. Walton Mowbray is lying for dead at
toe Tallet, and Miss Rosalie is nowhere to be
found, her cwn maid not knowing where she
is. Now you have my news.”
“ Oh, Mr. Ball!” cried Mrs. Sparks, “ what
is to be done ?—what is to be thought ? I cau
not act. Cannot you set the constable abroad.
Poor dear child—who knows—hearken to the
storm ?”
There came a gust, indeed, and at the same
time a rush as of many waters, accompanied
by a wailing, bubbling cry, such as a strong
man might have given, when drowping, which
was heard above the remorseless dash of the
wild wind.
“ Some one is outside—come!” cried Mrs.
Sparkes, “ bring the light—quick, there is a
good man!”
And out rushed the worthy woman, without
waiting for the light, threw open the door,
caught a slight, drenched, insensible figure in
her arms, and bore her in.
“ The heiress of Tolleshunt!” cried Ball.
“ God’s will be done,” murmured Mrs.
Sparkes, “ This is cruel, indeed. To my
heart, my master's child, and sole heiress of
Tolleshunt.”
ITo be costlnned.]
The extent of the moon’s influence
upon the earth has been curiously estimated. It has
been remarked, from tables compiled by skillful observ
ers, that rain falls oftener during the increase than the
wane of the moon, by six to five, and that this is more
particularly the case from the quarters to the full moon.
It is a popular belief that the rays of the moon tend to
produce the decomposition of meat, but they are not
thought to impart any heat to the earth. The exact na
ture of the moon’s influence, if any, upon vegetation ha
never been substantiated, although it has been credited
in all ages. Pliny devotes much space to laws for regu
lating agricultural labors by the undoubt
edly derived from the experience of the best Italian
farmers of his time. In France, it was then considered
that trees should only be felled in the wane. It is stated
that In Dcmerara and the West Indies (and also in con
nection with certain Brazilian growths), there are woods
which, if cut down during the moon’s increase, can be
easily split and soon rot; but, if cut in the wane, are ex
tremely enduring, and can be riven with difficulty.
The Russian Observatory at Poul
kowo, is said to be the finest in the world. It possesses the
largest refractor in Europe, meridian circles, vertical
circles, clocks sunk deep in the earth to preserve their
rate, masses of masonry some of them 30 feet below the
floor and 40 feet long by 15 broad, to support the instru
ments, preservation of constant temperature through a
Russian summer and winter—everything that man can
think of to render observation perfect is here found, and
now for five-and twenty years has been employed with
unvaried success. The celebrated Struve is at the head of
tiis establishment.
Tee problem of suspending life by
freezing, seems te be accumulating data. Perch and mul-
Jet have been carried from Lake Champlain to Eastern
cities, frozen perfectly solid, and on being put into a
tub of water, have come too as lively as ever. A female
convict in Sweden is in ice on experiment, A man was
found lately en Switzerland, who gave signs of life after
being frozen for nine months. The power of stopping
while the world goes on may be the next wonder. Ice
houses may soon be advertised with comfortable arrange*
meats for skipping an epoch or waiting for the next
generation.
A young married lady was lately
p’aced in a critical position while bathing at Douarnenes
(Plnistere). She had entered a small grotto ■>n the shore
and having remained too long admiring the n itural beau
ties of the cavern, found, when she attempted to retire,
that the tide had risen and prevented all egress. Tbe
water still continuing to rise, she was at length obliged to
cling to the projections of the rocks to keep her from
drowning, and remained In this precarious situation, half
> bserged, for four hours, when the ebbing of the tide
brought release. »
W gm* of §ptu.
A Sharper Trapped—Flunkeyism at
a Discount—Very Rich and Very Great at m ’omb”
Cheating a Tailor, and Stealing the Love or a Widow.
—A great deal of excitement has been felt in the puritani
cal city of Boston, recently, owing to the trapping of a
foreign swe.l of the Lord Dundreary stripe—a tall fellow,
with a Jong coat, plenty of jewelry about him, a lisp, im
mense cheek, and as immense whiskers. This worthy,
who has already “worked the oracle” in this city, left;
here a short time since for Canada, whence he proceeded
to the “Hub.” The dasJi of his .appearance and tha plaus
ibility of his manners, gave him a favorable introduction
to several notabilities of the Eastern city. A tew lynx
eyed Individuals, however, who had known him in this
city, spread a little ot his “tame” around—the natural re
sult of which was. the circulation of a rumor injurious to
the stranger. With an impudence as large as the igno
rance with which it was combined, this adventurer visit
ed the Chief of Police at his office, making a complaint of
what had been said against him, threatening an action at
law*, and laying his damages at so many thousands of dol
lars. The chief, seeing a “case” in the prospective, in
vited the swell to • call again at four o’clock in the after*
noon ; punctual to which time, Lord Dundreary the Sec"
ond, put in an appearance. 1 To his vexation, however,
there were certain parties there to confront him—a tailor,
who had been induced to send him on a suit of clothes tn
this city on the recommendation of particular acquaint
ances ; another, of the like persuasion, at wuose es
tablishment a second was in process ot manufacture;
and an agent from the Revere House, where this Mun
key had incurred a debt of thirty dollars for board.
The upshot of this interview, so unexpected and annoy
ing, was that the dandy sharper had to pay one tailor’s
Dill, and promise to leave Boston by the evening train,
his Revere debt being forgiven him. A few particulars in
relation to this brazen faced sharper will not be out of
place here. An Englishman by birth and a Jew by reli
gious persuasion, he arrived in New York a few months
since in the service of an English gentleman. The latter
being taxen ill, this Jeremy Diddler, his flunkey, was put
to his own shifts. A member of the very extensive fam
ily of the “Yellow plushis,”.our adventurer had con
trived to pick up a few peculiarities of the uiondc.
With the assistance of these he managed to got into decent
society, lounged about the St Nicholas, talked about his
rich relations in England and the daily expectation he
entertained ot receiving £5.b00 in gold. He gained ready
listeners, and some available friends. Since then toe has
dabbled in substitute-brokerage, beside getting himself do
mesticated in the household of a highly respectable family
near the Museum of Anatomy, on Broadway. The main
object of this fellow seems to be the gain of a wire with
money. In Boston, whither lie came straight from Can
ada, he is said to have picked up the acquaintance of a
wealthy widow, good looking and moderately young,
who stood his friend in paying the tailor’s bill; but
whether she will suffer herself to be further victimized,
by the swindler remains to be seen. He is “Brumma
gem” all over, and with all his cleverness cannot dieguisa
the ring of the bogus coin. He talks, when not confronted,
by people who know him, very largely about his wealth
at“’ome.” Widows with money and good looks are es
pecially cautioned against him.
More Base Misconduct in the Eng
iish Railways.—William.Bangor Balster, resident at
Mornington-villas, Wanstead. Essex, England, was
charged with the following misconduct in a railway car
riage. Mrs. Charlotte Pullet said: I was traveling from
Fenchurch street station tow ard Loughton on the even
ing of Wednesday, the 28th ult., when this occurred. I
was In a third class carriage. Defendant sat opposite to
me near the door. There was not any lamp. On reach
ing Stepney station he asked me if it was Stratford. I
answered “ No.” He then asked if I lived at Stratford, or
was going to get out there. Between these two stations,
and after so questioning me he put his hand on my
bosom, and then immediately on my knees. I pushed it
away, and told him that I was a respectable married wo.
man. a little further on the journsy he again placed one
hand on my knee and with the other pulled up my
clothes.* I thrust him away, and told him that at toe first
station we reached I would give him in charge. He re
plied, “ If you do so, I will give you three months* im
prisonment,” adding that, although he was riding ba a
third class carriage, he had a first class ticket, and should,
get out at Stratford. Stopping at that station, I complain
ed to one of the porters of tha gross conduct cf the de
fendant The man mentioned it to the station-master
and on my repeating it, defendant’s name and address
were taken down. He was then allewed to leave. Ho
denied the accusation. Cross-examined: There were six
persons in the same compartment of the carriage. Those
next to myself and dclendant might see the misconduct.
The rest could not, as there was no lamp in the carriage.
Clara Brazin: I was riding in the sama carriage, next
to the complainant I saw the acts now complained of
by her. For the defence, three gentlemen were called to
character, their names were Samuel Bate, Edward WaU
bank and Henry Fletcher, occupation and address not
given, but who spoke in the highest terms of defendant
and his moral character. Mr. Bennett said his client, a
tradesman in Leadenhall street, with a young wife and
child, indignantly denied that there existed the slightest
pretext for this charge. Mr. Bennett remarked upon tha
capaciousness of ladies’ dresses and the probability tberei
existed of the most innocent acts being misconstrued and
the manilest Inconvenience occasioned by their abun -
dance. It was almost impossible to travel in any vehicle
in which was a lady without incurring the fearful risk of
a charge such as the present. Mr. Ellison: 1 believe this
to be a peculiar case of the class, and think that the de
fendant ought to have the benefit of a hearing before a
jury. If I am called upon to decide, of course I am
ready bo ao bo. If the evidence against the defendant is
truthful, there is more than misconduct in the ease—
there is an assault, and one of a most indecent character.
Mr. Ashley: After this suggestion, sir, I will ask that the
case stand over for a few days, that I may have the
opinion of the directors of the railway company upon
it Mr. Ellison: Very good ; let it be so. Remanded ac
cordingly.
Serious Charge Against an Artist.
HOW HB WENT TO “ TAKE A VIEW” AND TOOK IT.—At the
magistrates' meeting, at Guildlord, England, Alexander
Burr, an artist in the Royal Academy, was charged with
committing a criminal assault on Sarih Hammond, aged
13, at Compton. The girl gave evidence to the effect that
on the afternoon of the 30th ult., while her mother waa
at work in the fields, the prisoner came into the house,
and said that he wanted to draw a ’plan of it After sit
ting down for a short time, he got up, looked at the wash
house and pantry, aud then asked where the stairs were.
Complainant told him, and he opened the stairs’ door and
went up. She followed him, thinking that he might Uk©
something away. He went into her mothers’s room
which he remarked was very old-fashioned, and then’
proceeded to the complainant’s room. He looked out of
the window, aud shut it Complainant reopened the win
dow, and the prisoner again shut it. He then committed
the offence with which he was charged. Complainant
cried, and requested him to desist. The prisoner put a
half-crown upon a chest, and told the girl to take it and
not say anything. He then left the house, and made off
The witness ran to a next door neighbor, and recited the
outrage, there not being anyone else at home. Mr. La
Fargue, a surgeon, who had examined the girl, said he
did not think a rape had been committed, but simply that
she had been subject to violence. Police constable Col
lins stated that the prisoner, on being apprehended, de
nied the charge, but subsequently said, “If you let me go
I will give you £SO. ” He afterward increased the offer to
£IOO. Witness told him that if he let him go he should
himself be punished ; upon which tlie prisoner said,
** Well, policeman, I had a little fun with the girl, but a
medical man can tell what I have done.’’ He appeared
very much confused, and gave the name of David Smith,
London. Witness found Us. and a sketch-book in his pos
session. Mr. Lilley, for the prisoner, contended that th©
evidence was not sufficient to criminate, but the magis
trates said they should commit the prisoner for trial at
the ensuing quarter sessions. The Rev. F. Perry, incum
bent of St Saviour’s, Fitzroy square, was examined, and
gave the prisoner an excellent character for morality.
The bench accepted two sureties of £SO each, and th©
prisoner in the sum of £IOO.
The Extraordinary Charge or Con
cfai.ment of Birth at Acton.—At the Hammersmith
Police Court, London, Mrs. Margaret Campbell and Mrs.
Sarah Harris were again brought up, the former charged
with concealing the births of two children, and the latter
with being accessory thereto. The following additional
evidence was taken: Emma Rachel Clare said she had
lived as servant to Mrs. Campbell, and at the end of last
November the prisoners were quarreling, and Mrs. Camp
bell said that her sister should leave the house at the end of
another week, to which Miss Fogarty replied, “No, Indeed,
Mrs. Campbell will keep me to smother another child.”
Miss Fogarty further said the screams of the children
weie ringing in her ears and driving her mad. Miss Fo
garty called witness up stairs, with the intention of show
ing her something which she said would prove her sister’s
guilt. There was another sister present, named Anne Fo
garty, who, with Mrs. Campbell, prevented witness going
up. Witness lived there four months. She had heard
Miss Fogarty say to her sister she had evidence enough to
hang her. Dr. Lingham said he had made a post-mortem
examination, but could not testify that the children had
been born alive; aud Dr. Day, of Hertford street. May
fair, stated that while practising at Acton two years ago
he attended the two ladies, but never had any reason to
suppose that either were pregnant Inspector Searle
said he had not been able to obtain any more evidence.
Mr. Dayman said it was a very extraordinary case, and
he almost felt he should be justified in calling for sureties
for their further appearance. The police, however,
would not lose sight of the matter, and the women could
at any time be again taken into custody if any additional
< vidence was forthcoming. The prisoners were then dis
charged. ,
Suicide for Love’s Sake.—The Sad
Termination of a Long Courtship.—Lately, Ellen
O'Shee Coyne died in the .Middlesex Hospital, London,
under the following circumstances ; It appears that th©
deceased was to have been ma-rled to a man with whom
she had kept company for about 1G years; but her Intended
husband having postponed the wedding on the ground
that he was unable to keep a wife, it preyed upon d
ceascd’s mind, and the morning on which she was to
have been made a w?e, she went to a chemist’s and pur
chased some aquatortis. which she swallowed on reaching
her home. Some time after was found Ln a state of
great suffering, and was taken to the hospital, where Bb9
expired soon after in excruciating agony.
Attempt at Rape.—T.jomas Duboia, a
colored barber, well known at North San Juan, CaL, was
arrested at that place recently, charged with an attemp
to commit a rape upon the person ot a Mexican woman ef
easy virtue, known as “Juniata.” The prisoner
to cut off his irons and escape during the night, tart WM
re-arrested at Lake city, and after a hearing, was eomwM
t3d to the county jail to await the action of IM »ext
Grand Jury.
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