OCR Interpretation


New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, December 04, 1864, Image 7

Image and text provided by Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85026214/1864-12-04/ed-1/seq-7/

What is OCR?


Thumbnail for 7

Sunday Edition. Hee. 4»
lor tbo Sew Vorx BBaatca.)
THE PURE AND THE LOVELY.
’Ey William J. McClure.
Cb, grant me the pure ani the lovely,
Angelical Ono;
Oh. grant me the pure and the lovely,
'Jhat my heart, sorrow rilled.
May be joyously lifted
To the smile of the Savbur Boh
That beauty, iu robes of tno Holy,
May beam o’er mv spirit i all lowly.
Till its moment* ot earth are done.
Ch, grant me the pu:e and the lovely,
Angelical < ne;
Ob, grant me the pure and the lovely,
When the rays of Aurora
■Cheer the children of Flora,
And shadows the hilltops shust—
’When the fiery orb at even
■Retires adown the western heaven
Beneath clouds celestially spun.
Oh, grant me the pure and ths lovely.
Angelical One;
•Oh. grant me the pure and the lovely,
For the blooms of the Highland e
And the maid of the island
I’d claim, as the day the sun!
Oh, grant to my heart living gladnea-j.
Till outcast and fugitive sadness
Shall shrink like a spectre undone I
TniWlffiESS;
on mis
GIPSY’S SECRET.
BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN,
4.VTHOE OF “ QUADROONA," "BLYTHE
HALL,” Ao., Ao.
/ CHAPTER LXXXV.
THE MASKED BAM.
When Glidden heard, through public rumor,
Of the murder at Portsmouth, he as one
demented, and all his habitual caution and re
serve appeared to abandon him. Hence the
incohereucies of his speech to Walton Mow
bray ; incoherencies, however, which, though
little explicable, were productive of one good
—to inspire hope in the bosom of the young
man.
He was thus able to take patience, and abide
the issue of events, when otherwise he could
not have done so.
Under any circumstances but those in which
he was placed with regard to the Earl of Fell
water, our young hero would have refused to
attend a masked ball; but the nobleman
showed such gentle solicitude for him, dis
played so much earnest affection, that he could
not refuse.
It was the crowning fete of the season ; all
the more that it was given by one who had so
long lived in utter retirement as to be in him
self a wonder.
People who have no real business are easily
amused, because to them enm/i is moral death.
Every member of the fashionable world was
asked, and but few there were who did not
avail themselves of the opportunity.
■The earl had put himself in the hands of a
man of taste and fancy, who had taken advan
tnfro of tJ»A fCrml-m-jr. fro nhoW JilS abilities.
The rroms were, in some instances, darkened
with painted glass, of a deep aid rich color, lit
copiously from without; others were a blaze of
light everywhere, while in every quarter flow
ers, cool fountains, and silken hangings had
been mingled in fragrant and beaming profu
sion. Soft music, felt but unseen, welcomed
the first guests who arrived, and the silver
sound seldom ceased during the evening.
Domestics in superb liveries, all wore for the
first time, received and waited on the guests,
while 'everything that art and luxury could
devise to tickle the eye and palate, and to ad
minister to the gratification of the senses, was
to be seen. Money was not thought of iu the
matter.
Hope had taken possession of the earl’s heart,
and its magic power had made everything coul
eurderese. The gipsy’s prophecies, in the ex
pansiveness of his heart, had scarcely been kept
from the earl by Walton.
But not all the propechies or hints of the
gipsy came near a faint, indistinct awakening
of the soul, which urged the nobleman onward
at the will of .destiny.
The guests, eager for the sight about which
everybody had been talking, came early, and
soon the rooms were doubly adorned by the
presence of a galaxy of rank and fashion.
Among the early arrivals were Viola and
Emily, who were superbly diaped as Grecian
beauties ; their figures revealed somewhat free
ly, but not beyond what the usages of society
allowed.
It was a masked ball for those who liked,
but few used the privilege of the mask.
The. earl had kept Walton by his side, so
that he did not arrive at all, being there at the
commencement. He was dressed in simple
evening dress, looking better however than
most of those in showy costumes. His in
tense pallor was much to the taste of certain
foolish young ladies, who believed health sy
nonymous with vulgarity.
“Who is he?” was continually asked ; but,
eicept that the earl seemed to treat him with
affection, nobody could say anything about
him than what Viscount Carewdon volun
teered.
“ A sucking barrister, brought up by a prig
Of a parson,” was that agreeable young noble
man’s remark.
And the assertion spreading, considerably
diminished the interest felt in Walton Mow
bray, so much Is youth and beauty affected by
rank and money.
The earl, in the early part of the evening,
received his guests personally in this way,
bowing very graciously to Viola and Emily,
though he affected some stateliness. He knew
they were not kind to Rosalie, but the extent
of their connection with her sufferings he was
not aware of.
Viola was radiant.
The affianced of her hand, if not of her
heart, was the heir to all this pomp. If the
earl could thus receive his company, what
would not be done when the title and fortune
fell into the hands of herself and Charles, in
the merry, giddy days of youth ?
What matter if she lost all Tolleshunt, if
this were to be her reward ? The viscount
was an only son, and nothing short of death
could ravish this rich and fair inheritance from
him. Viola began to believe in the real affec
tion of Charles, for with his standing could he
not chocse where he listed.
The sole heir to rich title and estates has sel
dom to sigh long at the feet of beauty.
For several days the thought of an elope
ment had been somewhat distasteful to her
mind, because of the great preparations which
were making for her sister’s marriage in Han
over Square.
Contrary to what might have been expected,
no news had reached town to cause any delay.
’The murder at Portsmouth appeared wholly
unconnected with them. In the vague and
trivial reports of those days, very often no
names were mentioned.
Besides, murder and hanging made but slight
impression when of daily occurrence.
The viscount and Leslie Raymond, having
found them scats whence they could command
a good view of the scene, left them for a brief
space, the viscount, at his father’s wish, hav
ing to attend to some guests of consequence,
who otherwise would have appeared neglected.
Viola and Emily remained alone.
“Splendid, is it not?” said the latter, gaily.
“ But I wonder if Raymond will ever be able
to do anything like this.”
“ Except that he is heir to a baronetcy in
stead of an earldom, and has only the prospect
of twelve thousand a-year, while (Jharles will
have ever twenty, I see no reason why he
should not.”
“ Don’t be too sure of your taking the pas
of me,” said Emily, angry at her sneering
tone. “ I shall be married in a week.”
“Hem!” replied Viola, in a peculiar tone.
“ I might be married before.”
“ There’s many a slip twi.d the cup and the lip,"
whispered a strangely hollow voice.
Now, to look sharp round, and interrogate
atrangery by the eye, was by no means eti
quette even at a masked ball, but as the girls
had been careful to assure themselves that no
body was near, before they entered upon so
delicate a subject, they gradually contrived to
scan their neighbors.
. They were chiefly stout ladies, by no means
given to any joviality of speech, and none were
masked. _ All, too, were engaged in conversa
tion relative to the splendor of the festival, ex
cept those who were running down and ridicul
ing the elegant and graceful creatures who
passed by in ail the pride of their youth and
loveline.-s.
It is a trial to lose our youth," but envy and
uncharitableness do more to take it from us
Mian even years. Did we but cling to him
■cheerfully, he would not be in such haste to
run away.
At this moment, a lane being formed for the
purpose of allowing some of the more striking
ly-d'essed visitors to pass, Viola and Emily,
who feared to speak aloud again, saw coming
toward them a group, consisting of a tall man
In a rich Albanian costume, a lady of erect
mien iu a. nmilar garb, a dwarf ludicrously be
decked, and, lastly, one who appeared as Roxa-
Jiina.
Freni a wide trewser of richly-ornamented
and embroidered blue satin, peeped a slender
fc ot and ankle, w hile from her head fell to her
feet a long vtil of silvery gauze, which. “ like
a feathery and light mist on a beautiful land
scape,” hightened the Ixauty it but seemed to
cetera!. The rest of her dress was composed
of several short vests of embroidered satin of
different colors, open in front, so as to show
part of the threat and neck, which was ob
scured by an inner covering of the finest luce.
A magnificent turban, with a mask that fit
ted to the countenance, concealed the fea
tures.
Two eyes, however, piercing and keen, sur
veyed the whole scene, finally resting on Viola
and Emily, with such an earnest glauce as to
make those two ladies very uncomfortable. .
Then, with a sweep and wave of her plumed
head, she passed on, leaving them bewildered.
“ Impossible ! and yet——-” gasped Viola.
“What?” whispered Emily, casting an
anxious eye around, and speaking in a tone
which intimated apprehension of being over
heard.
“The bight, the attitude, the glance of
Rosalie,” she replied.
“ But in Heaven’s name who could have
brought her here?” continued Emily, iu a
tremulous tene.
“ Something tells me it is her—and yet ”
"A gtiil/y conscience is its own accuser," said
the same hollow and mysterious voice.
With a stait, Viola stood erect, and dragged
Emily away with as little display of emotion
as possible, until they were mixed in the
crowd.
“ Come cut into the garden,” whispered
Viola, who shivered with apprehension.
One feature of the masked ball was this very
garden, which only those who remember Vaux
hall in its prime will appreciate, when we say
that it was fitted up in imitation of that cele
brated establishment. There were alcove re
freshment seats, waiter's, myriad lights, and a
dark alley.
To the dark alley Viola drew Emily, herself
terrified, but by no means so much alarmed as
Viola.
“ Sister,” said Miss Molyneux, in an earnest,
almost humble tone, “ who, say you, ’ tis that
spoke ?’ ’
“ I have not the remotest conception.”
“Stem, terrible, and threatening as it was,
it has about it still a melody which seems to
hover over my head, as of a voice familiar aud
dear.”
“ But why, then, annoy us so ?’’
“If ’tis the voice of the one I dream of,
there is reason for its menace,” continued
Viola. •
“Do explain yourself. I hate mystery—l
can’t bear to be tantalized."
“ It seems to me as if ’twere the voice of our
father,” hissed Viola, in her ear.
“Heavens!” began Emily, clasping her
hands; “and yet, what hare I fear ? You,
perhaps- ”
“ Silence, girl! if it be the squire, think not
I will fall alone. Together we plotted her de
struction, and together we must receive the
punishment—if punishment there be.”
“ But,” said Emily, who feared to enter into
a conflict of words, “if Rosalie be here it is
with him, and with what object?”
Viola tottered back, and leaned against a
tree for an instant, speechless.
“ True, true ! and if he to-night lets it be
known that he has a pet heiress, what is to be
come of us ? The exposure of our conduct to
her would be equal to sending us to a convent.
None would dare marry us.”
“ Whose fault is it? I wanted to acknow
ledge her.”
“Recrimination is folly,” coldly observed
Viola; “all we have to do is to hope for the
best, and act as circumstance may allow us.”
"See! see!” whispered Emily, pointing to
one of the brightest; of the avenues.
Viola looked, and saw coining along, in ear
nest and evidently most friendly conversation,
Walton Mowbray and Roxalana.
She leaned upon his arm with an air of tri
umphant pniderie, as one who knew she had a
right to do so, while he listened with a grave
smile, that seemed as if it could scarcely be re
strained from laughter.
“ ’Tis she,” said Viola, in a low tone ; “ de
pend upon it they are looking for us. Let us
remain concealed.”
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
IXTBIGL’B.
The sisters of Tolleshunt were mistaken
when they thought that Walton Mowbray was
inclined in any way to laughter.
With the thought of Rosalie, and all the
mysteries and miseries connected with her
weighing on his mind, it was impossible for
any such feeling to be uppermost. But there
were other sentiments influencing him, which
may find a development as we proceed.
When the number of guests increased rapid
ly, and the crowd became dense, our hero per
force had to move about, speaking to such per
sons as he knew, and making himself dreamily
agreeable when he felt bound to do so.
He even exchanged a word or two with the
viscount, though there was a natural repulsion
on both sides, which, though they vainly
strove to hide it, pierced through this veil of
mutual politeness and precision
There was on the side of Walton Mowbray
simply a feeling that the other was undeserv
ing ; on the part of Lord Charles there was
hatred, fear and jealousy.
‘ ‘ For young friends you part coldly enough, ’ ’
said a soft and very pleasant voice, close to
Walton Mowbray’s elbow.
The young man turned as he felt a gentle
hand laid upon his arm, and smiled sadly when
he saw that the other was closely masked.
“ None but those who wear it know where
the shoe pinches,” he said, quietly; “ you
will find me a dull companion, lady. There
must be dozens who would take your notice of
them as an honor.”
“Not one,” she replied, in accents which
were much disguised, though familiar, “for
not one soul in this place knows me save your
self.”
Walton’s heart bounded within him. Could
it be Rosalie? Had not the gipsy warned him
to be surprised at nothing ? She was about
the bight and figure, while the gorgeous ori
ental dress would make up for any differ
ence.
"Nay, look not so grave. You will, I
promise you, not fathom my secret at present;
if you were to discover me I should have to
leave at once. Perhaps in the course of the
evening I may reveal myself—when I do so,
we must part.”
“Why?”
“ So it is ordered. ’ ’
“Command me,” said Walton, his whole
blood flowing profusely to his heart. “ I am
at your service.”
“ Miss Viola and Miss Emily have gone into
the garden—take me there.”
This settled Walton, who courteously led the
way, talking pleasantly and politely, but tar
too full of doubt and fear to be, as the Misses
Molyneux supposed, in a merry humor : even
if it were possible that by some strange turn in
the wheel of fortune, by some extraordinary
freak, Rosalie, whom he had last seen borne
from a raging fire to a carriage, were now hang
ing on his arm, her voice disguised by her
mask and the letup of lace that fell below her
chin, yet what better was his position.
As he walked away with Roxalana, a fairy
like figure, also masked, in a fancy Swiss dress
of the richest materials, came from behind
some hangings, and looked keenly after him.
There was a pearl-like glitter in those eves
which spoke of tears, but if so, they were
quickly dissipated as a tall Albanian came up,
and, discreetly bowing, offered his arm to the
Swiss girl.
“ Shall I attend you ?” he said, blandly.
“Yes, to the garden,” she replied, in a low
tone, and they also went forth where the fes
tival was gayest, the dwarf figure already al
luded to going iu their train.
Viola and Emily were now promenading
with their respective cavaliers after a dance,
the inspiriting music of which seemed yet to
linger in the air.
Behind all these came one in the dress of an
inquisitor, whose eyes followed keenly the
movements of all those in whom we are per
sonally interested. For others he had not even
a glance.
He was not masked, but a huge beard con
cealed almost every feature of his face, except
that he was gaunt, and thin, and cadaverous.
A hood served to hide his head, while a
mask, carried lightly in his hand, was ready at
any moment to be assumed.
He-was examining keenly both Viola and
the viscount for the nonce, and muttering to
himself.
“ It would be rare sport,” he muttered, “ to
mate that pair. They seem suited. She a
vain, proud, hear tless girl, with no thought in
her head but the idle pursuit of pleasure, valu
ing riches only fot its glitter, and men by the
rank they can bestow—he, tlie sou of one in
whorr the voice of fratricidal blood should
have long deadened sleep>—crying as it ought
from the bouse-tops, murder most foul and im
ratural.”
He stepped back as they advanced.
“But no—blood of race is thicker than wat
er, and it shall not be. “Ha! is the tiger
here ?”
As he said this his eves glistened, his hand
shook, his face gleamed, and his whole frame
was convulsed.
Why?
A well dressed, rather foppish personage,
with a gold eye-glass to his eye, and an opera
bat under his arm, was befog introduced to
Miss Viola Molyneux, who, despite her good
breeding and consummate power of dissimula
tion, returned his salute with an air of the
meet profound astonishment.
“Allow me, my dear Miss Molyneux, to
present to you Mr. Laurence Mouldy, my pri
vate agent, and,” he added, in a whisper,
“ until I am of age, my banker.”
Viola smiled, though Laurence Mouldy
caught upon her face the faintest intimation of
a sneer.
“I am liappy, Viscount, to know any of
your friends,” she said, tumingaway, and add
ing, as they left the ‘ agent’s’sight, “ but I
hope they will, as Earl of Fellwater, be more
select.”
‘‘ Why, do you know anything against him ?”
asked the viscount, proving himself as hypo
critical as herself.
“No; but I don’t like his look. Some very
low person, I should fancy, suddenly, by good
fortune, elevated to a position for which he
never was intended. He is quite out of place
in yenr father’s house.”
The viscount bowed to hide his confusion.
The cool decision and courage of his future
wife almost alarmed him.
“Curse her,” muttered Laurence Mouldy,
in a low tone ; “ but I’ll bring her pride dowu
yet, if she does not mind. Her time may come
yet.”
“ And so may other people’s,” said a fearful
voice near him, with an awful laugh, low but
distinct.
With his knees knpckiug together, the scriv
ener turned round, but though he thought he
saw a shadow flit from behind a tree into a
dark alley, he could make nothing out more
tangible.
“ What want you?” he gasped, as at the
same moment his arms were pinioned from be
hind.
“ Duly the money,” said the laughing voice
of Viscount Carewdon, who released him as he
spoke;
“I don’t think I shall give it,” muttered
the man, whose nerves were quite unstrung.
“ Why not—what is the meaning of this
vacillation?” asked the viscount, in some
alarm.
* ‘ Why does the future my lady treat me with
su<h insolent disdain?” he growled.
“ Well, you know,” said the viscount, fairly
puzzled—“you know you are a leetle out of
place, and then you know she wished to blind
me as to having employed you.”
‘‘ I suppose that is it; but if I help you both
to rank and fortune, I shall expect to be treat
ed with something more of kindness and cour
tesy,” he continued, drily.
“As you will But wait until lam mar
ried ; my lady will probably learn a thing or
two by that time."
And the two sauntered away in search of
some refreshment, "followed by the haggard
eyes of the inquisitor, who stood in the deep
shadow of a tree.
“ Those two men together! Can such things
be? Glidden!—far-sighted Glidden, suspects
not even what has come over me as the fitful
shadow of a summer’s cloud! If it be so then
shall I really go mad to know the weak, poor
fool I have been, and still am. But on ! on !
the end is near, and yet were I to do my duty,
now is the moment. Why should Ibe the
Nemesis, that to carry out purposes of my own
should run such fearful risks ? I have begun—
I will go through.”
And lie sauntered unheeded through the
ciowd, keeping his eye warily fixed on every
comer, as dreading that some might recognize
him. How could they when he was not known
to a man, woman or child in that vast assem
bly, save only one ?
Meanwhile Walton, answering the almost
childish questions of his companion, who, at
times, could not conceal her delight at the
splendor of the scene, advanced round the
magnificent garden—at moments thoughtful,
silent, and sad: the next light-hearted and
talkative.
“That was Viscount Carewdon "who just left
Viola Molyneux," she said, suddenly, in a
hushed voice.
“ It was.”
“ Present me to her as Roxalana, and leave
us together a moment, "she continued, eagerly.
Viola saw them coming, but blanched not.
All the evening she had been walking and
dancing on a volcano, and she knew it. Her
belief was that this night was to make or
inar her fortune. Courage was her character
istic
“•Miss Molyneux,” said Walton, gravely,
“ at this young lady’s request, and because I
believe she has imperative motives, I presume
upon our slight acquaintance to introduce her
as Roxalana.”
. “Introductions are usually not made in
masks,” replied Viola, quite sternly.
“ We all wear them more or Jess,” said Rox
alana, mournfully; “but I will satisfy Viola
Molyneux as to my right to be introduced if
you will leave us together.”
Walton Mowbray bowed and went away, to
stroll once round the garden.
“I suppose,” began Viola, laughingly,
“ that this is but the privilege of the masque
rade, and that you are some friend.”
“ No, lady, I am not your friend, and yet
not your enemy. I come in all sincerity to
warn you. Know you the man you are about
to many,” she replied, quite sadly.
“ I recognize no right on the part of any to
ask me such questions,” exclaimed Viola,
haughtily.
“ Do not raise your voice’ do not spurn me,”
said the other, in a low, hushed tone, “ or
there will be a scandal to-night— will prevent
your marriage most certainly.”
11 What am I to think ?” said Viola, who
seemed to feel some unseen danger, and who
could not but fear she might either be in the
hands of Rosalie or a friend.
“ The man you are about to marry is a bad,
false ingrate, ’’ began the other; “there is,
moreover, about him a mystery. I halt sus
pect he is connected with evil associates, and
while professing to be stinted by his father is
in possession of unlimited money.’’
“Well,” said Viola, coldly.
“As for love—he has none to give. He has
expended it long ago on others.”
“Ah!”
“ Another holds a promise of marriage from
him.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Viola, this time
heartily, lively, and without any lingering
dread of the speaker ; “ a disappointed rival;
but here comes the viscount. Pray let us ba
formally introduced. This is better than a
play "
And A 7 io!a advanced to meet Viscount Ca
rewdon, while, with a low, smothered cry the
mask disappered.
“ Why so animated ?” said the young man,
gaily; he had the wished-for money in his
pocket, and came to fix the hour of the elope
ment.
“ A lady has just asserted to me, under cover
of a mask, that she had a written promise
of marriage from you,” replied Viola, very
gravely.
“Impossible, I never gave any lady any
such promise in my life,” exclaimed the vis
count, laughing ; “ somebody has been trying
to annoy you. But I really cannot have pa
tience with such folly—so forgive me, if I
speak of other things.”
CHAPTER LX XX VII.
MOKE SURPRISES.
Meanwhile, the music played, the gay and
merry throng danced, laughed, strolled about,
aud flirtations went on ; lew, if any, suspect
ing the tragic nature of the drama which was
being played around them.
Crowds passe l and repaesed, dazzled by the
bright and refulgent illumination, and bright
eyes were brighter for the sparkling draughts
of champagne, moselle, and hock that cooled
the frame, heated by the warm and vuluptu
ous atmosphere.
’Tis wonderful the effect of these crushes.
Many and many a love affair long lingering,
many and many, a more flirtation were brought
to the terminating point, aud many were the
cinq Rs bound to one another for happiness,
unhappiness or sin, by the mesmeric influence
of one prolonged night of pleasure.
Daughters were not so closely chaperoned
by their mammas, nor even wives by their
husbands, as upon ordinary occasions, so that
the gallant Lothario, whose utter want of
principle gives employment to the Divorce
Court, had full swing.
• Vows were interchanged, hands pressed, ten-
NEW TOEK DISPATCH.
dezvous given, so that many a bosom, inuc
cei:t and otherwise, beat high with the expec
tation of future bliss.
One walked alone, at all events, ami 1 the
btity throng, and that was Walton Mowbray,
who, for a moment inspired by hope during
Ids interview with the masked stranger, be
gan, when alone, and no longer under the
magic tutelage of her voice, to reason with
himself, aud come to the formal conclusion
that it was not, could not be, Rosalie.
Who, then, was it ?
During his constant attendance on the Earl
of Fellwater, he had been compelled to pay
some attention to very many of the moths
that flutter round the light of fashionable
life, while, was it at all unlikely that in that
vast assemblage there might be more than one
rival to the affections of Viscount Carewdon,
who might thus have used him to make mis
chief between the lovers ?
“ Poor girl I” he said ; “ if so, I pity her.
A weman like Viola Molyneux may master
him. but heaven have mercy on the poor sou
he should master.”
At this moment Walton, strolling on,reached
the lost of the lighted boxes, which abutted on
a small shrubbery, that served to hide the wall
beyond.
He was about to turn, when he heard voices
—voices that amazed him.
“Maiden, why so lonely, and why so sad ?”
said one, in a hollow, almost harsh tone—
strangely familiar, however, so thought Wal
ton.
“ Because, in all this assembly, I am alone.
Pray leave, me, sir. I have solemnly promis
ed to hold communion with none—on which
condition I alone was allowed to come here."
“Allowed to come here!” exclaimed
the other. “Are you not Rosalie Moly
neux ?”
“ I am.”
“Let me look in your face, child,” said the
other mournfully; “I have this day seen
y our sisters. Be not fearful, I will not betray
y bu—that I will lie sworn. Of one thing be
sure, your father has no better friend than my
self.”
And as he spoke he muffled his head in his
hoed and half concealed his face with his
mask.
Rcsalie lifted her loup, and as she did so her
eyes fell upon the face of Walton Mowbray,
who stood silent, still, reproachful in the door
way, his eyes alternately seeking now one,
then the other.
Rosalie lowered her veil which supported
the mask, and would have fled.
“RosameT Rosalie ! Rosalie !”
She clasped her hands, and, but that he
stood in her way, would have fled.
“ Your promise, young man,” said the in
quisitor, sternly, and, waving his hand, he
signed to Rosalie to flee, which she did.
“ Sir,” began Walton, angrily, as the other
grasped him firmly, “ what means ibis out
rage on the part of a stranger ?"
‘ ‘ A stranger who can give you a name and
a parent,” said the stranger.”
Walton sank on a seat.
"'lllis is no idle chimera,” said Walton,
“ no trickery of a masked ball ?”
‘ ‘ What want such as I in a masked ball ?’ ’
said the speaker, casting bank his hood, and
revealing the marked, strange features of the
mad doctor; “ except that, in the exercise of
my profession as curer of souls, I have pa
tients here ; in other words, clients, whom
here I make a study of. It is not my inten
tion to explain to-night, but as, for reasons
which I know to have been just, I deprived
you, years ago, of name and station, so shall I
openly before the world, reinstate you, if my
scruples are satisfied. ”
“ You knew my fkther?” cried Walton.
A strange, bitter, almost terrible smile
passed over the countenance of the recluse, aud
he answered:
“I did.”
“In the name of all that is merciful and
holy, it is not Squire Molyneux ?”
“It is not; though you may live to wish it
were a name half so respectable,” said the doc
tor,” with a ghastly smile. “But I will not
be forced into explanations. ’Tis a mad world
—a very mad world—and as yet I have not
seen a sane person in it.”
“One question more. Why does Rosalie
shun me to-hight ? Why does she prefer soli
tude to my society ?’’
‘ ‘ Because of the gulf between you—-because
there has for years flowed between you a rivu
let of gore,” hisSed the other. “Nay, be not
alaimed. ’Tis so surmised, and hence is she
forbidden to speak to you.”
And rising abruptly, a strange light in his
eye, the stem inquisitor passed away in the di
rection of the mansion, leaving the young man
amazed, bewildered, almost crushed with sor
row.
His spirit naturally revolted at so much mys
tery. The youthful and ingenuous mind
naturally regards enforced secresy as a sign of
ciime, and though he clearly recognized the
mad doctor as one seared by years of misfor
tune—one whose mind had been warped by
continual dwelling on one thought, he could
scarcely think him guilty of wilfully torturing
him.
If, however, there were any meaning in the
words uttered, they hinted at crime on the
part of his own father —that Glidden repudi
ated—or on the part of Squire Molyneux.
. An awful glimmer of light, a suspicion,
glanced across his soul, accusing the squire of
the terrible murder in years back ; but then in
what way would that connect him with any
thing likely to part himself and Rosalie.
It was all confusion worse' confounded, the
more he endeavored to think.
To divert reflection, and in the faint hope of
again seeing Rosalie, he hurried also to the
house, as the viscount aud Laurence Mouldy
strolled up toward the shrubbery. Now this
thicket was a hundred feet across, by ten deep,
and under its shadow people could walk with
out being noticed.
“ Allis ready,” said the viscount.
“Everything—postchaises, horses, postil
ions f If you will bring up the bride, I will
wait here. Give me the key.”
'llie viscount did so
“ I won’t keep you waiting,” said the bride
groom, hurrying away in search of Viola.
The gate against which 1 aiurenca Mouldy
now leaned was under a yew-tree, behind the
box previously alluded to. There was no one
close at hand. A grand quadrille was being
danced, and those who were not dancing,
flirted, eat ices, played cards, or otherwise
amused themselves, utterly indifferent to any
thing but their own immediate enjoyment.
Laurence Mouldy, with his hands in his
pockets, began to count up his gains—gains
which, however, he knew must be speedily
realized and transferred to America, if he
would enioy them in peace. In peace! Can
the wicked ever do so ? Experience, alas!
teaches that they can.
A little hand was suddenly placed upon his
arm.
“ Well, my dear,” said Laurence Mouldy,
Esq., quite delighted at the idea of being no
ticed by a fashionable beauty, “ what can I do
for you ?”
“ Give me back my stolen pocket-book, Mr.
Knify Jinks,” replied a soft but terrible voice.
The man tottered, his eyes closed, and he
felt about like one walking in the dark. Next
instant he was erect, and though pale, col
lected.
“ Really, young lady, your wit outruns your
discretion,” he said ; “ I do not understand.”
“ I know your voice, thief, kidnapper and
would-be murderer, 1 know that Laurence
Mouldy and Knify Jinks are one. Stand still
while I summons such assistance as may secure
the restoration ef my papers. I ask no more.”
“ But I have no papers about me,” he said ;
“ this is very distressing.”
“Let me call Walton Mowbray, the earl,
anybody ; or do you prefer my sounding your
name aloud ?”
“Neither,” whispered the ruffian, who,
while speaking, had taken a large handkerchief
from his pocket. ,
With one dash of his left hand he caught
herby the throat, and her face being covered
by veil and mask, with ease prevented her
from shrieking. Next instant she sank insen
sible in his arms.
In an instant the gate was opened. It lei
into a narrow, dark mews, at the end of which
was a low public house, and at that corner
awaited a post-chaise. A solitary hackney
coach stood unguarded. Knify Jinks put Ro
salie inside, after gagging her carefully, and
tying her feet, after which, closing the door,
he sought for the jarvey.
Meanwhile the viscount had found Viola,
who tripped on ahead, he keeping guard in the
rear.
“The door is opened,” she whispered.
“Go forward; I will fasten the gate.
Quick,” he added, as some one darted from
the bushes right iu his path.
Viola, trembling, agitated and bewildered,
despite her usual nerve, hurried on, while the
viscount bailed to parley with the intruder.
“ One word, my lord, said the Roxalana of
our narrative, in an impatient and fierce voice;
“ we do not part thus.’’.
“ Madam, I am engaged to see a lady to a
carriage. If you will wait my return ’’
“Ladies do not seek their carriages hy back
entrances,” continued the speaker.
“ Who are you, and what is it you want ?’’
exclaimed the viscount, more pointedly than
politely.
“ I wish to prevent your cimmittiagacrime
—that of eloping with one, when you a;e bound
by every tie of honor to another."
“Tie of honor—who the ”
She unmasked.
“Joe! here!”
“ Where your written promise gives me a
right to be,” she said. “ Call the lady back,
and there need be no disturbance.’’
The dance was nearly over ; in another in
stant the garden would be flooded with dancers.
The viscount seemed to hesitate, and then—
we cannot writee ither his words, or record his
action—but Mademoiselle Josephine lay bleed
ing and insensible in the shadow of the dark
shrubbery trees.
“ Not a moment to be lost,” said the titled
ruffian, glancing at his victim with scorn and
hatred ; “whip and spur is all the game now.
Ere an hour we shall be pursued.”
’ CHAPTER LXXXVIII.
A CATASTIIOPHS.
And still the music played, and still the
magnificent rooms were tilled to overflowing,
and still the scene became more and more redo
lent of love and volupty, while all seemed en
veloped in an atmosphere of almost oriental
magnificence. The earl was surrounded with
congratulatory friends, for despite his long ab
sence from public life, in his position he had
no dearth of sympathising companions, some
from genuine appreciation of his family, others
simply because he was rich.
“ You are too kind,” he said to a group of
distinguished men who stood around him. “ I
am only sorry that my wretched health, and
too great yielding to sorrows, which were not
to be healed by time, has deprived mo hitherto
of your companionship. I accept this day as
an omen, and hope it may be the commence
ment of a new era to both my son and myself.
As we shall deserve of our fiiends so shall we
bo rewarded.”
“ Amen,” eaid a deep sepulchral voice from
amid the maskers, and amid a general laugh
at the apropos of some wag, the noble group
of guests dispersed.
‘ ‘ Heard you that 2* ’ gasped the earl, as he
clutched Walton by the arm, the young man
having come up in the mean time. “ Heard
you that fearful voice? Whence came it?”
“You are agitated, my lord ; I heard but
some one say ‘Amen,’ but so much has hap
pened that is strange here to night, I am sur
prised at nothing. ’ ’ ,
“Strange, here !” said the earl, drawing the
young man into a small side study, “why what
can liuyo laoppcxictl!”
“ My lord, every allowance is to be made for
a masked ball; but people have said and done
strange things to me. not at all reconcilable
with mere fun and jocularity.”
‘ ‘ Speak ! explain yourself! ’'
“ Rosalie is here, and refuses to speak to me.
She looks net angry, but as if tied by some
vow not to communicate. Her glance is sor
rowful and wan, and when I would have in
sisted on a word, she fled, protected by a total
stranger, who pretends to know, yet will not
reveal my parentage.”
“ Ah, what is he like ?” asked the earl, now
once more haggard, and wan, as in the days of
old, with the same anxious, terrified look.
Walton described him fully.
‘ ‘ But that I know him erect and manly,
and not as one bowed down by grief, nor in
any way afflicted with insanity, I should say it
was the squire ; but if so, why' does he concea
himself? Surely,” said the gentleman, lift
ing his eyes to heaven, “ surely he does no
suspect me all these years of having been real
ly guilty, and has come to ferret out evidence
against me ?”
“His conversation affected you not,” replied
Walton, prevailing on the earl to seat himself
near the door of the study,, separated from the
public rooms by heavy curtains.
As he did so, the haggard, wild and singular
face of the mad doctor was protruded into the
apartment. His lips were bitterly set, a look
of mingled cunning and hatred spreading over
his features as he listened.
“ He spoke of my being separated from Ro
salie by crime, which might or might not be
explained.”
“ But, my dear boy, you have no connection
with this sad affair, neither you nor yours.”
The mad doctor made hideous grimaces.
“ I but repeat his words.”
“The squire was wrong ! No motive on
earth should have induced him to alienate him
self from me. Hence all the grief. Never
since that fatal day has he been the same. He
must have—despite his better nature, his own
sense, and the dictates of old affection—be
lieved me guilty, and yet how innocent I was.
I went, boy, to that meeting unarmed, to bow
to my elder born, to beg his pardon, to offer
him a year of my life, during which to win
Laura if he could, and saw him perish before
my eyes, the victim of an accident, as I
thought, but as I found two years after, of a
crime, which base opinion cowering in the
dark dared overshadow the remainder of my
life with.”
“ My.lord, this grief is unavailing. You un
man yourself, and allow fancies to overcome
your better reason. The past is irrevocable.
Behold me blighted at the threshold of life—
nameless, my great hope playing at will-o’-
the-wisp with me.”
“ Nameless!” said the earl, rising, with a
smile. “ I misjudge your guardians much, or
ere long, you will take a name which will as
tonish yourself as much as others. I hope,
when you do, you will not look down upon
j our poor relations.'
Walton Mowbray made no reply. Was the
strong brain of the earl giving way, that he
talked such fantastic riddles —riddles, however,
which beset him on every side. The gipsy, the
stranger, the earl, all besieged him with the
same insinuations and hints. What could it
all mean ?
Without the clue, instead of consolation,
these words were only cruel lures held out to
his imagination.
• This was the idea struck himself, as leaning
on the earl’s arm he left the library.
“ Yonder is my mysterious informant,” he
whispered, pointing surreptitiously toward the
inquisitor, who was making off slowly.
The earl made no reply, but despite his agi
tation, glided as quickly as good breeding, and
a desire to evade the excitement of curiosity,
would allow, in the direction indicated.
A dance was going on, and the rooms were
still crowded, so that progress was not easy.
The inquisitor, moreover, was making for the
card-room, which had only one other small
outlet, used by domestics.
Walton, very pale and anxious, followed.
The card-room was soon reached, and there,
sure enough, was the tall inquisitor, standing
erect, with folded arms, near a marble mantel
piece, watching the players from beneath his
cowl.
Not a trace of his face was visible.
Without the slightest affectation of haste,
the .earl glanced between the players, ex
changed a nod here and a word there, until he
was close to the mysterious stranger, who
neither moved his head to the right or the
left. ,
The three were alone, for the gamblers
were too busy to take notice of so slight an
event.
“Pardon me,” said the earl, in a voice
which, though tremulous, was studiously po
lite, “ but it has been hinted to me that per
sons have joined these festivities uninvited. I
hope and trust that you excuse the master of
the house if he seeks to assure himself of the
truth or falsehood of this assertion.”
The stranger put his hand to his cowl.
‘‘ A word will be enongh ’ ’
“If, Lord James Carewdon, I have come an
uninvited guest, it is because great and fearful
duties compel me. Would they did not, for
the burden is almost more than I cun bear.”
“ Glidden !’’ cried Walton.
“The gipsy !” said the earl.
“Who then did you expect?” said the
other, sadly.
“I know not. Do not unmask. It was
not you I sought. You are welcome no w and
ever. But why give me that name ?’’
This was said quickly.
“ Habit,” said the gipsy. “ I came here by
command, lest my sen-ices might, be required.
They are not—l will retire —”
“They are!” exclaimed Walton; “but
come to the gardens. I pray, my lord, attend
us.”
With an affectionate bow the earl obeyed,
and not a word was spoken until they were out
of hearing of the company.
“ Glidden, you mean well. I believe you
are obeying, blindly and in the dark, the will
of another—who may or may not act wisely ;
but lam going mad I Rosalie was here to-night,
alone and unattended, save for a few minutes
by one who wore a similar dress to your own,
but who was surely mad, or dreaming, or
speko wildly of things he knew not of.”
Glidden remained motionless.
“ Rosalie not only refused to speak to mu,
but fled, not anger, not in as if vexed with me,
but in terror. It may be right or wise, and
conduce to some great end. for these mum
meries to go on, but they will leave me insane.
Why must she not speak tome!”
“Ye stars in Heaven, that not their feeble
lights can put out, look down and hear him.
He calls them mummeries, and blames me, his
best friend, because I will not betray a solemn
oath ”
“ But’ Glidden!”
“ A wilful man will have his way. Read !’'
And Glidden thrust a note into his hand.
“ Rosalia Molyneux is safe with Mr. and Mrs.
Vaughan—but sue may hold no communication
with any—least of all with W. M., until her
father’s will be known. As he is hourly expect
ed, patience must be preached to all—be mind
ful of this, good Glidden. Rosalie.
“And whose handwriting is this?” cried
the young man, in a paroxysm of despair.
“ Hera!”
“ A forgery, my good Glidden, a wretched,
transparent forgery. Some trick of that devil
duke.u
‘ ‘ Heaven!—have I ,can I have been fooled ?’ ’
said the gipsy, in agonised tones.
“You have—but she is here. If so-, he is
here—what can it mean ?”
A terrible, though low moan, was now
heard, falling on their ears like a wail from
another world. It was from the extreme end
of the garden.
With a bound Walton was close to where
the sound came from, and ere his companions
were aware of his design, had raised the half
insensible Roxalana in his arms.
“Who, and what is this?” asked the earl,
quite bewildered by the multiplicity of events.
“My lord,” said Walton, sadly, “this is
very terrible. How thus young person came
here, I know not. But sire had no business
here —no right to be here.”
“Who is she—who has struck her 1” asked
the earl.
“ Your eon !” said Mademoiselle Joe, forc
ing herself erect by a terrible effort; “your
faithless, wicked son, who, bound by written
promise to me ”
“ Hush ! hush !” began Walton, soothingly,
“ let me take you away.”
“I will hear her, Walton,” said the earl,
gently; “nothing surprises me now that I
hear of him-’ ’
“ Jky lord,” cried the wretched girl, “lam
the daughter of a Trench nobleman, and until
I knew your son was innocent and happy. Un
der promise of marriage, he ruined me. I
have his solemn written promise. I heard he
was to be married. He had many invitations
to this ball—l found one, and came to see my
rival. I saw her—l heard them speak—l be
came aware cf their plots—and when he found
this, and I would have stayed him from a
crime, lie struck me—called rue evil liam.oß,
the false, wicked man.”
“But where is he?” cried the gipsy, stop
ping her with a wild gesture.
“He has eloped with Miss Viola Moly
neux !” she groaned in reply.
“ May the lightning curse of Heaven rain
on him, for lam worse than a dead man. My
lord, if you would not rue the day, while
Death shall leave you on this earth, away—
hang him, shoot him, slay him, but do not let
him marry her.”
“ Sir !” exclaimed the earl.
“Forgiveme. But in sober sadness, if you
would not cower in packcloth and ashes at the
foot of the master, stop this most unnatural
union. Fly!”
“I will!” cried the earl. “Come, Wal
ton.”
“Go alone, my lord. Rosalie needs our
help. One word in your ear. If you cannot
stay her otherwise —tell her he is not the heir
of Fell water.”
The earl bowed his head, and walked to
ward the house.
[To be continued J
Some one from a distance, with an apprecia
tion of things ludicrous, sends us this week a lit
tle story of
LOVE IN A PIUNTING-OFFICK.
I once heard an old Jour, remark that a print
ing-office was no place for love-making, and I
have since experienced the truth of the expres
sion ; being now perfectly convinced that the
flower of love can never bloom in the midst of
type, cases and printing-ink. It was my fortune
once to sojourn for a few days in the village of
Directly opposite the office was a pretty
white cottage, with a rose-bush clambering
around the casement, and I was not long in mak
ing the discovery that the aforesaid cottage with
the rose-shaded window contained a fair inmate
—a flower whose beauty outshone the roses that
clustered around the window. She was the bells
of the village. Her name was Mary—l have a
passion for tha name of Mary. It was a beauti
ful Summer morning, and I had raised the win
dow to admit the breeze from the flower-decked
fields, and it was not long before I perceived the
cottage-window also hoisted, and the sweet little
Mary was sitting busily engaged with her nee
dle. I worked but a little that morning. My
eyes constantly wandered toward tho cottage
where sat Mary, and all sorts of fantastic notions
whirled through my brain, and I began to think
I felt the fight touch of what the poets call love,
lying in one corner of my heart. A few days
passed away, and chance made me acquainted
with Mary. Oh 1 she was a sweet creature; she
had a form that would shame the famous de Me
dici—a cheek that outfinshed the richest peach,
and a lip that would have tempted a bee from
his hive on a frosty morning. I thought, as I
gazed on her in mute admiration, that I had
never looked on one so exquisitely beautiful. She
seemed the embodiment of everything lovely
and bewitching. Well, time passed on, and
Mary expressed a desire to visit the printing
office. “Good,” thought I, “what a chance!
I’ll have a kiss there—yes, there in the very
midst of the implements of mine art—why
shouldn’t I ? I.ove in a printing-office ! Oh !
there was something original in that, and I re
solved to try it at all hazards.” Well, Mary came
to the office, and I explained to her the use of
various implements of the black art —the press,
the roller, the ink, and the stands, and the boxes
of the A, B, C’s. 1 took the opportunity to
snatch her pretty little white hand; she drew it
back and knocked a stickful of matter into “pie.”
“ I must have a kiss for that, my pretty
one,” said I, and at it I went. I managed to
get my arm round her waist, and in struggling
to free herself, she upset a galley of edi
torial, a long article on the Oregon Question.
Nothing daunted, I made at her again. This
time I was more successful, fori obtained “ kiss,
by Saint Paul! it was a sweet one, and that little
witch bore it like a martyr; she never screamed
once. But as I raised my lips from her, she
lifted her delicate little hand and gave me a box
on the ear that made me see more stars than
were ever viewed by Herschel though his big tel
escope. Somewhat nettled, and my cheek smart
ing with pain, I again seized her waist, and
said : “ Well, if you don’t like it, just take back
the kies.” She made a desperate struggle, and
as she jerked herself from my arms, her foot
struck the lye-pot, and over it went. Another
galley of editorial sprinkled over the floor, and
in her efforts to reach the door, her foot slipped,
and she fell, and in endeavoring to sustain her
self, her hand—her lily-white hand—the same
little hand that came in contact with my ear—
oh! horrible! was stuck up to the elbow in ink I
Shades of Franklin! She slowly drew it from the
keg dripping with ink, and asked what use I
made of that tar. I began to be seriously
alarmed, and apologized in the best manner I
could, and to my surprise she seemed move
pleased than angry; but there was a larking
devil in her eye that told me there was mischief
afloat- As 1 stood there surveying the black
covering of her hand, scarcely able to suppress
a smile at the strange metamorphosis, she
quickly raised it on high, and brought it down
kersiahupon my cheek. Before I could recover
tiom my surprise, the same little hand had again
descended, and left its inky imprint upon my
other cheek. “ Why, Mary," I exclaimed, “ what
are you about?” “I think you told me you
rolled ink on the face of the form,” she replied
with a loud laugh, and again her hand lit upon
mo taking me abroadelap in the middle of my
conntenacce, meat wonderfully bedaubing my
eyes. With a light step and a merry peal of
laughter, she skipped through the door. She
turned back when beyond my reach, and her
roguish face peering though the doorway,
shouted : “I say, Charley, what kind of a roller
does my hand make?” “Oh,” said I. “you take
too muchink.” ‘' Ha Iha 1” she laughed, “ well,
good-bye, Charley, that’s my impression,” I
went io the glass and surveyed myself for a mo
ment, and I verily believe that I could have
passed for a Guinea nigger, without the slight
est difficulty, “ And so,” said I to myself, “ this
is love in a printing office ? The devil fly away
with such love.” The next morning, wnen the
editor came to the office, I rather calculate he
found things a little topsy turvy. Ho vever, that
made no difference to me, for I had mizzled be
fore daylight. I bore the marks of that scene
many a day, and now, whenever I see a lady en
tering a printing-office, I think of little Mary,
and keep my eye on the ink-keg.
After love comes marriage, and then—babies.
A friend of ours, named Blifkins, became a
father, for the first time, about six months ago,
and we suppose for the benefit of his bachelor
friends, writes out the annoyance to which he
has been subjected. We suppose it is a little
exaggerated picture of almost every married
man’s experience with
SHE FIB6T BABX,
“Mr. Blii kins," says my wife, “bring tits light
do ; ths baby locks strangely; Tin afraul
i. f _. '-Ave a fit.” Of course the liwi was
H “bl dof course the baby lay suckling liia
I, Te white bear as he was. ‘Mr.
fist fke’ ’ wife, thiak 1 feel a
Blit kins ” savam ’’ S at °P ank 806 if tha ,ria '
; wish ym/wmxv
dow is not <U a little, '
sick.” Nothing was the m*
as I knew very wrih “Blifkr. - bX g
as I was going to sleep again, ‘V JkjOt
have placed it, shines directly in the •
strange that you have no more const.
I arranged the light and went to ben 1 »
“Mr. Blrfkins," sa d my wife, “did you thix.
buy that aroma for the dear baby “My Asa*,
said I, “will you do me the injustice to believen
that I could overlock a matter so essential to th®
comfort of that inestimable child ?” She apd»-
gized very handsomely, making her anxiety tha
scape-goat. I forgave her, and without saying a
word mere to her, I addressed myself to sleep.
“Mr. Blif kins,” said my wife, shaking, ma. “ye®
must not snore eo—you will wake the baby.”
“Just so- just eo,” said I. half asleep, thinking
I was Solon Shingle. “Mr. Blif kins,” said my"
wife, “will you get up and hand me that warm
gruel from the nurse lamp, for baby?—tho dear
child! If it wasn't for its mother I don’t know
what it would do. How can you sleep so, Mr.
Bliikins?” “I suppose, my dear,” said I, “that
it’s becaueolam tired.” “0, it’s very wall for
ycu to talk cf being tired,” said my wife; “I
don’t know what you would say if you had to toil
and drudge like a poor woman with a baby." I
tried to soothe her by telling her that she had n»‘
patience at all, and got up for the posset. Har
ing aided in attending to the baby’s require
ments, I stepped into bed again with flia hope of
sleeping. “Mr. Blifkins,” said she, in'a loader
tone. I said nothing. “0, dear," said that esti
mable woman, in great apparent anguish, “hew
can a man who has .arrived at the honor of a lira
baby o? his own, sleep when he don’t know that
the poor creature will live till morning ?" I re
mained silent, and after a while, deeming that
Mrs. Blifkins had gone to sleep, I stretched my
limbs for repose. How long I slept I don't know,
but I was awakened by a furious jab in my fore
head from some sharp instrument. I started up.
and Mrs. Blifkins was sitting up in bod. adjust
ing seme portion of the baby’s drees.’ She had,
in a state of semi-somnolence, mistaken my head
for the pillow, which she used for a nocturnal
pincushion. This was one of the many nights
passed in this way.
That baby was what the first baby always is,
an absolute and unlimited autocrat. The IndisM
apolis Journal is responsible for the following
good story of a soil of an up-country
COON HUNT.
We witnessed an amusing incident on one of
our suburban sheets recently. A fashionable
young lady, got up in the highest style of tha
milliner’s art, and arrayed in all the glory of a
five-dollars-a-yard silk, a twenty dollar bonnet,
and a three hundred dollar shawl, was majestic
ally sweeping along in the direction of the Fair
Ground, while just behind a little boy was lead
ing a pet coon. A countryman, in a brown
slouched and » linaey wooleoy “ Wirtaiu,"
came along, followed by a “ yallah” dog, whsss
nose was scarred diagonally, transversely and
laterally, with the scars of many a fiercely-con
tested battle with members of the raccoon fam
ily. “ Tige” no sooner saw the ring-tailed repre
sentative of his ancient enemy, than he made a
frantic dive for him, accompanied by a furious
bark. Cooney apprehended the situation at a.
glance, bolted incontinently, and sought aanc
tuarv beneath the ample circumference of the
lady’s crinoline. The young lady screamed,
while the dog made rapid circles, snuffing th®
air, and evidently bewildered to know what had
become cf the coon, The situation of tho young
lady was critical and embarrassing. She was
afraid to move, for fear the coon would bite, and
the coon declined to leave his retreat until tha
dog had retired. Finally the dog was stoned off,
the boy dragged the coon from his hiding-place,
and the young lady went on her way, with a
lively consciousness of having experienced a
new sensation. As for the coon, he was in
stantly killed. He had seen too much to live.
“Enough said. William A. Huntley, whom W«
are happy to number among our contributors,
gives ns a poetical relation of
THK OWL3’ CONCKCT.
A choir of owfe, in a hemlock wool,
A concert held by mgbt.
Row alter row on many a limb,
They ranged them by moonlight*
They ranged them by moonlight.
The chorister owl now leads the baud,
And chaiiLi, “tfiwhit, tuwhoo I'*
While multitudes to him respond.
And echo back, “ whwo, whool”
And echo back, “ whoo, whoo r*
A rustic youth in the dusty grove.
They frighten out of his wits;
While pealing from the boughs above.
Their many cuwhoo, tuwhits,”
Their many “ tuwhoo, tuwflits.’*
His hair on end, with might and main.
He through the forest iliis.
While on his ear ring dolefully.
Their “.woo, tuwhoo tuwhu,”
’ Their “whoo, tuwhoo, tuwhite.”
The pioneer s cot at length ho gains,
And rushes through the door,
A> d trembling witn artright he sinks
Exhausted ou tne cattage Hour,
Exhausted cn the cottage floor.
•' What is the matter with roy son.
What can the matter be?"
“ Oh, lather! what a horrid din
Kung out from every tree i
Rung out irom every tree I”
“Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o,’’ they cried,
All babel had broken loose,
“ It were but owls that scared my boy.
You are a little goose,
You are a little goose.” t
—1 resident Felton, in his “Familiar
Letters from Europe,” recently published by-
Messrs. Tieknor A Fields, relates the following
incident that occurred on board the good ship
Daniel Webster, in which he was a passenger ix
1838: “Last night I read eothe passages from
the Midsummer Night’s Dream to the Captain.
When I came to the descripcion of the mermaid
riding upon the dolphin’s back he pronounced it
a humbug. The dolphin’s back is as sharp as a
razor, and no mermaid could possibly ride that
beast unless she has first saddled him.”
Our Brother Joshua Swallow, a
veteran minister, was the other day at Qi®
preaching against the “ spiritual call” to tha
ministry, and related an anecdote of Caleb
Jones, who gave his experience in this wise: “ I
was ploughing one day, and was called to preach
by a voice saying ‘ Caleb ! Caleb I’ Who could
have called me thus ?” A boy in the back part
of the congregation, says Mr. Swallow, ex
claimed, “ Maybe it war a bullfrog, Mr. Jones I”
“I say, Samba, can you answer dig
conunderivm '? Suppose I gib you a bottle of
whisky coiked—shutwid a cork_how would you
get de whisky out without pullin’ de cork or
breaking de bottle—“l gib dat up.”—Why, push
de cork in—yah! yah!”
Judge Rooke, in. going the west
ern circuit, had a great stone thrown at his
head; but from the circumstance of his stoop
ing very much, it passed over him. “You see,”
said he, “ bad I been an upright judge, I might
have been killed.”
—An exceedingly modest young
lady desiring a leg of chicken at the table, said :
“ I’ll take the part that ought to be dressed in
drawers.” A nice young gentleman who sat op
posite, immediately said : “ I’ll take the part
which ought to wear the bustle!”
“ Row can you pay us ? y What
can you offer in the pound?” demanded the im
portunate creditors of a bankrupt farmer.
“Alasl gentlemen,” replied the ruined mas,
“ all I really have is a donkey in the pound.”
Jones complained of a bad smell
about the post-office, and asked Brown what it
could be. Brown didn’t know, but suggested that
it might be caused by “ the dead letters'”
“ Why do you keep yourself se dis
tant?” faid a fair one to her bashful lover.
“Becarse,” said he, “distance lends enchant
ment to the view,”
Luv iz like the meazles, we kant
alwns tell when we ketched it, and aint ap tew
have it severe but oust, and then it aint kounted.
much culess it strikes inly.
Why should more marriages take
place in Winter than in Summer l_Because in
Winter the gentleman require comforters, ani
the ladies muff's,
A cotemporury discovers that
some of our military officers have four aids—
promenade, serenade, lemonade and gasconade*.
Breath : Air received into the
lungs by many young men, for the important
purpose of smoking a cigar and whistling.
What was Eve made for ? Ad
am’s Express Company.; —Old Colony iCemorial.
That’s why she got on a/as? train so soon.
Pursuit of pleasure under difTt
culties: Attempting to heat soft mush and milk
out of a jug with a knitting needle.
Satan is said to delight in roasts
and fries, but once he tried bolls, and didn’t
make much out of the Job.
An old toper says, the two most
precious things now included in hoops are girls
and kegs of whisky.
Men who invest in petticoot stock
generally prefer the five-twenties to the seveu
thiities.
An arch girl should always be
an archer, for she can bend her bow as sha
pleases.
The first apple was eatea by tha
first pair.
7

xml | txt