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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, January 08, 1865, Image 7

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Sunday Jan. S
[Written for the Nei? York Dispatch. 1
r LET ME DIE WITH MY FACE TO THE
L FOE !”*
I»y Clarence Frederick Buhler.
'•Let me die vr Ithface to the foe,” he entreated,
For the trumpet sang never s braver to rest.
And the arira King of Terrors he fearlessly greeted,
With his dying head pillowed on Victory’s breast.
Be ts dead—but he died not the death of the craven,]
Who clings to a life that none value but he :
Like the prophet, in flames he ascended to Heaven,
Through the crimson gap hewn in the van of the free.
Such graves are the footprints of Liberty, showing
Iler grandest advance to the music ot war,
Such names are fixed stars in Time’s firmament glowing,
Presaging her advent to nations afar.
None who sleep their last sleep in the scarred arms of
Have breathed in her ear what so proudly she’ll show,
’Mid the epitaphs carved on the tablets of story,
Aa this, “ Let me die with my face to the foe.”
Yet a bitter account will be kept with the Southron,
And written with swords on the breasts of our foes,
And every drop that is shed by the Northron,
Swells the tempest of blood which that record shall
close I t
♦ Last words of General James C. Rice, who fall In the
bloody march from the Rapidan to the James.
™WWREBB;
OR THE
GIPSY’S SECRET.
BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN,
ALTHOB OF “QUADROONA,” “BLYTHE
HALL,” Ac., &c.
CHAPTER CV.
ON THE TRACK.
Lonely and sad sat the gipsy in the student’s
room. He did not miss Walton Mowbray. He
was living on the memory of the past; sad
retrospect to a being whose existence is but one
great cry—one upheaving of the heart—one
long sigh given to the idea of what might have
Been. He had seen Cara after seventeen years,
and she was scarcely conscious that she had
known him in olden times. True, she had
never loved him. never professed to.
But he—the worship of the soul was yet
alive, when every tinge of hope that was con
nected with happiness had changed from rose
ate hue to dull gray.
For seventeen long years he had dwelt with
luxurious fondness on the recollections con
nected with their youth, when both were in
nocent, when he was happy, and she content
ed with her lot.
Why had this man, because he was richer,
higher in rank, more learned and pleasant of
speech, come, and, though twenty years
older than himself, won her heart without an
effort ?
Poor Glidden! love is of no age, and even
Beauty is not necessary. We all know the
story of the ugly but eloquent man, with
honeyed words and ready wit, who asked one
quarter of an hour in advance with a woman,
to curai”- h - with Handsomest Adorns who
ever lived.
The shadows deepened, the respectful ser
vant brought lights and coffee, of which Glid
den freely partook, with a pipe, and sank
deeper into his reverie.
The whole events of his youth passed before
his eyes ; the chain of hopes, broken link by
link ; the fearful heart struggles of that night,
during which he resolved to sacrifice the love
of his life on the altar of friendship and grati
tude.
And Glidden thought little of what he had
done.
Ordinary minds, vulgar reasoners—the
thoughtless, the careless —would have said to
him, there are millions of women as good.
But to the man who really loves, there is but
one woman on earth, who, from the minute
she wins his affections to the hour of his death,
remains his ideal, his idol, his one and only
affection.
Should he swerve from her iu the hour of
temptation, or shoul/l indifference from some
subtle cause touch him for a time, to her he
comes back at last, adoring and penitent.
Or if he does not, he has not loved.
Not all the wealth of earth cast into the sea,
not the crown of the richest emperor, laid
down by an ambitious king, could surpass the
sacrifice made by the poor gipsy.
He gave all he had, even as the prophet of
old—the darling that should have nestled in
his own bosom.
Suddenly a loud knocking came to the door,
followed by a sharp ring. Ere the gipsy was
on his feet, Walton Mowbray darted iu, fol
lowed by Dolly Mop, who waddled along with
an energy quite efortiiug.
For a moment the three stared about in si
lence.
“ Found her ?” cried the gipsy, passing his
hand over his damp and aching forehead.
“No, but something that will pave the
way. Knify Jinks and Laurence Mouldy,
Esquire, the rich money-lender, are one and
the same person,” replied Mowbray, wildly.
“ Art certain ?” cried Glidden, rising, and
striding backward and forward.
“You shall hear,” continued Walton Mow
bray. “ Sit down, girl, and tell your story.”
“I’m so hungry—tasted nothing all day,”
replied Dolly Mop, who was in reality quite
faint.
They gave her refreshment, and between the
mouthfuls she told all she knew about the
man who had kept her a prisoner from her
birth.
“ Well, my girl,” said the gipsy, now quite
elated, and forgetting all his dreams in the
bustle of action, “ you have given information
which is of immense value, and may be the
saving of Rosalie. How came you to know
her ?”
Dolly explained the whole story of the ab
duction, but described the second man who
came with Rosalie so vaguely that he escaped
their attention.
“ But 'why, to-night, did you ask him where
Miss Rosalie was?”
“ Because I seed him take her from the
masked ball.”
“ Gracious powers! were you there ?”
“ Yes.”
“Tell us all the particulars,” said Glidden,
•waving his hand to Walton Mowbray to be si
lent. “ You forget the duke said a young girl
■wits with her.”
Dolly Mop then explained that, becoming
trneasy at the long absence of Rosalie in the
garden, she followed, just iu time to see Lau
rence Mouldy dash down the mews as fast as
he could walk, she following in her own way.
Now knowing her road, she stumbled several
times, and only reached the corner house as a
hackney coach started at a rapid pace.
For some time she tried to follow it, until
she was utterly exhausted. Alarmed at the
effect her costume might produce at daylight,
she induced a woman in a kind of coffee-shop
.to let her rest and breakfast on leaving her
silk domino, and had ever since been wander
ing about the neighborhood of Golden square,
in hopes cf meeting her late master.
“We will find him, my girl,” said the gip
sy, sternly. “The wretch; his time has
come-. ’ ’
“ What’ll you do with him,” cried Dolly.
“ That remains to be seen,” observed Glid
den. “ Now, the first thing to be done is to
find the hackney coachman.”
“Now, I say, young men,” observed the
girl, doggedly, “ I ain’t going to be left out of
this job. If I can find her, I will. She’s the
first woman as ever I saw, and a jolly good one
at that.”
“ You shall do what you can.” •
“1 will find the cabman. ’ ’
“Hew will you do that?”
“ Hem ! that’s tellings," said the shrewd,
•cunning little elf, who seemed already as much
at heme in the streets of London as if she had
wandered about them all her life. “ Give
me seme money, and I’ll engage to ferret him
out.”
“ You shall have money,” replied Glidden,
ihroughtfully; “ but Jink knows you so well,
and may suspect.”
“ I’ll keep out of his way,” continued Dol
ly, with a grin ; “leave me alone for that.
He ain’t talked to me about London life for
nothing. I know a thing or two.”
They exchanged glances.
In the course of her conversation, in the
course of her narrative, she had mentioned
many things which now, as they thought over
them, appeared strange.
Who was this accomplice who had accompa
nied the poacher in his journey to the coun
try, ending in the capture of Rosalie’s per
son ?
He'was anobody in Dolly’s estimation, ex
cept that he was fond of smoking and playing
cards .
‘.When you find this cabman, you must
\ communicate with us at once. Where do you
mean to look for him?”
“At the house where I fust saw him, be
hind the big house where the ball was.”
“ Shrewd.” muttered Glidden, “when will
you begin?”
“To-night—get a bed there!”
“ I will take you there,” the gipsy added.
“Do you. Walton, write to Mrs. Molyneux
that we have a clue.”
“ I will,” sighed the young man ; “but do
not keep me in the dark one moment. Let
me enjoy the luxury of being of use t j her.”
shall becummoned at once.”
And shaking him earnestly by the hand, the
gipsy and his strange companion went forth,
the former roused somewhat from his lethar
gy by the prospect of action.
The greatest blow—though it was natural,
and right, and just, that it should be so—to
him, was the calm indifference with which she
met him. He that had sacrificed life and
love for her, every glimpse of human happi
ness.
But there was so much native generosity
and nobility of soul in the gipsy’s character,
that the mere fact of his being busy in the
cause of others was enough for him. It seemed
to brace up his nerves, and drown the more
bitter taste of sorrow. Those who brood over
evil days are the only truly miserable.
They walked slowly on, the .gipsy asking
questions now and then, as his. thoughts sug
gested them, but oftencr wrapt in deep reve
rie, until they reached the public house at the
end of the mews, whence Knify Jinks had
started with Rosalie.
It was a garish, flaunting place enough,
though its supporters were not people of for
tune —indeed, it chiefly was maintained by
ostlers, cab-drivers, coachmen, and such like—
it having a pleasant parlor and a comfortable
tap-room. The gipsy entered, and intimating
that the young person was looking for a place,
engaged a bed.
The landlady, after gazing with a grim
smile at the unfortunate looking being, conde
scended to allow her a bed.
There were several drivers in the bar, re
spectable looking men enough, but rough and
ready in their talk, as men who luxuriate on
gin and beer are apt to be.
The gipsy examined them all, one by one,
and then thought he might venture a ques
tion.
“ I wonder,” he said, addressing the land
lady, in a tone loud enough to be heard all
over the bar, “ whether anybody here noticed
the elopement of a lady and gentleman in a
carriage and four the other morning ?”
There was a momentary lull in the con
versation, but the woman of the house alone
speke.
“ I don’t know,” she said ; “ perhaps some
of my customers may be able to tell you.”
“ Well,” observed a short, stumpy, man,
with a merry twinkle in- his eye, “ perhaps
they might, and, perhaps, they mightn’t.
What’s the object?”
“Do you know anything ?’ ’ observed Glid
den, drily.
“If you’ll bring a pot into the side room,
I’ll talk to you,” was the reply.
And the man going down two steps, pushed
open a private door, and waited to neo if his
questioner followed. He did so, and with Dol
ly in his company.
The gipsy, however, introduced her as his
friend, and orders for drink having been given,
the three sat down.
“And now, friend,” said Glidden, “do you
remember this elopement?”
“Quite well,” replied the other, drily;
“ but ain’t it rather late iu the day to talk
about it now.”
“ Perhaps so,” continued Glidden, fixing his
dark eyes keenly upon him; “ but do you
happen to recollect anything else that night ?”
“ Barged if I didn’t expect it. Well, sup
pose my memory did serve me, what would be
the good on’t?”
“ A handsome reward!”
“ And no knocks ?”
“ Aid us in that which we seek, and yau
shall have immunity and money. We ask the
young lady to be restored to her friends—noth
ing more.”
“ I didn’t say there were a young lady in
the case,” replied the coachman, quietly.
“ But there was. If you drove a man with
a young person a prisoner to any part of Lon
don, take us there now. Your fare shall be
five guineas. When we recover her, fifty.”
“ On the word of a man ?’ ’
“ Of a man who never lied !”
“Then it’s a bargain—and we start at
once!”
Dolly Mop rose, and began to put on her
bonnet, which, during this brief conversation,
she had removed.
“Is this here young person going?” asked
the cabman, elevating his eyebrows.
“ Yes, young fellow,” replied Dolly ; “she’s
my missus, and nobody ain’t a going, if I’m
left beirnd.”
“Oh I’m agreeable,” laughed the man.
And <.. i into the cheerless night, rainy and
windy, with dull, stormy clotids, they went, as
readily as if a warm Summer sun had shone
overhead —for love knows no weather.
CHAPTER CVI.
VIOLA AT HOME.
Meanwhile, the cause of all this misery, she
whose seltbhness and lust of wealth had been
the primary instigation of ail the evils which
had fallen on the devoted head of her young
and lovely sister, sat alone in the midst of her
grandeur and pomp—for as heir to the house
of Fellwater, the viscount had easily found a
handsomely-furnished house in the best part of
May Fair—brooding over what she had done.
Did she repent already ? Yes.
They had been married a fortnight, and
even in that period she had discovered that the
statue cf gold and ivory she had worshiped
had feet and pedestal of clay, and that the
whole figure was gradually being transformed.
The young husband soon found out that his
lather had kept his word ; his establishment in
Park lane was not broken up, but placed in
the hands of a confidential man until it should
be required, while the earl had retired once
more to the shades of Carewdon, there to await
in patience and solitude the blow which he
hourly expected.
From his father not one penny was to be ob
tained. It has been said that there is a world
of mystery in the abrupt, electrical infections
of the popular mind with meaningless alarms,
but what is this to the freemasonry of money
lenders ?
If one member of the fraternity, Hebrew or
Christian, closes up his breeches-pocket, all
the rest look frigid and knowing, refer to the
tightness of the market, and adjourn replying
until they visit that mysterious friend in the
city, who is a kind of monetary Mrs. Harris.
The viscount found great difficulty in raising
money. A strange kind of infection affected
the whole body of discounters. This was the
more annoying that Laurence Mouldy, whose
tenor increased every day, urged an imme
diate settlement.
He began to fear that his bond with Viola
might fall through, as she was, as yet, neither
heiress of Tolleshunt nor Fell water.
Not that t.he unscrupulous, cold-blooded
knave gave up all hope. His quiver was still
full of the arrows of crime, and could he but
see his way clearly, could he count on immun
ity, no number of villanies that might ensure
success would terrify him.
There are two sorts of criminals—those who,
the evil deed once done, crouch with terror,
and, flying, seek only to hide themselves, their
souls gnawed by both remorse and fear : these
are the class tnat repent, and die acknowledg
ing their guilt and the j ustice of their sentence ;
but there are those who become hardened
after the first fright is over, and whose motto
is, that it is as well to be hanged for a sheep
as a lamb. Of such was the evil genius of this
narrative.
But he was hunted and tricked himself—
how could he hunt and track others.
It was the constant presence of Knify Jinks
in her house, his marked influence over her
husband, that first began to alarm Lady Ca
rewdon. She began to have a faint perception
that both had been made puppets of his cun
ning, and writhed under the suspicion.
What chiefly alarmed her, however, was
that still small voice speaking in the night,
and she was often alone already, that warned
her the earl spoke truth. How, and by what
conceivable means, her husband was to be de
prived of the heirdom of Fellwater, she could
not fancy. But he who had the most right to
speak was persuaded of it.
Then occurred the idea to her mind, that,
perhaps, one who had voluntarily secluded
himself from society for so many years, and
who, on appearing to the world, acted with
some eccentricity, was not, perhaps, in his
right senses.
A strange light shone in her eyes, and, going
to her desk, she unlocked a secret drawer and
totk forth a book, which she began to study
with deep and intense interest. There was
one part of it, a page or two, which she de
voured, leading it over and over again.
“I will not fall,” she muttered, as, after
concealing the book, she once more walked up
and down, • ‘ without dragging others with me.
I have faken the most decisive step in life
one which a woman can only do once. My
marriage must raise me to the pinnacle I covet,
oi But I will wait and see their plans
fust. I f they do not trust me—we shall see,
we shall see.”
And Viola, passing before a glass, examined
her pale but beautiful face, and magnificent
figure.
“I was not born for obscurity,” she said,
“nor will I remain in it. If Charles be weak,
let him, for to be weak is to be miserable. ’Tis
not for such as me to remain in a low position
—and yet, had we but waited, had we but have
played the affectionate to this little chit, all
would have been well. When will he come ?
why all this delay and misery ?—why does he
keep in the background, as if to allow all our
tchemes to approach maturity ? Will he crush
them?”
Again a thoughtful pause.
“.Why this dread of the earl to allow his
son’s marriage with me ?—from whence has it
arisen ? Can it be because of Rosalie. That
must be it.”
And she smiled scornfully.
A gentle knock came to tee door, and on
Viola shrilly bidding them enter, a servant
stood in the doorway.
“What is it?”
u A young person with a letter, which she
will neither give up, nor say a word about,
makes signs that she would speak with your
ladyship,” continued the domestic.
“ Let her eome in. lam dull and stupid—
any change may amuse,” she added, in a lower
toner
To her great astonishment, a young person,
with expressive but dark features, habited in a
semi-oriental garb, with a profusion ot l»ng
and silky hair in braids, that hung from be
neath a kind of head-dress like a turban, and
who, though bending her eyes on the ground
with a meek and humble gesture, revealed, as
she lowered them, much quickness, decision,
and fire, stood before her with a letter held
out.
“ Well, bring it nearer,” she said.
The other bent again as she approached
nearer.
“From my sister Emily,” cried Viola, as
the tore it open, and then, with a glance at the
bearer, she read:
“ Mt Deab Vi : You know our old habit of fin
ger talking. Well, if you like, you can put it in
practice to your heart’s content. I send you a
mute. Mrs. Eden says ehe is too showy for me ;
but you are your own mistrees. She is strongly
recommended. As soon as you have been mar
ried in church, I may visit you, Hope you like
the holy state of matrimony. ,
“Emily.”
“ Fool!” and then, raising her eyes to the
mute, her glance took in the exquisitely
formed limbs and beautiful features. “Humph !
were I like an ordinary woman, I might fear
such perfection might draw my lord and mas
ter from his allegiance. But what care I ? —in
my soul there is" one safeguard against insult,
and that is vengeance—vengeance, swift, im
placable, and sure.”
She used her fingers rapidly, and the other
replied in the same way. The accomplishment
was no uncommon one. Very few school-girls
are unacquainted with it, while many an amor
ous Pyramis and Thisbe thus converse, when
nearer communication is impossible. _ Let us
not ridicule or blame —youth is fleeting, and
its pleasures fade too rapidly. Enjoy yourself
then while you may.
Viola agreed to take her on trial, to confide
her wardrobe wholly to her, and part of her
toilet. The mute professed to be intimately
acquainted with the finest embroidery.. The
apartment occupied by Viola opened into a
kind of boudoir sacred to herself.
Here the mute retired, having, on the
strength of Emily’s recommendation, brought
her box with her.
Viola watched her as she began to work, and
was surprised at the nimbleness and activity of
her fingers.
“ She will be a treasure,” she muttered, as
the went out of the room, followed by a strange
smile on the part of the girl, who probably,
because of the imperfection of her other or
gans, was peculiarly alert and acute in that of
sight.
At this moment the viscount entered the
room petulantly, and, observing his wife with
her back to him, cast hat, gloves and stick on
the nearest couch.
“ A pretty cursed world this is,” he said, as
he sank into an arm-char.
“Charles, you forget yourself.”
“Oh, bother etiquette. I’m out of sorts.
Can’t get a penny of money,” he replied,
testily.
“ No money, sir—then how are we to live?”
asked Viola, crossing over, and seating herself
beside him.
“ That is exactly what I want to know. The
governor’s proceedings are so deucedly mys
terious nobody can make them out.”
1 1 They are mysterious. But what do you
mean to do ?” asked Viola.
“ Live by my wits, I suppose. In a few
weeks I shall be of age, and then, you know,
he can’t keep me without an allowance.”
‘ ‘ And my settlements ?’' continued the wife,
in a coaxing, tender way, “ you know that I
have trusted you, but Hope to be treated as
befits my rank and station.”
“Oh, yes, certainly. But I can do nothing
without my father’s consent, and if this insane
notion of his should prove to be true," faltered
Lord Charles.
Viola restrained herself by a violent effort
“It cannot, it must not be true. If it were,
you would be an impostor, and whs is to give
me back my girlhood ?”
“ At the worst we shall have Tolleshunt,”
said the viscount, in a musing tone.
“Do you wish to drive me mad ? Have you
had some inkling of this before ? Ah, you
blush! Am I then to believe myself out
raged, deceived, betrayed ? Who and what
are you, if not Viscount Carewdon, only son
of the Earl of Fellwater ?”
This was said with terrible emphasis ; her
eyes sparkled wildly, her lips white and quiv
ered, her form seemed to dilate and swell.
“ Now don’t excite yourself or put yourself
in a, passion ; I know nothing, and never did
know anything about the matter. But it’s
deuced hard to have all the cent.-per-cents in
the town looking glum at you, because your
father’s cranky and won’t stump up.”
- “Ah, that is it. I lielieve your father is
cranky, as you expressively call it. But are
you willing to prove him so to the world?”
asked Viola, in a low, husky tone.
“I should like to try every other means
first. If he has any evidence to throw me
over, he’ll bring it forward then. I must try
something else —something else,” and the
young man bit his nails to the quick, his eyes
rolling as one who is utterly irresolute.
Viola gave him a cold and contemptuous
glance.
“ What are you going to do ?” he suddenly
exclaimed. “I have a bachelor friend to din
ner.”
“ I can go to the opera, I suppose you will
fetch me?”
“ 1 don’t know. My friend may stay late,”
he replied, in a musing way
“ Never mind me, then. Some way of pass
ing the time will be found. Come,” she con
tinued, turning, and speaking with her
fingers.
The attendant glided from the other room,
her work in her hand, herself standing in an
attitude of Oriental meekness.
“Eh?—what’s that?” cried Lord Charles,
much struck.
“ A deaf and dumb girl, sent me by my sis
ter Emily,” replied Viola, fixing her cold,
glittering eye upon him.
“ And a deuced pretty present, too,” said
Lord Charles, open-mouthed with admiration.
“Sir,” said his wife, with a withering
glance, and sailed from the room, followed
by the girl, who, however, gave the husband a
most seductive smile, when, unperceived by
Lady Carewdon.
“ By Jove I” thought the volatile and fickle
young man, “ what a liitle darling ! Deaf and
dumb, too. Quite romantic ! But, bah ! this
is no time for trifling. I shall have plenty of
time for that.”
And this was three weeks after marriage.
CHAPTER CVII.
PUSHED TO A CORNER.
It was in no obscure pallor of a low, public
house, in no dark and gloomy den where the
sun never shone; the conversation did not
take place between men in velveteen coats,
drab shorts, and half-boots and stockings, but
in a well-appointed dining-room, with blazing
lights and cut-glass decanters, between men in
the garb of gentlemen.
Clime belongs to no station. Low and petty
crimes, as a rule, are the offspring of poverty
and ignorance ; but wealth and rank has its
fair share of guilt, though in another and more
demoralising form.
The thief who steals a purse gets several
years of slavery and the scorn of mankind.
What is the punishment of him who brings
desolation and woe into a family by the ruin of
seme pet member ? A trilling pecuniary dis
bursement, and yet, which is the greater
crime ?
“You know,” said Laurence Mouldy, filling
a bumper, after the servants had retired, and
he had himself bolted and locked the door,
“something must be done.”
“ So you have repeated twenty times, with
out explaining what that something is.”
“ The sword that is to smite is perpetually
hanging over our heads —it may strike at any
moment without warning. If what I suspect
be true, you will bo quite as much in queer
street as myself.” ■
“No; should another heir turnup, I am
(till heir to my father’s and mother’s separate
estates, as well as the sharer of Viola’s por
tion.”
“Humph,” said Laurence Mouldy, drily,
his snake-like glance fixed upon his bumper of
wine, “ all this is very problematical.”
‘ ‘ How so ?”
“ Squire Molyneux will settle every farthing
he may give your wife on her,” continued the
money scrivener.
“ Then why the duse did you urge me to
many her ?” asked the viscount, hotly.
“Because I hoped to put the only man who
can checkmate us all out of the way,” said
Mouldy.
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
“ And why didn’t you ?”
“ Can’t.”
“Do you mean ’’
“Now, don’t put yourself in a passion,”
added his worthy master. “I tell you I’ve
tried, and run a dozen risks of the Gid Bailey,
and sent a poor cove of a parson to heaven be
fore his time ”
“ Good heavens !” said the viscount, with
chattering teeth, and a fearful glance at the
door.
“Now, don’t be ridiculous. In the career
in life we have selected, such things are inevi
table. Only as this was quite a mistake, I’m
very sorry for it. Still it can’t be helped—and
it’s no use crying over spilt milk.”
“ Then you expect he will soon appear, and
upset all our plans?” asked the viscount, who
eyed him askance as he spoke.
“ There is away to check-mate Zu'm,” said
Laurence Mouldy, slowly.
“ Don’t look so much like a Methodist par
son ; if we row in the same boat, let us at least
be frank.”
“I am persuaded that Walton Mowbray
is really Earl of Fellwater —in fact, I’m cer
tain of it.”
The young man groaned, and something like
a sigh seemed to re eche his cry.
N either noticed it.
“You cannot be certain of it.”
“I am—quite certain ”
“What then?” continued the viscount —as
we shall peisist in calling him, until the
allegations of Knify Jinks are proved or dis
proved.
“ Well, we must either silence the man who
knows the truth ”
“My wife’s father!”
“ Or we must put your rival out of the way.”
The young mau groaned.
“ I abhor the thought of blood.”
“A third course is open to us,” continued
Laurence, coolly; “ perhaps the wisest.”
“ And that is ”
“ To get possession of the earl’s loose cash—
with gold and diamonds a vast sum—and fair
ly dividing it, seek refuge in a foreign land
against the injustice of our own country."
“ I tell you,” said the viscount, sharply and
angrily, “ that I will not think of this last ex
pedient, unless, indeed,” he added, in a lower
tone, “ everything else falls.”
“ You prefer murder, then, to robbery,” said
the philosophical Mouldy.
“ I do not call putting a hated rival out of
the way murder,” replied the young mau,
tartly; ‘ ‘ besides, I have heard of such things
as pressing into foreign service, of mines of
Peru —one or two suspicious disappearances
have taken place since I can remember.”
“ Hem ! troublesome and ineffective—apt to
return,” observed Mouldy.
“ Well, in the name of Satan, your progeni
tor,” cried the youth, hotly, “ why consult
me ? If I remain secure as heir of Fellwater,
and Viola as co-heiress of Tolleshunt. you can
get a pretty handsome living out of us.”
‘‘ I think not. There are a few personalities
in this country which I dread. My exit from
England must be mado rapidly and effectively,
as soon as your affairs are settled. No amount
of wealth will keep me here; but neither do I
intend leaving without that which is legiti
mately mine. Think, therefore, of some way
to raise money soon.”
“I can do nothing while that Rosalie stands
in the way with the Tolleshunt estates.”
“ And pray how does she stand in the way?”
“ She may turn up at any moment.”
“May she —there is your trifling mistake.
It’s my opinion that she won’t turn up at all.”
And the ex poacher leered most expressive.
“ Why, you old villain, you haven’t?” be
gan the young nobleman, pale with rage.
“Surely you dont’s want the two sisters,
sonny!” said Laurence Mouldy, with a grin—
an odious, impertinent grin. “ What would
Viola say ?”
“ I want none of your impertinence; when
you speak to one in my station be respectful.
At any rate I am the son and heir of Lord
James Carewdon, and a gentleman,” answered
the viscount.
“ Which polite speech means that I am not;
just as you please—if you wish to quarrel, we
can part,” and the money scrivener rose.
“Now, no nonsense; let us leave off quar
reling and talk of business. Everybody re
fuses me money.”
There was an old contraction of the corners
of the mouth about Mouldy’s face, which, had
the other seen, might have raised suspicion.
But he saw nothing, and went on with his
speech.
‘ ‘ Heady money must be had to carry on the
war. My wife has none, neither have I.
Horses, carriages, and all that sort of thing,
are indispensable ; there is our marriage in
Hanover Square must come off in a few days.
It’s quite sickening, you know, ’ ’ said the young
man, with quite an injured air.
He had squandered thousands in five weeks.
“ It is very hard to be without money,”
mused Laurence Mouldy, “very hard. I
should be in a pretty fix if I had not any. For
twenty years—ah, young man—before you
were born, I began to hoard, and now I am
rich, so to speak, and yet what is the avail ? I
have no wife, no son, no daughter, to leave it
to—once I might have claimed a little one to
inherit my wealth, but I spurned the chance.
The workhouse —the cold, starving workhouse
—became his home, and when I sought for him
he was gone, or dead, or something. But
never be without money, young man.”
“ It is all very well saying so,” exclaimed
the viscount, amazed at this strange outburst,
“ but where is it te come from ?”
“ You shall have all you need,” criedMouldy,
“if you will follow my advice in everything—
in everything. If I fail to win you rank, and
pewer, and wealth, it can only be that I fail,
and failure is death, then what will avail my
money.”
“ I always said you were a trump,” said the
viscount, stifling a yawn, “ suppose we go to
the Rag and Finish ?”
“ Yes—come,” replied the money scrivener,
upon whom the. wine had produced some effect,
“ I feel dull, heavy, stilled —I know not what.
Let us go.”
“I am ready.”
“ But your wife ?”
“Hang it, she’s asleep long ago. By the
way, got such a devilish pretty handmaid, deaf
and dumb —jolly sort of thing, ain’t it ?”
And, opening the door of the dining-room,
the worthy master and pupil went out in the
direction of one of the lower order of gambling
houses near St. James’s Palace, in which the
former had an interest.
But what ghostly shadow is this invades the
dining room. It comes no one can see how or
whence. It is all in white, superb white, the
white of an opera-dress—not a ruddy spot any
where, save a damask rose in the bosom.
But the face and lips.
All white, the color of chalk, a deathly mar
ble statue, that moves noiseless across the car
pet, and sinks into an arm-chair.
Still no sound ; but it stretches out its hand,
and, snatching a clean glass, fills up a glass of
wine, the gurgle of which down a human
throat is the first noise that disturbs the still
mss after the men have left.
“And this,” says a hollow tone that quite
alarmed the speaker, ‘ 1 this is the man I have
maiiied. Earl of Fellwater he never can be—
it is impossible ! Great Heaven ! is this the
first scorpion-whip that waits on crime— llosdlie
loved by the real Earl of Fdlwater ? I remember
the story now. This is something like ven
geance. But am I to suffer —will I suffer ?
How to avoid ? Either I must bow my head
to this young profligate, who already stoops to
my hired menial, or my shame must be known
to the woild.”
She rose, and strode across the room.
Who had seen her, would never have be
lieved that was the proud and liaughty Viola
Molyneux of a few weeks before.
She was humbled, crushed, awed by the
swiftness with which punishment attends on
crime.
“A thief, a gambler, a murderer, a worth
less profligate— am I to be his companion and
mate all my life ? It is impossible—it cannot
be! And yet what else —what other course
lies before me ? I must think.”
And she buried herself once more in her
arm- chair, and the lights burned low, and the
lamps were extinguished in the streets, and
still she sat peiseveiingly in the gloomy din
ing-room.
CHAPTER CYIII.
THE I‘BISON.
No satins or silks adorning her, but some
common dress, cast to her for a change by the
hired and supercilious hopitality of Mother
Mell, Rosalie cowered in her wretched den, a
victim to the avarioe of some, the dread and
terror of others.
Did she wholly repine ?
Rosalie was naturally brave, and had in her
favor a good constitution and youth, the magic
elasticity of which is not easily overcome.
Much of evil, many trials, must be endured
ere its buoyancy is affected. Proud, indeed,
should all be who possess this precious trea
sure.
Rosalie was some time, however, before she
could realize to herself the position in which
she found herself. Carried away from the ball
by violence, drugged, and carried into a gloomy
dungeon, the had no difficulty in tracing the
outrage to its source.
The man, Knify Jinks's voice had remained
indelibly fixed on her memory, and she had
heard so much of his doings, that she felt HQ
doubt of bis personality.
But had he acted for himself, or for her sis
ters ?
In any case, she was a prisoner, and must
either resign herself to the course of events, or
seek escape from oppression and tyranny in
flight.
She would have been more subdued, more
patient, more temporarily resigned, but that,
by this time, she expected her father and mo
ther had arrived in England. What their
sufferings would be, it was to her agonizing to
think.
Another regret, even of a more tender and
subtle nature, which made her in turns sigh,
pale, and blush, need not be more particularly
alluded to. Every woman will speak it for
herself.
The woman who acted as her goaler, and
who from the first moment refused to answer
questions or listen to complaints, brought her
meals every day. They were neither coarse
nor ill-cooked, the establishment, mysterious
as it was, giving good cookery in return for
tire enormous prices charged.
llosalie cast off her rich costume, the very
sight of which disgusted her, and readily as
sumed the more humble habiliments provided.
She asked for, and obtained, some dog eared
and torn Minerva press novels, and also some
needlework.
The old woman said that she had a heap of
things wanted mending—she might do them
if she liked.
With a sweet smile, that almost staggered
Mother Moll, she agreed, and was soon busy
upon such coarse work as it had never fallen to
her lot to see before. But it was an occupa
tion, and, moreover, seemed to have a wonder
ful effect upon her goalor, who, rough, hard
ened, and bloated by gin and beer, but far
more still by vice, had somewhere a green
place in her heart, some soft and lingering re
membrance of the time when she, too, wa s an
innocent girl.
It was a sight to have made a philosopher
smile, and to have dimmed his eyes with the
dew of sympathy, to have seen Rosalie, with
the huge, loud-spoken woman standing over
to guide and instruct, mending coarse kitchen
towels, and such like things.
Every now and then she would prick her
fingers ; but this only brought a smile on her
lips, with a laugh at her own awkwardness.
“ I say,” said Mother Moll, one day, when
Rosalie had given her a glass of wine, from a
bottle provided for her use, “what start has
brought you to this cage, my singing-bird?”
“ You mean, how did I come here ?”
“ Yes; and why, my beauty ?”
“ I am the sole heiress to a vast estate, and
stood in people’s way,” replied Rosalie, not
lifting her eyes from her work, but stealing,
all the same, a sly glance at the questioner.
“Oh, that’s the lay,” continued Mother
Moll, coolly; “ then, you're here for some
time ?’ ’
“Unless somebody would like to earn a
thousand guineas by letting me out,” slowly
replied Rosalie.
“ Now, it ain’t no use going on that tack,”
said the woman, bluntly, “ I’m in this jug for
life myself—and if I were to listen to you might
lose my head. Death is the reward of treach
ery here—so that cat won’t jump.”
Rosalie sighed and made no further remark;
but as the woman soon after took bar depart
ure, she folded up her work, and sat for some
time musing deeply.
The room we have already described.
It was square, rather low-roofed, and illu
mined only by an oil lamp, which burned
night and day. The only way by which the
close and almost foetid atmosphere escaped
was by a chimney, the front of which was
barred.
Escape appeared wholly impossible, and yet
poor Rosalie would not wholly despair. The
very thought was an occupation to her mind,
and as she looked around, she thought over
some of the marvelous tales she had heard her
father tell of men, by dint of patience, escap’
ing from the most dreary prisons.
Rut they had a plan—she had none.
The more she examined her room, the
more the prospect darkened, while every at
tempt to enlist the sympathies of the
man was a failure. She was housekeeper to
the asylum—she was well paid, and she want
ed nothing more.
I’ocr Rosalie began to droop, the roses left
her cheeks, her fingers became thin, and she
left her food on several occasions untouched.
It was clear that she would not be a profit
able customer to the house long.
Mother Moll, sinful, greedy, and associating
habitually with the lowest and most brutal
dregs of society, could not watch the slo w decay
of the young girl without a pang.
She was so gentle, so willing, so sweet-tem
pered, her-presence seemed a link between her
and the better world she had shut herself out
from.
“ This here room don’t seem to agree with
you,” she said, bluntly, one day.
Rosalie shuddered.
“ I feel very ill. But it is better to die than
to live here,” she answered.
“Nonsense. Care killed a cat. Never say
die—come for a walk.”
And she threw the door wide open, leading
the way, llosalie, with a flushed cheek, follow
ing her.
The way she took was up stairs, passing
many rooms, from which sounds of revelry and
conversation issued; to none of which did the
old jailer pay any attention.
At length, they reached one door, which Mo
ther Moll proceeded to open, and Rosalie stag
gered forward with blinking eyes, fairly daz
zled by the long absent light of the sun.
It was a garret, with nothing in it but a
small wooden bedstead, a chest of drawers,
and some chairs, while the sloping window in
the roof, though barred, admitted light and
air.
“Would you like to change?” asked the
woman.
“ 1 should very much,” replied Rosalie, “ if
it is all the same to you.”
The woman frowned, and went out, locking
the door. Presently she returned with her
dinner, some work and a newspaper, brought
in by some of the inmates.
“There, you look better already. I told
him as how you would have died ”
“ Told who ?”
“ Now, don’t ask questions, there’s a dear,
and by-and-by I’ll bring you some tea.”
With these words she retired, using the
precaution, by omitting which the horse was
stolen.
Rosalie certainly felt somewhat revived.
The change was from a dungeon to a habit
able chamber ; but it indicated no change in
her prospects. They were as dark and dreary
as ever.
Having consumed frugal meal, Rosalie took
up some woik, and began listlessly to ply the
needle, gazing vacantly round her new room,
still dazzled by the light of the sun.
Suddenly her eyes fell upon a door.
It was opposite the one by which she had
entered the garret.
Her heart leaped to her mouth.
Was this seme means of exit ?
Without hesitation she advanced, lifted the
latch, and saw a narrow staircase before her.
Eagerly ascending this, she found herself on
a small leads —surrounded on every side by
high stacks of chimneys, while a brick wall,
some six feet high, rudely constructed, divided
it from the street.
Opposite this, the old woman had made
herself a seat, and all around were pots of mig
nionette, which, smoke-dried, black with soot,
yet represented to her, perhaps, that home
garden from which, by her own act, she was
forever shut out.
Overcome by the air, Rosalie seated herself,
and seemed to have gained renewed life and
strength from inhaling the murky atmosphere.
But though intent upon one thought, she as
yet could see no glimpse of escape.
How could a feeble, weak girl, unused to
rough work, climb those stacks of chimneys,
'even though life, liberty and love were be
yond?
And yet the prize was a rich one,
Women had done much more difficult
things. But then, like many of her charming
sex, Rosalie felt that she was not of the stuff of
which heroines are male.
She did not know that circumstances it is
that give birth to heroic designs.
After deep thought she matured Efplan,
and calmly descended to her room, to com
mence putting it in practice, It was daring,
difficult, but not altogether impossible.
[To be continued.]
When is a gambler like Hamlet’s
grave-digger? When he covers a heart with a
spade, and says how feel you (Ophelia).
When may he he called the “ power behind
the throne?” When ha plays the deuce and
throws an old king on the floor.
When is he a perfect robber? When he swings
a club and takes your diamonds.
When does he resemble a stingy man at a
bar ? When he orders something up and goes
it alone.
Why does a fat dog not medi
tate ? Because he is not a thin cur.
Who was the first little boy
mentioned in tho Bible ? Chap. I.—
When is a boat like a heap of
snow ? When it is a drift.
What kind of paper resembles a
sneeze ? Tissue.
• A smart young woman can judge
by a hiss of the quality of her lover’s liquor.
Our readers will recollect that we published,
some two or three weeks since, a little “ screed”
from ‘ ‘ Marion.” Judging from the very delicate
chirography, and the dainty paper upon which
the perpetration was inscribed, we inferred that
“ Marion” was a “ little darling of a woman,”
and—shall we confess our weakness ?—actually
kept an eye out, hoping that our dreary sanctum
might be beatified by her angelio presence. In
our dreams we heard the rustle of silken robes,
and saw floating over us a pretty face with rich,
pouting lips, and eyes that looked a world of
tenderness. We waked, only to find ourself re
peating the lines commencing—
“Oh! so near, and yet so fart”
The whole thing was confoundedly provoking,
and we were growing melancholy over it; but
the etory is told; the dream is ended; and
we are restored to a normal condition. We
received a note, this morning, which proves our
salvation at least, we try to look at it in that
light—Marion is a man! Hear what he says
to us:
“ Gotham, Dec, 31,1864.
“Editor Gossip: ‘Marion herself’ (being,
however, a fie) is obliged for the compliment.
As his sex is changed so propitiously, I presume
it is best to carry the illusion to ‘ the bitter end,’
Just imagine me in petticoats, without the
‘ swelling bosom’ and ‘raven tresses;’ the ‘grace
ful sweep’ of my ‘ queen-like robes’ revealing—
not the ravishing leg in white (shall I say it ?)
drawers, but the limb of a Greek in black
breeches to the heel. It is overpowering; but
your readers may imagine ‘ Marion’ a lovely girl
till they find out the facts and ‘ come to grief.’
That’s all!”
Enough, we should say.
“ Observer,” always a welcome contributor, is
around again with his budget of fun. We give
entire his
OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING BRIGGS.
Sold again, bv all that’s lovely! Briggs is ir
repressible. Knock him down and he bounces
higher than ever; pitch him overboard, and not
only will he not drown, but his unctious qualities
will float him ashore and enable him to come out
dryer then he went in ; and he will incontinently
swallow a toddy just as it ’twas good for him.
Put him up at auction and bid as high as you
like, but when the hammer falls you will be tho
victim, and he will offer you his check for ten
thousand dollars with as much sangfroid as if he
were indebted to you in that trilling amount and
the check were in the least likely to be paid in
this world or any other. Sold, by Jupiter I and
most villainouoly at that. But before relating
my misfortune, let me ask you, “Do you believe in
signs ?” I don’t mean those gilt affairs inscribed
with “ The Office,” -‘ The Store,” “ The Bank,”
invented to enable men to get the best of their
poor wives, by remarking, “rm just going round
to the store a minute. Tah, tab 1” No, I mean
tbwe fho.Uo-n-o which coming events are said
to cast before them, premonitions of ill fortune
that you feel without being able to tell why I
never paid any attention to them till the day af
ter that last affair with Briggs and the M. I’.,
when I was on my way to inquire after his
health, I stepped on a dog’s tail, met a funeral,
upset a barrel of salt and sneezed three times in
succession; then I knew that something was go
ing to happen. I found Briggs at ms hotel,
poring over a letter from somewhere out West
requesting him to buy a hand-organ with mon
key attachment, and forward it to another per
son who was going to deliver a course of lec
tures before the literati, and wanted a musical
accompainment. He at once scoured my ser
vices and we started out. I asked Briggs where
he was going to look for his monkey. He thought
in the toy stores, I suggested the apothecary
shop, and finally we concluded to walk along till
' we met one, and then buy his proprietor out.
Passing by the St. Bangup Hotel a maid was
> shaking a table-cloth out of the third story win
dow. i'- : "gs, who is near sighted,, at once im
agined tuac ehe was waving her kerchief to him
and responded by kissing his hand to her, dur
ing which a fellow with a ladder on his shoulder
ran into him and- doubled him up like a jack
knife, while his sadden bend forward took me
amidships, and threw me into the arms of a fat
old lady who, to save herself from falling grasped
the coat of a passer-by, throwing him off his
perpendicular, thereby upsetting an apple stand
and the lady who tended it. I reached the ground
in a sitting posture, and a young lady passing
by remarked to her friend. “Lal” Jane, tha;
gentleman is setting on his pocket-handker
chief.” She was mistaken, but that’s of no con
sequence. I gathered up and dragged Briggs
around the corner where, as luck would have it
we fell in withan old woman setting on a stoop,
playing a hand organ, and delighting a miscel
laneicus audience with the vagaries of a monkey
at the end of a fathom or so of string. Briggs,
who prides himself on his knowledge of physi
ognomy, decided her to be Italian.and addressed
her in that tongue so generally ’ used by opera
goers: “ Mia Oara," commenced Briggs. “Sure
me name’s not Clara, came back in unmis
takable Milesian. “ Well, my dear woman,”
recommenced Briggs. “Honia mon jowl
ye spalpeen, I’m not your dear.” “Well,
then, Madame, will you dispose of your
stock in trade for a consideration?” “Phwat?'’
“ Will you sell your monkey and organ ?”
“Yes, for thirty dollars.” Tiiis led to con
sideiab’e bantering and finally to high words
and a crowd. Ashamed of being in such a party,
I slipped thirty dollars in the old lady’s hand.
Briggs shouldered the organ, and I snatched her
monkey, and we left. Just at thin time it began
to rain, so I feed a boy to follow Briggs with the
animal, and started home for an umbrella. In
the course of the afternoon, it occurred to me to
call on Briggs and see how he was progressing
with his purchase. As I entered the hotel, I saw
a person going up the stairs before me whom I
innocently supposed was Briggs, and commenced
jabbing him m the rear with my umbrella, when
to my consternation, the individual turned round
and revealed the features of a stranger. lat
once apologised, and told him that I mistook
him for my friend Briggs. “Does your friend
Briggs f a-n-c-y that sort of thing?” said he.
Not being able to justify, I slipped past, and
found my way to Briggs’ room. Briggs was seat
ed in an easy chair, with the organ on a table
before him, and amusing himself by inciting the
monkey to leap up on the table, when he would
give the string a twitch and jerk him off again.
I interrupted this intellectual amusement by re
lating my mishap on the way up, when he asked
me: “Can you tell why your situation on the
stairs was like a young girl?” Couldn’t say.
“Because,” he returned, with a malicious sneer,
“because it was a dam-sei.” Indignant beyond
measure, I left, and now again ask you if you
believe in signs ?
We have heard of doing things by halves,
though we have always been under the impres
sion that anything worth doing at all was worth
doing well. A Western paper declares the fol
lowing to be a fact, which occurred In a quiet
New England village where people as a general
thing did not believe in
' MABBYING A LITTLE.
In Now England, long ago.
When all creation traveled slow,
And naught but trackless deserts lay
Before the early settler’s way,
A youth and damsel, bold and fair,
Ilan cause to take a journey—where
Through night and day, and day and night,
No house would greet tbelr v- e arled sight,
And thinking Hymen’s attar should
Precede their journey through the wood.
They straightway to a justice went—
By love and circumstances sent
The Justice—good old honest pale -
Said it was quite unfortunate.
But at that time he could not bind
These two young forks of willing mind—
For his commission, sad to say,
Had just expired but yesterday :
Yet, after an be would not say
That single they should go away,
And so he hade them join their Rands
In holy wedlock's happy bands.
And “lust a little” he would marry—
Enough, perhaps, to safely carry,
As they were in connubial mood—
“ Enough to do them through the wood.”
We recollect in our early days, when we slept
up stairs in the old farm house, and were given
to reading in bed, that after our failing became
known to the senior members of the household,
we used frequently to be presented, when about
retiring, with a half-inch of candle, accompanied
by the soothing remark, “ There is enough to
last you to bed, if you hurry,” The paper doesn’t
state whether the Justice advised haste in get
ting through the wood, or whether he was satis
fied they had enough to last them anyhow. To
change the subject—almost every woman is np
to something, and the one figuring in the fol
lowing was, in our opinion,
CT TO SNUFF.
A very good story is told of some young ladies
and gents up town, who were taking a social
walk near the Cemetery, when a ghost ap-
peared. They all ran but one sturdy woman.of
the strong-minded class, who stood her ground
till the ghost got to her, when she seized it and
ihraShed out of his frightful disguise a mischiev
ous fellow, who had heard the project of walking
aboat the graveyard discussed, and hid himself
there to give the party a fright. She led him
back to the bouse, and in reply to the questions
that poured in upon her, said : “ Well, you see
they can’t fool me with chaff. I’ve seen too
many men in sheets to get frightened at them
at my time of life.”
Good for her! An open confession is healthy.
A San Francisco paper is responsible for the sub
joined specimen of
SHOPPING IN CALIFORNIA.
Not a great while ago a lady, who had by some
freak of the fates come into the management of
a farm somewhere in the cow counties, took
apartments at one of our respectable hotels.
Her first act was to send for the salesman of one
of the leading agricultural houses in the city.
A waiter conveyed the message, and in a faw mo
ments the obliging functionary stood bowing
’and rubbing his hands before tier. “Your or
ders, madam?” “lam sorry to give you trou
ble, but having just assumed tho control of an
establishment, I would like to put in practice the
most economical methode of husbandly. Are
there any new inventions in cradles now ?” The
shopman blushingly replied that he believed
there were several, and rubbed his hands again,
as if the question had inspired him with an idea.
“ You would recommend me to have one. You
see, I am obliged to consult you, and I rely upon
your candor.” “I would haye one, ma’am, by
all moans, It would probably come useful, if not
now, leastways some time.” “Yes, I expect a
large crop this season, and shouldn't know what
to do without one. Stay—a cradle is of no neo
without a man. Could you recommend me, now,
to a Btout, healthy fellow, who would not expect
too much for his services?” “I think I couli
provide you, ma’am, with a good article; there’s
our Pat, whose only fault that I know of is his
appetite. Is there anything else, ma’am, in our
line ?” “ Not just at present, though I suppose
that before the season is over I shall waut a
threshing-machine.” “Ha! ha! ha!” chuckled
the salesman; “ threshing-machine— very indis
pensable. Bully for you 1” The price, $l5O. was
paid over, and the salesman disappeared. What
was the lady’s astonishment, when, not an hoar
afterward, a porter made his appearance, bear
ing on his shoulder tho most sumptuous infant’s
cradle that ever emanated from the genius of an
artist in toys or furniture. It was a work both
of utility and art, inlaid with mother-of-paart,
and hung round with laces, and big enough for
triplets. The purchaeo was accompanied with a
note: “ Cradle sunplied as per order. The bear
er is the nearest F can coms to the latter part of
your commission. Snooks.” The lady started
up, as one for a moment bereft of her senses.
Then, seizing the bell-rope, she rang a peal that
called up all tho waiters in the vicinity, who
found her in a violent fit of kicking hysterics on
the sofa. Her messenger, it seems, insteai of
going to the agricultural warehouse designated,
bad left his order at a furnishing shop adjoining.
That afternoon an irate woman was ooserved
pummeling with her parasol the head of the
luckless salesman at No. 142 street.
By which everything was made square, we pre
sume. Speaking of things on the square, re
minds us of a little story which goes to show the
troubles that emanated from
A NEW YF.AB’B CALL.
“ Do you make calls on New Years?” “ Novar,”
said my friend Tom. “ I used to, but I’m cured.”
“ How so ?” said I, anxious to learn his experi
ence. “ Why. you see,” said Tom, feelingly, “as
I was making calls some time back, I fell in love
with a beautiful girl—that she was. Well, sir, I
courted her like a trump, and I thought I had
her sure, when she eloped with a tailor—yes, sir,
that lovely creature did.” “She showed bad
taste,” said I, compassionately. “ More than
that,” remarked Tom, nervously. “ Downright
inhumanity is the world. I could stand being
jilted for a down-town broker, a captain with
whiskers, or anything showy, that I could, but to
be cut out, like a suit of clothes, by the ninth
part of a man—a trifle over the decimal fraction
of humanity-that was brutality. But I swore
vengeance, that I did.” “Vengeance?” I ner
vously inquired. “ Yes, sir,” said Tom, with
earnestness, “ and I took it. I patronized the
robber of my happiness, and ordered a full suit
of clothes, regardless of expense. The traitor
laid himself out on the job. I tell you they were
stunning, you may believe it.” “ But your ven
geance ?” said I, prompting him. ‘ l l struck that
tailor in his most vitalpoint, that I did; I never
paid that bill; no, sir, I didn’t. But those in
fernal clothes were the cause of all my future
misfortunes, that they wore.” “How so?” said
I, with a smile of compassion, “ Wearing them
1 captivated my present wife. She told me so,
sod I haven’t had a happy day since. But I am
bound to be square with that wretched tailor in
the long rjm. I’ve left him a legacy on oonditioo
that he marries my widow."
We shouldn’t care about putting that man's
name down in our list of enemies. Somebody
who, we imagine, was brought up in a country
where writing teachers were scarce, sends in an
amusing account of the mannerr in which a
boarder discovered
WHO STOLE THE LANBLOBb’s WIG.
Old Plumbob keeps a boarding-house—where,
it matters not. Some few months since he lost
his wig, said wig having, in conjunction with
several other articles, been abstracted from his
bedroom some time between tho hours of dusk
and daylight. Vigorous measures were at ohoa
adopted lor the detection of the thief, all of
which, however, proved unavailing, and Plum
bob was at length obliged to abandon the task,
sorely against his will. “ Not that I care for ths
value of the goods,” said he, “ half so much as I
wish to have the rascal brought to justice.”
Gradually the excitement subsequent to tho
affair blew over in a maimer, and matters settled
' down into their old, quiet way, and thus con
tinued, until one evening, as the boarders were
all discussing their suppers, one of them sud
denly exclaimed: “ I’ll be switched if I don’t be
lieve I’va found out to a certainty who stole the
landlord’s wig.” “The thunder you have!”
ejaculated Plumbob, springing to his feet in ecs
tasies at the prospect of seeing the offender of
' the principles of mam et tuum receive his de
serts. “Who is it? Say quick, who is it? Just
let me know where I can get on his track, and
and I’ll have him snatched up in the snap of an
eye." “ Well,” said the boarder, in the cautious
tone of one who is about to unravel some hither
to unaccountable mystery, the landlord, mean
while, eyes and mouth open, waiting in breath
less eagerness fer the development. “I’ve had
my suspicions for some time past, but now I’d
be almost willing to take my oath that the theft
was committed by a person in your own houss
hold, that person being none other than your
cook, for I have found no less than three hairs
in that plate of hash. Conclusive proof I should
say.” Any person who has ever beheld a coun
tenance whereon was depicted a mingled ex
pression of hope dispelled and “ dander riz,” can
form some idea of the effect of this reply upon
old Plumbob.
Speaking cf effects—the most stunning thing
we have heard lately, conies to us under the dis
mal heading, 1 •
A WARM CORPSE.
A couple of medical students disintered a sub
ject on a cold winter’s night, and, having dressed
it, placed it, sitting upright, on the Beat of a cov
ered wagon, and started for home. Coming to a
tavern, and seeing the bar-room lighted up, they
left the wagon' and went In for a drink. The
hostler, observing the man sitting alone in tho
cold, attempted some conversation, but receiv
ing no answer, he discovered how the affair stood,
and instantly resolved to have a little fun of hi*
own on the occasion; so, taking the corpse to
the stable, he put on its overcoat and cap, and
seated himself m the wagon. The students soon
returned, and took their seats by the side of ths
supposed dead man, when one of them in merri
ment gave him a slap on the face, saying: -‘How
would you like some flip, old fellow?” then re
marked, tremulously, to his companion, “He is
warm, by heavens!” “So would you be,” replied
the corpse, “if you had been stolenfrom h—ll, as
I have.” Both students bolted, and never re
turned to inquire for the horse and wagon.
Now, with a few clipping*, we close our Gos
sip ot the week.
A kind hearted wife once waited
on a physician to request him to prescribe for
her hueband’s eyes, which were sore. “ Let him
wash them every morning with brandy,” said tha
doctor. A few weeks after the doctor chanced,
to meet the wife. “ Well, has your husband fol
lowed my advice ?” “He has done everything in
his power to do it, doctor, but he never could get
tho brandy higher than his mouth.”
A gentleman not long since, ia
one of his rides in Southern Illinois, sought to
make himself interesting io a good-looking mo
ther of a sweet baby, occupying the next seat in
the car. After duly praising the baby, he re
maiked to the mother, “He is a real sucker, I
suppose ?” “ No, sir;” said the lady, blushing,
“ I had to raise him on the bottle.” ’ The gentle
man resumed his reading, and has not bragged
on any strange baby since.
A mercantile man of Foote’s ac
quaintance had written a poem, and exacted *
promise that Foote would listen to it; but ha
dropped off before the end of the first pompon*
line, “ Hear me, 0 Phcobus, and ye Muses nine:”
“ Pray, pray be attentive, Mr. Foote.” “ I am,”
said Foote. “ Nine and one are ten; go on.”
A contraband who came into
Sheridan’s lines, when questioned about tho
rebels aiming the colored men said : “’Bout half
de colored men tink dey would run directly ober
to de Yankees wid he arms in doir hands, and
toder half tink dey would jiss stan’ an’ fire a feus
volleys to de rear just, ’fore dey run—dat’s all do
difference.”
Among the rules of the hotel in
the “ diggins” at Reece river are the following :
“ Lodgers inside arise at 5 A. M ; in the barn, at
6 o’clock; each man sweeps up his own bed ; no
quartz taken at the bar ; no fighting allowed at
the table; any one violating the above rules will
be shot.”
An “emigrant” who had been
somewhat roughly dealt with by the “ wildcat ”
gently of Virginia City, thus expresses his opt
ion of that lively town : “If Gabriel happens to
light at Virginia. City, there’ll bo no resurrection,
for they’ll swindle him out of his horn before h»
can make a single toot.”
Miss Thunderbolt, who has x
very undistinguished lover in the army, wishes
to know why she considers the letter 8 the most
ennobling letter in the alphabet. To which wa
have the honor to respond, “ Because it would
make her man Sherman.”
A lady, walking with her hus
band at the sea-side, inquired of him the differ
ence between exportation and transportation.
“ Why, my dear,” he replied, “if you were on
yonder vessel, leaving England, you would be
exported, and 1 should be transported I”
Young couples, if they are wise,
will not devote their whole honeymoon to merely
amusing and carressing each other. Let them
remember the pastry cook, who, when his ap
prentices first came, always gave them a surfeit
of pies to insure their subsequent indifference.
A rich man one day asked a man
of wit what sort of a thing opulence was. “It is
a thing," replied a philosopher, which can give a
rascal the advantage ever an honest man.”
• “ Union is not always strength,”
as tho sailor said when he saw the purser mixing
his rum with water.
Who is quartermaster ? The
man who gives the poor soldier one-quarter, and
keeps all the rest himself. #
An arch girl should always be an
archer, for she can bead, her bow at she pleases.
7

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