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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, February 12, 1871, Image 2

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ly, “ I think you havo left nothing undone
that could bo expected to compel my submis
sion.”
“There is one influence to be tried yet—
force.”
“You are frank, at all events ; and I perceive
that our interview is to be of the most un
pleasant kind if we prolong it. Let us be mer
ciful to ourselves, remembering that wo have
not breakfasted yet, and close the question.
Permit me to aid you—l have resolved never
to marry again. Good morning, colonel.”
And with a low curtsey she was about to pass
him, but he stayed her. His brow darkened
and his lips twitched nervously. Whatever be
might be otherwise, the man was sincere
enough in his passion for Lady Oliphant.
“ You must alter your resolution, madam,”
he said, in the hard voice of one who is con
scious that he possesses the moans to extort
submission; “you must alter it, and that be
fore I leave you.”
“Must?” she said, with a flash of indigna
tion.
“ Precisely. You shall neither laugh me off
nor frown me off this time. I have a fancy to
fix the date of our marriage now. I love you,
madam, and that is my excuse for all I do.”
He spoke the latter sentence in a somewhat
softer tone ; but she felt that the man was not
to be turned aside. She was distracted, and
spoke impulsively, revealing the pain she en
dured.
“ Then pity me, and give me time to think—
to prepare for the change.”
“It is because I pity that I will not wait.
Look, ” he went on, pointing to the cathedral,
on the gray ruins of which the morning sun
■was gleaming ; “in yonder ruin lurks a rebel
on whose head a heavy price is sot. Hie cap
ture will be the final blow to the rebellion. A
word from me last night and he would have
been in the hands of his ptu’suers. He has
owed his life more than once to me—it hangs
upon your answer now.”
“You would not betray one whose friend you
pretended to be ?” agitated.
“Remain obstinate,” he answered, doggedly,
“ and within the hour your father will be in
the hands of General Kerr; before nightfall
your admirer of the camo will be swinging to
the highest tree in Strath Tay.”
The last hope to which she had clung seemed
to bo snatched from her; but in her despera
tion she found a plan—a wild and' humiliat.ng
one to attempt—but still a plan by which she
might escape yet. With an air of utter sub
jection, and huskily, she spoke:
“ You have conquered—l consent.”
He was amazed by the victory—he had ex
pected a much longer resistance—but his van
ity and joy combined, for a moment at least,
to allay all suspicion of a trick.
“ You consent,” he cried; “ thanks, madam,
thanks; at last you are generous, and the
fidelity of my life is rewarded."
He took her hand ; she did not resist him,
but her head drooped.
You left me no alternative, sir,” she said,
coldly.
“You shall not regret my persistence. But
the ceremony must take place at once—every
thing urges haste. Say, then, to-morrow.”
She shuddered slightly, but responded with
out much apparent hesitation.
“Yes—l consent to that also.”
He was in ecstacies—the woman he had pur
sued so long and ardently, and often with the
barest prospect of success, was won at last.
More, ho won with her a goodly estate and a
high position in the country. He had every
reason to be glad, for of all his projects this
one had prospered most, and he had most de
.sired it.
“ I will prove my gratitude,” he said, gayly 1
“by proceeding instantly to draw off the chase
from the tower yonder. Adieu —to-morrow
you will be my wife, and I shall be happy.”
He kissed her hand—it lay passive in his,
and it betrayed nothing of the sickly sinking
at her heart.
He withdrew, his step light, his bearing
erect, as became a man who had achieved a
Victory. >
“To-morrow, Malcolm and I will be far from
dead,” she murmured with bitter
intensity as the colonel waved his ha®d to her
and disappeared behind the hedge.
■She entered the house feeling cold and weak
when she had most need of strength. She
prayed piteously for help to rescue husband
and father. There was a fever in her veins
that rendered it almost impossible to concen
trate her thoughts upon their position, and to
discover the readiest means of serving them.
■ She had gained a truce of twenty-four hours
by a lie—how she winced anl quivered with
pain at that! She had gained time, but she
had paid a heavy price for it—she felt as if
every honest sentiment of her nature were out
raged by the falsehood of which she had been
guilty.
But she forced her thoughts away from the
degradation to which she had stooped, and by
and by she was able to realize all that she had
to accomplish before another sunrise.
Birst, tne marriage of Agnes and Captain
Spence was to be arranged, and Doctor Fairlie
was to be intrusted with the care of the bride
Utftil the ceremony could be performed. Next,
her father was to be warned of the treachery
Strang was ready to perpetrate. Then Mal
colm must be informed of her position—she
did not doubt that when he knew he would
consent to put their fortune to the test by
flight.
There was much to be done in the brief
space allowed her.
CHAPTER X.
UNDEB OUBBENTS.
The departure of Colonel Strang was ob
served by Neil Johnstone, who arrived at the
house with a message from his master just as
the successful wooer passed through the gate.
The appearance of the colonel at this place
so early in the morning seemed queer to John
stone, and, linking the circumstance with the
sudden command his master had given him to
go to the house, to stay there, and to note
every one who came about the place, the canny
old fellow began to think that he was there, as
a spy upon the actions of his mistress. He did
not like the positions at all.
’ Lady Oliphant saw him approaching, and
hurried out of the house to meet him, eagerly
inquiring what had happened and why ho had
come there.
“ The inastpr bade me come,” he answered
awkwardly ; “ and he said I was to be quick, or
he would be here afore mo.” ,
“Ho is coming, then I” she cried, her heart
swelling with joy.
All the difficulties that beset her were re
moved by this unexpected change in her hus
band’s resolution ; for she concluded that he
had reflected upon the warning ho had received,
and had decided to yield to her entreaty. There
was nothing to be done now save to prepare for
flight and send information to Strathroy.
“You have given me the gladdest tidings,
Johnstone, that I have heard for many days,”
she said, as soon as she found voice. “If you
have ever wished to render faithful sorvico to
your master, do it now. Procure two horses,
and keep them m the ruin yonder until night
fall. It wo can only gain the coast I fear noth
ing.”
Johnstone made a movement to go, turned
back, and hesitated.
“Yes, my lady, I’m going,” he said, but
stepping as if he had something else to say,
and did not know how to say it.
“Was there any further message?”
“Ay. there was, but no frae the master.”
“Not from him?” (shrinking a little and
thinking of Strang.)
“No, it wasna liae him, and I’m no sure ex
actly who it’s from. But as I was coming up
the road a chief, muffled up to the nose in a
muckle cloak, loops out on me and says, 1 1
know you’—• For an honest man, I hope,’ says
I—‘Bor a servant of the Oliphants,’says he;
■ give that to your mistress;’ and before 1 could
say ay or na ho slaps this bit ring in my hand,
and was ower the hedge and out o’ sight.”
He (Irew from his capacious pocket a large
ring, aim presented to her ladyship’.
She recognized it at once as her father’s
.signet, and the sight of if startle! lief, ror’ji
was an intimation that he desired to see her.
Anxious as she was to communicate with her
father, she almost feared a meeting with him
at this juncture, when every moment was so
precious, and when the slightest delay might
destroy her whole plans. Beside, the intima
tion that ho desired to see her suggested the
possibility of his demanding her aid in some
wild project that would involve Agnes, Mal
colm, and herself in his destruction.
But the knowledge that Malcolm was com
ing inspired her with hope and courage. She
quietly dispatched Johnstone on his mission
to find horses.
The old servitor observed the curious man
ner of her ladyship, and was greatly dismayed.
“ I’ll hae to tell the master,” he muttered ;
“but I wish ho had gi’en me any other job.”
Unconscious of the storm which a combina
tion of trifles was making over her head, and
which was presently to overwhelm her, the
poor lady waited in cruel suspense for the com
ing of Malcolm. She could not rest in the house;
she paced the garden excitedly, going often to
the gate and scanning the road as far as the
eye could roach, straining her sight as if that
would bring him sooner to her.
Every form that appeared in the distance
made her heart leap, and then sink again in
disappointment.
At length she descried a man hastily ap
proaching from the direction of the cathedral.
He wore a cloak which concealed his dress
and a broad bonnet. He ran for a short dis
tance, and then halted or slackened pace,
glancing to right and left to make sure that ho
was unobserved.
His movements surprised her, for his man
ner and appearance were those which would
have most effectively betrayed him to the
stupidest observer, as one who had much to
fear.
Ho reached the corner of the garden, and
then leaped the hedge. His cloak fell from
hipa, and Margaret recognized her father.
She remained gazing at him, as he stealthily
made his way toward the house through the
shrubbery. She was astounded by the strange
ness of bis manner, for one who had accus
tomed himself to so many disguises, and who
had so frequently escaped capture by his cool
ness and adroitness in maintaining whatever
character he assumed, could scarcely be ex
pected to forget the very commonest principle
of concealment—that of appearing to conceal
nothing.
But when she saw his face, the explanation
was presented to her in the terrible revelation
that his reason had become affected by the
hopeless position of his cause, and the despe-,
rate measures he adopted to save it.
His eyes glared frenziedly, and there was a
black gloom upon his face. His lips twitched
and trembled, as if be wore constantly speaking
to himself; his hands moved with the nervous
restlessness of ono in delirium, and although
he seemed to be watching every object with
suspicion, the mind did not appear to under
stand.
Without observing Margaret, he stood close
by her, gazing blankly at the road, and she
heard him muttering in a hollow voice, as if
trying to re-assure himself:
“They follow, they follow, and follow. The
air is loud with their voices. Tho tramp of
their feet, the clang of their arms, tho roll of
their drums, ring in my ears, sleeping or wak
ing, like tho roar of a merciless cataract, from
whose track I cannot break. But the work
goes on—yes, yes—l am assured of that—the
work goes on.”
It was pitiable to see tho haggard face, the
burning eyes, which seemed to have no sight,
and the white hair straggling over the brow in
matted locks, knowing that this man’s life
had been devoted to one object, and that the
result was here in the guise of failure and dis
traction.
The daughter tenderly touched his arm, and
would have embraced him; but, at the touch,
he bounded back, then stood glaring at her
fiercely. It seemed for a moment as if ho
failed to recognize her, but gradually his brow
contracted, and he said, harshly :
“ You are there.”
“Bather,” she answered, trying to place her
arms round his neck, but he thrust her from
him.
She was stung by his harshness, and said,
impulsively :
“Must you add anotherpang to tho misery I
already suffer through your unkindnoss ?”
“ It is the guilty who suffer,” he said, gloom
ily ; “ the faithful are lifted above all sorrow.
Hearken.”
Ho bent forward, listening, but she heard
nothing, and she trembled more and more,
as every look and movement revealed his
frenzy.
“ Hearken,” he wont on, but this time with a
smile that was worse than tho grimmest scowl;
“ the hounds bay at my heels, their fangs are
sharpened to tear mo piecemeal, and I laugh
at them. Day and night they follow me—hunt
me like a criminal—sot a price upon my head,
and frighten cowardly churls into enmity
against me. They have left me nowhere to
shelter, save the lair of the beasts of prey, or
tho desolate mountain side. They have broken
the ranks of their followers, they murder our
friends, and still I laugh at them, for the work
goes on, and I am faithful in spite of all.”
“ But you are to escape now,” she Baid, gent
ly, hopin" to persuade where she know argu
ment would be useless; “you are to fly from
this unhappy country, where your cause has
been utterly lost.”
“Ely the country—tho cause lost 1” (echoing
the words as if he were haunted by a sense of
their truth, and could not comprehend it).
“No! my place is here, to give the faltering
courage, and to rally the faithful for the
final blow which will bo—which must be vic
torious.”
“Are you desperate enough to hope for a
victory over an army with a handful of broken
and dispirited men?” (looking at him despair
ingly).
Ay, we hope—we can always hope.”
“Will you not see that tho sun of the Stu
arts sunk for ever in the dismal field of Cullo
den ?”
Ho shuddered at the mention of that disas
trous day, but bis frenzy exalted him above all
consideration of consequences.
“ Culloden,” he muttered, darkly, but bright
ening as ho proceeded; “ay, the sun went
down on that black day, but it will rise to-mor
row.”
“Never, father; never.”
“Wo are a handful of men, as you say, but
behind us and around us is a multitude of
martyrs whose spirit will rise and join us in
tho strife. Tho White Rose shall bloom again
—fresh and radiant, tho symbol of our coun
try’s honor and content.”
She was frightened by his strange mood, for
it threatened to destroy them all.
“You must not remain here, father,” she
said, persuasively; “anyone who passes on
the road may see you. The soldiers are seek
ing you, and Colonel Strang is a dangerous
man.”
“ I know him—he will not harm me.”
“But you must save yourself.”
“ Ay, ay ; I must save myseif,” he muttered,
vaguely, and tapping his brow with his fingers,
as if trying to recollect something ; “but why
—why am I here ? There was a purpose. * *
* But my memory fails” (hoarsely, and with
pain, recognizing his own weakness); “my
memory fails, and a thousand lives are depend
ing on it. What is it ?”
“You are fatigued, father” (taking his arm,
and trying to lead him toward tho house) ;
“come—let me take you to a place of rest. I
am not known here as your daughter, and so
the house may escape suspicion. Come—Agnes
will wait on you, and I will watch.”
The name of his second daughter appeared
to touch the spring of memory.
“Ah, I remember now!” he exclaimed,
quickly ; “it was of Agnes I came to speak.”
“ Let me go in first, then.”
He did not heed her.
“ You have arranged a marriage for her. 0,
thoughtful sister 1” (with bitter sarcasm.)
“You have chosen a husband for her from
among the malignant crew who are pursuing
her father to the death. Oh, treacherous
daughter! But you must undo your work,
and before I quit this place. The marriage
must be broken off. There shall be no more
rebels in my family.”
She was staggered by the unexpected blow
which struck at the root of all her plans for es
cape.
“They love each other,” was all she could
say.
“ She will learn to love a bettor man,” was
the stern retort, and now he seemed to have
obtained the control of his excitement.
“You distract me and you will kill her!”
(agitatedly.)
“Then let her perish—she will die as the
daughter of Strathroy, and not as the daugh
ter of a dishonored man. You hear ?—you un
derstand ?—you will obey ?”
“ No,” sho answered, almost fiercely, for she
was driven to bay, and hard as she had striven
to avoid the horrible position, she turned at
last against her father.
“ No ?” ho repeated.
“I have borne and borne until my heart is
broken,” she cried, passionately, “ but I will
not help you to break hers.”
“ Take care 1” ho said, frowningly.
But the worst that could happen had no ter
rors for her at this moment. In her despair it
seemed better to brave the worst at once, than
to live longer in constant fear of it.
“ Ask me to walk into the midst of your foes
and to deliver up my life for yours, and I will
do it,” she said, boldly. “ But you ask me to
dash tho hope of happiness from her lips, to
destroy her peace, and I refuse. I wifi not
doit!”
“You refrrse!” he exclaimed, astounded, and
immediately assuming the calm tone of one
prepared for the last extremity, continued:
“ Observe, then. The person called General
Kerr shall learn that Malcolm Oliphant still
lives, and is within his reach.”
That humbled her. It was like the fall of a
mountain, and she lay beneath it, still sensi
tive to pain, but conscious how powerless was
all her strength against the burden.
He was going, but she stopped him, and,
reckless now as to what might happen, she
spoke piteously:
“ You shall not go yet. At least, sir, do not
leave your cruel work half done. Birst take
your sword and kill me—it will be one act of
mercy to plead for you in heaven for all the
wretchedness your fanaticism has caused us.”
The words and the manner affected him.
They stirred within him a doubt of the justice
of the course ho adopted, and he paused, ques
tioning himself.
Did he err in his determination that his child
should be guided by her father’s faith ? He
fbflfid a ready enough response, for although
be tried to be just, he failed because his intel
lect had become narrowed by the intensity
with which it had been worked in one groove.
No, he did not err—to falter would have been
to make himself the partisan of traitors, ac
cording to his reading of tho position.
“You are the daughter who forsook her fa
ther for a stranger,” ho said, dreamily, but
harshly ; “you have wedded with a renegade,
an apostate ; but Agnes shall_be saved.”
“ Saved at the cost of Iwr own despair,” cried
Margaret, resentfully, aifll yet retaining a de
gree of submission to the parent. She spoke
in the tone of one who is as much pained by
the utterance of tho reproach as by tho occa
sion of it. “ You cast me off, you disclaim all
kindred with me—shall I act so ? As mv fa
ther, I have uttered no word of reproach, but
as a stranger what should I say?”
“ Will you obey ?” he queried, keeping fast to
the subject in hand.
“ I would say that, trusting to your honesty,
I—the wife of the man whom you call renegade
and apostate —1 gave you tho opportunity to
rob him of his trust and so place his life in
jeopardy.”
“ I served the king,” (moodily, while hands
were nervously intertwined).
But she was resolved that he should hear all.
“To screen my father, Malcolm sacrificed
his honor, and became an attainted traitor,
subject to a traitor’s doom—death. A stranger
he would have pursued or slain. You brought
shame and ruin to our hearth, and we were de
fenseless, helpless—because you were my fa
ther. Ho accepted the peril of his position, I
accepted the misery of mine—because you were
my father.”
“ I served the king,” he repeated. ■
“Serve him still, then, and throw aside our
kinship. What is my duty now? To summon
assistance—to arrest you—to go straight to
General Kerr and denounce you as the man to
whose knavery my busband owes bls degrada
tion. But, alas I even for one so brave, gener
ous, and noble as Oliphant, I cannot forget
that I am your child.”
She sobbed, and bowed her bead as if re
signed to the worst.
He pressed his hands upon his brow, and be
came vaguely conscious that he was exercising
his power cruelly. It was hard for him to ac
knowledge that, and it was bard for her to
obey him. There was a mist before hie eyes,
and through the mist he saw the dead and dy
ing on the crimson Cold—the broken ranks, tho
flying comrades, the host of pursuing foes.
He hoard her piteous words, and ho faltered.
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
Could it be that tho inspiration which sus
tained him against defeat and against over
whelming opposition was only the exultation
of frenzy ? Had he sacrificed his own career,
had he marred the happiness of his family, and
led thousands to death for a cause which wiser
men knew to be hopeless from the beginning ?
That was too horrible for him to own. To ad
mit it was to doubt Heaven’s justice, or the
justice of his cause. He could not do that; he
would still believe in a victorious issue to the
st ruggle of his master, and he would neglect
no means, however trivial, that might help it
forward.
“Oh, it is weakness, cowardice, blasphemy
to doubt,” ho cried, fiercely resolved to keep
straight on in the course ho had chosen ; “one
more sacrifice is demanded, and it shall bo
made. Our enemies shall not be strengthened
by another child of mine. This marriage must
not take plase, or upon your head rest the
consequence.”
She would have refused, but looking she dis
covered a party of soldiers apparently moving
toward tho house. There was no time to strive
further with him, and neither argument nor
appeal would avail to move him in his present
humor.
“I will obey,” sho said, excitedly; “but
look yonder.”
And she pointed in the direction of tho sol
diers.
CHAPTER XXL
IN JEOEABDY.
Almost as she spoke Noil Johnstone ran in
at tho gate, and up to her side.
“ My lady, my lady,” he cried, breathlessly,
“ there’s a sodger loon says he has seen the
Jacobite Strathroy here about, and he’s awa’ to
tell his comrades.”
“Did you not shoot him?” said Strathroy,
turning sharply upon him.
Johnstone surveyed the speaker with a look
of indignation at his interference.
“As I’m no Strathroy, and as I’m sure tho
mistress is no him either, we hae nae need to
be feared for the sodgers.”
“Boo!—I must escape.”
But Johnstone sprung before him, grasping
his arm.
“ Then you are the man, and it was for you
my master suffered. By my troth, you’ll no
win by this road.”
With his disengaged hand Strathroy pre
sented a pistol.
“ Speak again, and I firo.”
“Johnstone, Johnstone, it is my father,”
cried Lady Oliphant, hastily, “you must con
ceal him—quick, quick, for my sake.”
Tho faithful old servant would have defied
the Jacobite’s threat, but he could not resist
the appeal of his mistress, although he be
lieved that the service she required was disad
vantageous to his master. He would have had
much more satisfaction in delivering up the
man who had ruined his master than in saving
him. However, he bowed with surly submis
sion, and prepared to load the way into the
house.
Strathroy paused, appeared to reflect, and
then hurriedly drawmg a packet of papers
from a rent in his coat, turned to his daughter.
“One last service you may do me, madam,”
he said, and now he had regained his self
possession and keen foresight. “Take this
packet. My safety and your husband’s, per
haps, depend upon it. If the worst befalls me,
give this to Colonel Strang.”
“To him! What fatal influence is it that
involves tbAt man in every grief of my life ?
Beware of him, father, ho will betray you.”
“ In that case open you tho packet, and use
the contents as you may think best. But let
that be the last resource. Meanwhile, see that
you keep faith with me in all things, for I will
be near you.”
He followed Johnstone into the house.
She thrust the packet spitefully into her
pocket. Her pulse boat feverishly, and her
heart rose in rebellion—it was not right, it was
not just that they should all suffer so for him.
She was tempted to leave him to his fate,4»ut
she recoiled from the temptation, shuddering..
“ Heaven pardon me the hideous thought,”
she sobbed.
“ Ahem 1”
She started, looked round, and saw Dr.
Bairlie standing beside her, quietly taking
snuff.
“I’m doubting, madam, your father has not
brought you muckle comfort.”
“You have seen him?”
“Ay, he was just going into the house as I
came up to the gate, and I think he might
have considered the peril inWijich his presence
here places you and Agnes.”
“He considers nothing but his own wild
schemes. Ah, doctor, you come to see me
when I have need of some true friend to save
me from utter madness. Comfort! I think I
shall never know it again.”
“ Hoot toot, it’s not so bad as that—the
worst is aye easiest mended.”
“The worst has overtaken mo now, for my
father has this day taught me to wish I could
forget that I am his daughter.”
The doctor took snuff very deliberately, and,
shaking his head with profound gravity, said :
“ It is frequently a great convenience to be
able to forget our relations. But what was the
particular object of his lordship’s present mis
sion?”
“To overthrow all that we have strived so
hard to gain during the past year. Come with
me, and you will learn what has happened
when we find Agnes.”
They found her in tho parlor, her hands oc
cupied with some needlework, but her mind
was busy with poignant reflection. Colonel
Strang was right; the seed of dissension he
had dropped, although scornfully rejected at
first, bad taken root. She kuew that Lady Ol
iphant kept some secret from her, and that ap
parent want of confidence subjected her im
pulsive and somewhat superficial nature to the
corroding influence of suspicion.
Bor the last hour she had been brooding
over her sister’s conduct, and magnifying
trifles into distinct signs of unkiudness’and
selfishness. She was irritated with her, and
while saying to herself that she would not be
lieve Madge cruel enough to interfere between
her and Captain Spence, she was rapidly work
ing herself up to tho pitch of irritability at
which one is ready to credit the most ridicu
lons things.
Margaret took her hand, and the sister
looked coldly.
“You will’ forgive me, Agnes, for the pain I
must cause you,” she said, with sad earnest
ness ; “ you will forgive mo if I seem to wrong
you.”
“To wrong mo?” repeated Agnes, and her
brow darkened with the thought that Margaret
was about to confess her falsehood.
“ Ay, wrong you, for I must forbid your mar
riage with Captain Spence.”
With a sharp cry of astonishment and vexa
tion, Agnes started to her feet, withdrawing
her hands petulantly.
“You have spoken at last!” she exclaimed
bitterly; “ and for what reason might you for
bid it?”
“ It is our father's command, and I dare not
disobey him.”
“You did not think so once” (viciously).
“Agnesi” and Lady Oliphant gazed at her
astounded, pained, and bewildered at this un
expected harshness. But she only said, with a
sigh: “You could have spared me that re
proach. But I cannot blame you, for you can
not help being atfnoyed by this command.
Be patient, Agnes. I will help you by-and
by; but at present I cannot oppose our father’s
will/’ s. . v
li There is a reason why you do not wish to
disobey him” (still petulant and blind to the
pain she was causing).
Lady Oliphant was exhausted by the events
of the morning, and she became impatient of
her sister’s unkind humor. She was too weary
to seek or to gjyp explanations, and she an
swered, somewhat coldly :
“ There is a reason, but it is my secret. I
have kept it from you hitherto because your
knowledge of it would involve you too deeply
in my danger.’’
“I do not fear tho danger; tell me your se
cret now.”
“No; there is more need to-day than ever
to hide it. - You must trust mo a little while
yet.”
“ Trust you—trust you !” she cried, fiercely;
“ that is always the excuse of those who fear
the truth. I will not trust you—l will not give
him up, for I love him, I love him.”
“Do as you will, then; marry him at once,
destroy my peace forever, and see if that will
afford you happiness.”
Her temper had been strained to its limit,
and, without waiting far another word, she
quitted the room.
At that Agnes was sorry in spite of her dis
traction, and she called after her :
“Madge, Madge—pity me; stay and ex
plain.”
But there was no answer, and Agnes sank on
a chair, crying, alternately vexed at her own
hastiness and her sister’s.
“Marry him, and destroy her peace forever,
she said,” sobbed Agnes; “ but she has not
hesitated to destroy mine.”
Dr. Bairlie had witnessed the whole scene,
and ho understood it ail, except the molives
which had prompted Agnes to act so passion
ately. He now stood looking at her compas
sionately as .-ho sat, her face covered, and her
whole form trembling witli emotion.*
“I never did believe that two women could
agree without a quarrel,” ho muttered, resort
ing to his rappee as the usual emphasis of his
regret or annoyance.
He had particular reasons for sympathizing
with Agnes ; but he had also particular reasons
for not being quite so much shocked at the
sacrifice which was demanded from her as he
ought to have been. Indeed, at first he ex
perienced a thrill of hope which was akin to
pleasure at the meditated rupture between the
lovers. But now, when be saw her distress,
he took himself to task sharply, although he
could not help an occasional flash of selfish
ness.
“ Boor child, she ought to have more sense,”
he thought, wishing that she could have ac
cepted the new arrangement with loss pain.
“She must bo very fond of him. * * * *
Well, what’s that to me ? Dr. Bairlie, you’re
a selfish old fool; you would like to part them
boause you fancy that she might content her
self with another. Bah! you’re an ass!”
With that exclamation and,a sigh, which he
stifled with a big pinch of snuff’, he approached
the girl and patted her on the head with the
tenderness of an indulgent parent trying to
coax a refractory child into good humor.
“ Mrs. Malcolm”—(he was always careful to
maintain the adopted designation)—“ Mrs.
Malcolm said patience, Agnes, and I say pa
tience, too. We will make all right by-and-by,
I promise ; and you can trust me.”
“I can’t and won’t trust anybody since
Madge has deceived me,” she ejaculated, an
grily ; and then, repenting, “ Oh, don’t speak
tome just now—don’t touch me—fori am ready
to turn upon everybody. I wish you had been
my father, Doctor.”
His features gave a wry twist. He was sen
sible of the fun of his position, although he felt
a pang, too.
“I would rather have been something else,
Aggie, my lass,” he said, stifling another sigh
with the useful rappee ; “but since that can’t
be, I will try to be ns like a father to you as
possible. In return, you must try to be a duti
ful child. Don’t fret, don’t be angry with your
sister, or you will be sorry for it afterward.
Do my bidding; be patient until you hear from
me.”
With that he quitted the room, but slowly,
and not without looking back at her several
times. He had resolved to punish himself for
the selfish spirit which had obtained possession
of him for a few minutes ; he was determined
to unite tho lovers in spite of Strathroy and
the whole world, if necessary. Anything to
give her pleasure, not matter at what cost to
himself.
As he walked slowly from tho house, ho was
busy reflecting upon the position of the affairs
of his friends, and calculating how ho might
best secure their happiness.
There would be an explosion presently, he
was certain, and Strathroy was firing the train.
Strathroy had been the cause of tho whole mis
chief, and promised to be the cause of more.
Ho was there iu the house now. Tho daugh
ters dared not turn against their father ; but
why might not ho, Dr. Bairlie, deliver up tho
rebel and save his friends ?
He hesitated long upon that problem. Sup
pose ho delivered him up, there might be a
way found of saving his life. Suppose he left
him alone—then the happiness of Oliphant and
his wife, of Spence and Agnes, would be sacri
ficed.
“ A man’s conscience and a man’s duty
should g,o hand-in-hand, although his feelings
may not ‘join them,” he said, arguing with
himself. “Here, conscience, duty, and feeling
urge me to rescue four poor creatures at tho
expense of one lunatic.”
He paused, took snuff, and closed his box
with a decisive snap.
“ The majority carries the day.”
And be stepped out rapidly to seek the gen
eral.
He encountered Captain Spence.
“Run up to the cottage,” he said, sourly;
“ you will find a recruit there who needs brac
ing with a little manual exercise.”
Tho captain laughed and obeyed.
<To be continued.)
A BAID on the Ten.
The Men as Deceptive as the ’Women—Cos
metics, False Hair, Tight Shoes, Fad
ding, Painting and Dyes—Bringing,
Chewing and Smoking—Mud Turtle
Feet.
[From the Springfield (Mass.) Republican.'}
With your kind permission, I have a few
words to say to that Boston girl who asks the
following questions of her girls:
“ Could you love a man who wore false hair
on his head when he had enough of his own ?
Who painted his face and improved his form
as you improve (?) yours ? Who pinched his
feet with small shoes, his hands with small
gloves, his waist with corsets, and then, as if
he had not already deforihed himself enough,
tied a huge bustle to his back, and thrust tiny
mountains of wire into his bosom ?”
I am disgusted with you, Boston, you, or any
other girl, who follow the fashions, and then
rail about them, for there is not a doubt that
you are the very personification of stylo, from
the jute switch that surmounts your cranium
to the dainty French boots which torture your
tiny feet. I hold that it is everybody’s duty to
look as woll as they can, or their circumstances
will admit of; and what would be said of any
girl or woman who did not arrange her hair
alter the prevailing style, although there are
plenty of ladies who do that, with only their
luxuriant tresses, without getting any credit
for it, as every ono says, “ What a splendid
switch!” whose boots and gloves did not set
neatly, who wore ill-fitting dresses ; and sup
posing we do wear busties, when they are
properly adjusted, instead of being a deform
ity they are becoming. There is nothing in
jurious about them, and we must have some
variety. Women dress to please the men, and
there is not a man in Christendom who has
the moral courage to appear in public with a
lady dressed, however modestly and sensibly,
if in disregard of tho prevailing fashion.
And when you come right down to the nicety
of the point, and talk about getting one’s self
up to look pretty, the men use quite as much
deception tor that purpose as the women, and
quite a much time and money. Your gentle
man pays a barber by the week to keep bis
hair and whiskers in order, and to brush and
clean and fix him up, and turn him out in tho
morning fit for his place of business, and at
night presentable for the evening; and a tailor
by the year to ’ keep him well-dressed. And
you just go to these tailors—to the “ artist
tailors” in Temple place, in your own city, for
instance—and see what they will tell you, if
you can persuade them to tell, of stays and
corsets, padded chests, shoulders, and even
legs, to which tho “ tiny mountains of wire,”
which, perhaps, some ladies wear—although,
for my own part, I never saw such a thing—
are not a circumstance.
Mon quite as often use cosmetics as women.
They wash in borax and lemon juice, use end
less quantities of glycerine and sweet oil, and
can tell the girls secrets about sleeping in kid
gloves and poulticing hands and face to make’ 1
them white. Perhaps you have not a big bro
ther. I have, and a big cousin, both of whom
delight in looking as irresistible as possible,
and some of the mysteries of the toilet into
which these same lords of creation have initi
ated us girls, would astonish you. Why, bless
you, Boston, we didn’t even know there was
such a thing as “Pearltina” until they told us.
“Most all the students use it,” says Cousin
Tom, who is at Amherst; “can’t get along
without, it makes them so fair.” And then
brother Jack tells who buys cosmetics at his
drug store, aad it is not the girls.
1 know for a certainty oi more men that
paint their faces than I do women—really
paint, pink and white ; and you can’t find ono
lady in five hundred that does that. Almost
every lady sometimes uses a little innocent
toilet powder, to counteract the effect of soap,
and make no secret of it; but that is a very
different thing from poison paint.
Do you say it is only young clerks and stu
dents that are so vain? You are mistaken.
Vanity is not confined to a class. I have-heard
a lady say, who for years kept a large board
ing-house for gentlemen, and at different times
numbered professional men, railroad officials,
insurance agents, drummers, mechanics, etc.,
among her patrons, that nearly every toilet
table was supplied with paint, and she knew
they us d it. And no harm in it, either, only
this universal painting makes, one almost fancy
that “Civilization is a failure, and the Cau
casian played out.”
I like to see fair play. Thq men need not
blame the women for what they are continually
dofhg themselves. “.Could you love a man
who pinched bis feot>?” I should just like to
see a Boston or an.y other girl, find a man to
love who does not wear boots a full size too
small for him. Did you ever see a man’s bare
foot? I wish you could seo*brothcr Jack’s.
They look about as much like a lady’s soft,
white, pretty, perfect-shaped feet as they do
like mud turtles. Corns here, and dislocations
there, bunions on the joints, and the toes piled
up on top of another, with the ends turned un
der. And I know by the sly talk I hear be
tween him and his chums about ointments and
corn plasters, that he is not an exception.
After making the few follies of the gentler
sex their own, in an aggravated degree, these
male bipeds assert their manliness by chewing
tobacco, smoking cigars, or worse, a nasty
pipe, by staggering home several times a week
the worse for liquor, by keeping disreputable
company of tho opposite sox to their own, in
dulging in fast horses, betting at races; play
ing at billiards, and squandering their money
generally. And it is very little appreciation
the wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters get,
for keeping themselves nice, pure, dainty, and
pretty, and for doing everything in their power
to make home pleasant and attractive for them.
Boston had better let the men fight their own
battles, as they are quite able to do, and if she
has anything smart to say let it bo on tho other
side oi the question. To be sure her article
would not stand so good a chance of getting
printed for anything down on the women.
Every editor will give it a conspicuous place,
and every man will chuckle over and read it
aloud to his lady friends within hearing, and
mark the place and send it to those at a dis
tance. Whether my letter is read or not, I
have freed ray mind, and that is one satisfac
tion to A SrniNoriELD Gum.
A MOVING BOG.
Extraordinary Natural Phenomenon.
A special correspondent of Saunder’s News
letter, Dublin.. Ireland, sends the following ac
count of this extraordinary phenomenon :
One of the most extraordinary, and, as far
as the natural formation of the country per
mitted of it, one of the most destructive events
of modern times, has recently occurred in the
neighborhood oi -Castlorea, in the county Bos
common. It has been commonly called a bog
elip, but may be more properly described as a
bog burst, the idea formed of a bog slip being
that a portion, larger or smaller, of the upper
surface of a bog becoming undermined by
water, has slipped and covered a portion of
ground of about its own size.
The recent occurrence at Castlorea is of a
different nature, for here the bog, which is of
considerable extent—about one mile broad by
two miles long—having become surcharged
with water, actually burst, and from its side,
at the highest point, and just on tho water
shed, slowly flowed forth a river of mud, with
the most astonishing volume and force, bear
ing on its bosom immense masses of the up
per crust of the bog, not from the edge, except
just at the point at issue, but from its very in
terior, some of them floating a distance of
fully a mile before leaving the bog.
Fortunately for the proprietors in the direc
tion of Belanogare, the flow did not take that
course, but turned toward Castlerea, and took
i the course of the valley in that direction, 'the
greatest amount of injury was naturally done
in the first flat adjoining the bog, and here all
the low grounds of tho townlands of Brack
loon, Curbs, and Baslick, a tract of about one
hundred and fifty Irish acres, was quickly cov
ered, the inhabitants having to fly from four
of their habitations, one of which was totally,
and the others partially, submerged. Some of
tho unfortunate tenant-farmers who held low
lying grazing and meadow farms, lost them
entirely, while others, who held partly upland
and partly bottom, lost the latter portion only.
Certainly it is a melancholy sight, for now,
instead of green and fertile fields, is seen a
waste of bog, without fence or hedge to break
it, for this flat being covered to an average
depth of ten feet, all hedges and fences are
submerged. The drainage of the district thus
described flows through a narrow valley,
across which is an embankment and a bridge,
known as Baslick Embankment. Had this
valley been in its natural station, there is no
doubt but that immense injury would have
been inflicted on the large and rich flats of
land below, but the embankment acted as a
break, and kept back the first great flow, and
permitted to pass only the more fluid portion
and some of the smaller pieces of tho bog.
More, however, flowed over this embankment
than the smjilJ stream was able to take, and in
consequence a great deal of injury was done,
and a very large tract of land covered with
bog stuff; but, for tho reason above stated, the
deposit was comparatively light, and the in
jury is not irreparable.
The small stream into which the bog flowed
has a course of about four miles, through these
fertile valleys and through the demesne of Mr.
Willis Sandford, on leaving which it joins the
River Suck, close to the town of Castlerea.
Both at this point, at tho railway bridge, and
along almost the whole course of the Suck, the
marks of the catastrophe are seen, and the de
struction of fish, particularly trout and eels,
has been enormous, they having been picked
up dead along tho banks, unable to exist in the
thick and turbid flood.
The bog, which showed signs of disturbance
on Tuesday, the 13th of December, commenced
to flow on the 14th, and by the night of Satur
day, the 17th, had filled the first flat up to the
level of the embankment, bursting over the
embankment on the following day, and con
tinuing to flow until the 23d, when stopped,
apparently, by the hard frost which then pre
vailed ; but although there has since been a
thaw and much ram the flow has not recom
menced, so it is to be hoped that it has now
finally ceased.
in thTcloak room.
BY MIRY DAVISON.
There was mistletoe everywhere at Harbing
don Hall; it bad even found its way into the
cloak room, where the gaselier was full of it.
It was Christmas Eve, so, of course, the mis
tletoe had a right to bo there; but I don’t
think it ever httng over anything more fierce
looking that night than the face of Colonel
Verschoyle, a great, tall, soldier-like, brown
bearded, brown-faced hero from Abyssinia.
Colonel Vivian Verschoyle, C. B. and V. C.,
had done his country good service, and laurels
had been heaped upon him ; he was “honora
bly mentioned” and duly lauded, receiving his
fill of adulation and adoration from all the
county round. His handsome face was as
bronzed as it well could be, but all the mischief
the African sun had done his complexion had
not spoilt the beauty of those dark, deep eyes,
or the perfect symmetry of those noble fea
tures.
Yes, he was a wonderfully fine follow, this
Abyssinian hero, and a great lion in his way ;
all the girls about Harbingdon had fallen down
before his shrine and worshiped ; but their
adoration was short-lived—it died away with a
faint struggle when they heard tho gallant
colonel was engaged to be married. It was ail
up with our hero then 1 Abyssinia was no
longer an Interesting topic of conversation,
and I don’t think the colonel was considered
so handsome as ho had once been.
There wag a grand entertainment at Har
bingdon Hall on Christmas Eve, and Colonel
Verschoyle and his fiancee were at it.
The evening was more than half over, and
the colonel was m the cloak-room, standing
under the mistletoe, looking with his great
dark, angry eyes into tho glowing fire. Lot
me tell you this brave warrior was very much
put out just then, and about as angry as he
could be; you could see he had a hot temper,
and that something had occurred to render it
hotter than ever. The colonel was a man who
could net stand being trifled with, and he con
sidered that be had been trifled with m the
most shameful manner ; he was there to learn
the cause, and he was waiting for Enid Vavasor
to come and render an explanation.
“ Meet me in the cloak-room in a quarter of
an hour,” he had said to her in a low, deter
mined, hard voice, as she was whirled away in
a valse, by a tall dashing young officer, whose
name the colonel did not know, and whose un
commonly handsome face he had not seen un
til just a few minutes before, when he had
caught sight of it in the conservatory, amid
orange trees and camelias, in very close prox
imity to the lovely laughing lips of Enid Vava
sor.
The storming of Magdala was nothing to the
fierce war in the heart of Vivian Verschoyle as
he witnessed that kiss. He walked away to
the far end of the long drawing-room at Har
bingdon Hall, bewildered, maddened, furiously
angry, fiercely jealous, This great, strong,
noble-hearted man had given all his pure true
love to that girl, and she had made a fool of
'him. Another moment and she was whirled
1 past him in the arms of this stranger—valsing
too, a thing she had given up because
she knew he disliked it. The colonel was be
side himself, and then it was that he went up
to her and told her to meet him in the cloak
room in a quarter of an hour; and now he was
there awaiting her presence.
She was long in coming. He pulled furiously
at his great tawny board m his restless im
patience, and yet he had not made up his mind
what he was to say to her, though he felt that
a girl who could act as Enid had acted that
night was no fit wife for him. He was bitterly
disappointed in her, for he believed her to be
all that was pure and womanly, having a lively
aversion to the fast, free “ girl of the period.”
They had been engaged about a month, and
her father’s estate joined Harbmgdon, where
Colonel Verschoyle was now staying on a visit
to Lord Wenborough. Enid Vavasor was the
only girl in a family of nine sons, most of whom
were m the army, and she was the very idol of
her doting parents.
Ha 1 she was coming now—and Vivian Vor
sohoyle turned his haughty face toward her as
she passed through the door of the cloak-room.
Enid Vavasor, how shall I describe you, with
your strange, fanciful name, and your strange
ly sweet face ? It was not in beauty and excel
lence of features she excelled, for beyond those
rare blue eyes she had not a single good fea
ture, and yet—strange contradiction—it was a
lovely face, and Colonel Verschoyle knew it to
his cost, as ipe turned tp meet it vrrth its win
some smile, its exquisite coloring, and its halo
of chestnut brown hair, rippling and waving
over the broad, low brow. Bright scarlet
holly berries shone out amid the brown ripples
with just the faintest soupcon of mistletoe, and
another bunch of the same Christmas berries
appeared on the breast of that snowy dress of
softest lace. She looked almost as if she were
enveloped in a white cloud, as she came for
ward, and met tho haughty gaze of the colonel
bent upon her.
A little mischievous smile parted her coral
lips. For a moment, she looked about to
laugh outright, but she controlled herself, and
looking up with a dancing light in her blue
eyes, she asked:
“ What is the matter ?”
Now our Abyssinian hero did not expect this
effrontery, so he came to tho point at once with
soldier-like brevity.
"Enid Vavasor, you are a coquette—and—l
won’t stand it! 1 will not be trifled with 1”
Of course he meant to say much more, and
make a longer speech, only the pretty face
looked so mocking that ho stopped short m
abrupt contempt. She came a step nearer,
and for some minutes they stood there under
the groat bunch of mistletoe together.
“ What have 1 dono ?” she asked.
Ths lovely laughing eyes were raised inquir
ingly to his ; but, as he lolt the spell her beauty
was easting over him, he grew more fierce.
“What have you dono? What you shall
never have the chance of doing again—made a
fool of me 1” he thundered forth, his generally
clear voice thick with passion.
Remember, the colonel was madly in love
and bitterly disappointed, and the storm in his
breast, as I told you boforo, was even hotter
than the storming of Magdala.
“I don’t see how that can be,” said Enid,
with provoking calmness, going up to the Re
place and putting her tiny white,slippered foot
on tho fender. “If you have been made a iool
of, as you say, you must have made yourself
one, Colonel Verschoyle.” ;
The pretty lips once more wreathed them
selves into that mocking smile, and he was be
side her in one fierce stride.
“ Enid,” said ho, “you know you have done 1
wrong ; you have played with me long enough;
but it ends now. Look here I”
She looked up all sweetness and surprise, but
I think she shrank a little as she met the blaze •
of passion in his eyes.
“Look here!’ he continued. “Since you
have found some one else to kiss and flirt with,
you can let mo go. I have been miserably
mistaken; but it can’t be helped now, only we
had better part. You have shown me plainly
enough this evening what you are.”
“ What am I?” she asked, simply.
“A flirt!” he exclaimed—“a heartless flirt!
and we must part.”
“ Oh, yes, if you wish it, I suppose we must,” i
said Enid; “but you have said a very hard
thing of me—a thing I have never heard be- 1
fore ; and I would not stand it now, only I see
you are very angry and don’t quite know what
you are saying. I never flirted in my life,
sir!”
The sweet eyes looked into his, but he was
too irate to see their sweetness.
“You let that—that fellow kiss you in the
conservatory 1” he cried. “ What more would
you have, or do I need, as a proof of what you
are?”
The color came into her cheeks.
“ Oh, then you saw that, did you ?” she said,
; and she gazed down thoughtfully into the lire.
: “Why did you allow it?” he demanded.
i “Because—oh, because I hire him,” she re-
1 plied; “and then, you see, I stupidly let my
maid put a sprig of mistletoe in my hair, to-
■ night, and so I supnose he—ho couldn’t help
i it.”
She was laughing now, and her face was
flushing brightly, until it looked lovelier than
he had over seen it before.
Almost roughly the colonel seized her round
white arm, and tho laugh died away on her
lips.
“Let mo go,” she said; “you hurt mo;
please remember you are not in Abyssinia now,
and English people have feelings.”
“ Then where are yours, pray ?” ho cried.
"Enid Vavasor, answer me, why have you tri
fled with me ?”
His lips were white with suppressed passion,
and though she struggled to free her arm, he
held it still.
“You told me you loved mo,” he said, hoarse
ly.
She smiled faintly as sho replied:
“I told you the truth, Vivian.”
“ Then why have you been false to me ?” ho
asked. “Enid, cease this mockery, and toll
mo what you mean by your conduct this even
ing?” he added, stamping his foot until tho
whole room shook.
“ Oh, dear, you frighten mo so 1” said Enid,
shuddering, and looking pathetic. “I wish
you would .16 considerate, and not treat
mo as if I were a great strong man like your
self, and could fight it out.”
He Jot go her arm with a contemptuous ex
clamation.- She had tried him very much, and
as he had said to himself that he was a man
not to bo trifled with, I think it was wonderful
he kept as calm as he did,
“There is nothing more to be said, then;
wo Dad better part now, and let the world think
what it will of us,” he said, in a low, cold voice;
and Enid, who was watching him keenly, saw
how deeply he was roused.
For a moment she hesitated, and a look of
contrition swept over her face ; the next in
stant her lips curled with the old expression of
laughing derision.
“ The world will wonder when they hoar Col
onel Verschoyle has jilted Miss Vavasor,” she
said.
“ They will never hear that, and you know
it. There shall never a word go forth against
you from my lips,” he said, sternly.
“Then you give me up? May I go away
now ?” she asked, like a child who has been
reprimanded. “ Are we to say good-by here ?”
A little white gloved hand was offered to
him, and tho sweet young face was raised
toward his, but his heart was growing bitter
against her and her playful coquetry; so he
did not take the outstretched hand; ho only
bowed low and said, “That is the best thing
wo can do.”
Enid Vavasor’s eyes rested upon him for
a moment as if she were about to speak, and
he waited with a heart the quick fierce throbs
of which told him she had only to say “for
give me,” and she would be his own once
more ; but Enid did not say it; for after that
one long wavering look she simply bowed her
young head with its crown of holly, and went
away, and Vivian Verschoyle was left there
alone underneath the mistletoe bough in tho
cloak-room. Not long alone, for presently the
door was opened quietly, and when he turned,
perhaps expecting to see Enid again, he came
face to face with the dashing young officer, the
cause of all his trouble—a young man with
skin as bronzed as Verschoyle’s own, for he
had but lately escaped from Indian suns, and
had been but two days on English ground.
»**»**»
In less than a quarter of an hour afterward
you might have seen Colonel Verschoyle with
a very different expression on his countenance,
hastily searching tho great drawing-room, his
handsome features glowing and a bright color
tinging his brown cheeks. He was looking for
Enid Vavasor; but ho could not find her
among tho merry-makers and dancers. Pre
sently, however, bo caught a glimpse of some
thing white in the conservatory, amid the
orange trees, and he was there in a moment.
He threw himself beside her on tho soft, low
sofa, imploring forgiveness in tones of earnest
entreaty, as though he almost feared to be
denied. But it wa's a very sweet young face
that smiled up at him with largo loving eyes as
he caught her to his heart, saying, “Enid,
Enid, mv darling, you should have told me
that he was your brother I”
Woman’s Love.—A writer for an
English magazine says : A French woman will
lovo her husband if he is either witty or chiv
alrous; a German woman, if he is constant and
faithful; a Dutch woman, if he does not disturb
her ease and comfort too much ; a Spanish wo
man, if ho wreaks vengeance on those who in
cur his displeasure ; an Italian woman, if he is
dreamy and poetical; a Danish woman, if he
thinks that her native country is the brightest
and happiest on earth ; a Russian woman, if lie
despises all Westerners as miserable barbari
ans; an English woman, if he succeeds in in
gratiating himself with the court and aristoc
racy ; an American woman, if he has plenty of
money.
How to Get Rid of Snow.—The
parochial authorities of St. Giles and St.
George’s, London, have introduced this season
a novel mode for disposing of the accumulated
snow from tho sweepings of the streets. The
snow was piled in heaps as near as possible to
the gully-holes of the sewers. A large cask
with the bottom knocked out, having been
placed over the grating of the gully, it was
filled with snow, and to the cask was attached
the waste-pipe of a steam fire-engiffe, and tho
steam was made to play upon the snow until it
gradually melted and ran into the sewers.
££s"Beauiiful Conttauous Cum
SETS OF TEETH.
rubber ram, wsra raroiraits, sio.
Extracting Inder das Without Charge,
When Others are Inserted.
DR. BODINE, No. 190 Grand st.
gfFTise Halls for Europe during th®
week ending Saturday, Feb. 18, 1871 will close at this
office, on Wednesday, at 12 o’clock M., on Thursday
at 12 o’clock M., and on Saturday, at o’clock A. M. ’
P. H. JONES,
vPostmaster.
f®" Department of Taxes and Assess-
MENTS, No. 32 Chambers street. New York, Jan
uary 2, 1871.—Notice is hereqy given that the Assessment
Rolls of the Real and Personal Estate of tho City and
County of New York, for tho year 1871, will be oven for
inspection and revision, on ana after Monday, January
9th, 1871, and remain open until the 30th day of
April, 1871, inclusive, for the correction of errorsand the
equalization of the assessments of the aforesaid real
and personal estate of the City and County of New York.
All versons believing themselves aggrieved must make
application to the Commissioners during the period
above mentioned, in order to obtain the relief provided
by law.
GEO. H. ANDREWS. 1 Commissioners
THOS. J. CREAMER, 1, of Tuxes
WM. H. KING, f and
NATHANIEL SANDS, J Assessments.
IgT Thssc who are sick, or afflicted with
any chronicle difficulty, should without delay write for
Dr. Hamilton’s New Treatise, sent free to any address.
R. LEONIDAS HAMILTON, M- D.,
P. O. No. 4.952. New York City.
popular
17 OK THE PILES.-DR. UPHAM’S
ELECTUARY and OINTMENT are a certain cure
for Piles, Coetiveness, Liver Complaint, and Dyspepsia;
also, for all cutaneous diseases and affections of the skin.
These medicines can be obtained and the Doctor con
sulted at his Medical Office, No. 39 Ea.it Fourth street,
third door from the Bowery, and between Bowery and
Broadway. Office hours from 7 o’clock in the morning
till 9 in the evening.
Dr. i-iunter can biFconsulted
from 9 in the morning till Bat night, at his office,
No. 56 Bona street, New York city. 40 years’practice.
Charges moderate, and a cure guaranteed. Sceptics and
doubters will please call and read hundreds of reliable
certificates of cures made within the last 40years; many
were o’d chronic cases that dozens of emment Physi
cians had failed to cure. Separate rooms, co that the
.patient sees no one but tho Doctor himself. His won
derful medical discovery, known as Dr. Hunter’s Red
Drop, cures certain diseases when all otrer remedies
fail; cures without dieting or restriction in the habits of
tho patient; cures without the disgusting and sickening
effects of all other remedies; cures in new cases in loss
than six hours; cures without the dreadful consequent
effects of mercury, and possesses the peculiarly valuable
property of annihilating the rank and poisonous taint
that the blood is sure to absorb unless his remedy is
used. This is what he claims for it, and what no other
will accomplish. One dollar will securo by return mail
his medical work. 300 pages, 40 colored pictures. Worth
all the others put together. Advice by mail, and medi
cin es promptly forwarded. U tmost secresy observed.
SPECIAL NOTICE TO THE LADLES?-
xjadies.have you been unfortunate—are you in trouble
—do you need medical treatment ? If so, bow very impor
tant it is that you should ba careful in the selection of a
physician. There are those who may promise relief, but
never give it. Such only take your money without giving
you an equivalent. The intricacies of the female evstem
are so complicated, that no one without a thorough and
practical knowledge of all its peculiarities should ever dare
to treat any of its derangements. To successfully treat
female complaints, it requires a morcthorough knowledge
of anatomy and physiology taan any other specialty.
For twenty-five years. Doctor H. D. GRINDLE has
made female complaints a specialty, successfully treat
ing all cases; therefore, age with experience can be
relied upon. Our treatment, which is always safe and
certain, is endorsed by the highest medical faculty, and
unknown to all others. Let those who have been de
ceived and maltreated by medical pretenders, whatever
their complaint, or from whatever cause produced, make
us a visit. They will soon see the difference between
science and presumption. All consultations are strictly
private and sacredly confidential; and patients at once
fedl themselves at home. Patients see the doctor in per
son, privately. Office central, yet retired. No. 120 West
Twenty-sixth street, near Sixth avenue. Elegant rooms,
board. <fcc., for those who require nursing.
Avoid quacks. —a victim of
early indiscretion, causing nervous debility, pre
mature decay, Ac, having tried in vain every advertised
remedy, has discovered a simple means of self-cure
which he will send free to his fellow sufferers. Addrow’
J. H. TUTTLE. No. 78 Nassau street, New York. ‘
WE ADVISE ALL SUFFERERS TO
JYu COn S! ,lt DR - gnaranteM that none
thali Lava his cars until oared tad restored to sound land
vigorous healtn. Ills olios is at n O . 7 Beach slreJl
West Broadway. New fora oil,. eaoll Btr6et >
INVALIDS, READ DR. BOND & SON’S
MEDICAL ADVERTIBBMENT. _ S
Dll. LEWIS, AUTHOR OF THE “MED
ioal Companion and Guide to Health,” No. 7 Beach
street. loose who apply in the early stage of dis
ease will be surprised as tho ease and ranidity of the
curs. Forty years’ private praodee.
Sunday Edition. February IS.
.
I 7 A ar L l' GlVi ' onk thousand rtOL
ink- «‘ or ease of he follow-
SStvh.vp -r"'' lca medlo.it fa-
BJES will not radically cure. ift/RG / ?vl f
caau s Golden Balsam No. 1 will cure I I
Syphilis mit-s Primary and Secondary \ V- /
stages, suoh as old Ulcers and Ulcer- \ /
ated fcore Throat, Sore Eyes, Skin 7
Eruptions, Soreness of the Scalp, and
all stages of the disease, eradicating mo
eury thoroughly Pnoe’So per bottfe. or twl botUeSsa*
Dr. Riohau’s Golden Balsam No. 2 will cure tho third
rm £ iar « v Syphilis, where Syphilitic and Mercu
rial Rheumatism are connected with the Primary and
dary * 1 have hundreds of certificates where mi
cures ? ee F elfecte(l hy these remedies.
eatan d jlnnk what they like, and require na
api ?^ I , ca |jo ns - Hundreds suffer from Syphilitic
and T ( iof Uria i. Rheumatism who are not aware of it,
nf thia Sa— to ?£ tam a radical cure without tho usa *
It h?^rf^ cin0 * beneficial effects are felt at once,
havp IfHn + e hl me p n from hos P ltaJ beds in one wook,
the citi! ft ye y 3 Ul ? dej i tha bo3t practitioners i a ;
easo&wn d I |J bo o nly S ad2ca J ctirof '> r th 9 worst dis
tS for ,lls - Prieo P - per hot:;10 ’ or two bot-
from the* aint 0/this’sSSSe/ -11 S “ VM yOUr ofls P rin *
a safe i speedy, pleasant
■ tor Lonorrhcea, Gleet, Irritation,
fVltanhjHA,? Uu S lar .’ dorangemmts, acoomnasio l witll
directions. Wa, ranted to cure, trice per bottls.
s Golden Elixir d Amour, a radical oura
Iwta hoea ’ l General Debility in old or young,
t n ‘l lm P, a rling energy with wonderful
tot hose who bave led a life of sensuality or self
‘r ln '!? lu < l b!e to those who are anxious for an
“J 111 !- Nothing more certain in its effects.
“isccaposed or the most powerful ingredients of tha
hoa?t t h b 'pa ne, j“' harmless, but speedy in restoring
*5 V’i 1 ' bo I tie, or two bottlss for S 9.
Trade supplied ata liberal discount.
On receipt of price, these remedies will be shipped ta
any part iree from observation ; correspondents an
s'verecl confidentially ; hours for consultation 9 A. M. ta
i, hrnone genuine without n ine of Dr. Richau’s
Golden Kemeaies. D. B. Richards, Sole Proprietor,
blown in glass of bottles. Observe'well trade mark oa
outside wrapper and written signatures on inside label.
Address Dr D.B.BICHARDS, No. 228 Variole street,.
New York city. *
Send money by express, or order Goods sent C. O. D.,
phrough your_Diuggist> and you will meet with no loss.
DR. HUNTER’S BOTANIC’CORDIAL
is the only positive and Specitio Remedy
tor all suffering from general or sexual debility, all de- .
rangements of the nervous, forces, melancholy,
torrhcea, or seininal em-jssions. all weaknesses arising
from sexual excesses, or youthful indiscretions, loss or
muscular energy, physical prostration, nervousness,
weak spine, lowness of spirit-, dimness of vision, hyster
ics, pa ns in the back and limbs, impotency, &c.
No language can convey an adequate idea of the imme
diate and almost miraculous change it occasions to the
debilitated and shattered system. In fact, it stands ur.-
riva.ed as an unfailing cure of the maladies above nwn«
tioned.
Suffer no more, but try one bottle; it will effect a cure
where all otxiers fail, and although a powerful remedy,
contains nothing hurtful to the most delicate constitu
tion. Price, Five Dollars. No. 56 Bona street, near
Bowery. Book of CO pages gratis.
NDTIvOH TO MARRtai> and
kJ SINGLE LADIES The most wonderful, reliable,
and certain remedy, As well as always health/for
nea or single ladies, in removing obstructionsand sup
rHas, prOFod 10 be the celebrated PORTU
PILLS. Thouoanda
of ladies have used them with infallible certainty. Read
what tho best physic;ans testify in resp-ct to thorn-
A woman appiled to be treated for suppression. Ifc
appeared that ah? baq been subject to irregularity, or
and as she appeared to l>e free from tho usual
svmptoms attending pregnano/. it was not supposed
that the stoppage arose from that cause. She com
menced using the POR4TUGUESKFEMALE MONTH- z
LY PILLS. After u.ing taem about five day®—from
certain indications—suspicions began to ba enter
tained that the suppressions might have arisen from
pregnancy, which, upon examination, proved to he the
case—too 1 ite, however, to prevent the result. In u short
time it look place, and on about the third day after, she
entirely recovered, with but little comparative incon
venience to her general health.” They never fail. Cer
tain and healthy. Price $5.
DR. A. M. MAURICEAU, Professor of Diseases of
Women. Office, No. 129 Liberty streat. Sole Agent and
Proprietor for upward of twenty years. They are sent
by mail, in ordinary letter envelopes, with full instruc
tions and advice.
DR. PERRY, No. 51 BLEECKER STT,
near Broadway, can be consulted by ladies or gen
tlemen in trouble. Immediate relief guaranteed in all
cases. Charges moderate, and no fee unless satisfac
torily cured. Office strictly private. Board, nursing.
&c., if required. Hours, 9to 9; Sunday, 2 till 5.
TO THE . LADIES.-DR.
ASCHER, No. 3 Amity Place (continuation of
Laurens street), invites those ladies who are in trouble* •
ar.d who have obtained no relief, to call and consult with.
him. No pay required until cured, and perfect satisfac
tion given. The most skeptical can be convinced and ba
satisfied that all they require can be accompli shed. Ee
gunt rooms for ladies requiring nursing. Terms rea
sonable.
IM" AD AMeT VANBUSKIRK, Physician
AVJL and Midwife, can be consulted at No. 42 St. Mark’s
place, near Second avenue. Having had twerity-fiva
years’ experience in the treatment of all female com-
she can guarantee cure when all others fail. He»
remedies are safe and sure, and always give immediate
relief. Pleasant rooms and board for those from a dis
tance. Consultations at all hours.
Notice.— dr. lewis, no. 7 beach
street, near Went Broadway, can be consulted daily,
from 9 A. M. to 8 P. M.» and on Sundays, from 10 A. M.
to 12 M.
DR. HUNTER’S GONNORHEA SI’E-
Ull’lU canno be equaled for curing quickly and
most effectually. Ore Dodar. No. 56 Bond street, near
Bowery. Open 9A.M.t08 P. M.
►O A sure and reliable medicine, under all circum
stances, for removing obstructions and suppressions.
Spanish Female Pills, $2 00 per box. French Sugar
coated (stronger) Pills, $3 00 per box. Periodical Drops,
S 2 COperviaL Womb Guards, $3 00 each. Syringes of
all kinds from $1 00 to $lO 00 each. Ladies, the abova
remedies are invaluable. Medicines for gentlemen put
up in $5 and $lO packages. Invigorating Cordial for
nervous debility and seminal weakness, never fails, $1 50 „
and $3 00 per bottle. Gentlemen’s genuine A No. 1 con
veniences, under all circumstance?, price, two for $1 00.
or $5 00 per dozen. I can be consulted at my office on
all diseases of a dellcats nature by ladies or gentlemen.
Scientific treatment guaranteed to all. GEORGE R.
BOND, M. i)., No. 196 Eim street, between Broome and
Spring streets.
IVTERVOUS AND PHYSICAL DHBILI
jL 1 ty and all other special diseases scientifically and
successfully treated by Dr. LEWIS, No. 7 Beach streit.
No case undertaken, or fee accepted, unless a cure can be
guaranteed. Forty years private practice.
DR. HUNTER, 56 Bond street, 49 years
practice, the only physician in this city who cures
without leaving a taint in the blood. Botanic Cordial
for Nervous Debility. Impotence, Loss of Power, &c.
Five Dollars. A sura cure. Sent by express to any ad
dress. Advice gratis. Open 9A.M.to BP. ?»1.
riYHE ONLY - CURE FOR~SEMINAU
IL Weakness, Pains in the Rack, avd N?rvous Debili
ty, are MANURES’ CELEBRATED PILLS. They are
warranted to cure any case of this m ni and bo<iv de
stroying disease. No matter how obstinate. A CURE
IS CERTAIN. Price, One Dollar per Box, or (5 boxes
$5, by mail, or at the office. Call or write to DR. MAN
CH ES, No. 6al Broadway, Now York.
A CERTAIN CURE FOR MARRIED
L"dies, with or wit.icut medicine, by Madame
REbTELL, Professor of Midwifery; over 33 years’ prac
tice. Her infallible French Female Pills, No. 1, price sl,
or No. 2, specially prepared forinarried ladies, price $5,
which can never fail, are safe and healthy. Sol i only at
her office, No. 1 East Fifty-second street, first door from
Jbifth avenue, and at Druggist’s, No. 152 Greenwich
street, or sent by mail. Caution—All others are coun
terfeit
THE NEW RING SELF-AIIJUStInG
French Protectors for gentlemen, at 40c. each; 3
forsl. Old styles at $2. $3, and $4 per doz. Ladies’
new style Protectors at $2 and $3 each. Call or address
DR. MANCHES, No. 651 Broadway, N. Y.
«URE CURE FOR SEMINAL WEAK
k? ness. Emissions Debility, etc. My remedy is tho
only sure cure in the world. SSOO given for any case I
cannot cure. Price $1 a box, six boxes $5, by mail. Cali
or write, DR. WILLIS, No. 310 Canal street, New York*
A SPECIAL ADDRESS TO THE
NERVOUS AND DEBILITATED,
WHOSE SUFFERINGS HAVE BEEN PRO
TRACTED FROM HIDDEN CAUSES.
AND WHOSE CASES REQUIRE PROMPT TREAT
MENT TO RENDER EXISTENCE DESIRABLE.
Reader, this article may not concern you at all. If you
have never suffered from disease of tho organs of genera
tion, such as Spermatorrlocea, Seminal Losses, Involuntary
emission, it is not necessary for you to road this. If you
are suffering or have suffered from Involuntary Dis
charges, what effect does it produce upon your general
health? Do you feel weak, debilitated, easily tired?
Does a little extra exertion produce palpitation of tha
heart ? Does your Liver or urinary organs or your kidneys
frequently get out of order? Is your urine sometimes
thick, milky or flocky, or is it ropy on settling? Or
does a thick scum rise to the top ? Ora sediment in tha
bottom after it has stood a while? Do you have spells
of short breathing or dyspepsia? Are your bowels con
stipated? Do you have spells of fainting, or rushes of
blood to the head ? Is your memory impaired ? Is your
mind constantly dwelling upon this subject? Do you
feel listless, moping, tired of company, of life? Do you
wish to be left alone—to get away from everybody ? Does
any little thing make you start or jump? Is your sleep
broken or restless ? # Do you discharge drops of semen
before or after making water, or during your stool, or at
night? Or have you become impotent; lost all feeling
for the opposite sex? Do you often feel ashamed of
yourself, thinking that everybody that looks atyou knows
what is the matter with you ? Is the lustre of your eya
as brilliant? The bloom on your cheek as brignt? Da
you enjoy yourself in society as well ? Do you pursue
your business with the same energy ? Do you feel aa
much confidence in yourself ? Are your spirits dull and
Hogging, given to fits of melancholy ? If so, do not lay
it to your Liver or Dyspepsia. Have you restless nights?
Your back weak, knees weak, and have but little appe
tite, and you attribute this to Dyspepsia or Liver Com
plaint ? Did you ever tell your doctor that you had prac
ticed masturbation, or that you had suffered from badly
cured gonorrhea, or syphilhs. or from veneral excesses?
Perhaps you never thought of confiding those things to
him; and if you had, it is a question whether his mod
esty would have allowed him to question you closely on
the point for fear of offending you; and if he had ex
pected anything of the kind, being your family physician
he durst not for the world have hinted at the thing, for
fear of your becoming indignant and insulted.
Now, reader, self-abuse, venereal diseases badly cured,
and sexual excesses, are all capable of producing a weak
ness of the generative organs. The organs of genera
tion, when in perfect health, make the man. Did you
ever think that those bold, defiant, energetic, persever
ing, successful business men. are always those whose
generative organs are in perfect health ? You never
ear such men complain of being melancholy, of nerv
ousness, of palpitation of the heart. They are never
afraid they cannot succeed in business; they don’t be
come sad and discouraged; they are always polite and
pleasant in the company of ladies, and look you and
them right in the face—none of your down looki or any
other meanness about them. Ido not mean those who
keep these organs inflamed by running to excess. These
will not only rum their constitutions, but also those they
do business w*th or for.
How many men from badly-cured private diseases,
frem the effects of self-abuse and excesses, have brought
about that state of weakness in these organs, that has
reduced the general system so much as to induce almost
every other disease—idiocy, lunacy, paralysis, spin 1 af
fection, suicide, and almost every other form o; disease
which humanity is heir to. and the real cause of the
trouble scarcely ever suspected, and have doctored for all
but the right one.
TO THE YOUNG, MIDDLE-AGED, and even OLD.
who are destroying their Physical Strengtn and Mental
Happmess by their uncontroled passions, or who are al
ready weakened and impotent by the folly of the past,
why do you suffer when you must know the sure result it
you allow the disease to ruin and debase you, mind and
body ? If you would avoid this disease, which renders
marriage improbable, or the married life a failure, ba
warned in time, and lot no false modesty keep you from
making known your troubles and receiving a si.ra and
lasting cure. I have cured THOUSANDS, and will you, if
you call in season. A short time under mv treatment
will make you a new man, and send you forth into tha
world an honor to your sex, a id, I trust, a blessing to
mankind. .ALBERT LEWIS, M. D.,
Author of the Medical Companion and Guide to
Health,” can be confidentially consulred at his old es
tablished office, No. 7 BEACH STREET, near West
Broadway, New York. Forty years’ private practice.
Office hours from 9A.M. to 8 P. M. Sundays, from
10 A. M. to 12 M.
(Copyrighted J
TOTANHOOD; HOW LOST, HOW BE
LO. STORED—.Just Published by DR. LEWIS, (251
Pages, Second Edition.) THE MEDICAL COMPAN
ION AND GUIDE TO HEALTH, on the radical cure
of Spermatorrhoea, or Seminal Weakness. Involuntary
Seminal Losses, Impotency, Mental and Physical Inca
pacity, Impediments to Marriage, etc., and the Venereal
and Syphilitic Maladies, with plain and clear directions
for the speedy cure of Secondary Symptoms. Gonor
rhoea, Gleets, Strictures, and all diseases of the skin,
such aa Scurvy, Scrofula, Ulcers, Boils. Blotches ana
Pimples on the face and body. Consumption, Epilepsy,
and Fits, induced by self-indulgence or sexual extrav
agance.
Tne celebrated author, in this admirable Treatise,
clearly demonstrates, from a forty years’ successful prac
tice, that the alarming consequence of self-abuse may
be radically cured; pointing out a mode of cure at once
simple, certain, and effectual, by means of which every
sufferer, no matter what his condition may be, can ba
effectually cured, cheaply, privately, and radically.
This Book should be in the hands of every jouth,
and every man in the land. , .
Sent under seal, in a pl-nn envelope. Price, 50 cent?.
Address, DR. LEWIS. No. 7 Beach street, New York.

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