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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, July 02, 1871, Image 2

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him to help me 1 His own brother’s son, too I
He might have sent me at least a word of kmd
iiess and sympathy. It was little enough I
he does not send it, you will have
ittle for which to thank him,” said Loveatt, m
lignantly. “The miserly old curmudgeon I 1
frould never call him uncle again. lam sorry
you wrote to him.” ,
ft ,( It was my last hope,” said Rupert, of be
ing enabled to carry out my design of leaving
England, and trying my fortune on more
friendly shores. You know how lam involved
in debt; that I dare not show myself where I
im known, lest I should again bo arrested ;
that there is no safety for me but in flight.
How can I depart without money, even if X re
gain my former strength ?”
.1 Loveatt looked at him reflectively.
J “It is not yet too late to receive an answer
10 your letter,” he said; “ but should the help
you expected never arrive, I do not see the ne
cessity for your going entirely away from
England. People will forget you soon—at
least, they will cease your vigorous search in
time. In some other town you might obtain
employment—something which will keep you
Until the time arrives—as it surely must—
then you will step into your fortune, and re
sume your proper place in the world.”
Rupert smiled sadly.
i“I may be, comparatively, an old min, ho
answered, “ before that time arrives. To speak
lo me of toiling on for an uncertain period in
bbscurity, for a bare pittance to keep together
body and soul, until then, Is showing me the
Heath-warrant of the brightest dream, the
nearest hope of my life. If such must be my
luture, I must give up all thought of winning
be woman I love.”
: The actor shook his head.
[.•‘lf she be a true woman, she will not four
loverty.” , m
“ I should be no true man," replied Rupert,
•to drag down a frail woman from a life of
uxury and ease, to share the hardships I must
mdure. It would drive me mad to see her
beauty wasted away by coarse toils and priva
tions, her bright eyes dimmed by tears; to
know that her joyous spirit was broken by
bare. It would make her very love for me a
continued torture and curse—a reproach for
my blindness and selfishness.”
| “If she be a true woman— if she loves you—
bhe will wait patiently until you can claim her
!rith honor,” persisted Loveatt.
“ Wait 1 lam not afraid of that!" said Ru
,ert. “ But I should be worse than a coward
o bind her by any promise to one so fallen as
am. Had I succeeded in my request, and
bbtainod from my uncle Cutkbert money
enough to have started me once more fairly
in the world, I might have done so ; but how
ban I tie her down to the pitiful waiting for
the death of an old man, which may not nap
pen until we have grown sick with suspense,
►nd the years of our youth and light-hearted
fcess have vanished for ever 1 No 1 If I am
left to my own resources, to struggle up un
aided from the first round of the ladder, Imust
feive up my dream of love forever. I must
Depart without leaving her a single token of
remembrance—giving her perfect freedom.
Poor Mildred I she has suffered too deeply from
poverty in the past to dare venture it again, I
1 “ She has, then, no fortune ?" queried
t“Nonel” he replied; “and if she had, I
would not bo dependent upon her. Fallen as
I am, I have still some pride, some manhood,
left in me. No 1 Let her stay with the Leigh
tons undisturbed; I must go on my way
T He leant back in his chair, and stared
gloomily down the street; and, after lingering
near him a few moments longer, Loveatt went
Quietly from the room.
i Ho stopped a minute as he descended the
(Stairs, and rubbed his bands together delight-
“Wo shall see—we shall see,” he said, in a
Stage whisper. “You may resolve to wreck
E’our happiness, my noble captain; at your
eisure I snail see if it can be preserved, and I
hall find out whether the woman you love is a
Irue woman.”
It was aboni four o’clock in the afternoon,
ind Dora and Mildred eat in a little room,
(There they usually spent their mornings.
Mildred was pouring over a book of drawings;
flora was lying on the sofa, her large, dark
byes fixed pensively on the patch of sky visible
through the window.
J She had changed much since the evening
when she had encotmtered Rupert Cleveland at
the door of the theatre. Her bright color had
Jaded, and her former high spirits had given
JVay to listless depression.
ii Two things only interested her. Those were
to drive slowly through the crowded streets,
eagerly scanning the faces of the passers-by;
or to look, shudderingly, down the columns of
the daily papers, her face growing whiter with
every fresh paragraph she read, until, having
Examined every side carefully, she would lay
it down with a sigh of relief.
ft The paper lay by her side now, as it had
Dropped from her hand, and a look of wistful
thought had gathered over her face.
Mildred looked up.
U There was no shadow on her beauty; she
yras as bright, and arch, and fascinating as
Usual, and had not abated one iota of her co-
Quettishness of attire or manner.
u “ Well, my fair politician,” she--s'aid, glanc
ing at the copy of the Times, “ have you fin
ished with your study of the affairs of state ?”
" Dora’s face flushed.
; know well, Mildred,” she replied,
“why I take such an interest in the news of
the day.”
“Still harping on the old theme,"said the
Widow, lightly, yet laying her hand affection
ately on that of Dora. “And yet I have told
you a thousand times that you could not have
Seen Captain Cleveland in the condition you
flescribed. Ho is abroad. For once in your
life, you have been mistaken.”
Dora drew away her hand.
Something in Mildred’s tone and manner
(arrod upon the simple nature of the heiress ;
and, for the first time in her life, she felt an
Instinctive distrust of her fair companion.
' “I cannot understand you,” she said. “It
teems to me that if I had been loved—had ac
cepted tacitly the love of any man, I could not
think of him in poverty and distress with the
Indifference you manifest toward Rupert Cleve
. Mildred shrugged her shoulders.
“You are so innocent of the ways of the
World,” she retorted. “I know him better
than to suppose he would leave himself desti
tute. He has provided for his own comfort,
you may be sure. Everything worth money
did not go in the general crash—take my word
For it.”
; “ Everything belonging to him was sold by
Wuotion —hie furniture, horses, pictures, even
his jewels and clothes,” said Dorn. “ What,
then, can he have saved ? I tell you, Mildred,
I was not mistaken. I saw him at the door of
the theatre, poor, wretched, starving ; while
we, who were once his dearest friends, were
Haunting our jewels, rolling in ease and com
, She looked impatiently round the neat, lux-
Prious room, and shivered.
“ I 'have never forgotten his wild, white
face,” she resumed. “I never pass through
the streets, but I look for him among the deso
late and forlorn ones, trudging wearily along.
I never look at a paper, but I dread to see him
mentioned as one of those despairing suicides,
who throw themselves into the dark river, or
hurry themselves by poison out of a world
Which has no pity or sympathy for them.”
“You are over-sensitive,” said Mildred. “I
dread no such evil for him ; and again I say,
you are mistaken.”
* A servant knocked at the door, then en
“Well, John?” said Dora, listlessly.
■ “ A person below, miss, wished to see Mrs.
Leighton,” replied the man.
! “Mamma is out,” interposed Dora, “He
tnust call again.”
i i'So I told him,” continued the servant,
' but ho said, perhaps, one of the other ladies
would grant him an interview. His name is
Loveatt, and he comes from Captain Cleve
Dora started up, with flushed cheeks and
bright eyes. Mildred knit her brows, and bit
her lip with an expression of displeasure.
“Let him be shown here immediately,”
eried Dora. “Now, Mildred, we shall soon
Jtnow the truth.”
. Presently, Loveatt was shown into the room.
He looked keenly at the two ladies, then
addressed himself to Dora, as though it was
from her he expected to find the sympathy be
“ You come from Captain Cleveland ?” said
Dora, motioning him to a seat.
fl “I do, madam 1” said the actor. “I know
hot whether I am wrong in what I am doing ;
If so, I must pray you to pardon mo, and con
sider only the motive which prompts me to
this act.”
f “Speak on!” said Mildred, with a faint ac
cent of curiosity in her voice. “ There is no
Deed to apologize. Wo are his friends.”
slt was graciously spoken; but Loveatt
turned from her to Dora, and resumed his
“I have not much to say,” ho continued,
r I came here to toll you that ho is sick, and
to distress—to ask your sympathy for him.”
v “Sick and in distress!” repeated Dora, her
face paling. “ I knew I was not mistaken.”
Y. “ Did he send you here ?” inquired Mildred,
fcervi usly; anxious to know how far her
former lover deemed her bound to him.
S “No 1” said Loveatt. “On the contrary, he
Does not even dream of what I have under
taken. I have told you ho is sick, helpless,
poor ; a mere shadow of what he was.in the
times past; but I have not told you all. Ho is
buffering from the worst of all tortures—from
eickness of heart—from despair.”
« The tears rose to Dora’s eyes. Mildred’s
lace was pale.; ehe was waiting uneasily to
pear how much this man knew of what had
bassed between herself and Rupert.
J “ Humble as I am,” he continued, “ the cap
tain has made me his friend. He has told me
touch of his past life ; and, among other things,
that he loves a lady with hie whole strength—
Jhat his life’s happiness is bound up in her.”
L Dora shivered, and pressed her hand upon
per heart.
) “Ha has told me, too, that his poverty
Would separate her from him ; that he could
not condemn her to a future of struggle and
Ul»l. or aak her to remain single for his sake
until the time should arrive when he should
inherit his fortune, lest she might wear away
her youth in weary waiting.”
A smile crossed Mildred’s lips, but bending
her head', she managed to hide it.
“He is so noble, so generous, so honorable,
that he would leave her perfectly unfettered,”
continued Loveatt, warming with his subject.
“ He would go away into obscurity, and leave
her without a word or sign; but he would
break his heart when it was done, he loves her
so fondly.”
“Pray,” said Mildred, softly, “did ho tell
you all this ?”
“No, not all,” said the simple-hearted man,
failing to detect the sarcasm in her tone. “But,
madam, I could see it without words, because
I regard him with affection. You know him,
perhaps, only as the gay man of the world,
but to me he wears other colors: he is my
benefactor, my preserver; the man who
stepped forward in the day of my deep distress,
and saved me and those dear to me from beg
gary. It is this which has sent me here to-day.
I see him despondent, wretched, and I know
how ho is mourning over his ruined hopes, his
lost love; and I have come here to tell the
story to the lady of his heart."
A low cry burst from Dora’s quivering lips,
but stifling it, she clasped her hands meekly,
and listened with a look of tender pity resting
on her plain face, and making it almost lovely.
“You camo to tell it to the lady of his heart ?”
she repeated, sadly.
“Yes. I came to say to her, it you are a
true woman, you will go to him, will comfort
him in his affliction and need, and take away
the heaviest sorrow of his life.”
He looked at his listeners, as though he
would discover which of them was the privi
leged being beloved by Rupert.
“You ask a strange thing,” said Mildred,
coolly. “ How do we know you speak the
truth? How did you find out our address,
since Captain Cleveland is ignorant of your
visit here.”
“ That is a question easily answered,” re
plied the actor, somewhat haughtily. “Once,
in the course of conversation, ho mentioned
that the lady of whom I have spoken lived
with some friends of tho name of Leighton.
One day, when my wife was—was brushing the
captain’s coat, she found a card with the same
name, and an address on it; and thus it
happened that I resolved to come, and know
where to direct my steps."
“1 am sure he speaks the truth,” interposed
Dora ; “ and I, as one of Captain Cleveland’s
warmest friends, thank him for coming to us.”
Loveatt smiled gratefully.
“I am thankful for your confidence,” ho
said. “I know not whom I am addressing.”
“I am Dora Leighton,” she replied.
“ I do upt know the name of the lady I came
to see, but I know she is here ; and once more
I ask her, if she is loyal and true of heart, to
come to see my friend in his trouble and sick
He looked at Mildred imploringly, but she
gave no sign of having understood him ; and
her fair, beautiful face was as unruffled as
though she had been listening to the merest
common-place talk.
“ See !”said Loveatt, placing a slin of paper
on the table. “Hero is my address. One
thing only I must ask—that you will not let it
be known. There are people on the alert who
would gladly throw the captain into a debtors’
prison, could they find him out.”
“Trust me,” said Dora. “No one shall
learn it from mo, save those who are favorable
to his interest.”
She read the slip carefully, then handed it to
Mildred, who studied it, then placed it in her
“And now my errand is done,” ho said, tak
ing up his hat. “If I have erred in my zeal
for my friend, I ask pardon.”
He opened the door, and with a courteous
“Good morning 1” left the room, and, with a
brightened face, turned his steps homeward,
“ I knew I was not deceived,” cried Dora, as
the door closed. “It was Rupert Cleveland
whom I saw, haggard and ghastly, by the door
of the theatre?’
“Granted!” replied Mildred. “Yet you
cannot blame me for refusing to credit so sad
a truth, without a more convincing proof than
the evidence of one hasty glance in the dark
“But now,” said Dora, “you have a con
vincing proof—now you know how lonely and
wretched he is, you will go to him ?”
Mildred shook her head, put on a pretty sen
timental look, and sighed.
“You do not know what you ask,” she said.
“ What would the world say if it knew I did
such a mad thing?”
“ Oh, Mildred 1” cried Dora; “you will not
surely let the world, with its heartless reason
ing, step in between you and the man you
love ?”
“ You again mistake,” said Mildred. “ There
is no tie between mysulf and Rupert Cleveland.
lam his friend and well-wisher; but Ido not—
I never loved him 1”
Dora’s eyes flashed angrily.
“And yet,” she said, “you encouraged his
attentions ; you behaved as though you fa
voured his passion I I have watched you
smile, and tremble, and blush beneath his
glance, at his whispered words, as though they
had power to touch your inmost heart. Oh,
Mildred,” she continued, “do not tell me it
was all sham—a mere pretence 1”
Mildred made an impatient movement;
then, remembering her worldly policy, how de
pendent she was on the charity of the Leigh
tons, she bent forward, and placed her hands
on Dora’s shoulders.
“’I dare not let my heart speak,” she said.
“I am poor ; and I should only be a clog upon
him, instead of a comfort and help.”
But Dora detected the false ring in her
voice, and winced uneasily beneath her caresss
ing touch.
“I am rich,” she rejoined. “ I dare not offer
him help ; but bo true to him, and I pledge my
word that you shall not go to him a portionless
“Of what avail would that be?” rejoined
Mildred. “He is plunged in debt.”
“I will be his surety,” said Dora.
“You (forget you are under age,” replied
Mildred. “ Your guardians would never con
sent to your plan. No, no 1” she added, as
suming a look of sorrow ; “our fates are de
cided ; the world—the cruel world has decided
them for us. We can be nothing to each other
in the future but friends.”
“Say, rather,” said the young heiress, “that
your own heart has spoken the verdict of
separation—that your own cold prudence holds
you back from your duty.”
Mildred burst into a passion of tears.
“That is right,” she sobbed; “ taunt me—
upbraid me. I am a dependent on lour
bounty, and I dare not reply again. What if
I do shrink from poverty? Who can blame
me? Has not all my life’s suffering arisen
from it? Was it not my lowly estate which
made Reginald Moore disown his son—the
dread of beggary which drove my husband to
a suicide’s grave ? And now you blame me
because I will not again unite myself to a
ruined man—because I dread the suffering
which would be the result. You have no pity
in your nature, or you would not urge it. Who
knows but, in time, his trials would kill his
love for me ? He might learn to hate me for
my helpless dependence upon him.”
Dora drew still further away.
“ Go to him, then ; and, if you love him as
you would have me believe you do, tell him
you will remain true to him-until the time
when he will be rich enough to claim you.”
“I cannot,” said Mildred. “Think of the
long years which would elapse ; think how I
should fade and lose all beauty in his eyes 1
Perhaps he would cease to care for me ”
“I see,” interrupted Dora, rising to her
feet, “ I see it now, as I might have done from
the beginning. You never loved him. You
would have married him for his wealth. You
feigned affection when you thought he was
rich ; you drive him from you in his humilia
tion and distress 1 To think how I have been
deceived! Perhaps you would even throw us
off in like manner were we to lose our for
A feeling of alarm rushed over Mildred.
Firm as she was in her resolve to sever herself
from any bond connecting her with Rupert
Cleveland, she had no wish to offend her pa
trons, or forfeit their regard.
She sprang up, and clasped her hands im
“Ah, Dora, do not leave mo in anger!” she
said, in a stifled voice.
“ Yon need not fear,” said the girl, sorrow
fully, comprehending her motive. “I shall
never forget that you have been as a sister to
mo. But, Mildred, I would give half, nay, the
whole of my fortune, to be able to think you
true, noble, and loving, as I did in times past.
But that is over. Well, I will trouble you no
more on this point; but if you refuse to go
near him in his misfortune—you, who could
comfort him so well—l will not. He shall see
that he has one friend who did not value him
for his wealth.”
She gave one long, sorrowful look at Mildred,
then hastened away.
“ She is a greater simpleton than I thought
her,” said Mildred, as she surveyed herself in a
pier glass over the fireplace. “As though I
would waste my beauty on a penniless man
give up all my ambitious dreams, and be con
tent to lead a life of drudgery and toil, all for
the sake of love! No; Rupert Cleveland rich
is a different person to Rupert Cleveland poor.
The former I would have married ; the latter
must henceforth be to me only a stranger.”
She bent her head, to mark the effect of a
bud she had taken from one of the vases, and
had twisted in her hair ; then laughed a pretty
silvery laugh of triumph.
“ I can afford to defy him now,” she said.
“ Who will listen to the words of a man who
has no wealth to give them weight—who is
shut out from my world? Long before he re
enters it, I shall have fulfilled my aim, and be
the wife of a rich man, at least—perhaps of a
noble. I shall be independent of them all
then 1”
And with another silvery peal of laughter,
she seated herself in her former chair, and
once more resumed her examination of the
book of drawings.
Leaving Mildred to pursue her thoughts
alone, Dora had hurried to her own room, and
attired herself in a neat walking costume, one
not calculated to invite observation. Her
cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, and
her lips closed firmly and detorminately.
“I care not what anyone thinks,” she said,
as she tied on her vail, and drew on a pair of
dark gloves, “I will see him. Who knows
but I may lighten his sorrow by my sympa
So, mustering up courage, she stole down
tho stairs into the nail, and past the great bur
ly hall-porter.
The man arose from his chair, and glanced
at her in surprise.
“ There’s—there’s no carriage at the door,
Miss Dora,” he said. “Perhaps they have for
gotten your order for it”
In his eyes, it was a serious breach of eti
quette for any lady ef the family to venture out
on foot alone—even m the broad daylight.
“lam not going to ride,” said Dora. “I
shall walk. Tell mamma, when she comes in,
that I shall not return for an hour.”
And, heedless of the hall-king’s look of blank
amazement, she tripped past him, out into the
There was a cab-stand at tho corner, and
entering one of the vehicles, she directed the
driver to take her to Loveatt’a house.
He was on tho alert—full of impatience to
know whether his plan would prosper ; and as
the cab stopped at the door, he hurried out,
and admitted his visitor.
There was a shade of disappointment on tho
actor’s face as ho recognized only the tall
figure of Dora, which did not escape her.
“You expected some one else?” she said, as
she stood in the general sitting-room, alone
with him.
“I will not deny it—l did,” ho answered.
“I fear when he knows she will not come, it
will kill him.”
“Thon,” said Dora, quickly, “he must not
know it. Let him go on thinning her true, and
loving toward him ; that is, until ho is strong
er—until he is more able to bear the shook of
finding her otherwise.”
Her voice was full, of pain ; but ehe boro her
self bravely, and won thereby the everlasting
admiration of Mr. Loveatt and his spouse, who
had just entered the room.
Tho lady is right,” said tho dame. “It will
do no good to agitate and excite him now ; ho
has enough to bear.”
“ I do not wonder ho loves her,” muttered
Loveatt. “She has a fair face ; but beauty is
not always the true mirror of the mind. You
have told the captain there is a visitor waiting
for him ?”
His wife nodded ; and beckoning Dora, tho
pair proceeded up the narrow, dark, little flight
of stairs to the room of Rupert Cleveland.
Ho was once more wheeled back to the fire,
and was looking toward the door eagerly, and
eyes bright with hope. But as Dora entered
the glad expression faded away, and, with a
shiver of disappointment, he drooped his head
and drew a little closer to the cheerful blaze.
Mrs. Loveatt stood just within the door, a
little, round, rosy figure of propriety, who nev
ertheless did not constitute an intruder on tho
Dora advanced quickly, and throwing up her
vail, held out her hands.
He touched them almost carelessly; then, in
a fretful tone, exclaimed:
•‘Where’s Mildred? Is she not with you?”
Dora shook her head.
“ Why did she not come ?” ho continued.
“Is she Ilka thS-rest of the world ? Has she,
too, forsaken me?' 1 '
Pale as death grew Dora’s face as she caught
the deep agony in his voice, while a sharp pain
stabbed her to the heart.
“Always Mildred!” she thought, half jeal
ously, half angrily. “Not one welcome for
me 1”
She was silent for a moment; then, looking
once more at his wasted frame, she nerved her
self to her task.
“Do not think that,” she said. “ How could
she forsake you, having once loved you? Do
not judge her by her delay in flying to your
side. Think, perhaps, she is suffering from
suspense, from anxiety; her strength may have
failed her, as yours has done ’’
She stopped again, with a bitter, wrathful
remembrance of Mildred as she had left her on
that morning—gay, buoyant, blooming, and ut
terly careless of Rupert’s fate.
He caught at the hope in her words.
“Mildred is ill!” he exclaimed. “She is
grieving over my uncertain lot. Heaven help
and bless her, my own faithful darling 1”
Mrs. Loveatt burst into tears, and retired
into a corner, sobbing. Dora knelt beside him
and held his wasted hand, her face shining
with pure and fervent devotion.
“Think of her so always,” she said—“ as
your faithful darling, who has sent me here to
comfort you because she cannot come ; and let
the thought cheer and strengthen you ; let it
win you back to health ; let it give yoiuenergy
to strive and battle on against the evil which
oppresses you. Think of her as your darling,
the true love of your life; and,"Rupert, take
me as your friend ; let me help you, let mo
come in her place to cheer you. Though lam
not Mildred, let mo be something to you hi
this dark, dark hour.”
He placed his hand on her head.
“I did not dream you had so much friend
ship for me,” he said. “ But not the less do I
value it. And so Mildred sent you to me ?”
“ Always Mildred 1” said her rebellious heart;
but she put it down, and smiled back an an
swer to his questioning.
Mrs. Loveatt wept more copiously, and
rubbed her eyes into a hopelessly inflamma
tory state.
“Sit by me,” he continued, pointing to a
chair at his side, “ and tell me of her. Is she
pale? Has she lost all her sweet bloom, and
have her dear eyes lost their brightness with
weeping for me ?”
Dora obeyed him, and sat by his side ; but
she could not answer this last question. It
seemed too deep and bitter a mockery to pic
ture Mildred as pining and sick over the sor
rows of another.
But Rupert did not wait for a reply.
“ Perhaps you have a letter for me ?” he con
tinued, hopefully.
Dora shook her head.
“ A message, then?” he persisted. “Surely
she would send a message ?”
She pondered for a moment, then looked at
him with a smile.
“Yes, I have a message,” she said. “Take
courage, and hope, and do not be dismayed by
your change of fortune; for those who have
loved you in your seeming prosperity will not
desert you in adversity.”
“She said this?” said Rupert, his face light
ing up with a smile. “She told me to be of
good cheer? Heaven, bless her tor her kind
words, for her constancy and love 1 Now,
Dora, dear friend, listen to me. Tell her I
have gained fresh courage to help me in the
future. That no matter how great the difficul
ties I may have to meet, I will overcome them;
and that when I have conquered my evil fate—
when I can stand among my fellows without
shame or fear—l shall hasten to her. and ask
her to share my brighter lot. You will not
forgot ?”
Dora bowed her head.
“I shall not forget,” she replied, in a low
“Tell her you found me dreary and de
spondent, without a single aim or hope in life,
fearing that I was separated from her forever;
and then say that your kindly presence, her
message of love, has made me most happy,
most brave. Ah, Doral do not laugh at my
words 1 Think, I have lived for nearly thirty
years in the world, and have never loved until
now 1 She is my one hope—my one idol 1 If
I should lose her, it would drive me to de
spair 1”
Whiter, still whiter, grew Dora’s face.
“ You love her so ?” she whispered.
“Hove her so,” he repeated, his tone soft
ening—“better than life, fortune, or fame!
Existence would be insupportable if I were de
prived of her.”
Dora shrank away as though she ha’d re
ceived a blow; then, rising, she hold out her
“ I must go now,” she said ; “lam expected
at home.”
“You will come again ?” he pleaded. “Your
presence is like a sunshine, for you are a true
friend, and come from Mildred.”
“I will come,” she said, and drawing down
her vail, she hurried awav.
Loveatt met her in the kitchen.
“ How have you left him ?” he inquired, anx
“Cheerful and happy,” she replied, “in his
trust in her. Heaven pardon us if we have
done wrong in deceiving him 1”
“It was all for the best,” interrupted the
actor ; “ he could not bear bad tidings now.”
Dora took out her purse, but Loveatt, ob
serving tho movement, laid his hand on her
arm and gently stayed her from opening it.
“I am his friend,” she urged. “You will let
me help him ?”
“ Not a penny, miss,” said Loveatt, resolute
ly. “I do not require it; and—and—well, I’ve
a sort of pride and joy in paying off a little of
my debt of gratitude to the Captain. It is one
of my luxuries, and I ask you not to deprive
me of it.”
“But,” she said, “your means are so small.
I am rich.”
“So am I,” laughed Loveatt; “that is, in a
certain sense. My expenditure is lees than my
income. But this I promise :if any emergency
arises which will require for my guest more aid
than I can afford him, I will apply without de
lay to you.”
With this promise she was forced to be con
tent, and bidding Loveatt and his wife good
by, she passed out to the cab, which was still
waiting for her.
As it rolled away from the door, she gave a
glance up to Rupert’s window.
“Heaven help him when the blow falls!”she
said—“ when be learns how be has been de
ceived I”
There was no one to question her when she
returned, for Mildred had retired to her room,
and Mrs. Leighton was still absent; and re
lieved at being left alone, she threw herself on
a sofa, and busied herself with thinking how
she could best assist Buport Cleveland in his
And in the meanwhile Mildred sat in her
room, likewise busied oyer the captain’s af
She was bending over her desk writing a
seemingly important letter, for her brows were
knit and her lips compressed, while her hand
moved slowly and carefully across the paper.
Presently she finished, and holding up the
few lines she had traced, examined them care
“ That will do,” she said, approvingly. “No
one will over guess that is in my handwriting ;
and I dare say Messrs. Wright and Company
will be infinitely obliged to their unknown
correspondent for the information vouchsafed
to them.”
With a smile, she read the letter:
“Sib— lf you wish tor the address of Ciptaln
Cleveland, he is to be found at the house of a Mr,
Loveatt, No. 13, street, Chelsea.”
“ That will do, I should ihink,” sho contin
ued, poising her head with a graceful move
ment, and surveying it with increased satisfac
tion. th lt will never do to have him perpetu
ally hovering about me with his sentimental
love; never do to have that heroic friend of
his calling hero, and taking the part of a spe
cial pleader in his behalf. No ; he must *bo
hunted from my vicinity, or I shall never be at
So, placing the letter in an envelope, she
sealed it, and attiring herso'f in her dress, she
went opt, and dropped that treacherous mis
sive into tho post.
Two days later, early in the morning, a couple
of shabby mon might have been seen walking
down the street where Lovoatt resided.
They were the bailiffs who had arrested him
before, and they were laughing and joking as
though thoy were overjoyed at renewing their
acquaintance with the unfortunate man.
“Number twenty-four,” said one ; “wo are
•near the house now. I say, it’s raythor a
chango to tho last place he lived at. It’s plain
the noble captain has gone down in tho world.”
“So much tho worse for us!” growled tho
other. “We shall not get much above our le
gal fees, it strikes me ; so come along ; the
sooner wo got this job over tho better.”
They haa reached Lovoatt’s door, and stop
ping forward, ono of them knocked with no
very gentle hand.
The actor’s wife opened it, and, pushing past
her, tho two men entered the kitchen.
“Tnis ero Mr. Loveatt’s house, mum?” in
quired the elder bailiff.
“It is,” said the damo, fooling vaguely un
easy at tho<trough, forbidding faces and man
ners of her unexpected visitors. “ Mr. Love
att is up stairs ; if you will sit down, I’ll call
“Don’t trouble yourself, mum,” said the
bailiff, intercepting her. “We always try to
spare tho ladies as much as possible. We’ll
walk up stairs to him, if you’ve no objection.”
Without waiting to hear whether she had
or no, they passed unceremoniously the aston
ished woman, and walked up stairs, their
heavy boots making an ominous sound at ev
ery stop.
Mrs. Loveatt reddened indignantly, and fly
ing to the foot of tho stairs, seized the coat
tails of the hinnermost one, and called aloud
to her husband in accents of terror.
Loveatt, who was busy in Rupert’s room,
opened tho door quiokly, and was met by the
foremost bailiff; while half a dozen stops be
low came the second one, laboriously dragging
up tho infuriated Mrs. Loveatt, who refused to
relax her grip of his ooat-tails.”
“ What is tho meaning of this ?” asked Love
att, angrily.
“No offense, sir,” said the bailiff. “We’ve
merely called on a friendly visit to Captain
And pressing by him, the man strode into
the bed-room.
Rupert was not yet up, but a fire had been
lit, and a tempting little breakfast was laid
ppon the table.
The bailiff walked quickly to the bedside, and
laid bis hand on ihA Sick W&n’s shoulder, _
“Suit Of Messrs. Wrlglit & Company,” ho
said. “Six hundred and three pounds, six
shillings, and twopence.”
Rupert uttered a groan of despair.
“Caption’s made I” said the officer, calling
aloud to his mate ; “so you can take your time
dragging the old woman up stairs.”
“Old woman!” repeated Mrs. Loveatt, in
dismay; and, releasing the eoat-tails, she sat
down upon the stairs, and burst into tears.
“ The top of the morning to you, Captain,”
said the second bailiff, joining his companion.
“■We’ve just stepped in to say how d’ye do, in
a friendly way ; though you don’t seem over
joyed to see us.”
“■Wo must trouble you, though, to get up a
little earlier than you intended to,” said the
one who bad arrested him. “Also, to take a
short stroll with us this morning.”
“ Tell mo, gentlemen,” said Loveatt, coming
forward, “what does all this mean?”
“Well,”, said tho bailiff; “I don’t mind,
since you speak in so civil a manner. It
moans, that we have arrested Captain Cleve
land for the sum of six hundred and three
pounds, six shillings, and twopence—suit of
Messrs. Wright & Co., —— street, Piccadilly.”
“Arrested!” exclaimed Loveatt. “That
moans, you will take him to prison ?”
“Or to tho spunging-house,” answered the
man ; “whichever ho likes best. So, as I said
before, I must troublsrinm tti’get uu, and dress.
Timo’s valuable, auej we have another case to
look up to-day.”
“ It’s of no use talking,” said Rupert.
“There is no help for it—l must go. Will you
assist mo to rise ?”
“My friend is entirely crippled,” observed
Loveatt, turning to the bailiffs. “I will not
answer for his life, if you force him to prison,
in his present weak state.”
“Why, 1 can’t say but as tho captain looks
woful bad,” said the officer; “ but dooty
ty; and unless some friend will come fofferd,
and settle it, there’s nothing for itTwit he must
come along with us. To toll the truth, though,
lam sorry for the captain—he behaved like a
genelman to us last time, and I’d be glad to
see him out of this’ere difficulty.”
A ray of hope darted across Loveatt’s face
during this speech.
“Come up to the window,” he said ; “ I have
something to propose to you.”
The bailiff followed him to the window.
“You are not in a desperate hurry to drag
him cut to die ?” he said, in a whisper. “Look
’nors ; I think 1 know somebody who will help
him out of this scrape.”
“Well.” observed tho man, “what do you
propose ?”
“Merely that vou should consent to remain
quietly hero for a couple of hours, while I go
and seek for aid. I’ll make it worth your
Ho dived desperately into his vest pocket,
and produced a sovereign—one of tho three he
had received as his weekly wages.
Tho bailiff's eyes glittered joyously.
“Well, I’ve no objection,” he replied, taking
tho money. “I’m as soft-hearted a chap as
ever breathed when I’m taken in the right
way; and so, Captain,” ho added, addressing
his prisoner, “you take your morning nap in
peace, or your breakfast, whichever you please.
There’s no necessity to- stir j ust yet; and we’ll
sit, and bear you company m a friendly way,
without being too intruding.”
And beckoning his helper away, the pair
seated themselves on one side of the fire-place,
and fell into an animated though whispered
conversation, while Loveatt, after speaking a
few cheering words to liupert, took his depart
ure. =
His wife stationed herself, howovor, as guard,
by the bedside, and alternately petted and fed
her guest, and cast indignant glances at tho
intruders on her home.
One hour, two hours, slipped by; and still
the actor bad not returned.
“Time’s up,” said the bailiff; “but we’ll
give half an hour’s grace; and then, if he ain't
back, I am afeard we must be movin’ on.”
The little Dutch clock on the mantel-piece
ticked away remorselessly—cutting away,
moment after moment, from Rupert’s time of
grace, until the allotted interval had well nigh
Little Mrs. Loveatt grew nervous, and began
to whimper.
The bailiffs fidgeted in their chairs ; Rupert
waited with desperate calmness for the sum
mons to depart.
Five minutes more.
The half hour had expired,
The officers rose from then- seats. Mrs.
Loveatt bounded to her feet, and clenched her
chubby fists, as though she would have done
battle with them both in defense of her
Tho rattling nbise of hurried wheels sounded
in the street, and stopped at the door. Quick
footsteps ascended the stairs, and Lovoatt,
with another man, entered the room.
The stranger was one of the beads of the
firm who had issued the arrest.
“ Saved 1” cried Lovoatt, while his wife, drop
ping her belligerent attitude, rapturously
echoed the word, and threw herself on her hus
band’s shoulder, in a paroxysm of joy.
The men in charge rose respectfully at the
sight of the new comer.
“Hope we’ve done no harm waiting, sir?”
said one ol them, humbly.
"None,” said the stranger. “You can go;
your duty here is ended. I have great pleas
ure, Captain Cleveland, in being able to toll
you that the debt is paid, costs included, and
that Mr. Loveait holds the receipt.”
As he spoke, he beckoned to the bailiffs, and
the trio left the room.
Rupert looked at the actor ; then at the re
ceipt, which lay on the table by his side.
“Whore have you been?” he said, with a
sudden gleam of intelligence in his eyes. “To
—to the Leightons? What must they think
of me ?" he cried, with a burst of wounded
“ Pardon me,” replied Loveatt: “I could not
see you carried to prison, I did go there. I
saw the angel who camo here the other day,
and she obtained from her mother the money
to pay the debt. She sent you this note,
He laid a little folded paper in Rupert’s
The sick man opened it eagerly, then smiled
as he read:
For Mildred’s sake 1 You can repay the loan when
you coma into your lortune. Doha.
“For hlildredjs sake!” he said, with a smile,
taking up the receipt. “It is a generous act,
and it reminds me that I have something to
live and struggle for.” ,
"That is not all,” said his friend. “Mies
Leighton thinks with mo that my house is no
longer a safe resort for you. Others will learn
your address. Now, what she proposes is, that
you go down to Heatherley, and stay there
until some settlement of your affairs can be
made, to free you from what will else prove
an endless persecution. You know the Leigh
tons have an estate there—Heatherly Hall—
and as they are about to return to it, you will
not bo quite alone in a strange place. I have
the necessary funds for tho journey ; and—
and I was to give you, with this note, this
He held out a sealed parcel.
“ One hundred pounds in gold and notes,”
he explained, as Rupert held it irresolutely;
then, marking him as he again flushed and
winced beneath tho favors heaped upon him,
he, too, repeated tha words: “For Mildred's
sake ?”
Kupert placed lbs money by his side.
‘•There is no other way," ho said; “and I
can repay it when I come into my fortune.
But, you forgot. How cau Heave here ? lam
helpless as a child, and you cannot throw up
your situation and prospects only to bo my
“ No,” answered Loveatt. “ I should be
sued for breach of agreement. But, still, there
is no difficulty about it. As good luck would
have it, the ohuroh at Heatherly is without an
organist; and Mrs. Leighton has engaged one
in London, to go down there. She will ask
him Ro accompany you; and as there is not
much chance that he will refuse, you may reck
on on a useful traveling companion. And now
to breakfast; and eat heartily, for, if possible,
you must start this very day.
Fresh coffee, hot toast and eggs, were now
brought in by the indefatigable Mrs. Loveatt,
and with renewed hope and spirit, Rupert sat
up, and made a hearty meal.
Scarcely had he finished, than a rap came to
the door, and one of the children opening it,
announced the arrival of the gentleman from
Mrs. Leighton.
Presently he was ushered into the invalid's
It was the ex-sohoolmastor; the recent pa
tient in the lunatic asylum ; the man who had
married the grand daughter of Gaffer Crew.
Robert Lawson.
He was dressed wholly in black, and had a
quiet, gentlemanly air; but bis form was thin,
and his face more haggard and hard than it
had been before, while his hair had scarcely a
dark thread remaining in it.
“ I am the now organist at St. Mary’s Church,
Heatherly,” he eaid, casting a swift, searching
glance at Rupert. My name is Hallam.”
Loveatt courteously handed him a chair.
“This,” he said, “is Captain Rupert Cleve
“The gentleman whom Mrs. Leighton told
me would require my services as an escort
to Heatherly ?” said Hallam, in a tone of in
“Yes,” answered Rupert. “When do you
propose to start?”
“It is now twelve o’clock,” said the organist,
referring to his watch. “Can you be ready by
two ? If so, I will return for you at that time ;
there is a train starts from King’s Cross at
“That will suit me admirably," replied Ru
pert ; “ if it will not be too great a task for my
friends to hurry on my preparations.”
“Not any trouble,” cried Mrs. Loveatt;
“save the trouble of parting with you.”
“ Then,” said the visitor, “ you will be ready ?
By eight o’clock this evening, wo shall be in
the village of Heatherly. But there is one
thing more Mrs. Leighton mentioned to mo ;
that, being an invalid, and disinclined for so
ciety, you would require a quiet lodging.”
Rupert smiled sadly.
“Quiet is certainly indispensable to me now,”
he answered.
“An organist of the church,”continued Hal
lam, “I have included in my salary a neatly
furnished cottage. Now, your friend, my kind
patroness, thought that perhaps, for the sake
of quiet and res>, you might consent to—to—
rent jjart of my house ?"
“Tho very thing,” said Rupert, entering
eagerly into the spirit of the change proposed
for him ; “that is, if you, sir, will consent to
receive me.”
“I shall be only too happy,” replied Hallam,
while a strange smile curved his lips. “Ono
thing only I must tell you. lam a bachelor ;
I have no good wife to attend you. Still, that
may in »;>ma degree, be remedied. A trust
worthy female servant from the Hall will at
tend upon you jvhile ybu remain an inmate of
my house.”
“I accept your kind offer," said Rupert;
“and I will be ready to accofnpany you at the
time you have stated.”
“Then,” said Hallam, rising, i'i will leave.
You seem weak, and must take as much as
possible before your journey.”
In another instant he was gone.
There ensued a mighty bustle in Loveatt’s
little home ; the dragging forth and packing
of a leathern portmanteau, with sundry arti
cles borrowed from the actor’s own wardrobe,
and others purchased from a portion of the
hundred pounds; and at two o’clock, when
Hallam arrived in a cab, Rupert was ready to
It was, as the actor observed, quite a dra
matic scone, that carrying of the crippled man
down stairs, followed by a procession composed
of Mrs. Loveatt, who was laden with wraps
and small packages, and the olive branches,
who cried in melodious concert. And so, amid
the tearful adieus of the grateful family, Ru
pert Cleveland was placed in the vehicle, and
borno away from the dangerous vicinity of
street, Chelsea.
His heart boat quickly as they neared their
destination, and stopped at the station. Sup
pose his creditors bad got scent of his move
ment also, and should arrest him on the very
eve of escape ?
Ho grow sick and faint.
Two porters came, and, lifting him in their
arms, carried him to the platform.
Ho looked round tremblingly.
A few loiterers paused a moment to glance at
him, then went on their several ways.
There were no suspicious persons loitering
In five minutes the train would start, and he
would be safe.
Ho sat on the bench where no had boon
placed, and stared up at tho clock.
Hallam, who had Coen to obtain the tickets,
Two minutes had gono by.
Thon the porters camo back, lifted him onco
more, and, carrying him to the train, placed
him in a compartmont’of a firai class carriage.
Hallam was away again, looking alter tho
The last three minutes seemed lengthened
to hours to tho waiting man.
A passenger sauntered by, and looked in at
Rupert shivered, and a cold perspiration
started out upon his forehead.
One minute more—would it never pass ?
Was the man gazing in upon him an enemy ?
The question was quickly solved.
The obnoxious person passed on, and did not
again make his appearance.
Tho warning bell rang.
Hallam came running up, and leaped into
his place.
The guard closed the carriage door with a
bang; the whistle shrieked shrilly. The last
minute had passed, and the train flew on its
Rupert was free.
Ho leant back in his seat, wiped tho perspi
ration from his forehead, and smiled.
In less than half an hour they had left Lon
don behind thorn.
On sped the train, through the wide, open
Trees, houses, fields whirled before his eyes
as be looked from the windows. Then they
became indistinct; his head fell back among
tho cushions of his seat, and he slept.
The train slackened speed, and the change
partially aroused him.
He lay for a moment in a half doze ; then he
started up, and looked around him, with a
startled glance, at his companion.
Had ho been suffering from nightmare, or
had it been reality, when he fancied that a
dark shadow had bent over him—a voice like
that of the organist muttered tho words :
“ The third victim—the third victim !”
[To be continued.!
The BeA-room of Two Noting Ladles Win
tered at Night, and the Mair Shaved
Closed From Their Head’s.
(From the Louisville Courier.)
A small cottage on East Market street was
the scene a few nights since, of a most remark
able occurrence. If the history of the most
noted burglaries ths world ever furnishes a
parallel case, it must have happened m the
days of knight-errantry, when tho slipper of
some troubadour’s “lady-love” or a lock of
her golden hair was held in more esteem than
tho tabled wealth of tho Orient.
This cottage consists of only three rooms,
all on the first floor, occupied by a family of
taste and refinement, as the clinging vines and
beautifully adorned flower-pots in the front
yard indicate. Ou Saturday night last the
back room was occupied by two young ladies,
daughters of the family, the father and mother
sleeping in a room adjoining.
Some time during the night the room of the
ladies were entered so noiselessly that noth
ing was known of the intrusion until next
morning. Tho burglar left behind abundant
traces of his romantic adventure, but nothing
to indicate his identity. For entering the
window he had brought into requisition a
small ladder used as a frame-work for flower
pots, resting against the fence of the front
yard, and about three feet high. Evidence
was plain that he had carefully lifted the
flower-pots, placed them on the ground in such
a manner as not to injure them, and then
moved the ladder to the window-sill until his
purpose was effected afterward replacing
everything as he found it.
Tho sash was raised, mpisleesly, almost
breathlessly it must have been,ltnd the mid
night rover entered. There
And all their charms, like death without its terrors, ”
slept his beautiful victims, their wealth of
flowing hair sweeping in rich profusion and
inimitable neglige over the snowy pillow. He
approached the bedside, cautiously, gently,
rolled down the covering until neck apd
shoulders lay bare, and then—what ?
Is it a murderer, bent on deed of blood, or
an escaped maniac, possessed of an infatua
tion for drawing the glittering steel across
swan-like throats?* Happily, neither. A few
clicks of the scissors, making “less sound than
the dream of a sound,” and all is over. Those
flowing tresses, the “ glory of a woman,” as
Holy Writ declares, are shorn closer than
Samson’s beneath the faultless fingers of Deli
lah, taken off as close to the scalp as a barber
might have done by daylight. Several articles
of jewelry in the room were removed from
their proper place, but none were taken away.
The apartments coupled by other members of
the household were entered,, clothing thrown
about confusedly, a gold locket, a breastpin,
several pieces of money scattered around, but
all answering promptly the next morning.
It is evident that, whoever the intruder, he
or she was only bent on getting possession of
“ the glory of the sox.” The first intimation
of the night’s doings came from the young la
dies, who awoke and found themselves the vic
tims of this “ taking off.” Like Rachel, they
wept bitterly—Rachel for her heirs, the ladies
for their hairs. The whole transaction is
most mysterfous. Did some one invade the
sacred pre'eincts, and thus violate “vested
rights” in the interest of tho braid manufac
turers, and even now do these wavy tresses
adorn some shop window on Fourth street ?
Or lias some envious female, with carroty hair,
turnip nose, and bean eyes, thus deprived her
rivals of their chiefornaments? Or has that
strange gentleman who infested this city
about a year ago, breaking into houses and in
dulging bis mania for gazing at sleeping folks,
returned again, with an addition to his pro
gramme ? We wot not. Surmises that chlor
oform was administered are rife in tho family,
for the ladies declare that they are extremely
wakeful. However, and whoever, and why
evor it is or was, this modern “rape of the
lock” may bo set down as one of tho most dar
ing, successful, and romantic enterprises that
ever startled this quiet and usually well-be
haved city from its propriety.
An Irritated Husband does tn Quest of a
Divorce—Tho Wife Killed by an In
furiated Cow In His Absence.
(From the Milwaukee Sentinel, June 20.)
The people residing in tho vicinity of St.
Francis Station, a few miles from Bay View,
have, for several days past, been agitated by
what many of them doom a remarkable dis
pensation ’of Providence. A farmer named
Niossen, an old resident of that section, had,
until recently, lived in the enjoyment of a hap
py home, gladdened with tho presence of a
loving wife, and a family of eight interesting
children. But his happiness was soon to bo
overshadowed. Trifling circumstances led him
to suspect his wife of an evil design to rid her
self of his presence. And step by step an un
kind fate led tho wifo inio a position of seem
ing enmity to the partner of her life. While
kneading a batch of dough for broad, two pins
disengaged themselves from her dross and
were not noticed until breakfast on Saturday
morning, when the husband found thorn in his
slice of bread. Blinded with suspicion, he im
mediately accused bor of an attempt upon Ins
life. Sho indignantly denied the imputation,
and wept to see her husband leave tho thresh
old of the onco happy homo for the avowed
purpose of instituting proceedings for a di
While tho husband was wending his way to
tho nunnery at St. Francis to seek advice as to
his course under tho unfortunate circumstances
the wife went sorrowingly out into Uie meadow
to perform her usual task of milking the cows.
While thus employed, one of the cows, a
vicious animal, set upon her and gored her so
terribly that death ensued shortly after she
was carried into the house. A neighbor wit
nessed the horrible occurrence, and having
learned of Mr. Noisson’s mission to Bt. Fran
cis, bitched up his team and hurried after him.
He was not long in reaching him, and soon
told the tale of how a cruel fate had relieved
him of the trials of a divorce, by calling his
wife from tbo bosom of her family to tho nai
,row confines of the grave.
It may be very well imagined that the in
formation startled the husband, who had but a
few hours before left his wife in the enjoyment
of good health, and his sorrowing circle of
motherless children caused the strong man to
b ow in anguish of soul.
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tles of it I was entirely cured, and have not, from that
time to date, experienced any symptoms of my old com
plaint. I remain yours truly,
Benj. C. Palmer,
No. 30 Gold street.
Hartford, Conn., May 24, 1871.
Dr. M. L. Julihn, New York :
Dear Sir—Your agent, whois now in this city, has ask
ed me to give a plain statement of my case. For quite a
long period I had been troubled with dyspepsia, and
then some eight months ago I was attacked with disease
of the kidneys and bladder, with severe and almost con
stant pain acres s the hips and small of the back. My
secretion was very thick, muddv and dark—almost the
color of blood. About two months ago I was induced to
try your Hydrastin Compound: the result has been an
entire change for the better, the pains in the loins and
back have-disappeared, and, finally, all dyspeptic symp
toms have left me. Yours, <fcc.,
Daniel D. Coggshall.
Hartford, Conn., May 24,1871. gj
Dr. M. L. Julihn:
Sir—For the patt four years I have been suffering with
chronic disorder of the kidneys, attended by severe
pains in the back, and ako a torpid state of the liver,
with frequent attacks of vertigo or dizziness. By the
advice of your agent here. I commenced using your Hy
drastin Compound. Before I had finished the second
bottle the above symptoms had entirely disappeared,
and now, whenever from any cause I feel the slightest
indications of a return of my old complaints, a single
dose of the medicine gives me almost instant relief.
Yours respectfully,
Samuel Beecher.
Principal Depot for the sale and manufacture of Ju
lihn’s Hydrastin Compound, No. 79 Fulton, corner of
Gold street, N. Y. Also for sale at all the leading drug
For the - piles.-dr. upham’s
ELECTUARY and OINTMENT are a certain cure
for Piles, Costivenese, 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 Eait Fourth street,
third door from the Bowery, and between Bowery and
Broadwav. Office hours from 7 o’clock in the morning
till 9 in tho evening.
LARS for any case of the follow-
ing diseases which tne medical fa- S'
culty have pronounced incurable that / \
DIES will not radically cure. Dr. Ri- [ A |
chau’e Golden Balsam No. 1 will cure I I
Syphilis in its Primary and Secondary \ /
stages, such as old Ulcers and Ulcer- \ /
ated bore Throat, Sore Eyes, Skin s
Eruptions, Soreness of the Scalp, and
all stages of the disease, eradicating disease and mer
cury thoroughly. Price $5 per bottle, or two bottles $9.
Dr. Richau’s Golden Balsam No. 2 will cure the third
stages of Tertiary Syphilis, where Syphilitic and Mercu
rial Rheumatism are connected with the Primary and
Secondary. I have hundreds of certificates where mi
raculous cures have been effected by these remedies.
Patients eat and drink what they like, and require no
outward applications. Hundreds suffer from Syphilitic
and Mercurial Rheumatism who are not aware of it,
and I defy such to obtain a radical cure without the use
of this medicine. Its beneficial effects are felt at once.
It has raised men from hospital beds in one week, who
have lain there for years under the best practitioners in
tbe city, and is the only radical cure for the worst dis
ease known—Syphilis. Price $5 per bottle, or two bot
tles for $9. It saves yourself—it saves your offspring
from the taint of this scourge.
Dr. Richau’s Golden Antidote, a safe, speedy, pleasant
and radical cure for Gonorrhoea, Gleet, Irritation,
Gravel, and all urinary derangements, accompanied with
full directions. Warranted to cure. Price $3 per bottle.
Dr. Richau’s Golden Elixir d’Amour, a radical cure
for Spermatorhoea, General Debility in old or young,
giving vitality and imparting energy with wonderful
effect to those who have led a life of sensuality or self
abuse. It is invaluable to those who are anxious for an
increase in family. Nothing more certain in its effects.
It is composed of the most powerful ingredients of the
vegetable kingdom, harmless, but speedy in restoring
health. Price $5 per bottle, or two bottles for $9.
Trade supplied ata liberal discount.
On receipt of price, these remedies will be shipped to
any part free from observation ; correspondents an
swered confidentially ; hours for consultation 9 A. M. to
9P. M.; none genuine without name of Dr. Richau’s
Golden Remedies. D. B. Richards. Sole Proprietor,
blown in glass of bottles. Observe well trade mark on
outside wrapper and written signatures on inside label.
Address Dr. D. B. RICHARDS, No. 228Varick street,
New York city.
Send money by express, or order Goods sent C. O. D.,
through your Druggist, and you will meet with no loss
DR. HUNTER, 56 Bond street, 40 years
practice, the only physician in this city who cures
without leaving a taint ir> the blood. Botanic Cordial
for Nervous Debility. Impotence, Loss of Power, &p.
Five Dollars. A sure cure. Sent by express to any ad
dress. Advice gratis. Not open on Sunday.
Sunday Edition. July
Wtol OrO. J
Reader, this article may not concern you at all. If you
have never suffered from disease of tho organs of genera
tion, such as Spenna/orrftoa’a, Seminal Losses, Involuntary
emission, it is not necessary for you to read 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?
Doesm little extra exertion produce palpitation of the
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 tho top ? Ora sediment in ths
bottom after it has stood a whila ? Do you have spells
of snort breathing or dyspepsia ? Are your bowels con
stipated? Dp you have spells of fainting, or rushes of j
bipod 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
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 at you knows
what is the matter with you ? Is the lustre of your eya
as brilliant? The bloom on your cheek as bright? Do
you enjoy yourself in society as well ? Do you pursue
your business with the same energy ? Do you feel as
much confidence in yourself ? Are your spirits dull and
flagging, given to fits of melancholy? Ifso, do notday
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 bad y
cured gonorrhea, or syphillis, or from veneral excesses ?
Peraaps 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 ho had ex- »-
peoted anything of the kind, being your ftmily physician *
he durst not for the world have hinted at the thins 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. Tbe organs of genera
tion when in perfect health, make the man. Did you ■
ever think that those bold, defiant, energetic, persever
ing. successful business mon. are always those whoso
generative organs are in perfect health ? You never
ear such men complain of being melancholy, of nerv
ousness, o' 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 1
them right m the face—none of your down looks or any
other meanness about them. Ido not mean those who
keep these organs inflamed by running to excess. These
will not only ruin their constitutions but also those they
do business with or for.
How many man from badly-cured private diseases,
from tne effects of self-abuse and excesses, have brought
about that stato of weakness in these organs, that Has
reduced the general system &o much as to induce almost
every other disease—idiocy, lunacy, paralysis, spin. il af
fection, suicide, and almost every other form o. r 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.
who are destroying their Physical Strength and Mental
Happiness by their uncontroled passions, or who are al
ready weakened and impotent by the folly of tho past,
why do you suffer when you must Know the sure result it
vou allow the disease to ruin and debase you, miad and
body? If you would avoid this disease, which reader®
marriage improbable, or the married life a failure, ba
warned in time, and let no false modesty keep you from
making known your troubles and receiving a sure 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 the
world an honor to your sex, and, I trust, a blessing to
mankind. ALBERT LEWIS, M. D.»
Author of the Medical Companion and Guide to
Health,” can be confidentially consulted at his old es
tablished office, No. 7 BEACH STREET, near Wess -
Broadway, New York Forty years’ privets practice.
Office hours irom 9A.M. to 8 P M. Sundays, from
10 A. M. to 12 M.
is the only positive and Specific Rsmedi
for all suffering from geLen.l or sexual dmnib. a.i de
rangements ot the nervous forces, melancholy, sperma
torrhoea, or seminal emissions, all weaknes es arising
from sexual excesses, or youthful indiscreti ns, loss of
muscular energy, physical prostraii >n, nervousness, weak
spine, lowness of spirits, dimness ot vision, hysterics,
pains in the back and limbs, impotence, <tc.
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 un
rivaled as an unfailing cure of the maladies above men- C.
Suffer no more, but try one bottle: it will effect a euro
where all others fail. It contains nothing hurtful to tho
i\iost delicate constitution. Price, Five DoLars. No. 58
Bond street, near Bowery, Book of 80 pages gratis, Not
open on Sunday. j
A.TA STORED —Just Published by DR. LEWIS, (254
Pages. Second Edition.) THE MEDICAL COMPAN
ION AND GUIDE TO HEALTH, on the radical euro
of Spermatorrhoea, or Seminal Weakness. Involuntary
Seminal Losses, Impotency, Mental and Physicallnoa-
P*??’ to Marriage, etc., and tne Venereal
and Syphilitic Maladies, with plain and dear directions
the speedy cure of Secondary Symptoms. Gonor
rhoea, Gleets, Strictures, and all diseases of the skin,
such as Sourvy, Scrofula, Ulcers, Boils. Blotches and
On the * aco body. Consumption, Epilepsy,
ana I'its, induced by self-indulgence or sexual extrav
The celebrated author, Iff this admirable Treatise,
clearly demonstrates, from a foi ly years’ successful prac
tice, that the alarming consequence pf self-abuse may
be radically cured; pointing out a mode Oi cure at onco
simple, certain, and effectual, by means of whiv's every
su-t erer,.no matter what his condition may be, ba
effectually cured cheaply, privately, and radically.
Tins Book should bo in the hands of every youth,
and every man in the land.
Sent under seal, in a plain envelope. Price, 50 omta.
Address. DR. LEWIS, No. 7 Beach street, New York. *
Avoid " quacks. -a victim of
early indiscretion, causing nervous debility, pre
mature decay, &c , having tried in vain everv advertised
remedy, has discovered a simple means of self-cure,
which he will send free to his fellow sufferers. Address
J. H. TUTTLE. No. 78 Nassau street. New York.
BHOEA, or Whites, by new remedies, safe and
sure. All diseases of the Os Uteri, or Womb, cured.
Private Rooms for ladies. Call on or address Dr.
MANOHES, No. 735 Broadway, N. Y.
from 9 A. M. to 8 P. M., at his office No. 56 Bond
street, ne r the Bowery. Charges moderate and a cure
guaranteed. The doctor has cured many old ch ronio
cases after dozens of eminent physicians failed. Patient®
will see no one but the doctor himself. SIOO . will se
cure by return mail, carefully sealed, his great medical
work on private diseases, debility, etc. Worth all the
others put together. Advice by mail and medicines
prompty forwarded. Utmost privacy observed. Not
open on Sunday.
S< ore you can be cured immediately. No mercury
used; no change of diet necessary. Call, save time and
money. Dr. JULIEN, No. 515 Pearl street.
Ladies in troublFshould con 3
SULT DR. PERRY. Guarantees certain relief at
one interview without inconvenience or danger. Terms
reasonable. No fee unle-s cured satisfactorily. Medi
cine to order, $5. No. 51 Bleecker st., near Broadway.
SINGLE LADIES. The most wonderful, reliable,
and certain remedy, as well as always healthy, tor mar
ried or single ladies, in removing obstructions and sup«
pressions. has proved to be the celebrated PORTU
of ladies have used them with infallible certaintv. Read
whafc the best physicians testify in espect to them:
“ A woman applied to be treated "for suppression. It
appeared that she had been subject to irregularity, or
stoppag l , and as she appeared to be free from the usual
symptoms attending pregnancy, it was not supposed
that the stoppage arose from that cause. She com
LY PILLS. After using them about five days—from
certain indications—suspicions began to be enter
tained that the suppressions might have arisen from
pregnancy, which, upon examination, proved to be the
case—too late, however, to prevent tbe result. In a short
time it took 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-r
tain and healthy. Price $5.
DR. A. M. MAURICEAU. Professor of Diseases of
Women, Office, No 129 Liberty street. 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 bleeckerTtT,
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.
Dr. hunter s gonnorhea spi£
CIEIC cannot be equaled for curing quickly and
most effectually. No. 56 Bond street, near Bowery.
Dr. hunter, nJ. 56 bond street,
near the Bowerv, invites the diseased and debili
tated to consult him, free of charge. His great experi
ence enables him to effect a speedy cure in the worst
oases. Forty years practice. Aavice gratis.
ASCHER, No. 3 Amity Plaoe (continuation of
Laurens street), invites those ladies who are in trouble,
and 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 be
satisfied that all they require can be accomplishad. Ele
gant rooms for [adies requiring nursing. Terms rea
Ladies, with or witnout medicin?, by Madame
WESTELL, Professor of Midwifery; over 30 years’ prac
tice. Her infallible French Female Pills. No. 1, price sl,
or No. 2, specially prepared for married ladies, price $5,
which can never fail, are safe and healthy. Hold only at
her office, No. 1 East Fifty-second street, first door from
Fifth avenue, and at Druggist’s, No. 152 Greenwich
street, or sent by mail. Caution—All others aro coun
and Midwife, can be consulted at No. 42 St. Mark’s
plaoe. near Second avenue. Having bad twenty-fiva
years’ experience in the treatment of all female com
plaints, sne 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.
4 only office. Nervous Debility, Impotence
1 ai d private diseases cured by new and sure remedies.
Rooms private. Call or write for New Book; (sent free,

The new ring self-adjusting
French Protectors for gentlemen, at 25c., 30c., 50c.,
each; 3 for sl, 4 for sl, $?, $3, and $1 per doz. Ladies'
new style Protectors at $2 and S 3 each. Call or address
DR. MANOHES, No. 735 Broadway, N. Y.
Physical Debility, consult Dr. JULIEN, No. 515
Pearl street, French Physician.
DR. G. R. BOND, No. 196 ELM ST.,
between Broome and Spring streets, can be con
sulted on all diseases of a private or delicate nature, by
ladies or gentlemen. Certain relief guaranteed to all.
Ladies’Pills, No. 1, $2 a box; No. 2, Supar-Coated and
Stronger, $3. Drops. $2 a vial. Invigorating Cordial, .
for gentlemen. $1 50 and $3 per bottle. Gents’ Pro
tectors, two for $1; $5 a dozen. Ladies’Protectors, $3
each. Tne doctor and son will keep on hand a full sup
ply of Family Medicines. Roots, Herbs, 'Toilet Articles,
Perfumery, and all of tne best Patent Medicines of th©
French goods for gentlemen,
now and late importation, at the French Drug
btore, No. 515 Petfrl street.
disease and nervous or physical debility, should
consult Dr. HUNTER. His groat experience during
forty years’ practice enables him to effect a radical and
speedy cure, without injury to the most delicate consti
tution. No. 56 Bond street, near the Bowery. Advica
gratis. .« /
Ladies,have you been unfortunate—are you in trouble
—do you need medical treatment ? If so, how very impor
tant it is that you should be 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
vou an equivalent. The intricacies ot the female system
are so complicated, that no one without a thorough and
practical knowledge of all its peculiarities should ever dara
to treat any of its derangements. To successfully treat
female complaints, it requires a morethorough knowledge
of anatomy and physiology tnan 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 ana
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 coinplaint, or from whatever cause produced, maka
us a visit. They will soon see the difference between
science and presumption. AU consultations are strictly
private and sacredly confidential; and patients at onca
feel themselves at home. Patients see the doctor in per
son. privately. Office central, yet retired. No. 130 West
Twenty-sixth street, near Sixth avenue. Elegant
board. for those who require nursing.

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