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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, October 20, 1872, Image 2

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They sat down, and Lady Viola, bending for
ward, gathered a sprig of clematis that clung
to the trees. He thought how much like a
beautiful picture she looked with the flowers
in her hand.
How was he to tell her? Of course it was
nothing to her that he was going to marry;
yet as he looked at the lovely drooping face,
with its strange lights and shades, its gleams
and flashes, ho was rather at a loss for words.
It would have seemed so much easier to have
spoken of her and her beauty than to tell her
of another.
“ You ask me if I keep my old lovo of nature,
Viola,” he said, after a short pause ; “ ah, yes ;
and more than that, it is redoubled. Shall I
fell you why ?”
I, who write, like to stop for one minute and
look at her. She had great faults. She was
proud, passionate, and undisciplined. She was
selfish, ambitious, and almost incapable of any
great or noble action. Her bad education ac
counted for mnch, her worldly training for
more. Yet she loved him, and she was so un
conscious of the blow about to fall, that as she
Bits on the moss-covered tree, her beautiful
face raised to his with a smile no one ever saw
there again. I, for one, pity her.
“ Shall I tell you why ?” Guy repeated.
“Tell me anything you like,” she replied;
“you can say nothing that will not have an in
terest for me.”
“My love for all things is redoubled, he
continued, “ because I have found some ono to
Bhare it.”
Her heart for for one minute seemed almost
io stand still. Had the moment for which she
longed come at last ? The breath seemed to
die in a trembling gasp upon hey lips.
“ One,” he continued, “ who not only shares,
but elevates and ennobles it. Viola, I wish
you were happy as I am. 1 have found some
one to love me, and promise to care for me long
as I live.”
There was no reply. He saw the clematis
Bpray fail to the ground : but she spoke no
word. Her lace was turned from him.
“ I came over purposely to tell Lady Hanton
and you that I am going to bo married, and to
ask your friendship for the lady I hope to call
my wife.”
A voice like no other human voice, so full
was it of startled pain, asked :
•' Who is she ?”
“She is one of the Charltons of Croome,” ho
replied. “Lady Hanton, who knows most of
the best families in England, will remember
the name. She is called Magdaleno Charlton ;
and Viola, she is beautiful as an angel, and
good as she is fair. I have been at Elmslie all
the Spring and Summer, and I have won her at
last for my own.”
He did not see the face studiously turned
from him ; how the light, the color, and the
brightness died away from it; how the smiles
faded, never to return ; how the golden light
in the dark eyes became a storm-cloud; how
ghastly pallor, unlike anything but death,
spread over her features, and a dull, rigid
despair stiffened them. The hands that had
grasped the clematis suddenly grew cold and
chill. She made no other sign, no moan camo
from white lips, no cry from the tortured
heart. The stately, graceful figure did not
sway and fall, as it must have done under so
great a shock had she been a weaker woman.
“Do you not wish me .joy?” he asked.
She turned her deathly lace more completely
from him, and the voice, unlike any other voice
that ever spoke, said :
“Yes, most certainly; I wish you joy.”
•‘I will do it—
Even should mine own soul
Pay the bitter price.”
Sir Guy never noted the strange tone, or the
averted head.
“ I nope you will like her, Viola,” he said,
earnestly. “Your mother has been so kind to
me all my life, that you seem to me like a sister
of my own. For my sake, will you love the
gentle girl who is to be my wife ?”
“Will she care for my love?” she asked.
f‘ She will be Lady Wyverne of Haddon, and I
am no one.”
He was startled at the strange, wild laugh,
so unlike the musical sweetness of Lady Viola
Carew's natural tone.
“ If she comes to you yourself, and asks you
to love her, will you do so?” he continued,
“ If she should come to me and ask for my
love,” replied Lady Viola, slowly, “I would—
let me see—l would reward her ; I would repay
her the debt I owe you.”
“What debt is that ?” he asked.
“ Yon say you love me as though I were your
sister,” she replied. “I will return that love
to your wife.”
“You promise me that?” he said, eagerly.
“ I promise on the word of a Hanton, as
papa says. If it will make you any happier, I
Will take a vow.”
“ That would be rash,” he said, with a smile.
“I like rashness. 1 would rather be rash
than prudent,” she replied, with the same
strange voice. “If you will not let me take a
low to you, I will take one to myself.”
She bent her beautiful face over the long
grass, and whispered some words to herself.
He did not hear them—God did ; they rose
through the sun-lit Autumn air—direct to
beaven; they pierced the blue sky and the
floating clouds ; they stood like witnesses be
fore the mighty throne of God.
She whispered the words over the cool, fra
grant grass ; it did not wither and fade as the
burning breath passed over it. The long fra
grant blades touched her face, into her dark
eyes camo a look that was awful to see ; the
white face had an expression as though the
soul were lost already.
“I shall keep my vow,” she said, turning
abruptly to him. He stared almost in alarm.
“ Viola I” he cried, “are you ill?—or is it the
shade of the trees on your face ?”
“I am well enough,” she replied ; “it is the
light, half sombre, half green. Such a light
always reminds me of death. Never mind tak
ing weird fancies about me, Sir Guy ; tell me
more of the girl you love.”
Had he been wise, or even suspicious, Lef
manner must have alarmed him. There was
that in her face which would have told a cau
tious man to say no more.
“What shall I tell you?” he cried; “of her
ayes, clear and pure, and bright as stars, with
Heaven’s own light in them, with long lashes,
Viola, that lie upon her cheek, like yours ? or
shall I‘tell you of hair that looks always as
though the sun shone full upon it, soft, shin
ing, and falling, not in ringlets, but in waving
lines that would charm an artist—hair that
even now my fingers long to touch- ”
“What, is tho matter?” he asked, for a
strange sound came from her lips.
“Nothing,” sh<. replied; “I was wishing,
too, that I could touch her hair. You describe
it so graphically, I felt for half a minute as
though my hands lay upon her head.”
Ho smiled kindly upon her.
“I know you would sympathize with me,
Lady Viola,” he said. “My wife, who is to be,
has no sister. You will be one to her, and we
shall be so happy.”
It was well lor him that he did not see the
awful smile that seemed to writhe rather than
play round her lips—the fell, deadly glance
that marred the beauty of her face and made it
a horr or.
“She has ono brother,”continued Sir Guy,
“ Captain Archie Charlton. I saw his portrait.,
and 1 do not believe there is such another hand
some, noble face in the wide world, or yet a
piorc noble man.”
She repeated tbs name slowly.
“Captain Archie Charlton. I shall remem
ber it.” she said; “and where is the preux
chevalier of a brother, Sir Guy ?”
“Ho is in India now,” was the reply, “and
will remain there until the purpose of his life
is accomphshod—until he has made sufficient
money to redeem Croome ; when he can make
that his own, he will return.”
“I wonder whether I shall ever see him,”
she said, musingly, and there came no fore
shadowing of when the time should be.
“ Viola,” said Sir Guy, “ the dearest wish of
my heart would be that you should know and
love Archie Charlton. I value your happiness
next to my own, and you would be happy then,
lam sure. Forgive me, if I speak freely ; we
are almost brother and sister, you know.”
“I was reading somewhere the other day
that friendship between men and women is but
a fallacy,” she replied, “that it cannot exist
long, but either degenerates into flirtation, or
dies away. Dojrou believe that ?”
“No,” he replied, earnestly, “I do hot.
They must be light, frivolous natures, not ca
pable of anything noble. I think, on the con
trary, that the truest, deepest, and most glori
ous friendships in all tho world have existed
between mon and women. Viola, you are the
child of tho lady who has been like a mother
to me. Shall we be friends: true friends, I
mean ?” V
Again he missed the strange smile that dis
torted her features.
“Yes, "she replied; “I will be your friend,
and prove to you what friendship can be
For one half moment she laid her hand
lightly on his. He started at feeling how cold
it was ; yet the September sun had not died
behind the blossoming limes.
“Would you like to return?” he asked.
“Your hands are cold, and your face—merci
ful heavens 1” he cried, as his eyes fell, for the
first time, on that white face: “what Is the
matter, Viola ? How ill you look.”
“ It ic only the strange weird light from the
trees,” she said. “ They throw the same shade
upon you.”
So he went on talking to her, while the quiet
heavens became crimson, and the sun set in
gorgeous colors, telling her how good and pure
and fair was this girl he loved ; how her soul
was full of religion, her mind of poetry, and
her heart of love ; never heeding how the
white fingers had grasped the long sprays of
foxglove, and bow they clasped the flowers so
tightly that the tender leaves were bruised ;
telling her that sweet idyll, the story of his
love, of the green woodland glade where he
had seen her first, and of the diamond ring,
which had pleased and amazed her so greatly.’
He spoke as only poets do speak ; his lips
teemed touched with fire.
“Hove you told mamma?” she asked, sud
denly. “ Does she know you are going to bring
home this fair young bride to Haddon ?”
, “ She knows,” he replied, “ and she has prom
ised to be as kind to my wife as she has been
to me.”
“And Ihave promised the same thing,” she
added, with a forced laugh. “ You are fortun-
ate in your friends, Sir Guy. Now. if yon have
seen enough of the sunset, wo will return/’
He rose instantly, end as they walked along
under the shade of the rippling limes she
turned once to look at the place where they bad
been Bitting, and the expression of her face
then was not good to see.
“Viola,” asked Kir Guy, suddenly, “has my
news surprised you?”
Very calmly the dark eyes rested on his eager
face—calmly as though no deadly passions of
hate, jealousy and revenge were at work in her
“ You must ndt ask me to be false to my
teachings,” she replied. “Mv mamma has
most carefully trained me to believe that it is
very bad taste to express surprise on any oc
casion. But for that well-learned lesson I
might sav I am surprised, because it is so soon
after Sir Philip’s death.”
She bad chosen tho words purposely, know
ing they would sting him as uo others could.
“ I have not forgotten my father, Viola,” he
added, quickly.
“Nor have I,” she said. “Ho was kind to
me, and fond of me.”
Then Sir Guy grew slightly nervous and em
“I have often longed, Viola,” ho said, “to
apologize to you for those last few words of
his, if apology be needed.”
“I have forgotten them,” she said, proudly :
and to have heard her speak, one would have
thought she felt nothing but contempt for the
As they entered the bouse, Sir Guy, for tho
first time, saw that she still held in her hand a
a spray of the purple foxglove.
“Why did you gather that?” he asked, with
a smile.
“For a reason of my own,” she replied, with
what seemed a strange, gay laugh ; “perhaps
to keep by me as a souvenir of our long con
versation —perhaps to remind me of the prom
ise I made to myself if not to you.”
She left him with gay words, and went up
the broad marble staircase.
“ How mistaken her mother was,” he said to
himself, as he watched her; and “ and how
thankful I am that she will love my darling.”
His heart grew warm within him as he
thought of her. There was nothing before
him now but a long rapture of happiness. Ev
erything that could oven ever so faintly seem
unpleasant was done away with. He had noth
ing now to do but return to Elmslie and marry
Magdalene Charlton.
He rode home through the shady Summer
woods, where the ring-doves were cooing, and
the night winds wore waving the trees, and no
shadow of a cloud darkened his thoughts or
shaded his dreams.
No hanpiness can bo perfect
That comes from earth.
There comes sometimes in October a day that
makes one think Summer has looked back with
a bright, lingering smile, throwing a golden
radiance over all nature ; when the brown and
crimson foliage of the woods and gardens
wears a brighter tinge ; when late-blooming
flowers, tho few roses that still remain, seem
io exhaust themselves in richest fragrance ;
when the orchards are in full perfection ;
when the birds sing as though Summer wore
beginning instead of ending ; when the sky is
blue and bright, and the south wind blows.
Such a day came when Sir Guy Wyverne mar
ried Magdalene Charlton. It dawned without
a cloud in the sky—bright and gladsome. Peo
ple repeated to themselves the old adage :
“Happy the bride that the sen shines on.”
Sir Guy had prevailed on Mrs. Charlton to
let him have his own way over the marriage.
She bad wished that it should be quite private
and simple, without any state or ceremony.
He would not have it so.
“ Magdaleno was the daughter of the Charl
tons, of Croome,” he said, “and she should be
married with all the state to which the ladies
of her house had been accustomed.
The mistress of the Dower House looked at
him with a smile.
“ I should be quite willing to maintain the
dignity of the Charltons, of Croome,” she re
plied, “but you forget the revenues died with
the grandeur.”
Yet in some measure Sir Guy succeeded in
having his own way. From Paris—only two
days before the wedding day-came direct,
well-filled trunks and boxes, that caused the
ladles at the Dower House great amazement.
They contained one of the most magnificent
trousseaux ever seen. Robes, dainty and ele
gant enough for a queen; costly laces, fairy
like muslins, silks, satins, and brocades enough
to have turned a milliner’s head ; and one dress
that pleased the lovely young bride better than
all others—a blue velvet, richly trimmed with
seed pearls.
There was, beside, everything that woman’s
heart could wish for, or desire—gloves, para
sols, dainty slippers, fans, handkerchiefs;
nothing bad been torgotten, and everything
was of the very richest and finest quality. One
box was rather smaller and wider than the oth
ers ; when that was opened, there lay a com
plete and most beautiful bridal costume, a dress
of white brocade, trimmed with old point lace
and orange blossoms ; avail of Honitou lace,
superbly worked ; a wreath of orange blos
soms—everything, even down to the white sat
in slippers, was simply perfect.
It was Mrs. Charlton who first uncorded
the packages. She was even more astonished
than her daughter, for whom they were des
“Magdalene,” she cried, as the girl bent in
wondering delight over the treasures. “ Mag
dalene. is this a miracle ? Who can have sent
these ?”
They neither of them ever gave a thought to
the poet, whose verses they believed to be but
moderately remunerative.
“It must ba Archie, mamma I” cried the
girl. “No one else knows me, or would
think of making me a present; it must be my
“And ho must have half ruined himself,"
said Mrs. Charlton. “ You. of coarse.
leno, do not understand the value of such
things. I know the trousseau has cost hun
dreds of pounds. I could almost blame Archie
for spending the money. You see, my darling,
although they are most becoming and beauti
ful, still they will be quite unsuited for tho wife
of a poor man. These are dresses ono might
go to court in.”
Magdalena smiled.
“ They will make me beautiful for him,
mamma,” she said, “ and that was what
Archie wanted. God bless him for thinking
of mo.”
They told Sir Guy that evening of the arrival
of tho boxes, and how they imagined Captain
Charlton had sent an order to Pans. Ha
smiled, and said it was not in the power of
dress to make his fair young love more beau
There was more surprise still, when, the next
morning, there came from London a beautiful
suit of pearls—soft, gleaming, and pure—and
with them came an Indian letter from Captain
Chariton, begging his sister’s acceptance of
ti e gift, but saying no word of the trousseau.
So Magdalene Charlton was married in dress
and pearls that would have adorned a princess.
She had for her bridesmaids the daughters of
some of the noblest families in the county.
Sir Guy had insisted on supplying the dejeuner,
and Mrs. Charlton’s mingled horror, and sur
prise, and delight, when Gunter’s men ap
peared upon the scene, delighted him.
The village children strewed flowers in her
path, the bells rung out clear and joyously.
The church was beautifully decorated with
plants aud shrubs ; it was crowded with people,
who came from all parts of the neighborhood
to see Miss Charlton married.
And on that morning the shadow sometimes
seen on Magdalena’s lovely face had quite dis
appeared ; that morning her face was clear
and calm as the leaf of a shining lily. From it
one would have augured a long, happy, bril
liant life. The advertisement that puzzled all
England showed whether that augury was cor
rect or not.
There was no drawback to the brilliant
pageant in the gay bld church at Elmslie—it
was tho prettiest sight that had ever been wit
nessed there; even the birds, singing in the
leaves outside, seemed to understand that
something remarkable was going on. As for
the bride herself, one might as well attempt
to paint the beauty of the lily, to describe the
fragrance of the rose, as to tell how fair and
graceful she looked in her bridal robes.
There was but one little incident; how it
happened, no one could quite tell. As she
walked down the aisle of the church, with
flowers under her feet, and the air around her
thrilling with music, the beautiful, costly
bridal vail was caught, either by a nail or by
the sharp point of a pew, and rent in twain—
torn completely in two, as though an angry
hand had done it.
Magdalene had the presence of mind to draw
it quickly around her, so as to bide it, and the
accident did not cause one moment’s delay;
but, as the bridal cortege left the church, an
old woman, who bad stood among the crowd,
cried out:
“She has torn her vail—that bonnie bride
has torn her vail—there will never be any luck
for her I”
Magdalene heard the words, and something
like a shiver of fear passed over her beautiful
face. Then Sir Guy bent down and whispered
something to her that restored the smiles to
her face.
•And afterward, at the breakfast-table, there
was some little discussion over what had hap
pened. Some one repeated tho old woman’s
prophecy; some laughed; but Mrs. Charlton
looked greatly distressed.
“Is it true, Magdalene?” she asked; “have
you really torn your vail ?”
“It is quite true,” replied Sir Guy, speaking
for his wife ; " but as for those old-fashioned
proverbs, they contain some of the most arrant
nonsense in the wide world. Magdalene’s torn
vail must be an augury of happiness—there
can be nothing else for her. I, who have charge
of her future, declare to you I cannot see the
sign of a cloud in her sky.”
So Magdalene, now Lady Wyverne, laughed
at the old-fashioned story of the torn vail, and
her handsome, loving young busband laughed,
too; but after they had gone far away from
Elmslie, and the brilliant throng of guests had
disappeared ; after the wedding festivities were
over, Mrs. Charlton took the lorn vail from a
drawer ; she would not allow it to be packed
with the rest of her daughter’s things, and she
repaired it ns neatly as possible, thread by
thread, flower by flower, following the intricate
T'M 1 "'» —r--r- -ra-v "7—«, s -ra .-u-v-r-
pattern so carefully, that it needed a skill fol
eye to detect the damage.
Wondering, as she did so, whether there could
be any truth in the old superstition; wonder
ing what could bring ill-luck to the beautilul
child, whose husband seemed to adore her,
and praying from the depths of tho motherly
heart that God would shield her daughter from
all harm.
It was a brilliant wedding. Long after those
advertisements for the discover)’ of Lady Wy
verne had penetrated to the little village of
Elmslie, people talked of it, and told ol the
beauty of the bride, aud the splendor of the
Then, when the sun rode high in the noon
day sky. the young husband took his bride
away. He had promised her she should see
the fairest sights this world can show. He
could not say how long they should remain
abroad, but when they returned to England, it
was to Elmslie they would come first, and take
Mrs. Charlton home with,them.
Sir Guy thought the next few months a fore
taste of paradise. He had taken uo servants
with him, wishing to be alone with the young
girl whose spiritually beautiful nature unfolded
itsolf like a flower day by day ; he wanted no
interlopers—no one, and nothing to distract
his attention from her. Above all, he did not
want her to know anything of his rank or sta
tion until they went home to Haddon.
He took her to Paris, to Venice, to Rome, to
Switzerland, to Spain, and round tho sunny
islands of the Mediterranean ; he showed her
the great pictures and great statues of the
world ; he showed her wonders of which she
had road with bated breath; and all the time
he studied every thought, every word his young
wife uttered, every idea sho expressed ; the re
sult of which was, that the better he knew her,
the more deoply.be loved her. He bowed bis
head in mute reverence before this fair young
creature, so spiritual, so full of true poetry, so
true and noble, so pure in word and deed, so
like an angel, that at times he asked her, halt
jestingly: “ Where she had bidden her
find he learned to love her, too, not lightly,
but with a deep and reverent duration ; his
love became part of himself—the Letter life of
his soul—it became the better and higher part
of his nature. There have been many loves in
the world, but few so deep, soreverent. or so
tender as the love of Sir Guy Wyverne for his
beautiful young wife.
The year passed, and they lingered still amid
the grand scenes of tho oftk world. Four more
months passed ; and then, when the English
summer came round again, Sir Guy began to
wish for home. He wanted to show his wife
how the woods and grounds of Haddon looked
in their Summer dress. She knew no will but
his; and in the fair, flowery month of June
they returned home.
“ I only value riches, love,
Because they please thee.”
A glowing evening in June—rich odors rising
from a thousand flowers—birds singing such
melodious music that none could listen un
moved—little brooks rippling under the sun
beams until the waters looked like hoaving
gold —purple lilacs raising their nroud beads,
and delicate laburnum blossoms drooping
their golden tresses—acacia trees looking like
large snowballs—the meadows full of clover,
the fields full of hay—the hedges white with
hawthorn —the south wind full of melody.
Haddon had never looked so beautiful; the
grand old woods were in full perfection; the
western sunbeams lingered on the towers and
turrets—they made the huge oriel windows
look like sheets of blazing diamonds; the roses
and lilies were all in bloom; tho fountains rip
pled merrily in the sunshine; there was music
and light, beauty and fragrance; it was as
though oven Nature knew and rejoiced that
the fair young mistress—the golden-haired
girl who was to be queen—was coming home.
The interior of the mansion was simply per
fection; all the rooms were arranged with taste
and artistio skill words fail to describe. The
whole of the western wing was set aside for Sir
Guy and Lady Wyverne; the rooms destined
for the bride were magnificent.
On this June evening the domestics were all
drawn up in solemn array, ready to receive the
young mistress they had been told to expect.
The gray-headed butler, who had served Lady
Helena faithfully, was at their head; and Mrs.
Winston, the housekeeper, who had resided for
many years at Hadden, was resplendent in
black silk, and a white lace cap. new tor the
While the sunbeams shone warm and bright,
they fell upon a traveling carriage slowly
winding its way through the shady high roads
that led to the woods. It contained two ladies
and one gentleman—Mrs. Charlton, who had
long promised to accompany her daughter to
her now home, and Magdalene, more beautiful
a thousand times than when Sir Guy first saw
He alone looked pale and anxious. He was
beginning to wonder what his wife would think
of tho ruse he had practised upon her—what
she would say when she found herself Lady
Wyverne of Haddon, mistress of broad lands
and broad revenues, instead of the helping
wife of a poor man.
He had said no word to them of their desti
nation- When he asked Mrs. Charlton to go
homo with them, she said, simply, “Where is
home, Guy?” and he replied :
“ I have had a little secret: trust ma a few
hours longer, and you shall know.”
She thought perhaps he had furnished a
pretty little house, and was very proud of it.
The real truth never struck her. They trav
eled through quiet home scenery until they
reached the woods of Haddon, and then Sir
Guy turned anxiously to his wife. She had
caught sight of the magnificent domain, and
cried out with pleasure.
“This is Haddon Hall,” he said, slowly, “one
of the finest estates in England. You remem
ber it among those engravings in the library
at Elmslie?”
She remembered it well, and asked him if
the woods she had shuddered at were not near
“The Croome Woods,” he replied; “they
join these.”
And then they went on for some-minutes in
“Would you like to see this place?” ho
asked, after a time. “There are some grand
rooms and beautiful pictures."
“I thought I had seen the most beautiful
things in the world,” she replied. "If it will
not delay our arrival home, I should like to see
His face gleamed with pleasure as the name
fell from her lips.
“I will take you there,” he said. “I know
all the people.”
She was charmed as they drove through the
long, broad avenues of stately oak and elm,
of spreading maple and flowery chos’.nut.
“What glorious trees!” she cried. “Why,
Guy, each one is a picture.”
He smiled at her enthusiasm, and she won
dered why be did not as usual share her rap
tures. He was thinking what she would say
when he told her all was her own. Through
an opening in the trees they saw at last toe
tall turrets of the Hall glittering with the gold
of tho setting sun ; and then Magdalene saw a
crowd gathered on the lawn. She saw flags
and banners flying from the trees, sho heard
tho faint chime ot the joy bells, and sho looked
at her hueband in wonder.
“Guy,” she said, “there is a fete of some
kind going on. We shall be intruding; let us
But he, seeing the preparations made to re
ceive him, knew that he must tell the truth at
once. The carriage had slopped at the grand
entrance, and there was a movement in the
crowd as though rushing to welcome him.
His quick eyes, too, perceived triumphal
arches bearing tho inscriptions—
“ Welcome to Haddon !”
“God bless Lady Wyverne.” “Long live Sir
He turned to her, and looked into the beau
tiful, beaming face, so full of happy wonder.
“Magdalene,” he said, taking her hand, “I
have deceived you; promise to forgive me.
Promise, then I shall find courage to tell you
The sweet, pure eyes, so full of love, were
raised to hie face.
“I do not quite understand,” she replied.
“I am sure you could do no wrong, but if
there really be anything to pardon, I forgive
with my whole heart.”
“Listen and judge,” he said ; “Mrs. Charl
ton, listen, I pray you. All my life I have
been what people call romantic; resolved,
whenever I aid marry, it should be oue who
loved me for myself, and not for any other
Magdalene smiled with innocent wonder.
“What else could one love you for, Guy?”
she asked.
He looked somewhat sadly at her.
“My darling,” he said, “my pure, loving
wife, there are few like you. I-have deceived
you, but not willfully. I was traveling under
other guise than my own when I saw you first.
The first moment I loved you, and I have loved
you more deeply and more dearly ever since.
Will you forgive me that I sought to win you,
and make you love me for myself alone ?”
She looked up at him in utter bewilderment;
not even the least glimpse of the truth came to
her. The crowd drew nearer, and the cries of
welcome could be heard so plainly that he
knew he must speak quickly.
“I wooed and won you as a poor man," he
said; “as an unknown, obscure poet—and,
Magdalene, I am neither. Look around you,
darling,” he continued, bis face glowing ; “ all
this is yours and mine. lam Sir Guy Wyverne,
of Haddon Hall, and you are my beloved wife
—lady, queen, and mistress, not only of me,
but of all I have in the wide world. Do you
understand, my darling? You are Lady
Wyverne of Haddon.”
He had to repeat the question, for she had
grown white as death, and her violet eyes had
in them a strained, wondering look, not free
from pain.
“It cannot be yours,” she gasped, at length.
“You are only trying me, Guy.”
“God knows it is the truth,” he replied,
hastily; and then a perfect volley of cheers
burst upon them.
“ God bless Sir Guy 1 ” “ Welcome home I ”
“Magdalene,” said her husband, turning to
her, “ seo how they love me—how they welcome
mo home. My darling, make mo happy. Say
you forgive me.”
“I have nothing to forgive,” she replied.
“But, Guy, lam unworthy—so unworthy—
what shall 1 do ?’’
“lam the best judge of that,” he replied.
“Mv ancestors have brought home ladies of
the blood royal to rule at Haddon. None of
them have ever won a wife so sweet, so fair, so
good, so true, or so noble as mine. Mrs. Char
lton you aro not angry with ine. l>o say one
No, she was not angry; surprised, bewil
dered, puzz'ed, delighted, but not angry.
“ Of late 1 have begun to suspect you.. Guy,”
she said. “ The trousseau and the long sojourn
' on the continent opened my eyes. Such things
are not done for nothing. I could not love
you more were you a ‘hundred times an earl;’
and I am sure Magdalene could not.”
She was looking at that vast crowd of tenants
and dependents at the huge mansion she was
to call home, and her sweet eyes filled with
“I was not prepared for this,” she murmured.
“ Oil, Guy, I am but a child, an ignorant child.
Where snail I learn wisdom to rule and govern
here ?”
“Where you have learned everything else,”
he replied; “partly from the teaching of a
wise and tender mother, partly from the in
nate teaching of your own heart. I am so
proud of my child wife. Ah, Magdalene, smile
once, my darling, then I shall be the happiest
man in the whole wide world.”
She smiled brightly; there was no more time
for wor is. Strong-armed men had taken the
horses-ftom4he carriage, and were drawing it
up to the porch of the mansion. Bands were
playing, bells ringing, men and women cheer
ing. Such a welcome had never been-given at
Haddon before, not even when Sir Talbot came
home victorious from the wars.
He had a tender, sensitive heart, this hand
some young poet, this chivalrous Sir Guy, and
as he listened to the cheers that welcomed
him, the tears rose to his eyes, and he vowed
to himself a vow that was never broken, and it
was that their cares, their joys and sorrows,
should bo his; that no happiness should ever
make him forget them, no sorrow cause him
to leave them again; and this vow he kept
through trials that would have daunted a man
less brave.
Another moment, and they stood hand in
hand under the broad Gothic porch. The June
sunbeams fell upon Lady Wy verne’s lovely face
and golden hair; the crowd cheered as though
they would never tire at the sight of her won
drous, graceful loveliness.
“I thank you, my friends and neighbors,”
said Sir Guy, “for the welcome you have given
to me and my beloved wife.” He laid his hand
upon her shoulder as be continued: “We have
come to make our home among you, to live
and die with you, to make your cares and your
joys our own, to help where help is needed; to
bo, in one word,,faithful stewards to the merci
ful God who has so richly blessed us. I left
you, long months since, in sorrow and anguish
of heart; I return blessed with the richest of
all gifts—the love of a good wife. I know how
you will welcome her, and soon love her better
for her own sweet sake than you could do for
The very welkin rang, again, and Lady Wy
verne smiled as those jubilant cries reached
Not on one present that June evening did a
foreboding of the terrible future come; not to
one mind did there arise the faintest presenti
ment of the tragical future of the fair-faced
jjady of Haddon.
(To be continued.)
“Draw your chair a little closer to the fire
and take a fresh pipe. The night is damp and
I did so, and my friend, tho young doctor,
put on a fresh log, and replenished the kettle
lor a glass of punch.
“Yours must be a strange life, doctor,” Ire
marked, reflectively, in the full enjoyment of a
pleasant fire, a good companion, and an irre
proachable brand of tobacco.
“Well, a physician’s life is a curious one.
He becomes tho confidant of so many family
secrets, and so much of the misery of the
world is revealed to him by virtue of his pro
fession. Now, though lam not an old prac
titioner, yet I have had many curious experi
ences in the houses of the rich and the cot
tages of the poor. Do you know I think every
doctor might write an interesting diary. Plen
ty of sensation material falls in his way every
The young doctor, I could perceive, was in
clined to bo communicative, and my silence
but increased his wish to unladen himself of
something interesting. At last ths moment
came, and he said:
“About two years ago I did have a pretty
strange adventure. I don’t suppose that it
would baa breach of professional confidence
should I tell you about it.”
“ Oh, I think not,” I answered, smoking in a
meditative manner, as if I was not over anx
ious whether the story was told or not.
“Well, you shall hear it, an. Jow,” said the
doctor, moving bis chair into a comfortable po
sition, filling his pipe and resting on his elbow
in the true attitude of a story-teller.
Two years ago, when I first commenced
practice in this city, I had my office on Jack
son street. Al first business was very dull;
but it gradually brightened up, and after a few
months I began to feel myself comfortably es
tablished. My patients, I .must confess, were
not altogether of the upper-ten ; but now and
then I got a rich one, and he made up for the
short-comings of tho rest of his class. I had
a great deal of the “rough” business to do.
Many a time have I been called up to draw to
gether the edges of a gaping kniie-wound, or
patch up a nose that got badly wounded in
some bar-room quarrel. These fellows
me well, and I never b.pii*vxea tnem with ques
tiona »» tw-vno scenes or causes of their bat
tles. I think by the observance of this rule I
gained their confidence, and, therefore, had
the curing of every broken head iu the neigh
One bitter night in December I was sitting
before my office firo, and thinking how dull
my Christmas would be. I had few acquaint
ances in the place, so my chances of an invi
tation to a comfortable family Christmas din
ner were very slim. While I dozed before the
fire, I thought I heard my office bell ring.
Muttering to myself that I was dreaming, I
dropped efl' into a nod again, when an unmis
takable sharp tinkle of the bell brought me to
my feet. I opened the door, and a boy, with
his coat-collar up to his ears—for the night
was bitterly cold, and a drizzling rain had
commenced to fall—entered the passage.
“Come in, my lad,” I said, cherily, “and
warm yourself. Who’s sick around here ?”
The boy nodded curtly to me, and drew up a
chair before the office fire. When I turned up
the gas, I saw at once that he was I quite dif
ferent from my usual class of midnight visit
ors. His features were regular, refined and
handsome, and a mass of brown hair curled
over a white and intellectual looking forehead.
The hands, too, were small and well-formed,
and altogether, the stranger had none of the
characteristic of a Barbary Coast ranger.
“There’s a man hurt down tho street,” he
said, in a low voice, keeping bis eyes averted
from my face, “and the boys want you to come
to him as quickly as possible.”
The tone soft as a woman’s, and the at
tempted gruffness of the demand was, I could
at once see, assumed.
“ Yes, my boy, I’ll go with you immediately,”
I answered ; “is tho man in a bad state ?”
“He has-got cut ill the side,” replied ray
visitor, still with his eyes on tho fire, “ and is
bleeding very much. Oh, don’t delay, please,
doctor 1” ho added, earnestly.
I put on my overcoat, and slipping an instru
ment case with some lint and needles in my
pocket, and a pistol in case of accident, I pre
pared to attend my patient. The boy led the
way, and together we passed by the lighted
cellars and dons of that disreputable locality,
until my guide halted at the entrance of a dark
“ We’vo got him down here,” he whispered ;
“but there’s a lot after him, and if they saw
me, they’d find him out. Will you go first and
stop when I whistle.”
Stumbling over empty beer barrels and rub
bish of every description, I felt my way cau
tiously through the centre of the alley. When
down about half-way, the low whistle behind
signaled a halt, and I stopped, wondering
whan this mystery would end, and I should
get back to my comfortable office with a fee in
my pocket.
The boy pointed to a half opened door, and,
seeing that I hesitated, passed before me, and
grasping my hand, led the way up a damp and
ricketty staircase. On the first landing, a can
dle stump placed in the neck of a bottle was
burning, and this my companion took, walked
a few steps along a villainously smelling cor
ridor, and then rapped gently at a door,
through the keyhole of which I could perceive
a rav of light.
“Who’s there?” came in hoarse accents
from inside.
“Bill and the doctor,” whispered the boy,
and a minute afterward the door was opened,
and we were admitted.
On a coarse straw mattress on the floor lay
a figure covered over completely with a rough
brown blanket. Beside it stood one of the
most unprepossessing ruffians it has ever been
my fortune to behold.
“I guess you’il find him hurt pretty bad,
dootor,” he said, in a low tone, bending oveF
the mattress, and removing the blanket from
the wounded man. The features, composed in
the exhaustion of a fainting spell from loss of
blood, were directly the reverse of his friend’s.
There was a well-bred air in the short upper
lip and well formed nose of the sufferer. He
had bean very badly wounded. Had the knife
severed an eighth of an inch either way, noth
ing could have saved him; but, as the case
stood, I felt that the prospects of his recovery
were very doubtful.
■While I prepared my lint and instruments,
the boy lifted the patient’s head with the ut
most tenderness into his lap, and bound the
white brows with a wet towei. 'When I probed
the wound to find if any foreign substance re
mained in it, the man groaned, and the boy’s
eyes filled with tears. I soon got the edges of
the wound together; and having done every
thing for the sufferer, and given directions for
his further treatment, I left the house, con
ducted to the open street by my guide.
When, next I saw my unknown patient, the
boy was not with him—the "rough” whom I
met in the room conducting me to the place.
He was improving rapidly, but did not speak
much on thia, my second visit; merely inquir
ing languidly when I thought be would be able
to get about, and volunteering no ini or mation
concerning the circuni'tanca oflhis injury. I
confess I felt consider^ 1 ly interested in the
boy, who had shown such .a strong feeling for
hia wounded friend; and I on: er tamed the
shadow of a suspicion as to the sex of the mes
senger. There was a mystery about both
which I would gladly have solved
“1 want you for a consultation, Doctor,”
said Dr. , a week after my adventure. “I
have a patient who is suffering from a func
tional d rangement of the brain, and I think
we shall order him abroad.”
“Krom what reason?” I asked. “Over
worked? Too much strain at the.desk?”
“Well, no. lam rather incline!! to ascribe
it to family trouble. He is a man of great
wealth, and I think has not worked hard for
several years. lam to insist on learning to
day what that trouble is.”
I stepped into his buggy, and we drove to
one of the handsomest and most aristocratic
bouses in the city. Mr. Van Dyne •was a man
well advanced in years, and received us in
his library, without displaying any indications
of the disease my friend had mentioned.
“We consider it absolutely necessary that
you should go abroad, Mr. Van Dyne,” said his
attendant physician, after our examination and
a brief consultation.
“It is impossible for me to leave the city,
gentlemen,” our patient answered firmly, with
a hurried motion of his hand across his fore
head. “ I could not live a week, now, outside
of San Francisco.”
“If you could confide to us your trouble,”
said my friend, gently, we would, petkaps,
understand better how to deal with your case.”
The merchant paced up and down the room
several times, in an agitated manner, and then,
seating himself on a lounge, motioned us to
his side.
Opening bis pocket-book, he handed us an
advertisement, cut from one of the city pa
pers :
Any information leading to the dis
coveiy of the whereabouts of a young lady,
aged sixteen, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and when
last seen, wearing a gray poplin dress; wno left her
home June 28th, wi Ibe amply rewarded by “A. V.
D.,” Box No. 200, city.
“The person therein described,” said the
merchant, as he handed him back the slip of
paper, “is my daughter. Since that date, I
have never seen nor heard of her. Even if I
knew she were dead, it would be an intense re
lief. The detectives have searched every
house in the city, but every effort to discover
where she went, or what became of her, has
“ Was there ever a suitor in the case?” asked
the doctor.
“There was a dissipated scoundrel, who in
troduced himself to my house, under false pre
tences, and then robbed me. He dared to lift
his eyes to my daughter, and I once thought
she loved me. But he is now’ in town, associ
ated with the lowest roughs of the slums of the
city, and she is not with him. Here is hia pic
And ho handed us a small carte de visile from
the mantel-piece, which his physician, after
examining, passed to me. I looked at it cu
riously, and something m the features and air
seemed familiar, but I could not, for the life
of me, recollect where I had seen that face be
“ This is my daughter’s,” said he, handing
another photograph.
I started as if a thunderbolt had fallen at my
feet. That face I recognized, and now the
other became clear at once. The portraits
were those of the boy who came to my office al
midnight, and the wounded man whom I at
tended in the alley. With an* effort I controlled
my amazement, and pretending, that I had a
visit io make, drew our consultation to a close,
and left Mr. Van Dyne’s house with my friend.
The moment we left the house I told him my
suspicions, and during a tete-a-tete dinner that
evening, we consulted on the best and wisest
method of proceeding.
“ I will see Captain Lees to-night,” I said ;
“he must have a detective on the track, or
botn will give us the slip.”
The detective thought if a reconciliation
could be effected—that is, in case my suspi
cions were verified—the best method would be
to bring father and daughter together. He
told me that ho had the alley explored, and be
knew that a man and boy answering to my de
scription, resided in one of the garrets. We
arranged on a certain night to meet and pro
ceed together to the don, where 1 might obtain
an interview with the boy, or girl, as the case
might be.
While I was waiting m my.office for the cap
tain, tfio bell rung, and 1 answered it, confident
that it was my expected visitor. But, to my
intense delight, it was the object of our search.
With the recollection of the lines of the photo
graph fresh in my mind, all doubt was at once
removed. It was certainly the runaway daugh
ter. As she took a seat in the office, I won
dered that I had not seen through the disguise
before, it now seemed so apparent that my vis
a-vis was a girl in man’s clothing. Before I
had time to ask her how she had left her friend,
the bell rung again. It was the captain.
Leaving him standing in the passage-way, I
scribbled a note to Van Dyne’s physician, ask
ing him to bring the merchant at once to my
office to meet the truant. This I gave to Lees,
instructing him to search the alley after its
delivery, and. if possible, bring my patient
also on the ground. Then I rejoined the run
“ Here is the balance Jim owes you, Doctor,”
she said, handing me five dollars from a tiny
purse, a relic, doubtless, of her prosperous
“He is quite recovered, then, and will not
require my assistance any more, I suppose ?”
“Well, he is able to move about, but ho is
still very weak. We are going to the country
in a IW-w' rhj"- Jim -W kHJ -OfflMMl
rilffeff in Contra Costa county.”
“You appear to be very faithful to your
friend,” I remarked. “May I inquire if any
relationship exists between you?”
“He is my cousin,” she answered, hurriedly.
“We have been always together. Jim is a very
good man, and supports me when I am out of
work. I must go now, Doctor. Good by, and
many thanks for all your kindness,” and she
arose and held out her hand.
“Before you go,” I said, anxious to.delay
her on some pretext or other, without using
force, until her father arrived, “ let me write
you out a few directions about the treatment
of your patient.”
She sac down again, and, after consuming a
good deal of time in looking for my writing
desk, I produced it at last, and sat down to
I was a long time, and she tapped her feet
impatiently on the floor.
Bitig, ring, went the bell.
“Step into this room of the office a mo
ment,” I said, “and I will finish your direc
She obeyed me suspiciously, and after I had
closed the door, I admitted Mr. Van Dyne and
his doctor. The merchant appeared much agi
tated. Even the cooi practitioner at his side
was not a little excited.
I looked at the doctor. He nodded, and I
opened the door of the room where my prisoner
“You can pass through the office.” I said,
simply. “Those gentlemen are friends of
Cap in hand, she entered the room, and,
without looking at either of my guests, was
going out, when Van Dyne said, in a voice of
great emotion:
“ Carrie, my daughter, my darling 1”
Sba started as if struck by a bullet, stared
wildly at the outstretched arms of the mer
chant, and then, with a shrill cry, fell on her
knees before him, and dropped her head on his
lap. The doctor and myself withdrew for a
few moments, and when we returned the mer
chant’s arm was still around the neck of the
humbled figure.
I touched him on the arm, but he did not
move. I lifted his head gently from the sunny
curls of his child.
“He has fainted,” whispered the doctor.
“Ho is dead,” said I, solemnly; “ the shock
has killed him.”
I carried the insensible form of the daughter
to my room, and laid the body of the merchant
in the inner office. While opening her dress,
I saw a little bag, bung by a rusty piece of
black velvet, around her neck. I opened it.
The contents were a marriage certificate and
a wedding-ring.
Hero my friend, the young doctor, refilled
his pipe, and looked contentedly into the em
bers with the air of a man who had just finished
a successful story.
“And what became of your mysterious pa
tient ?” I inquired.
“Caroline Van Dyne, the evening she left
her father’s house,” he continued, “was mar
ried to James Thorn, the reprobate whom I at
tended in the alley. He prevailed on her to cut
off her long hair, and wear male costume, as
the only means of avoiding discovery. With
all his crimes and desperate proclivities, he was
as faithful to her as she to him. She got over
the shock of her father’s death, and when Van
Dyne’s will was examined, every dollar of his
immense wealth was found bequeathed to his
only, but erring child.”
“What followed ?”
“I visit Mr. and Mrs. Thorn frequently. I
am, in fact, their family physician. A few
stray paragraphs got into the newspapers
about the case, so they have changed the
name. There cannot exist a more affectionate
couple. A strange history, is it not ?”
And the doctor prepared to mix the ingredi
ents of our farewell glass of punch.
Mr. James H. Small, of Buffalo, is said to
have perfected a machine with which cheating
is impossible. It is only a conductor’s punch,
but so ingeniously constructed that it is en
tirely unnecessary for the conductor to make
his report at the end of his trip, the punch
making the report for him. This ingenious
little machine weighs about six ounces, is
made of brass, nickel plated, and is not much
larger than the common punch used by con
ductors. We can more readily describe it by
explaining the manner of its use.
The conductor Is furnished with a trip card,
upon which there is a double row of numbers,
each number representing the amount of one
fare. If five cents is the fare upon our city
railway, the numbers range as follows : 5,10,
15, 20, and so on. When the conductor re
ceives his first fare he punches out five ; as he
does so, a small gong, loud enough to be heard
in any part of the car, strikes in the punch,
announcing to all within bearing that one faro
has been collected. At the same moment tho
hands on a dial arranged like tho face of a
watch are moved forward, and register ono
tare, while the fragment of a card with 5 upon
it drop? into a receptacle below, mid there re
mains until the end of the trip, being the third
silent blit witness to the conductor’s
integrity. Wren thj officers of the road hand
t e punch over to the conductor, they regis
t r the number indicated by the dial, lock the
openings securely, and the machine is so ar
ranged that the least attempt to tamper with
tho lock can be easly de octed.
The little machine is destined to work a rev
olution in railroad c rcles. The cheat, when
he receives the fare,will fail to punch the card,
and that failure wi.i be noticed at once by the
passengers, who will naturally be listening for
the sound of the gong. Not only can this
punch be used to advantage upon street rail
ways, but upon steam roads, steam and other
ferry boats, theatres, and, in fact, in every
place of public amusement.
Horse" sensE
(From the Virginia City Montanian.)
A remarKablo instance of the sagaoi y (is it
not reason?) of a horse came to our notice,'
Mr. John Fletcher, of Norwegian, owns an un
broken cayuse mare which runs in a pasture
adjoining his house. The-mare, which is very
wild, has a young colt at her side. A few
nights since, after Mr. Fletcher had retired, he
was aroused by the mare coming to the win
dow of his house, and by pawing, neighing, and
in every way possible, trying to get his atten
tion. This continuing ibr some time, he got
up and went out and drove her away, and re
turned again to bed ; but she immediately re
turned, and if possible increased her demon
strations. He againt went out, when the mare
came up to him and rubbed her nose against
him, although always before she had been very
shy of allowing anyone to come within reach of
her, then ran on a few yards before him, con
tinuing her neighing ; then, as he did not fol
low her, she returned to him, rubbing against
him in the most demonstrative manner. He
attempted to drived her off, struck h r with
a stick, and followed her a few yards to fright
en her away. As soon, however, as ho turned
toward the house she returned, and tried in
every way to prevent him from doing so. He
then remarked that her colt was not with her,
a fact he had not noticed before, as it was quite
dark. It occurred to him th* nto folic w ner,
which he did. So soon as she saw he was do
ing so, sho ran off before him, stopping every
few yards, turning around to see that bo was
still "following, then again running on, Keeping
up hor calling, until she reached a distant part
or the field, where she stopped at an oid “pros
pect bole.” On coming up with her, she again
commoncod rubbing against him, and drew his
attention to the holo, where he soon discovered
tho colt. It appeared it had slipped into it
and was unable to get out, and the mare had
taken this method to obtain assistance. Being
uuablo to get it out alone, Mr. Fletcher went
for some of his neighbors and with them re
turned. While they were taking the littlo fel
low out, the mare manifested tho most intense
delight, and seemed almost beside herself.wth
joy ; and afterward, when the men had got'lhe
colt out of the hole, she came upto Mr.,Fletch
er. and, placing her nose on bis shoulder, gave
every sign of gratitude that a human mother
might under similar circumstances. Who wi.l
say the horse does not reason?
Diseases of the Kidneys
are generally insidious in their approach, consequently
apparently trifling symptoms are deemed of little im
portance. By degrees, pain and constant annoyance
arouses the sufferer from his lethargy. At last, the
realization of serious disease, undermining the very life
structure, dawns upon him. Diabetes or Bright’s Dis
ease may be the ultimate
We most earnestly advise a trial of the most valuable
remedy known ia diseases implicating these organs—
Julihn’s Hydrastill Compound.
Irritation or weakness of the bladdeb or urinary
difficulty in voiding the urine; also, in affections impli
cating the female organs—tendency to falling of the
womb, accompanied by irritability or pain, and in all
abnormal discharges implicating this organ, t his invalu
able remedy can bo depended on as effectual in bringing
about a speedy cure. Circulars and copies of testimo
nials to be had by calling oh or addressing tho manufac-
' B. KEITH & Co., No 41 Liberty st.. New York.
For sale by Druggists. Trice $1 per bottle, or 6 for $5.
Office of the Secretary of State, )
ALBANI’ August 1, 1872. )
To the Sheriff-of the County of New York:
Slß—Notice is hereby given that, at tho General
Flection to be held in this State on the Tuesday suc
ceeding the first Monday of November next, the follow
ing officers are to be elected, to wit:
A Governor, in the place of John T. Hoffman.
A Lieutenanant-Governor in the place of Allon C.
A Canal Commissioner, in the place of William W.
An Inspector of State Prisons, in the place of For
dyce L. Lafflir.
All whose teims of office will expire on the last
day of Decamber next.
Thirty-five Electors of President and Vice-President
of the United States.
A Representative in the Forty-third Congress from
the State at large.
A Representative in the Forty-third Congress of the
United States, for the Fifth Congressional District,
composed of the First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth,
Sixth, Seventh, Eighth and Fourteenth Wards of the
city of New York and Governor’s Island.
A Represen ative in the I’orty-third Con-ress of the
United States, tor-the Sixth Congressional District,
composed of the Eleventh and Thirteenth Wards of the
<>+■■ Vvxh, ttltu Lliab pUttlOU Ml t>£»e
and Twenty-first Wards of said city lying east of Third
A Representative in the Forty-third Congress of tho
United States, tor the Seventh Congressional District,
composed of tne Tenth and Seventeenth Wards of the
city of New York, and that portion of the Eighteenth
Ward of said city lying west of Third avenue.
A Representative in the Forty-third Congress of the
United States, tor the Eighth Congressional District,
composed of tne Ninth. Fifteenth and Sixteenth Wards
of the city of New York, and that portion of tne Twen
ty-first Ward lying west of Third avenue.
A Representative in the Forty-third Congress of the
United States, for the Ninth Congressional District,
composed of the Twentieth and Twenty-second Wards
of the city of New York.
A Representative in the Forty-third Congress of the
United States, for the Tenth Congressional District,
composed of the Twelfth and Ninteenth Wards of l lie
city of-New York, and Blackwell’s, Ward’s and Randall’s
for said city and county.
Twenty-one (21) Members of Assembly.
A Mayor, in the place oi A. Oakey Hall.
A District Attorney, in the place of Samuel B Gar
A City Judge, in the place of Gunning S. Bedford,
A Coroner, in the place of William Schirmer.
All whose terms of office will expire on the last day
of December next.
A Justice of the Supreme Court, in place of William
H. Leonard, appointed in place of Albert; Cardozo, re
A Justice of the Superior Court, in place of John H.
McCunn, deceased.
Fifteen (15) Aldermen.
Twenty-one (21) Assistant Aidermen.
The attention of Town and City Election Boards, In
spectors of Election, and County Canvassers, is respect
fully directed to Chapters 709 and 757, Laws of 1872, here
with printed, as to their duties under said acts;
CHAP. 700.
AN ACT to supply deficiencies in former appropriations
and to pay the indebtedness of the State on account of
the canais, which deficiencies and indebtedness have
been changed into liabilities for money borrowed to
pay them, or into certificates of indebtedness on which
the State is now paying interest, and to pay the float
ing indebtedness of the State and the estimated lia
bilities for the present fiscal year not yet provided lor
by law, and to raise money therefor, by an issue of the
bonds of the State, and to provide for submitting the
question there ,n to the People.
Passed May 15, 1872; three-fifths being present.
The People of the Side of New York, represented in Senate and
and Assembly, do enact as follows:
_ Section 1. To supply deficiencies in former appropria
tion , and to pay the indebtedness of the State on ac
count of the canals, which deficiencies and indebtedness
have been changed into liabilities for money borrowed
to pay them, or into certificates of indebtedness on
which the State is now paying interest, and to pay the
floating indebtedness of the State, and the estima'ed
liabilities for the present fiscal year not yet provided for
by law. The following amounts are hereby appropriated:
The sum of fifty-five thousand eight hundred and one
dollars and ninety-five cents, (o pay for deficiencies un
provided for in full by act, chapter seven hundred and
sixty-eight of the laws of eighteen hundred and seventy.
The sum of two hundred and sixty-nine thousand two
hundred and thirty-four dollars and eighty-four cents,
to pay tor deficiencies m appropriations under act, chap
tersevenhundred and sixty-seven of the laws of eighteen
hundred and seventy. The sum of ono hundred and
forty-four thousand three hundred and fifty-nine dollars
and fifty-seven cents, to pay for deficiencies in appropri
ations under act, chapter nine hundred and thirty of the
laws of eighteen hundred and seventy-one. The sum of
sixty-five thousand dollars, or so much thereof as may
be necessary to meet; and pay the interest on the money
borrowed, or certificates of indebtedness issued, to meet
tne deficiencies enumerated in the three foregoing items
of deficiencies. Tho sum of throe hundred and ninety
three thousand seven ifundred and fifty-five dollars and
iifty-one cents, tor outstanding certificates of awards of
canal damages made by and expenses attending cases
heard before the canal appraisers in the year eighteen
hundred and seventy-one, now on interest. The sum of
fifty thousand dollars, or so much thereof as may be
necessary to meet and pay the interest on the certificates
in the last foregoing item mentioned. The sum of
twenty-five thousand four hundred and thirty-one dol
lars and ninety-nine cents. the amount of certificates on
interest now outstanding for work done on the eastern
division of the Erie canal in excess of any appropriation
therefor. The sum of sixty-one thousand six hundred
and eleven dollars and thirty-one cents, the amount of
certificates on interest now outstanding for work done
on the Champlain canal improvement in excess of any
appropriation therefor. The sum of two thousand
five hundred and sixty dollars, the amount of certifi
cates on interest now outstanding for work done on
the Black River canal in excess of any appropriation
therefor. The sum of one hundred and twenty thou
sand dollars, or so muoh thereof as may be necessary,
to pav the amount of certificates on interest now out
standing and for work done on the Chenango canal ex
tension m excess of any appropriation therefor, a por
tion of which was specially excepted from payment out
of the appropriation of such Chenango canal extension
made by chapter nine hundred and thirty of the laws of
eighteen hundred and seventy-one. The sum of twenty
thousand dollars, or so much thereof as may be neces
sary, and now due and unpaid for work done and per
formed on the Oneida Lake canal, in excess of any ap-
Sropriation therefor. The sum of forty-five thousand
ollars, or so much thereof as may be necessary to meet
and pay the interest on the last four foregoing items.
The sum of two hundred and thirty-one thousand four
hundred and thirty-four dollars and forty-six cents, to
Say the sum of awards for damages and extra compensa
on made by the canal board jn the year eighteen hun
dred and s6venty-onA Tne sum df seventy-one thou
sand nine hundred and sixty-four dollars and sixty
eight cents, to pay the sum of awards for damages and
extra compensation and expenses attending the same,
mrde by the board of canal commissioners in the year
eighteen hundred and seventy-one. The sum of twenty
five thousand dollars, or so much thereof as may be ne
cessary, to pay the interest on the last two foregoing
items. The sum of three hundred and fifty-six thousand
seven hundred and sixty-six dollars and sixty-five cents,
to supply the deficiency in the canal debt sinking fund,
to meet the requirements of section three, article seven
of the constitution of the btate, for interest on the canal
debt, which was due September th rtieth, eighteen
hundred and seventy-one. The sum of five hundred and
fifty-seven thousand one hundred dollars, to supply the
canal debt sinking fund with means to pay interest on
the thirtieth day of September, eighteen hundred and
seventy-two, as required by section three, article seven
of the constitution of the State. The sum of one hun
dred and twenty-four thousand four hundred and fifteen
dollars, or so muca thereof as mav be necessary, due
and to be paid on final settlement of contracts for money
heretofore retained by the State to secure the perform
ance of contracts. The sum of four millions iifty-one
thousand one hundred and fifty-nine dollars for the
present, acknowledged deficiency, and the cstima.ed lia
bilities of the general fund un to the thirtieth day or
c\r\ J
Sw'emner. eighteen mmdreil and wrauvJiro to. the
pas meet nnioh no appropnauons have beonmds
I>-j t winch such indebtedness has been inontred lnd
Slice tub.-ties created, according to there ortoltS
la o comptroller, transmitted to the Legist era Jan,,
ary second, eighteen hundred and seventy-two.'
§ 2. To provide the means or paving tne said appro
priation tor tne canals under the provisions of this act
and to pay the floating indebtedness of the State and
tiie-estimai ed liabilities for tly? present fiscal year not
yet provided. _oy la w, a debt of this Staoeisherebyan
thonzeJ, which debt shall be for the single object of
raising the money to pay the appropriation herein
§ 3. The debt hereby created shall not exceed the sum
of six millions six hundred thousand dollar'; and there
snail be imposed, levied, and assessed upon the taxable
property oi this State a direct annual tux to pay the in- -
terest ou said debt as such interest tails due, which said
dir ct annua! tax shall be sufficient to pey such interest
as it falls due. And there shall also be imposed, levied,
and assessed upon the taxable property ot this State a
direct annual tax to pay, and sufficient to pay in the
s-’ace of twelve years from tne time cf t ie passage of
this act, the whole of the debt created under and by the
provisions of this act. Or the debt io be created under
and by virtue of the provisions of this act, the principal
of one-third part thereof shall be paid ia four years
from the passage of this act, the principal of one-third
part thereof shall be paid in eight- years from the pas
sage or this act, and the principal of one-third part
thereof shall be paid in twelve years from the passage of
§ 4. To obtain the money necessary for the purposes
contemplates by this act, the Controller is authorized to
issue the bonds of the btate z iu sucn sums each as shall
teem meet to him, with coupons thereto attached, lor
the payment of the interest on such bonds, at a rate not
exceeding six per centum per annum, hali yearly on the’
first days of July and January m each year until the
principal is payable, at such place in the city of New
kork as shall seem meet to him. One-third part of such
bonds shall bo payable in four years from the passage of
this net. one-third part of such bonds shall be payable ia
eight years from the passage of this net, one-third part
oi such bonds shall be payable in twelve years from the
passage of this act, and the whole principal shall bo
payable in such place in New York city as the Controller
siiali deem meet. The Controller snail, before disposing
of said bonds or any of tnem, advertise the proposals tor
the same, and shall open the proposals, and. award the
same tu tho highest bidder at a rate not less than par
which advertising and disposition shall be according to
the provisions of the law now existing
§5. This act shad be submitted to tho people at the *
next general election to be held in tins State The in
spectors of election m tne different election districts in
the Slate shall provide, at each poll on said elec ion day.
a box in tne usual form for the reception oi' the ballots
herein provided ; and each and every -elector of this
{State may present a ballot which shall boa paper ticket
on which shall be printed or written, or partly written
and partly printed, one of the following forms, namely:
‘■For the act to create a State debt to pay the canal and
general fund deficiencies,” or “Against tne act to create
a State deot to pay the canal and general fund deficien
cies.’ The said ballots shah be so 10l led as to conceal
the contents of the ballots, and shall be indors :ci “Act
in relation to canal and general fund deficiencies.”
§ 6. After finally closing die polls of suc:i election,
tne inspectors thereof shall immediately and wd-noub
adjournment proceed to count ar.d canvass the ballots
given in relation to the proposed acr, in tne same
manner as they are by law required to canvass tbabadots
given for Governor, and thereupon snail set down m
writing, and m words at full length, the w.iole number
of votes given “ For the act to create a State debt;” and
the whole number of voted given “Against tho act to
create a State debt, and certify and subscribe tho
same, anil cause the copies tnereof to be made, certified
ami delivered, as prescribed by law in respect to the can
vass of votes given at an election for Governor; and all
the provisions of law in relation i o elections, other' than
for military and town officers, shall apply to the submis
sion of the people herein pro vid -J. for.
§ 7 The Secretary of State shall, with al! convenient
dispatch, after tais ac<. snail rece.ve tae approval or tno
Governor, cause the same io be struck off an i printed
upon slips in such numbers as snail be sufficient *to sup
ply the different officers oi this State concerns - in noti
fying or in holding elections, or in canvassing the votes,
and siiail transmit tiie sam i to such officers.
§ 8. Sections j.vc, six, and seven of this act shall take
effect immediately uoon its passage, but. the second
tinrd, and fourth sections thereof shall not become al tw
until it is ratified by the people in pursuance oi the Con
stitution and the provisions thereof.
§ 9. This act shall be chapter seven hundred of the
laws of eighteen hundred and seventy-two.
CHAP. 7u7.
AN ACT to perfect an amendment to the Constitution
relative to tiie Court of Appeals, and for the extension
Oi the services of the Commissioners of Appeals
Passed May 17, 1872, tsree-fiiths being present.
Whereas, tne following amendment to the constitu*
tiou oi this State was agreed to by a majority of all th©
elected to eaca branch of the Legislature for
phe year ope thousand eight’ hundred and.seventy-one;
and the said amendment was duly entered on the jour
nals of eacn branch of the Legislature, with the yeas and
nays taken thereon, and referred to the Legislature to
be chosen at the next general election of Senators; and
was duly published for three months previous to tha
time of making such choice in i ursuanee of the thir
teenth aiticio of the Constitution of the Slate; and
whereas, said amendment was also agreed to by a ma
jority or all the members elected to each oi the said
branches of the Legislature for tne year one thousand
eight hundred and seventy-two, pursuant to the said
th.r.eenth article; which said amendment i- in the
words following, to wit: “Relative to the Court of Ap
peals, and for tho extension of tiie term of service of
the Commissioners of Appeals ” llesolvcd, (if the As
sembly concur) that the sixth article of the Con-.titu
tion of this State be amended, by adding thereto the
following section :-
Ҥ2B, Tne Court of Appeals may order any of the
causes, not exceeding five hundred in number, pending
in that court at the time of the adoption of this provi
sion, to be heard and determined by the Commissioners
of Appeals, and the Legislature may extend the term of
service of tho Commissioners of Appeals, for a period
not exceeding two years.” Now, therefore, for the pur
po3 of submitting the said proposed amendment to the
People of tnis State:.
The People of the State of New York, represented in Senate and
Assembly, do enact asfMowe :
Section 1. The inspectors at each poll in the several
towns and wards of this State at the general election to
be held in this State on the fifth day of November, m
tho year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and
seventy-two, shall provide a box to receive the ballots of
the citizens of this State, in relation to the said pro
posed amendment; and each voter may present a i-allot
on which shall be written or printed, or partly written
and partly printed, one of the following forme, namely:
“ Fur the propose ! amendment relative to toe Court of
Appeals,” or‘‘Aga nst tho proposed amendment rela
tive to the Court of Appeals.” The said ballots shall be
indorsed “Proposed Amendment relative to the Court
of Appeals,” and shall be so folded as to conceal tne
contents of the ballot and exhibit the indorsement.
And all the citizens oi this State entitled to vote for
members of Assembly in their respective districts shall
be entitled to vote on the adoption of the said proposed
amendments, during the day of election, ia the several
election districts in which they reside.
§2. After finally closing the poll of said election, tha
inspectors thereof shall count and canvass* the ballots
given relative to the said proposed amendment, inthi
same manner as they are required by law to canvass tha
ballets given for Governor, and thereupon snail set
down in writing, and in words at full length, the whole
number of votes given “For the proposed amendment
relative to the Court of Appeals,” and the whole num
ber of votes given “Against tiie proposed amendment
relative to the Court of Appeals.” and shall certify and
subscribe the same, ard cause co; ies thereof to be mads -
and certified and delivered, as preserved by law in re
spect to the canvass of votes given at an election for
?, 3. T ie vote so given shall be canvassed by the Board
of County Canvassers, and statements thereof shall be
made, certified and signed, and recorded in tiie manner
ri Quned bylaw, iu respect to the canvassing the votes
gwen at an election for Governor, and certified copies of
the said statements and certificates of the county can
vassers shall bo made, certified and transmitted by the
/>o. l rjt.vci a rks, respectively, in tha manner provided by
law in cases of e.ectidn for Governor. 'The sai 1 certified
copies transmitted bv the county clerks shall be can- ’
vassed by the Board of State Canvassers, in the like
manner as provided by law, in respect to the election of
Governor, and in like manner they shall make and file
a certificate of the result of such canvass, which shall be
entered on record by the Secretary of iState, and shall be
pukhshed by him in tiie State paper. s.
§4. This act shall take effect immediately.
Respectfully yours, etc ,
Secretary of State.
City and County of New York, [
August Ist, 1872. i
I certify the above to be a true copy of the Election
Notice received by mo this day from the Secretary of
Sheriff of the City and County of New York.
O' Publishers of newspapers will not insert this no
tice without due aul hority. See Laws 1860, Chap. 489.
Dr. hunter uan~bb consulted
iiom 9 A. M. to 8 P. M., at his office No. f. 6 Bond
street, ne r tne Lowery. Established 49 years Charges
moderate and a cure guaranteed. The doctor has cured
many old curomc cases alter dozens of eminent physi
cians failed. Patients will see no one but the doctor
himself. One Do.iar will secure by return mail, carefully
sealed, his great medical work on private diseases, de
bility, etc. Worthall the others put together. Advice
by mail and medicines prompty forwarded. Utmost pri
vacy observed. Not open on Sunday.
SINGLE LADIES. 'The most wonderful, reliable,
and certain remedy, as well as always healthy for mar
ried or single ladies, in removing obstructions and sup
pressions, has proved to be the celebrated PORTU
oi ladies have used them with infallible certainty. They
never fail. Ceram and healthy. Price $5.
DR. A. M. MAURIOEAU. Professor of Diseases of
Women, Office, No. 129 Liberty street. Sole Agent and
Proprietor for ujiward of twenty years. They are sent
by mail, in ordinary letter envelopes, with full instruc
tions and advice.
Dozen; Samples, 250. Druggists supplied. RICE &
CO., Importers, No. 83 Nassau st., N. Y. Boom No. 12.
A “ladies’ PH D?
having twenty-five years’ successful and uninterrupted
practice in this city, makes it li;s special practice ta Z
treat all female complaints, however complicated or
from whatever cause produced. Every complaint, how
ever long standing, treated with a skill unsurpassed.
Elegant rooms ..nd good board for ladies before and
during confinement. Infants adopted when desired.
Office and residence, No. 120 WEST TWENTY-SIXTH
STREET, near Sixtii avenue.
is the only positive and Specific Remedy
for all suffering from general or sexual debility, ail de
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Suffer no more, but try one bottle; it will effect a cure
where ail others fail. It contains nothing to the *
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Bond street, near Bowery. Established 40 years. Book
of 80 pages gratis. Not open on Sunday.
of Mid wife i-y. ov n* thirty years successful prac
tice. Office No. 1 East 52d street, corner of Fifth ave
nue. Her infallible French Female Pills No. 2, Price
$5. aro sold nt Druggist, No. 152 Greenwich street, and
Also at No. 122 Fulton street, Brook!/n, or Bent by mail
with full directions.
'TPJLcVmjV case of private
disease, spermatorrhoea, nervous de- , X
bility, rheumatism, syphilis, scrofula, / \
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EN REMEDIES fail to cure. No )
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promptly. Office hours from 9 A. M. \ /
to9P.M. Address Dr. D. B. RICH- X. *z> S
ARDS, No. 228 Vanek st., New York.
Dr. g. r. bond, Noritis elm st.,'
between Broome aud Spring streets, can be con- '
suited 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
tectors, two for $1; $5 a dozen Ladies Protectors, $3
each. The doctor and son will keep on hand a full sup
ply of Family Medicines, Roots, Herbs Toilet Articles,
Perfumery, and all of the best Patent Medicines of the
disease and nervous or physical debility, should
consult Dr. HUNTER. His. great experience during
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sneedy cure, without injury to the most delicate consti
tution. No. 56 Bond street, Established 40 years.

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