Lancaster Examiner and Herald

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&t KO. 4.iti>it1l.!(ta««n Street. LaaoMter,Fa
TEItMS^^^B^OO A TEAR IW APTAHCE.
JSO. A. HIKSTAND .t E. M. KLINE,
EaKora and Propriotors.
HATE CHABITt.
ThrongU tho laroat, sln-WnHtcil clly ' 3V)llfl a llomeloiM ilttlo oue— Not a mend to soothe or pity.
Mot a bed to Ue upon. RiigEed, dirty, bmliied and WeedlnB,
SaWeot still to tlot and cnrso, Schooled In sin and sadly ncofllnB  __
Aid trom ChrlsUan tongue and purse. Bnt the rich and gftv pass by her,
Full of vanity nud pride. And a pittance tnoy deny her,   ,
Ak thoy null Oielr skirls asldo. Then a sullen mood comes o'er her,
necklcKSslioorwoonnd woal. Death trom hunger Is before her,
Sho mustelUior starve or steal.
.she docs steal, nnd ^rho can hlnmoltcr,
Hunger panes her vltalfi cnaw; None endeavor to reclaim lier,
.\nd she Tlolntcs tho law.   ¦ Tlicn tlio pampered child of fa.shIon,
Who refused lo Rtve relief, Cries, with well affected passion,
" Out upon the llllle thief l"
Censors full of world-wise schooling, Ocase to censure and deplore,
"When tho girl transgressed man's ruling She obeyeil a higher law.
Take hor place—feel her temptation- Starved, unhoused, no succor nlf,'h.
And. thouKh sure of reprobation. Yo would steal ere yo would die.
"APTEH MANY LAYS."   •
" You'll spend Cliristmtis willi us?" .Tiiliii Mi'llish had .'i.iid to liis cousin; mill ]!ri.iii, reincml.eriuB how very Klooinv List Yiile-tiile hail ajijieared as vjeweil rioni tho solitinle of his cliam- hoi-s gladly acCiiptpJ. IJriaii's exile, if it may be so called, M-.as entirely volun¬ tary. If lie liad iipcepted the invita¬ tions that jioured in, he might have jiivssed his days hunting, shooting, or dining; hut being of an ambitious turn, and having from his earliest boyhood heard it Inserted that, he would "do .siiinetliing" and attain some position aliove the ordinary herd, Brian bad laid dowu a course of hard law-reading to which he had hitherto stuck^ionest- ly. Perhaps there wns not much .merit due to him yet; tho plow and furrow may have been .i-s fascinating as the outer world. He had run the gauntlet, itis true, of many of those temptations wiiich most eiwiiy beset a man, hnt he had never been iu love; that trial re¬ mained, and we shall see how well he met it; of firing lie had done his share. Xiaw is, we know, at best, dry work, reiiuiring counter excitement now and then ; aud Kriau, beiug indolent iu his amusemenfs, toolc that whicii wiis at hand, liut the wonian with whom he Ilirted .said he hail no heart.
It is written that there is a tide in the allairs of men. This particular tidehad uot us yet set in upou the even shore of Brian's life, but the crisis was not far oli; and, .as is generally the way, fate came concealed by the most Innocent of di.sguises; and so it w.as, tliat being In a fait way to becoine a il. C, if notli¬ ing more, Brian runnhig against hia cousin, John- Llellish, iu tho Strand, was summoned to meet his fate at "the Cedars," where, a week before Clirist- nia-s, we found our hero, sitting by the Siiuire's youns wife, but looking with all his eyes at the young face of the wife's younger sister Kate, and trying with all his ears to catch the murmur of her low, soft voice.
"I'll marry that girl, or uone," Brian sard to himself, as he undressed the niglit after his arrival, and so he re¬ peated still more passionately when, ou tbe footman rousing hira the next morning, he became conscious that Kate's gray eyes had been shining upon him in his dreams.
" The hounds meet at the kennel, sir," said the servant, "and master says you'd better be do\vu soon, as he and Miss Kerr are goiug to ride to cover."
" All right," quoth Brian ; and hav¬ ing luckily come provided with breeches aud tops. It was not long before he de¬ scended to the breakfast room, where he found Kate presiding, .and the Squire and a couple of strangers from theother side of the country busy iu fortifying against the chances of a long day.
" I've ordered the young cliestuut for you, Brian," aaid Joliu. " I want him shown oU; and I am too heavy lor the country we'll most likely cross to-day; beaides, you handle a horse better than auy oue I know." Theu the conversa¬ tion turned upon the merits of the liorse, and the prospect of having a run. For the first ten minutes after start¬ ing Brian had his hands full, and not until the chestuut liad quieted down had he a fair opportunity of lookiug at Kate, who, like ull prettj' women who can really ride, looked better on horse¬ back than anywhere else; and as Brian watched her brightening color, and lit¬ tle figure swaying with every motion of the horse, the reiuembrance of his chambers came up like a nightmare.
What had greeu leaves laced with dewladeu gossaiueia, caroling larks and full-throated robins, to do with dusty folios and blue-lined foolscap? Brian thought it over that night, while the picture was still fresh in his memory, and he thought it over every night, till, as the reader will see, the odds against the Q. C. became longer and longer.
What the riding, dancing and games had left undone, the dressing up ofthe churcli and house for Christmas day completed, and by the time the green¬ ery was gathered and hung, Brian knew that " the tide" luad set in, and that the full -waves were hcatiug down every obstacle in their courae.
And yet he had not by look or word betrayed himself to Kate. He ivas much too deeply in earnest to risk ask¬ ing too soou. He know it was life or death, so to speak; and so, tliough he haunted Kate's steps, people did not see what the truth was. partly because of the mask he wore, and partly be¬ cause of a very special reason which I ahall explain presently.
Christmas was over; some guests left and others came; so that going into the drawing.room one evening, and being rather late, Brian found some ones as¬ sembled enjoying that pleasantest of all times, the gleaming half-hour-before diuuer. ICate was sitting near the fire, and conseiiuently in the lightest partof tlie room, and by her side a stranger, uot ayoung man, hut old enough to be her fatlier; so Brian stood aaide, con¬ tent to worship his divinity at a dis¬ tance. Presently she caught his eyo, and beckoning him to her, introduced him to Ueneral Amberly, who held out his hand, saying: "I have just heen telling Kate that your father aod I were comrades in early days, and saw aome . hard tiinea together with the Duke of York. Your have heard him speak of Jesae Amberly?" And then, turningto Kate, he weut on. " Jesae was my nickname when I joined; I believe iu those d.ays I was considered a pretty boy, and coming fresh from u mother's care, mj' ways and wants were diiTerent from those of public school men. This young gentleman's father joined the aame year, and being bigger and stronger at tbat time stood by me in more than ono way."
" His father is dead. General," whia- parod Kate, her .soft eyes filling.
"Yea, my dear, I know; bnt the memory of a good man never dies. His father was oue of the best of them."
So Brian's heart was at rest, and what was left of it went straight to the out¬ spoken old soldier whose old-fa.sliioned courtesy and chivalrous attention to Kate seemed, in poor Brian's eye, the greatest charm he posseaaed.
Two days after thia, Brian's visit ter¬ minated. As bad luck would havo it, Kate had a headache; the laat day she neither appeared at dinner, nor yet in the evening. Brian, /who had made up his mind to speak out, was down au hour before any ono else next morning, but Kate only showed herself wheii breakfast was halt over. So, as time waits for no one, he had to tako his de¬ parture minus the hoped-for Interview, and there was nothing for it but to trust his fate to the past. So after reaohing London he wrote a manly, straightfor¬ ward letter, telling Kate the trutli and asking her to be his wife. . In two days the reply came, and Bri¬ an's fate was sealed.
"Iam deeply grieved,"-wroteKate. " more deeply'than I can possibly tell you. I thought you knew I -was en¬ gaged to General Amberly. John should have told you, and I cannot un¬ derstand how It woa you never heard; the . loct la so unlveisaUy known amongst my friends, that I never doubtr edyoii knew, and that wlU, I hope, en-' able you to, Jbrgive me it my condilct has helped to pain you. I showed yonr letter^ to the General, and he bids me say that he: feels as I do,-very, very sor? ry, and that as yourfather'a friend, voo must look npon him as a true Iriend:" Over aha over agidu Brian read this letter;:quietly ehoWglirtoo; but with the quiet that comes of despair.   He
saw It nil; and there iwas not a shad- o-v of reproach or blame in his heart atralnstKate: but the light seemed to I gSout ofhis life; and forjthreo: weeks' BriantrledVeoiatrlck of drivlng.away his misery by B life of riot. At the end of three -weeks nature gave way, andhe w^r^lng with brain fever.: Dissipa¬ tion did not ault him, and, luckUy, the stop came before he-w^: utterly lost. . " You must leave liondon," saidthe doctor; "quietIs necessary—try a^sea: voyage.". ... ,..¦ : i ;v:^UI^">V.','.". i" , "I mnst see her first," thonght BriaVj' "and then I don't care -where I-'go; I shall see what I want to know in her.
face." , . 	
So soon as he could move about, Bri¬ an took the Iborning express,, and hir¬ ing a gig at First Cross Station drove over to " The Cedars." Mr. Melllsh was out; the mistress -was with the baby, but would be down directly. So Brian went Into the morning room to wait, and presently, coming from the garden, he saw Kate. She walked up to the house rather slowly; and hid¬ den, as he -was behind the curtain, Bri¬ an could see without being seen, and bis heart grew sick, even while a wild tri¬ umph seemed to flU his being; for he saw what he had hoped, even while he dreaded, In Kate's face. She stopped opposite the -window, and looked at the dog cart, as if uncertain to whom it be¬ longed, or whether to go on; then sud¬ denly tt flush came over her, and she turued quickly down the avenue. Bri¬ an had come out of hia hiding placo, and leant against the window; he was desperate just then.
When Kate was outof sight came the remembrance of where he was, and the certaiuly that he would have to foce Mrs. Mellish. Ifthe thoughtof this In¬ terview had- seemed difflcuit when he firat sat down in the room. It became atill more hard after aeelng Kate, and at loiit grew ao intolerablo that Brian turned and bolted, and tlie dog cart was half w.ay to the station before Mra. Mel¬ lish, who had waited for the nurse to corae up from dinner, deposited the batiy in that functionary's arms, and h.aving seen that her hair was straight, descended to spealc with Brian, found the bird hod flown.
"What could he mean?" she .said af- terwaids, to Kate. And Kate, looking veryjpale, answered:
"He wanted to see John, perhaps; won't John go up and see him ?"
Aud John, who was one of the most good notured men in the world, went up to town next daj-, taking Mrs. Mel¬ lish with him, and they, having done some ahopping, proceeded to Brian's chambers, where they heard the Hat pronounced by the doctor, and learned that Brian, having tired of reading law, meant to try uaettler'a life iu Australia. "You'll come back to us some day, old fellow?" was the squire's farewell. " Ah, in ten years I'U spend Christ- mn.s Day with you."
" Well, that's a bargain; in ten years we'lllay a knife and fork for you."
Brian laughed bitterly, repeating, " In tun years," and Mrs. Mellish, com¬ ing up to him, put her hands upon hia shouldera and kissed him, whispering " her blessing to Brian; you are anoblo fellow."
She followed her husband down stairs, and taking a cab, they drove to Euaton Square.
" We have aeen Brian, Kitty; he ia much better, und has beeu ordered a sea voyage, so ho is going to try how Australia air will suit liim. He has promised to spend Christmas with us ten years hence. How did baby get along without me ?"
Spring came, but the General was not well, and the marriage was put off until Christmas, but when autumn came, the old man was prostrate. He lingered so nearly two years, Kate nursing him, and to her he left hia property. Ouce or twice during hia illneas, he had asked for news of Brian, and by Ills request, the squire had written to relations and ¦friends, bnt no tidings could be obtain¬ ed.
"He might have had the grace to write," said John, when he told the General the result of his inquiries. But the latter shook his head.
"Nay, John, he is right. 'He that putteth his hand to the plough and looketh baek, is not meet for the king¬ dom of heaven.' The poor boy haa doue well; he will come back in ten yeora, and wheu he does, tell him I said so." When the General's warfare was over, and the old soldier had auswered hia last muster roll, Kate remained alto¬ gether at " The Cedars;" and, caUing heraelf tho old maid of the family, was looked up to with much respect by the rising generation of nephews and nieces. Nor was Kate's money idle; many a wrinkled old face in the village grew uuxioua when gossipgave out that Miss Kate had auother wooer, but wheu the lover mounted and rode away, and Kate waa still Miss Kate, the newa spread like sunahiue, and the smilea came back agaiu ; and Christmas after Christmas brougiit good cheer aud full larders to every home in the little vil¬ lage, a soft glow to Kate's cheek aud a brighter smile to Kate's lips.
At last the tenth Christmas was near at hand. The winter was a bird one. Upon the morning of Christmas Eve, Kate and the children went forth to gather greenery. Young Ethel, now nearly as tall as Kato herself; Dick upon the sheltie, Tom and Harry armed with knives, big enougli to do serious damage to the liolly treea.
Amongat them atood Kate; time, in taking away the lightneaa of girlhood, perfected the maturer beauty of woman¬ hood, and very fair and lovable she looked, aa, with her hands fullof bloom¬ ing holly, ahe stood in the wintry pic¬ ture—a picture very much unlike that of a Christmas on the otlier aide of tbe world, where seasons are turued upside dowu and Christmas day comes at mid¬ summer. So thought a man who was leaning againat the churchyard gate. He had been standing tliere for some time before the children came dowu the avenue, and moving a littlo ao aa to bring the branches of a tree betweeu bim and them, he still stood, until tbe thud of horses' feet on the snow raade him turn, and as the squire trotted up, the men came face to faoe.
John Mellish reined in his horse, and stared, stooped down in bis saddle and grew red as he cried:   '
" Not Brian!—and yet, by the Lord Harry, it is. Welcome home, old fel¬ low!" As bespoke,theaquiregotdown from hia horse, and was clasping Brian's hands. "Why didn't you write?"
I'll tell yon some day, old friend; let bygones be bygones."
" itight, there; but aee, lad, there'a something to mark the bygone," and John jKiinted to the group so busily gathering greenery, but which that in¬ staut, catching sight of him, broke up, the hoys miming forward to meet him leaving Kate and Ethel alone, up to whom John and his cousin weut.
" I havo brought the guest of tlie year, Katie," her brotlier aaid, "a guest come from the other side of the world to keep a tryst made ten years ago; before you were born. Dick, think of that," and taking the sheltie's rein, John ran down the road, calling tho other boys to bring his horse.
Katie's eyes had darkened as Brian came towards her, aud the holly fell from her hands, so that both were ready to be put in his. Beyond this double shake, the meeting was cold enough to strike Ethel as a very cold way of re¬ ceiving a friend after being away for teu years; but Ethel, you aee; had a great deal to learn yet. They walked up to the house together, and when Brian went to speak .to Mrs. Mellish, Kate disappeared.
What a dinner that was! Burely some of us have known or shared in the hap¬ piness of welcoming one long absent to the home flreaide; and after many days of exile by sea and land, of strange ad¬ ventures, perils and hair-breadth es¬ capes, have felt the heart grow full, aa looking down the table past Camlliar faceSj the-old face changed and yet the same, turns to us, and the eyes throw back the answer of affection and faith. So, at last, felt John Mellish, and so, too, felt one true heart not far from John. Butit was not nntil later In the evening, when they were all standing about in the front room listening to the Carol singers, that Brian found an op^ portunity of saying In Kate's ear:'
"Inever loved a woman but you, Kate, and I have been fidthfUl to m love through these ten.hopeless years. MWI Mk for my wages J^ • . K^ had no voice for ati aadible re^ ply, but a -warm hand stole into B'rlui*s aind he knew that after many days he had hlB reward.
Why.lB a fashionable yoimg lady.'s brains like a speckled tront? Because they ate fonnif nnder a waterbll. '   :  '
" Well, wife, yott can't say I ever contracted bad habits." "No, airj yoa generally expanded them."
TEE BIS0UI8EB HSISESS.
:: MissjVernon sat tUoughtfnll.y at- her. window plungedin deep thought-'.This need be gqartjely nrpnder9d,,j»t, for th^ que£|tion' upon -which. 8he,,wns pondor- IncafTefeted he* nearly.   '    '   ;"..,¦-¦"
¦ Bhe'%aS an heli'esa, hSvlnB'floinblnw possession, at her , majority; of'fifty thonaand dollatB.' 'Hhe-^	
ing.lnher.appearanoe, and 1
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Utation of an active, sharp man of busl-. ness. He was of good apllearauce, and so far as eoiild be judged, was a good mateh for the heiress. Nothiug to hia prejudice had conie to the ears of Miss Vernon nntil the day beforo. A poor woman had come to the door in evident poverty, and asked for relief. On ber Ing questioned, she said that she had been employed In making shirts at twelve cents apiece for wholesale deal¬ ers—that after making a dozen and car¬ rying them to the store, she had been roughly told that they were quite spoil¬ ed and that nothing would be paid her for her work; but thbt she might have some more, if she would agree to make them better. She added that this waa one of the small ways In which the firm made money ont of poor women, by pretending that their work was unsat¬ isfactorily done, when really no fault could reasonably be found.
The sum, small as it was, of which she had beeii defrauded, was all impor- tent to her, as it represented nearly a week's work.
" Only a dollar and forty-four cents for- a week's work !" exclaimed Mias Vernon in dismay.
" That's all" said the poor woman.
" How, then, do you live?"
"It oan hardly be called living. It's juat barely keeping "body and aoul to¬ gether said tbe woman.
" And who is this extortioner that flrst offers you starvation wagea and then defranda you of them ? aaked Hiss Vernon very indignantly.
" William Winsor."
"Who?" demanded Miss Vernon, firmly, quickly.
'fiifaS^lasril^^diniiftwwc^ks '¦„ ''I'*mdo 8p^o»d^Ufe.'-Wa!t;i^i^st they were tobe riatrlea.'    . '  ¦"     !-¦ 4ve.:Piln,utea.-!M: ..,',.... !..;.:-.-.•.:!. .-I !-: I WtlUamwasbngaged-in the whole¬ sale clothing; business, and had therepT
William t?insor." •
" I can hardly believe this. I know the gentleman."
" ft is true, and if you will Investi¬ gate the matter you will find it to be so."
" I will investigate the matter. Here are five dollars for your present needs. Come here to-morrow at thia time; I may have somo work for yoa to do.
The poor woman departed, Invoking blessings upon the heiress.
" I will look into this," said Margoret Vernon, resolutely, " and, if it proves true, the engagement betweeu William Winsor and myself shall be broken. I will not give myself tosuch a mau."
" Nancy," said Miss -Vernon the next morning to tbe chambermaid, " have you an old dress and shabby cloak and bonnet thatyou can lend me."
" I have got aome that are ao poor that I am uot going to wear them again;" aaid Nancy, aurprised at auch an inquiry.
" Will you lend them to me ?"
" Of courae, Mias; but what would the likea of you want -with sneh old clothea?"
" A littlo fun, that is all," said Mias Vernon. " I am going to disguise my¬ self, and seo if I cau't deceive some¬ body."
With this explanation Nancy waa content, and produced the clothea. Miss Vernon put them on, and iu addition borrowed of another of the .servants a thick green veil, aomwhat the worae for wear, and then set out on her mia- aion. No one, in her disguise, -would have recognized the usual ly elegant and richly dressed heiress, Misa Margaret Vernon.
Miss Vernon slipped out of the base¬ ment door aud took her way to a large store, on which was inscribed the name of William Winsor in large gilt letters.
She entered, and after a while a clerk spoke to her in a rough voice,—
" Well, what do you waut?"
" I want to get somo work," ahe said in a low voice.
" We ean give you some shirls."
"Anything."
" Can you sew well ?"
" I think ao."
" At any rate, we will try you."
A half dozen shirts were given to Misa Vernon, and she was informed that if satisfactorily done, she would be paid twelve cents apiece. These ahe carried home, slipping iu at the back door.
About two houra .later the poor wo¬ mau called.
"Here are some ahirts for you to make," said Miss Veron.
" AVhy, they are tho same aa I have been making," aaid the poor woman In great aurprlae.
"That ia true, aud they came from the aame place."
" Am 1 to tako thera back to the store?"
" No, you will bring them here. I will pay for the work, when done, dou¬ ble the price you have been receiving."
'•Thank you,Miss, you areso very kind."
"Sew them as neatly as poaaible. I wlah to aee whether they will be reject¬ ed aa poor work."
" Yes, Miss Vernon, I will take palna with them."
Three days later the poor woman re¬ turned with the work completed. Miss Vernon paid her for them, and request¬ ed her to call the next day.
"Nancy," aaid the heiress, after her protege had departed. "I shall wish to borrow your old clothes again."
''¦ Certainly, Miss," said Nancy, "iflt is not aahamed you are to appear in such miserable rags."
" No one wUI know me, Nancy."
" Shure, Miss, you can take them when ever you like."
*' I don't think I shall need them again Nancy, but thank you all the same."
Not long afterwards. Miss Vernon, in her shabby disguise, entered the estab¬ lishment of William Wiusor, with the bundle of shirts under ber arm.
She walked up to the counter and laid them down.
" What have you got there?" demand¬ ed a pert young clerk.
" Some work, air," aaid Misa Vernon, very humbly.
" Well, why don't you open the bun¬ dle," said the young man, picking his teeth -with his knife.
Miss Vernon did so.
The young man deigned to tumble over the shirts, and sueeringly gluiieed at them carelessly.
" Shocking! shocking!" he said.
"What's the matter, sir!"
" They're wretchedly sewed. That's what's the matter. How 'do you exjiect wearegoingtosell such shirts as these?"
" I am sure I thonght they were all well done,':' said Miss Vernon.
"You thought, did you?" repeated the clerk, mockingher. "Wesban'tpay you for these shirts. They will have to be sold at a loss."
!'But what shall I do?" asked Miss Vernon, in seeming diatresa.
" That's your businesa, not mine. We will try you once more, and give you another half dozen shirts. If they are done better, you will be paid for them." "These are done well," said Miss Vernon savagely, snatohingthe bundle fromthe counter, "and I will show them to your employer."
To the indignation of the clerk, who waa not used to sueh Independence in the poor woman who worked for tho ea- tablishment, Mias Vernon took ' the shirts to another part of the counter where she saw William himaelf.
'Mr. Winsor," sho said, "yourclerk win not pay me for theseshirts. He says they are not well done."
Mr. Wiusor took one up, and preten¬ ded to examine it.
" No, it Is poorly done. We can't pay: you for these, but you may havo an¬ other bundle; and,.ir,tbey are satisfac¬ tory, you will then be paid."
•'^Didn't I teU yon so ?" saidthe clerk triumphantly. "Now, young woman; how mnch did yon make by that opera¬ tion?" •        ¦       :-
; "More than yon think, perhaps," said Miss Vernon; qnletly; "     '
"DonHyoH wish any work ?"
i "No, I don't wish- any' more," she answered, 6oldly.
; " Oh lyou are Oh the high horse, are yon? "Well, you may be glad to get >^oTk some day, wheil' you caii't have
1 ThateVienlng was the one which Wii^ llarn Winsor usnally spent with'his ttetrothBd."Wheu he was Intitoddcetf, he went-forward-warmly, as tisnali'to greet Miss'Vernon;        -•    . • .;;   ¦? i..
SShe drew back .coldlVi-Bndaia'not oHIsrlietlnmd-tofinsp'niai'' •"-"-•j-''"- ¦ i "Whit lil tbb ntetter, Margarefr?" Hd asked; wuprised *nd rtsrtleS > •" Wiutt
. iMJeis .Vernonj left the; room and soott rereutered.iuiJier.diBgwise.  •. ¦ -The yoiii^g in'aii strode up to the wo¬ man aijgMly.!. ,
"Are you the one who lias slandered me to Mias Vernon?" lie demanded. . ."Itold her the truth." .  The young man   reflected.   Violent contradiction he aaw would not avail hira; ho would try anotlier course.
" Hark yo, youns; woman," he said, Ina low voice.' " Thera was a mistake —I will make Itnp to you richly. Iwiil give fen ^dollars on the spotj and all the work you want at double rates, ifyou Will tell Miss Vernon it was all a mis¬ take.'?
, "Too late, Mr. 'SVlnaor," said the veiled flgure, throwingiip hervell, and showing the contemptuous face of Mar¬ garet Vernon. Your bribe is offered In vain.   Good evening, sir."
Confounded and astonished, William 'Winsor found his way to the door, and has never ventured to enter the houso of tho heireas since. Ho was paid for hia meanness'in his own coin.
bir'tlie sol- iiito
donetocenHtleiinietto'lsudK ar'^-T/th6'.Jiiijjibry;or,^ _.
i?"ji-)ic.:ioJj:iw ,i!-.'i:.'iiii.i''i .-ll'. :'. •'• emui'agreeihent.-I- fMMSd rlnto.wlth
, •    , ,.— .-.— .-. -— i, ¦¦ ^ourf(»ther, to guar*HfeBttlegirl: by
rail the years I havB^tawd.iandr-strlven toserve,! do.notilejyfamounow; you know that it would Miucing away my llfeTto'parti-vlth-joo,",; He took the twb cold haiida lli Qai'.-'Win yoii leave •MeJ dare ybii l&vtiftjl*!«'j«lll no an-.
;hje:iface,of tbe-woman was averted, L btttitha words, though soft and trenjii- loua; were distinctly heard by the anx¬ ious man before her. " I neversaid I '¦ was going to leave you. If ever T mar¬ ry again, it will bo to be forever near you.^'
The look of anxiety on Gaffer's face gave place to oue of bewilderment, and theu utter astonishment. "Do you mean what you say ?" he asked.
"I do; and it Is for you to Judge whether he is a blind, old dotard, a con¬ ceited dandy, or after Gaffer's money."
Then QaSrerTose, walked across the room and took his old seat, picked up the evening paper, and asked " What time Isit?"
" Half-past nine.   Goodnight."
" Goodnlght,"he answered as if noth¬ ing had occurred; and -Madeline put the knitting iu her work-basket and left the room.
The noxt morning, at the usual hour, tbe bell -was rung, and Gaffer walked down to the breakfast table in dressing- gown and slippers, to see Madeline ar¬ ranging the cups and saucersinher own quiet, precise way; they talked very qiiietly together until Madeline asked: !'When are you going to New York, Gaffer^?"
" Not till after thefirstof the month ; for I expect to he married on Now Year's Day myself." ' There was nothing more aaid, and if Maddy ate little, Gafl'erate less. "Mad- dy," he said, when they liad adjourned to the library, " you aro avery seiiflihlo girl, and I uever Itnew before laat night that I needed a wife; hut I am fifteen years older than you, and what will the world say ?"
"You suit mc," sho answered, put¬ ting up her face for a kisa; " and we. will not in-rtte thc ' world' to the wed¬ ding."
r-     ' ¦¦¦¦-
MADGE lYUS'S,TRAGEDY.
It was the face for a tragedy—ilark, passionate, melancholy. The mouth was sweet; the eyea, ao dark and lumi¬ nous, the cheatnut brown hair, so ut¬ terly beautiful. Yet she looked so In¬ nocent of her fate, standing there iu the red light of the damask curtains all un¬ conscious of Lloyd Kingman's eyes, that one could not but hope she would pass unscathed the ordeal of that bad man's thoughta.
When she felt his hand tounh her shoulder she atarted.
"Mr. Kingman!"
" Madge."
Her soft eyes dilated—.she attempted to retreat, but he proveuted the move¬ ment. .
" Dou't heafraid of me, child. I have something to say to you."
Her face was not encouraging, but he overlooked, as was characteristic, her wish.
I love you. I want you to be my wife. Dou't ahrink frora mo in that way. You have nothing to bc afr.ild of. Iwant to take care of you and make you happy."
She atood silent, trembling.
" You do not know where X live. It is a beautiful place, full of trees and fountains, and arbors covered witli blossomed vines. The house is full of warm, rich rooms, whero you could wander all day, and constantly And something new and beautiful. There is a littlo boudoir, robed In crimson, that-has always been waiting for my wife. It has pictures and couches, and soft swinging lights in alabaster, for daA winter nights like this. There is a splendid library, holding thousands of volumes, Madge. You love to read, I know. There you -will find all the fairy tales and poetry that you want, little oue.    Willyou come?"
She shook her head, tremblingly.
" You need not promise uow. JLiiston. IJ'have something more to tell you. Madge, I have wealth and power, but uo one to love me. You ciiii make me happy. Is that any consideration to your kind heart?"
Sho lifted her eyes to hia face. They fell again.
"But I do not love you," .shesaid simply.
" Let mo teach you," he said.
She tried to think; drew a quick breath.
" Don't be troubled," he said. " I will give you all the time you want. Only wear this to remember rae by, for I am going away to-morrow, to be absent a week."
As he apoke he slipped a golden cir¬ clet on her little haud—a riug of dia¬ monds, glittering like Uame.
At the same moineut aome one enter¬ ed the room—the public boarding-house parlor—and Madge escaped, bewildered, oblivious of everything but her furl-, oualy beating heart and the weight of jewels upon lier hadd.
She locked herself iu her room, throw¬ ing heraelf upon tho bed, and burying herself in the pillows; but that did not prevent her hearing tlie wheels of Mr. Kingman's coupe grind away from tho door. He came there often, but she never kuew that she had been the at¬ traction. - She aaw it all now, it made her diz'iy.
She lay there a long time, getting restless at leugth, and toasiug feverish¬ ly as It grew dark.
At hist she roae, lighted a little lamp, and knelt down before her trunk. The light fell into it as sho drew out a littlo box and opened it. She turned some letters over hastily, and drew out a pho¬ tograph.
It was a man's head—a frank young face, every line pure and high toued.
The girl looked at It with swimming eyes.
" Martin, how could you forget ?" she murmured.
Then she laid the box away, and walked the floor until utterly exhaust¬ ed.
A week of daily toil and care—the old round—brought the girl's resolu- tiou. She looked at the sparkling ring, and saw ease, comfort, protection ; on the other side was oniy iouellness and toU. The alternative that should have been was not. The soldier lover had proved false; the man she did love with all her heart had forgotten her; the ro¬ mance was ended, and here was a blank, but for this new episode.
She looked at herself iuithe mirror as she daily brushed out the waves of her beautiful hair, and saw how tbe rose had faded upou her cheek in the laat year, and how tlie shadows seemed to have gatliered around her eyes.
" Martin will come back someday in ahoulderstrapaandapurs, withaSouth- ern wife upon his arm, and I shall be auohapale shadow, that he will even wonder that he ever called me pretty," she thought, and pride strengthened Kingman's cause.
When he came, tbe girl's promise was gained without difllculty.
She seemed to lose heraelf afler that. The novelty of her poaitioa gave her a uew existence. It was so strange to have auything -worth caring for but the old, wearing thought;'Martiii. Bolls, bf rich Kooda appeared in her little room; ilowers and billets ' followed them. Lapped in thb velvet cushions bf the luxurious coupe, she rolled biit of the dingy city into the free breadth bf the country where the bliie birds had come, iind the skies were growing soft witU.spriiig.
, She w'as young—not ready, after allj \o giveiip life for ybu." It was so pleas¬ ant to be token' care bf, wealtli brought 80 inuch that was gratifyliig! ., < '^o she,drove witti LloydKmgnian to a clergyman's house one eVening—\f as made ai wife. Theii the' horse's head was turued to a splendid hotel, where a luxurious suite of rooms-were provid¬ ed for two l-alny days.	
i He was' hefhtisband; She tried to realize It as he) shut the rosewood "be-' hind' them-, and qiuetly took off the -wrapping'-which' had protects het from-the murky night. 'He dre* a cushioned  chair before the glowlnig
gtiite. ' ¦   ¦'	
: ,"Slt dowu;'love,andget wartnV I will be back in ii mombnt;"
I IhaBottiirdr^inii^cfBawhlih'eobuti Slowly she glabced aroaiid the e^qiil^ Ito room. Velvet carpets; snowy dik^ peries, glowfcg.facMupon canvass, the -wreath of''gUttenngllghta; sAspinddd fh>m the conicedcralings,-showed she' amUed.;; Thfe j.irannth.Wag liijnwloiis : tbe-piaiceaeemM toamUenppu bet:   '
nUai'dldndfrjetdM.'''"   ,  i"."     ',
" ¦ ' ^"' "'*)niy'tb'tKB
JSroy GIlOpMSMAlT.
"Whattimeis it, Madeline?" asked Gaft'er Hitehcook, carefully folding the evening paper, and placing It on the table.  . 	
Th? person addressed—a tall, slender woman about thirty-five—looked up from her knitting, ahd anawered, with a pleaaant ainile:
''About half-past eight, I believe," and rising, began to put away her work.
Gaffer's question had been for tbe last six years tbe signal for retiring to rest, and although itwas fully au hour ahd ahalf before the uaual hour, Mad¬ eline never thought for a moment of healtating to obey.
" Something has occurred," ahe thought, " and he will tell me before long;" for Gaffer had looked at his watch at eight, and a few minutes.af- ter, and at a quarter post had changed bis chair, aud coughed uneasily, and now he aaked, " What time is if?"
Madeline was the orphan daughter of an old schoolmate; Gaffer had tokeu her home with him when she was only ten years old, and his sister had cared for her with motherly solicitude, until she was wooed and won by Frank Rey¬ nolds, and went to a distant city ta li-ye. Garter had made a terrible to-do about her marriage, called her an ungratefu good-for nothing, and declared it was proper punishment for taking her in the beginning; but, ueverthelesa, apar- cd no expense on the wedding trous¬ seau. And when, about nine years after, she came back to her old home, widowed and childless, she was tender¬ ly welcomed by the lonely man, for the grass waved over the grave of the good, true-hearted sister.
For six years she had kept house for him; cared for him, humored him, and made everytbing bend to his comfort as few daughters ever do. Lovers ahe had in plenty; thoso who would, at any moiueut, have laid heart, fortune and liand at her feet; and when Gaiter heard that ifadeline had refused them, he chuckled at their discomfiture, and smoothed her soft brown hair, telling her she was a good girl, every way worthy of their love, only he knew that she never would leave him.
He.had grown so accustomed to see¬ ing lier happy, contented face by the opposite aide of the fire, with some kind of work in lier hands, that occupied neither brain nor attention, but left her always free to listen to him when ho spoke, or play chess when the whim seized him, that he felt uo fear at the dtteutlona ahe received. He aeldoni spent an evening from home uiilesa Madeline was with him ; and he hud never left his native city sineeahe camo home. He was thinking of all thia to¬ night, as he watched her foldiug her work ao carefully.
" What are you going to do, Made¬ line?" he usked, at la-st.
" Going to piit away my work," sho answered, simply.
" What are you putting itaway for?"
" You asked me the time, and that is equivalent to saying ' X am tired of you, Madeline, go to bed.' "
"No, it ain't," said G.ill'er, gruflly; " come back here, I waut to talk with you. There, let that knittiug-work alono; what ia it that you are in aucli a hurry to finish it?"
" Stockings," auswered Madeline, seutentiousiy; " stockings for Madeline Eeynolds."
"Havn't you auy more, that you make auch a fuss about this pair ?"
" Yes, I have a pair on, I believe, and in case of an emergency I could borrow of you."
UaU'er sat for a few momenta in per¬ fect silence; al laat, with a violent ef¬ fort, and with very much the air of a mau who has just made up his mind to have a tooth pulled, said:
" Maddy, I am going away."
"Going away!" she repeated; "where to, pray "if"
The tone of surprise in which the question was asked fully satisfled Gaffer of the importonCB of the revelation.
"Yes! I am going to New York; Bonnehuc is going to be married ou New Year's Day, and wants me to be groomsman. W'ho would have thought old Bonnehue would have got married at last; why, he's at least ten years older than I, and I am most flCty. "You see, Maddy, clilld, your old bachelor friend Is not too old to get married yet. Dreadful pity leap year is 'most over; here I am, a hale, hearty man, In the prime of life, wltb plenty of money to support a wife, and uo wife forthcoming. But what makes you so quiet—don't you want me to go?"
"No," said Madeline gravely, "I would ratber you would not go; I had made different calculations for New Year's ; in fact I rather thiuk of getting married myself."
" Madeline, are you crazy ?" and Gaf¬ fer fairly bounded In his chair with as¬ tonishment. " Why, what will become of the houae ? what will become of me ? I'll starve, I know I shall!"
" Ybu migiit live witli rae," remark¬ ed Maddy, in the same grave business¬ like tone.
" You know very well," said Gaffer, testily, " that I never could live with another man iu the houae; I should put him out heforo the honeymoon waa over. And who may tiie happy man be? some blind old dotard? some con¬ ceited dandy? some lame mendicant? some lazy viigabimd, who sings lovo ditties to carry away old Gaffer's mon¬ ey? or—or—"
Gaffer did not stop for breath, bnt for lack of sufflciently expressive words to convey his detestation of the projected uiiion.
"No," aaid Madeline; "he ia not blind, or lame, or seeking after your fortune." She hesitoted for a moment, and then continued slowly, "he Is neither very young or-very old, very kind or very cross, very good or very bad, very rich orvery poor—butI think he likes me."
" Of course ho has told ybuaoin most affectlng.tones;" muttered Gaffer iron¬ ically.     -
"No," shesaid quietly, "hehas not.
" Madeline, are you crazy ?. or going Into, a dotage? Why did you not tell me thatyou yvereso anxious to getmar- ried? and I woiild have iidvcrtlaed' in all the daily papers for ' a aultaible lov¬ er, for a widow not very far advanced in life, well preaerved, and anxiona to leave Gaffer Hitchcock.' Why did you nottell meall ?" and hisfade cloud¬ ed woefiilly.- " It's too bad; Maddy! I would never have believed you would go away.; it waa:bad enough to leave me when sister was here, bu.t now, now, why Maddy! Maddy I think better of it^do.iinadon'tleavehieaohe, child;"
Madeline's fliigers trorkW iiervbiiBly: how she longefd'forthe ktiittitag-wdrk! " Gaffer," she said without looking np, "perhaps toimoixow. you,wllUnotfeel BO badlyiahout it,: It is up puddpatblng. myi detenninstlpn^to get-married;; I have thopxht »bont'lt;fbr6ver"ayear. and iettiiphttht'I' wbuld'h'4ve, s'lild- th6rB'\rtg'in-o ten«irWieh'^hew6adlnig 'wonld'tokefplacBi"---" ' ¦¦¦' ¦•¦¦=:¦ '-^<!-;~.'
i PoorGaflerseemedperfeotly undone at the.nciwA-MadeUne:hodlmpattedr ;hut.at.be? lastiKprdahestarted ftom lUMM(^iWd^?|ng_n|»^a^^i#,;ioolu»i
"aeat in front offier.
'Mfe:
'theii," Ti'esild,- His face 'laahiarwltKt 1 Bho!B*e'»t'
hoiie'.  "Too ciinyet'teJieat'; ohtW
;-window^il'Ib6k«
. The street wsb hrlght with gM.''«The
crowd sdrged'to snd frohenesth It.   "-
" OhGbdl" she.cried snrfdeEtly;" '
She ttirngd;'then snatchefl'her cloak
frbm'a;;con6h,.and fled- from .the .room.
She flll^ dp.wn, thehtpad aUlffl,',8nd
butat the enlTOQoeiQtothe chilly night.
Bhe oroeeed tfaeetreetunder/tha'.'heada
of daahing. honea, and^ knew hbthiiig
I an* sad'Bhd'iBbBtr»cted,!'as. he alpwh? I walked th^^veineqt. She must' look; attilIii'^^«p^UI^,.tbfiimV.. Ih s'lnoment
.mofe'sh'e^adg&m'^d the (iurb, reached him, grasped hlB ariii.
"Martlu."
He started, clasped herhands, and drew her aside.
" Madge, my darling."
For her face was pale, and wild, ond pitiful, upturned to his. He flung the folds of Ills cloak ¦ about her, as they. stood In the shadow,and drewhersblvJ erlng form close tohls side. She stretch¬ ed her little bare hands up to his face, forgetting the jewel upon it.
"Martin, whero have you been so long?"
" In Libby, Madge."
" Then you did not forget me ?"
" Forget you ?   Oh, my child 1"
Lips to lips, and she a -wife!
She remembered then; turned to see her husband looking wildly aboiit from the opposite pavement.
"Martin, Martin, save me!" she moaned.
Kingman saw the gleam of her pearl lined dreaa beneath the arch.
He aprang forward.
They aaw him scarttocroas thestreet; they saw, also, the foam-white, uuniaii- ageable horses tearing down upon him, but he saw them not. He beheld only the pallid face ofhis wife. They atrnck him, trampled liiui. Madge aaw the crowd gather about him, then aaw no more.
When she returned to cousciouancss ahe was a widow.
But In time ahe married the love of her hearl.
A TEIO OF EAKOTTS 'WOMEK.
FANNV FEBN.
Almoat overy one haa beard of Fanny Fern, though very few know wbo Mrs. Eldridge or Mra. Parton is; and many -will be surprised to learn that all three are one and the same person.
" Fauny Fern" Eldridge Parton was born in Portland, Maine, July 11, 1811. a fact I have no hesitation iu stating; because she is one of the not numerous women who has no objection to telling her age. Her father, Natiianiel Willis, editor for many years of the Boston Record, removed to that city when sho was but six years old. She was educat¬ ed at Hartford, Connecticut, being a pu¬ pil of Catharine E. and Harriet Beech¬ er, uow thn famoua Mrs. Stowe. Sarah Pay.sun Willis—her maiden narae—was a very rollicking, even hoydeni.sh girl; gave her teacher uo little trouble, and teased her school-fellows most unmer-. cifuUy. She -was very popular, how¬ ever, from her ^ne sense of justice, and her generosity of heart. Not a few bf her companions seemed to be really In love with her,particularly the younger and weaker of the class, who went to her for protection and companionship, as if she were a man.
Numerous storiea were told of her and her mad freaks and mischievous tricks, whieh earned for her the well-deserved title of a tom-boy. The Beechers have many reminiscences of Sallie Willis as a sehool girl. Among other thinga, slio'used to bo wisliing constantly that she was a boy; and those who knew her then were ofteu of the opinion that she noarly had her wish.
Soon after leaving school she was married to Charles Eldridge, cashier of the Merchant's Bank, of Boston. She lived In comfort and content with him, and twice bore him chihlren—dangli- tera ; but at hia death hia affaira were fouud to be involved, and she was soon thrown upon her own resources. Bhe tried to obtain a situation as teacher or saleswoman; ottered to do anything to put the bread iuto her own and her children's montha, but she waa unsuc¬ cessful, and finally, as a last resort, she concluded to write.
This waa in 1851, and Boston was not then a very good literary market. Haviug shown oleverness with her pen -while a girl, she composed a number of sketehes, stories, poems and essays. She otrered them to atl the Boston jouruals, daily and weekly. They acknowledg¬ ed that they had merit, but they would not pay for them. She wanted mouey ¦more than fame, and declined to have thera printed for glory. After severe struggles witli poverty, and when she was bn the evo of abaudoiiing the lite¬ rary field, she found an editor who gave her fifty cents for a sketch'. It attracted attention, was copied in other jouruals, and induced the editor to give her a dollar for the next effusion. .She continued to write over tlie signature of Fanny Fern, and at the end of a few months she had gained a decided repu¬ tation.
Aa aoon as alie becarae known, ahe removed to New Y'ork, begun writing for weeklies, aud made Fanny Fern familiar all over the country. Eobert Bonner about that time purehased the Ledger, formerly a commercial weekly, and immediately engaged Fanny to ¦write regularly, at SIO a column. Thenceforward her reputation and in¬ dependence were assured. Her writings -were copied everywhere. Drinking saloons and steamboats were named after her, which is indubitable evidence in America of euduriug fame. She matle a collecliou of her sketches, and published thera iu a volume, with the litle of " Fern Leaves." The book had a sale of 70,(XM), and realized to her SS.¬ OOO to $10,000. She afterwards publshed another series of her contributions to the -tedder, followed by a novel—"Ruth Hall"—which was really, though not ostensibly, an autobiography. In it she severely censured and ridiculed her brother, N. P. Willis, then the well known editor of the Home Journal, nnder the name of Hyacinth; showing hini to be a vulgar pretender ofa selfish snob. Of the taste of such a perform- iince, whatever her provocation, there could hardly bo two opinions. But the novel sold, and she had no compunc¬ tious viaitings.
In 1850 ahe was a second time mar¬ ried to Jamea Parton, tliedistinguiahed biographer. Sbe ia atlll a contributor to the Ledger, and in consideration of her writing for no other publication, Bonner gives lier $5,000 a year. She Uvea very comfortably in Eighteenth street, and in her 58th year, is as pleaa¬ ant and vivacious as a girl of 18. She is round and plump; has light hair, laughing blue eyes, and a mobile face. She Is a rapid and interesting tolker, a atrong, self-polsed, larae-hearted woman; aod although her writings are ofteu lacking in delicacy, they are freo from shame, earnest fortbe truth, often eloquent, always pointed, and have done much good by their strong appeals to womankind, and their brave defence of right.
SUSAN B. ANTHONY, especially since the cstoblishment of the Revolution, has become oue of tbe femi¬ nine notabilities of New York, and consequently of the country. She is a native of Bochester, I think, and of .Quaker descent.. The Quakers love p?ace;butshe has departed from the faith ot her mother and grown enamor¬ ed ' bf all' forms of spiritual warfare. Since her girlhood sbe has been -radical in eveiything. She early burst the trammels of «Id form; became an un- cotopromising Abolitionist," and an enemy of coinmon and ancient creeds. She-was one of the- first advocates of (women's rights in .their fullness. For twenty years.ahe has talked, written, an.d spoken, in favor.ofifemaje sullrage, aud will haye.little to desire :Whon that becomes thi) law pf tbe, land. She is the publisher ofthe Revolution, and in each of its weekly issueshas several vigor¬ ous airticles on her favorite theme. .She; is a tborougb come.<>uter in the strictest sense of comerputlsui; but she is sin¬ cere, llberal,.'andj if.^troilg-minded, is tender-hearted,-..
She has chosen her course from no love of notoriety bir sensation, but from principle and-ai conscientious determi¬ nation to: do right. Her life is fall of piacUcsl charities. , No one of horses, however humble,'degraded, or outcast, eyer'falled toffiid'iti her a comforter, helper, and friend. She is tall and slender ;.but.a good, thongh not .hand-: some face; is very energetic, talks' a' greatjdeal but very well. She is iiiiniar-' ried, k vigoroQ8;aiidIogIcal8peakerahd writer; iind, though Bhe has been iiil»;. irepiesented and rldlptfl^il, 88 all .wOTien are,who. have.,courage; to .'Btept :ont loC. what is called.their. .'!8phere,'.^aheia. gentle,! true andicouneeoaa^ hasa high pnrpoBe in life; and h«s - done a gtrad
'¦•'¦ sniiZABeracAi'st'Brxsnxiii' ' '• Is'iBven bettm; knowii thjuk her o»>lal>bS I er ou the JfevofuffoA.- SUe'Iiaa sinnip^'
tn4'-wW-''ieeiiiied'&tih-m^e.%^ipiien throtfgfiaD't^ th'e->'NortHern-''' StaVeS' jfof'l women's rights and womeB''soBUff'ra ;b,' of which, *inco LHoy:StaDe'Aniarrii ge, and retirement-toi^ew Jersey doniesT,- t!pity,;she. i»ji>e.?haps;.thecm.ost/ dist ri;' guIshed,advpoate:invthe-/Union.   Ier nampJaprlntoain.t^ Loudon Tmiss, th6ViaWJibhlteiir,ixii^6jBid^ 'Setgei;- Sh'e.ihaa, sijPcreiit^/celeKiJWy— notoriety! »; yp)i, „'wJIJtt^. gfatify, • tjie ;ysQity ofher;eex;rBna'were,Jt,':not< of¬ the heart she ha«iin:hor.work)nodoi bt :shewould JoDgagbfasve r6tIred*oii« field many have^thought iincoiigenial to her..   , --."¦'    •¦  , ¦'•¦¦¦,;, ;   '.
- Mrs: Stinton'Wee Elizabeth Cady, is a native of Albany—the'daughter-of Judge Cady, a gentleman' of position and ability. She was married to £leiiry B. Stanton, a young and rising lawyer, In her twentlethyear, and not long af(«r went to Seneca Falls, New York, where she lived thirteen or fourteen yeais. It was there she first felt an Interest in tbe cause of woman's rights. Sho mojle her earliest speech thero, I think, and was anlntimatefrleud OfMrs. Bloomer, a reaideutof the aame town, after whom the abort skirt that has been 80 niuch laughed at was christened. Mrs. Stan¬ ton soon became acquaiuted with Luby Stono, Abby Kelly Foster, Ernestine L. Bose, Antoinnette L. Brown, Fran¬ ces D. Gage, Elizabeth Oakes Smith, and the whole' tribe of feminine agito- tlOnists. They received lier -with open arms and encouraging tongiies. She was taken into their lunermbst circle, made their counsellor and coiifldant. and waa launched upou a " career," and discovered she had a "mission." Her friends were alarmed, aome of them shocked, thata lady so accomplished and highly bred should- ally herself with women' who violated all the con¬ ventionalities and departed from all tlie' customs of "good society." i
Mrs. Stanton had made up her mind,, however. Though naturally very sen¬ sitive and strikingly, uodest, she re¬ solved to brave public opinion, and do whatahebelieved tobe her duty. Sbe plunged Into the Rubicon, ahe crossed, aiid Bome was—freer than ever. Frora that time to thia she has been uutiring iu her exertious. for'the cauao. Bhe flrmly believes that eyorythlng will be¬ come right when .wouieu vote, that when they go to the polls and take part in the elections the" couutry. will ap¬ proach near to Plato's ideal Bepublic, and Sir Thomas Moore's Utopia.
Forsome years she has lived In New York ; waa the founder and ruling spir¬ it of the Revolution. She Is the oppo¬ site of the popular notion of a strong- minded woman. Instead of being an¬ gular, cadayeroua, awkward, ahrillr voice, vinegar-faced, she ia buxom, blithe and handsome. Her hair, which is permature gray, clusters about her well-shoped head in silvery curls. Her eyes are large, blue, and bright; her features regular, and her complexion fresh. She is very agreeable—many call her a fascinating woman—and so full of Ufe'and humor tliatit ia difflcuit to be In her society without feeling tlie charm of her presence. She entirely con¬ tradicts the popular idea of womau of her status. She haa several children, is a moatexoniplary wifeandmother, and ia widely aud deeply loved by all wlio know her. She h.ia a fine mind; is log¬ ical and trenchant in argument, and oue of the most peraevering and able advoeates her cause has ever had oil thia side of the Atlantic.
BEEVITIES.
It is worthy to emulate examples of contentment. Thefollowinglittlestoiy may prove a le.ason to our juveniles as weil as older readers: " Onee upon a time," there was a poor woman, whp wus left to care for several small ehild- ieu. One very cold winter uight, the wind ]iiercing throu.gh the cliinka of lier old log cabiu, displaced the rags that constituted tlie bed-covering for tlie children. The poor woman wns much distreaaed at Buffering from the intense cold, when a happy idea occur¬ red to her, and proceeding to the cellar, she unhinged a large door, which, after carefully replacing the covering over the shivering little ones, she jilaced over all. After that was done, all was quiet forsome tiiue, until onc little ur¬ chin succeeded in extricating hia liead from underneath and aaid : " ilotlier, how I pities all them jioor ehlldruu what ain't got no cellar-doors!"
A youngiah man, who had aeen better days, aaked a gentleman for a " triUe.' which would be most "welcome" to as¬ sist him on his return to liis native ])laee. He w.is told tiiat the Htranger.-i' Friend Society would help liim to a passage to Ireland. "Oeh, sir," he ex¬ claimed, " I'm not an Irishman at all, at all! It's quite a mistake your honor's making." The gentleman persisted in his persuasion that he was an Irish¬ man, and appealed to his brogue. "Ha !" the man rejoined, " I was in a large mercantile consarn in Loudon for many yeurs, where they did a dale of business witn Ireliin; and as I -ivas cor¬ respondin' Clark, may be I caught the brogue that way."
An honest rustic went into the .shop of a Quaker to buy a hat, for whicii six dollars was demanded. He otl'ered five dollara. " As I live," said the Quaker,^ " I caunot aflbrd to give it thee at that price "As you live," exclaimed the countryman, "then live more moder¬ ately, and be hanged to you !"— "Friend!" said the Quaker, "thou shalt have the hat for nothing. I have sold hats for tweuty years, and my trick was never found out till now."
Two gentlemeu at Saratoga Springs, last summer, having a diapute, oue went to the other's door early in the moruins, and wrote scoundrel upon It. The other called 'upon his neighbor, and was answered by a servant that his master was not at home; but if he liad any thing to say, he might leave it with him. "No, no," says he, " I was only goiug to return your master's visit, as he left his name at my door In the morning."
Alittle boy, aome six years old, was using his slate and pencil on Sunday, when his father, who was a minister, entered and Raid, " My son, I prefer thatyou should not use your slate on the Lord's day." " I am drawing meet¬ ing-houses, father," was the prompt reply.
Henry Ward Beecher, in one of his discourses, said that " some men will not shave on Sunday, and yet they spend all the week in 'shaviug' tlieir fellow meu ; and many fools think it very wicked to black their boots on Suuday morniug, yet they do not hesi¬ tate to black their neighbor's reputation ou week days."
" I'U neither tell my age for census or the sovereign," said the cook, moat resolutely, to her master, who was pre¬ paring for the enumerator. "Very well, I'll put down sixty-flve," was the cool reply. " Upon my honor, sir, I was only fifty-eight last birthday," acream¬ ed the cook.
A gentleman took his country cous¬ in to the theatre recently. On coming out he remarked : " They played well, didn't they ?" The cousin from the rural district looked rouud at him and said : " Of courae they did, tliat is what they are paid to do." There's practical criticism for you.
Of three applicants for the post-offlce at Dubuque, one claims it because his wife is a cousin of Grant, auother says he can "go his two nieces better," and the thtrd wants it because he is a tan¬ ner. • /
A clergyman's satehel, full of ser¬ mons, was recently stolen at the Ro¬ chester Bailroad depot, and the thief explained, on being caught, that he needed' a carpet bag in order fo get lodgings at a. hotel.
A newspaper article has been going the rounds of the preSs of late headed: -Where Is Your Boy at Night?" An urchin su^esta , anbther article on " Where IsTOaddy at Night ?"
The local editor ofan up the country paper drew a sewing machine iat a fair, and now advertises' for 'agood look- Ihg.youhg woman to come and run it
for him.	
. .An Irish dragoon, on hearing that his widowed mother had married since he (Mltted Ireland, exclaimed, "I-hope she won't have a son older thin.me, jfor If she does, I shall lose the estate."
If yoa and. ypnri sweetheart Vote np¬ on themardage question, yon forit and she against It, dpn't flatter yourself as itsbdngatle.     . i'- •:    ..;
:. The !libppihg. aroiind of ..a Grecian ihend in a ball-ioom leminda one foroi-^' bly. of a kangaroo trying to- esoape'tile attacks ofaaad fleas. ' ¦•,''¦'''¦,"
I ;;i)Iggo^Mys;liealwi^ lesp^KitaoId' age^esoept whan Bomebne cheats hlaf with a pair bf tough chickens.
¦WAimra roE the s jiiHO.
'. -Aalhe breezes stir the jnotriltig,
-  'Aslleneorelens Inalr*     '¦ tf Stefll-blao tHe Eoavens aljove njo,
Movuess thelreo andbartf: ; '^S,t?%'°.»"'6Btuiness '.    ..
¦^r",.?'^I theenrth l«\TOltlng,     ' t:. ..Waiting for theBpnng."        '
;;;,St«inepb,anastnrflycliei,tnut. ... .Koogh oak and poplar hlKh
¦':-Bcreteh pat tb'elr sapleM b»Dcliea
,    Against tUe wintry sky.  . • ¦ Ei^on-the Etillty aapen' •
.,. JJflth.eeirised u^rqulverlnii; . As thoDgbshe, too.were.wiiILIjit. • WlrtUngYorthBHprlng.
;¦  Iirti'aliiralne«arstoIl8l«n..
If haply .where I staud. But one stray note or inu.<iIo .: May sound tn all the land. " Why art thou mate, O, blackbird ?
O, thrash, ff'hy dost not'sing'.' Ab. Barely tbeyaro waltlni:,
-waiting for the Spring.
Oh. heart I thy days are dnrkrioine;
Oh, heart] thy nights are drear; llut soon shall streams of Nnn.^Ilille •    Proclaim the turning year. Soon shall the trees be leufy.
Soon every bird shall sing; Let them be silent walling,
Waiting for tbe Spring.
A STOEY FOE THE IITTLE POLKS.
HOW I BECAMK OWNER OP A CAT.
My cat. Jelly, is an animal distin¬ guished by great dignity and stateliness of carriage; and my flrst acquaintance with him was under such very peculiar circumstances that I feel it Incumbent on me to relate them, believing that the story will not prove to be wholly void of entertainment to my young frienda. Hia name will probably suggest to you some raid upon the preserve closet, .so brilliant and successful as to give him a right to tlfis appellation, after the manner of somo ancient heroes, whose valiant deeds were commemorated by a change in their patronymic; but it Uon a derivation totally difl'erent from what one might auppoae, judging from ita sound, as I shalf by and by explain.
Several years ago I waa walkl ng wi th two of ray youiig friends, iri the late afternoon ora bright day in May. W e were traversing a somewhat dirty street in a suburb of one of our large cities. Thb oeeupanta of tho houses wero evi¬ dently tempted by the sweet air and Kunahine to deaejt their dingy rooma for thegenial warmth and brightness of the world outaide. The atreet wns lined with them: mothers, with nursing ba¬ bies in their arms, sitting on the door¬ steps; stalwart fathers, swarthy and grimy with the day's toil, lounged in the doorways or collected in littlo knots at the street corners; children ofall ages wero rollicking, tumbling, and chasing each other on the sidewalks and through the middle of the atreet. Even tbe old grandmothers had crept out Into the sunshine; one I distinctly remember, sitting on a rough wooden bench, beside a ruinous old house, her wrinkled face upturned, and her dim eyes lixed upou the golden west. I w;ia wmidcriug what the poor old dame might be thinking of, when ray atten¬ tlou was attracted to a group of cliild¬ ren who had gathered at the crossing beyond. A' boy of six or seveu years old wna the center of thia company ; and thc grown-up boys, and even the futbera, were watching him with in¬ terest.
He had aomothiiig Attached to tlie end of a string, which at intervals lie shook, swung aloft, or trailed upon the grouud. 1 glanced at it, supposing it to be a.bit of old cloth; and wondered tliat the circle gathered around the iir- cliiu constantly increased in si-,!e. Snd¬ deuly it dawned upon me that tbis was not a rag, as I had supposed, but a mis¬ erable kitten. My lirsl impulse was to go on without interference, as the imor thing waa almost if not quite dead. Yet I liesitated, stopped, and addressed the child kindly (perhaps hia brutality came througii ignorance.)
" My boy," I said, "you are killing your kitty! Loosen thc string around its neck ; here, I will help you."
But tbo little tyrant scorned interfer¬ ence, and responded to my appeal by jerking the poor animal maliciously. One of my companions, a young, ten- iler-heiirted girl, spoke:
" Hero ! I'll give you this," she said' taking a small coin from her purse, " if you will let the kitty go."
'i'he boy sullenly .sliook liia licad ; ev idi'iitly he wius not to lie bought.
"I wish we had not stopped," I wliiapered to my oilier couipanioiij " Tlie kitten will suller all thc more for ¦our ellbrLs in its behalf; weshall have tl) leave it in their handa, alter all, and lhat little brute will torment It worse, if posaible, when we are out of siglit."
1 paused to watch Edith, who had changed her tactics, and w.as urging little girl of nine or ten, wlio sKsid lookiug oil, to take it away from tlie boy. "I will give you the money," she said : " you cau make liiin let itgo, I know."
The girl smiled doubtfully, and shook her iiead. I turned reluctantly away, tliougli I must confess my impulse was strong to shake the young tyrant till he .should be glad to let his victim go; but I forbore for several reasons, ono of which (a cowardly one) wns that we three, with theclusterof children, were rapidly becoming the center ofa crowd of half-grown boys, and not a few of the men who bad been lounging at the atreet cornera wore among them.
Jennie, my other friend-acarce sev¬ enteen, but a woman iu dignity and self-poasesslon—had looked on with compressed iip and flashiu.g eye, but without uttering one word. We turued away, utterly discomllted ; a few steps had taken ua out of the crowd, when involuntarily I looked back. The un¬ fortunate kitten waa being held aloft iu triumph by ita tormentor, and tbe per¬ formance was varied by a series of mal¬ ignant jerks. The poor tiling struggled violently; It waa not ao near dead as I had auppoaed. Edith uttered a low exclamation, and Jennie darted back, the crowd makiug way for her impetn- oiia movement.
" I'm afraid she cannot get it," falt¬ ered Edith, while I saw with a audden senae of triumph an open penknife flash ill Jennie's hand, as she cut the string. The boy and his sympathizers stood as if spell-bound; and Jennie walked back to ua, very pale but uumoleated, the poor ilraggled kitten lying in herarras.
We walked on rapidly and .silently for somo minutes, half-expecting tliat a rescue would be attempted.
Lookiug back at length, we saw that we were not followed, aud breatlied uiore fi-eely.
"I ought to have done tliat at lir-st, Jennie, but it never onco occurred to lue tliat we could take it entirely away from its tormentors. What do you pro¬ pose to do with it?" I added.
"You must take it into you family of peta, Mary."
I atood aghast. The little, draggled gray morsel to come in with my Italian greyhound and snowy rabblls !
"You know I can't do anything with it, Jennie."
She replied hy fondling the liltle head, which seemed likely enough uev¬ er to move again of Ita own afccord. It was a sharp atrugglo for life with the abused'Ttitten even now.
"Poor thing!" she s.aid. "I canuot tako it to New York with nie, or I would not trouble yon; and l-Mith ia going away too."
" After risking what you did to save ita life, Jennie, it ought not to be neg¬ lected ; but I never cared specially for cats."
" I shall leave it In your room, uever¬ thelesa," Jennie said, quietly ; " and I kuow you cau't lielp nursing it ayi— you, who told me last summer tha.you set out plants which had beeii tlirown out of tho beds iuto the garden-paths, because you said j'ou could not resist tho mute appeal of their jiiMir iittle roots, lyiug helpless under the glare o the Mun."
"Yes, Mary," said Edith, "doyou remember bow I laughed at yon for transplanting your puny paiisics, with even more care than the thrifty ones? Y^ou could not bear that they sbnuld not have a fair chance for life, yoii-said. Look at this poor thing, and see ifyou ean reslstsucha ' mule ajilieal' us thai!"
The " mute appeal" was successful; the kitten did look wretciied enough, th6ugh cradled in Jennie's hnndker- chief, against her soft white sacque. I succumbed.
When Jennie called on me the next morning, she found "Tiger," aa she called hiui, exhibiting anything but a tigerish appearance, belbg meekly ex¬ tended on a cushion In thewindow- aeat^in tbe full .glow of the sunshine, between iwo magnificent Callas, which I had paried.to make room for him.
"Ahr ybtf have-him under the Cal- laa; haven't 'yoii,' Mary ? Very appro¬ priate ;'. peihape they'll whisper in his^ ear the legends, .they.heard; &om their ancestors who dwelt among the rushes on the banka pftheNlle. .Itmay put a little self-respect into him to hear ofthe lofty-posltlon his kin once occupied In Egy^an templesi - where they were worshiped   as   gods."     And Jennie -
laughingly .bade-bptlv me aud my un¬ couth jief farewell." '
There-was littleen'bngli of tric'natii- ral playfulness of Wttentibbd about him for weeks. It wii long beforethe trials of early-youth were obliterated from his memory. To lap his allbwunce of milk, stretch his logs lazily and'alccp In the sun,-8eemed to bo all Ke was ca¬ pable.of for a time. Aa monthH.paSsed on, and he received none but gentle treatmenti-heseeroed to .be tfastanred, and occasionally betrayed an Impulse toward friakinesa; but hia . demeanor never.at tiiat time lached a c.ertaiugruv- ity, becoming iua kitten who had knowu reverses.
Ue hud oue strange Iiabit, and thi! mention of tliat peculiarily briuga me to the promised exphination of liis name. He would open his mouth as if about to utter the most piercing cry; but no sound aceompaiiied thia demon¬ stration. An old uuiit of mine, who was very deaf, advised me to get rid of ' that kitten, " beciusu it mewed soiii- eessantly."
" Why, aunt,!'' said I, " he never makes the slightest noise!'"
"He looks aa if he did," said my annt, ahaking her head gravely.
So I named him Mr. Jellaby, from the inveterate habit whieii my little cat anil Mr. Diekcn's hero had in coiii¬ inou of opening their miiutlisns though about to give vent to something, and sliutting them again without having emitted a souud.
So Mr. Jellaby, otlierwise called Jel- ly, lived ou. He has now, at the- age of three years, apparently quite forgot¬ ten hia misfortunes, is a- huge gloa-sy fellow, spotted and striped like a tiger, is aristocratic Ii^his tastes, nnd as to liis palate dainty exceedingly.
Ho patronizes my beautiful grey¬ hound us an animal inferior to himself, bnt quite passable; and would, I have no doubt, turn up that fastidious nose ofhis in high disdain if his sight were olfeiided with so miserable a little waif as he himself waa when he flrst took possession of his cushion in the win- dow-acUt, under thc aliadow of the Cal¬ lus.
Whether these Egyptian lilies have mstructed Iiim with regard to the sa¬ cred glory of his ancestors, or whether the germ of self-esteem implanted iu him by nature has been luxuriantly de¬ veloped by the care his weokly infaqcy deinauded, wo cannot say. We only smile at his affectation of superiority to others, knowing tliat beings of a higher race ofteu pride themselves on a posi¬ tion which they owe to no exertions of tlieir own, hut to the reputation of some aiicoater, or to the generoaity of some friend.—Jndependcnt.
LEGAL   NOTICES,
Al>niNlNTR.VTOB*S NOTICE.
Ealfite of Robert Sentrniin, laLeof Eden township, deceased.
LETTERS of administration on .smd estate liavlrifi been gmnt(Ml to the uiidersiKned, Illl porKons Indebted thereto nre requemwl i" make Immediate paymunt,andthouehiivln'.: cliilins or demands oKnlnst the siinio wHl iir»- .sent iheinforsettlemuntto tlio underslKnttl, residing lu Paradise towDMliip'
¦                                          JOHX R/VNCK. feb2Q-m*-ll   AdniintatraU)r.
Ai>3iixis'ru<vroies' noticil
Estate of Heury M. Kckert, late of In- lercourne, Leacock twp., tlec'd.
IKTTKIU^iof admlnisirailnn on hii id e.siato jhikvlu^ been granteil to tiie uudt'rsl<*nei), al I persons jiideljtud thfcrcl<» arc rerinest"'d U» make immediate ]>ayme)it, and tlioso liaving elainis or demands a;;ainst lln; same will pri- senMheniwlthnutdeJiiy forsettlement to the uniler.si'iued, residin" in said tou'nsliin.
.M.VilY K. KLIKI'IRT, JOHN SIDfcW. marl."-fiL-I7 Administrators.
ADMIXISTRiVTOltS* fiWSXV.K.
!I''state of Johu  Kreider, late of West Jjauipeter twp., deceased.
IJ-rrTEIWot aaministraiinn on said eslalo jhavinj; been urantttd ni tbeundersi^ned.all iHirsinisindebtecl tlieretoarereqiicsti'd tomat:e immediutc ptiytuout, uud tlKiseliaviuK'duinis ordemandsai;Hlnstlliesaine will present thfia without delay for Hettloinent to tlift nnder- siijned. . AXDttRW* AlEKAt't'KY.
I'eqnea To\vn.'«hlp, JACOU U KHEIl>KiC.
\{. IjimpeterT^vp., f.ib21-t)t*15 .     Adinlnistratorn.
A]>MI!tfISTRATOR*H »rOTX4!R.
EHtat(4orBuHanmi bhirk, Jute of Mount
Joy twp., deceitsed. T ICTTRIl.S of administration on said csinle Jj bavin-; been.KnmUid to tliu underpinned, all personslndebted thereto are reijuestml !«« niaUolniniedialuKettlemenr.aiidtl)<>.seliav]ni; elaims or deinaiuls.-t^ainst tlies;(tnt-. will pn- itentMrnm without tlelay forsettleinenl lo lhe uudersigned.
HAJlUKn HUlUW. Adm'r, feieMit*-|.'i itesldiUK In I'enn l.Wf..
AI>nKIVISTICA'rOR*i' NOTKIR.
Estate ofHenry Shenk, hite ofManor twp., decM.
Ji^-TTRKSof admlnlslraliun on snld PKtJite jhavin;; been granted lo tho untlerslgned, all perHons Indebted thereto urit rerjuested t<» maicu immediate .settJemenL,ajul I hose having <daim» or tlemands against tliesume will pre¬ sent them forsettlemeiit U> the undersigned. residing in said township.
HKXUY.SIIEXK. Ul!;XJAMIN  KEKK, niar,"-Ct*-l(i Atliuliiistrat«irs.
AI>.niXlSTlCATOR.S* NOTIcr.
Estate of Wenley Taylor, late of Lea¬ eoek towuship, deceased. LET'ri':RS of administration on said est.ite having been granted to tlie andersignetl, all persons indebted tUerel<»are reiiuesU-dWmako lii)mediatepHyment,and tbose Imvlng elaims ordemands ugainsttbc snme will presentthem forsettlement tu the undersigueu, residing in suid towuship,
AMOS LONCEXECKEK, LEWJS U. LYTE, imir l7-Gt-lS Ad mini stmt ors.
KXKCUTOR^S NOTI4TE.
Estate of Elizabeth Hildehrand, late of Ephrata township, deceased.
I >rrTEIt» testamentary on the estateof said J dccfjused havingbeen grunted to the uu¬ dersigned. all persons indebted thereto are reciuested to make immediate payment, aud lho.se liaving elalmM or demands ngainst tno same will preseut cbein for sellioment to the undersigned, re.siding In Karl township. WILLIAM JI. REAM. niarl7-fit=-lS Exeeutor.
£.VECCTOR'!i NOTICE.
Estate of Martin \V, Haruish, late of. Conestoga township, dec'd.
ITCTTERSTeatamentaryoM said estate hav- jluf; been granted lo the audersigned, all ftersons indebted thereto are requested to make mmedlatepayment,nud thoMe having ctaiinn or demands against thc samo wiil present them witliout dcl.-iy for settlement to the un¬ dersigned.
JACOn HAnXISrr. Exrculor, febl.-I-CL*]        Xo. 27 Weat King st.. Lanciuster.
AirUITOR'S NOTK^R.
Estate of Mrs. Elizabeth Y. Conyng¬ ham, late of Lancastercity, dec'il. THEundersigned Auditor, appointod tndlH- tribute the balaneu remaining in the hands i>f Hon, A. L. Hayes, aetlng executor of said deceased, to and among those legally entitled to tho same, will altend for that purpose on FUlDAY, the Ilitli day of APRIL, iJW), nt 2 o'clock, p. in., lu thu }jlbrury Itoom of tho Court Jlotise. In tho ('Itv of [iuncastor, where all poi-sons interested iiisald distrlbuthm may attend. It. W. SUEXK,
marlT-nt-IS Auditor.
ASNKJ.VEF/N N<»TirR.
Assigned estate of Jfartin V.   IClnier, of Paradise twp., Lancaster County.
HAVINGby deed of voluntary assignment. dated fifarcli 2il. lS(i'.», iLSslgned and trunsferred all hltt estate und t^tfects to the undersigned, tor thc Ueuellt of the creditors of the Kald Martlu V. Elmer, he therefore give.s nottce to nil persous lndcl)ted to siUil OHsiguor, to make paynu-nt to the underslgneil witliout delay, aud those haviug ctaimK to prem^i t them to \VILLI.\M KENNEDY. Assignee,
Ue.sldlng In luterttnirso.Lemuick twp., Lan¬ caster e<». -It'-mar 10-17
A.SSUiiSEEK* XOTK^E.
Assi^rned Estate of Samuel Hess and
wife, of West Lampeter township,
Lancnster county.
SAMITELHI^S-S and wile of \Vest Lampeier township, Imvlng by deeil of vnhiniary as¬ signment, dated l-'ehruury 'Siih, 1S<W, assigued and transferred all their eslale and eirtTls lo tbe underslgued. tor the liencHtof the creditors of the said rtaniuei He.ss. tlit-y thercforo give nntlcutoall personslndebted lo .^ald assignor, to make payment to the undersigned >vIthout delay, aud thnsoI)avingclHliiistopresonltliem ¦ > KOBERT A. EVANS. \ ..„,,„,,.„„
<.n-:o, K. REED, \ Awdgnees,
mar Ki-Ct-I" Ke.siiilng In Laucastor city.
<ro.n.niTTEE'.s notice.
Estate of Adam Trout, of the city of Lancaster, Pa.
TIIEund.^rsigued having been appoinled by the Conrt of Common Vlc-a-s, (;nmmilteeor thiM>cr.s*iii  and esUite of Adum Tnjut, (wlm. bus been duly declared u lunatic.) all  persons indebted t«i mild tistato ar<» requested to-mukc ¦ liiimi-dlute Kettlenient.   and    tlioso   haviug, elainiK or demauilN against, the Hame, will pr**-" sunt them forsetl.tement, to thu uudersigued,.. reshUiig at I*am«iisc, Laneaster <t«iunty, l'a„ or to John l\. Livtugstuu.us*!., AtUiraey, at Lau-- ciLstereity, I'u.
A. K. AVITMRR, mar;M;t-l(i Commiltee
A   85.00 GREENBACK Of ftdt value sent free to nnu llook Aariii. AOEN'l'a WANTED KOIt MATTHEW HALK.SSnTH'.S NEW HOOK,
Sunshine and Shadow in New York.'*
A WORK EEl'LETEWITH AXECIJOTKS AND INCI-
UKN'fS OF MFE   IN   TUE  OKEAT  METROPOT.IM.
IIKING A MIRROR ofNEW YORK rkklkctino THE .SliCUEfS OP THE GREAT CITV, One Apcnt aold W) in one day, another aold and delivered ±.7 in 15 dam, anotherMl ia 7 flays. .No book ever published that scl/s so rapidly. TTji Vou wish to know how lyortuneH nro IX made and lost In a day; how Shrewd Men ure-rained In Walliitreet; how'*Coantrymon** areKWlndled by Sharpers; how Mlnl8t«THand Merchants are Blackmailed;liow DanceHall.s and Concert SaloonB are Managed; how Gam¬ bling Houses and Lottorlen-are condnctetl; how Stock Compauies Originate and how tlm Babbles Bifrst, Ac, read this work. It tells yoa about tho myaterica of New York, ond cou-. tains spicy life sketohea of Its noted million¬ aires, merchants, Ac. A LAROE OCTAVO iVOLUME, 720 PAGES, FINELY ILLUSTRA¬ TED. Tbe lai^eat commission given. Onr 82 page circular and a S5.00 Greenback sent free on aiipUcatlon. For,ftill particulars and terms addrM tbo sole pnbllskers,
jRB90«fl:^U
J. B. BURR A CO.. Hartfora, Conn,