Papurau Newydd Cymru
Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru
8 erthygl ar y dudalen hon
-----EXPERIENCES OF A DETECTIVE.…
EXPERIENCES OF A DETECTIVE. By James McGovan. NO. 19.-MEG AND JESS. riWT noticed Me? and Jeea particularly through th:r always managing to get into prison about the time. They were both uader twenty, and lull of natural intelligence as they were of woful ignorance. They lodajed together, and appeared to have no relatives, and as they booth bad a strong touch of the Gla&gow accent I con- cluded that they had run alway from that city togethur and clang to each other ever since. Meg Was dark and good-Iookingr, with crisp, curly black hair, and a spirit that nothing could tame. Jess was fair, and rather insipid, but was chiefiy at- tractive through a look of child-like simplicity which generally rested on her face. But for a line or two which had crept in to spoil it that face might have served as a model to any artist wish- illK to paint Innocenre." These two are»e as inseparable as twim-that is, they were seldom out of each other's sight, and got quite »estle«e if kept apart for an hour or two. If Meg, who was the bolder spirit of the two, got into trooble, and was sentenced to fourteen days in prison, the record vras scarcely dry an the page when JM8 was in also on some trifling charge, which would take her into prison for about the ■am* time. Once she managed it by pretending to attempt to resone Meg as I was leading her out to be taken down to the cell. She got .-even 4ays for the attempt, and was happy, for that Wft" Mae's sentence, and she was thus within the Nune walls. At another time she would assault a policeman, or break a atreet lamp, but she always I I AT AJTOTHKB TOT SH* wOtTLD ASSAULT A POLICI KAN. managed her point. The greatest punishment would have been to *end her away unpunished, but she would have gone straiarht to another but she would have gone straiarht to another offence, so we thousrht best to detain her. If Jess happened to be taken and convicted, then Meg was quite as ready in getting committed. When the trick of these committals at last dawned upon I. me, I thought I would have a word with them on the subject, and when Jess was brought in- New being in the cells ready to be taken to Calton for fourteen days, I said to her. I "You've done this, I suppose, just to get into prison beside Meg?" I expected her to deny it strongly, but instead j she wily suniled out, with that child-like expression which made her took so different from what I brw her to be, and answered with the greatest frankness— j iir-jmot that. There's no use in me wandering about while she's in. I couldn't stand Y"U'Te sorely very fond of her?" I continued, iug to «oowl, but not succeeding very well. I don't know, but I like to be beside her," she answered, very simply. That there was a strong affection between them never appeared to have occurred to her up to that moment. j "Are you related to each other in any way?" Oh, no, sir—we're just chums." ) "You both b-dong to Glasgow, I think?" J The first shadow crossed the fair face, and Jess remained silent. She was trunk and artless no longer. "You wontd rather not say ?" She nodded, reddening slowly. I could get no more out of her, and she was taken down and led no. Next day she joined Meg in the Csltan jail, where the behaviour of both was everything that could be wished. They'll tire of that by and by," was my com ment. When the rust of crime eats A little further into them, they'll not be able to keep far j enough apart." It was during the Naw Year festivites that the j two had been taken. When they got out I did not see much of them for a time, but at length I lDe M alone. The first time I took no notice of I the strange circumstance, but when it occurred again, I stopped her and sa;d,- "What's become of Jasa ?' Before the answer came, 1 bad noticed that Meg's dark and healthy-looking face had grown momewtiat pale and pinched, so her words did not 8mi"prise are. "Jess has been ill, and she's not quite right J yet. She's bad a hard time of it, and they wanted to take her to the infirmary, but I wouldn't let them. They only take people there to cut them up and experiment on them. Oll, I know and I'm not going to let Jess be killed." "You seen to be very fond of jws?" I re- t marked. The same coarse, light laugh came from Meg I which had greeted the same question to Jess. I don't know, but i couldn't bear to be away i from her, and not seeing her all the time." Yon till Ilk more of her than you would of a sweetheart?" I continued, half in banter. j Meg's dark face became positively frightful t-, look upon at that word. I never saw a woman's face so like that of a devil. A sweetheart 1" she contemptuously ex. I claimed, recovering somewhat. "A sweetheart," and theft some words escaped wo-ch might have I burned the lips off her. p The subject was a sore one, and I hastened to I change it. The cause of her sudden fury, I diR- covered: later, was that but for a sweetheart Meg would never have been where she was. It was a peculiarly dastardly case, and had he not left the country Meg would have killed him. As it was she very nearly stabbed ?. fellow-workman in mistake for him. I I spoke of Jess and her illness, and the ugly lines quickly softened on Meg's face, and finally disappeared altogether. She had managed to pay a doctor to c, me and see Jess more than once, and with a great straggle had goi, the required medi- cines, though, aa I pointed out to her, she might have had both attendance and medicine free by applying at the dispensary. Meg resented the suggestion hotly, and yet that same girl would have thought nothing of going into a shop and walking off with twenty times the value, or of picking the pocket of some working mail's wife, and leaving the owner to want for weeks. Human nature is built up of strange stuff, and more especially woman nature. As if to prove this, Meg had not long parted with me when she went into a first-class Italian warehouse in Greenside aad ordered a bottle of the best wine "for an invalid," along with some other delicacies, the whole amounting to about fifteen shillings in value. She was merely a servant sent to order them. she said, but they were to be sent as soon as possible to Mrs M'Gregor, in Gayfield-square, whose name she had probably taken from the stair b-ol before ordering the goods. When the boy reached the stair and rang the bell, he was 'i met just within the door on the first flight by Meg, who hurriedly rated him for delaying so long, and alippdd a packet of money into his hands, as she took the parcel, saying—"There's the money, I'll take up the parcel." All this woullhave worked very well but forthe curiosity of the boy, which prompted him, before he reached the corner of the square, to look inside the pa^er, which he four. 1 contained fourpence- ba'-peuny in copper. He turned back very lim.irtly, ottly in tii-ne to see Meg escaping with the parcel at a very rapid rate round the other side of the square. "Stop thief 1" j The boy howled the words loud enough to have waked the dead, and Meg bad to put on her j awiftest pace to keep the crowd at a safe distance behind her. She had only to go back to Green- side, but never before had she done even that short distance so swiftly. She might have made ..clean dive >.ut of sight and escaped had it not been for a policeman further up the street, who úw the coming crowd, noted her ftying, and ran down t" meet her. Just then she darted into the suir taariiog down to her lodging; but the police- man ww not far behind, and she had no sooner j got within the door than he was hammering at tafe pane! and d^rvmdibg arimitfancs. The weight of líl bo«!y io the door, and then Meg, who bad taktUif stowed the parcel under some dressea at the head of the bed in which Jess was lyinfp darted into the kitchen, stripping off some of her upper garments as she ran—evidently with the in- I tention of so changing her appearance as to make identification a difficult matter. But scarcely had she got within the kitchen door when the policeman drove it open, and then poor Meg seemed to lose her head altogether. She darted to the window, threw up the lower sash, and, be- fore any one could reach her or intervene, she leapt right down into the yard below, a height of two storeys. I A wild scream followed the horrified exclama- tions of the inmates and pursuers, and then they had to turn their attention to Jess, who had risen from her bed in the next room, and was now struggling to leap after Mejt into the yard below. Meg lay perfectly motionless, and the general opinion was that she was dead. When the first wild frenzy of Jess was exhausted, she threw on some things, and ran down with the crowd to pick up the senseless girl. She WM weak and ailing no longer when Meg was injured, and carried the limp form up those stairs almost un- aided. Blood was fhwi n from Meg's mouth, and one arm hung down, broken in two places; but when a dash of water on her face had revived her, and she saw Jess bending over her in tears, she tried to smile boldly, and softly whisl-,ered- Not hurt! not hurt!" That came in reply to a wild accusation of Jeea to the policeman of having killed her by forcing her to escape by the window. A doctor was brought to see her, and he found one ankle dislo- cated, the arm broken, and other injuries which caused him to decide that she was unfit for re- moval to the Infirmary. Even had he not so decided Meg would not have been removed, for J ass reminded of her horror of the place, said that no trained nurses ordoctors could do Mag so much good as herself. I reached the house while the doctor was there, and easily found the ill-fated .2: 'L "I R1CA0RTO Tire HOUSE." J parcel; for Jess no sooner saw my face than she pointed to the heap of dresses at the head of the bed, and said simply- "You'll get it under there." Meg was lying with her eyeq closed and almost unconscious. I slowly undid the string and opened the parcel. The bottle of wine and other luxuries told their own tale, and Jess's eyes brimmed over. They were for me," she said. "She told me she was .going to get them as they were all I needed to make me strong. If yon wait til! I have nursed her well again, you may take me for that job, for she's punished." It seemed so, indeed, for Meg scarcely moved under the great agony of having her ankle put right and her arm put up in splints. The doctor followed ma out into the kitchen, in which I was busy refastening the pi reel. "Sisters, I suppose?" he said, very gravely, 111- dicating the room he had jnst left with a nod. No, I believe not, but they are very much at- tached to each other. There is no keeping them apart." "Indeed." The word came Sat absently, and I eonld see that the doctor's thoughts were already far away from my words. That won't last long," he said in tb, same grave tones. "I used to think so, too," I answered, "but it lasts still, you see. What makes you think it will not last V Because—because th-tt dark girl will die," he said, so ( uietly that at first I mistook the tone of deep gravity for coolness and professional in- difference. "Good gracious! is the poor thing really so badly hurt?" "She will never get well again, and never rise off that bed till she is lifted off. She may live twenty-four hours, or forty-eight, or even longer, but the end is none the less certain," was his calm and decided reply. Do you know where to find her friends ?" 1, Mew, I believe has no friends alive," I answered, and the other will never speak of her friends, so they are practically alone in the world." Then I don't know what had beet be done. The other seems not over string, and it might up- set her to let her know the 1 :e state of her com- panion." I think you are right it would be danger- ous Just then the door and Jess glided into kitchen, and olosed door. Then she turned sharply upon us, thou. peaking scarcely above a whisper. "What are you two concipirinor about?O-' she fiercely demanded. You're not to take 2oleg away, mipd I'm determined about that." She is not to be taken away," I gravely assured her. You say that as if she was to be taken," said Jess, eyeing me searchingly, "but it doesn't matter — I'll watch her well. How long will it be," she abruptly added, burning to the doctor; "how long will it be till Meg is well again ?" I saw the doctor avoid those wide-opened, searching eyes as he quietly answered- "Not very long; I will be able ta tell you definitely in a day or two." Humph S I know what that means from a doctor," said Jes", roughiy and scornfully," "You think that Meg won't get better. But I tell you she willI She must! she shall!" Perfect silence followed this fierce assertion. You'd like her to die," continued .1888, turning Seroely upon me. It's your trade—what you're paid for-huntimit down the likes of us and the sooner you get ns out of the way the better; but mind if anything happens to her my curse will come down on you." I quietly assured her that I was curse proof; that no living man had had more of them heaped upon him, and that I had not been in the hunting down of Meg at all, all of which Jess heeded no more than a stone statue. With another burst of abuse and string of the wildest threats, she flounced back to the other room, and I took the opportunity of slipping quietly out of the house with the doctor. When Meg dien, I hope I may not be there to see Jess," wiw my thought as I ascended the stair to Greenside. As Meg could not be removed, we sent a trained nurse to relieve and help Jess, and there were not wanting sympathisers, who sent othsr help; but though Meg had a wonderful frame, and a strong spirit, she did not improve, and the bulletins sent by the nurse all seemed to confirm the decision of the doctor. While Meg's life appeared to be thus slowly ebbing away another strange task was pat into my hands. I think it was on the very afternoon of that mad leap of hers from the window that a strong-built and somewhat coarse-featured seaman appeared at the office, and was referred to me. He gave his name as Peter Sand, and handed me a note from Johnny JTarrell, which hrit-fly re- quaslied me to help the bearer to find his sister, who, my friend bad reason to believe, left Glas gow, a year or two before, and landed in Edin' burgh. Have you a portiait of your sister ? I asked, after reding tha note. "No, sir, in. deed, I haven't seel1 Mary sinc I was a boy, and shouldn't know her though I mat her in the street," b6 awkwardly answered, flush- ing a. little, as many simple- minded ones over a good action. "You see, sir, I was fast cutting up far a. thIef, for we'd no one to ook after us when a oentlemitn-his name 's Mitchell, and lie's a grocer, i in the Galiowsrate -wliose pocket rJ tried to p: ck I i, one Saturday 'I HAVI'NT SSKS jiaet SINCE I WAS 4 SOT." I night, got a hold of me, and instead of kicking me and giving me to the police, he collared me and took me to his back shop, and put it to me II whether I'd like to epeud ball my time ia jail at a thief, and the other half in constant feat of the police, or be an honest man. Of course, the way he put it, I couldn't but say I'd rather be straight and square; bat I had to live, and I had no clothes to get me "a good place, and I couldn't read. and then there was Mary, my sister. He said it might be got over, and he took me into his shop as a message boy, but the thief was so strong in me that at last I want to him, and l-U If you don't send me away somewhere IH fall through, for the bad in me is fighting the good, and will soon win.' He saw that I was dreadful Ii in earnest, so he got me into a training ebip, and there I learned to read, and in the end was drafted away as a sailor. He looked after Mary and got her into a school, but she ran away it and got all i wrong, and I have not beard of her for years. But now I'm getting good pay, and never need be out of a ship. Some of my mates have less pay and keep a wife and bairns, so I'm going to search r out Mary, and take her from the streets, and put her into a house in Glasgow, and keep her out of barm's way until something better opens up for I her. It's to be my house and my furniture, and she's just to look after it for me. It'll be so joUy I to thiuk I have a home to come to, with a kind 1 sister, that I've saved, waiting for me and glad to I see me. Nobody will know what's she's been, and she'll be out of harm's way, and none of her old I companions ever know where she is." And do you think that if you do find her she wil be quite willing to change her life and go with yon ?" Yes, I'm sure of it. Mary would do anything I told her, and she'JI be the same yet. A woman It will do anything shes itold to in love, and when she knows its for her good." He could give me no definite idea of her appear- ance, or features, and he expressed a decided opinion that there was no resemblance in her to I himself. Farrell was no more explicit from the fact that he had never seen the girl, though from some of her companions he had learned that she was believed to have come from Edinburgh. It struck me that I had seen a girl somewhere bear- ing a slight resemblance to the seaman before me, but as he so decidedly said there was no resemblance, I put that idea aside as misleading. I went through a number of places that night with S'land, but failed to come 00 the slightest trace of his sister. No one knew of a Mary Shand --I and at length I was inclined to believe that the girl must have changed her name. When we were tired out we parted, after arranging to meet at two o'clock the next day. 10 our next tonr we took some places in Rose-street without much success. At length we landed in Elder-street, and one woman there, when asked if she knew of a Mary Shand, said, with great animation- Do you know Meg and Jess?—one of them went mad and jumped out of a window yester- day." The sailor at my side grew pale as death, and looked appealingly to m. quite uuable to speak. I kn,lw them-well r- "One of them is M iry Shand-I know, for she once got a money-order from Glasgow, and she sent me to cash it at the General." Which one is Mary Shand ?" I asked, trying in vain to appear calm and unconcerned. I looked across at the sailor. His face and hair were fair, and in his eyes and features I could clearly trace a resemblance to Jess which before had seemed familiar to me. It is all right," I said, cheerily, in reply to his look of anguish. It was Meg-her cGmpariion- that made the mad leap. Jess is well, and able to nurse her. You shall see her and speak to her in five minutoo, He thanked me with a look and a grasp of the han,i, and left a reward in the band of the coarse wench who had tendered the information that she opened her eyes in utter amazement. The step of that sailor when be reached the street was pleasant to see; be seamed to tread on air; and though the day was dull and dour, he seemed to befsurrouuded with the brightest sunshine. Eli, man, but I'm happy!" he exclaimed at last, turning his beaming eyes full on me as we pressed on towards Greenside. I wish I could just give out one howl, to let off steam a little, but then the folks might think I was mad." Down at the den I was admitted very promptly, and walked softly into the kitchen with the sailor at my heels. Tiiere we found the nurse busy packing up her things in a basket. Her cloak and bonnet lay ready on the table beside her. What? are you going away!" I exclaimed in a whisper. u Yas. There's no more use for me," ohe answered, in calm, business-like toneq. "She's dead." Goodness J—dead ? Poor Meg I" I exclaimed, and a tear crept into my eyes involuntarily. How did Jess take it ?" Very quietly. I thought she would have gone into hysterics, but she scarcely said anything, and cried very little. She was quite done up, but she had laid out the body, and then went to sleep with her arm round it. I biveut disturbed her 6ince. Once I tried to lift her away, when I thought she was sound asleep, but she held on like grim death, so i let her alone. I'd like better to see her cry more. These dry ones often crack." How long bas she 814pt ?" The nurse looked at her watch. "Six hoars. If you want to speak to her she may be waked up now." She looked at us inquiringly, and I passed the look on to the sailor, who said tremuloualy- Oh, yes, let me speak to her how she'll may- be not feel it so bad when she has her brother to lean on, and when I tell her what I've come for." We followed the nurse softly into the darkened room. Meg lay on the bed, with her dark, beautiful face turned white as marble in sharp contrast to her crisp black hair; Jess by partly on a chair by the bed, and partly on the bed itself, with one arm round the still form, and her face buried in the dark locks of the dead girl. A pain- ful stillness filled the room; Icould not bear even the breathing of the sleeping girl. The nurse laid a hand gently on Jess's shoulder, and called her softly by name. There was no movement or res- ponse, and the rigid clutch of the fingers at the dead form did not relax. Again the nurse shook her and spoke, then bending down she listened. Perfect atillness-the silence appeared thick about that bed. The nurse touched the face ? started up and forcibly raised Jess in her arms. As she did so, an emptyphial dropped on the floor, and rolled along to the feet ot the sailor. It was labelled Land anum-Poisoi)," and was a message to him from the dead. Jess and Meg were gone together.
--LONGING, j
LONGING, Of all the myriad moods of mind That through the heart come thronging, I Which one was e'er so dear, so kind, So beautiful as longing? The thiugs we long for, that we are, For one transcendent moment, Before the present, poor and bare, ] Can make its sneering comment. Longing is God's fresh, heavenward will, With our poor, earthward striving We quench it, that we may be still Content with nrerely living. But would we learn that hearts full scope, Which we are hourly wronging, Our lives would elimb from hope to hope, And realise our longing. —Lowell.
[No title]
SHARP SENTIMENTS. "There is one thing about me," said Dumley, as be wrote his name in the hotel register: "I pay as I go, and don't you forget to remember it!" Any baggage?" demanded the clerk.—" No." —"Then you wont pay as you go; youH pay as you come Two dollars, please, and remember not to forget it A WOCLDBE SCICIDSS EXPEBIEUCS.— Dumont: "This suicide business ain't what it's eracked up to be." Pierce; How do you knew ? Dumont: "Tried it once. Fierce; '4 You did? I never heard about it." Dumont: "Yes; I got tired of life, and so I thought I'd starve myself to ¡ death." Well, what prevented you doing it?" Dumont: Of I got so beastly hungry I bad to eat something." TIM A FOR A CHANGE.—"And yon say you were not discharged from your last place J" said Mrs not discharged from your last place said Mrs Crhnsonbeak, questioning a candidate for the office of cook. "No, mum. 1 left, mum "How long were yon in your last place?" Five years, mum." "And why did you leave ?* i- "I was getting too fat, mom." Well?" "Ob, j sure, I couldn't wear the missus' dresses any | more, and I had to stay home from the balls, I thought, mum, it was time to make a ebopge." —ton&ert Statesman, (
------<--A MAKER OF ANCESTORS.
< A MAKER OF ANCES- TORS. A ECEL Leroy was an artist. He was 25, with a sufficiently crood CDinion of himMlf. mtnv dreams, and not a little simplicity hidden under I a certain confidence of manner. He believed himself indubitably destined to gain the grand prize of Rome. He had even had his name in as competitor for two years in succession. The first year of want of success had hardly broken his belief in himself it is so rarely, be sa:d, that one aucceeda at the first attempt. The second trial, which had the same result, caused him some lugvbrious reflections. He had reckoned on bis prize" to get him out of a pain- ful position. Ettly an orphan, without fortune, he had lived like many of his fellows from day to-day, trying thirty-six different line" of work, from a portrait of the concierge to the tops of christening boxes, but all had brought him meagre cheer. He had contracted debts. These debts he felt certain to be able to py. He would be able to live from his grant money at the Villa Medicis; he would discharge his obligations by the sale of his pictures at the Salon; he would return to Paris "free from all money cares and set up as a painter d la. mode. Yes, the thing seemed to go of itself only, as in the fable, the jog was broken, the milk was spilt. The competition came to an eud, and another than he gained the prir-e. He was thinking of these not very joy- inspiring things when a knock came to the door. A gentleman entered. He was about fifty-five, bright eyes under bushy eyebr.-)w-, marked features, bony, the chin and upper lip I shaved with cate, reddish beard much mixed with wfiite; put on with great care, his clothes showed hardly a crease; diamond studs in his shirt. Maroel bowed, and the stranger returned the Maroel bowed, and the stranger returned the salute with a little nod. He was occupied in examining, comprehensively and rapidly, first the atelier and then the painter. The bright eyes seemed quite satisfied with the examination. The studio was not luxurious, however, and the artist, rather puzzled and disp'eased at tliis silent and unpolite entrance, assumed a rather haughty air. "To what must I attribute the honour of this visit, Monsieur ?" said he. For answer, the gentleman with the diamond studs drew out a little pocket-book in Russian I leather, and took thence a visiting card. It was the card of a great picture dealer introducing to the young painter Mr Terence M'Donagh, of New York. An instantaneous change came over the feelings of Marcel. He strongly regretted not to have put on his easel a picture almost finished, quite fitted, he thought, to tempt a rich picture fancier. "You speak English, I understand," said at last the visitor. Marcel reddened slightly, and said—"A few." An imperceptible smile showed itself an instant in the comers of the shaved mouth. Then speaking very slowly and raisibg his voice the stranger said, I didn't want to have an interpreter I like to look after my affairs myself. When you don't understand, stop me; I will write. Will you go to America to- morrow ?" Marcel leaped from his seat. "To America— to-morrow ?—it is impossible." Why ? You are not a woman, and you haven't thirty trunks to fill with frippery. Put some clean linen in a valise. You can get any- thing you want in Now York." "I do not understand, monsieur." Do you want me to write it ?" and already the American had taken out his gold pencil-case and prepared to write. No, no that which I do not understand is for what you wish to carry me away to America." "You interrupt," replied the American. Follow me closely; look at me, and I shall know if you have caught the sense of my words. Your profession is to make pictures. Good. I want a lot of pictures done. By taking a painter out to do them I shall save 33 per cent. duty, and I don't want to spend money uselessly. I didn't think of you at first; one of my friends had employed a specialist, but the specialist is dead. Do your eyes tell me you understand me ?" Yes." Very well. The dealer says you are in debt. Ah! you are vexed he told me that; he told me as well that if you are not exactly a genius, you had enough of talent for what I want you to do. Don't get yourself into a way because he has said that. It will take up time and there is none to lose. You are to make me old paintings, very black portraits of my ancestors." Marcel thought he was dealing with a madman. The madman smiled. It was the smile of a man who bad all his senses about him. "Does that astonish you? There is nothing astonishing in it. Everybody has ancestors, only everybody doesn't know them. That is my case; and I desire to make their acquaintance. I have built a bouse; it is an exact copy of a chateau in the Loire I forget its name. It is very fine it has cost me a lot of money, 250,000 dollars. There is a grand ball with a wood compartmented ceiling, painted an d gilded. There are, besides, in this hall thirty-two panels which will contain thirty-two portraits that you are to make. The dealer tells me that they make old as well as new portraits in your pr^fepsion. You will put a loti of black in your colours. Spore nothing. WWn one revives bis ancestors it is the least thing one can do to treat them well." Marcel, who had had difficulty all through to keep from laughing, let himself out at last in a laugh so lond and so prolonged that the American in no way disconcerted, allowed himself a. smile then, when the young man had recovered himself a little, he continued— Yes, I know it must appear very funny to you, but what is serious is that for each panel you will be paid 1500 francs. You won't need more than six or eight months to do the lot. You will have no expenses. You will come back and pay your debts. If you are discreet (I promise you to be so on my part), no one will know the kind of work you have been doing in America. AU that I ask of you is to work quickly, to shut yourself up at Idlewild (that is the name of my country place), and to let nobody see what you. are doing." This unheard-of, ridiculous idea, which had caused so much merriment to young Leroy, o&me nevertheless to be realised. Terence M'Donagh, when be had resolved on a thing, generally managed his end. Marcel did not need to concern himself about any. < thing. Thanks to the suggestions of the picture dealer, an enormous case filled with costumes, armoury, and old vestments of all sorts was at the station in We midst of the other luggage when the hour for leaving arrived. During the voyage out, which was rather a stormy one, the American was kind and attentive to the young painter, and somewhat mote com- municative than usual with him. Terence M'Donagh had had a bard time of it hi his youth. By and-bye, in company with a friend, who after* f' wards became his partner, he discovered and worked a silver mine in Nevada. His fortune was now tabulous. This man of enormous re- venues had personal tastes the most simple, and < liked better to serve himself than to be served by others. I Fortune,' he said, came to us very quickly once it began to come. One could say, however, I tbac its progress was marked by the Christiaa if names of my six daughters. The eldest was simply called Kate, in the time when Mrs M'Donagh made my shirts and dressed them, The second, when we bad a domestic, was called Blanche. Then very soon my wife, with her first silk dresses, had acquired a taste for the romantic and sentimental; so the four last bore names more and more grand-Violet, Maud, Ethel, and Imogen. Terence M'Donagh was intelligent enousrh to 1;lugh at his own weakness, but he did not renounce it for all that. Look here," he said, in an easy moment, to Marcel, the pride of name, the sonority of titles, the blazons, the fine escutcheons are the toys of old Europe that we want, as children want theirs. We envy the good fortune of those who possess them, but I hope, all the same, never to see my daughters married to Italian princes, unfortunate as these unions generally are, and I mean to offer them, instead, the nobility of the past." Arrived in New York, the young painter was speedily deposited in Tdlewild, one of the prettiest nooks of the marvellous country through which the Hudson runs. "Now, set to work," said his employer to him. I am off to embrace Mrs M'Donagh and my six daughters." Once installed in the chateau of which he was the sole occupant-the good woman who was charged to look after him lived in the lodge at the great gat,he found himself somewhat em- barrassed in beginning work of so novel a kind, and more than once he repented of having under- taken it. The historical ideas of Mr M'Donagh were somewhat vague. His fancy hovered between several nationalities, hut it was arranged to begin with the Crusades (to which Terence firmly held), then on through the Henry VIII. period and the Stuarts, as not failing to supply the picturesque. What remained undecided was the date and the reason of the emigration of the noble ancestors to America. In reailty, the grandfather of Terence was an Irish journalist, who had landed in New York at the beginning of the century without a farthing, but with a pronounced taste for whiskey. The ancestry pourtrayed should, of course, have quitted the mother country for a noble cause, religious or political. Mfircel pro- posed to make one of them a Roundhead, but Mr M'Donagh stuck to a follower of Charles I., for I the sake of the costume. The hours of work passed rapidly. The gallery formed a superb studio. But Marcel felt the want of society when over with his day's task, and together with the feeling of solitude and dulness which an occasional run into New York, where he did not know a soul, did nothing to dis- pel, there was no other way but to wo k with iury, to get on with the ancestors like steam. What troubled him was the want of models, and lie had to content hitcself with engravings and photo- gAphsofold pictures. Marcel leaped several genera- tions to arrive more speedily at the Stuart ancestry. The costume was in good condition. He tried it on him, and found himself a rather good-looking fellow in it and he posed before a great mirror set at the desired angle, and made himself serve as a model. A short note from Mr M'Donagh apprised him that a portion of the family was coming to the i-hateau he begged the painter to keep the door locked, aud not to betray his secret. It was evi- dent be had not consulted his wife or daughters in this matter. One day while Marcel was finishinga portrait, the resemblance to himself of which he tried to modify by a luxuriant head of fair hair (his own was black and cut short), he heird a rustling of dresses, and the handle of the locked door was softly turned. Then there were whisperings and little stifled laughs; then a firm, not to say imperious, band struck three sharp raps. Marcel kept firm. He had, however, a strong desire to open it was long since he had seen a woman's face. The old person that attended to I him did not count. The imperious hand knocked again, and a voice, a little impatient, cried, Open It was a young and fresh voice, agreeable to hear, in spite of the tone of com- mand. I cannot; the orders of Mr M'Donagh are explicit." Then I will send for a locksmith and get in by force." By what right The right of my own family; I am mistress here." "You will state that I have resisted," "I will." Marcel (who was dying with curiosity) opened without more ado. Each looked at the other with curiosity and surprise. Marcel saw before him I two lovely young girls—the one dressed perhaps I over elegantly, the other very simply in deep mourning and these two young girls opened their eyas in amazement at the sight of a cavalier of the time of Ubarles I., holding a palette in bis hand. The young elegantly-dressed lady advanced with head erect, but the comicality of the situation-struck her all of a sudden. She began to laugh, and the fine cavalier followed her example. "Pardon, sir," said she, but who are you, and what are you doing ? I call myself Marsel Leroy, inarlemoiselle I am making ancestors for Mr M'Donagh." The young girl ceased her laugh at once. "My father is his own ancestor," she said sharply. This was, then, one of the M'Donaghs Marcel looked at her more attentively she was very pretty, a handsome blonde. This miner's dauehter, born in a time of poverty, had the bearing of a queen. Djubtless the young girl in mourning, who smiled but did not speak, was her lady com- panion she aiso appeared to be pretty, but Marcel hardly gave her attention, dazzi d by the radiant appearance of Kate M'Douagh. Miss M'Donagh made him tell the wholp story, and on its conclusion laughed indulgently at the paternal weakness. The works already finished were then examined. But "are you not to give any female ancestors? A gallery solely masculine will look somewhat dulL" I am quite of your opinion, mademoiselle, but what can I do," insinuated the painter, without models?" "We shall be models, shall, we not, Minnie? Let us see what you have in female dresses." The house was no longer silent. Mrs M'Donagh with her youngest children arrived a few days after her daughter. Mr M'Donagh was in the Far West with his daughter Blanche. The pretty Kate was mistress of the house, her mother being in somewhat low health. Things went on ad- mirably for some time. Kate had chosen a costume of the time of Queen Elizabeth, in which she was dazzling. Minnie was got up in a Quaker dress of the time of William Penn. Kate and Minnie were perfectly at their ease. They had great pleasure in talking with the young artist. Kate had evidently seen the world more than her friend had. She was accus- tomed to homage, and & certain coquetry was not unknown to her, which, however, existed in no degree in her friend. Marcel explained this to himself very naturally. Kate was very rich. Minnie, he was' persuaded, was I very poor, an orphan probably, and acting as lady Companion to Kate. -They; had perhaps been i schoolmates, which would explain their great ¡' affection as if between equals. Often the two young friends came together, but at times the one t arrived without the other to give a short sitting. J Sometimes, also, days passed without Mareel seeing his gentle models. They had many people at the chateau, or they went to New York to make purcliaat*. These days appeared intermin- able to the young man. He began to ask himself i if be was not in love. In love ? be, a painter, without a penny, with the daughter of a mil- II lionaire? If he was enamoured of the brilliant Kate, he was not less so with her modest friend When she was seated to him as model for the Puritan ancestresll lie saw in her a beauty be had "j not previously perceived. Marcel's curiosity increased regarding his model Puritan, Profiting by a short Jilenco one day, when Minnie was "posing," be said, a little abruptly, "You and Mademoiselle M'Donagh were at school together, were you not I" "Yes, for some years', but I was there before she came. I was quite little, and had no mother. The mistress of ihe boarding-school, a far-off cousin of my father (who at that time with difficulty gained a livelihood), proposed to educate ma, and to make me afterwards her assistant. Without that I should hardly have been educated in a boarding-school so costly." He was not deceived then. She was without fortune; she had her living to make. And you have no fMr," hazarded Marcel, that vacations passed in princely luxury shall be a bad preparation for a lite of work ? Pardon me if the interest which my model inspires in me renders me indiscreet." reddened—in fact, she was a little sur- prised and perplexed, but she collected herself immediately, and a smile cause to her lipi. "No, I have no fear." There was a slightly embarrassing silence. Minnie had become serious. She continued— I have vary often thought, especially since I became an orphan, aud since my father's death has left me mistress of my own destiny, that young rich girls, like my friend Kate, for example, passing a life so empty, so occupied with trifles, and so little leading to desirable tili,igr,-Ul! lest a true marriage, as so rarely happens, may come to snatch the worldling from the world-are very much to be pitied." "They have the air, if I can judge of all by one example," said Marcel, laughing, "of being perfecly content with their lot. What says Mademoiselle Kate to this ?" "She laughs at me, as you are doing, M. Leroy, and she calls me 'strong- minded you may perhaps, indeed, deride me as a Socialist who has not yet attained her majority but in my opinion a great fortune is a trust, and tho millionaire who does not seek to relieve misery is a criminal." "But," said Marcel, what do you object to in your friend ? Her father's fortune if not her's." No but she has much influence over her father. If she said, 'Give me every year a sum for a hospital, or etidosv any charitable work I can manage,' her father would do it. She would thus employ herself she would relieve misery, and all would not hinder her being still a woman of fashion." "You are severe on your best friend," said M&rcel, a little coldly. "I have no wish to be severe," replied the young girl very sweetly. "I love Kate with rJl my heart. I know her to be capable of generosity and devotion. Her faults are inherent In her position. She believes she is courted solely for her money, nnd mistrusts everyone, thinking, too, to play with her cloud of suitors, while xemaining absolutely mistress of herself." There was a little coldness in the interviews with Minnie for soma days. Kate, when her turn came, was all amiability, ger,ting the painter to speak of his past, of his hopes and ambitions. S'ie listeneshe encouraged him, and avowed that her greatest regret was not to know as much as she would have liked in matters of art. Marcd began to lose his- head already, in spite of his resolution. She a c,,qil,tte she coldly mitle" of herself, amusing herself with the insect which fluttered round the fl>ime! Miss Minnie could keep her counsels for others he had no need of them. A hint came to him from another direction. One morning early Mtte-cel went to take a turn in the garden before beg nning his work. The young painter felt quite happy, and explained this emviable state of mind by the freshness of the morning air, not wishing to attribute it to the prospect or the sitting wh;ch .was to be given that day the last sitting, Itb. for the portrait of Miss M'Donagli was almost finished. Hallo cried someone to him. It was a child voice. Seeing no one, he looked round about.hitn, when a mocking laugh made him look ur. On a low branch of an apple tree Miss Maud M'Donagh, aged 11 year?, was seated munching an apple. "rt?ilVeia said she "it is very good." "Thanks, mademoiselle I do not like green and acid fruits, like little girls who mount into trees. Maud coutmned to bite the apple. "I eat apples because! choose. I would not like to be of your country, where your little gijli say Papa Mainma, like a doll I had last year." "And who has said that little girl of my country are like mechanical dolls ? K- te." Ali, Marcel o-ine near. Maud's bright little eyes twinkled. Ah, that interests you now You won't lecture me any rhore ?" }J, y°U ar'1 I will not." bat is to say if 1 Hpeak to you about Kate. I wish Kate was married she is twenty, and that s very old. All Kate's sweethearts ere very nice to me when I hpeotk of her to them, but one day I shall have sweethearts for myself." Mnrcel made a movement of surprise and anger — 1 All Kate,$sweethearts Oh, if you are going to be angry," said the littl- one, you shall know nothing." Wiiat is there to tell ?" said Marcel, in spite of himself. "I know," said Maud, still biting at her apple, ,tnafc yxn al'° fond of Kafce- Kate told Minnie that. When Minnie asked her if she woui'l con- sent to become Aira Marcel Leroy, she laughed, and Minnie got very serious. Then Kate got serious too (I was just above them in a tree, and I heard every Woni). She said that she did not believe in people having nothing more than a paiette to otfer in exchange for millions that she could, perhaps buy a prince's crown with hers. Then I heard nothing more, for Minnie went away angry and Kate followed her to make friends again. Marcel went off deeply wounded, and left Maud to her apples. Marcpl was still nnder the feeling of vexation when Miss M'Donagh came to give her last sitting. She found the painter very much occu- lied in examining some canvases covered with first sketches. "I see, M. Leroy, that you have been working between the sittings. There are quite a number of respectable ancestors now." "Yes, Mademoiselle, the work advances, but there is still a terrible deal to do. I was engaged in calculating approximately the time it would yet take me to finish my ta-k." "You long to leave u.,i? said Kate, with an expressive look of her beautiful eyes. It would be ungrateful of me, Mademoiselle, to say yes American hospitality has very many charms, and when it is practised by a young lady who has all the qualities and all the- graces for it, exile is rendered supportable." "My father will 'be Very :;r)rry to have inflicted on you so painful a stay," said Kate, much piqued Marcel laughed. "Monsieur your father, shall put on one side the balance ot the dollars he owes me and on the l'i regress of exile, and he shalf surely find that he pays largely the one with the other. I have been very happy in accepting his offer. It drew me out of a momentarily difficult position. On my return to Paris, it may bo possible, thanks to my pencil, to begin life again seriously—to start housekeeping." Perhaps you are going to get married ? Kate said, biting her lips. Siie had, perhaps, said more than she intended. How indiscreet I am You are right to many, and as soon as possible. If I were a man, and in your place, I would do the same, so as to have someone to vent my ill-humour upon, some one to dress my linen, and to lay bv my cents." "You hardly make marriage poetical, 11 You liii-dly make marriage poetical, 0 there is marriage and marriage. I am think- ing of those in your world •" Which can value sometimes the shameful bargains between millions and titles," he said. Kate locked at him with lofty grandeur. I do not understand. Am I in the pose ?" The sitting did not last long. Maud came running in to announce that papa had arrived. It was a relief to bo,-ti., The arrival of Mr M'Donagh, with his daughter Blanche, completely changed the aspect of life at the chuteau. Mr M'Donagh went to see t.he painter, approved of the work, commended his celerity, and then went off with his whole band to New York. Tiie silence and desertion seemed very hard to bear after so many weeks of very charming society. What surprised Marcel was to find that he missed the presence of Minnie as much as that of Kate. The disillusion had Peen painful, but was complete. Studying the two portraits, he was astonished that he had aver given the pre- terenea to Kate. He now found real beauty in the Quakeress. He had be n bliud and indifferent The more Marcel put from him the fascinating image of Kate the more he thought of Minnie. He loved to recall their conversations. Ah, if he had had an assured position, there were moments when he would havo risked her hand. But if love for a young woman too rich was unpardonable folly, love for agirl poor,bntaccustomed to luxury, would be equally culpable folly. The wisest way was to end his task as soon as possible, to pocket his dolhr, aud to return to Paris without seeing either X.-t-e or Minnie. Marcel at last saw with pleasure the comple- tion of h:8 task. He wrote to Mr M'Donagh that all his ancestors had been recalled to life, and that each was installed in the panel to which he was entitled. The American came with haste. The series of thirty-two personages began with a Knight Companion of Richard Coeur de Lion-a. Blondel M'Donagh, as it might be—and ended with Terence M'Donagh himself, holding in his hand a nugget of gold which latter idea did not displease the American miner,for though the mines were realty mines of silver, tho silver was easily transmutable into gold. The Atnerioan wrote a cheque on his New York banker. When do you go ?" Immediately. I shall take a short holiday, however. I shall probably visit Boston and Washington, and make a little acquaintance with New York." NL- rcel did not add that, ff he desired to visit New York, tirrrl were some of its inhabitants whom he wished to see before quitting the New < World for ever. "Gotd I" said M'Donagh. To-morrow they have a dance at our house, and, in fact, I am asked by the ladies to invite you to it." I Arrived, on the evening ot the ball, at the old minei'n house, which he found a veritable para- dise, he quickly noticed Kate in the whirl of a Waltz. Sue, too, perceived him, and abruptly quitting her companion, she came with extended bands towards the painter. Marcel bowed low. "No. you must give me your hand. Are we not to l o friends any more? If you |)ave for- gotten our talks at Idlewild. I have not forgotten i them." A few more words on either ride made them I friends again, Kate declaring that though she l had in a moment of ooquetry and thoughtlessness said the words which, repeated by someone, had I given snch offence to the artist, she felt real sym- pathy for a man of his loyalty and pride of heart. He had long, very long, conversations with Minnie. They saw each other the next day, and the day after that. Then, rthen the hour of part- ing came, Marcel could hardly break away from ber sweet presence. 1 Adieu," said Minnie to him. Adieu?" said Marcel. "That is impos- I sible it seems to me that, in leaving you, I leave the best pa.rt of my life, and yet I dare not say au levoir. I dare not say wait till I have a name, a little comfort to offer you, for that, Minuie, would be to say, wait a long time." I "Say au revoir, bnt only that," replied Minnie. I am going to Europe next autumn with a family, and we shall go to see Paris." The summer passed. Then the leaves yel- lowed and fell, and Ma reel was still waiting. He j had worked well. He had succeeded with his j pictures, and several had been bought, chiefly by amateurs sent by Mr M'Donagh. The atelier assumed by degrees a cheerful and pros- '¡' atelier assumed by degrees a cheerful and pros- perous aspect. All his debts were paid, and fortune smiled on the young man. Marcel, however, was ill at ease. Since his departure from New York Its -ha(i received no news of Minnie. He ran hii eyes. y through, the t' American newspapers, for what special reason he could hardly tell but one time lie read two lines in them with siugular interest. An heiress I' of twenty-one had founded an institution at New York for the education and art training of young girls w thout fortune. He wondered whether this young parson had heard his inspired Quakeress propound her views as to the disposal of the money of the rich. She had said in the autumn," and now it was the end ot October. He was beginning to despair, and even say some hard things, when at last one fiue day Minnie entered his atelier. "You have been expecting me?" said she smiling. "It appears to me ages that I have been waiting your coming. Ah, you will not leave me more. VVe shall not be rich, Minnie, but I can now offer you my hand without shame." you my hand without shame." I And if I had the fortune of Kate M'Donagh, would you not have married me 2 Il Ah. nc; upon my word." They remained a long time talking, hand-in- I hand, and it was arranged that the marriage should take place immediately the requisite formalities were gone through. I must go now, however; my friends expect me." Your friends Ah, the family in which you are governess; will they allow me to see you?" "Yes, yee," replied Minnie, smiling; "come this evening to the Hotel Meurice." In the evening, Marcel was shown into a room in which there were several persons. "Minnie will be here immediately," said a lady, who appeared to know the circumstances. Marcel sat down to wait. A little girl of about the age of Maud M'Donagh was seated near him, and was eyeing him a little timidly. To encourage her Marcel said— "Mademoiselle Minnie, is she severe? She is your g,)vernet; is site not?" I The little girl stared. Why, she i, or rather she was, one of the richest heiresses in the t: nitel States. Her father was Mr M'Donagh's partner, and she h's only child. She', a overne"<'1; what a funny idea! She htit3 founded an hospital with her fortune. There is enough left of it, however Marcel was astounded. He rose sharply, and went forward to meet Minnie, who entered at this m0ment. You have deceived me, mademoiselle." You are deceiving yourself, Marcel, and I have treacherously profited by your mistake to make yon love me. My father's history resembles very much that of his partner, Mr M'Donagh. Oniy t had not ttie courage.of Kate. I had fear of fortune—the fear of becoming frivolous and woildiv-above all, that of being courted for my dollars. In niarryinp, me you shall not marry one I over-rich and for myself, I shall have had the satisfaction of putting my theories into practice wi ile thus securing my own happiness and I trust yours also—it least, I hope so, my dear bethrotbed." < THIC END.
.-:':=:7"---ABOUT A DIRECTORY.
.=:7" ABOUT A DIRECTORY. It was at one of the up-town district telegraph offices one evening recently. A man in a biue shirt walked in to have a message sent. He was very wild and western in appearance, wore a blue flannel shirt and a soft hat, and had tobacco juice running down his beard in a twinkling torrent. After writing the name of the map with whom he desired to communicate, he happened to forget the number of the street in which he lived, and saili politely to the clerk- Have you a directory ?" "It is over there," sa.id the clerk, pointing across the room. Will you get it forme for a moment ?" I can't," responded the telegraph operator "it is chained." "Oh, I see," broke in the visitor; "it is chained, eh? That is probably because it is dangerous." "Not at all, sir." Has it hydrophobia ?" queried the man who desired to get the number, with some anxiety. "I didn't say it had." I know you didn't, and that s just why I am suspicious that it is on the straight snap. Does it bite?" "I never heard of it biting," the clerk stam- mered back, in tonps of gieat embarrassment. Oh, you didn't, eh? Well, tl)en, if it doesn't bite and hasn't hydrophobia, does it wear a muzzle?" shouted the customer leaning over the counter and gesticulating in a ""ld, fierce manner. "No, it doesn't wear a muzzle, screamed the clerk, putting on a little defiance. Then what makes you chain^it up?' To keep it from going away. "To keep it from going away? repeated the man in the big hat, excitedly what is it, any- how—a quadruped 0r a blpe. Neither," said the clerk, m a tone of voice' that showed his great emotion. Has it got wings?" X.- it, I see," said the man in the blue shirst. cc It' a fish. How often do you change the water and throw in flies ?" It can't move at all; >t no J*8'1 > its inani- mte nnd hasn't any kind of life," -Plai-d the clerk in a slow, careful manner it can't move at all." Didn't you just say y°u chained it up to keep it from going away ?" I did," said the clerk, with a, crestfallen air. And now," screamed the caller, triumphantly, you say it can't move. Now, if it, can't move, can it go away 2" No." And if it is not nomadic, and call,t go away, what's the use of chaining it'lit) ?" ) To keep it in one spot," was the reply. To keep it in one spot, eh 2" repeated the aggressor. Do you think it could be in two spots at the same time Do you think, at this very moment, it could be used by me here, a man in Kentuck, and a widow in Hong Kong." I do not," answered the clerk meekly. Then, wbat is your idea of trying to keep it in L one spot, when you acknowledge it can ,t cover a dozen ?!' n S., that we may Ilse it." Do you think you can use it better in one spot than in a dozen ?" I don't know," stammered the operator. You don't know, eh ? Well, you don't look as though you knew much. Will you just turn to B and hunt up Bloomingdale, and tell me how mauy members of your family ace banging themselves against padded walls ? No, I will not yel!ed the man. Well, I suppose it's a family secret, and you are sensitive on the subject." N"t at all! I "Oh, you are not, eh? Then you are proud of it, and put on style over it ? I suppose they are chained to keep them from going away ? No, they nre not!" Oli, I see," sail the other; "they are harm- less simply dreamy imbeeiles, with heads like monkeys, and they don't require anchoring." The clerk was silent, completely overcome by tbi volley of words. Will you now unchain your directory and lead it forth," shouted the caller. I can't." What's the matter, are you paralysed "No but it is egainst orders to take it off the chain, because one was taken away week before last." "Doyou think I want to tnkè it away? Do you think I have never read that standard work, and do you think I am thirsting for poetry and consolation like a seashore dreamer? Do you, turthermore, for a motnent think I would steal a thing that cl%ll, t be trusted off a chain ? "I don't know ..m "Yon don'r,, eh ? broke 111 the other. Well, then, just take that, you inferable, addlepated, electric-slinging nincompoop and with that he let out and fetched the operator one under the ear that brought him down like the price of coal in summer, and stretched him out on the floor. At this juncture a policeman came in and stopped the row, the office hands clamotiiing'for the arrest of the pugnacious party, and the latter vowing in picturesque language that he would start in with [ a libel suit against the company the first thing in the morning. -Ame?-ican Paper.
[No title]
-=== A cow enteréda church in Canada and drove the choir out. The congregation immediately took up a collection and bought the cow. An old lady of New Hampshire, who recently celebrated her eightieth birthday by giving an elaborate supper, at which every article, including the cheese and butter, was made with her own hands, thus explained the secret of her health and vigour: "I never fret over things I'cannot help; I take a nap, and sometimes two, every day of ray life; I never take my work to bed with me, and I oil the many wheels of a busy life by an implicit faith that there is a brain and a heart to this great I. universe, and that I can trust them both."
THE POACHER'S REVENGE;
THE POACHER'S REVENGE; Or, The Mad Convict. By the Author of .C Adventures of a Social Wastrel," •' The King of the Beggars," The Gentleman Tramp," <Lx. CHAPTER XIX. MR BtiAMIRE:3 LAST MOVE -DICK RETURNS HOME TO DiE. Squire Clyst would not let Charlie the Chanter" go from the hall that evening. He feared the ballad singer might change his mind, and leave the neighbourhood before he had done with him. "But I must go, Squire. Your son's wife is in the village, eat up with anxiety aa to how you've took the news." "His wife? Are you sure they were married ?" uWell, no, I can't zactly tell you that; but she says she's his wife.' I can't see her till my son, my injured boy, has coine home. Oh, Jack Slocum, you had your revenge 1" "Bat, Squire, if I don't go to 'Nita she may leavB the village, and then-" True; but will it not do if I send a message to her, with some money?" 14 Yes, that might do; but it would be better if I went to see her. You needn't think I shall take my hook. I'm not likely to do that till I've got the huudred quid you promised me." "Very well, you may go); and here are five pounds for her subsistence till I have seen my boy. But you muss come back and stay with the coachman he will find you a bed till everythingis settled." Well, Charlie, how've you got on with the old man ? What does he say?" asked Anita, anxiously. "The main thing with him is to know if you've been spliced, and if that young 'un was born in wedlock; cos if it ain't he will be terribly down on you, I'm thinking.' Anita was silent; she had never looked at the matter in that light. He'll maybe want Dick to throw you over give you a lot of coin to go out of the country," said Cliarlie. "Dick will never do that," said Anita, with a brighter face. Charlie was not so sure of it, but he said noth. ing. "Look here, Charlie, that vagabond, Mr Bla- mire, has been here—wanted to talk to me." "He's after no good, depend upon it. If he got hold of that kid now—" said Charlie to him- self. "I was forgetting the coin the Squire sent you. Here's five quid, 'Nita that's to last till he gets Dick out of Dartmoor. That'll not be long. Take care of the boy, 'Nita; don't let him out of your siglit for a minute. I must go back now, or the Squire will think I'm lost." On his way back he met the village constable. Look here, Mister Pleeceman, there's a gal in there with a kid, and it's werry likely somebody will try to steal it or put its light out just keep a good look-out, wiil you ?" Who is tho girl you're talking about, and who are you ?" U Well, I'm a friend of the Squire's, staying with him at preseut who the girl is I can't, or rather shan't, tell you A friend ol the Squire's, and staying at the Hall A likely story You're a suspicious character, and must come with me." If ycu lay a finger on me I'll drop you like a butcher does a bullock Just follow me, and see me go to the Squired." This the constable did, and was astounded to find that Charlie went to the front door and was ushered in by the servant. Let that bluebottle come in, too I want the Squire to tell him something." It's not necessary, sir; I'll keep a good look. out after the girl and the child." But when Charlie told the Squire of his nephew's conversation with Anita, Mr Clyst agreed with Charlie as to the advisability of giving the constable instructions to watch the movements of Mr Blamire, and the constable was sent for by the Squire. "Now, Mr Bluebottle, p'raps you'll believe me now ?" said Charlie, with a chuckle. The constable said nothing; he was afraid of the Squire, and promised to obey his instructions. Mr Charles Blamire was almost at his wits' end. His cousin was dying, his uncle had said that, and it was possible be would never reach home. Squire Clyst had often said the property must not go out of the family, and in his will had made it a condition that his nephew should assume the name of Clyst. If that gipsy's child were onl, out of the way, and the convict should die, the Squire might even yet become reconciled, for he has no other near relative. But the child—that is the stumb- ling-block If I had a few hundreds I would leave the country, but I was cleaned out before I left London." He walked up and down the road outside the village, vainly racking his brain for some plan of getting hold of Anita's child. Ah who comes here ? A tramp, judging by his slouching walk." Can you spare a copper to help a poor chap to-" Would you like to earn a couple of pounds?' asked Mr Blamire, "That would depend. The likes o' me don't get a job so well paid unless it's on the crook," said the tramp. What do you want me to do?" "Steala child, that is all." And then put it's light out? No jobs of that kind for me, thank you. I'd like well enough to earn a couple o' quid, but I'm not tired o' life yet." N", I don't want you to kill the child, and it's only a gipsyfgirl's brat." Then yotir3 its father, and you're 'fraid she'll blow the gaff to your people ? I tumble.' Bnt what am I to do with the kid when I've got it?" Take it to Loadon, and leave it at a work. house door." That's a job worth more'n two quid; I'll do it for five, and one extra for railway fare." "Vory well; follow me a few yards behind, and I'll show you the place where the girl s stopping." Why, that's a dossing crib! I can get lodgings in there. Sling us over the six yaller boys, and consider the job done. Nothing could be easier. "Oh No, thank you, master tramp. Here's one,—no more now. If you meet me at Ottery Station first train to-morrow morning, and bring the child with you, you'll get the rest." "No, I must have half or I says good night— just as you like," and the tramp was turning away. „ away. Charles Blamire had not many ot those now precious sovereigns in his possession, but, seeing there was no alternative, he gave the man three, bidding him not to fail. They did not know that the village constable had seen them, and had guessed the object of Mr Blamire in talking to such a man. He wants that child, but is too much of a coward to steal it himself. Anyhow, that dirty looking vagabond will want looking after," said the constable to himself. The tramp had often "dossed" at the one lodging-house he village boasted, and thereforo was well acquainted with its structure. Its bed. room accommodation was very limited. There were only three rooms upstairs—one occupied by the landlord and his wife; one large one, with an improvised partition made of two 'old patched sheets hung on a clothes line, dividing it into two compartments and a small room with one bed in it, which, after Charlie had given Anita the five sovereigns, the latter took for a week. The tramp went to bed early, and, guessing that Anita and the child would be in the little room, he took the key out of the lock on the way to the big room. Shortly afterwards Anita retired, and, having seen the key there an hour before, anked the landlady what had become of it. Not being forthcoming, Anita dragged the iron bedRead to the door, and, having seen that the window was fastened, complacently went to bed.. I How lang she had slept she knew not, but she was awakened by the moving of the bed. It was a very gentle movement, but sufficient to disturb ber. Lighting her candle, which she bad taken the precaution to have by her bedside, she found the door open about three inches, and heard a footstep moving away. Replacing the bedstead, and putting an old broken water ilig in such a position on the bed rail that the moving of the door would cause it to fall, she again tried to sleep, but could not—arid lay awake wishing for daylight. She was not again disturbed, and when moruing at last came, the child being still asleep, she went downstairs to make its breakfast. As anyone coming down would have to pass through the kitchen, she had no fear about leaving the child, never dreaming that it would be taken by way of the bedroom window. But the tramp had determined, if possible, to earn the other three pounds, and, having seen Anita go downstairs, he slipped into her room, opened the window, caught up the child, and, the house being a very low one, easily dropped to the ground. He had not got fifty yards, however, before the constable, who had been watching the lodging-house all night, pounced upon him. Now, guv'nor, whose child is that you've got out so early this cold morning ?" The tramp had seuse enough to see that the game was op, and at once dropped the child, -_===:! doubtless thinking the constable wonld pick it up and so let him have a chance to got away. the constable was no village clodhopper he been in the London City police, having home again because London did not agree his wife's health. With a firm grip on the tramp's collar he said* Pick up that child, will you ? If U comes w any harm be charged with murder." "Oh Lord 1" said the tramp, catching up child. "Now come quietly with me, and maybe if roll tell the Squire how you came to steal chat younfl 'un you may get off." t A- early as it was, Squire Clyst was up, [ot the events of the preceding day would not let sleep; and on being informed that a str*mfer' apparently a tramp, had been caught in the act of carrying of a woman's child, he \'fa' greatly excited. u Take the man to the library; 1'11 be tberl dii'«ctly." "Now. then, just tell me who steal that child. Stay, have you (addressing ttt constable) told its mother that the child is eale. No, sir, I—i quite forgot." Jumes, go at once to Murphy's lodging-houst and bring: the gipsy young woma.n here. tell her the child is here, quite safe, and tha- It will be sent to her in half an hour." fellow, how came you to steal this child ? Come, you had better tell. Child stealing means penal servitude, you know." What better will I be if I do tell ? Why, in that the mother will not prose* cute, ana I shall simply send you to goal for > month as a rogue and vagabond. The slop said as how you'd let mo off if I split on the cove what asked me to do it, said th* tramp. "very well; if you refuse I must remand for a. few days to See if we cannot capture tbI other man. Then you'll be committed to the assizes.1* No, thank you IU tell all I knows. A swell cove slung me three quid to steal the youag aa, take it up to London, and lwave it on the step of grubbing ken—beg pardon, yer worship, I means a Workns. I was to have three more quid at Ottery Station, where the bloke was to meet me when the first tram goes to London. He were tall, dark chap, with a big black moustache,- and wore a dark green ulster with a big cape." That's h-lr Blamin, your worship, said the policeman. "It's too late, now, to catch him at Ottery, but We can put the telegraph to work. 0 No, constable, let birno. And as for thi" tramp, fet him o, too. I would not piomise him his liberty, but the man who enticed him to the deed is the truly guilty party. Give him a good meal, and let him go." Squire Clyst ha.d repeatedly looked at the child, and R3.W that he was a. handsome little feilow. It I was sure they nere married—•- No, I Inn". not bave that woman here till I have seen Archie. So the child was taken back to Anita, who had only j'lt missed it when the Squire'* servant brought it to her. Tell Squire Clyst that as I think it Safe to stop here I shall go away to Plymoafcb,sh* said to the servant. "That will never do said the Squire to him- self when he received the message. I mutt have her here there is no alternative." But Anita declined to go to the Hall-iî the Squire wanted her he could come for her. When, however. "Charlie the Chanter" went to her, and said that Dick would be "half off his chump if, when he returned home, he found she had been there and had gone away, she consented to ero and stay with the head gardener at his house inside the grounds. Feeling certain that his nephew would not dare asain to make his appearance at Broad Clyst, the Squire at once left for Liondoni leaving strui^ot orders that under no circumstances was Mr Blamire to be allowed inside the grounds, and that if he attempted to enter by force he was to be taken into custody. The Squire found that th' Governor of Dartmoor Prison Iud written to the Home Office a full account of Jack Slocum'* con- fession, Dick's statement, and the doctor's opinion that the heilth of the latter, was slowly, yet surely, declining. ThH Home Secretary, even had the soi-disan* Dick Smith been an ordinary convict, would, :A8 the result of the doctor's report, have ordered the convict's release, provided be had any relatives able and willing to support and take care of him. [This course is often taken when convicts who -eem to be consumptive or likely to die soon.J Therefore Squire Ciyst had an easy tllElk of in ducing the Home Secretary to grant, not a special licence before the convict was entitled to it, but a free pardon. The squire wished to take it himself, but was informed that this was more thau could be done. To meet his desire to be present when bit son was informed that he was a free man, a letter would accompany the pardon requesiiug the governer of the prison to await the squire's arrival before communicating the tidiugs to the future heir of the Clyst estate. To Dick Smith, otherwise Archie Clyst, tb. days dragged drearily along after he had had his irons removed. He knew that "something w»« in the wind that nearly concerned him, bnt the governor was reticent. He had a bad cough and a pain in his chest, and the doctoF order him into the infirmary, not so much because he was.ill, but that he might have nourishing food. One morning the governor, accompanied by the doctor, came into the ward—the same room where the apothecary had been poisoned-aud, walking up to Dick's bedside, said— Do you think you are strong enough to get up and dres, There'll be some one here to see you presently." "011 1 yes, sir, I'll get up. Who is it? "I'm not at hberty to tell you. Here, Mr Thompson, addressing the warder, get this man dressed as soon as possible. And (speaking in a low tone) take him to the stores and eive biuft the best liberty suit you can find that will fit. « 1 So i 118 come at last," said De k, when the lIberty SUIt was brought, and he was told te et mside of 'emas quick as possible." I'm going to be liberated—but for what His suspense was of but short duratiou A warder conducted him to the governor's oruce, and Dick at once noticed that beside the governor and doctor a strange gentleman was preseut. I have much pleasure in informing your, Mr Clyt, that her Majesty, on the advice of the Home Secretary, haa been pleaeed to grant you ft free pardon." Air Clyst ? Is my father, then, willing to own me ? Is that gentleman ? "My son-my poor Archie—what you must have suffered I thank God your mother was spared, the agony of finding you thus said the Squire, extending both hands to kiss on. Don't think I wish to reproach you, my boy you could not help it. Jack Slocum's revenge has been a terrible one, but he tried to make amends before he died. Stay, father," said Archie, as we must now call him, what has convinced you that I am in- deed your stolen chi'd 1" "My nephew's attempts to keep you out of the way. The large amounts of money he paid to the gipsies, the money he sent to a warder at Brixtou, his attempt in my own village to steal your --j! What-is Anita living with you ?" • j Well, not exactly-she is with the gardener. All the circumstances I have mentioned are proofs that my nephew was convinced of your identity. But come, the governor will, I am sure, pardon my impatience—but I want to get yon home; and then, as far as possible, to make you forget you were ever in such a place What a contrast between that drive to Plymouth and the last ride in the same direction 1 Then he was be.ng removed to a criminal lunatic asylum ^irTCO°u1Cif; H0w h9 was in his father ■ Fur tho howes. \r couple 0f miles Squire Clyst waf PAiialtV K* °cWi.!an» ^en 3 newly-recovered sou caugtt his fathers eye fixed upon him with a look o, comPas8ionate pain that told Archie that, wnatever his past had been, his future would, as tar as his father could make it so. be a happy one. Do you smoke, Archie? Bat, of course, you do. Cigars or tobacco? Tobacco, father cigars I dont care for." "Then, it's lucky I brought this with me, producing a packet of Richmond Gem, aud his own pipe. For some minutes Archie emoked in silence. That's capital stuff, father, but— Well don't be afraid—but what?' My taste may seem strauge, but I'd rather have an Irish pipe full of cut twist that wont do nnw, 18uppr¡se. Not exactly, Archie, but I've got some Old Rip' at home; that's stronger. By.! he-bye, Archie, are you—ah—married to Anita r" No, father, I'm not, but that can eoon ba remedied. I will take her to church as soon M you ike. Nay, it is not what I like. I should like to see you with a wife suited to your future station of life." "What? Give up Anita? No, father, I can never do that. Suppose we stop in Plymouth, send for her to come there, and be married by licence?" Yes, Archie, that will be best, if it must be." They bad now arrived at the Halfway House, a roadside inn, where the Squire had ordered a dinner to be served. But Archie, though the bracing air of Dartmoor had made him feel hungry, could not eat but very little, and on their arrival at Plymouth the Squire ordered the coachman to drive to the best physician in the town. After carefully examining Archie, that gentle- man s opinion was a death-blow to the hopes of the Squire that his sou would take the ulace of his nephew, end bo a companion for the old man'l tt W was g-me —the other hometodieT 116 Clyst Would only (■'o be concluded in our next.)
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THE Hands.—English girls are vdry u" hands. wtiich repay (them for the 1:1 The nails are rosy and shell- j kept clean and cut to a rounded but sliirhtly taperIng point in the centre. The at the base 1 the. nail is carefully pushed back to show the onyx, or little white half-mo >n. With persons who take great care of the nail the onyx developes every day more and more. It ie always observa- ble in a well-kept English finger nail. The per- petual washing of the hand in England, particu lady ID London, where the water is bard, tends to roughen the hand, so that young girls eometimee wear dog-skin gloves or prepared French gloves at night to soften the hand. Glycerine and rose- water, colji cream and washing the hands with almond power are all resorted to abroad for beauti- fying the hand. The American nail is apt to be dry and break easily. Vaseline rubbed on the nail after washing the hands will do a world of g„o i to dry nails. Ic is well, if the nails are ugly and grow badly, to follow the English fashion, ami em- ploy a mauieure for a time. These professionals first bathe the hand a long time in hot water; chea with scissors and knives clean and cut the nails remove the supeifluous skin about the ouyx, then polish the nails with a buckskin and fine powder, washing the hand again in hot water with soap- then drying them carefully they polish the nail, with a fine brush. Again they rub the nails with a rosy unguent togi ve them a tine tint aud then With the hand to suggest a gem-like polish.