®f)e American Volunteer, PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING j BY , BRATTON & KENNEDY. OFfICE-SOVTII MARKET SQUARE. XKBXa:—Two Dollars per year If paid strloliy . n advance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents If paid within three months; after which Three Dollars will be charged. Those terms will be rigidly ad bered to In every instance. No subscription dis continued nntil all arrearages are a old, nnlcss a the Option of the Editors. INical. THE PROPOBITIOR, BY MART WiXSINGHAIT. Ho asked me If l r d have him, And I plainly told him no;. He wanted whys and wherefores, Bat I would not please him so. ' A woman need not—need she ? Distress herself for life, Bi localise some anxious Jeiiow.'" Should chance to want a wife f - He laughed—then frowned upon me, And sold I was too curt; ' * That wit was more than smartness— I was Just a mite too port. I sold it was his dullness— That my wlt'he could not see ; Bat Ithought I’d make him smart,lf He should over marry mo 1 He sold I’d bettor take him, . I’d miss some other man, Then give the world to catch him Wnon he’d changed his bridal plan, 1 sold be needn’t fear It— 9 There was many a better match To light a bridal candle, When I had one to "catch.” He said I'd bettor marry— Llfe waa not always May; That woman don’t.grow younger And prettier every day. * Bat a woman ought not—ought she 7 To wed a lie for llle, Becaasothe right one’s missing, Or she cannol be his wife 7 ||(ketofotß. PUSHED TO THE WALL. Helen Clare was In sore trouble. When you hear how It was, some of yon will pity her; others who know nothing of the terrible straits some of os are required to pass through will j udge her relentlessly. I have nothing to say —I only tell her story. She was twenty-eight years old—old enough surely to have got wisdom. She had been a fashionable woman ever since she 'came out,’ten years be fore. Or, perhaps, I bad better say nine years before, for the first year that she was In society she was a sweet, pure hearted, innocent girl. She thought no wicked thought—she put confidence In life, and the world ; and so she believed Boss Vancover, when be told her, and swore to be true through time and eter nity. How beautiful these first love dreams are i Baugh at them as we may, when we get older and learn a thing or two ; there is a certain delicious something about a first love which remains always In memory, but which never comes in second love, no matter how pure and true that love may be. V Some girls love lightly and easily, and forget quite readily, but for Helen, it was a serious thing. She entered into her engagement „ with Boss Vancover. with solemn earnestness, and after she had promised herselt to him she deemed It wrong to permit another man to touch the band he bad'clasped. The lips he had kissed were held sacred to him alone —she said to herself that no other man should ever kiss her. She sang only for him ; she read the books he praised—in short, she made herself a slave to bis ca prices and gloried in the thraldom. Per haps fate saw things clearer than she did, for it made Boss Vancover false. His nature was a false, fickle one,- He was unstable as water. Selfish and cross grained, oaring only for his own gratifi cation,he soon wearied of Helen’s purity, and sought a woman more like himself. He grew cold to Helen, and she, instead of scorning him as be desired, tried to win him back by kindness and love.— Not until his engagement with Miss Flora Stoyvesant was announced did she oast him off, and then she came near dying. For months she hovered between life and death but rallied at last, and rose from her sick bed a changed being. Ail tenderness and feeling were crushed out of her.. If she had any heart left, she did not know it from any manifestation it made, She developed into a most skillful and unscrupulous flirt—a woman who delib erately laid her plans to win men’s hearts, and then cruelly trampled on them and tried to think she was happy in doing so. Perhaps she was, but In the silence of night, when no eye but that of the Crea tor was upon her, she paced her cham ber, frequently until day dawn, weeping tears that scalded and seared instead of relieving. And in her breast there rose ever a wild longing of the sweetness of youth and innocence fled forever. She bad no relatives but an aunt—a middle aged woman, who bad been for years dying of consumption. Aunt Mar garet was her father’s sister, and when Mr. Clare died he left the whole of his property to her, except a yearly annuity to his daughter. At aunt Margaret’s death, everything belonged to Helen, but until that idiehadonly tills yearly atipened. It was a rather peculiar will hut Mr. Clare was a singular person, and there had been always a yery strong' tie of affection between him and sister. The whole thing fretted Helen exceed ingly. It looked as if her father lacked confidence In her, and besides, in the life she was leading, it was extremiy difficult to keep her expenses within her Income. She ran in debt. Sparingly at first— but urged on by the revelry of her fash ionable friends, she grew bolder, and borrowed larger sums. At her aunt’s death she would be possessed of a cool hundred thousand, and it seemed rather hard, she thought, that she should have to calculate the cost of a dress before pur chasing, or to look timidly at a twenty dollar brooch before making up her mind If she could afford it. Aunt Margaret might have helped her, but she was a stern, uncompromising woman who had long ago renounced the sins and vanities of this world, and be lieved in sack-cloth and ashes most thoroughly. An error she could not for give. Heaven knows how she would have dealt with a sinner. Helen never went to her—she would as soon have died as asked Aunt Marga ret to help her out of the difficulty her extravagance had led her into, and it is not at all likely that the lady would have done anything of the kind if she had been solicited. Helen bad been most unfortunate in ithe selection of a creditor. Looking back upon it now, she could the Jlmeriiir Boltmteer. ' * ■ i 1 BY BRATTON & KENNEDY. not understand how it was that she had ever consented to become Qeorge La- Grange's debtor. > B!o was a flourishing broker; a man of property and good standing financially— but Utterly destitute of moral principle. He was a widower, and when he first be came acquainted'with Helen, he decided that she should be bis wife. In bis fierce, passionate way be loved her, and she suited well bis Idea of what a woman should be. She was beautiful, graceful, accomplished and sharp wilted—justtliiT sort of woman he wanted to preside over bis cosy mansion, and queen it in sooi- He bad never wanted anything in his life without obtaining it, consequently Helen’s coldness only made him the more determined. She was In debt to him about three thousand'dollars. He began his game carefully, for be bad suited the ground well, and knew Just where to place his. force. She could not pay him until her aunt’s death, and the old lady, though ehe bad been at the door of death for eo long a time, seemed in no wise inclined to enter In thereat. The physician said daily that she could not live until anoth er sunrise, and yet she lingered—and seemed likely to. In the first place Legrange asked Hel en if ehe could not pay him part of what she owed him. He woe so sorry—in deed, nothing would have tempted him to mention it bat sheer necessity. Helen told him. frankly that she had not the means. He must wait. After that he grew importune, and declared that unless he was paid by the first of Decem ber, be would go to Aunt Margaret and, telling her the whole etory, demand payment. Ab I said before, Helen would have died sooner than have her Aunt know of her indiscretion, and she bumbled her self to ask mercy of the man she loathed. Was there no other way? Nothing that she could do to induce him to wait ? ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there was one thing, if she would be his wife, the debt was can celled.’ Helen started up in disgust, but be pat the case plainly before her ; and in her desperation she promised him that if ehe could not pay the sum due by the ■first of December she would be his. Ob, how she detested herself for the promise I How she wished that she might die, and end it all before the fatal time arrived I The kiss he bad pressed upon her bad burnt like fire—she dashed the band an grily against the panels of her carriage: as sbe rode home, as if it had committed an offence against her. Oh, how long, and eagerly, and wea rily, she thought over experiments for obtaining money! If her whole prospec tive fortune could have brought her three tboueand dollars, she.would have sold it gladly. ■ Bhe could doubtless have raised money on her property, with her Aunt’s proba ble decease so near, hut that she would not dci, and so the days went on and the last week in November was slipping away. Of all her frleuds there was not one to whom sbe could go. She sat down and thought them all over. Strangely enough; the wish came into her heart that she might dare to go to Clyde Archibald, and confessing every thing, throw herself on hie mercy. And who was he 7 A proud, grave faced man of thirty-four or five, who scarcely ever deigned to notice a silly co quette like ber ; but was a power in him self, and his strength was always equal to all occasions. His character was bright and spotless —bis name a synonym for ail that was noble and true. He bad a suit of rooms at Aunt Marga ret’s ; and be boarded at the American Bouse. Helen met him of necessity frequent ly, but there was little sociality between them. He did not seem drawn to her— and Helen was too proud to try her arts on a man like him. Once she bad dreamed of him. She saw bis dark eyes full of tenderness for her—she thought that his lips touched her cheek, and then she awoke in a thrill of ecstasy for, which she was, at a loss to account. Mr. Archibald was not a society.man, and be bad a, few intimate friends. John Markiey was his most trusted compan ion. Markiey was his confidential clerk, the son of a poor widow and her whole dependence, and a nobler-hearted fellow there was not in the world. It was a credit to Mr. Archibald that he loved and appreciated the young man. Even when Hdleu eat in her room thinking of Mr. Archibald, be entered hls chamber, just a few doors further down the corridor. The weather was warm for the season, and both tier door and big stood open. She heard distinct ly what he was saying to young Mark ley, never dreaming what a terrible significance his words would ycthave for her. ’Business calls me to Savannah, John, I shall be absent for six weeks, probably. I leave everything in your bands. And, by the way, there is a package of five thousand dollars in the secret drawer of my desk. I have neglected Investing it, but shall attend to it on my return.’ Archibald, after some further conver sation of no moment to us, went away, but'before'he left he came into Helen’s sitting-room. •I have so few friends,’ said he, 'that it takes but little of my time to soy good-bye to them.’ •I am very sorry you are going,’ she replied, ‘but than you will enjoy the journey.’ ‘I certainly shall—that Is, if you ore in earnest in expressing yourself regretful,’ be said, hesitatingly, and held oat his band, She placed hers within it. ’Good-bye,’ he said, softly, looking In to her eyes, ‘good-bye, Helen.’ There were three days of grace yet, and then she must redeem her promise to George LoGrange. ‘He came to the house the day before and said that nothing should induce him to show her any pity. Either the money or the sacrifice.’ Suddenly, after ho had left, after she bad wept herself half mad, and hardly knew whether she were in the body or out of it, a new thought leaped like lightning into her mind, Mr. Archibald’s money I It was lying there in his desk idle, and a part of it would save her from a fate worse than death. She could re- place it long before he would return, for a consultation of physicians bad decided that Aunt Margaret could live but a few days longer. The last fatal symptoms bad appeared and there would be no more dallying with the destroyer. Helen was in that state when the pow er of judging between right and wrong is the least. The starving man does not stop to nsk ll it is ‘wrohg“f6 — steal - bread' to stay the cravings of hunger j the con vict wljen he flees from his prison cell does not question bis conscience to tell him if his flight is right. To get out of Legrange’s power was all that Helen thought of. For that she would have sacrificed her hopes of heaven.. Good help her. - She rose and listened. -Ho sound in Archibald’s room, and then she remem bered that Markley was away. He had taken advantage of bis partner’s ab sence to visit his mother. Stealing along the corridor, Helen tried the door of the etudy. It was fast, but ber key fitted the door. She brought it, and with trembling hands put it into the lock. ' Sbe entered the room—there lay the keys of the desk In a box on the table. Markley bad forgotten them- Surely tup devil was making It easy for her. She unlocked the desk and sought for the secret drawer. The package of bank notes lay before her. With eyes burning like fire and cheeks blood-red with ex citement, she counted out the notes un- til she held the sum which would secure ber salvation from that man’s power . in ber band. She closed and looked the desk and drawer, and fled like a guilty wretch to her chamber. If she had al lowed herself one moment for reflection, she wonld have returned the money and submitted to her fate, but ehe took no time to think it over. As quickly as possible she drove to Legrango’s office, paid the money, and received the papers Which bound her. Begrange was angry and disappointed, and would have put her off on some pre text, but he saw that it would be danger ous to trifle with her in that mood, so be was fain to do the square thing. ‘The devil take her !’ejaculated he, angrily, ae ehe closed the door between him and ber’ .‘I would have given a score of thousands for the privilege of taming that haughty spirit.’ Helen went home in a delirium of ex citement. She gave herself not a mo ment for rest or thought. There was a bail that night, and she was there— splendidly attired—and never before half so radiantly beautiful. But she said and did the strangest things, and people whispered together, and wondered what made ber eyes so bright and ber cheeks eo red, and ail the women were jealous of her, and all the men went ravlug about her. But later in the evening, pale and hag gard, and cold os ice, she staggered to ber carriage, and fell helplessly down among the cushions. For on being led to a seat by Colonel Angler, the lion of the evening, with whom she bad been dancing, she bad seen Clyde Archibald at the upper end of the room talking with the hostess. He had returned—for some reason be had not taken the Journey be intended' taking—and she was lost! The -theft would be discovered—it would be traced to her I The theft! Yes, she waa a thief—a fel on in the eyes of the law. He might put her in prison if he chose, and he waa a just maa— do doubt he would lettbeiaw take its course. She paced her chamber till- day dawn ed,.and then she remembered that sbe must keep up appearance to the last shuddering at the sight of the greju cir cles beneath ber. eyes, and the. cheeks white as death which last night had been red as roses. The sun rose—it was breakfast time— and she went down and passed through the farce of trying to eat. Ob the anguish that Helen Clare en dured! She wondered afterward how she suffered and yet lived. The terrible calm—this stillness of sus pense—she could not bear it I She must have excitement of some kind or she would go mad. She bad an Arabian mare saddled which she had never yet mounted be cause it was deemed unsafe—but now she gloried in the prospect of danger. If the horse would only manage to throw her and break her neck, It would be tbe best thing that could happen. It would settle so much trouble and settle tbe whole af fair much better than It could ever be settled otherwise. She chose the most dangerous roads— she goaded tile mare to desperation, but at sundown she returned home safe. Mrs. Greer,, the housekeeper, met her in the ball. ‘Such a strange thing has happened—" Miss Helen,’ said sjie, ‘Mr. Archibald did not have to go South after all, and when he went to his roomthia morning he found that three thousand dollars bad been stolen from bis desk 1 Aud nobody but Mr. John (knew that it was there, and be had tbe keys I Strange that be should do it. We all thought him such a nice young man. But Mr. Archibald talks like a Christian about It. He says that be did wrong to leave It In that way, and that it was a great temptation to poor young man. The room swam before Helen’s vision, but she managed to answer Mrs. Greer somehow, and to escape to her room. A half-hour of stern self-communing, of wild, passionate prayer to heaven for direction, and her resolution was taken. The innocent should not suffer lor the guilty, She would go to Mr. Archibald and give herself up. She took off her riding habit and then threw a wrapper around her. Her long, sunbright hair had escaped from Its fas lenlngs and hung in a mass of half curl ing I noses over her shoulders. She did not stop to gather It up—ln fact, she never thought of her appearance, and when a woman 1s sufficiently excited to forget her iooksyou may know that there is a tumult within. She went direct to Mr. .Archibald’s study—entered without rapping, and closed and looked the door behind her,— Mr. Archibald sat before the fire, and rose when she entered to advance toward her, but something in the miserable, CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 25, 1872. haggard face she tamed upon him, nr resten his steps. 'Good Heaven, Mias Clare,' be ex claimed, 'what has happened?’ She pat her two bands dn the back of the chair from which he bad risen, and without pausing for thought, she - told .him the whole wretched story from Be ginning to end. She left nothing hid den. She told him.the episode with Boss Vancover, whiob bad soured and warp ed her whole nature; and then, step by ■steprsho-'Went—on-untii he knew the secret workings of her heart better than she knew them herself- Not a word did he utter during the narrative—indeed, she spoke so rapidly that there was no chance for interruption. . T ask for no mercy,’ she said, in con clusion, ‘only for the time Aunt Marga ret lives. It would embitter her last hours to know that the relative she has so long loved and trusted was a miserable crim inal. Only be silent until she is at rest, and then do with me as you will.’ Archibald put out his band and laid it. on her shoulder. •Helen,’ said he hoarsely, ‘I will con sent to no reprieve—l can give you none. I shall do with you os I do now.’ And before she comprehended him he had drawn her into bis arms and was nisslng her ley cheek. ‘I love you,’ he went on raplilly. ‘lt has been a long, long time since I knew how dear you were to me, but I saw you surrounded by crowds of admirers—most ot them younger, ham somer, more at tractive, and I knew my chance would be small. But when you tell me that in thisstrait your impulses led yon to come to me—that you longed to ask me to help you—X take courage, Helen, my love, tell me that I have misunderstood you— tell me that you do love me!’ She tried to free herself from his era-, brace, but be held her last. ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘do you realize what you are saying? Do you remember that I am, in the eye of the law, a felon ?’ ‘I realize that you have been sorely tried, and that we are all liable to fall into error. And, Helen, a wife's faults are safe in the keeping of her husband. Be mine," and I will teach you to forget that you ever lived until you came to me to be loved and cherished ’ He stopped suddenly, for he saw that she did not bear him- Her cheek that rested against his was cold as death—and the parted Ups he kissed were stirred by no breath. She lay in nis arms a dead weight. **»*.»* * * * Weeks and weeks rolled on, and Helen Clare was conscious of nothing that passed. Her Aunt Margaret died and was buried, but no sound of it could penetrate to the. deafened ear in that darkened chamber where Clyde Archi bald watched the struggle between life and death.. He seldom left her, and so it happened that when at last sense and life returned to Helen, his was the first face she saw. ‘ Heaven be thanked I 1 he cried, fer vently, seeing the glance of intelligence in her eyes. 'Helen, dearest, speak to me 1! She’ put one feeble arm around bia neck. ‘Dear Clyde,’ she whispered, faintly ‘ I have dreamed of yen every night, and I thought you'had forgiven me.’ • ’ And you thought right. Helen, as aoon as you can sit up you are going to be my wife.- I will never let you go into the world again until I have you for my own. I should lose you, and— * No, you could never lose me, because you are my world,’ she said, softly, and this was their betrothal. OBASED BY WOLVES. ' It was a race for life. Following hard upon the|fleet skater wereatrbopof wolves asfleet. Charles Vaaoe heard their breath- ing, the short Impatient snufls, the reg ular patter of sharp feet upon the ice like a click. The scene lay in Canada. The moon sailed through drifting clouds, now partially obscured, then bursting forth in a flood of silvery light. At one side was the dense pine forest, broken by clumps of leafless oak or hickory, and winding in and out as it followed the course of the river; on the the other, the wide, snow covered plain. $ mile yet before a bouse could be reached, and in that time— Brave as he was, Mr. Vance shuddered. At twenty-eight there was so much of life before him. He had reached a point where fortune began' to smile upon him ; and for the past six months bis leisure hours had been bright with glowing air castles, which ail bad Bose Ardiey for their day dream. For her sake It was that he had undertaken this perilous journey. Faster, faaterl This turn showed him lie tierce gleaming eyes that repeated themselves until there seemed to be hun dreds. Rays of lurid light flashed out; lolling scarlet tongues, that thirsted for a draught of blood, and a dainty morsel of flesh. A mis-step, a half-hidden hil- lock of ice to trip the unwary traveler, a moment lost, and ho would be in the power of these ravenous animals. No wonder his pulses quivered, or that he shrank from so horrible a late. More than once lie bud gone up and down tbe river for pleasure. More than once there had been a gay party; girls in their pretty skating Costumes; but sweet est of all was Rose, her golden curls blown about by the wind, her cheeks brilliant, her purple eyes dilating with enjoyment. Bright and coquettish was she, fond of teasing him until bis pa tience was almost exhausted; but a sweet, loving girl in the midst of It. At mid summer she was to be bis wife. He had extorted that promise from her, though he would fain have taken her long before. And yet, only the other morning they had fallen Into; a trifling dispute about this very visit. She wanted to go up for this Thursday evening; he did not see his way clear tp d° it conveniently. ‘Thursday Is payday,’ he had said, al luding to his work and workmen. I never can get away on Thursday nights until dark. My horse has fallen lame, too, Rose I cannot ride him after to-day.’ ‘You once thought skating up the river a more pastime,’ replied Miss Ard ley, and her tone was a trifle sharp and haughty. ‘ln the day time', and with company. That makes a difference.’ ‘Oh, very well; If you care so little to come, there’s no more to be said.’ And she turned away with an air of suborb Indifference. ‘Bose, it is not that. I can come up Frjday, and stay until Monday.’ ’But Thursday night is Eleanor’s birth night. I thought of the pleasure to her, to have you among her guests. Don't put yourself out, however. Charles Vance was not a man likely to be canonized for either meekness or pa tience.and she was purposely trying him. He felt vexed. ‘l'll come if I can,’ concluded Mr. Vance shortly. His tone was cold, and his eyes wandered over the waste snow. ‘Very well,’ she gaily said. ‘I shall expect you, mind. Good-bye.’, And she kissed to him the tips of her dainty fin gers. He strode down the path, unhitched his bores with a jerk, and went riding ever the road, never once glancing back. Perverse Bose Ardley wos privately peeping after him, rather enjoying than not the semi-quarrel. 'l’l 1 not go; she shall not get me there oh Thursday evening,’ he answered to him self in his annoyance. But ere Thursday evening came his resolve was'broken, af ter the manner of lovers, and he meant logo. ‘I must skate up,’ he said.’ ‘The night Is clear and frosty.’ ‘Hope there’ll be no wolves abroad Mr. Vance,’ said the brawny Englishman, Hugh, one of his workmen and warm admirers, the other morning. You’d better take a pistol. ‘l’ll trust to luck and my good skates,’ answered Mr. Vance, laughingly, rather ridiculing the notion oif ‘wolves.’ • He started. The night, as he observed, was clear and frosty; very bright and cold. Half bis journey had been accom plished, when be beard a shrill, sharp cry echoing from the woods. Then another, os in answer, and one at tance. For a moment his blood curdled In his veins. What were these cries?— Ah what—what but the wolves? Nearer came the cryand nearer, as if the dreadful animals scented their vic tim. He glided over the ioe like light ning, bis strides quickened by the first click he heard from his pursuers. At first, as rapidly as possible, in a straight line ; for not a second was to be lost. Every nerve and limb was straightened to Its utmost tension. A mile, perhaps; and if he had to double—a horrible flash of des pair almost paralyzed him. That was certain death. Why had he been so heedless as to disregard sago Hugh's warning? But he had never seen a wolf during his sojourn in the Canadian wilds. Foster, faster! Turns that.frightfully lengthened his journey, but gave him a moment’s respite, for his pursuers were by this means thrown off tbfeir track, and were some time in recovering their speed. The moon shone out brightly. Every tree seemed outlined against the sky with painful distinctness ; here a gnarled old oak, that had been riven with some fierce bolt; there a clump, of evergreens, that mocked him in their security. And now the river widened. Hardly a week before, he and Rose Ard ley had enjoyed a gay frolic of skatiug on this very spot. Was she still vexed with him 7 Oh, if she could but know. In . imagination there red tongues seemed to touch him. One of them seemed to hurt bimselfin some way, for there came a howi of pain. The pursuit was stopped for an Instant, and then they came on faster. Charles Vance’s limbs were weak, bis pulse throbbing from exhaustion, his very brain reeled. The fiery eyes seemed to scorch him with their lurid glare, and now he could hear the rapid, expectant breath; So near safely, and—a despairing cry broke from his lips. Bose, Rose! Farewell to her, to happiness, to all. Rose Ardley, the centre of a gay group of cousins and friends, was this self-same evening doing her utmost to be attractive. She .was fascinating at all times and sea sons ; but when she used a little effort, could make herself doubly so, She had forgiven Charles Vance a dozen, times since that last angry morning. He would be sure to come early, she complacently told herself, and be duly penitent. After all, Charles Vance was a brave, noble fellow. She thought she would not flirt one bit that night with anybody else.— The guests all arrived. All but Mr. Vance. Rose wondered. Had be been really vexed, and was he staying away to punish her? Well, let him stay. She should not mope or wear the willow.— Lovelorn girls were always absurd. . So Rose Ardley was the gayest of Che gay. They had a quarrel; some of the older ones sat down' to cards. Dr. Cal tran, a deeply scientific man and great mesmerist,, and three or four others, went into a discussion oh that wonderful sub ject— clairvoyance. The doctor had been. relating certain remarkable incidents, when it was proposed that a test should be given then. Who would become a subject. No one’appeared inclined at first, but Mlsa Caltran finally acquiesced, and’took her seat In a chair in a small room they adjourned to. Tbe doctor bad succeeded la sending her to sleep, when Rose look ed in. Her attention was Immediately arrested, and she watched tbe experi ment with much eagerness. ‘Would anyone like to put any ques tions?’ asked Dr. Caltran. Then ensued a silence. Eleanor Ardley broke It. ‘Rose will. Rose is always ready for anything. 1 And Miss Rose acquiesced at once. ‘I don’t know what to ask, or what I would most like to hear,’ she said with a gay laugh. ‘Ask about Charley. Ask what keeps him away. You can tease him well when you know that-’ ‘But—ls there really any truth in It, Dr. Caltran ?’ and Bose’s deep eyes were luminous with some feeling akin to curi osity. ‘lt Is true that the medium can In many cases seem to enter a person’s mind, and answer in a remarkable fashion,’ was tbe reply. ‘Many failures are recorded, and mis takes made,but I think they are due to our imperfect knowledge of tbe science.— Suppose you try, Miss Rose; no one can suspect you of collusion.’ Quite a circle began to gather round.— Miss Caltran appeared to be in a tranquil slumber; her Ups were just gesting her white, even teeth, which were very handsome. ; ‘Well,’ said Bose, daringly. ■Place your hand iffhors,’ directed the doctor. 'Now think intently of the sub ject In which you wish her to feel inter ested, and then ask your question.’ A thousand thoughts Ailed Rose Ard ley’s brain in an instant,'but. that of Charles Vance was the most prominent. What should she say 7’ fordeiiqaoy seem ed to.hold her back on this Subject. ‘Make haste,’ cried Eleanor. ‘What la Charley Vance doing? Has he gone to sleep and forgotten,to come here? Or has be gone visiting elsewhere. -Rose colored. ‘I think I 1 will not-ask ” but a chorus of eager 1 voices inter rupted her. . ‘Ploy fair now, Rose. No backlug out.’ ‘Are you afraid ?’ , It was her cousin Kate who asked this, and the sarcastic tone would haveroused Rose to any efibrt. In a strange flutter .of nerve and brain she began, 'Don’t get excited,’ said Dr. Caitran,' smiling cheeringly. Rose’s mood was too uncertain at first to sway Mis? Caitran, (at least, so the doctor said;) she moved uneasily, and vainly essayed to speak. He approached to tranquillze'her. It was some time be- I loro any coherent answers could be ob tained, and then Rose was wrought up to a strange pitch. Some sudden present iment concerning her lover filed her mind with apprehension. As if transla ting the young girl’s emotion, Miss Cai tran began slowly— ‘Your friend is in great danger—great danger. He is flying as If lor his life first this way, and then that way,’ mak ing si tortuous motion with her banu.— ‘He is.on the river—the ice—and some thing follows him fast. Hark, do you hear asharp.ory?’ Rose turned deathly white in spite of her strongest efforts. ‘ls he coming here?’ she asked, scarce ly knowing what she said. ' ‘Oh, heavens! They are gaining on him fast. He goes like the wind, but they are 100 fleet.’ As Miss Caitran said this—and it must be remarked that her words throughout were labored and slow—she sighed deep ly apd evinced great agitation. Her breath was long and painful. ‘Now they are up with him—now 1 Oh, save him! save him I ' Hark to their cries I ‘Oh, by Heaven, what 1 fools we are 1’ exclaimed Geo. Ardiey, a light breaking on him. ‘I see it all. Vance has skated up.on the river and been followed by a pack of wolves I One whs killed a day or two ago, and several have been seen prowling round. Run for your lives, friends. Get something and come to bis assistance.’ Bose stood spell-bound. For a momen the room swam round; stars appeared to fill every space. George thrust on bis pap and coat, and slung bis rifle over bis shoulder. Two or three followed suit, and the rooVns were in a whirl of confusion. ‘Jjet me go too,’ Bose almost shrieked, “My, child, there may be some mis take,’ said Dr. Caltran, soothingly, alarmed at the consequences of his sis ter's vision. ‘Do pray be calm'. ’ ‘Mo there is no mistake she answered, hysterically. ‘I told him, to skate up— bis horse was lame, Idared him to come. Oh, merciful heavens, forgive me I’ , She was in a perfect agony of despair. The horrible vision her.cousin George’s words conjured up made a more Vivid one in her brain. Her face that had been so brilliant a short time before, was now the picture of anguish. She could not help thinking if any evil bad befallen him it was clearly her fault. How many times she bad tormented him almost beyond endurance; been cool, capricious, laughed at his tenderness and his love.— Arraigning her heart for 1 Judgment, she found it bad been bitterly cruel to him, to the one man for whom she would give her life, if occasion required. In the confusion and crowd she passed quietly up stairs, got her shawl and hood, and stole out unseen. Along she sped like a shadowy wraith, and was on the river as soon as the men with their rifles. Hark I what was that? A sickening, despairing cry—a wall of mortal agony. Kose recognized it for his voice—for they were close upon him now. Yes, the cry came from Charles Vance. With that one despairing burst he gave up hope and turned upon bis horrible pursuers. In the moonlight his eyes glared back to those fierce bails, and I there was a deathly pause. The sud deness amazed the unreasoning brutes, but the foremost crouched to spring. A ball went whizzing by, so closely that Mr. Vance felt the hot air upon his cheek. Then a yell ensued, ending with a howl of maddening pain. Another re port, another; footsteps, voices; yet be did not stir. ‘Oh, Charles I Charles I’ and the next instant Bose lay senseless at bis feet. At first he could not think, could hot speak; the utter surprise and sense of deliverance overwhelmed him. He knelt down on the ice, trembling in every limiT •'glr i, and the rest came thronging around. The discomfited enemy were rer- dring’wlth savage cries, leaving two of ;helr number dead behind them. ‘What le It all?’ began Mr. Vance. ‘I— I cannot Imagine— —' ‘Do hot try,’ interrupted Geo. Ardley. 'lt is the strangest thing that ever hap. pened. Can you walk home 7 I’ll see to Bose.’ And he picked her upas though she had been a baby. They went home slowly; Mr. Vance’s strength was ail but exhausted. Angry mutterlngs followed them from afar; but there was no real danger now. Bose, re viving consciousness, struggled away from her cousin's protection. ‘Let me walk—l am quite well now,’ she said, with a touch of her old imperi ousness. And she got to Mr. Vance’s side. ‘Ob, Charles! I have been so selfish and cruel I Will you ever forgive me. ?’ Charles’ answer was to take her arm within his, and press it to bis side. She broke down with a sob. 'Hush, my darling I God has interpos ed to save me. But still I do not under stand how or why you should all have come.’ 'Ob, Charles, it is the strangest tale,— You will hardly believe it—you, who have laughed at—’ ‘Don't spoil the story, Bose,’said Geo. Ardley from behind. We’ll have it all out when we get home.’ Was Dr. Caltraa surprised when be heard of the strange escape, and saw the rescued man? He made no sign. Miss VOL. 58.—N0- 33. Caltran, tbo clairvoyants, was herself then, save for an Id tense, dull headache. 'They bad gained on me so fast, that It seems as if I could not have held ont a minute longer,' said Mr. Vance to the doctor. ‘Beside the short distance on the river, there was the dart walk up to the bouse, and my courage was utterly giv ing way.” Bose burst Into tears. ‘Charles, as long as I live, I will never-be capricious again,’ she whispered; ‘no, hot even -when lam your wife;-t will try to te a blessing to you Instead of a trouble.’ And be hissed the sweet lips for their fond confession,’ Bo It all ended'well. But the wonder ful escape of George Vance from the peril of the wolves Is talked of in Canada to this day. HBUIEHDID RECIPES, Baised Connecticut Doughnuts.— Heat a pint of milk Just lukewarm and stir into It a small cup of melted lard and sifted flour, till it la a thick batter; add a small cup of domestic yeast, and keep it warm till the battel is light, then work Into It four beaten eggs, two cups of sugar rolled free from! lumps, a tea spoonful of salt and two of cinnamon.— When the whole is welli mixed, knead In wheat flour till about Sss stiff as bis cuit dough. Set it wbefe it will keep warm, till of a spongy lightness, then roll the dough out half an loch thick, un I out It into cakes. Let them remain till light then fry them in hot lard. A Fibst Rate Pudding.—lnto one quart of sweet mllb put bne pint of fine bread crumbs, butter the size of an egg, the well-beaten yolka of five eggs; sweet en and flavor as for odstard; mix the whole well together. While the above Is baking, beat the white bf live eggs to a stiff froth, dud add a teaobp of powdered sugar; pour It over the hbt pudding, re turn to the oven and bake to a delicate brown. Some prefer a layer of Jelly, or canned peaches or other fruits over the pudding before the frostlbg Is added. It Is not only delicious, but light and .di gestible. . Mince-Pie Without! Meat.—Take two quarts of finely chopped apples; out In small pieces half a pound of butter ; one quart of sweet older,-If yon have It; If not, use water; half a'pint of brandy, or good whisky; one pdund of raisins, stemmed and washed; bne teaspoonful salt, cinnamon and mitmeg; sugar to suit the taste. Let it stand In a stone Jar over night; Just befbre baking add half a pint of rich sweet oream. The above quantity'wlll'make seven plea. Steamed Pudding.—Two eggs, two teacups of sour milk, onb teaspoonful of soda, a little salt, flour enough to make It quite thiok, or It will be heavy. Beat this smooth. Add oherfies, raspberries, currants, or any dried' fruit you may. have. Steam two hours, taking care that the water is kept over the pudding or bag all the time, and that it does not stop boiling. Eat with dream and sugar, hard sauce, or any liquid sauce you may prefer. Quaking Plum Pudding.— Take sli ces of light bread, spread thin with but ter, and lay In a pudding dish layers of this bread and'raisins,' till within an. Inch of the top. Add live eggs, well beaten, and a quart of knllk, and pbur over the pudding; salt ahd spice to taste. Bake it twenty or twenty-five minutes, and eat with liquid sauce. Before using the raisins boll them in a little water, and put it ail in. Sea Foam Pie.— Take 1 a lemon, grate the peel, squeeze the pulp and juice into a bowl (be sure to remove every seed), to which add a teacupful of white sugar, one of new milk or watel-, a teospoonfui of corn starch, and the yolks of two eggs, well beaten, pour this mixture ibto a nice paste crust and bake slowly. Beat the whites of two eggs to a stiff froth, and when the pie is just done, pour it over Just to stifien, not brown. Flour.— ln buying flour, always look at the color. If it is white with a slight straw color tint in it, buy it; but refuse it If it is a biuelsb white, or baa small black specks in it. Thefa wet a little of it, and knead it between the fingers, and if it works sticky, t it la poor. Try it again by squeezing some of It in your hand. If it retains the shape given it by the band, it Is a good sign. Silver Cake and Gold Cake.— One cup white sugar, half cup butter, whites of gve well beaten eggs, quarter teaspoon ful soda dissolved In half teacupfui milk, three quarters teaapoonfui cream tartar mixed with two cups of flour.. Flavor with extract of bitter Almonds, The yolks of these five eggs, l and the same ingredients, make good cake. Oyster Toast.—Brulsb one anchovy fine la a morter; take twenty oysters; out off their beards and chop them small. Mix the anchovy and chopped oysters in a saucepan, with as much' cream as will make them of a good consistency; add a little cayenne pepper; spread them, when quite hot, on a round of hot, well buttered toast, out as for anchovy toast. To Boil Potatoes.—Put the pot on first with sufficient water. Wash the po tatoes twice to be sure they are clean.— When the water boils drop them in, and cook over a brisk fire till done; then pour off the water, uncever them, and set on the stove a minute or two before taking out. Oyster Sauce.—When your oysters are opened take care of all the liquor, and give them one boll in It. Then take the oysters out and put to the liquor two or three blades of mace; add to It some melt ed butter, and some good cream; put In oysters, and give them a boll. Starch Cake.—Three cups white su gar, one cup butter, whites of twelve eggs, one cup starch dissolved in one cup of sweet milk, salt, three heaping tea spoonluls oS baking powder, mixed in three ofips flour; flavor with lemon. Cup Bake.—Two cups of’ sugar; one of butter; beat to a cream ; four eggs ; half cup sweet mllb; salt; uuttneg; one teaspoonlul soda; two teaspoonfuls cream f tartar; four cups sifted flour. Hates for Hbnertfonts* ' ADTWgriHgnamn win ba inserted at Ton 0« i per Una for tne nrst insertion and nve cei; par lino for eaetr subsequent Insertion. Qngi tarty, half-yearly, and yearly advertisements ] erted at a liberal reduction on the above raw Advertisements should be accompanied by U flssn. When tent without any length ol US epoolfled for publication, they will be cantina an til ordered ont and onarged accordingly. JOBPBIOTZHO. turns, HAxnmribs.OißautiAES, and every ol er description ol Jon and Uarv Priutics. ©Mg and Sliding down hill on a codfish 'ls | ■ ■: the winter amusement of the New H Bedford belles. Thecodflsh enjoy it. > ' An affected Illinois father advertises j for his runaway daughter, promising . her lover $2,60 if he will send her horns, i] again. ; 1 The world has grown dark to tj’,'! Newark girl who kissed her coachmait.; by mistake for her lover the otheip/ evening. f ; Mankind are very odd creatures.—'; / ; One half censure what they practice , ',; ; and the other half practice what they, ||j; censure. ’iiSif The nerves which never relaxes, ths ; eye which never blanches, the though' which never wanders—these are thT Vi masters of victory. The best dowry to advance the mar riage of a young lady is to have ip hep., countenance mildness, in her speed , wisdom, and in her behaviour modes-^; ty. ‘Our children will have immense! tax on their hands, ‘saida gentleman.T ‘O, horrible I’ exclaimed an elderly la. dy, ‘what a blessing we have nails or ours.’ An hour’s industry will do more tc beget cheerfulness,-suppress evil hn-. i mors and retrieve your afikirs than a' >. month’s moaning. J ?' An Englishman about to be hanged ! for murdering his shrewish wife, sor-f rowfully remarked on the gallows; ‘1 ! led her to the halter and now she has led me to the ’altar,’ Young gent:‘Might I ask you, mist. —ah—’. Miss: ‘ Very sorry, sir; but 1 1 am engaged for the next three dances, ‘Ah—it is—it’s, beg your pardon, miss; you are sitting on my hat!’ . • • ‘ Gebty, my dear,’ said a teacher to; one of her pupils, !, you have been a f very good little gift ! to-day.’ ■'ies’m, ; ; I couldn’t help being good; I had a! ! stiff neck,’ said deity, with perfect bo- ; : rionsness, A young Hooaler once said to a Hoosieress: ‘Sal, is. there anybody courtin’you now?’ And sal replied i ’.' ‘Well,.Sam, there is one feller courtin’, and sorter not but I reckon it is more j * sorter not than sorter.’ \ - __ A Long Island farmer has sued his if wife lor a divorce because, after coming -1 to New' York and listeniag to a lecture ! ;t on free love, she insisted upon hailing every man who passed the house and I iv Inviting him to have a talk. ! j j •Hello dar,yon darkey,what you ax ; ,■ for dat old blind mule, bey 7’ ‘Well, I'ii i danno rgneB3-I-mouttake-thlrty;flve“T~T dollars!’ ‘l’ll give you five.’ ‘WeU. f j you may have him; 1 won’t stand on >' thirty dollars—inn mule trade.’. :' ' Two French women were asked; ‘lf you were compelled to marry TJrbaln, : 5 4 Aasi or Ferrl, which of the communists i I would you taket r 'one replied: ‘The ■ 1 eldest, that 1 might lie the sooner ridof ' him;’ the other: the youngest, that I . might make him suffer the longest,’ ; *•; It is common to speak of those whom ; a flirt has Jilted as her victim® This is . a grave error. Her real victim is the : man whom she accepts. A happy sun- j He- runs thus: ‘A coquette is a rose from whom every lover plucks a leaf— the thorns remaining for her future ; husband.’ ’ j A Rochester girl, in a note making ; indignant complaint because a man ' spit tobacco Juice on her silk dress In ': ' the street, says: ‘Never while men -i chew tobacco, will Igo to the polls to V vote. This country may go to ruin be fore I will have my clothes spoiled or even Jeopardized. There Is a very stout old lady who . 'l\ 1 rides a good deal in the Cincinnati street cars, end for whom, no matter how crowded they may be, the pas- ; sengers always find a seat. Her per- |f.i| snaslvenesa never falls. Her method [t, Is to bustle In arid prepare to alt down if!-' on the passenger's Hjjs, The Unt Is enough.