mumnmas r&m 12 WRITTEN- FOll BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN, Author of "The Leavenworth Case," "Behind Closed Doors," Forsaken Inn," Etc, Etc. Continual from last Saturday. I have not told Orrin what she said, but I am rarely away from his vicinity now, during those hours when he Is free to come and go about the village. I think he won ders at my persistent friendship, sometimes, but he says nothing, and is not even disa greeable to me. So I share his pleasures, if they are pleasures, expecting every day to sec hint run across the Colonol in the tavern or on the green; but he never does, perhaps because the Colonel is always with her now, and we are not nor are ever likely to be again. Do I understand her, or do I understand Orrin, or do I even understand myself? Xo, but I understand my duty, and that is enough, though it is sometimes hard to do it, and I would rather be where I could forget, instead of being where lam forced continually to remember. Am I always with Orrin when he is not at work or asleep? I begin to doubt it. There are times when there is such a change in him that I feel sure he has been near her, or at least seen her, but where or how, Idonot know tnd cannot e en suspect. He never speaks of her, not now, but he watches the house rising slowly in the forest, as if he would lay a spell upon it. Not that he vis its it by daylight, or mingles with the men who are busy laying stone upon stone; no, no, he goes to it at night, goes when the moon and stars alone shed light upon its growing proportions; and standing before it, seems to count each stone which has been added through the day. as if he were reck oning up the months'yet remaining to him of lite and happiness. I never speak to him during these expe ditions. I go with him because he does not forbid me to do so, but we never exchange a word till we have left the forest behind us and stand again within the village streets. . If I did speak I might learn some thing of what is going on in his bitter and burning heart, but I never have the cour age to do so, perhaps because I had rather not know what he plans or purposes She is not as daintily rounded as she was once. Her cheek is thinner, and there is a tremulous move to her lip I never saw in it in the old coquettish days. Is she not happy in her betrothal, or are her fears of Orrin greater than her confidence in me? It must be the latter, for Colonel Schuyler is a lover in a thousand, and scarcely a day passes without some new evidence of his passionate devotion. She ought to be happy, if she is not, and I am sure there is not an other woman in town but would feel herself the most favored of her sex if she had the haft" of Juliet's prospects before her. But Juliet ras ever wayward; and simply he cause she ought to increase in beauty and joy, she pales and pines and gets delicate, and makes th j hearts of her lovers grow mad with fear and lo cing. Where hav bVec? What have I seen, and what do th; events of this night por tend? Ab Ot-m and uiyselt were returning from our usual -lsit to the house in the woods it is well up now, and its huge empty square looms weirdly enough in the moonlighted forest we came out upon the churchyard in front of the meeting house, and Orrin said: '3Tou may come with me or not, I do not care; but 1 am eoing in among these graves. I feel like holding companionship with dead people to-night." "Ihen so do I," said I, for I was not de ceived by his words. It was not to hold companionship w ith the dead, but with the living, that he chose to linger there. The churchyard is ia a direct line with her house, end, sitting on the meeting hous! steps one can pet a very good view ot the windows of her room. "Very well," he sighed, and disdained to Bay more. As for myself, I felt too keenly theweird-lit-S's ot the whole situation to do more than lean my back against a tree and wait till his faucy wearied ot the moonlight and silence. The stones about us, glooming darkly through the night, were not the most cheer ful of companions, and when you add to this the soughing of the willows and the flicker ing shadows w hich rose and fell over the face of the meetiug house as the branches moved in the wind, you can understand why I rather regretted the hitherto gloomy enough hour we were accustomed to spend in the forest. But Orrin seemed to regret nothing. He had seated himself where I knew be would, on the steps of the meeting house, and was gazing, with chin sunk in nis two hands, down the street where Juliet dwelt I do not think he expected anvthing to happen; 1 think he was only reckless and sick with a longing he had not the power to repress, and I v atched him as long as I could for my own inner sickness and Joneing, and when 1 could watch no longer I turned to the gnomish gravestones that were no more motionless or silent than he. Suddenly I felt mvself shiver and start, and, turning, beheld him standinc erect, a black shadow against the moonlighted wall behind him. lie was still gazing down the street, but no longer in apathetic despair, but with quivering emotion visible in everv line of his trembling form. Reaching his Bide, I looked where he looked, and saw Juliet it must have been Juliet to arouse him eo standing with some companion at the gate in the wall that opens upon the street The next moment she aud the person with her stepped into the street, and, almost before we realized it, they be gan to move toward us, as if drawn by tome power in Orrin or myself, btraight to this abode of death and cold moonbeams. It was net late, but the streets were otherwise deserted, and we four seemed to be alone in the . whole world. Breathing with Orrin and almost clasping his hand in my oneness with him, I watched and watched the gliding approach of the two lovers, and knew not wnether to be startled or sat isfied when 1 saw them cross to the church yard and enter where we had entered our telves so short a time before. For us ail to meet, and meet there, seemed suddenly strangely natural, and I hardly knew what Orrin meant when he grasped" me forcibly by the arin aiid drew "me aside into the darkeetcf the dark shadows which lay in the churchyard's farthest corner. Not until I perceived Juliet and the Colonel halt in the moonlight did I realize that we wore nothing to them, and that it i7ts not our influence but some purpose or passion of tbeir own which had led them to tiiis grcwsoine spot The place where they had chosen to pause was at the grave of old Patience Goodvcar, and frcm the corner where we stood we co'i'd see their faces plainly as they turned and looLed at each other with the moon beams pouring over them. Was it fancy that raaie her look like a wraith, and he like some handsome demon given to haunting churchyards? Or was it only the sternness of his air, and the shrinking timidity of birs.hichmade him look so dark arid ahe so p.-uHd. Orrin, who. stood so close to me that I could hear his heart beat as loudly as mv own, h.it! evidently asked himself the same Ii etid , for hi-: hand clnscd spasmodically on mine as the Colonel opened his lips, and neither of us dacd so much as to breathe THE DISPATCH The lest we should lose what tbe lovers had to say. r Cut the Colonel spoke clearly, if low, and neither of us could fail to hear him as he said: "I have brought you here, Juliet mine, because I want to hearyou swear among the graves that you will be no man's wife but mine," "But have I not already promised?" she protested, with a gentle uplift of her head inexpressibly touching in one who had once queened it over hearts so merrily. 'jYes, you have promised, but I am not satisfied. I want you to swear. I want to feel that you are as much mine as if we had stood at the altar together. Otherwise how can I go away ? How can I leave you, knowing there are three men at least in this town who would marry you at a day's notice, if you gave them full leave. I love you, and I would marry you to-night, but you want a home of your own. Swear that you will be my wife when that home is ready, and I will go away happy. Other- SWEAR THAT YOU wise I shall have to stay with you, Juliet, for you are more to me than renown, or ad vancement, or anything else in all God's world." "I do not like the graves; I do not want to stay here, it is so late, so dark," she moaned. "Then swear ! Lay your hand on Mother Patience's tombstone, and say, 'I will be vour wife, Kichard Schuyler, when the hou-e is finished which you are building in the woods;' and I will carry you back In my arms as I carry you always In my heart" But though Orrin clinched my arm in ap prehension of hw answer, and we stood like two listening statues, no words issued from her lips, and the silence grew appalling. "Swear!" seemed to come from the tombs; but whether it was my emotion that made it seem so, or whether it was Orrin who threw his voice there, I did not know then and. I do not know now. But that the word did not come from the Colonel was evident from the startled look he cast about him and from the thrill which all at once passed over her form from her shrouded head to her hidden feet "Do the heavens bid me?" she murmured, and laid her hand without hesitation on the stone before her, saying, "I swear by the dead that surround us to be your wife, Richard Schuyler, when the house vou are building for me in the woods is completed." And. so pleased was he at the readiness with which sue spoke that he seemed to forget what had caused it, and caught her. in his arms as if she had been a child, and so bore her away from before our eyes, while the man at "my side fought and struegled with himself "to keep down the wrath and jealousy which such a sight as this might well provoke in one even less passion ate and intemperate than himself. When the one shadow which they now made had dissolved again into two, and only Orrin and myself were left in that ghostly churchyard, I declared with a courage I had never before shown: "So that is settled, Orrin. She will marry the Colonel, and you and I are wasting time in these gloomy walks." To which, to my astonishment, he made this simple reply, "Yes, we are wasting time;" and straightway turned and left the churchyard with a quickstep that seemed to tell of some new and fixed resolve. Colonel Schuyler has been gone a week, and to-night I summoned up courage to call on Juliet's father. I had no longer any right to call upon her; but who shall say I may not call on him if he chooses to welcome me and lose his time on my account. The reason for my going is not far to seek. Orrin has been there, and Orrin cannot be trusted in her presence alone. Though he seems to have accepted his fate, he is restless, and keeps his eye on the ground in a brooding way I do not comprehend and do not altogether like. Why should he think so much, and why should he go to her house when he knows the shrht of her is inflaminsr to his heart and death to his self-control? Juliet's father is a simple, proud old man who makes no attempt to hide his satis faction at his daughter's brilliant prospects. He talked mainly of the house, and if he honored Orrin with half as much of his con fidence on that subject as he did me, then Orrin must know many particulars about its structure of which the public are generally ignorant Juliet was not to be seen that is, during the first part of the evening, but toward its close she came into the room and showed me that same confiding courtesy which I have noticed in her ever since I ceased to be an aspirant for her hand. She was not so pale as on that weird night when I saw her in the churchyard, and I thought her step had a light spring in it which spoke of hope. She wore a gown which was coquet tisbly simple, and the fresh flower clinging to her bosom breathed a fragrance that might have intoxicated a man less de termined to be her friend. Her father saw us meet without any evident anxietv; and if he was as complacent to Orrin when he was here, then Orrin had a chance to touch her hand. But was ho as complacent to Orrin? That I could not find out I am only sure that I will be made welcomo there again if I con fine ray visits to the father and do not seek anything moro from Juliet than that simple touch oi her hand. Orrin has not repeated his visit, but I have repeated mine. Why? Because I am uneasy. Colonel Schuyler's house does not progress, and whether there is any connec tion between this fact and that of Orrin's sudden interest in the sawmills and quarries about here, I cannot tell, but doubts of his loyalty will rite through all my friendship THE for him, and I cannot keep away from Juliet any longer. 'Does'Juliet care for Colonel Schuyler? I have sometimes thought no. and I have oftener thought yes. At all events, she trembles when she speaks of him, and shows emotion of no slight order when a letter of his is suddenly put in her hand. I wish I could read her pretty, changeful face more readily. It would be a comfort for me to know that she saw her own way clearly, and was not disturbed by Orrin's comings and goings. For Orrin is not a safe man, I fear, and a faith once pledged to Colonel Schuyler should be kept I do not think Juliet understands just how great a man Colonel Schuyler promises to be. When her father told me to-night that his daughter's betrothed had been charged with some very important business for the Government, her pretty lip pouted like a child's. Yet she flushed, and for a minute looked pleased when I said, "That is a road which leads to Washington. We shall hear of you yet as being presented at the White House." I think her father anticipates the same, for he told me a few minutes later that he had sent for tutors to teach hi; daughter music . and the lan guages. And I noticed that at this she pouted again, and indeed bore herself in a way which promised less for her future learning than for that influence which breathes from gleaming eyes and witching smiles. Ah, I fear she is a frivolous fairy, but how pretty she is, and how dangerously captivating to a man who has once allowed himself to study her changes of feeling and countenance. When I came away I felt that I had gained nothing, and lost what? Some of the complacency of spirit which I had acquired after much struggle and stem determination. Colonel Schuyler has not yet returned, and now Orrin has gone' away. Indeed, no one knows where to find him nowadays, for he is here and there on his great white horse, riding off one day and coming back the next, ever busy, and, strange to say, al ways cheenul. He Is making money, I hear, buying up timber and then selling it to builders, but he does not sell to one builder, whose house seems to suffer in con sequence. Where is the Colonel, and why WTX.li BE MY WIFE. does he not come home and look after his own? I have learned her secret at last, and in a strange enough way. I was waiting for her father in his own little room, and as he did not come as soon as I anticipated, I let mv secret despondency have its way for a mo ment, and sat leaning forward, with my head buried in my hands. My face was to the fire and my back to the "door, "and for some reason I did not hear it open, and was only conscious of the presence of another person inthe room by the sound of a little gasp behind me, which was choked back as soon as it was uttered Feeling that this could come from no one but Juliet, I for some reason hard to fathom sat still, and the next moment became conscious of a touch soft as a rose-leaf settle on my hair, and springing up, caught the hand which had given it, and holding it firmly in mine, gave her one look which made her chin fall slowly on her breast and her eyes seek the ground in the wildest distress and con fusion. "Juliet " I begab. But she broke in with a passion too im petuous to be restrained: "Do not, do not think I knew or realized what I was doing. It was because your head looked so much like his as you sat leaning forward in the firelight that Tt allowed myself one little touch just for the heart's ease it must bring. I I am so lonesome, Philo, and and " I dropped her hand. I understood the whole secret now. Mv hair is blonde like Orrin's, and her feelings stood confessed, never more to be mistaken by me. "You love Orrin!" I gasped: "you who are pledged to Colonel Schuyler!" " "I love Orrin," she whispered, "and I am pledged to Colonel Schuyler. But you will never betray me," she said. "I betray you?" I cried, aud if some of the bitterness of my own disappointed hopes crept into my tones, she did not seem to note it.for she came quite clos? to my side and looked up into my face in a way that almost made me forges her perfidy and her folly. "Juliet," I went on, for I felt never more strongly than at this moment that I should aot a brother',: part toward her, "I could never find it 'in my heart to betray you, but are you sure that you are doing wisely to betray the Colonel for a man no better than Orrin. I I know you do not want to hear me say this, for if you care for him you must think him good and noble, but Juliet, I know him and I know the Colonel, and he is no more to be com pared with the man you are betrothed to than " "Hush!" she cried, almost command ingly, and the airy, dainty, dimpled creature wnom j. Knew seemea to grow in stature and become a woman, in her indignation; "you do not know Orrin and you do not know the Colon"!. You shall not draw comparisons between them. I will have you think of Orrin only, as I do, day and night, ever and always." "But," I exclaimed, aghast, "if you love him so and despise the Colonel, why do you not break your troth with the iatter?" "Because," Bhe murmured, with white cheeks and a wandering gaze, "I have sworn to marry the Colonel, and I dare not break my oato. Sworn to be his wife when the house he is building is complete; and the path was on the graves of the dead; on the graves of the dead!" she repeated. "But," I said, without any intimation of having heard that oath, "you are breaking that oath in private with every thought you give to Orrin. Either complete your per jury by disowning the. Colonel altogether, or else give up Orrin. -You cannot cling to both without dishonor; does not your father tell you so?" "My father oh,he does not know; no one knows but you. Mv father likes the Colonel; I would never think of telling him." "Juliet," I declared solemnly, "you are on dangerous ground. Think what you are doing before it is too late. The" Colonel is not a man to be trifled with." "I know it," she murmured, "I know it," and would not say another word or let me. And so the burden of this new apprehen sion is laid upon me; for happiness cannot come out of this complication. Where is Orrin, and what is he doing that he stays so much from home? If it were not for the intent and preoccupied look which he wears when I do see him, I should think that he was absenting himself for the purpose of wearing out his unhappy passion. But the short glimpses I have had of him as he has ridden busily through the town have lelt me with no such hope, audi wait with feverish impatience for some 'fierce action PITTSBURG DISPATCH, on his part, or what would be better, the Colonel's return. And the Colonel must come back soon, for nothing goes well in a long absence, and his house is almost at a standstill. ,.. Colonel Schuyler has come and, I hear, is storming angrily over the mishaps that have delayed the progress of hts new dwelling. He says he will not go away again till it Is completed, and has been riding all the morning in every direction engaging new men to aid the dilatory workmen already employed. Does Orrin know this? I will go down to his house and see. And now I know Orrin's secret He was not at home, of course, and being deter mined to get at the truth of his mysterious absences, I mounted a horse of my own and rode off to find him. Why I took this upon myself, or whether I had the right to do it, I have not stopped to ask. I went in the direction he had last' gone, and after I had ridden through two villages I heard of him as having passed still farther east some two hours before. Not in the least deterred, I hurried on, and having threaded a thicket and forded a stream, I came upon a beautiful open coun try wholly new to me, where, on the verge of a pleasant glade and in full view of a most picturesque line of hills, I s'aw shining the fresh boards of a new cottage. Instantly the thought struck me, "It is Orrin's, and he is building it for Juliet," and filled with a confusion of emotions, I spurred on my horse, and soon drew up before it Orrin was standing, pale and defiant, in the doorway, and as I met his eye, I noticed, with a, siok feeling of contempt, that he swung the whip he wa3 holding smartly against hid leg in what looked like a very threatening manner. "Good evening, Orrin," I cried. "You have a very pleasant site here preferable to the Colonel's, I should say." "What has the Colonel to do with me?" was his fierce reply, and he turned as if about to go into the house. "Only this," I calmly answered; "I think he will get his house done first" He wheeled and faced me, and his eye which had looked simply sullen shot a fierce and dangerous gleam. "What makes you think that?" he cried. "He has come back, and to-day engaged 20 extra men to plish on the work." "Indeed!" and there was contempt in his tone. "Well, I wish him joy and a sound roof!" And this time he did go into the house. As he had not asked me' to follow, I of course had no alternative but to ride on. As I did so, I took another look at the house and saw with a strange pang at the heart will be finished first" And what if it is? Will she turn her back upon the Colonel's lofty structure and take refuge in this cottage remote from the world? I could not believe it, knowing how she loved show and the smiles and gal lantries of men. And yet and yet, she is so capricious and Orrin so determined that I do not know what to think or what to fear, and I ride back with a heavy heart, wishing she had never come up from the farm to worry and inflame the souls of honest men. And now the Colonel's work goes on apace, and the whole town is filled with the noise and bustle of lumbering carts and eager workmen. The roof which Orrin so bitterly wished might be a sound one has been shingled; and under the Colonel's eye and the Colonel's constant encouragement, part after part of the new building is being fitted to its place with a precision and dispatch that to many minds promise the near dawning of Juliet's wedding day. But I know that afar in the East another home is nearer completion than this, and whether she knows it too or does not know it (which is just as probable), her wilful, sportive ani butterfly nature seems to be preparing itself for a struggle which may rend if not destroy its airy ana uelicate wings. I have prepared myself too, and being still and always her friend, I stand ready to mediate or assist, as opportunity offers or circumstances demand. She realizes this, and leans on me in her secret hours of fear, or why does her face brighten when she sees me, and her little band thrust itself con fidingly forth from under its " shrouding mantle and grasp mine with such a lingering and entreating pressure? And the Colonel? Does he realize, too, than I am any more to her than her other cast-offlovers and would be friends? Sometimes I think he does, and eyes me with suspicion. But he is ever so courteous that I cannot be sure, and so do not trouble myself in regard to a jeal ousy so illy founded and so easily dispelled. He is always at Juliet's side andseems to surround her with a devotion which will make it very difficult for any other man, even Orrin, to get her ear. The crisis is approaching. Orrin is again in town, and may be seen riding up and down the streets in his holiday clothes. Have some whispers of his secret love and evident intentions reached the ear of the Colonel? Oris Juliet's father alone con cerned? For I see that the blinds of her lattice are tightly shut, and watch as I may, I cannot catch a glimpse of her eager head peering between them at the flaunting horseman as he goes careering by. The hour has come, and how different is the outcome from any I had imagined. I was sitting last night in my lonely little room, which opens directly on the street, struggling as best I might against the dis traction of mv thoughts which would lead me from the "book I was studying, when a knock on the panels of my door aroused me, and almost before I could look up, that same door swung open and a dark form entered and stood before me. For a moment I was too dazed to see who it was, and rising ceremoniously, I made my bow of welcome, starting a little as I met the Colonel's dark eyes looking at me from the folds of the huge mantle in which he had wrapped himself; "Your worship?" I began, and stumbling awkwardly, offered him a chair, which he refused with a gesture of his smooth white hand. "Thank you, no," said he, "I do not sit down in your house till I know if it is you who have stolen the heart of my bride away from me, and if it is you with whom she Is prepared to flee." "Ah," was my Involuntary exclamation, "then lt.has come. You know her folly, and will forgive it because she is such a child." "Her folly? Are yon not then the man?" be cried, but in a subdued tone which showed what a restraint he was putting unon himself even in the moment of such accumu lated emotions. "No," said I; "if your bride meditates flight, it is not with me she means to go. I am her mend, and the man who would take her from you is not. I can say no more, Colonel Schuyler. " He eyed me for a moment with a deep and burning gaze, whioh showed me thnfc his intellect was not asleep trAugh his heart. was on tire. "I believe you," said he; and threw aside his cloak oSd sat down. "And now," he asked, "who is the man?" Takep by surprise, I stammered and ut tered some faint disclaimer; but seeing by his steady look and firm-set jaw that he meant to know, and detecting as I also thought in his general manner and subdued tones the promise of an unexpected forbear ance, I added impulsively: 'T.pt. trip wavwnrd ulrl t11 vnn Tiovaalf. perhaps in the telling she will grow ashamed' "I have asked her," was the stern reply,,, 'nnrl uhp iq dnmh." Then in snfrjir tnnoa ," added:' "How can I do anything for her if slie will not confide in me. She has treated me most ungratefully, but I mean to be kind to her. Only I must first know if she has chosen worthily." "Who is there of worth in town?" I asked, softened and fascinated by his man ner. "There is no man equal to yourself." "You say so," he cried, and waved his hand impatiently. Then with a deep and thrilling intensity which I feel yet, he re peated, "His name, his name? Tell me his name." " To Be Continued Hat Saturday. Thousands of Tickets to Blaine, From fi.000 to 6,000 free tickets to Blaine have been issued, ' and to-day's excursion will bo a stunner. Boots leave at 0:00 a. M., trains at 10:00 A. M.'and 12:30 p. si. SATURDAY SEPTEMBER A CONSULATE SMME. Wakeman, tBe Wanderer, at Haw thorne's Haunts in Liverpool. HIS GRATEFUL ENGLISH GUIDE. Few Traces of the Great Novelist Remain Across the Water, THE OLD OFFICES ARE FOUND AT LAST rcOBRESPOXnEHCE Or THE DISPATCIT. 3 London, England, Sept. 7. "Thank heaven, I am a sovereign again, and no longer a servant!" So wrote Nathaniel Hawthorne in this city, under date of Janu ary 3, 1858, after having called at the Ameri can Embassy to arrange for his passport to Italy. His unfaltering loyalty to his college and lifelong friend, Franklin Pierce, had been rewarded by appointment to the Liverpool Consulate, then the most valuable, in point of fees, and the most onerous and unpleasant to a man of Hawthorne's fiber, in point of residence, within the gift of our Govern ment He had passed through the four years' ordeal with credit; had saved considerable money; but had accomplished no more than a batch of vogarous English notes of travel, and possibly sketched a few misty outlines of romances; and was now, after his long and irksome slavery at Liverpool, full of the elation of deliverance and the joyful en thusiasm growing out of preparations for the long vacation in dreamful Italy Italy the eternal inspirer of dreams until Italy is known. IN A MOIiDT BOEOUOH. I chanced upon these exultant words of Hawthorne, the other day, in a 20-year-old volume, owned by an 80-year-old man, in his 100-year-old home, beneath the shadows of a 400-year-old church, in the 1,000-year-old town of Ormskirk, Lancashire. While the moldy burgh Is interesting enough on its own account, the old man in the old home by the old church became pos itively lovable to me, because be loved with a sort of idolatry the romancist whose mem ory we all treasure so preciously.. The old church looming above the red tiles of his cottage roof is curiously surmounted by a detached tower and steeple; the pile so gray, mellow and ivy-massed as to involuntarily suggest a gigantic tree lopped off in its lower trunk, where the huge battlemented tower stops, out of whose edge, where the steeple rises, has sprouted a second slender tree. The tradition goes that two caprici ous maiden sisters, desirous of raising some saered memorial, agreed upon erecting upon Orms-kirk a tower and steeple, yet, disagree ing as w uuiuut; miu tuuucutiug iucii wuiil, they finally expended all their wealth and energies upon both, each independent of the other. I had come to Ormskirk attracted by the antiquity of the town and the unique character of this most venerable church; and, curiously enough, while wandering about the antique pile encountered the same man whom Hawthorne had encoun tered nearly 40 years before. HAWTHORNE'S HUMBLE ENGLISH GUIDE, The old man had in former times been simply a waiter in the little Ormskirk tav ern whee Hawthorne had once supped. It was fair day, he remembered, when ho came. The latter could readily understand scarce! v a word of the broad Lancashire di alect of the "portly and ruddy women" and "yeomen with small clothes and broad brimmed hats" and could secure nobody's attention on account of the crowds. He was about to leave Ormskirk in a sort of despair at the fruitless outcome of a long foot jour ney, when the attendant, who had felt drawn to him from his kindly and superior personality, contrived to escape his duties long enough to secure Hawthorne admis sion to the ancient church. On departing, the novelist had gratefully given his guide a half sovereign, and had also said to him in his kind, quiet way: "Save your earnings, my good man, and be come independent for your old days." The old man still treasures that gold-piece with tender delight. He has all of Hawthorne's works. Thev are as moldy and musty as the old town itself. But the man who- wrote them, the books themselves, the tiny bit of gold which is' one of the. most prized things in England, and the hour's com panionship which I could not but envy him, had made this one humble Englishman conscious of a new world about him. THE WALK FROM SOUTHrORT. I took the road over which Hawthorne had come from Southport. Fourteen miles he walked, but the pleasure of it all made the distance seem hut an hour's tramp to me. There was, first, the pleasant hilly country, and then the low-lying lands by the sea; ancient Scarisbriek Hall, with its fine gateway and lodge; the old bridge where he lounged on the parapet; the aged stone houses, "built merely for respectable occupants;" the canal with its lazy boats; the little girls, now as then, watching the cows lest they should go astray; the Hay pole inn at the little village where Haw thorne ''asked for some cold meat and ale,"' and got instead a royal dluner with home brewed ale, "not very mighty, but good to quench thirst," to wash it down with; and, all the way, the harvesters gathering their crops were just as his eyes had seen them, until roofs of the gay watering-place showed above the sand-dunes and verdure of merry Southport Here the wraith I had followed from Omskirk, seemed obscured for a little in the modern brightness of the pretty and populous resort. Once before during the year, when loitering at Southport, the former presence of the man seemed to in-, voluntarily crowd into every picture of the place which came through eyes and heart to the pencil for shaping. SHOWING MERCY TO A BURGLAR. No one hre had ever known him person ally. The neares", was one venerable pen sioner, an olcVtime myrmidon of the law, who bad aided in bringing to justice two stripling burglars that had ransacked the Hawthorne apartments, and, being dis turbed, had gotten away with a few articles of no great value, including Hawthorne's boots and.top coat;said pensioner regarding secret desire that the depredators should es cape punishment. But all ot these kindly old voices had a broken bar or two to sing for the man whose mere retired few months presence had left more responsive chords than could all of some great ana vigorous mens lives. This and much else made me impatient to arrive at the American Consulate, at 26 Chapel street, Liverpool. Here, I sur mised, would be found a veritable store of reminiscence. From this, one could reach out in all directions, and gather, feast and enjoy. It is a very fine and stately place, our Liverpool Consulate, as bents the nn-encv of our Government in one nf trip .greatest of foreign ports. It has in profusion piate giass, gruunu gi&ss ana stainea glass, nickel burnishing, Irass knobs, soft-toned silver call bells, fine old furniture, wise faces, frilled shirts, gray hairs, and an nnc tious cathedral air ot cautious and trained repose, about it NO MEMENTOS AT THE CONSULATE. The.transcendent luster of Hawthorne's personal identification with the Liverpool consulate, must be sought either in books, or outside ot Liverpool in the hearts of men. Consul Sherman is sure he admires the genius of Hawthorne as much as anybody. Sometimes when he is not 'too busy he is going to look up something about the man. After one's first shock, this interest and enthusiasm are gratifying. Moncure D. Conway, when preparing his pleasant and wonderfully analvtio book, "Hawthorne," just published in trie English "Great Writers," series had written to the consulate for Hawthorne reminiscences. which Conway, litaje myself, had innocently believed must be. positively exuding from ! 19. 1891 every official pore of the place. Now I had come along glowing with expectancy re garding this very game Hawthorne matter. From a business standpoint, it was quite re markable. Indeed the matter must really be looked Into. , . You would have to travel in many foreign countries to find a more kindly or courteous Consul than this one at Liverpool; but our consulate here, which, in the paltriest, "rec ognition of the glorious distinction con ferred upon it through the occupancy by the greatest romancist America ever'pro duced.should remain a veritable Hawthorne' shrine, is absolutely barren of a single me mento from appreciative or loving'hand. THE CONSUL'S ARCHIVES. One little "office record book," contain ing copies of the most ordinary routine business letters, and signed more often by "Wilding, Vice Consul," than by the novel ist, comprise every vestige to be found within tne American consulate regarding Nathaniel Hawthorne. On page 197 of this faded old book, and immediately following the last official let ter, dated July 22, 1853, by his predecessor, the Hon. Thomas L. Crittenden, of Ken tucky, is found the first official letter by Hawthorne. This letter addressed to Colonel Thomas Aspinwall.then United States Con-' sul at London, and dated "Liverpool, i August, 1853," is as follows: Dkar Sib I have been applied to by a man named Hector Frazier for means to enable him to reach Cardiff to rejoin his vessel, the S. V. Given. He states that he has two sums of 10 and X3 in your hands belonging to him, and wants to receive the former sum at Liverpool, to enable him to pay his way at Cardiff, and requests me to write you for it. I am yours respectfully, K. Hawthokite, By H. J. Wilding. The next letter is dated August 13, and has Hawthorne's neat autograph appended. The entire series comprises reference to such details of consulate duty as the hunt ing up of estrayed Americans, the identifi cation of dead sailors and the sealing or dis posal of their effects, the trial of masters or seamen for misdemeanors, and the like. ONE LETTER OF BEAL INTEREST. Among them all, but one recalls a his toric fact or an incident of national con cern. This one is dated September 1, 1854. It is an application to the Bishop of Ches ter, in behalf of a Kentuokian named A. J. Barry who had come from America, to secure the remains of his father, for the removal of the body of General Jackson's former Post master General and Kentucky's Chief Jus tice, Hon. "William Taylor Barry, who had died in Liverpool, and was interred in St. James' Oemetory, in August, 1835, while en route to Madrid to represent the United States as Minister to Spain. The musty old record book had a won drous fascination. I pored over it for hours, unconscious of the temporarily great who called, the certification of invoices, or the interposition of the governmental arm in behalf of the ever ooatless, always innocent and eternally unfortunate American sailor One feature 'of these letters was impressive. Their brevity and straightforwardness were remarkable. There was no prolixity, no proffer of opinion, no assertion of their author's personality. They marohed straight to their objective point and stopped short there. And yet there was a thread of the mellowest humor through them all, with here and there hard and hideous facts un pretentiously marshaled, all the sterner for their gentle phrasing. THE OLD CONSULATE LOST. Of course there was a tradition at our Liverpool Consulate that the veritable Con sular offices occupied by Hawthorne had been located somewhere in Liverpool. Offi cial caution would not permit a decided ex pression of opinion as to where that some where was. No Liverpool business men knew. The antiquarians have not recorded it Literators and journalists have forgot ten, if they ever knew. You cannot find it in any of the Hawthorne biographies. But this vague tradition pointed to the old "Wash ington Buildings," a venerable pile, the lower story of the riverward side of which forms a huge Moorish piazza, giving the name "Goree Piazza" to a traffic-deafening portion of Liverpool's chief shipping thor oughfare. To this crumbling relic of Liverpool's old commercial days I hastened with many misgivings. I groped through antique hall ways, wainscotted with mahogany and black with age; and climbed curious old stair cases, foot-worn foot "deep in grooves, dan gerous with sudden turns and half landings. Halting in bitter disappointment on the first landing, a door I had not previously seen stood open. Some vagrant impulse bade me enter. I found within it one desk, two chairs and a bluff, hearty, weather beaten Englishman, the sole furnishings. But I also saw over the ancient fireplace an almost effaced symbol of my own loved land which had escaped all other eyes for 35 years. To ma something like a sudden glory enveloped lonely desk, chairs, weather-beaten Englishman and anoient fireplace: for I stood where Nathaniel Hawthorne had struggled with official- life in England for four mortal years. , Edgar L. Wakeman. CONKJJKG Another letter on Bosooa Conkllng from the pen of the (rifted John Kussell Young In THfl DISPATCH to-morrow. You have corns, and all druggists seU'for 15 cents a positive cure Daisy Com Cure. Saturday Specials in Ladles Gloves and Mil linery. Largest assortments and lowest prices. JOS. HOBNE & CO.9 Penn Avenue Stores. The lata Field Marshall Moltke Never Buffered from a cold or catarrh, sim ply because he always used the Soden Min eral Pastilles when going outdoors from a heated room during the winter months. He attested the efficacy of the Soden Mineral Pastilles in a letter with his autograph sig nature addressed to tbe Soden Mineral Springs Co., of Soden, Germany. Beware of imitations. The genuine im ported must have the signature of "Eisner & Mendelson Co., around each box. s PILES 'absoi.tjtki.'t orra ITCHING PILES SWAYNE'S OINTMENT ABSOLTTTBIVT OTTHWH. STXPTOMS-Molitarei Intente ltehln sad ttiarUffl MMt at nlchtf worse br ormtahTiir. If alLoved to onUnntt tumor form and protrndd waleb oTtenbleed aita uleertte. becoming Terr lore. SWAYKEOICTUENfatApstaelteUAr and bleedl&ff, heal ulceration, and la mot eatea wu Dieeomff neaia (uccrauon. mom mi rcmoTea the tnawra. AskjiuirDracci'f btU , VIGOR OF MEN Easily, Oolefcly, Permanently KESTOKETV WEAKNESS. NEKVOUSNKS9. DKBIL1TT, nd all the tratu of evils, the reulu of orerwor. sickness, worry, etc, 1 ull itrength, development aud tone guaranteed In all eaiea. Simple, natural method. Immediate improvement seen. 1 allure Impossible. 000 references. Book, explanations ana proofs mailed (sealed) free. JWdress EBLE 1XEDJG.AX CO., UUF.FALO, X. X. TO WEAK MEN Safferlaff ffocs tne enects oi vontMul error! early decay, wasting- weakness, loet manhood, e 1 will send valuable treatise &ealed( contain! fall particulars for home cure, FREE or eliar . a a a . Mk l - hulln tuft ttsi1 t4 awj lllDartlculars for home cure, FREE or charge. . ..4 K.inMi i.ir hntnn da rpazi nv wr. man who 1. nervons and debilitated. Address, Proi F- roAVIiEIt, BXoodno, Conn. des-si-Dsu wic ABOOKrDRTHEMILLION FRESV QUE TREATMENT) VTl linn!"". i.bbtriniii For all CHH0OT0, OEOAMO aaj fnrRVnTJs diseases in ws : Br Bit tm yo mi tab book. AUn CHEMICAL CO., HIIWAUUI.WIS DEAF! NE8S AHEAD kOIKS CUREDbv Peck's INVISIBLE TUlttA! 11 ' CHSHIIX5. Whispers heard. Com- forUbSandseltadJastlnf. Soceewfol where all Rem, dies fall. Sold by irVHISCOX. only, 853 Broadwaysw ,.1. V4r '-- llln.tr-.i-d Book ofirroofs f XXX. Mention this paper. ;23-C0-Ta8-xo6a THEPERU ITETV ADVEBTISmUTNTS. DROP IN And. take a took at our fine Merchant-Tailor Made Suits' and Overcoats. They are ready for immediate wear, most excellently well made and the goods in them are the newest and most fashionable. GOODS ARE RIGHT, PRICES ARE RIGHT, FIT OF THE GARMENTS IS RIGHT, And the man who wears them can't help but feel right in them. Opposite City Hall. eel5-TTS POWER OF PRICE. Many hav.e availed themselves of our extraordinary concessions in the prices of Furniture and Curtains prior to our 'Fall Opening." Hundreds of Chairs and Chamber Suites have passed into our delivery wagons. Constant opening of new goods com pels the limitation of this Special Sale to a few days. We call especial attention to-day to Extraordinary Bargains in PARLOR SUITES, UPHOLSTERED CHAIRS, FOLDING BEDS. PARLOR SUITES. 7 piece suite large pieces) imitation MaJiogany frames, elaborately carved, embossed moliair plush coverings, re duced from $150 to $100. 5 piece suite, solid Mahog any frames, brocatelle cover ings, redticed front $155 to $125. 4 piece suite, solid MaJiog any and Tapestry coverings, reduced from $125 to $73. 5 piece suite, in imitation Mahogany and Brocatelle coverings, ' reduced from $125 to $po. 5 piece suite, in imitation Mahogany and Silk Plush coverings, reduced from $150 to $IOO. 5 piece suite in Antique Oak, elaborately carved, silk plush coverings, reducedfrom $150 to $100. 6 piece suite, imitation Ma hogany and Wilton Rug coverings, reducedfrom $90 to $75. .... 5 Piece suite, imitation Ma Jiogany and Wilton Rug coverings, reducedfrom $70 to $55- N. B. Keep in mind that all of the above is strictly first-class furniture of reliable workmanship and finish. OJcCLINTOCK&CO. 33 FIFTH eJftes r NEW AJyVXJVf THE NEWEST AND NOBBIEST -IN' HATS ANp CAPS. POPULAR 'PRICES. Manufacturing Clothiers, Tailors, Hatters and Furnishers. STAR CORNER. DESKS. FIXING CABINETS. Office Specialty Co, 105Thir!ar. JeSfri xrOT-aJEUF zaxroAcaaJBXia LINK The Best. BELTING. Now Ibe Cheapest. REDUCED PRICE LIST of drive belt AotherSpeelaltlesfor7etator Cbnwyors Machinery forhanrtllng any material In balk orpackage. XJJIK, BELT ESOISEERIXO CO (Mice, tows) FHttAOTLPmA, and 9 Dey Su, New Toaz. selOl-3-Trs FOLDING BEDS. "UprigJd" Folding Bed of Antique Oak and Faench plate mirror, 40x18, reduced from $50 to $38. "Upright" Folding Bed ' of 1 6th Century oak, mirror 20x48, reducedfrom $72 to $55- "Upright' Folding Bed of i6tJi Century oak, mirror 20x44, reduced from $55 to $45- ' CcnmUm1 ' Folding Bed of old English oak, Jiav- ing wardrobe and chiffoniere in combination, reducedfrom $95 h $70. "Combination" Folding Bed in Antique oak, Jiaving toilet, washstand and chiffon iere in combination, reduced from $85 to $60. ' ' Combination' ' Folding Bed in Antique oak, having" wardrobe, bookcase and cliif foniere in combination, re ducedfrom $65 to $50. "Upright" Child's Fold ing Bed reduced from $15 to $io.- Mantel Folding Bed, full size, reduced from $15 to $10. AVENUE, L JnSS22wSllVll Swl (J sfllh ior fj ftH V - v ' , I :;
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers