RATES OF ADVERTISING.
Four lines or less constitute half a square. Ten lines
Or more than four, constitute a square.
Half sq., one day.. 30 One sq., one day.-- $0 80
a one. week— _ 120 II one week.... 20 0
one month.. 300 cc one month— 600
• three months 500 cc three months 10 00
" six months.. 800 " six months.. 15 00
•• one year.,... 12 00 cc one year —2O 00
I " BUdileBs notices inserted in the LOCAL coLtrars,
or before marriages and deaths, TSB °REM PRP. LIME for
..ach insertion. To merchants and others advertising
by the year, liberal terms will be offered.
The number of insertions mast be designated on
he advertisement.
Marriazes era Deaths will beineerted et the same
ates as regnlfir ntrertisements.
- •
lzziellanCOUL
13ENSIoNS, BOUNTIES; BACK PAY,
War Cliiilll3 and Claims for indemnity.
sTEWART, STEVENS, CLARK & CO.,
AtionnvE and Counsellors-at-Law, and Solicitors
for all kin* of Military Claims,
450 PENNbYLVANIA AVENUE,
WASHINGTON, D. C.
This firm, having a thorough knowledge of the Pen
sion Business, and being familiar with the practice in
ell the Departments of Government, believe that they
can afford. greater facilities to Pension, Bounty, and
Claimants, for the prompt and successful &acorn
p:lshinent of business entrusted to them, than any other
arm in Washington. They desire to secure such an
amount of this business as will enable them to execute
the business for each claimant very cheaply, and on the
basis of their pay contingent upon their success in each
case. For this purpose they will secure the services of
Law Firms in each prominent locality throughout the
States where such business may be had, furnish such
with all the necessary blank forms of application and
evidence, requisite printed pamphlet instructions, and
circulars for distribution in their vicinity, will/ asso.
elates names inserted, and upon the due execution of
the papers and transmission of the same to them by
their local associates, they will promptly perform the
business here.
Er Their charges will be ten dollars for officers and
;ire dollars for privates, for each Pension or Bounty and
Back Pay obtained, and ten per cent. on amount of
Claims for Military Supplies or Claims for Indemnity.
Soldiers enlisted sines the lat of March, 1861, in
any kind of gt,rti.L., Military or Navel, who are disabled
by disease or wounds, are entitled to Pensions. All
soldiers who serve for two years, or during the war,
should it sooner close, will be entitled to $lOO Bounty.
Widows of soldiers who die or are killed, are entitled to
Pensions ; and-the aim) Bounty, If there be no widow,
hen the minor clatia,en. .A.A. if no tiiizior atuatFsfi,
then the father, mother, sisters or brothers are Snit
as above to the slol2lBoupty and Back Pay.
JOSEPH B. STEWART,
HRSTOIt L. STEVENS,
EDWARD CLARK.
OSCAR A. PTEVEbt
_ t t
WILLIS B. GAYLORD.
W.L.9I(NGTOIT, D. C., 4862. f
Apply at our office or to our Associate at
Rsaalsousa, Pe. —JOHN A. BIGLER, Attorney and
Counsellor.
Pim - sone, Pe.—ARTIUMS A RIDDELL, Attor
neys-at-Law.
Perm/tax, PA.—WM. B: SMITH, Attorney and
Counsellor.
PHILADELMIA, G. MINNICHILD, 46 Alwood
Amt., WAL 31_ SMITH,
_Attorney and Counsellor.
Wsairuswros, PA..—BI9IrD CIaIIMRINCE, Attorney
nud Counsellor.
jyal-dly
JACKSON & CO.'S
SHOE STORE ,
'NE_ EOM MARKET STREET,
HARRZSBV.RO, PA.,
'Where they stead to devote thekentire time to the
clantifacture of
BOOTS AND SHOES
altkindi =dilatation., In the mated and moat bah.
=able-Styles, sad at satisfaotory prises.
Their-stock will consist, in part, of Gila /BMWS Pisa
Calf and - Patent Leather Boots and Shoes, latest styles;
Ladies' and Mims' Gabes, and othatlßhaea In groat
variety; ar.3 is fast everything connected with the
shoe bumblers.
CUSTOMER WORKwillbe particularly atteudedto,
and in all cameo will satidantlen be 'warranted. Lasts
jihad up by one of the bast waiters in the country.
The long practical experience of the undersigned, and
their thorough knowledge of the business will, they
Itrust, be suTheient guarantee to the public that they
Val do them justice, and furnish them an article that
will recommemi itself for utility, cheapneas.and tars-
Ljan.9] JAOSISON .16 00.
1 1 111JRMIER'S PATENT BEEF TEA,
IL A gelid, coacesitrektd. 4sietrset of
BEEF AND VEGETABLES,
Convertible immediately into a nourishing and dell
.6.'ona soup. Ri„gkly approved by a samber of eminent
7iVlsicises.
This admirable article condensed into a compard form,
all the-substantial and nutritive propertied of a large
'balk of meat and vegetables. The readiness with which
tt dissolves into a rich and palatable Soup, which would
.6-4. e hours of preparation according to the usual
method, is 111/ 11141,140).60 in many
_situations of life,',too
.obvione to need urging. Is Itighlyrimaishing
gnalititd
-combined with its delicacy, readers it invaluable for the
-sick; while for these in health, it i 8 a perfect substitute
for fresh meat and vegetables. It will keep good in any
climate..
It is peculiarly well adapted FOR TRAVELERS, by
land or sea, who gut them avoidthosedecidantaldepriea
None of a comfortable meal, to which they are ao liable.
FOR INVALIDS, whose capricious appetite can thus
re satisfied in a moment.
FOR SPORTSMEN and IXOUBSIONISTS. to whom,
both its compactness and easy preparation will recom
mend it. For pale by
eap244f
CHARTER OAK
FAMILY FLOUR!
'UNEXCELLED BY ANY IN THE TI STATES
• AND 13IIPBRIOR TO ANT
'8,217'0 Mt. Mt. _AL Ithr ID Oil
OFFERED IN PENNSYLVANIA!
IT Di MADE OF
CHOICE MISSOURI WHITE WHEAT.
Delivered any place in the city free of charge
Toms earls cos delivery.
ITN WM. DOCK°, Ja., & CO.
QOLDIER'S CAMP COMPANION.-
A very convenient Writing Deck; also; Portfolio',
Meraorantam Booka,Portntonnalee, &c., at
SOREFIRWS BOOKSTORE
razt T d. I t2 l4:TS: ertai • g a . Teap—
eta of useful_
• 80EUIFFEWEI _BOOKSTORII.
LIXILMETICALLY SEALED
I.l_ Peaches, Tomatoes;_ totster, Salmon, Otstets,
apieed Oysters, for sale by WM. DOCK, jr., & CO.
]BENCH MUSTARD, ENGLISH and
Domestic Pickles, (by the Oxen or hundredd Su
perior Salad. Oil, Ketchup, Sauces and condiments of
every description, for sale by
my 26 . WM. DOCK, &Co
WAR! WAR! —BRADY, No. 62
Market street, below Third, his received a large
assortment of SWORDS, Sesame and BELTS, which he
Will sell 'very low. as2.o-4itf
BOOK FOR THE TIMES!
American Annual Cyclopedia and Register of
important Events for the Year 1861. In 1 vol.
B op. over. 750 pages. Cloth 42., Leather $3.50.
Published by D. Appleton Co., New York.
The design of this work is to furnish a record of all
the important knowledge of the year. The events of
the war ; owing to their prominence, will, of course, oe
cary o conspicuous part, but all other branches—Sci
ence, Art, Literature, the ideeteinie Arts, &c. wi ll re
ceive due attention. The work will be published ex
clusively by subscription, and ready for delivery in June
nest. - -
Also, now complete:
Bentom's Dilates of Congr s,ld voiagifiet4ll any QQ
per COZUM6.
BeittO7L'S iilifty Years in U. S. Senate, 2 volames, 52.50
and $3 Per eat.
Crdepolia of American Blognence, containing th e
spathe; of the most eminent Orators of America, ii
ense/ portraits, 2 rots. $2.56 each.
Parton's Life and Times of Andrew Jackson, 31,0/times,
$2.50 each.
Address J. P. STRAEBAUGH, Harrisburg, Pa.
eeneralArnt for D. APPLETON & Co.
"For Circulars descriptive of Annwsl Cyclopedic..
aor11:3-dkwtf.
UNION HOTEL,
Bilge Avenue, corner 'of Broad stree
ILARRIBBIIRG, PA.
- -
T he undersigned informs the public that he has re
rettly renovated and refitted his well-known 6 ' . 1:111/.611
Hotel on 'Ridge avenue, near the Round House, and is
prepared to accommodate citizens, strangers and travel.
en in the beat style, at moderate rates.
ilia table will b 3 supplied pith the beet the maskete
aird. and at his bar will be found superior brands of
!limns and malt beverages. The very best accommo
dations for railroaders employed at the shops in - this
[al4 dtf] 11BNAT BOSTGEN.
WM. DOCK. Js., & Co.
.
•
•
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- .. . •
VOL. 5.-NO. 213.
Business dartt,s.
FRED. SCHNEIDER,
MEADOW LANE,
- A PRACTICAL DYER FROM.GERRIANY,
Takes this mode to inform the public and his numer
ous friends that he has fitted up a DYEING 8.0011,
In Meadow Lane, in the city of Harrisburg, Pa.
Where he is prepared to do anything in dyeing, as
Silk, Woolen, Cotton, etc., warranted for good.
ap2B-d3m
TAILORING . .
43- ia .41L. 33. - XA la.. .
The subspriber is ready at NO. 94, MARKET ST.,
four Toors below Fourth street, to make'
MEN'S AND BOY'S .CLOTHING
In any desired style, and with skill and promptness.
Persons wishing cutting done can have it done at the
shortest notice. ap27-dly
WM. H. MILLER,
- • AND
R. E. FERGUSON,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
OFFICE IN
SHOEMAKER'S BUILDINGS
SECOND STREET,
BETWEEN WALNUT and MARKET SQUARE,
ap29-d&w Nearly opposite the Buehler House.
T HOS. C. MAODOWELL,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
MILITARY CLAIM AND PATENT AGENT.
Use in Burke's Row, Third street, (Up Stairs.)
Haring formed a connection with parties in Wash
ington City, wno are reliable business men, any busi
ness connected with any of the Departments will meet
with immediate and careful attention. m6-y
DR. C. WEICHEL,
SURGEON AND OCULIST,
RESIDENCE THIRD NEAR NORTH STREET.
Re is now fully prepared to attend promptly to the
dation of profession in all its branohen.
A LONG AND VERT 13130011118713 L MEDICAL EXPERINION
jnatiles him in promising full and ample oatlafaotion to
all who may favor hixa with a call, bo the disease Ohroxds
or any ether nature. mlB-d&wly
CHARLES F. VOLLMER,
UPHOLSTERER ;
Chestnut street, four doors above Second,
(OPPOSITE WASHINGTON HOSE liougs,)
Is prepared to furnish to order, in the very best style of
workmanship, Spring and Hair Mattresses, Window Our
tains, Lounges, and all other artialea of Partutare in his
line, on short notice snd moderate terms. Haring ex.
perience in the business, he feels warranted in asking a
share of public patronage, confident of his ability to give
satisfaction. janl7-dtf
SILAS WARD.
NO. 11, NORTH THIRD ST., HARRISBURG.
STEINWAY'S PIANOS,
MELODEONS, VIOLINS, GUITARS,
Banjos, Flutes,' Fifes, Drums, Accordeolll,
STRINGS, BESET AND 8008 RABIC, &0., &0.,
PHOTOGRAPH FRAMES. ALBUMS,
Large Pier and Mantle Mirrors, Square and Oral Frump
of every des oription made to order. Deguilling dons
Agency for Howe's Sewing Machines.
frr Sheet Music sent by Mail. ootl-1
JOHN W. GLOVER,
MERCHANT TAILOR!
Sas just received from Now York, an assort
ment of
SEASONABLE GOODS,
which he offers to his • customers and the pdblio
nov22) • MODERATE PRICES. dtt
WHARRY WILLIA.MS,
•
IlLarM'Arr s ,
402 WALNUT STREET.
• PHILADELPHIA.
General Claims for Soldiers promptly collected, State
Ql4mai adjusted, &a., &c. •_ mar2o-dlm
SMITH it EWING,
ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW,
THIRD STREET, Harrisburg,
Practice in the govern' Courts of Dauphin county. Col•
lections made promptly. AA. 0
B.E . SMITH,
J. WING.
TCOOK, Merchant Tailor,
27 CHESNUT ST, between Second and Front,
Has just returned from the city with an assortment of
CLOTHS, CASSIME.RES AND VESTING'S,
Which will be sold at moderate prices and made up to
order ; and, also, an assortment of HEADY MADE
Clethlng bad Gentlemen's Furnishing Goods.
noy2l-lyd
DENTISTRY.
B. L MIRA, D. D. S.,
NO. 119 MARKET STREET,
ESY & KUNKEL'S BUILDING, UP STAIRS.
tf -
jaaB-
RELIGIOUS BOOK STORE,
TRACT AND SUNDAY SCHOOL DEPOSITORY,
E. S. GERMAN,
IT 801:1TH SBOOND STREET, ABOVII OHBEINIIT,
KAIIISBURO, PA.
Depot forth° sale of Stereoncopos,StereodOtopi 6 Viswe,
Mimic and Musical Instruments. Also, subscriptions
taken for religious publications. noBo-dy
JOHN G. W. MARTIN,
FASHIONABLE
CARD WRITER,
HERB'S HOTEL, HARRISBURG - , PA.
All manner of VISITING - WEDDING AND BUSI
NESS CARDS executed in the most extbdie styles and
most reasonable terms. decl4Aitt
FRANKLIN.HOtSE,
BALTIMORIN 11D.
This pleasant and commodione ' Hotel has been tho
roughly re-fitted and re-furnished. It is pleasantly
situated on North-West corner of Howard and Franklin
streets, a few doors west of the Northern Central Rail
way Depot. Ivory attention paid to the comfort of his
guests. G. LEISBNRING, Proprietor,
jel2-tf (Late of Feline Grove. Pa.)
T HE O. F. BOEIEFFER,
BOOK, CARD AND JOB PRINTER,
NO. 18 MARNKT STREET, HARRISBURG.
Er Particular attention paid•to printing, ruling and
binding of Railroad Blanks, Manifests, insurance Poli
es% CheeksßiliZeads, &O.
Wedding, Visiting and BllliilleBll Cards printed at very
low prices and in the beet style. jan2l
•
D IOTTVILLE GLASS WORKS,
PHILADELPHIA ,
NANIIIA.OTIM I
CARBOYS, DBMIJOBNS,
WINE, PORTER, MINBRAL WATER, PICKLE AND
PRESERVE BOTTLES
OP AMY DPOOSIPTION.
H. B. & G. W. BENNERB,
"MUT 27 South Trout etereL
music STORsi
NO. 93 MARKET STREET, ILMEISBURG, PA.
MEET MUSIC, PIANOS,
MELODEONS, GUITARS,
VIOLINS, BANJO STRINGS,
Of every description.
DRUMS, PIPES, FLUTES, AOOORDEONS, etc., at
the lowest CITY PE.lcwa, at
W. KNOCHE'S MUSIC STORE,
No. 93 MARKET STRUT.
QELF I SEALING FRUIT JARS I
LI Rest and Cheapest in the markets! Call and
examine them.
j 731 WH. DOCK, Ja., & CO.
HARRISBURG, PA:, SATURDAY, MAY 9, 1863.
ttt Vattiot tt anion.
SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 9. 1863
THE BATTLE FIELD.
Yes, a battle's a very fine thing, while you're
fighting,
The same ups and downs are very exciting.
Bat a sombre sikht is a'battle field,
To the sad survivor's sorrowing eye,
When those who scorned to fly or yield,
In one promiscuoui carnage lie;
When the cannon's roar
Is heard no. more,
And the thick dun smoke hah rolled away,
And the victor comes for the last survey, •
Of the well fought field of yesterday !
No triumphs flush that haughty brow, 7
No proud exulting look is there,
Ilie eagle glanee is humble now,
As earthward, in ,anaions care,
It seeks the form whose stalwart pride
But yesterday morn was by his side !
And there it lies on yonder bank
Of cones, which themselves had breath
But yester morn—not cold and .dank,
With other dews than these of death!
Powerless as it had ne'er been born,
The hand that clasped his yester morn!
And there are widows wandering there,
That roam the blood besprinkled plain,
And listen in their dumb despair
For sounds they ne'er may hear again 1
One word, however, faint or low,
Ay, e'en a groan—were music now !
And this is glory !—Fame !
LADY COURTHOPE'S TRAP,
"There is a storm gathering yonder over the
Beacon Hill; the air is heavy with thunder.
Surely, Richard, iewere better even now to let
your journey rest instil to-morrow."
The tall, bronzed knight, standing, booted
and spurred, with his hand on his horse's mane,
turned to look with a merry smile •on the fair,
anxious faee of the lady by his tido.
"And if the storm should come, do you think,
my sweet wife, that Dick Courthope has never
ridden through wind and rain before, or that,
for fear of a wetting, I could break my pledge
to meet Phillip Orme this night in Chester ?
No, no. Only let me find you watching for me
here at noon to-morrow, with those same pink
cheeks and bright eyes, and I shall reek little
whether I ride in sunshine or in shower. So
now; dear one, farewell, and may God bless
you ;" and springing into the saddle, the geed
knight waved a last adieu, and trotted away.
down the long avenue,
His young wife's blue ea' es followed his re
treating figure with a wistful gaze, until he
hilted at the great gates, and passing through,
was hidden from her view; then slowly turn
ing, she remounted the stone steps that led up
to the door of the Ashurst manor-house. The
gloomy red-brick walls seemed to frown upon
her as she entered; the stained-glass window
in the hall threw a purple tint upon her face,
andmiade it almost ghastly, and the oak floor
gave back a hollow echo to her tread. Just
then a door at the further end of the hail was
softly opened, and Marston, the old butler, ad
vanced toward her. Old he was in service, for
he had lived for more than thirty years at Ash
urst manor—at first the page and play-fellow,
then the confidential servant and friend of his
master, Sir Richard; yet .not old in years for
he was under fifty, his black hair was still!un
tonshed with gray, and there were few wrinkles
in his hard, keen face. He stopped near Lady
Ccitrthope, glanced quickly at her, hesitated, a
moment, and then said, in a respectful, con
strained tone—" Surely, my lady, Sir Richard
will not ride to Chester on such a day as this ?"
The lady looked uiras though surprised at
his addressing her. "Yes," she said, "he has
just started. He laughs at the weather, but I"
There will be little cause to.langh if the
storm comes, if the river is swollen," Marston
exclaimed abruptly; "You will see him back
yet, my lady, ere night." '
"Nay, he must needs be in Chester this even
ing," Lady Courthope made answer, as, stifling
a sigh, she passed on to the drawing room.
The butler looked after her. " She would
have us believe she cares for him, forsooth.—
He believes it. He has only eyes and thoughts
for her; old friends, old times, are all forgotten
now- Once he would have told me about this
Chester journey, but now that waxen doll hears
all his plans, and he hardly deigns to speak of
them to me. But I have learned all I care to
know—Sir Richard must be in Chester this
night."
• In the long, low drawing-room, the twilight
had already set in, though it was but four
o'clock on a November afternoon - the huge fire
had burned lOW, and the heap o f glowing fag
gots shed a wierd light on the mirrors and pic
tures on the walls, while the high-back chairs
and carved tables cast strange, uncouth sh;td
ows all around, as the lady made her way to
the cushioned window-seat, and gazed out on
the stormy sky. "He rides fast; his horse is
sure-footed; the distance is not great," she
murmured to herself. " Why is this Arid upon
me, this terrible foreboding of some coming
evil?" She looked back into the darkening
room, and started as a half-burned log fell with
a crash upon the hearth. A longing came over
her to hear again her husband's- blithe voice,
to see his fond glance, to have him there beside
her; and then gradually her thoughts wandered
away from this sombre old mansion to another,
far away at Kensington, alive with gay young
voices, smiling faces, and where her voice, her
face, had, only eight months sines,
been the
gayest and the brightest; for she had been a
cherished daughter of that houtte until Sir Rich
ard Courthope wooed and won her, and brought
her-here to be mistress of his Cheshire home.
Tenderly she recalled the younger brothers and
sisters, the loving parents of her happy maiden
days, and wondered if they yet missed her,_ and
might perhaps be even speaking of her then;
till all at once her fancy took another turn,
she felt as though her fond remembrances were
treason to the absent husband, who was far
dearer to her than any of the merry party,—
She would shake off this strange sadness which
had crept upon her. With a sudden impulse
she sprang up,estirred the glowing embers into
a blaze, and sitting down beside her harpsi
chord, began a low, soft air; then her mood
changed, and the full notes of some martial
tune rang out into the room. Once she paused
when Marston entered, bearing the tall, silver
candlesticks, and, as the music died away, she
heard the 'beating of the rain against the case
ment, and the howling of the wind among the
trees. A minute she listened, then her fingers
touched the keys again. "The storm has come,
my lady." It was Marston, who spoke. She
had thought Vim gone, bat he was standing
close behind her chair. "Sir Richard can
never pass Craven Ford to-night," he went on.
"What will he do ?" and she looked round
with startled eyes.
"He may make for home, but I fear, my
lady; an I had your leave, I would ride out to
meet him with a lantern. The night is black
as pitch, and one false step by the cliff-path
would be death." He spoke low, but there
was a strange eagerness in his tone and in his
face.
"Go, pray, go !" she exclaimed, her voice
trembling with anxiety; "and yet—might you
not send Stephen in your stead?" She knew
not why she asked that question, she only knew
that some vague feeling prompted it,
Marston's face darkened, "He is a stranger
to the country, while I have lived here from my
childhood. He does not even know the road,
while I have ridden along it hundreds of times ;
by night and day. But be it as you will, my
lady."
"Go yourself," she once more repeated;—
"lose not a moment. Heaven send you may
be thus before Sir Richard !"
The nits& turned silently to obey her orders,
but_ as he reached the door he looked round,
and for an instant his eye met hers—only for
an instant; but there was something in that
one glance so peculiar, so sinister, that she al
most shuddered. .Ere she could recover her
first shock, ere she could speak or think, he
was gone. What did it mean ? She had long
known that he bore her no good will, that he
regarded her as an intruder in her husband's
house, and that he bittterly resented the stern
rebukes, and even threats, with which his.mas
ter had visited his occasional disrespect to her.
She had. known this long, but never had his
dislike been written so plainly in his face as
now. Could he be plotting harm? Should she
follow him, and countermand his going ? And
then she smiled at her win nameless terrors.
For thirty years Marston had served Sir Rich
ard faithfully—surely he would not now be
false to him. That cliff-path might indeed be
feared, but not the old and trusted servant. So
she listened till, in less than half an hour, she
hew& his horse's hoofs crashing on the gravel
road. She did hot hear something else—she
did not hear his muttered words, as he glanced
up at the lighted windows of the drawing-room:
"She would have stopped me had she dared,
but she cannot stop me now. There will be a
heavy reckoning this night for the scorn she
has made Sir Richard heap upon me," and his
teeth were ground with something' like a curse.
Lady Courthope, sitting thoughtfully beside
the fire, hei eyes fixed upon the leaping flames,
her hands lying idle in her lap, was left undis
turbed, till nearly two hours later Stephen
came to tell her supper waited. She asked
him as she rose if the storm still raged with
out. "It has passed, and, the sky is clear."
She went to .the windowf and drew aside the
curtain. The dark clouds were gone, and in
their stead the moon shone bright on wood and
hill. Marston's journey would be needless,
Sir Richard would be safe now. She heaved
a deep sigh of relief, and with a light step
went her way to the supper-room.
The evening were away; the great clock over
the stables had long since struck nine, and the
hands were nearing . ten, when Lady Courthope,
throwing a cover over the embroidery which
had occupied her since supper, retired to her
own chamber for the night. It was a large,
lofty room in the west wing of the building,
remote from the staircase, and at the further
end of a long corridor, which opened by side
doors into several unused rooms. But the
young bride had chosen it rather than any
other, for she knew her husband had lived in
it and loved it, and that long ago it had tbeen
his metners room. The high mantel-piece
with its curious carvings, the cieling decorated
with strange paintings of nymphs and eunids
the antique furniture, anti tall canopied
bedstead, gave a quaint and sombre aspect to
the chamber; but to-night the fire roared and
crackled on the hearth, and flashed upon the
yellow damask draperies, and the candles burn
ing on the dressing-table lit up every corner.
As Lady Courthope entered, her maid came for
ward from the door on the opposite side of the
room, which led into a small dressing-room.
" Have you been waiting long, Hester ?" the
lady exclaimed, noting the girl's weary eyes.
" Xott look sadly tired."
"I have just come in, my lady. Anne and I
have been in the work-room all the evening,
and 'tie that makes my head ache so."
"Poor girl!" said her mistress pityingly;
"you have been more used to milking cows
than stooping. over needle-work. But cheer
up, Hester, and it will seem more easy in time.
Have the thers gone to bed ?"
"All but Stephen, my lady; I heard him
cross the hall just now."
" Tell him he need not keep watch for Sir
Richard. He is, I trust, ere now safe in Ches
ter. He must have forded the river while it
was yet passable."
"Or if the stream were swollen, my lady, he
had but to ride dawn to the old stone bridge
below father's house," the girl said quietly.
"The bridge—l heard of no bridge!" ex
claimed Lady Courthope.
"'Tie by the old priory—a matter of three
miles round maybe; but Sir Richard knows it
well."
"And Marston had forgotten it," said her
mistress, musingly.
" He said nothing of the ford," Hester an
wend; "he oily said that he was going to
ride after Sir Richard.;'
" He has not come back ?" Lady Courthope
asked abruptly.
":Oh ! no, my lady ; he told us that if he did
not meet Sir Richard, he should stay at the
Golden Horn till morning."
"I gave him no such leave;" and there was
surprise and resentment in Lady Courthope's
tone. A long silence followed, while the maid
moved softly to and fro„ assisting her mistress
to undress, till, as she brought the taffeta dress
ing-gown and velvet slippers, Lady Courthope
said kindly" That will do; 4 can brush my
own hair for this night. Now go, and sleep off
your headache."
The maid lingered awhile, but at a second
bidding she withdrew, thankful to he released.
Lady Courthope followed, to secure the door;
then returning, she drew an arm-chair close to
the fire, and leaning back in it began to unfas
ten her shining braids of hair. With her fin
gers moving dreamily among the golden tresses,
as they fell around her lovely face, she sat
thinking of many things ; ahe thought of her
husband, the husband who seemen l yet closer
to her heart for that very difference of age
which had made many marvel at the marriage;
she thought of his tender indulgence toward
her faults, of his almost fatherly care, of his
sympathy in all her pains and pleasures, and
yet of the manly respect and trust with which
he treated her—of the perfect confidence which
he, the man of forty-five, showed in the wife
more than twenty years younger thanlimself.
And then silo picturecbthe coming years,.and
the time when his hair should be white, and
his now upright figere bent, and when she in
turn shbuld show her love and gratitude by her
unwearied care—when she should forestall his
every wish, and make his declining age so
happy, that he should never regret his youth ;
and when too—and her cheek flushed at the
thought—young children, bearing in their faces
a mingled likeness to them both, might per
chance be about them, making the house, so
quiet now, ring with laughter from morn to
night; and as the picture rose before her she,
yearned to lay her head up'on her husband's
breast and whisper it to him.
It was so strange to be here, far from him.
If she could but leave this lonely, silent room,
and mount her horse, and gallop through the
darkness to that inn at Cheater. That vague
dread was coming back to her again. The fire
was dying down, the room seemed darker, . and
PRICE TWO CENTS.
a cold chill crept over her frame. The dread
grew. The ivory brush upon her knee Slid
down, and fell with a dull, heavy sound upon
the floor; she stooped hastily to reach it, but
as she raised her face, all veiled by her long,
drooping hair, she saw, away by the window in
the farthest corner of the room, a bony hand
grasping the fringe edge of the damask curtain,
and a white, eager face peering from behind it,
intently watching her. One instant and the
curtain fell softly, silently, and that face was
gone. But she had seen it, and she knew it.
Not six hours ago that same look of hatred and
revenge had been turned upon her, and with a
'Sickening heart she recognized the fierce eyes,
the lowering brows, and knew at last what that
look meant. She did not start or cry. Her
pulses throbbed wildly, her very blood was
chilled; but she sat on calmly, quietly. She
had trembled at the bare thought of peril to
her husband, but now, in her own fearful dan
ger, she was brave and steadfast. Her icy
hands still toyed with her bright hair, her eyes
were bent vacantly upon the dying embers, and
there was no outward sign of the tumult with
in ; and yet she knew and understood all.—
Marston was there close by her. Hie night
journey had been but a feint to hide his deadly
purpose and to screen himself. He had stolen
back in 'the darkness, and hidden there to wait
for her, and—murder her. And he might mur
der her. Here alone in this locked room, how
could she escape him ? If she fled, if she could
even gain the gallery,outside, it would avail
her little. Long, long before she could pass
those deserted rooms, before her voice could
summon any to her aid, he would be upon her,
his fingers at her throat. And then there came
across her a strange memory of how one sum
mer day she had seen him standing on the gar
den terrace twisting in his hands a piece of
rope—how he wound it round and round until
the strained fibres were stiff and rigid, and how
then his iron fingers had been bent for one more
effort, and when the last turn was given, the
rope was left hanging idly on his arm. A
strange thing to recall at such a time as this,
stranger still that she should almost ehtidder
in recalling it. What, if rising from her chair,
she were to go straight to that window, and
drawing back the curtain, confront him there,
and in her husband's, in his master's name,
appeal to him for pity? Ah, no; that name
from her lips would but inflame his jealousy
and hate. She raised her eyes, and they rested
on something bright and glittering,. something
which just then seemed a friend; for there,
above the chimney-piece, within reach of her
hand, hung her husband's' rapier. She might
seize it, and with one wild dash, stab her ene
my ere he'could free himself from those con
cealing folds; but her woman's soul shrank
from that deed even in this her dire extremity.
In that upward glance another thought had
come into her mind—her dressing room ! The
door stood open, not ten paces from her. Once
locked in there—but, alas 1 there was neither
bolt nor bar, and the key turned on the outside.
Her heart almost sank within her. Already
she seemed to hear stealthy steps upon the
Hoar, behind, around her, to feel hot breath
upon her cheek; and still she sat on quietly.
Was there no escape for her ! Once again her
eyes fell on the open door of the dressing
room.
There are moments in life when every power
er 1 2.1e-11.111L.X-10 onmd
ideas and plans, which at another time might
be the work of weary hours, are formed in one
short instant. Such a moment came to Lady
Courthope now. As she looked at the dressing
room door and the key on the outside, a scheme
flashed across her, bringing back the life-blood
to her cheek, sending fresh hope to her heart.
If she could but decoy him into that room—
decoy him as she has seen birds and dogs de
coyed by some tempting bait. She has a bait.
He haszoome for his revenge, but she knows
there is another passion strong in him, and
that passion is avarice. Often has she seen his
eyes brighten at the touch of gold; often Sir
Richard laughingly said that the one fault of
his old and faithful servant was the love of
money; and now, if through that lthre she can
beguile him first to the dressing-room, she may
yet be saved. The part before her was hard
and perilous, but she could trust herself to play
it. She knew that if her nerve once failed, ber
doom was sealed, but the. brave young heart did
not quail. Slowly and deliberately she fas
tened up her hair, then rising from her seat,
threw fresh logs upon the fire, and crossing the
room, laid her brush upon the dressing-table:
Some books were lying there; she took up one
of them, turned the leaves carelessly, then
throwing it down, exclaimed In a low tone—
" Too tired to read, and yet not tired enough
for sleep; I wish the night were over." She,
yawned wearily, waited a moment, as though
in doubt, then muttering—" By the by, those
emeralds," took a bunch of keys from the ta
ble, and went toward a small ebony cabinet in
laid with silver, which stood beside the •fire
place. Her voice had not faltered. No tone
could haVe betrayed that she had seen that
crouching figure, and that her words were spo
ken for those listening ears ; and now she must
constrain her limbs to calm, slow movements,
to bear out the deception.
She unlocked the cabinet, and from one cor
ner drew out a small satin-wood box—her
jewel box ; laying it on the floor beside her,
she stooped to arrange two other boxes which
she had displaced, and then fastening the cab
inet, returned to the dressing-table, and lifted
one of the lighted candlesticks. With the box
in one hand, and the candlestick and keys in
'the other, she advanced toward the dressing
room door. Just as she reached it, a board
behind her creaked sharply and suddenly, and
her heart stood still. Was he following her,
I tempted teo soon by the costly prize ? Was
the moment come ? No ; all was again still
and silent as the grave. She went on, on to
to the further end of the long, narrow dressing.
room, leaving the door still set wide. She put
the jewel-box and candlestick upon the table ;
she stood where her every movement might be
seen from the dark corner where he was hiding,
and then unfastening the box, she laid ont the
various trays, and spread the glittering trink
ets all around her. One by one she lifted them,
holding them close to the light, moving them
to and fro, so that the precious stones might
sparkle in the blaze, and then carefully polish
ing them, put them back. For nearly half an
hour she stood trifling now with one, now with
another, her fingers busied in rubbing and ar
ranging, her ear strained for any sound, her
heart leaping as the flickering candle threw
sudden shadows on the walls; and still there
was no movement in the dim chamber beyond.
She must return there now, for she could stand
no longer, her strength seemed ebbing, and
that forced composure was too terrible to last.
For one half instant she paused to gather
breath, then, with a weary sigh, she laid aside
the bracelet she was holding, and raising her
candle, moved toward the bedroom. On the
threshold she stopped, retreated a step or two,
and seemed to hesitate. If she had seen how
at that instant the hand behind the curtain
was tightening its grasp upon the knife, and
the crouching form was making ready for a
spring—if she had seen this, even her courage
might have failed ; but she did not see it, and'
she played out the play. Murmuring in a low,
steady tone, "No matter for to-night," she
came into her chamber, leaving the jewels
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scattered about the table, and the door' stand
ing open. And now the trap was set, and she
might rest and watch:
Hastily extinguishing the lights, ehe drew
aside the bed-curtains, and lay down. There
was a strange repose after that long and fear
ful self restraint in lying motionless in the fitful
firelight, her aching limbs stretched out, her
weary head resting on the pillow—a strange
repose, even though he was so near her. The
minutes passed away, the deep tones of the
clock struck out twelve, and still all was quiet,
save for the click of the embers on the hearth,
and the distant baying of the dogs in the Court
yard.. With closed eyes, drawing deep breath,
as though asleep, she lay listening. It seemed
as if she had lain there many hours, when at
last there was a feint stir in thitt corner. He
was coming out now. She dared not look' or'
move but she heard—she heard the dull fall of
the curtain, the stealthy, cautions footsteps on
the floor. Was he going to the dressing-reom ?
No—Heaven help her—he was coming to her
bed: The steps came on, nearer, nearer;
something brushed against the bed 'clothes,
then stopped close beside her. Her eyes were
closed,. her breath still Came softly through
her parted lips, but within that statute-like •
form tlipre was a human soul praying in mortal
anguialr for pardon for herself, and comfort for
her widowed husband.. A pause—and then
another slight movement. He was bending
over her; his hand - was pressing the pillow;
. then something sharp and cold was- laid across
her throat. The last pang had come, and she
had no, power now to move or cry. One me.:
meat more, and she would be at peace. But
the moment passed, and she still lived.—
Another moment and, that cold pressure was
gone. His breath was no longer on her face;
yet he was still there ; she felt him stirring ;
she knew that he was watching her. bong
he watched, then, muttering low : "My hand
shakes ; I'll wait a while," he turned away.—
She heard him turn, she heard his footsteps
slowly receding from the bed, but the sound
brought no relief; she was past that ; she had
felt the death-pangs, and she almost lon
ged that the knife had done its work, and
brought her release from that long torture ; but
the end had not come yet. He was going to
the dressing-room. Once, twice he stopped,
as though listening, then he went on again ;
'and now he was moving something on the dres
sing table. There was a feint rattle, a dead
pause, then again that stealthy tread, \ she
strove to open her eyes, but they seemed sealed,
and it needed a convulsive effort to unction
them, and she saw him.
The room was very dark now, but by the
faint glimmer of the fire, she could just dis
cern the door-way of the dressing-room and
the figure standing within it. The triw had
taken—the jewels had lured him. He turned
his head, and her lids fell instantly, though
she lay hidden in the deep shadow of the heavy
bedstead. When she looked again, he was
standing where she had stood •an hour ago.—
There was light in the dressing-room, for he
held a blazing match, and a candle burned
upon the table by his side. She could see Mtn
plainly now, his tall, square form, his long
arms, but not his face, for his back was to
ward her. Casting away the burning match,
he bent over the table, and softly swept the
jewels tnward him This was her time. It
would be bn ._
fru hint
to gather, and return to -her. She knew
those two minutes lay her only chance, the
chance for which she had so longed., But she
seemed spell-bound. That frightful moment
when the steel had, touched her neck had par
alyzed her a powers, and an unspeakable her.;
ror was upon her. She struggled with that
horror; she thought of her husband, of all to
whom her life was precious, and with one In
ward prayer for strength, for courage, she
slipped noiselessly on to the floor. He had
not heard her - his head was still bent ; his
fingers were st ill busy with the jewels. Bare
footed, her eyes fixed upon his figure, she stole
on, softly groping her way toward the door,
past the end of the bed, by the dressing-table ;
she was close upon it now, her hand was
stretched out to grasp the handle—there were
but two more steps to take, when her foot
struck with a dull sound against an unnoticed
stool, and she stumbled ; she recovered herself
instantly; but faint as the noise was, his ear
had caught it, and he turned and saw her.—
For one moment they stood face to face gazing
upon each other, then they both made for the
door. She Was the nearer of the two, and she
was there first ; she had hold of it; she pushed
it to, but ere she could turn the key, his fin
gers Were upon the other handle. It was a
struggle for life and death, a struggle , between
a strong man and a desperate woman. It
could not last long. Inch by inch, the door
was yielding to his pressure, when gathering
all her strength for one last effort, with‘a
power beyond her own, she forced it home. It
closed; the key rattled round the look, and
with a wild hoarse fieream-she fell back upon
the floor. She was atill conscious ; she heard
him beating on the strong oak pannels in his
vain fury; she heard hie passionate impreca
tions ; and after a while other sounds, too,
reached her ear—hurrying feet in the gallery,
many voices outside her door. That piercing
cry had roused every sleeper in the house, and
they were all gathered there now, entreating
'admittance ; she rose, she tottered across the
room, and let them in; and af‘ they came
around her, gazing horror stricken at her wild
eyes, her blanched lips, she panted out , her
tale, ever pointing to that inner door; then
laying her head on Hester's shoulder, and
moaning out : "0 husband, save me !" swooned
away.
It was still early, on theporning of the self,
same day, when Sir Richard, followed by a
groom, galloped up the Beech Avenue. The
white autumn mist hung like a shroud over the
park, the golden leaves fell in showers around
him, but be noted them not, as with spur and
whip he urged on his flagging steed. His rud
dy face was pale as death—his eyes were fixed
on the walla of his house, her house—his teeth
were set in dread anxiety, for he knew all.—
They had sent to summon him, and since he left
Chester, he had not once drawn rein. He was
here at last, at his own dool., and throwing
himself off his. exhausted horse, he flung the
reins to his servant, and sprang up the steps.
No wife was there to welconie him. All was
still and quiet. Without—the dewy grads, the
red sun struggling through the mist, the falling
leaves. Within thedark eld hall, the ser
vants sadly watching for him ,' and low sounds of
weeping. He looked from one to another, then
his parched tongue slowly formed the words
" Where is she ? " They led him to the room
where she was lying; but when he knelt beside
her, and pressed his quivering lips upon her
fevered brow, she only greeted him with a wild
laugh, and gazing at him vacantly, began again
her miserable rambling talk of emeralds and
keys, lonely rooms and glittering knives. For.
a while he lingered, looking down upon her
haggard face, softly stroking her tangled hair,
then unable to endure it longer, hurried away.
They wanted him elsewhere, for Marston was
still in,the house, cod had asked to see him.—
But Sir - Richard shook Hi held; he dared not
trust. himself just now nea r that man; let them
carry hi m away far from his eight. There was
nothing fresh to hear, for Marston had already
t o ld all—how his first dislike had deepened