—.~IdMatTIMITG' RLTEB
• 31. I mo. 3 mos. limos. I or.
Dna Square . . ' 1.80 1.73 35010.01
wo Squares . 1350 380 • 300 10.1 M 10.04
Three Squares
..,', 4 . . 8.00 ; 8.03 13.00 SI 1111
Iltx Squares. . . 8.03 13.CP wkat ask
natter Column. . 10. M; MOO MOO
Half Column . . 13.00 naso 30.110
1 100
One echiltut • um, am sow co
Professional Cards $l.OO per line por year;
Administrator's and Auditor's Notices, 113.00.
City Notices,,2o cents per lino Ist insertion. PI cents per
line each subsequent Insertion.
Ten lines agate constitute a square.
ROBERT IREDELL, Jn., Poulson:Ea,
:ALLENTOWN, PA
elotbing.
4 4 :)
THE CHEAPEST,
trim MOST,BEAUTIFUL
AND MOST DURABLE
CLOTHING,
KEYSTONE HALL
BALLIET & N A.G L E
Have the Urged, best and ohosport dock of CLOTHING
ever got up In Me elty,and soil Goode In their lino, myth am
COATS,
PANTS,
and all other Ooodepertalolog to 111 EN '8 W 11l It
FOR LESS MONEY,
than you can buy elsewhere In Eastern Pommylauds
.NO Slop Shop made Goods sold.
CLOTHING MADE TO ORDER.
Wo keep con.tantly on hand a largo and elegant assort
ment of GOODS, from which customers can make theta
selection. and have them made up on short notice.
Their Cutting Department is under the .upervidon of
GEORGE K. REEDER,
re b s h :to m s:llf b y e e iTart r O * 4% lia th lM o nTl: g ol e es
former patrons.
4GrAll work warranted to be of the very best.
Call and see our new SPRING STOCK, received at the
NRYSTONE HALL,
No. 24 West Hamilton Street
next door to the German Reformed Church, ALLEN
TOWN, PA.
• full assortment of Oente Furnishing Goods always on
hand.
AARON DALLIRT,
may 1241
GREAT ATTRACTION !
NEW FIRM! NEW GOODS!
CLOTHING! CLOTHING!
GRAND SPRING AND SUMMER OPENING.
GREAT REDUCTION IN PRICES
T. OSMUN & CO.,
sneoueore So Nagger & Osmun.
BARGAINS
GREAT CLOTHING EMPORIUM
IN REIMER'S BUILDING,
NO. 43 EAST HAMILTON STREET,
I=
We would Inform the citizens of Allentown and the sur
rounding country that we are prepared with a large clock
of goods for
SPRING AND BUMMER WEAR,
and otter them to the public at reasonable prices. To those
who bay their Clothing ready-made, they are prepared to
offer BARGAINS.
WHOLE SUITS )(ADE TO ORDER I
COATS, PANTS AND VESTS
Cut and made In the latest style, andby the best workmen
OUR STOCK OF
•
CLOTHING, CLOTHS AND CASSIMERE/3,
Is tarter then It has been before, and we Intend to .ell
very MALL PROFITS, and Elva our customers the bete•
It of our low Dural}...
Great quantilloo and vorletleo of
NECKTIES, CUFFS, COLLARS,
And everylhing la the line of
aRNr.s FURNISHING GOODS
MEN'S. YOUTHS', BOYS', and CHILDREN'S
READY-MADE CLOTHING,
CONSTANTLY ON HAND
Don't forgot the place. No. 43 gnat Hamilton street, third
door above With street.
T. Onion. JACOB U. SCROLL,
mar 24-tt
S gricultural.
IMPORTANT TO FARMERS!
•
CALIFORNIA AND OREGON
SEED WHEAT AGENCY.
We furnish Fanners with the
BEST SEED WHEAT IN THE WORLD
• rerioctly free from insectlform or other Impurities I
grown from AUSTRALIAN and CHILI Seed, yielding, on
good .011,
SIXTY BUSHELS TO TIIE ACRE,
And weighing
65 POUNDS TO THE MEASURED BUSHEL.
The Ears of Wheat, when mature, aro tumidly eleven or
twelve Inches long.
sar Put up and neeurely tied and sealod in linen bag.,
and sent by mail free to all parts_ of tho country, on re
ceipt of price.
PRICES '
SAMPLES 10 CTS. EACH I HAGS We. and 51 EACH
Or In larger quantities at reanonable rate..
Address—
CALIFORNIA AND OREGON
SEED WHEAT AGENCY,
SAN FRANCISCO,
eb 10 , 111.11 CALIFORNIA.
BoWEit , s
COMPLETE MANURE,
mAntrAciusen IT
HENRY BOWER, Chemist,
rulLADELrriti
I
Super-Phosphate of Lime, Atnonia and Potash
WARRANTED FREE FROM ADULTERATION
TMa Manure contain. ;Mho elements to produce lan
grope et all kinds, and Is highly recommended by all who
used it, also by distinguishedchemist.' who have._by an
alyale, tested Its qualitlee. Packed to page of WOlbe.
each.'
DIXON, BUARPLEBB & CO.,
•GENTS,
89 South Wator'and 40 South Delaware Av.,
=
For nolo by WILLIAM REYNOLDS, TA South Street,
Baltimore, Md. For Information, address Henry Bower,
Philadelphia. tab 10-'6l4y
TASTABLISHEWIN 1861.
REMOVAL.
JACOB HARLEY, ti
JEWELER,
y. to MN Now
Invites patrooolo the rilitErnapli
he a Store. NO. UJ) C rtz . "ll . B erAl oelectod Moak TfllLa.
nurrar. ll %re m . urt c ad a:LOCKIL iiriguer. SILVER
"a.
21.1.17 A WZTUItttriS reli reta
ELEY carefully repaired.
JEWELRY sad SILVER WARE of alt klada
order.
NOTICE. --- THE ANNUAL MEET.
Ingot the stockholders of
THE THOMAS IRON COMPANY,
'and an elation for Directors will be bold lathe oats of
the Coinioan_n_at tiokendstiqua. TtliteDnlt.the
&Wet Aullner next, ISIS clock M.. go!". open from
lea 1 stock. J K 1510112...
9141
VOL. XXIII.
r ati~~ ~ ~i:~~
PRICE LIST.
Coate' & Clerk's Cotton. 7c., °there charge 100.
Ladles' White Hose,-123e., others charge IS.
Better quality. lee:, other. ehargelSe.
Finer quality. 25. 50, 33 and 46e.
You can save on Hosiery from 3 to 910. a pair by buy.
tug of us:
lelendid Yardtwlde 12"fc.. other. Charge
Pine an Wainsvals, 13c.. others charge 910.
Bent Wamentta Hodin, TM., others charge 22e.
Heaviest Brown Sheeting, 16c., ethe. FEW.
You can savefrovi 3to a cents per yard by buying
Muttia. of
Beet Merrimack Print e l / 4i 1.214e., other. charge 16c.
Best Payer Muslin., 13, 0.. other. charge Ilte. •
Doable-width Alpacas. 10., others charge 50e.
Finer quality Alpacas, 6714 c., other. charge 000.
Very fine Alpacas. 500.. °there charge 300.
Still Visor Alpacas, euperb good., 00, 7), 85c.. and 51 00.
You can save from 1310 30 cents per yard by buying
Alpacas of us.
Best Spring DeLaines, 18c.. other, charge 2.10.
Plaid Drone Goode, 250., others charge
Unbleached Table Diaper, Me., other. charge SOc.
Extra Wide and Heavy, 750 , others charge 51 CO.
Bleached Snow Drop Diaper, 650., others charge 000.
Damask Table Diaper, 75c., other. charge 11l 00.
Very floe Damask, SI 00, other. charge II 93.
You can sore from 20 to 50 cenieby buying Table Dia.
Verso! us.
Heavy Blue Denture, Die., others charge Mk
Better quality. Ito., others charge 400.
Good Straw TICkIIIII. 160., others charge Me.
Better quality, 250., others charge 350.
Very Heavy and Good, 93e., other. charge 43c.
Flne all wool Flannel, 2734°., °than charge 500.
You can ear, from sto 20 rents per yard by buying
Mars goods of us.
Beet Kentucky Jean, 40 and 4.3c.,,othere charge GI.
All Wool Caschnoree, 7,5 c,„ othere n charge . sl_oo._
VlVeldeluignutr,4.l.l oile rs otgrgh.Vies 00.
• Plaid Shirting Flannels. 230., o ther. charge
Flue Litton Napkin.. 51 ao per doz., others charge 52 W.
Finer qualities. $2 DI per dor., other, charge 53 00.
You can sattefrom 16 1076 cents per yard by boning
these goods of us.
Black Silk. 51 50, others charge 02 00.
Heavy Black Silk.. 52 2d, others charge 113 W.
Very heavy Corded 51 00..othere charge p 50.
Hendee.) Silk Poiline. SI Oil, other* charge 51 76.
Plain Colored Silk °plink It 57%, others charge 52 21.
Colored Drees Sill., g 2 25, others charge 53 00.
You can rare from 60 cents toll 00 by buying Milks
of us.
Good Stair Garmts. 23a., others charge 45.
Finer quality, 16e., others charge We.
Yard wido Hurrahs . , 55c.„ others charge 51 00.
Very heavy Ingrain, 51 00, other. charge 51 66.
These are Auction Carpet/ and are awful cheap.
VESTS
EE=
the74lgtq l 4 =AV: . :Orltra e c t tly t isTtiMit.7.! th
FOSTER'S
NEW YORK CITY STORE,
Opposite German Reformed Church.
♦LLENTOWN. PA.
WHITE GOODS.
BELOIV REGULAR RATES.
PLAIN, PLAID AND STRIPED NAINSOOKS.
VICTORIAAID AND STRIPED ORGANDIES.
AND BISHOP LAWNS.
PEKIN FORM, New Style, and Choke for Drew...
TATA% 1r N AGY& 811 ED coaIICS .
SHINNED MUSLIMS. A Choke Stock. R
EMPROIDERIES.
PINE NEEDLEWORK EDOINOB and INSERTINOS at
ONE-HALF VALUE.
AMBLIROS, In k i nd.i CAMBRIC. A Fell Sc. ROFFLINGS of al as MAGIC, EMPRESS, Re
LACES.
REAL and IMITATIONIIIFTRE
READ GUIP URE ,
VALENCIA.
8081 NETS and WASH BLONDS.
IIRENADINEII FOR VEILS, The New Color..
LADIES', MIBBEB', and BOYS' CUYYSand COLLARS.
TYMAISTRR & ROSS,
212 NORTH EIGHTH STREET, •PHILADA.
July 7.'00
6 6 SUDDEN CHANGE."
WILL LOW PRICES INFLUENCE YO Ut
OLD TIMRS AGAIN
IMMENSE REDUCTION IN PRICES
TtiE OLD CORNER
STOCK OF SPRING GOODS,
mrrras, VARIETY, AND LOWNEHE OF PRIOR
shall and cannot by nuipa.mcd
I Competition defied with any other Establish:nen
outside of the larger cities.
MAIITIN LTXIIII
SPACE WILL NOT PERMIT OF NAMING such an Im
mense stock at good., but let It stance to say thot we hay o
the most COMPLETE as.ortment of !Adios' Dres. Goods,
Dress Silk., Poplin., Shawl.,Efitimorals, Hamm Furnish - -
log Good., ladles' Cloaking_ Cloth, Men. Wear lu Cloth,
Caulmeres,ke., and everything that .• kept Inn Fl REP
CLASS DRY GOODS STORE In endless variety. Ido not
"QUOTE PRICES" a. somo houses do, but will guarantee
ASTONISHING FIGURES.
The difference in prices of goods to.da7 and a month a■o,
Is really painful for those who hare been caught with,
large stocks on hand at high price., hut as OLD ot the
ease with me, I ehall OA heretofore make the COIL.
Zollt
THE GREAT PLACE OF INTEREST
AND HEADQUARTERS
for Mo maim to get their goods al the •
LOWEST MARKET PRICES
I fully realise that no permanent .access can be &alley ed
unless the promises held out by adveritsements are found
to be fully sustained on a 'flan to the store. Nor can It be
a large esteeess without scrupulously reliable and fair
dealing at all limas and uniform Courtesy to every costa.
suer, and the endeavor to make every buyer s constant
dealer. All I ask is simply to decide by actual trial
whether or not It is to your advantage to become a endo
rser.'
Iteepectfully Young,
M. J. KRAMER,
" OLD, CORNER,"
OPPOSITE .THE -EAGLE HOTEL.
aprlll4 —tf
erarpeto anb Qrtotb.
THE CARPET AND OIL CLOTH
E. S. SHIMER & CO.,
NOB. 5 AND 7 WEST HAMILTON ST
REPLEN (SHED
la all Its lat est Tarletlee. stylea anti patterns.
PRICES REDUCED!
W► keep for male all the following popular make.
BODY BRUSSELS.
6 FRANK ENGLISH,
5 PRANK 1110ELOR.
&PRANK HARTFORD,
ENOLIfill TAPESTRY. .
CROSSLEY'S TAPESTRY.
•
STODDART TAPESTRY
•
SMITII TAPESTRY,
HARTFORD k LOWELL, extra 3 ply.
IMPERIAL, extra 3 ply,
\ MEDIUM BDPILEFINIE B ply,
SMITH TAPESTRY INGRAIN,
PHILA. EUPERYINI de.
. PHILADELPHIA PINE INGRAIN,
PHILADELPHIA COMMON INGRAIN,
PHILADELPHIA WOOL INGRAIN, de.
WINDO-W SHADES
AID
CIIRTAINS
OP EVERT DESCRIPTION, STYLE AND PRICE%
MANHOOD; HOW LOST, SOW
.1112T01131D.
brtealeaV i i=iatati awry (wlt►on{
anwv=U4l to ,V4. k
riel. =rkl:r.lll.4
os,.
sentLxquatellaß
la a mita eavejauth • , eke est&
e=ratad wither, la ill. 1.14 My _gator shorty
1 1 11171=Maegl is a t i tt li aertZe4=ty nut that
eared without th 4 aaMp42 use or Withal illOdWiaa u the aPollasttea or the WOO t porta*" oat • soda or yam
at ouco simple, outdo. and egtetart4 by West otiaid ,
glar=r=l;l2•jariula=g. he,
in"
a t ralLeetwi th atrabe ta uie hand* of *very youth
Beat uuder la • olaht eweeloye. to a
part add».
reo l V . 437l:Vriwill' o a r • td asitnt Gra I ertg l eti
Addy's& the Publiebcre. °HA& J. C. KLINK CO,
Jy22.ly 00wery , New York. P. 0. 1.5 4.6115.
& WATERMAN.
IC ar r a r a le eNtinfral i d A LLl.V. T hg Itg VIZ:
Philadelphia.
T h e tonic properties of those Bitter. bare boon certified
bum. four most lb.eminen redict& ' t phyalelaam as
` real 1 4:ArAt tr'e he
or Whisky
cocktail.
.‘
.• .• • A . „
I +
.
Erg 6 °OWL
Jul opened an mermen.
Whickk as usual for
EMPORIUM OF
I=l
ALLENTOWN, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING,' JULY 28, 1869.
GLAMOUR
=IQ
Timm aro some women who can face any
thing unpleasant. Rebecca was such a wo
man. She did It unflinchingly, rather enjoying
in anticipation the work she had set herself
to do. She had on a pair of black cotton
gloves. She rst in that prickly arm-chair usu
ally reserved for Captain Skcflington's sole
use. The gloves told their tale plainly enough.
ac t
Miss Skaington did not neon to employ
herself with any sort ' fendnioe trilling.
The work she had on b ul was of a different
nature, and she had cone trated all her for
ces on the ' ne point, and .did not mean to
have them distracted by knitting or crochet.
she had spread a course linen pocket-handker
chief over her knees, and she was waiting;
she was, in' fact, prepared to wait ; she had
taken up her position like a skillful general,
and could afford to do so ; for DOlores had
been sent to Hampstead to visit an old servant
and Rebecca knew that her victim would soon
arrive. There was nothing-of the Minerva
about her ; she was simply an ugly, disagree
able old maid In black cotton gloves, about to
do an unwomanly thing in a peculiary un
pleasant manner.
Robert Stapleton's knock was heard at the
door, and the next moment he was shaking
two of Rebecca's drum-sticks, which she had
liberally extended to him as a sacrifice to hos
pitality. Having gone through the prelitni
naryrites she rasped her throat, and with some
asperity begged hint to be seated.
Robert seated was more get-at-able than
Robert standing. Ho was a tall man, with
wide shoulders and a fine deep chest, and he
had a way of smiling down upon his enemies
which was not always exactly soothing , to his
antagonists. Rebecca had seen that smile.
She declined to be smiled upon after his fash
ion. Having caught and caged her lion, she
must torture him at her own convenience ; he
might be sat upon, but she must not be smiled
upon. So she got hint on to one of the slip
pery chairs, and then she told him to put his
hat down, as what she had to say would take
some time. He did as he was bid, carefully
repressing the offensive smile.
" And now," said Miss Rebecca, "I fun
going, Sit, to ask you a plain question.
What are your intentions toward my sister ?"
"I should say my intentions were 'good,'
but for that proverb about the paving stones,"
answered he, smiling, but not the worst
smile.
"Because," continued Rebecca, disregard
ing the frivolous interruption, "I must beg
you not to co i e Imre as you have been doing.
You seem always to be here since that unlucky
day we met you in St. Patti's. You brought
my father up to town in October, you took
him to Ringsmend in August, you were at
Dover while we were there, and hero you arc
again."
She wound up as though reproaching that
Inevitable personage who appears so faithful
ly in every Christmas pantomime.
"And is there any reason why I should
not be here—l mean in London.
"Every reason. Dolores Is a vain, thought
less girl, neither better nor worse than others,
perhaps I but I can not have her bead turned
by this kind of thing. She is in it good sit
uation, and if she loses it through your fault
it will bed difficult thing for her to find anoth
er."
"Miss SkellingtOn," said Hobert Stapleton
rising, "I honor your sisterly solicitude, and
I will set your mind at rest. lam going to
Kingsmead the day after tomorrow. In
calling here so often, I have obeyed your uncle
and aunt's wishes quite as much as the dictates
of my own heart. I have the friendliest feel
ings towards your father. I am sorry if I have
unduly intruded as far as Dolores is concern
ed—well I have asked her over and over
again to be my wife. She does not love me
Ido not complain. Any man might be proud
to win and wear her ; but I have no claims to
her regard beyond my devoted disinterested
attachment to herself, if that may In any wise
be so regarded. I shall never ask her to be my
wife again; but I shall not cease to watch over,
to care for, and to love her. There you may
have my confession. I make it for Dolores's
sake.• You have no right to know her
thoughts or mine ; and if I had not loved her
as I do, I would not have spoken as I have
done. Had I not loved her at all, pray be
lieve me that your questions of to-day would
not have forced me into marrying her. There
is nothing so indelicate as a woman asking a
man what are 'hie intentions.' Good morn-
ing, Miss Skeilington."
t3o that was the end of it. Ile had called
her indelicate, and had had the indecency
himself to declare to her face that he loved
Dolores, and would continue to love her.
" Dis4usting I" said Rebecca to herself ;
"but it shows what deceitful a minx that gir
is."
Of the interview, however, she said nothing
to her sister ; and as Dolores was too pre-oc
cupied to ask any questions, Robert Stapleton's
name Vas not mentioned between them, nor
his visit in any way alluded to. The follow
ing afternoon he came while Rebecca was up
stairs with her father, who was again tempo
rarily indisposed. Dolores was glad to have
an opportunity of speaking to him alone, for
Mrs. Dalrymple had paid her debt, and she
WAS anxious to discharge hers.
As she gave the bank notes into Robert Sta
pleton's hand, and just as be was 'rising to
take leave the door opened, and Rebecca,
wiry-and irate, walked
This is most dishonorable conduct, Mr.
Stapleton I" she cried, shrilly, and walking
up to Dolores seized her angrily by the arm,
holding that delicate member in a grim and
merciless grip the while. " What did you tell
'me yesterday: and on the strength of that I
have foolishly allowed you to come here to
day? 'ls it part of a minister's duty to lead
Billy young girls astray P She is a heartless,
vain, flirting coquette, and I will not have
these goings-on I"
Pain roused Dolores. She wrenched her
arm from the vice in which it was held
eyes flashed fire, her color rose, her voice
trembled and was full of tears •, she looked
defiantly at her sister. Then glancing across
to where Robert stood—ah, wise, patient Rob
ed l—she moved toward him. Her hand
slipped through his arm ; ho never looked at
her. • "Rebecca I" she cried„ "how dare
you talk in that way ? Leading me astray ?"
Why, ho is the only friend I have, the only
one who over loved me. He has been a son
to my father ; ho has been a brother to me.
How dare , you Insult him in this house,
where ho has come as a benefactor, where he
has every right to expect gratitude ? He has
nobly asked me to marry him. I have refus
ed, because lam not worthy of such love as
his ; but I should be the last and the lowest
among the lowest and the mean, ii I stood by
and tamely Submitted to hear him insulted.
The tears were rolling over her cheeks, and
she did not know what she was saying.
"Things have come to a pretty pass, Miss,
when you are bold enough to speak like this,"
sneered Rebecca. "You need not be so aux-
lons to defend the young man ; he can fight
his own battles."
The "young man"—ah, wise Robert Sta
pleton, to stand by silently and see, the desti
ny worked out for him by two woolen—the
obligatory . third was invisible—the "young
man" smiled for an instant that exasperating
smile which his enemies called sardonic, but
spoke no word.
"Bold enough I" repeated Dolores, with a
sob that was half laugh, " I will be bolder than
that. Bee, Rebecca, in your presence I. ask
him to forgive me for all my blindness and
hardness of heart, for all my—"
Els arms were about her, Iris kisses on her
lips ; it was only when Rebecca banged the
door In passing out that Dolores awoke with
a start to a sense of what she had done.
There is Immense rest in a great affection.
It Is like some vast sea, on the unruffled calm
of which we may float and drcmp, a blue sky
above us, and illimitable spade, around. There
is great repose in a strong, true faithful love.
We rest upon it, and do not need to buffet the
waves ; we feel that it holds us up above the
chances of this troublesome world ; and when
we perchance strike on this quicksand or that
bidden rock we turn to our life.buoy and let
the waters go over us, for wo know we are
'safe.
Thus It wag with Dolores. She often told
herself that she was selfish in accepting Rob
ert Stapleton's love ; she often resolved to tell
him why she could not love him as he ought
to be loved ; but she never dld it. He seemed
so happy, so content with the measure of love
that she was able to mete out to him, that it
would have been cruelty in those early . days
to disturb the serenity of his heaien.
llc laud gone back to Kingsmead the day
after his last happy interview with Dolores,and
Ids daily letters breathed the happiest spirit.
To her this correspondence was alike a great
pleasure and a great relief. In his presence
she would have been shy, constrained, and ill
at ease ; unwilling to see him as a lover, and
yet fearful of wounding him by coldness and
reserve. But she could write freely ;'and she
felt in this correspondence that they were
learning daily to know each other better and
better. But in the back ground the ghost of
some strange passionate emotion hovered,
haunting her in her hap hest moments.
" I would not willing y deceive you in any
thing," she wrote - to him, "not even when the
deceit might be a pleasing one • and, believe
me, it costs me pain to say that 'I
fear a kind
of selfish gratitude is the strongest feeling
toward you in my heart, just as I believe that
pity' has been theonainspring of your affection
tbr Inc. You inust not think otherivise of me
than lam ; nt least I will not help you in
your identities. lam so anxious you should
believe that lam grateful. I should like to be
able to do something for you. I should like
to perform all the little prosaic duties of life
for you ; to wait upon you, and nurse
you, and mend your stockings, and make
your ten: Ido not wish for auy greater
things than these ; I feel that the great things
must be given by you and received by me.
Your heart is lull of pity, and mine Is full of
gratitude ; have we not built our friendship ou
good foundations f I should like to hear you
always ; to look up to and lean upon you ; to
hold your hand and walk by your side. am
so safe when you are here ; and, believe me,
lam so humble and dutiful to , you in my
heart (whatever my manner may be) that I
know no greater pleasure than in pleasing
you."
And simple Robert Stapleton read the let
ters, and never saw, in his happy blindness,
how much at variance such humility and sub
mission were with Dolores's natural charac
ter. Ile wrote back, and told her lie had.
been happy in loving her aimlessly, how far
happier now with a prospect of their one day
being forever together, the dearest and near
est friends on earth. llad he seemed only
the least bit suspicious she would have con
fessed ; but bow could she do it now ? She
hail not the co•wa6e to break down his simple
trust and cheerful unquestioning faith ; and
so she let it go by. But to herself she often
said : "Ah, if he would only ask questions I
If he would only unlatch •the door I would
push it boldly open." But Robert was con
tent, and the door remained shut.
And so the spring e • le, and the season was
at its highest, and Dolores walked to and front
the house in Lowndes Square,, with a sense of
rest and calm at her heart that was infinitely
soothing. She shuddered when she looked
back and remembered all the passionate emo•
Lions that had convulsed her being; and she
blushed to think how she had, in her wild de
lusion and folly, spurned the pure, noble
love of this simple, honest, manly heart. He
was so gentle and so patient, so tender and so
strong ; so lull of care for her, on anxious to
let her feel that her wishes and her welfare
must ever be his first consideration, that she
felt humbly and sadly she could never half
repay his devotion.
The more she saw of this crystal soul the
more she felt her own unworthiness and. lit-
lioness. "I sin so sure of you,!,' she wrote;
" that is what makes me so happy. Ido not
mean sure of your affection to ate, sure of
your unselfish devotion, but sure of you. It
makes me glad to think that such as you are
you are ; and that with, or without me, and
leaving my relationship to you entirely out of
the question, I know. you to be perfectly up
right and honorable, loving, and true."
In the rectory garden at Kingsmead a hap
py man walked to and fro ; he now and then
drew forth her letters and kissed them. Alt,
what golden wishes those kindly gray eyes
Saw In the bright future • -"^trlutt -herrrenty
dreams they dreamed 1 And now it was July,
and soon Dolores would have her holidays,
and would come down to the Manor ; and
there would lie no more letter-writing (here
he kissed those dear letters again) but a real
living presence—a soft, warns hand to clasp,
a shy heart to tame. Ah, how gentle he would
be with her 1 ho would not press her, or hasten
her in any way. had she not nobly come to
him of her own accord? And wlick he
thought of nil the genero :s indignation thinad
fflashed out of those deer eyes, and remem
bered how she had come to him so frankly,
putting her hand into his with such perfect
confidence, his heart melted, and his eyes filled
with tears and he told himself that she surely
loved him.
" Bessy 1" cried a gay, ringing voice ;
"Messy, where arc you and your conscience?
I can wait no longer ! Why do you hide
yourself in such obscure holes and corners ?"
The schoolroom door burst open, and on
the threshold stood a young man with a flow
er in his coat, and a saucy smile on his hand
soine, good-tempered face. Opposite the door
was a book-case ; some one was reachirg
books down, but as the door burst open, a
face with large dark eyes, that looked half
scared and wholly astonished, turned and
gazed upon the intruder. There. was a mo
ment's pause, during which the books fell
down, and neither of these two young people
spoke. Then Dolores, seeing there was no
escape, .recovered her presence of mind, and
turning to St. 'Vincent as though she had
never seen him before in her. life, she said,
Dravely, but with exquisite politeness, "Miss
alrymple is not here ; if you will allow me,
I will ring the bell and inquire whether she is
at home."
Her heart gave one great bound, which
brought the color to her cheeks; otherwise
she stood there as calm, as cold, as composed
as a queen giving audience to a subject.
St. Vincent stared, hesitated, blushed. "Al
low me to pick up those books," he said, glad
to stoop down and hide his confusion. "I
thought—l—oh," cried the young man, look
ing at her once again, "it Is you—l can not be
mistaken ; you have not forgotten me, Dolo
res?"
"I am Miss Dalrymple's governess," said
Dolores, coldly ; "you are very kind to re
member me, Lord St. Vincent. '
"Kind ?" he cried, coming toward her with
that gay, winning, natural, assured manner
that stole its way into every one's heart.
"Kind? How could any one forget you?
I never have, though I'm a thoughtless, for
getful fellow enough ; I remember every thing
about you ; and the old barrack you were
living in down at what's-his-name, and that
old fellow who led this bear, you know, and—"
There was not the slightest response in Do
lores' face. Her eyes looked grave and se
vere. he stopped, and then went on again as
though all sere right. "What a Jolly little
girl you were I It's ages ago, you know ;
and what a time we had during the hay-mak
ing 1 Do you remember that brown frock,
and the awful tear you made in it, and your
bead—your hair, I mean—getting so full of
burs and bits of hay ? Wasn't it all fun ?"
"Very good fun for children," said Dolores,
seriously ; "but If you will allow me, my lord,
I will ring to inquire for Miss Dalrymple."
Something in her tone stopped him. What
right had this young person to give herself
airs ? Why did she put on the manner of a
nymph or goddess ? He wasn't used to that
kind of tiling ; women were never like that to
him, and he wouldn't stand it. Some people
thought St. Vincent's impertinence charming.
Ile would try its effect on Dolores.
"NO, don't ring," he said, laying his hand
on hers as she wee going to pull the bell ,• "I'll
find Bossy ; just tell me how all my old Mende
down there are ; they were very goad to me,
you know."
"They are all quite well," said Dolores,
softening.
"And—the roses P Do such 'red, red roses'
bloom there still P You remember the roses,
Dolores, and—the kiss?"
His bright blue oyes were looking mischlev
ously Into hers, and his beautiful curly bead
was an inch or two nearer than it need have
been. If he hoped to have disconcerted her
`he was disappointed.
"I must bid you good-afternoon, my lord,"
she answered, quietly, "since you will not al
low ma to be of any use to you ;" and bowing
to him, with serious eyes, she left the room.
She tied, on her bonnet resolutely in the
little room where her walking things were
kept (bonnets were worn then), and pulling
her veil over her face, went down stairs and
out Into the quiet square. St. Vincent stood
where she had lett him--plonle la, as our
frieude say. Ho took tho flower out of his
button-hole and chewed it up. • Such a thing
had never happened
.to him in his life before.
"By — George I' he 'said to him elf,. "who'd
have thought that little wild girl was to grow
into this? I was awfully spooney upon her,
I remember. Regularly. gone, But she's a
splendid-looking creature. There's race, fire,
life, flesh and blood there ; I alWays did hate
your moonshiny, silvery, placid, milk-and.
watery sort of woman." he continued (oblig
ingly thinking of Lettice), "they aro so weari
some ; it's like a perpetual simper, it palls.
But this is a glorious creature._What eyes I
what hair what a figure I an what an air I
Quite absurd, and very much out of place,ofor
a governess to have grand manners of that
kind. • But that kind of thing's born, I sup
pose, not made—as some intelligent person
once observed of some one or another. Very
sly of Bessy and Lettice, though, to keep. the
goveruess sp dark. But girls aro sly ; especi
ally your Iruiet girls with pale eyes and fair
complexions. . Spiteful, you know, and so
on." But here her affectionate cousin except.
ed Bessy, and felt viciously towards his placid
elegant betrothed, and nourished an impres
sion, which was soon to grow into a feeling,
that he owed her a grudge. "But if they are.
sly, I can be silent," he said to himself, and
walked out into the park and found his aunt's
carriage, and made himself so charming and
agreeable that honest Bessy's eyes beamed
over with delight every time they rested on
his handsome face, and oven Lettice smiled a
trifle less languidly than usual.
There is • something inexpressibly and infi
nitely touching in the sight oh a man of riper
years giving up his whole soul, his whole faith
and devotion, to some one human being ;
laying his life and its results, his future and
its .possibilities, at that creature's feet, and
laying them there gladly ; not as a sacrifice,
but as a free-will offering brought by love to
the beloved one's shrine: At the touch of that
soft young palm which bad been laid in Ids,
Hobert Stapleton's heart trembled into Mos
s= again, full of all the emotions of a holier,
happier, brighter spring than it had been given
to his youth to know.
To Dolores there was something sacred and
full of awe In thinking that the care, the fu
ture of this divine soul was hers ; a responsi
bility, a blessing to be acknowledged and ac
counted for hereafter. It was a solemn
thought, and at times the "burden laid upon
her seemed greater than she could bear," and
she would fain have shaken oil' the responsi
bility.
A word from her could make or mar the
happiness of a human life. Not mar that life
itself, because,
'
as she knew, there arc lives
that can not be marred ; and Robert Staple
ton's was one of these. About this time she
wrote to him : "If I ever lose your friendship,
I shall knoWthat I have deserved to do so."
A pang of chill apprehension closoda t rpund
Robert Stapleton's heart as he ,read., ithese
words. "Why does she say these links ?"
he asked himself. "Can I ever cease to love
her, or she to trust me ? If so lam not worthy
of her." And ho put his dismal thoughts
away, writing more cheerily than usual, and
passing over in silence all those parts of her
letter which jarred upon him, and made him
ill at ease.
About this time, too, he began to be haunted
br visions such as had never troubled his re
pose before ; night after night he lay down to
rest, and night after night the same dreams
disturbed him. Ile saw Dolores unhappy ;
Dolores in tears; Dolores pleading ; Dolores
resisting ; Dolores yielding ; Dolores—nh
here he awoke with a start, and the cold drops
of mental agony were on his brow ; for in all
his visions there was a second, another,besides
Dolores ; and when she had disappeared over
the precpice, whets she had been drawn into
the whirlpool and sucked down by the hungry
pitiless waves, when she had vanished in the
flames, that other, that man whose face he
never could see, remained, unscathed, un
moved, safe and free. And nightly he said to
himself, "I will go to London ; Twill tell her
nll my ream - anti - ell iny-tormertt r - mitt - thcry
when morning came, he said, "She will be
offendeff ; she will think I mistrust her • she
surely does love Inc. No I I will be patient,
and I. will wait until she comes."
And Dolores? It seems cruel to tell thin
part of her history, knowing what is to follow :
but do not let us judge her too harshly, do not
let us utterly condemn this poor weak deluded
soul. There is no excuse to be offered for
her ; none. Only let us remember that di
vine saying, "Neither do I condemn thee ;"
not forgetting that if to our happy lives there
has come no temptation, yet that "to err is
human, to forget divine," and that he who
really conquers himself is "greater titan he
who taketh a city." .
Day by day St. Vincent followed her. If
such a nature as his might be called capable of
love, he loved Dolores. Out of opposition,
out of obstinacy, out of vanity it may be, he
followed and persecuted' her; he, who had
been choye all his life by women, met with
nothing but coldness here. He was piqued.
He tried impertinence ; he tried gay good-hu
mor; he tried tender, respectful gallantry;
they glanced harmless off the armor where
with Dolores had clothed herself. Site was
impenetrable. A secret feeling of anger
against the two girls for having so far mistrust
ed him as to "keeßthe governess dark," add
ed' a pleasant:spice of revenge toward Lettice
in his pursuit of Dolores.
. He smiled to think what fools women and
girls are in their cuttings and contrivings, and
how easily outwitted. There was to him a
pleasant dash of malice in the thought of how
he had circumvented them. Dolores avoided
him ; but he always knew where and how to
find her. Ho wrote her a letter Willett she put
into the fire unread, and told him that she had
done so. Ile said site should have another ;
and that, she declared, she would send to Miss
Knyvett ; so ho thought better of his threat,
and contented himself by not only meeting
her on her homewUrd way, but by crossing her
path as she went to her daily duties in the
morning. She told him that she sulMosed she
was obliged as a governess to put up with his
insults, because, if she complained to her em
ployers, the blame would'rest with her all the
same. Ile answered her, she was a wise girl'
to see things so clearly ; and that as to his In
sulting her, she was not :the sort of woman
any man would dare Insult, with her "grand
air" and tragedy-queen manners.
"Laugh at me," cried Dolores, passionately,
"turn me into ridicule, my lord, as you have
always done. lam only the governess."
Ile told her ho had not expected:such pretty
sentiments front her; and that hers was the
pride that aped humility. Perhaps he was not
altogether wrong.
"And I expect you to leave off this cower ,
ly conduct !" she cried. "I will bear it no lo
ger."
"Dolores I"
It was all he said. Ile was a horrible young
man ; but then no one'thought so, that was
the worst of it. There was a something about
him which all his young-lady friends called
"adorable," and which led even his elders to
look leniently on his follies. It was a terri
ble power, this secret indefinable gift of fasci
nation ; it makes the plain beautiful; the beau
tiful divine. It lasts long after youth has fad
ed and spring-time has flown ; it conquers us
against our reason, against our better judg
ment, against' our determination. We all of
us succumb to its influences. I have seen its.
magic attraction draw a roomful of men from
young and beautiful women to a retired cor
ner, where, unpretendingly dressed, not hand
some or even pretty t but possessing an attrac
tion infinitely beyond these qualities, one of
the high-priestesses of fascination sat, and
wove, it may bo unconsciously, her magic
spells. It Is so subtle in its influences that
custom, habit, principles oven fall before it.
We, even as its most devoted victims, do not
know why we arc so ; we ma not define the
mystic spell ; we feel, though we can not ex-
Plnin
"And Miss Knyvett ?" said Dolores.
"As long as, she Is Miss Knyvett, does not
enter into my affairs at all,"
" If those aro your sentiments you will prob
ably flnd it strange that I should think it right
to tell you I am engaged."
For a moment St. Vincent looked crest
fallen. But the next be had recovered MM.
self, and said, with a slight smile, May I ask
who is the happy man 4"
"Mr. Stapleton. , "
"What, the plous%Eneas I 'rho old origi
nal bear-leader ?" and St. Vincent laughed till
. the tears ran down his face.
Dolores flushed up resentfully. -
"Nothing is sacred to you l" she cried, her
eyes filling—angrily.
"Well, not old 'Statiletcm Certainly," replied
St. Vincent; " itor his servant nor Ids maid,
nor his ox nor his , ass, nor any thing that is
She was disgusted. A feeling Of utter re
pulsion, Sickened , her as she looked at this
thoughtless young man, and remembered how
she had investeil him, with every ideal virtue
and noble sentiment, and had worshiped the
image sifehad Oct up.
For a week she remained at hothe. At the
cud of that time Mrs. Dalrymple wrote, beg
ging, her,.if her indisposition would allow of
it, to, return to, her duties in Lowndes Square.
St:Vincent met her with a face of such ten
der concern, with a Manner so gentle and re
spectful, that she told herself she had been
harsh and needlessly severe.. lie, fo'rhispart,
had come to a desperate resolution. He had
grown to hate the lovely Lettice with her
stereotyped smile and her conventional man
ners, her irreproachable toilette and colorless
skin. He loved Dolores's old brown cloak
and simple bonnet more that all the glories of
the Devya or Elises of those -days. He told
himself that he was yoting'and rich, and that
he could risk something to gratify what was
more than a.whim. Lle knew the world—his
,world—well enough to know that it would
forgive Min, even for marrying a governess ;
that it would call hint an amiable 'eccentric,
and welcome back the prodigal son, though he
- brought a penniless nobody of adaughter-Ln.
law Ivith bhn. And then he Smiled to think
how Dohires's rich glOWing beauty would be ,
come the St.' Vincent diamonds, and how she
would by .her brilliant appearance outshine
and eclipse the pale heauties of the town. You
see, he never doubted of his success. Perhaps
in this perfect self-confidence lay tbe secret of
•
his power.
I Would not, if I could, tell the history of
what followed. , When that sweet madness
once sieZes the human mind farewell to all
that may be' judged by common rules. St.
Vincent made Dolores believe every thing.
What all Robert'Stapleton's manly worth and
noble heart could not do his nameless fascina
tion and charm of manner effected. • She hat
ed and despised herself froth beginning to end.
She saw all her fabieness, her want of . truth and
single-heartedness throughout; she wept as
she, thought of that noble heart. But the
glamour was upon her ; and when Hugh, with
passionate; beseeching eyes, said, "Do not
sacrifice us both to a fiction which the world
culls honor, Dolores •, do not (lira good man a
mortal injury by fulfilling your promise to the
ear and breaking it to the heart ; do not drive
me into marrying that pale, soulless puppet
whom I never loved, and whom I should then
Inevitably hate—" it was herself and not him
she blamed. " Oh, Dolo Ts I" cried the
young man, who had nothing to recommend
him but a handsome face and that nameless
winning chard of manner which no woman
had ever yet resisted, " you have always loved.
me—always ; and I have always loved you.
Shall our two young lives be spoiled forever
because we have both made mistakes?"
"I Lava made no mistake," she said, sadly,
" the mistake was—ithl—in loving me."
"But he does not love you as I love you,
Dolores ;he can not. His spring-time and his
youth are gone. He feels friendship, esteem—"
Dolores shuddered. She would write to
Robert Stapleton that night and frankly tell
him all. It waslate in the day to confess her
sins, but better late than never ; it was hard to
wound that tender honest heart, but that must
be her punishment.
"Thorn's nothing the matter, I hope, Sir ?"
""There is much the matter, Mrs. Stevens.
My brother Jamie is dangerously ill at school.
I fun going to him immediately ; and If any
letters come, don't forward them ; I shall
bring Jamie back with me if the doctor will
allow it. As it is, I ' must hurry, or I shall
miss the train to Reading and Dover."
Mr. Stapleton hurried away, leaving care
behind him, carrying care with him, going to
meet fresh carp. ,For his young brother had
the scarlet-fever ; and his heart was heavy
- nbnot the lot- nod about othrer-thingo too. Ito
took out Dolores's In letter and read it. It
brought him no comfort. "I am in a state of
mind," it said, "that will not bear examina
tion or description. lam not satisfied with
myself or my conduct. If you were here—
But it is as well you are not ; I must feel dif
ferently before I can see you. lam unworthy
of your great unselfish love. There has come
a moment of doubt and hesitation In my inner
life—a moment when I would fain be alone,
and would commune with my own heart, and
hi my chamber, and be still." These were
not reassuring words. "Perhaps," he said to
himself, " I lay too much stress on these moods
or my darling ; it is a part of her nature to
change from sunshine to clouds, and back
again to sunshine. AS'ouvent femme eerie, as
King Francis said, and my Dolores has an
infinite variety' about her which age can not
wittier' nor custom stale.''' But still the
"thick-coming fancies" knocked at his heart,
and made him sad and anxious.
Dolores bad mentioned her meeting with
St. Vincent, though not the manner of it. His
name had recurred more than once in her let
ters of late, though not in a why to arouse
Robert Stapleton's suspicions ; and yet he
knew, though he would not know, that this
young man's reappearance on the scene had
been In some way inimical to his own happi
ness. I will not wound her by unworthy
suspicions, or ruffle her pride by seeming dis
trustful," he said, to himself; "she will bo
here soon, and then if, she likes to speak site
will. I will ask no questions, lest fear, or
pride, or shame should make her false, and
she be tempted to speak what Is not true. In
her own good time she will tell me all. Mean
while this journey, this care for Jamie, will
take' me out of myself, and prevent morbid
thoughts."
But • Robert Stapleton soon found that
" naught cau,minister to a mind diseased."
Dolores was to go to . Ringemerid. She bade
her father and Rebecca good-by. At the Great
West , rn Terminus St. Vincent met her.
" We will start by the mail train this even
ing, my darling," said Hugh, looking at her
with bright, beautiful eyes, in which love and
pleasure beamed ; "we shall cross by the
night-boat, and we shall be in Paris to-mor
row. I will leave you with my friend Mrs.
Gray, and then—we shall be married."
They went up stairs into a sitting-room, and
St. Vincent ordered some dinner while they
were waiting for the train.. He was full of gay
triumph ; Dolores was sad beyond words, be
yond tears. She had written a full confession,
to Robert Stapleton, and he had never an
swered her. He had cast her off and thrown
her front him as we fling away an old glove.
She had waited for a letter, a token, a sign ;
but it had never come. He thought her un
worthy even of a reply. Then she had taken
that final fatal resolution which had now
brought her hither. She felt' deeply humili
ated ; all her treachery to her employers, her
want of faith as front woman to woman as re
garded her behavior toward St. Vincent's
cousin and his betrothed, all the shame and
misery of her conduct, were gnawing at her
heart with a thousand fangs ; how could she
laugh, or be happy and triumphant.? And,
oh I with what remorse she thought of Robert
Stapleton I "I suppose you'll bo too much
occupied with Mr. Stapleton to write to us,"
had been Rebecca's valedictory remark. "I
shall pot write unless I have something par
ticular to say," replied Dolores, evasively.
And now sho stood at the window of that
huge hotel, and looked down the railway plat
form at the blaze of lights, and the crowd
rushing to and fro, and beyond at the red and
green signals bringing In mid-air; and her
heart was full of tears, and her lips were si
lent. With the goblet of life In her grasp, and
its ruby wino touching her lips, she already
tasted all the bitterness of its very dregs. St.
Vincent's gayety jarred upon - her — She felt
the awfulnesket tho Aep, shethad hdten, the
horror of its incalculable consequences to
others ; and she could not respond to his ju
bilant satisfaction.
At length they reached Dover. It seemed
to Dolores as though they had been traveling
for months. It was is damp ! foggy night.
She went down into the ladies* cabin, sick and
faint. "Leave me," she whispered to St.
Vincent; "1 era t well." He left her, af
ter many entreaties, and went to the fore-part,
of the vessel to smoke his cigar. "Tell my
brother, please, that I am going to sleep, and
that I do not wish to bo disturbed until we
reach Calais," said Dolores to the stewardess,
dropping half a 'crown Into the woman'thand.
Then, when the Messenger had' gone on her
errand; she drew her cloak round her, and
swiftly passed up the companion-ladder. They
had been a long time getting under way, but
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NO. 31
now the vessel was beginning to move. "You
can't pass, miss," said a man at the gang
way.
"But I must," she said; "I have only been
to see some:friedds off;" and with a spring
she reached the pier.
Why ? On her way down to the vessel she
had met Robert Stapletohlr. tir Ilisbert Staple.
ton's ghost. A pale face, with great, earnest
gray eyes, had looked reproachfully at her
through the mist. She had killed him, and
his spirit had come to save her. She trembled,
and clung fast to Hugh. "It is cold, my
love," he whispered, " and - you are tired.
Then those eyes had given her a look which
she could never forget—which would, haunt
her to her dying day ; and the face had gone
out in darkness.
As Dolores stood all alone on the pier, and
heard the Dover clocks strike midnight, it
seemed to her that the end of her life had
come. She had no thought, no hope, no fixed
or definite purpose.
Robert Stapleton led her away. "Come,
my dear child," ho said, speaking as a kind
father might to some tired darling ; " come-"
And she went. "I ought not to touch you,
my dear," he said, "for I come from Jamie's
fever-bed, and that is the reason I have not
written to you lately k they tenni° even paper
can carry the Infection. But I will see you
Into the train, and you had better go down to
Kingsmetul to-morrow—no, this morning, as
you had intended. Your aunt need not know
that you have been to see me ; she will think
you overanxious, and she will fret about you I"
No word of St. Vincent ; no allusion to what
he had seen I
Silently, like ono in a dream,
she obeyed
him. But at Kingsmead she had a long, long
Illness ; and when she got up she found that
little Jamie Stapleton was dead and burled.
Robert Stapleton, gray-haired and sadly al
tered, went about his duty, and came and saw
Dolores ; but no word of loVe ever escaped
his Bps.
Squire Skeflington wrote to Mrs. Dalryniple,
telling her of his niece's serious illness, and of
the determination they had formedVf not-let
ting her leave them again.
'lwo years passed before ever Robert and
Dolores spoke of the past. Then he once more
asked her to be his wife. Her father was
dead, her uncle and aunt in failing health,
and Rebecca had not softened with age.
The tears we'led up in Dolores' still beauti
ful eyes, and she caught his hand and kissed
it with a reverence and love that thrilled lila
heart-strings. But she said that could never
be!
Then, in a voice wild with all regret, she
cried, "Oh, why did you never answer that
letter ?"
" I never received It, my dear, until I came
back after my poor Jamie's funeral."
" And you could forgive me all I had done ?"
" I could have forgiven you for worse than
you did, my child," he said, gravely. " Love
forgives every thing. You never loved me—
lt was not to be supposed you could ; but, you
know, it Is more blessed to give Urn to re
ceive.' I gave my whole heart un ervedly
to you onco for all, for better for wo ; • not
reserving this right or that privilege. What
was I that I should Judge you? You were
never more noble and more lovable In my
eyes, Dolores, than w:len you recrossed' that
narrow plank alone."
She drew a deep breath. Only that narrow
plank between her and what might have prov
ed perdition I The tehrs welled from beneath
her closed eyelids, and ran over her pale
cheeks.
And the letter V" she sald.
"It is here, Dolores, unopened. Shall I
burn it'?"
"Oh no, no I read it," she cried, the fer
vent blushes mounting to her brow.
"I do not need to read it, love."
" Read it ! she said again.
That night ho read it.
A month later they were married.
Before the end of the year Dolores stood a
widow by her husband's grave. Her home
was left unto her desolate—that was her ex
piation.
In duo time she became the lady of Kings
mead Manor.
Lord. St. Vincent came .back from a five
years' tour, handsomer, gayer, more fascinat
ing than over. He had adopted many foreign
customs, and declared no unmarried woman
was ever worth speaking to. (leis a professed
marriage -Hater, and serious people do not like
his talk.
Five years ago, the world said, he had been
engaged to the beautiful Miss Enyvett, now
Mrs. 'Egerton, you know ; but he found out
that a marriage with her would not conduce
to his happiness, and so went away on his
travels. As he wisely left no address, broth
ers, uncles, and cousins could not pursue and
chastise him. Miss Knyvett took the affair
philosophically, and married Mr. Egerton the
following year, soon after which her husband
obligingly died, and left her a very handsome
fortune in addition to her own.
. . .
Mrs. Stapleton and Lord St. Vincent never
met again.
As I sat by her side yesterday she told me
all her story. I knew by the sound of her
voice that she was crying.
"Never trifle with sacred things, my love,"
she said, bending over and kissing me ; " and
remember that every pang wo cause a loving
human soul is a sin against the divinest and
most sacred thing . sylnch God has given us on
earth to know."
A GOOD NIGHT KlM—Always send your
child to bed happy. Whatever cares Incy
trouble your mind, give the dear child a good
night kiss as it goes to its pillow. The memr
ory of this, In the stormy years which may be
in store for the little one, will be the Bethle
hem's star to the bewildered shepherd and
swelling up in the heart will rise the thought ;
"My father and mother loved me ?" Lips
parched with fever will become dewy at this
thrill of useful memories. Kiss your littlo
child before It goes to sleep.
—A son of the Rev. Edward Beecher, D. D.
was recently ordained in Illinois, and the of
ficiating clergyman addressed him in the fol
lowing impressive manner: "I charge you
never to forget that you are the son 'of your
father, the grandson of yopr grandfather, and
the nephew of your uncle."
—An English clergyman recently tried to
-persuade one of the black sheep of his flock to
come to church, on the plea that he had seen
his wife there on the previous Sunday. "I
hope you'll try to come now, James." "Well.
Sir, I think I'll try, for our Mary says you're
a held of a preacher."
—Auber recently attended the funeral of a
friend in Paris, and was going away . after the
ceremonies in church were oyer, aen some
one asked, "Do you not accoftany us to the
cemetery Y" "No," was the reply, "I go no
further than this for other people's funerals ;
it will be time enough for the churchyard op
my own account."
—The rumored marriage of Commodore
Nutt and Miss Minnie Warren, the sister of
Mrs. Gen. Tom Thumb, is officially contra
dicted. If Baronet is to be trusted, the Com
modore, when Miss Lavinia Warren was mar
ried.; devoted himself to perpetual celibacy.
Miss Minnie is at home with her parents in
Middleborough, Massachusetts.
—A gentleman had a parrot which was very
apt at talking. To a stranger ho generally
said, in a very consequential tone, "Who are
you, sir?" There was In the neighborhood,
a black cat which had a very bad character for
honesty, and which, in search of prey ; often
made excursions Into the room where the par
rot was kept. ;.In the course of time Miss
Pussy got the name of "the - black thle."
Polly heard this., and of courso.caught it up:
One morning a 'chinmey.sweep came Into the
room, when Polly called out "Who aro you,
sir 1" and then, alter a pause, added again and
again, most vehemently, "You black thief!"
The poor man naturally stood aghast at being
thus accused, and for some time the owner
had great difficulty In setting his mind at rest:
•
Oas 1:1 • P THE BOYS.—"Where were you,
Charlie?" "In the garden, ma." "No—you
have been swimming—you know I cautioned
you about going to the creek. I will have to
correctyou. Look at your hair how wet it
is." "Oh, no, ma, this is not water ; it is
sweat." "Al, Charlie, I havo caught you
fibbing ; your shirt Is wrong side out." 'Roy,
triumphantly—"Oh, I did that just now, ma,
climbing.the fence.
UPSTAIRS,
ALLENTOWN, PA,
=I