Josephine, or, The Romish poison
page: 0Advertisement (TitlePage) [View Page 0Advertisement (TitlePage) ] LOVER'S BEST WORK. CHEAP EDITION.-PRICE 50 CENTS, WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS. NEW-YORK: W. BERRY & CO., 100 NASSAU STREET. JOSEPHINE: OR, THE ROMSH POISON. A ROMANCE OF THE PRESENT. THE MURDER. CHAPTER I. THE DEATH AND THE UNFINISHED STORY. 'THE Present-the great Present, the gateway of Time through which the future glides to the dim realms of the past. The present, whose phantoms mockingly point toward that which has gone bye when we would peer into the reality of that which is to come. The present what is it to man-what is it to him but a repetition of the Past of thousands who have gone before him. When it becomes the past and' the future takes its place-are we not the same-- actuated by the same motives, impelled by the same spirits of good or ill and do we not make over again the same resolves for the of;twr great future which -is yet before us? The heart-as it throbs its life march, step by step to the darkluss of eternity-can best answer the question. Let us turn from the present, which is now be- fore us, to that which was the Present of Eighteen Hundred and fifty-three years ago. It is on the night of the seventcewth of October -at twelve o'clock-when one half of mankiRd are dreaming of what the other half are doing. Night in Gotham,-night with its robes of dark- ness-not a star to tinsel its dreary blackness, with a single jewel of light-night in Gotham-and the Ebon King rules supreme. Darkness everywhere, up the noisome narrow page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] lleys--that in their loneliness seem to lead to the grave yards of poor men's hopes--through the cells and passages of the Tombs-conjuring, with its weird gloom, strange phantoms of the past, to the victims of crime, who vainly imagine they be- hold through it a morrow of release. Twelve o'clock, at night, and business and plea- sare have retired for a few short hours,-business coeily dreams of to-morrows dollars and pleasure -plans the ways and means to spend them. The theatres are closed, deserted, save by the watchmen-who ghost-like-prowl through the galleries or over the stage, with their lanterns, the echoes of their tread solemnly answering to the scrathching and scrambling of the rats, in the pit below. And now it begins to rain, at first falling drop by drop, as if afraid of not being able to penetrate the darkness;-then gradually increasing, until it becomes a perfect deluge, filling tha gutters and caves-washing over the cobble-stone pavements, rushing furiously down the drains as wildly and recklessly as though it were chased by a spell of dry weather. Darkness and rain, and through them both far down the long, gloomy streets twinkle dimly the corporation lamps-seeming in their very dullness like a funeral procession of fallen stars-marching to the tomb of light. The thouroughfares, are silent, stages and carts, cars and express wagons--all have ceased their rattling, tearing, jamming and racing. All is silence. Darkness, and rain, hold the sway -fit undertakes to coffin up the sober second thoughts of suicidally disposed mortals. From the window of an old tottering frame- building which stands in Rosevelt-street-near Madison-gleams out through the dusty dingy glass, feebly and sickly rays of light from a " two penny dip." It is the only light visible in the house-it flickers up brightly now and then, occassionally trying to vary the monotony of its dullness by partially going out of existence. Before it goes out let us go in. The room is almost entirely divested of anything resembling furniture-the walls seem like monu- ments, marking the spot where better days lie buried,-and on one of them old Father Time has apparently been amusing himself by drawing the rough outline of an odd sort of skeleton-knock- ing off the plaster to form lath ribs, and filling up the back-ground with cob-webs-and eccentric cracks. ? Above the mantle-shelf hangs an old-fashioned ,'engraving, representing a couple of belligerant e armies engaged in a grand fiay--each soldier be. e ing twisted into an impossible attitude, the picture greasy, and the glass which once covered it is D cracked and broken in a hundred different places. Upon a cot in one corner of the room, an old, thin, wan-faced woman is lying, and at her side is seated a figure whose features alone proclaim it S to be human. Short, thick, and hideously deformed, : mis-shapen and uncouth, he is rendered still more horrible by the squalid garments which hang about ' him. But as he throws his face towards the light, it appears, so great is the contrast, like that of an angel affixed to the body of a demon. Pale, un- tinted by the color of health, regular in outline, thin, firm lips, and eyes that fash with intelligence, and a brow broad and massive, shaded by a profu- sion of matted, curly hair, dark as night in its hue, he seems like one belonging to some other world. This singular being is known as Bruin-his real name none ever knew--if he knows it, or has ever known it, he has religiously preserved the secret. There is another person in the apartment, stand- ing beside the table, if a barrel with a wide, rough board laid over it, can be called by that name.. This person is a young man-not marked by any peculiarity from any others we meet-save, that upon the left lappel of his coat, he wears a small square plate of gold, upon which is engraved the resemolance of an inverted cross. The woman turns uneasily and moans as if just awaking from a lethargy. Bruin leans oves and resting his elbows upon the edge of the cot, speaks: His voice sounds harsh and disagreeable, yet there is a kindly nature to it, like the occasional. gleam attached to an unpolished diamond. "Mary-Mary--you've been sleeping--do you feel better?" '"No, no, not much; is Trump here yet?" "Yes, there he stands; he hasn't been in morc'a five minutes" "And-and did he find the person-did he find my poor boy-God bless him, where is he, did he- find him?" " Well, considering he is here, he can answer for- himself. Trump, you're wanted," and the deformed'; beconed the one spoken of to the bedside. The young man, after taking a cursory glance at his watch, walks forward. Bruin leaves his posi- tion and shuffles to the window on the left of the fireplace, and proceeds to snuff the half expiring candle. Trump locates himself on the box vacated by Bruin. "t Trump, have you been there," murmured the woman "1 have." "And did you-did you find my boy?" i No, and what's further, I tell you it is useless for you to fret any more about him: he'll never return to you or to this room again." I "Never-oh God, never no more-never-again see me!" The agony of years seemed condensed in this one sentence of the dying mother. After a momentary pause, she continues : "( And Trump, now do, that's a kind hearted man, ido say that you heard from him." "Yes, I did hear from him; a personwho knows him gave me the information, and that which he 1 imparted to me was this : he has left the city. "Then he will never see his mother on earth again-poor George-and how I loved him; but l the air that his mother breathed was not good b enough for him-that wild boy. Trump. listen to t me :" an invisible power seems to give new h strength to the emaciated frame of the speaker: she half rises, resting on one arm; the other she extends, pointing toward the candle, as it flickers t its uncertain light upon her face, making it look W almost as ghastly as death itself. "Then listen to t me; and. Trump, when I am gone, remember what w I now tell you, and when you see my son tell him w the same--Bruin there, knows it now, and Bruin I knows how to use it and how to keep it to himself. if I have no time to spare, for death is near: ere pa that candle burns out the fire of life that now an- imates me will have gone, and its last faint gleams m will rest upon the deserted tenement of a lost soul. de Listen to me, and heed me well. You noticed a su person coming here very often for the last three m months-a tall, dark-featured man, with large the moustaches, and always dressed entirely in my black?" "I have,-the one whom you called Margine." aft "' Yes, that's him-and did you see the one who me accompanied him when he was here the day before bu yesterday-they entered just as you had gone Go out--you must have met them by the doorsteps." wit "Yes, it was a smallish sort of chap with a very day long black coat on. I guessed he was, a priest or not a preacher, he looked mean enough iand seedy noi enough to be one or the other." to 1 "You are right, he was a Priest, he' never was ino here before-and I hope he never will come again." til "What was he here for-and why did the other noc one come so often, 'specially when he:said every I ti time he came, he would'nt. come again.'Y mus " He only said that because he wished to frighten He me, I hope before he comes again that I will be was the dead. I am growing weaker and weaker-I will tell you that which I first spoke of,-years and. years ago, before I came here-before I knew what poverty was, I liveQ in a small village near the ess Hudson River-and but a short distance from Ter Albany.- I was happy then, my husband lived with me as contented as though he were worth in millions-he was kind and attentive-and his whole aim of life seemed to be centered in the welfare of his family, my son was then but five years old. I never dreamed of a separation then, I only thought of the Present. I h-had been, as you have often heard me say, educated and reared be- neath the roof, within the household of Catholic parents; but from the time I left school, at the age of fourteen, I abhorred the Jesuitical religion- Why it was, I know not: I loved my parents and respected them,-my husband, although I did not It know it previous to my marriage, was a Catholic; but until years after our union he never spoke of that. At the time I speak of-the tall man who has been here, came to our house, and after a few : moments conversation with my husband, went out e with him, he came but three times, the second s time my husband seemed agitated; and u ey i whispered together in the hall, I heard this man. " It i. impossible, I cannot do it, it. twill break her heart-and the child; no, no, I will not." Then I heard the answer, , You must I will call again on this day week: but remember if you refuse then you knowt the- result-be pre- pared then." I could not obtain any clue to this strange mans visits: or, why he should thus endeavor to destroy the peace of a family. In vain I entreated, supplicated, nothing did I get for an answer'but a morose frown or an angry retort. The man came the third time, and when he entered the parlor, my husband rose shook hands with him, and said "I have made up my mind, I am ready "-an hour after this he called me to the back parlor-kissed me. and said, " Dear I am going off this evening, but I will return in the morning--God bless you-- God bless you and my boy." He left the house with this man, and I have never seen him since, days, weeks, months passed away, yet he returned not,--a reward was offered yet it was not claimed,. none had heard of, or seen him. I left there, came- to the city, and rented this room and took in sew- ing-for two years I supported myself and boy, un- til he grew able to help himself. Then one after- noon this man suddenly accosted me in the street. I turned from him, for my heart told me that he must have been the murderer of my husband. He followed me here, told me that my husband- was living and well, yet he could not see me, that page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] i I would not recognise him should I'meet him in the :i i reet: but that he was empowered by him to give me a certain amount of money each week----" A noise at the door below, iaterupts the woman, * and Bruin exclaims, "They're coming again, them lFiests, I guess they're both of that stripe, shall I let "em in." "Yes," gasps the invalid, "Yes let them in- when they are gone, Trump, if I am able I will tell you the balance." Trump replies by a gesture of the head. Bruin goes to the door, and listens, steps are heard ascending the stairs. Mary covers her face with her thin shadowy fingers, and shudders: she evidently is fearful of the re-appearance of the men or the man of whom she has been speaking. "Wonder what they want this time of night?" queries Bruin. "Nearly two o'clock," observes Trumpl peering at his watch with an intensity only equalled by terror with which Mary seems to be insplired. A knock at the door, and it is opened. The tall man described by the woman, enters closely fol- laweiby the gentlemen in the blackcoat. He is evidently a Priest. Mary moans forth, "Why have you come to torment me in my dying moments--go, go, go, leave me to die in peace." The new comers made no answer to this; but approached close to the side of the cot-the tall ma after a moments pause turns to Mr. Trump, and requests him to withdraw, which request is reluctantly complied with. "You see," says the tall man, addressing in a solemn tone the woman. "You see I have again ome, not, bowever, to remain-I knew that you aere dying-I know that before to-morrow fills fhis apartment with its light ;--Ycs, even before that candle burns in the socket, you would be numbered with the dead. And, therefore, I came, to be a witness, and to have a corroborative wit- ness lso, with me. You may have seen him be- fore; he is a Priest of the Order of Jesus, :1 manble member of the Most Holy(hulrcl I lt omc., and if you would regard tlhc welfare of ymlr ..ro I 1 thereafter-acknowledge to him in my!,rs c lied fiat which I have heretofore dcemlnded yo,, alll ' lt e last rites of our religion shall 1I, your t .' I -You have asked of nme whlat I lo ne,t klotw,"' asswered Mary. "Sister," interrupts the IPriest, ' bwarCe."' I "I am no sister of the Church-I am ready to c -*r4e--I have lived long enough. Tell me in mercy, Byou hope yourself for forgiveness hereafter, I ell .me where is my husband."' I e "That you cajnnt know," answers the tall man e uneasily glancing toward Bruin and Trump. "That she shall know," said Trump advancing: , '"and she shall know before you leave this room; i andif you have murderedhim, here, you and [ your infernal accomplice shall expiate the crime. Bruin stand by the door." Bruia obeys the in- - junction with alacrity. "Now. I ask you sir, 1 where is the husband of this unhappy-this dying woman." For a moment the tall man and his companion appear startled-then the former queries, " and who are you?" r "I am-no matter what I am, I have no, words to waste: where is the husband of this woman- when that is answered then I shall ask you, who you are." "And if I do not answer. :' Your silence will be the cause of your death. I shall not ask you the question again-remember you have five minutes to comply." And he with onle hand pulls his watch from his vest pocket,and a pistol with the other from his coat--" when five minutes shall have passed: if the question is not solved. there will be a report-a gramn-a pool of blood upon the floor: and another soul in the other world-you understand me." How silent is the room-the ticking of the watch seems as it sounds out through the loneliness like the hurried tramp of soldiery. The tall man's lips quiver with rage-the glance he bestows upon the woman is terrible-its malii- auce is like that of a basalisk. Trump is watching with a wary eye, the every movement of his foe ; but he does not ob- serve the action of his companion-Bruin is hold- ing the door, and gazing upon the candle: he has heard all, but probably seen nothing. The silence is now interrupted by the moaning of Mary, who murmers indistinctly the name of her son-her mind is wandering-she is uncon- scious of all that is passing. Tile priest is behind the tall man, and unseen by nay one, hlas drawn a long, thin dagger from be- neath his cloak; he moves close to the bed, then, ;s if to place Mary, in an easier position, leans over her, the knife is placed at her side, under the left b)re Lst, a quick, quiet plunge, and it has reached her heart--a sudden spasm, a contraction of the features, a groan of agony-a long choking gurgle of escaping breath, and the deed Is com- pleted-Mary is dead. Yet so intent are the others upon their own movements, that her death is not heeded. The priest replaces the dagger, turns the body with the face'toward the wall, then leaves the bedside muttering, audible enough ,for others to hear, "Poor soul, she is asleep now, I hope she will not wake before morning." He is now in the centre of the room. Trump exclaims, "You have but one moment more; where is her husband?!" The sharp clicking of a pistol lock is heard. ' Only one moment more." Only sixty seconds for a decision between life and death! Yet in that space of time the destiny of nations, the fate of whole generations of man- kind have been determined. Time, what an inex- orable arbiter art thou! The priest wlith a sudden bound, almost as quick as thought, dashes the candle from the table to the foor, andall is darkness. The moment he does this Trump fires, Bruin is hurled with terrible force ' from the door, it is thrown violently open-the 1 priest has escaped to the passage below,but Trump is struggling with his enemy. Trump and the tall man have clinched and a p desperate struggle ensues. "If you will have it then take it," shouts the i man ; "I can paralyse you with a word: I am-" r The balance of the sentence was delivered in a p whisper, but its effect was like magic. a The defender of the woman relaxed his hold and t, seemed as powerless as an infant. "And has it come to this," was all he uttered. tc A second more and the two men were gone. G Bruin and Trump were once more alone. Bruin slowly creeps toward the wall, and after a search so through the rags which he wears, finds and ignites nZ a match and relights the bit of candle. 'Trump has recovered somewhat and follows Blru- n in to the bedside. Bruin takes one glance, then screams out, h "They've murdered her. See, look there at the blood; look, they've killed her-my only friend." to ",fay God's curse light upon them and grant me revenge-poor Mary-poor Mary"--and to- f, gether the two knelt by the bedside s Thus commences our romance. st And who shall tell the remaining portion of the story commenced by the woman, whose life-blood noi stains the humble cot in this apartment; and to , what will its revelation lead? And where now is her husband, he upon whom bc she has called so often, for whom she has mourned fair for many a long day? Where too, is her wild, wayward, reckless loy, I'n whose namlne mingled with that of his father 's, was Til. the last she ever murmured upon earth! aro And who are the heartless assassins who have T created this scene of horror. i hers' In the present year, which has become the pG5J she was this wild prologue to the lrama of Life elc the acted; and upon those years, which were tlhen m impenetrable future, which, but which have simm ent become the present, will we raise the curtain 3a seek in the changing scenes of the drama itself for the solution of all. The stage of life-Time rolls up the curtain aaa life Eternity shrouds it from our view forever. ny Thushave we given the prologue and now fo a- the Drama itself. eX- ic CHAPTER II. TIE InST INGCREDIENT 0O' THE POISOe. ce Two persons were seated upon a sofa in the pa- he lor of a small two story brick house il Whito- ip street. And a snug, cosy parior it was-not gorgeouw a with gilded carvings, nor artistically daubed witl fashionable fresco work, nor were the chairs worked he in Mosaic, nor the walls hung with mirrors; ew.- "ry thing was plain, neat and tasteful, giving a. a proof that as-yet the frivoltry of fashion had noet suspended the presence of contentment 'ud vh- d tue. A small shield-shapedl plate upon the fiontt dotl told the name of the residenlt-M iEr TIv A.- GALL., n At the end of the sofa upon which the two pr- h sons were seated, was the door leading fromln the s Parlor to the!tall. It was in November--dull, dIreary NovIember- ald in the grate a quiescent sort of coal fire dozed away, like the fig-end ofan old man's libthm , half useful, half worthless. One of the persons we refer to was a young:, Imult of six and seven and twenty years, with one of those countenances which once seen is rarely it ev- er' forgotten-a high broad. massive forehead, from beneath which gleamed eyes filled with the inten- sity of passion and intellect, at once toll he wk; born to rule, not to be ruled. The other was a younlg girl not over sevcntcen: not beautifilf, yet lingerilng around her was tIlsh pculiar charm which oftentimes renders the Inmo homely atfractive. Innocent of wrong hcerself she believed all others to be like ,her, -red like the failry conjur'ations of the Easternl S,(rciclc, ;,4, Idwelt in the though,!lt of tlhonc who once saw h(r' long af'lter she had disappeared fromn their vi;-v lThly werle sittin close c t )a ch oth('--hs arl was around her and her little hand .1inspol hi,. They were lovers, no olh^ ,,' .; ;}:i , ,i,{ ty (1' withlout being rr such. page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] "George, will it always be thus-can there not soon be a time when we can be as one-when our ,hearts can beat responsive to the music of love's sweetest notes? George, George, I am yours in j heart; Mwe are betrothed : I have given you all that virtue can give, without robbing itself, yet you seem to mistrust me. Heaven knows, the world with its rarest, costhest treasures, are noth- ing to me without you. Why then should you doubt me?" "I do not doubt you," replied George, L but this last request you might grant me. Have you ! no confidence in my honor? Though there may "be a mystery about me which you cannot solve, 1 which at present I dare not explain, yet with all - that I have told you-with all the solemn vows ; and protestations which I have given you as a "' pledge of the sincerity of my heart, can you not render to me the answer to that which I ask." His eyes glittered for a moment as he glanced u pon her, then snbsided into the warm look of af- i fection, and apparent truth which had characterized them previously. "George, I love you with all the intensity of' ,i which the true heart of a trusting woman is capa- ble. Were you to abandon me the grave would soon close over me and my broken heart. Still, ] with all this, I cannot, will not commit the act. I My father has always treated me kindly, and I J ; would not wrong him by leaving him in his old age. It would be an insult to the memory of my dead mot:hr.'v And yet you wish that we should be separated no more-th at we Should be united-that we v *should call eachl other by the endearing name of ihnsband and wife-that I shall then be a dweller o i beneath the roof of your father." a "Yes, George, yes." The youngu man paused a ibw mIloments. "Shall I complete my revenge now, and hurl l agony and sorrow upon this accursed household, d or still wait on in pattience fora, greater one-yes, w FIll do it now.' He was resolved. Turnind to the confiding girl, li and bending his hiead close to hers, with that sweet uI mellow tone of voice which he knew would thrill to her heart, he said : he '- Then be it so; in this parlor dearest, where ca we first met, will we be joined in matrimony. One dr week from this day. are you satisfied now, Marion."7 "i Am I satisfied? Yes indeed I am. You have de made me too happy ; and my dear, kind old fa- st( ther, he will be happy too. You will not now ask dc me ' an " No. no. never mind that. he will give me what ha lot I would required of you. It is better as it is. Has ur your brother returned from the East?" e "s "No; but he will be here at our wedding. We in have been expecting him every day. Hie is like 1ll you, dear George, a little too wild and careless; et but never mind, bye and bye when Time draws a he few wrinkles across your brow and mine, we will h- be steady enough. But, George, promise me one mu thing. will you?" "What is it dearest." it "That the day before we are united you will ex- )u plain all this mystery within which you shroud "Y your every day life." " "No I eannot do that--I have an oath to keep but the day after, it will have expired,-the obli- V gation will cease, then you shall know alL" t Marion shuddered, she knew not why: a strange forboding of coming evil flashed through her mind, d for the instant her blood seemed to chill in her r veins; but it was only momentary, one look at a the calm pale countenance of her betrothed: and all appearance of emotion had vanished. t' She believed, and trusted. "1 I am satisfied George, for I am sure one who I can smile as you do--one whose words are so like , music-so pure and so holy, cannot deceive. No, no, George, despite fortune or the world, I am [ yours." "Forever?" Y"Yes, through life as through eternity, nere, as well as hereafter.' "One kiss to seal our last resolves-then fare- well until the happy day." He bent his head close to her--there was no coy opposition-no hesitation, her heart said yes; and with a modest blush suffusing her cheek, she re- ceived Love's token of faith. Fifteen minutes after, the young manl left the house-left his future bride revelling in a para- dise, of which she was the centre: a paradise which youth and hope, fills with its most glorious -its brightest colors. Innocence, the painter of life's Springtime, knows no shadow in its pict- ures of the future. George hurried toward Broadway--into which he turned and proceeded to Grand-street. 'Here a carriage awaited him. Whispering a direction to the driver he entered it. "' Now, come revenge with your train of dark delights,7 said he, as the carriage rattled over the stony pave. " Come revenge, for you are an anti- dote to insult. Marion once mine, desolation, ruin and misery will riot through the abode of one who has driven me and mine to what we are. Revenge, sweet revenge-what is honor or virtue, to re- venge." The carriage stopped-the driver descended from his seat-opened the door, and George stood upon the sidewalk with him. "Is this the house." "It is,"' replied the driver. ;' Then driver on to the corner, and wait for me. If I am not with you in fifteen or twenty minutes, you can drive to the corner of Centre and Grand- streets, and wait there." ' I will sir." "And should any one accompany me, remember one thing, that according to the terms under which you serve me and you must not only be blind to all that occurs, but deaf, for those who see not, who hear not, and attend to that which concerns 'themselves alone, are always better off. Do you understand?'7 "Perfectly." "Then go." The driver obeyed, and George ascended the steps of one of a long row of handsome brick dwellings, and rang the bell. The door opened, and with a familiar nod to the servant, he passed in. i "Is Bolter in?"' "Bolter has gone out, sir,'" replied the servant s sententiously. i "How long since?"7 "Half an hour." t "When will he return?" ' I ' He said he would not be in before evening!" "Singular,-it i s after three o'clock, and he promised to wait for me until four-never mind- tl just recollect and tell him wheu he does come, that I called as agreed upon, and that I will see him his time to-morrow: and he must not fail to meete el me, and be prepared to attended to-he knows t+ 'what." "I will so inform him, sir," the servant looked to taround the hall, as if suspicious of the presenc m of listeners, then stepped softly toward George, ra and whispered-- Pi "She was here to-day again." "To-day!-at what time?" a "Early this morning. She and Mr. Bolter were M talking together in the parlor there for nearly an th hour..7 th' "Are you sure it was the one I am in search of -are you quite positive it was Josephine? his "I will swear to it." . a "Then again I am foiled,." muttered George. ext Why should she come here so often? Ah! I see, Bolter is deceiving me, if he does woe betide him." Ma re- George turned to the servant, "Can you keep a secret for me?" Led ' Yes." od The servant always kept the secrets of those who paid as liberally as George. "Then do not lisp a word to Bolter of my hav- ing called, if he asks if I have been here, say no, merely tell him I sellt a boy with this card. And should Josephine call here before I get here to- morrow, try and get some clue to the conversation that ensues betweell her and Bolter; but above all,-be secret, be cautious." "By doing this lor you I will be serving two masters, which is not exactly right." "No you will be serving a master, and con- ferring a favor upon a friend.--he is your master, I am your friend, and here is a proof." George took a five dollar bill from his porte monaie and' gave it to the servant. "Are you satisfied?" "Yes." "Do not let a move escape your attention, re- port all that takes place, and I may do something further for you." "I will do my best." "Enough, good night." The servant opened the door again, and George walked at a quick pace to his carriage, muttering to himself, " What can t she want with Bolter-he could not have been traitor to me, and by the disclosure of that fearful secrect-by the betrayal of the terrible deeds of that night. No, no, I'll not believe it, yet I sum- pect, and I will know to-morrow." "All ready, sir," ejaculated the driver, (" did'nl any one come with you." "No, there was no one at home-now drive to the corner of Grand and Ridge-streets." And accordingly in a short time the coach stopped at the place designated. George alighted entered the iron gate, passed down the passage at the side of the Catholic Church, or rather St. AMary's Church ; and entered a door which opened to thesehool-room. In one corner of this apart- ment stood a small trunk which he unlocked, theni raised the lid and took out the fiull robes of a Priest. "What a glorious thing it is to be a Priest, and a man of the world at one and the same time. Men call the Jesuits fools! Ah, ha, we'll see, by the soul of Loyala, I'll show them more tricks than a fox ever dreamed of." He was soon arrayed in the full robes of a Priest, his hair pushed partially back from his forehead, and his countenance drawn to a shape of the most extraordinary solemnity. "Priests are forbidden to marry--wonder how Marion Aragll would like this costume? Never page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] mind, as a man of the world I can do as I please, as a member of the Order of Jesus, I do as others say--so goes the world--folks with consciences might say I was a villian; but if there were no rascals, honesty would be below par. Now, for his grace the Most Holy Arch Bishop, of the State of New-York, and St. Patrick's Cathedral." Closing the box or trunk, and relocking it, he hastily left the school room: and entering the carriage, was driven toward Mott-street. Let- us leave the man of the world and the Priest for a while, and open another scene of our drama of life-to another ingredient in the poison bowl. Let us take a sly look at the tools of the Laba- ratory, wherein is concocted the contents of the pontificial chalice. Tools that know not they are tools-men that unknowingly become less than men. No class of community-no profession, nor busi- ness is free from the contaminating influence of Jesuit chicanry and intrigue. Up one of the narrow alleys of which there arc so many that ran into Centre-street-on the first ' floor in the front room of an antiquated building, i which faces upon a little portion of brick pave- ment, dignified by the name of a court, resided, and still resides, a shrivelled dried up old man, who was familiarly known as "Rusty." r His real name, however, was Bommy Hoop. He was a dealer in all manner of odds and ends : old iron, bell-metal, broken door-keys, rat traps ; in o fact everything of a metalic nature that people M couldn't get rid of anywhere else, they were sure a to bring to Bommy Hoop, and he was just as sure k to be the purchaser. Bommp's circle of acquaintance was limited- few, very few of the neighbors ever troubled him d with their company, nor did he, beyond the mere g intercourse of business, attempt to cultivate their tl favor. Thin and cadaverous though he teemed, yet he u never wanted for anything; apparently, he had plenty of money, or at least enough to serve as a scarecrow to absolute poverty. or its privy coun- selor, Starvation. He lived, eat, slept, and, for the most part, went out alone-an isolated man among thousands. An enormous stove, large enough to heat the interior of Trinity Church, kept him warm and acted as a sort of cook's companion to him during the short days, and long, lonely nights of winter- He had an unavoidable habit of continually mut- tering to himself, and regularly every day, fum- bled over the well worn pages of a book, almost ancient in its outward aspect as himself, and Ise, making a memoranda from it with a short scrub ers by pen upon sheets of paper. "Urn," he muttered, "um-yes-well, well, the no day'scoming-it'll come, it can't be kept off: his folks can't always do as they please-no, not al- of always-if time don't help 'em out, death will- leastwise I've found it so, Trump; and his friends he ought to be here to-night. It's growing quite he dark-very dark-why, I'll strike a light. To be sure: alh, that Trump; he' s got somethin in the he wind: it may be good, or it may be mischief; such ur folks as him don't come to me and be so friendly on like for nothing; them days is gone by when friendships and sich like come naterally, they used a- to, but thingsis changed. Friendshipnow-a-days le is more uncertain and more hard to find than the great-grand-father of a grey-haired rat. Trump's It a wild feller, very wild, and then that old man that comes with 'im; there's suthin ,on that old i- man's mind, but I don't believe there's much in )f his pocket. He's poor, very poor-I know's it. They wont make nothing out of me, no; ha, ha! c no, no!aI'm too wide awake for that; no, no. t Trump said he'd be here; IFll treat him well. I al- , ways do that, urn." - And Bommy took the match he had just lighted , and applied it carefully to the wick of an oil lamp i He had scarcely coaxed the light into a perma- nent blaze before the echoes of the narrow court e sounded the approach of some person or persons. "Ah, ha, yes I guess that's them, leastwise it tought to be them-that is, I mean Triump and whoever comes with him. There then, that light's all right;if that is them they'll not do muchla knocking before they come in, and if it ain't them, why it ain't no matter." Bommy had just time to seat himself. when the door opened and M[r. Trump. accomnpanied by a gaunt, lean-built man, entered, and as quietly as the loose pieces of kettles and hoops, that were scattered over the floor would permit them, walked unceremoniously to the stove. ;' Well Bommy, you see I am here." "Yes, yes; here you are,"' and Bommy placed chairs for the party, or rather for SIr. Trump! and his friiend, close besidie his own near the stove. "Getting slightly chilly out, eh Trump, eh!" *' Tolerably so; I say, Bomnmy, I forgot to in- troduce to your very particular notice, my very particular friend, Mr. Van Scoffen."' "Van Scoffen," shrieked Bomrmy, staggering back. "Van Scoffen-he alive yet; my God, my God! I thought my misery was over--I thought- oh, God, and he is permitted yet to live; would, would I had perished rather than he and I should, like ghosts haunt the habitations of man.' "Why, Bommry, what's this; what is the matter with you? this is my friend; he will not harm you." ' No, no! yet let me look again. H did not know, know him. I had almost forgotten the past. Strange! ha, ha, ha! Strange, isn't it Trump, eh? Hold quiet now; hold quiet now, my boy." The calmness of Bommy was, if possible, still more terrible than the sudden burst of mingled rage and astonishment of the moment previous. The recollection of years seemed to have, by this man's presence, been untombed from the past, His hand, as he grasped the lamp trembled, yet he clutched it as firm as though its weight were pounds istead of ounces. A frightful sort of chuck- le or choking laugh rattled in his throat, as he slowly approached the object of his apparent ha- tred. The stranger Van Scoffen, gave his hat a quick pull downwards, as if to, as much as practicable, conceal his features. Trump looked on amazed- the whole scene appeared to him like a dream, so sudden and unexpectedly had it been enacted. Slowly the old man, the light quivering ia one hand, and the other extended, approached nearer to Van Scoffen. ' Yes, Yes," repeated Bommy. "Yes, yes! it is strange and queer too, that he should be here undermy own roof. Be quiet Trump, my boy ' be quiet Trump; never mind us; we'll settle our little troubles! eh, wont we Van Scoffen, won't v won't we?" "Van Scoffen, explain this? Why did not you a tell me you and Bommy were at outs? Why a didn't you give me a kind of an idea that there h was something up?" asked Trump. o "It is the same; the same! he is under my roof it --he and I have again met; and a jolly, a very b jolly meeting it is too; almost as jolly as the fun- d eral that went by the door alittle while ago! V-e- tc r-y j-o-l-l-y " chimed in the old man, his counte- 'n nance working with suppressed emotion. The stranger threw up his hat and revealed his E features still more distinctly. They were almost th rigid, as implacable and coldly white as marble. an There was a deep scar of a knife wound across his stl forehead, whch rendered hs look still more un- F earthly. "Gld man, subterfuge is useless. You are right mi I am Van Scoffen! As such I was introduced and shi as such I shall feave. I did not know that in you the I would recognise another; that when I was en- wa tering this room I was entering it to meet my mor- in tal foe-meet him too, doing that which I have hoi not done-wearing an assumed name!" fou "Hello, this is getting serious. Bommy, here of ter I'm going. I bring a friend here-friend meets u." you; then words come that isn't pleasant; next not there'll be blows-fisty-cuff set-to-policeman next st. andafter that the station-house, and twenty dol- h? lars worth of justice given as a cooler. I'm going unless you stop this, for I'm hanged if I know till what the devil it all means." ed "Be quiet, be quiet," muttered Bommy, as heedless of Trump's remarks, as he was of his by presence. He seemed to be talking with the he phantomswhich his mind was re-creating from the indistinct memories of years long gone by. "et ( And, Mr. Trump, I say be quiet, and listen to re me," said Van Scoffen. k- "Yes, and listen Xro me,", weakly murmured he Bommy. a- "I'll listen all night to both of you providing you don't both of you make old women of your- k selves, by all talking at once." Mr. Trump seated e, himself cross-legged fashion upon a high stool. "Bommy-that is the name you are known by, so I believe! Boommy, will you allow me to remain until my friend has finished the business upon which he came, and then allow me to depart ill d peace, unmolested by the consequences that may attend a brawl between us." t Bommystartedup, his whole frame ,sivcerillg e with passion, and then said, or rathler shouted- ; "You depart from here unmolested: you who} r have driven me from my home years ago; you, t whose devilish deceit lured me on step by step into the darklness of crime, until e:,ven inl guilt you i abandoned me as too loathsomoe lIra hIumanity to associate withl. You go from here firee? you, wyho have polluted my fair name; who robbed my house of its dearest treasures; you, whom I in the plen- itude of my benevolence, took from the street a beggar and gave you food! Oh, youl remember, do you? You was younger then, and so was I to me my home was a paradise ; you had no home, 'no friends. You and your brother, although I did not know it then, were escaped convicts from. England. You came first. Like the farmer in the fable, I found the viper stiffening with hunger and cold; I warmed it into life and it turned an( stung me. Even as Eve listened in the garden of Fxen, to the wily whisperings of Lucifer, so did I give a ready ear to your false jesuitical slae of misfortune. You handed me the apple of friend- uhip, I tasted and you triumphed. You poisoned the mind of my mother against mrue, and while I was struggling to win a name, and delving deep in the mines where knowledge and ambition hoard their rarest treasures, you were sapping the foundation whercon I would have built the ten:ple of my happiness--a mnother' love. You married page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] her and robbed me not of her alone, but of all I possessed; and then, to end the grand catalogue of your damnable sins, you murdered-aye, I re- peat it, murdered my grandmother. You almost forced her from her bed against the advice, even of your own friends, you placed her in a carriage, to give her, as you said, a better home, that feeble, weak and helpless old woman, who loved me- who was the only being then on earth to whom in the darker hours of my life I could turn for kindly smiles or for help. You murdered her by placing her in that carriage-for in it she died. Death gave her a home in Heaven, and gave you all you wanted, her money. That you and my mother robbed me of-it was my inheritance! You go free from here-ha, ha! MYr. Trump, that is your friend; he says my name is not Bommy, and Isay it is my name now. After he had, with my moth- er, ruined me, as they thought, I became a wan- derer on the earth. I had friends, but what were they to the desolation of a heart whose throbbing found no responsive echo of that love which should have been its portion; and now, after twenty years, you see I am what I am, a junk-dealer, an old man worn out, ready to die; while you" the old man's eyes gleamed like coals as he fastened his gaze upon Van Scoffen, "while you, though older in years than me, seem younger by far. While you are now fattening on the rightful inher- itance of another. Vengeance. vengeance, I will have of you and the whole Papish brood. You can do your worst, I defy you." The old man sank down almost as helpless as a child into his chair. The stranger, Van Scoffen, if anything, during the denunciation of Bommy's, had grown paler tl and more rigid in the expression of his face, and of a tremulous motion'was perceptible about his hands. Trump looked from one to the other; he was undecided what to do, or on whose part to enlist himself. He had come there to see the old man on business, and in one short hour he had beheld to- the placid, good-natured junk-dealer changed to the incarnation of revenge. After cogitating for ger a few moments, during which time his companion I had been writing something on a slip of paper torn ry from a memorandum book, he turned suddenly to Van Scoffen, and whispered, " You had better go. da Your being here will only make the old man worse, and this can all be fixed after this." wil "Where will I see you again?" Anywhere you like, in an hou, from this time."' "Then let it be at the corner of Grand and ' Bowery." "At Michael Me Flummer's?"a lea 1 I Yes-and now here, when the old man recovers gue from his partial swoon, give him this slip of pa- re- per, that may settle his nerves in a manner that lost will4tonish you. Don't forget the appointment ven at any hazard." ge, "I shall not-you may be sure of me." )le, Van Scoffen after casting a parting look of vin- e- dictive ferocity at Bommy, left the room. in Trump listened until the sound of his heavy foot- Ily steps ceased in the narrow court without, and then ng took the lamp and read the paper. It was writ- ith ten with a pencil, and thus it read : u BOMY :-your name-yourreal name is--nev- emind, I'1 not expose you yet. You can commence go against me as soon as you like. You say I am a r robberand a thief! prove it! And remember the old watchword, JOSEPHINE! Recollect that wo- man's oath, and then think of yours truly, JOHN SHERIFF Alia VAN SCOFFEN. "Well, I don't think Bommy you can get this bit of paper," muttered Trump, deliberately set- ting the lamp down and placing the paper care- fully in his pocket. "This may give me another clue to the unravelment of matters. It may help to-" l Bommy interrupted Trump's soliloquising, by faintly groaning out, "Water, water! Only a drink! Y" es, certainly, where is the water?" "On that box, along side of that rusty kettle. Is he gone-gone in reality, eh! or is he hiding about here to murder me in my sleep?" "No, he's gone. I guess you run hiin off; don't think he'll call here very soon again!" replied Trump, as he brought the water to Bommy; "don't think he'll consider it advantageous to call here oftener than this once-indeed I don't." "Now, now Im better! I can talk now. He's gone--curse him, I'll be even with him yet. Now I say, friend Trump, what was it you wanted to see me for-what do you want?" "Never mind to-night, you ain't fit for business to-night; but I tell you what I do want you to do. I want you to gather all the old rusty dirks, dag- gers, butcher knives, and-bowie-knives together; I want to get one of you, but I want one of a ve- ry peculiar character. Will you do this for me?" "Yes; but not to-night. To-morrow or next day: will that do?" "Any time: say day after to-morrow. Then I will talk to you about some other little matters." " Very well, very well; H'll be ready for you --good night," said Bommy, kindly nodding. "Good night," and a second more, and Trump was out in the gloom and dreariness of the alley, leading to the street. Bommy sat for a long time silent, and evidently absorbed in thought; a thousand visions of the past were flitting through that vast realm of in- finity which men call mind; visions of his better, of his happier days, of the times when friends flocked around him-drawn towards his presence by the irresistable magnet known as " money." Money-that in this modern century is thene plus ultra of all human desires! Money--that men worship even When they pretend to adore their God. Money-in every phase of life! Money-for it, has and can be again purchased, love, fidelity, hon- / Money-the foundation of monarchical power- the chief bulwark of Republics: from the fascin- ating gleam of the golden coin, even the penetra- fion of stern justice is turned to a look of favor- iteism. By gold, the glory, the fame and the realization of the brightest hopes of the poverty-stricken toil- ing sons of Genius, are wrested from them by unworthy hands, and the laurels which they should wear are the property of the undeserving--of the worthless, Gold, shining from the Brokers' office window, throws its yello* glitter in'mockery upon Ahc countenance of the passing beggar: and its subtle influence reaches the soul of the hard working mechanic, sometimes filling it with dreams of wealth, tempting him for the sake of the better fate of the loved ones at home,-to commit deeds at which his conscience weeps-at which his fel- low men shudder--by which he becomes the target 1 for scorn to aim its malignant darts. Gold! Gold! iMoney! Money! the fancied crea- tor of a second paradise for mortals to revel in. The real creator of that abode wherein lost souls lind an eternal home. 'And has it at last come," mused Bommy, staring into the dreariness of the gloom in the far part of his shop. "This man, this Van Scoffen, or John Sheriff again. I cannot believe it, yet, it was him- the scar proves his identity. It was him for none but him could have al this late period, re- collected all the past as he did. He will come again-he will Eome again: and so sure as he does, so sure will these walls echo his death wail. By wrongs-my wrongs-who can know the wrongs, of one, so well as that one himself-wrongs h that are trifles to others; but to the one who r bears them are mountains of grief. I'll-I'll do it, I'll do it-indeed I will." Weak with the excitement of the past hour, he arose, and after trimming his lamp, he tottered y 'toward his cot bed, muttering to himself as he e went:: 'I'll do it! Remorse cannot be worse upon i- my mind, than the misery of that mans presence, r, -of that man's cold sneering face. No, no, I'll Is do it, when he comes again-when he comes again." e And then after he had retired he began to think of 1" the singular request of Trump to gather all his s stock of knives and daggers together. a "What can he want of such things. Trump r seems peaceable--he's always quiet-certainly he is. I never saw him in bad company before, and I ,don't believe he knew it this time. Singular, -wonderful, but I'll get his dagger for him; but I'll-I'll keep one for John Sheriff. I'll do it, I'll do it." Ten minutes more, and Bommy was in the world of slumber and dreams. And so for awhile, at least we leave him. Leave him amid his heaps of rusty iron, of broken pots and kettles, amid the darkness, and the solitary phantom-like spells, which night throws around those who try to close their eyes to its dread realities; and wander for two or three short hours through its land of speculative fancy. CHAPTER III. JOSEPHINE--ANOTHER CHARACTER. To the Fifth Avenue, near Twentieth-street, do we now turn for another scene in our romance, and to bring before the reader another character. It was four or five days after George had visited the home of the Archbishop, that a splendid equi- page drove up to the curb of the pavement front- ing a large four-story stone mansion-a mansion judging from its outward display of architectural beauty, that must have been the residence of wealth. The driver obsequeously opened the carriage- door, let down the steps, while the footman, with a small night key, opened the front door of the man- sion. A lady closely veiled sprang lightly from the carriage, ascended the steps and entered the hall. The carriage drove off and the front door was reclosed by the footman. The veiled lady entered the front parlor, and ringing a small bell, summoned from another apartment a young, coquettish girl, who assisted her in removing her bonnet, shawl, and all the va- rious paraphranalia of a lady's street dress. "Mary." "Well, Madam, what is it?" "Has any one called since I have been out?" "Yes, there was a gentleman." page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] "Did he leave his card?" "There was no necessity for that." "Why so?" "Because he is an old acquaintance!" "it was not George?" "No, Madam, it was Bruin." ' Bruin? God bless him! And will he call again?" "Yes: he win be here at five o'clock." "How long did he remain?" "Two hours at least, and I had forgotten, a servant called with a note, which he was ordered to deliver to you." "And did he leave it?" "He did: and I have placed it upon your dress- ing table in your boudoir " "Go and bring it, Mary!" Mary went out, and in a moment returned with the note. "Here it in" "You can retire, Mary;, when I want you I will ring." ; The girl retired, and seating herself near one of the front windows, the lady hastily opened the note. It read as follows: JOSEPHINE:-I have seen George. I saw him yesterday. I may see him again this evening. i There is no question as regards his identity in be- I ing the person you are in search of. He is fear- t fully excited. There is, apparently a sort of fas- t cination which compels him to seek you, wherever d he hears of your having visited, there he is sure to go. I will try and obtain the information you desire ar by to-morrow or nest day. Can you call at my a house? If so, send a note. Remember our cause al is a common one-the exposure of the order of ri Jesuits. Yours, BOLTER. i' A strange fascination,) murmured Josephine, "a strange sort of fascination; well, it may lure him on to the fate he deserves-the traitor. I won- der why it is that he should visit so often the house vi of Marion Argall; there is some treacherous work be going on. Oh, George, George, why did you be- ho tray me? why, why did you give to me and mine a heritage of woe and anguish and sorrow, when se] you might have made me the happiest of the hap- lar Py. Never mind, revenge is sweet-revenge is ye now my idol, and he shall see how I will worship fld it; he shall feel how it is worshipped. For two years I have followed him-unknown to him in the name-but did he know that it is his victim, not ] Josephine, that is on his track--even he, bold as den he is, would shudder." ro Mary entered the parlor. "What is it now, Mary?"I "Will you pardon me-I forgot-"-- "What did you forget, Mary?" "I forgot to deliver another message to yo call which a gentleman left verbally for you." "What is the message. Mary, and who left it? A gentleman, who gave his name as John Sher iff." "John Sheriff-I never heard the name before., ed "e asked if you were in. I told him you wer not.-"Then," said he, "Tell the lady whom have called to see, that Mr. John Sheriff would lib to have an interview with her upon some matte of business concerning her when she resided Philadelphia. And ,further, he said that o th Tuesday he would call again-on Tuesday, at half past three o'clock: that is all." "John Sheriff was never at Philadelphia. Sin I gular-what kind of an appearance had he?" "He was a cadaverous sort of person. I could'n f get a fair glance at his face, as the hall, you know is dark. He was clothed in black, and wore a cloak." "Mary? "Yes, madam." n "Mary, when this person calls on Tuesday I shall ,. be up stairs. You must then show him into this - parlor. You can then call me, and I will from - that room be enabled to get a glimpse of him,from 3- that back parlor, through the key-hole. I can soon r determine whether I will see him or not." "I will do so." X "Very well. Now go to my bed-chamber and arrange my toilette table. I wish to dress: and also take from the wardrobe the man's costume and fold it carefully-then, at six, order the carz riage." " Yes. madam." Soon after Mary left the parlor, Josephine arose from her seat and proceeded to her boudoir. And while she was preparing for her evening visit an event was taking place below stairs which being consummated, would defeat her strongest hopes of revenge. For two years, had the girl Mary been in her service, and although there had been no particu- lar intimacy between the Mistress and the servant, yet Josephine trusted her-placed a world of con- fidence in all her actions. Now, we can see how far that dependence upon the honesty of another, was to be confided in. Mary, when she quit the presence of her Mistress. descended to the basement, or rather to the small room directly beneath the back-parlor, which room ls allotted to the servants to receive their visi- on. It was seldom that Josephine ever came below lairs, or ever intruded upon the domain of the 'ervants. To the apartment we speak of, Mary hurried, id entering, she carefully closed the door and ir' Sed the key. r Thus, all communication from without was pre- 'oted. Near a table, upon a sort of half-lounge, was ited a dark grim featured man witn long black air carefully pushed back from his temples. This man was a priest, and wore the usual street parel of his calling-a long black coat, and a bite neckerchief. He had been evidently waiting for the other one, ho soon entered. ': Come closer to me sister-if you remain near ho door, or so far from me, you will be obliged to peak louder, and then others than us might gain a knowledge of what should only be known to us. Come nearer, sister. here, sit beside me on this unge. It is large enough for both of us." Mary obeyed him. ' Now, Mary, did you tell your Mistress what I old you?" 'Yes, all." "And what excuse did you make for not telling "r before?" I told her that I had forgotten it." "Good; and did she seem to recognize the name oJohn Sheriff?" 'No: but she said if any such person called, I ould show him into the front parlor, and then m the back parlor through the key-hole of the foding doors she could see him and then decide hother she would see him in person." ' {ary, you have served me, or our religion and is cause through me, and the blessing of our holy I ister, the good pope, shall be yours. Sister 'ould it be impossible for you to come on next - aturday to the Cathedral-to the confessional?" "I dare not do it, for I am afrai' I would be p stched. My mistress hates our religion." q ' ow have you kept the secret of your faith? n )v is it sister that you have so long prevented or from a knowledge of my weekly visits here?" e "Easily-all the servants besides me, are Profes- nts--weak minded Protestants. I have told em, privately of course, that you were my lover B -my intended husband-but your parents and or employer are opposed to your visits to me- co t you wear the clothes of a priest to elude sus. liop in case any one should see you going out or ming in." "ou are indeed a worthy sister." sh i- Mary, as the priest spoke, felt his arm encircle her waist. - She looked up to his face; there was a w wild, passionate expression about his eyes that ill he accorded with his priestly character. Yet, for the previous six or seven months, she 1, had at almost every visit of his, noticed the same d look, and had submitted to the various little evi- dences of affection given by him, because she look- ed upon him as being too holy-too good, and too high in principle to do wrong. "Sister, would you not, assoon as we lave completed the downfall of this foe of ours-of this bad woman-like to become a nun?" "A nun Father?" "Yes, a nun. You would be happy then ; the trouble and turbulende, the woes and toils of life w, would no longer be yours." "What. retire from the world--be shut up in a cell?" "No, sister, not shut up. You woul'l be free as ever, and besides, I would be with you hours, and hours; you could have books to read-good and holy books that would not only prepare your mind for heaven, but make you despise the vanities of earth." "And are you sure, father, that I would be happy then. "I am sure-but we will talk of that another time." She felt the a m ot the priest clasp still closer to her waist-with the other hand he smoothed hair upon her forehead. "Sister," said this disciple of Popery. " sister, the kiss of peace-the kiss of love." And he bent his head close to hers-she felt his breath upon he checek-a strange thrilling sensa- tion, partially of pleasure and partially of regret pervaded her, she did not attempt to resist him. Twenty minutes afterwards the Priest left the room and the mansion. Mary was crying bitterly--her hair disheveled, her whole frame quivering with shame. The Priest had conquered; yet, as he left the poor, deluded girl, he tried and half succeeded in quieting her by telling her " that she should be a nun." What a cheap rate that was to purchase honor eh? And who was this priest? Why, he wsas one of the emisaries of his mightiness, the Royal Arch- Bishop. There was a low knock at the door. Mary 1r- covered herself as well as she was able and theni said "come in." The door opened and the footman entered. " Miary, there's that Humpbaok up in the hal, shall I show him into the parlor?" page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] "Yes, yes-and I'll ran up and tell mistress that he's come. The footman disappeared, and Mary, after more carefully arranging her hair and removing all tra- ses of tears or emotion from her face, proceeded up stairs to announce to her mistress, whom she had but a few minutes before so guiltily betrayed, and who had always been so kind to her, that Bruin the 'deformed man was in the parlor. One important fact she had forgotten to commu- nicate to the priest-the visits of Bruin to the house. She tapped lightly at the boudoir door, and it wap opened. Josephine had completed her evening costume- a beautiful Tartan plaid silk dress, fitted c!osely to her full-moddled waist, and then descending in am- ple folds, brushing the floor; her raven hair woven in ringlets--and a single diamond broache affixed to a velvet band upon her head, made her seem al- most a queen. You see I am ready quick, it is only five." Yes, Mistress, and Mr. Bruin is here." I was sure he would come--I was sure of it-- no1, Mary, arrange everything in order. That small carpet-bag you can take down to the door, and see that the footman, whichever one is there,. places it in the carriage." "What time will you return?" Perhaps at nine-perhaps not until eleven or twelve. You need not sit up for me-but before you retire have she servant make a fire in my bed- chamber." 'I will." Josephine descended the stairs and stepped into the parlor. Bruin, in an instant, was at her feet. It was not the devotion of love, that thus made him .kneel at the shrine of his worship, it was the honest feeling of a pure and holy friendship, a friendship tried by adversity, strengthened by hardship, and consecra- ted by unswerving fidelity. " I knew you would come, Bruin, you, at least never fail me." ' And what's more, I hai't a going to. I was here this morning-the gal told you, did not she '?" "Yes, Bruin-but come sit down on the sofa here; do not think me a fine lady now-think me a friend." "Or a sister," and Bruin looked into her face - Yes-you may call me sister, if you choose, but Bruin, you must not keep me long, for I have an engagement which I cannot break, at seven, and the carriage will be here at six. - Oh, no, I wouldn't come to day, only I've found out something that I know'd you wanted to f hear, Something about that 'sonndrel George.' "George-about him-what is it?" "You know he is bin visitina Marion Argall?" "Yes. . x "Well, I know'd that a good long time, but l didn't say nothin', cos I know'd he was a priest an its nothin' new for a priest to go anywheres; bu I did think somethin' queer of his goin' there al ways in plain clothes-and I did think it rathb queerer, on account of his going to the very hous 'where an old man lived that didn't like him, an was a stout Protestant. So I watched him sharp but I couldn't git any knowledge petic'ler till ye terday. I was a sort of Ioafin' by the house, i White-street, when a servant gal came out of basement with a basket on her arm, and made for grocery. Now, I know when hired gals meet in corner grocery they always have a talk togethe about what's goin' on at the places where they live soI followed her, unknown to her, of course. Sh went into the grocery and, sure enough, there wa a gal emptying ingins and turn-ups into a lon flat basket. I slided along and got close up, and heard suthin, that frightened me worse than--tha that murder-- " "Don't speak of that-don't think of that-tell me the rest." "Well-I heard this gal that come out of At gall's say to the other, "We're goin' to have grea times at our house this week--there's going to be weddin'." "A weddin'," says the other, "who goin' to be married?"Then Mr. Argall's gal says "Why, our sweet, dear misitess, Miss Marion.' "Who to-why, mercy on us, who to?" "Why to a young feller as has been a goin' to see her fo a long time." "I got out of the grocery. I'd heard enough plenty. Now do you know what I think?" "What, Bruin?" "That this infernal George is the one that's goin to deceive poor Marion." "The wretch,-the viper. Bruin, Bruin, ho can we prevent it?" Josephine trembled with anger. " Sister, don't git so, you .always frighten m that way." "I will go and see Marion Argall myself, this very instant. Will heaven permit this man-fiendt shadow earth with his presence? I'll go and sc Marion." "No, don't do that--I'll fix it all quietly--bu don't you go, cos if you do, Marion will only thin you're some disappointed gal he's been a' coiurtin fur fun, and that you're come a lyin, to her to spit George, if it is George she's agoin to marry, an if it shouldn't be him, why you'd put your foot in WUs like. No you don't bother yourself you've done too much for me, not to have me do something for you. I'll disappoint him some how. I've got a long score to rub out with the whole party, since that awful night down in Rosevelt-street. I'll fix em all yet-see if I don't." "Ah, Bruin-but I cannot be easy so long as this dreadful wickedness is so near its consumma. ti n." The parlor door jarred as if some one had leaned against it, a sudden jar, which caused Bruin to start from his seat. "There's some of them hired vagabonds a watch- ing, and list'nin'." "Hist, Bruin," whispered Josephine, and she stepped softly to the door and threw it open. "No, there is no one here-it might have been a sudden draught of wind." "Wind don't jar doors that way-but never let on-all they've heard won't do them much good. I must be a goin', and I'll be here just as soon as I git things fixed. You see, come to the law about this marriage, it can't be prevented; but when it comes to scientific trickery it can be knocked-and I'll do it up in a manner that will satisfy us both." "I'll take your advice Bruin. You have always achieved all you have said you would; but I wish you would do that which I have so often asked you to do-quit your roving around the city, sleeping in so many different places, and come here ; there's a nice little room over the hall, where, you could be as comfortable as you please. 1 "No, I don't want it-I'm much obliged, as I always said: but I won't. If I was up there I'd never find out nothin'. If a man's comfortable he never stirs about, but if he isn't he gits stirred up, whether he wants to or no." "Do you wan't any more money?" t "No! Got enough tolast me a week yet. It c don't cost me much to live-not half so much as h it does some people to die. But, sister-I will call a you sister-I must go, and its most time for you'r visit too. Well, don't fret about George-good bye, good bye." d " Then good night it is, Bruin; I will try and be patient." She took Bruin by the hand, and like n brother and sister they walked to the front door h together. As the front door was opened. the carriage was i driven up. Bruin, as fast as his uncouth shrunken limbs tc would admit, hurried down the avenue, and not d long after his departure, Josephine in the car-1 riage, was whirling toward Broadway, to fulfill her if appointment-her mind absorbed in the contem- n plation of her schemes of revenge. e t CHAPTER IV. e X THE MARRIAGE OF MARION ARGAL,L-THE DEATH BELL BEFORE THE WEDDING BELL-THE LAST GOOD NIGHT. FOR the past three or four days the house of Mr. Ethan Argall had been full, from top to bottom, of 1 all manner of excitement-hurrying up and down stairs-little feet pattering here and there-men, every once in a while bringing in a huge cake or a few paper parcels of bon-bons-while the servant- girl and the cook below stairs, by means of their numerous trips to the groceries and markets and little ribbon stores, had continued to inform every- body and almost all of everybodys friends, that old Mr. Argall's house would see a jolly time shortly. The two parlors were thrown into one by the opening of the centre doors, and everything in both apartments that could be was decorated with white ribbons, flowers, or covers. Marion, on the morningof the day on which she was to wed the one she had chosen for her idol, was closeted inher father's little back room-the old man leaning thoughtfully back in the ancient sort. of an arm-chair, which he called his "daylight-bed." Marion was sitting opposite to him, looking en- quiringly into his face as if to read his mind-her little hands tremulously twisting a bit of linen into a hundred different shapes. Directly his eyes fell upon her-he gazed at her thoughtfully for a mo- ment, and then said: "Marion, I have called you to me this morning, not to lecture you, but to tell you one thing: where- ever you may be after to-day, remember your dead mother-remember her last words. I do not wish to grieve your young heart by predicting that ought of ill should ever cross the golden sunlight of your happiness, for, should that be, I too would be miser- able. Are you sure George is not a Catholic? "Yes, father, yes." "And are you sure he loves you well enough to deserve you as a wife?" " Oh, yes, Father, but I have one request to make of you-I know you will grant it-George has five hundred dollars in Bank, and his employ- er, so he tells me, and George has never told me a lie, has agreed to take him into partnership if he will raise'eight hundred more. I wan't you father to lend that much to him for my sake-won't you dear father?" "Did he tell you to ask me this?" "No." page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] And win he still continue to live in this house -bre will not try to take you from my sight?" ' Not, father, he will no; to-morrow morning we've arranged it to take what he calls a bridal tour, up the river a piece, and then return." "You shall have it Marion for him, not as a loan, but as a father's bridal gift. Here it is.' The old man arose from his seat, went to his libra- ry desk, and wrote a check for the amount, and handed it to his daughter. "Now let me tell you, dear child, something I heard " continued he. resuming his arm-chair- his voice sounding lower, and if anything, more solemn and impressive. Marion seemed uneasy: her father's change of demeanor was a mystery to her. "You recollect, Marion, what I told you I heard at the head of my bed, three or four nights before your mother died?' "H do, father." "I heard it again last night-it has troubled me ever since-that fearful death-bell. IAsounded i:' as it did before. It may be imagination; if i; is, then imagination may be now, as it was then, an unfailing oracle, prophesying some terrible im- pending danger-some appalling evil that is hang- ing over us by a thread of destiny, ready to fall and crush us- for in the dull stillness of the night when you, my child was slumbering unconscious of all but happy dreams, while I, too was dream- ing. came those sad, solemn, peals, ringing through my vision, and awakening me only to convince me more firmly that I had not been deceived. Ah, Marion, Marion, I hope the sounds of that death- bell reter not to your wedding to-day. For my- self I care net,-so you are happy is all I ask." Marion came closer to her father's chair, leant over, and parting the grey hair from his forehead, kissed him, while a single tear glittered from her eye upon his check. ' Father, father-all will be right, I know it will. We will all be together under one roof, and all be prosperous in spite of the death bell." '; I hope so--I hope so; but go now, Marion, leave me-I will be down by and by." "Marion left the room and went below. The front door bell rang. The servant, at Ma- rion's bidding, answered the call. She returned to her mistress with a leetter, post-marked Bangor, Maine, directed to Marion. "It is from my brother." She opened the let- ter and read: DEAR SISTER:-I cannot be at home in time for your wedding. I wish I could, but business wont let me. Never mind, Marion, I'll be on hand the week after. Haven't hardly time to write. My love to father. And believe me, I am ever your brotherly brother--ahem, DICK-ARGALL."' "Just as wild as ever-the rascal--well, so he L will come home sometime, he thinks. It is all right - wonder if it isn't most time for George to be * here. Psha, what am I thinking of." And hastily crumpling the letter together, she thrust it in the bosom of her dress, and hurried off to some oth- part of the house, impatient, yet wanting more time for the coming new era in her life. Time moved slowly on, minute by minute, hour, by hour, until the hour came in which she was to throw off the allegiance of a daughter and become a bride. The day passed away. The few guests invited had assembled-the minister whom Marion's fath- er had insisted on having, was waiting in silence the moment when his duties would commence, Marion was in her room, pouting at the brides- maids for their gests and sly hints. At length the old gentleman came into the par- lor followed by George, whose well-shaped form seemed the more handsome from the neat yet cost- ly apparel which he wore. A plain suit of black, excepting the vest, which, snowy white as it was-covered a breast wherein lay concealed all the worst passions of the human heart, with but few, very few, of the better nature, to soften them, completed the ensemble of his at- tire. After the usual formal introductions had taken place, Marion and the bridesmaids entered the par- lors. George, taking her by the hand, led her for- ward to the centre of the apartment. The grooms and bridesmaids assuming the customary position on each side. The old man stood just back of the minister, gazing upon the young couple, as though in them he beheld the repetition of his own youth. All was silent for a brief space of time. Then. in a low yet clear and distinct voice. the clergy- man proceeded, according to the rites and ceremo- nies of the church to which he was attached, to unite the parties. Five minutes-five shsrt minutes- and the act was consummated, and Marion Argall and George, the laboring artizan-George, the profligate and villain-George, the Priest-George, the man of pleasure, were husband and wife. Poor Bruin-this time you have been foiled- this time has the evil genius of thy destiny been victorious. And, for Josephine, another crime has been corn mitted, which she will have to revenge. George, as he gave the bridal kiss to the blush- tng Marion, whispered, "now you are all, all mine." "Forever George," murmured she. s* * * The hours of the night flew on tow- ard the portals of morning, to herald those of the lay, and, at last, slowly and in pairs, the guests had all retired, and the bride and bridegroom were alone. Yet, to the father, as in the silence of his room, h is thoughts reverted to the scenes of the past few days-still came the phantom-like echoes of the death bell-and still would float through the half forgetfulness of his mind-the dying words of his wife-the good old wife whose bed was now be- neath the cold damp clods of the grave. "Pray God," murmured he., "that the death- bell may mean me-let no cloud mar their happi- ness-shield them from all harm-let their lives be as tranquil together, as her's has been-bless them God, bless them!" Father of Marion-your prayer will yet be an- swered; but in heaven's own good way-for though time may bring harm and evil, the sunlight of truth, radiant and glorious in its perfection, is the ,Samaritan that will close the wounds, and make :all well again. In the morning, after breakfast was over, a car- riage stopped at the door and a small trunk and bandbox were handed to the driver. Marion shook hands with her father-gave him a parting kiss, when he took her again by the hand: "My, child, farewell; dont think me foolish, but there is something tells me, you should not go up- on this journey-yet it may be all for the best!" "Never fear, father, with dear George I am al- ways safe. So good bye-good bye." "Farewell! farewell!" He shook hands with George ; the pair were seated in the carriage, the old man watching it with tearful eyes until it crossed into Broadway, and was lost to his sight. 'Ethan Argall, is it a sure prophet that whis- pers in your ear, "This is your last farewell to your only daughter!" The purpose of George is accomplished. The day of their honey-moon journey was the day af. ter the wedding, and on that day he had promised Marion to reveal the mystery which had clung to him-which had veiled from her eyes all his mo- ,ives as regarded the outer world. 1 CHAPTER V. THE ORDER-THE GRAND LODGE-TANi SHADOW OF DEAT--THE P-HANTOM HAUNTrD--THE TWO FAM- "ES. e ONEi week after the marriage of Marion Argall. The Grand Lodge of the Ancient Order of Hi- bernians met, pursuant to their custom and regu- lations, in the back apartments of the third floor of a large building, one of a row in Grand-street, near Centre Market. The Grand Lodge of the Order was a convoca- tion of delegates elected from the different branch- es or divisions of the Order, and as near as impos- sible the members composing it were selected as much on account of their shrewdness and bitter animosity to Americans and Protestantism as for their intellect or education. The term of their office as members of the Grand Lodge extended, as it now does, to five years, and each delegate was duly initiated, under the most solemn oaths upon the holy cross, never to reveal to the General Order any of the actions or proceedings of the Lodge, excepting that which was deemed fit they should know. Thus, if the Grand Lodge devised and execu- ted the most heinous atrocities the members of the Order, abroad as well as at home, knew nothing of it. The lower class of people, in fact all excepting the Lodge itself, knew nothing but that their rulers were at each meeting debating the good of all, and the advancement of the great cardinal principles of the mother church-of their Romish faith. Another item, the members of this Grand Lodge, elected or appointed as representatives of the section to which they were attached, were allowed by a promulgated decree from head-quarters, from the presiding official, to retain their position after the expiration of the term-in fact were almost compelled to-for as many years as was seen fit or necessary. The meetings of the Grand Lodge, if not held in the house of a priest, or of the Archbishop, were held in as retired and secure a place as could be obtained elsewhere. The evening we speak of there were two senti- nels at the door of the apartment, one inside and one on the outside, and as a still greater precau- tion, there was one on the pavement, lounging carelessly about, and giving to, after first receiv- ing from each member, a sign of recognition. It was about eight o'clock in the evening, and nearly all the members were present-some twelve or fifteen in number. page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] They were sitting in a sort of semi-circle-in arm-chairs-facing the temporary dias, upon which the President was seated. Each member wore across the shoulder, and tying on the opposite side, a green, silk scarf, upon which, near the centre of the breast, was a silver shield, surmounted by a cross with the letters : G. L" inscribed beneath. In front of the President was a small table, which also was sanctified by the presence of a cross. And on this table was spread, as if ready for reading, letters and manuscripts of almost every hue and size. "In the name of his Holiness our well beloved chief, Pope Pins IX., I declare this meeting of the Grand Lodge convened; let those who betray its secrets beware of the thunders of Rome." This was the regular form 'and words of the opening of the Lodge. "Bretheren," continued the President, " there is now before us matters that require our most seri- ous consideration-matters upon which depends, i a measure, the ultimate triumph of our church in this country; we, as the acknowledged head of the Order throughout the. Union, must and will. at all hazards, maintain the partial supremacy which we have already gained; but we must use caution, not one nerve must be unstrung, not one grip unloosed-but as our fathers before us-as those for whom we labor have done-let each one within himself constitute a power whose move- ment, though unseen by mortal eye, will work with a giant strength towards the consolidation and massiveness of the whole. Now for business itself; has any brother of the Lodge discovered any new movements on the part of our enemies?" There was no answer. "Has any brother any advice or suggestion to offer?" "I have." The answer came from a member near the centre of the semi-circle. "What is it? You can be heard," said the Prresident. "t is this: the man whom we have had in close t confinement for treachery will have to be releas- ed!" A general stir on the part of the members, and a gesture of astonishment from the President, fol- t lowod the utterance of the sentence. "' leleased?" exclaimed the brothers. "Released?" echoed the President. ;Yes, released. There are three men who have b been untiring for the past year in not only their tndeavors to fi;l h'rn-to ascertain whether he is n living or dead-but, aided in the past few months h by a bold, vindictive woman, whose rescources ap- pear inexhaustable, have also pursued with the d tenacity of blood-hounds, the priest, who, it is said n by them, murdered the wife of this traitor, whom I r say must be released. Until the present week I have not heard enough to convince me of the dan- ger of their movements, or that their success had been sufficient to warrant mention of it here. Again I say, as a brother, he must be released." "And," said the President, "it will not be safe. it will result in a second betrayal." "It will not; for the release Hwish to give him is death. He is dead to the world, let him be dead to us. These Protestant blood-hounds will, in spite of all, eventually find him, as well as find Father-- " "And the names of these men, do you know them?" interrupted the President. "I do." "What are they?" "Trump, Bruin, and our prisoner's son." "And the name of the woman?" "Josephine; her other name I have not yet as- certained, but will." "Bretheren, these men must and shall, ere long, occupy the place where the traitor now ekes out his miserable existence. Shall the traitor after his years of torment at our hands die?" "Death," slowly yet firmly answered each one of the members. The first speaker arose again and said: "I have contrived a plot whereby his son can be placed in our hands, at least in three or foui days from this time. Let us serve them as in the good old times of Spain-let the son behold the fate of the father." "Brethren, you have heard the words of the brother-are you agreed?" asked the President. "We are." "Is that all, brothef, you have to suggest or communicate?" "It is." "Then let us pass on to other matters; the names of these men-of Trump, Bruin, and the traitor's son-shall be placed upon the book, and woe betide them when we get them within our grasp. When the brother obtains the full name of the woman, Josephine, it too, shall join theirs; they shall suffer alike." Another brother arose and, making the sign of obeisance to the President, said :- "Brethren, the Argall family, how have they been worked upon? have the orders been fulfilled? Such I would ask the President." "The Argall family have by this time taken the first sip from the cup of sorrow. Marion, the daughter, has been married, and has taken her bridal tour with her husband; her husband has re- turned with her, but not to her home; her hus- band acts as we order through the Archbishop-- by and with his consent." "And the father?:' "Shall be attended to. Our worthy brother, John Sheriff, now absent on duty, shall be his de- stroyer. Death, say we; annihilation to the whole brood. In relation to the Argall family, the let- ter I was about to read is the source of my infor- mation; it is directed to me from Albany, and was written by the bridegroom." Letters were then read from various quarters of the Union, in relation to the Order; and its pro- gress, and its deeds of benevolence and charity. One thing in the proceedings of the Grand Lodge we had forgotten to mention. The names of the brothers present were never allowed to be spoken or alluded to in any manner; the names only of those who might happen to be absent were mentioned, and then only by the President: The simple word "Brother " answered every purpose. They were indeed bretheren, bound together by the links of crime. Bound not only by crime, but united in the cause of a religion whose pretension of good-will, mercy and purity are but the flimsy concealment of a reality of profligacy, despotism, murder and hypocrisy. After the reading of the letters, the brothers handed to one of the brothers two sealed letters-- one marked " RGoRGE," the other bore the inscrip- tion "PALEY-," "Hand these letters as directed ; the first con- tains instructions relative to the Elliston family. The other is relative to the household of Thorban. Both these families are under surveillance. Will the brother use all despatch?" "I will," was the answer. Some other business of the same nature, but not relating to the details of our romance, was then transactedi after which, with some little C ceremony, the Grand. Lodge adjourned, to meet again in two weeks, at what place the President would notify the members separately, through the means of the priests at the confessionals, through- ; out the city churches. Singly, at intervals of fifteen minutes, did the members retire, each giving the pass-word to the t two sentinels. At length all were gone, the lights were out, and darkness usurped their places. Darkness, fit monarch to reign where such demons had revelled - in their plans of depravity and wickedness. a le On the same evening, a section or portion of er the Order, held a meeting in Bleeker-street, but of e- a different character from that of the Grand. 3- Lodge. This meeting was pursuing what they, in the the blind bigotry of their zeal, conceived to be the real and pure purposes of charity, and good-fellow- r, ship, for which they were banded together. ,- These knew nothing of what the Grand Lodge e really did-they only rendered to it their delegate - and the funds which were collected, and received - from it funds to defray expenses and for charitable s purposes. The place of meeting referred to, was near Sul- f livan-street, in a large room, in the rear of a sort of half grocery and half liquor store. The sentinel or guardian of the door was a duck- 1 legged, fiat-bodied Irishman, whose mouth was pe- culiarly adapted for the reception of a pipe, or a ! mess of potatoes and cabbage. Most of the members were assembled, seated oa; benches, along the walls. The President was behind a kind of altar piece, upon a raised platform and amused himself by rapping at intervals, in an outrageous style, upon the altar with a mallet, and yelling "ordher,", "ordher." The meeting was opened by the President, andi a grand flourish of whacks with the mallet, when the door opened, and the sentinels, hand in hand- yelled, "May it plaze ye misther President, there's a mimber just beyant the doore that has fur- gotten the pass-wurd. Sur, shall I tell what it i, sur?" "Yis--an' tell im the next time he fiurgits it, he must remember-it be jabers." The forgetful member being admitted, and seated -business proceeded. "Misther McCarthy, or rayther brother.' "Yer honor, I'm here sur-what is it?" "Brother McCarthy, hev you give the funds to the owld widdy Muldoony with wan eye and foore children, whose blessed father fell, axidentally of course, from the top iv a foore story bildins."' "I did, sur." "Bretheren," continued the President, d'ye aiZ mind me now. Listen to me. The Grand Lodge 'ave sent to me ordhers of a nathure wich is in consekence they have ordhered me to collect an ixtra tax from ivory wan iv yeze-d'ye mind, wich tax I'm to sind them as soon as possible. and that tax is to go to defray the ixpense in b:ldin a church -a new wan out at Astoria. The Grand Lodge -sez his howliness, the Bishop. sint to thim for aid -and be jabers it is our bounden dooty to do it- - and we will" page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] "Yis-Yis," was the general response. "Is there ony mimber here that hasn't paid his dues. Spake out if there is. The Secretary is sick wid a fever, and ef the poor divil don't git well, he'll die, so the docther sez." "Ef yez plaze, misther President, I haven't paid me last month's dues. I told the Secretary it was bekase me wife wor in a dilicate state of hilth,'and me boss. the man that I worked fur only got as fur as diggin the cellar in his house wen he got out iv money and couldn't pay me, so meself and the rest iv the bi's quit." "I've heerd enuff-pay it when ye can. On nixt Monday, yeze must all putt on the fule regi- mentils ive the ordher, ,and attind the funeral of Jemmy O'Gaskin that's dead-d'ye mind." "He wor a good mimber, wor Jimmy." '"Yis," chimed in the rest. "What killed him?" asked one. '; A bloody spalpeen iv a Protestant polaceman tapped 'im on the head with his shellaleh, bcjabcrs -and Jemmy wor doin nothin, but jist a callin 'im a thafe and a vagabond, jist for fun, to kape him- self warm; och bad luck to the whole gang iv them, I say."' "Niver mind, brother,' observed the President, 'we'll lick 'em yet, be the howly piper that played before Aoses, niver mind, wait till his how- liness, the Pope, sez the the wurd, and we'll gcv them the inside iv a Donnybrook fair fight-they're not a goin to boss it over us in this land of free- dom. Havn't we as much right here as them? Iv course we have, and we'll kape it. We aint furin- ers. Arnt we natives in the owld counthry-and how the divil can a native be a furiner? Begorra, we're jist as much natives as them, and we'll show 'em so. Bit the last bizness for this evening, is to lave something to help the widdy of Jenny O'Gas- kin to start a shebeen down on McGinnuses vacant lot. It'll ownly take eight and threepence to buy the stock in thrade, and the b'is in that -iction 'ill support her." The appropriation of eight and three-pence is made, and the meeting or lodge is closed-ad- journed for the week, after which its members, with a remarkable degree ef celerity immediately rush. for the nearest " shebeen," to resuciate exhausted nature with that most potent and revivifying of all cordials-whiskey, and to superinduce general good feeling, each particular Mickey, "goes in" for further enjoyment by smoking excessively bad tobacco, in short, clay pipes, that from their black- ened appearance seem to have been family heir- looms for centuries. Then as the " small hours" of morning ap- proached, every member orf that honorable and ancient fraternity of Hibernians, was drunk and as uproarious as humanity could possibly be-and invested with all that whiskey-born courage for which the Celtic race is so famous An Irishman's courage is nothing more nor less, in substance, than his patriotism, and both are as worthless as a mortgage on the bogs from whence he came. To this, there are some exceptions, of course, but the exceptions rarely leave the country of their birth. The next day, it was close upon evening, too, John Sheriff had made up his mind to pay Bommy Hoop another visit, and if possible to come to terms with him. All that Bommy had asserted of him before Trump was true, and Sheriff had observed, with that keen perception which is always allied to roguery, that Bommy's words had had some effect upon Trump, though he tried hard to disguise it, by assuring Sheriff that the old man was sometimes 4' slightly looney,77 or out of his head. His object was, by privately apologising to Bommy, to secure at least the silence of the old man upon the occurrences of the past, and to get him, at least outwardly, to show a partial friend- ship-a partial feeling of reconciliation for him. He started for Bommy's little warehouse, but owing to detention on his way, by stopping at two or three places, he did not arrive much before half past seven o'clock. When he entered Bommy's abode that personage was, as usual,'muttering to himself, and arranging upon a long board which he had laid upon the tops of two chairs, ia large collection of all kinds and sorts of knives, dirks and daggers. So busily engaged was Bommy that he did not notice the entrance of his former foe, until he had walked nearly up to the stove, then he turned and saw him; at first he did not recognize him, until Sheriff stood out of the shadow of the stove in the full glare of the lamp. Bommy was startled, he had expected the re- appearance of Sheriff, yet when he had re-appear- ed he was startled. Sheriff stood unmoved for a moment, lookillg sternly at Bommy, then he spoke :- "Bommy Hoop, for such now is your name, I have come again to see you; not to quarrel with you, not to hear recrimination, but to effect a re. conciliation." "A-a rconciliation, ha! ha! You and I be re- conciled, what a joke; you are a brave joker-ha! ha! Oh! you shall have a reconciliation before you leave here. Thieves and murderers are always asking for that. Oh! yes, you'll get it s Sheriff's face flushed, then grew as pale, as white as driven snow. Passion and reason were struggling together, and the tumult was visible upon his countenance. "Old man," said he, " beware. I came here for a peaceable purpose." "So you said when years agone you came into my home and destroyed it. So you said-" then he muttered to himself, looking towards the knives, A I'll do it-I'll do it now, this night." Sheriff felt, for perhaps the first time in his life frightened. There was a haggard, glassy fixedness to the old man's features, while his eyes seemed as wild in their expression as those of a maniac. "Bommy, whatever has occurred between us heretofore I have come to make atonement- "And atonement you shall make-ha! ha! A terrible atonement, eh, Sheriff: Oh, yes, you'll atone for all you've done me, certainly you will," said Bommy, coming closer to him. His words i came from his thin lips in a hoarse soft of whisper- ing chuckle, which made them sound frightful.. Sheriff shuddered, but did not answer. V Bomm1 y then laid his hand upon Sheriffs shoul- a der, and looked up to him as if to read his in- t most thoughts. - a "John Sheriff," continued Bommy, "John Sher- I iff, there is'nt kny particular use of our quarreling, eh, is there? You-you never did me any harm, f of course not-ha, ha, ha!" a Bommy's laugh was like that of a demon. S Sheriff's brow was covered with drops of cold sweat. ti "Bommy,"'? at length answered Sheriff, ' Bom- n my, you are excited now, get calmer. I did not SI come here. I repeat it, to quarrel with you i but m to concilia -let us talk it all over like sensible men, and not like boys. w b ' Ah, yes-like men! no, like boys let us talk, for boys talk and act more straight-forward than he men; men know too much, boys know enough and w that's all. John Sheriff, go on, and say all you've it got to say. for you may never have a better chance."' The old man's hand still remained clutching nervously at the shoulder of Sheriffs coat. bl, "Don7' clutch at my coat so, Bommy, you are actirng in a frightful manner-why-why, I've his cever seen you actin' this way before, don't do so wi now, don't," exclaimed Sheriff, at the same time qn endeavoring to shake off the hold of the old man. les "Ah ha, you are talking like a man, ain't you,' e d hoarsely muttered Bommy. "Oh, yes, just like a man-yes, yes, I'll let go of you, but you must of listen to me aye, and you shall, though a demon rev stood in my way." Sheriff soon became aware of the certainty of my )le danger to himself unless something was done toc conciliate and soften the-rising passions o1' the old or man. "Bommy, I have done you wrong, and I am will- to ing to atone for it-to do anything to heal the an heart-wounds inflicted in the past, even if the ,s, atonement should require a lifelong labor in the future-do be quiet, and let us talk, not of what e, has been done, but of what we will do hereafter." "s "Well, now listen to me. You have robbed me, is you have plundered my house, you have torn from me the love ofa mother,you have conspired against is me, leagued with the Jesuits, and even at the time I picked you out of the streets, you were a mem- hber of that infernal cabal of foreigners, the Hi- 1 bernian Society, which fact you disguised from me. You set spies to watch me, and you wound up your s infamous persecution of your benefactor. by mur- - dering his grandmother, in order that you and your wife, my mother, might revel in that which would have been mine. All this you have done, and now when years have passed away, when I thought I was at last alone and at peace-you again a ppear, to goad me on to desperation and madneas--a feeble old man like me-prematurely old-made so by you-ha, ha, ha! you ask me to forgive you-when God pardons Satan, then, and and not till then will I forgive you. No, no, John Sheriff, no, no, not till then." "I will leave you Bommy, and come some other time--some other time when you're in a better hu- mor. Good by for the present." Sherillff, by a sudden effort, freed himself from the gralp of lBom- my, and turned toward the door. Bonmrny clutched at one of the knives on the board, and then sprang furiously upon Sherilfi Sherifls back was toward the stove, thcrcobre he did not even hear Bommny's movement uItil it was too late. Takhe that. I said I'd do it, and 1 hlave done And J3Bommy, with one strong blow, drove the knife to the heart of his foe. Throuh clothsing and all, tjl keecn tlhoullh rasty blade did its work. Sherifl wheeled around 'almost instnthly, raised hissarrm, and pointed at Bornmoy--hi. (,ces staring with a stony, rigid glcam-a convullsive' spamL quiver(ed through his frame, the arm dropped nerve- less at his side, and he fell, his hca;d strikinln the edge of the door-sill. John ;iheriffs soul lad gone to rlvp,1I..Tth accoulnt of its ifet on earth to the only;coult r'-t t lt now\s lno reversal of jiudglmenit. " And, so John Sheriff, now ., ; . :, B orn- my walked baclk to the knife boarll. 1nd1 taking up page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] the lamp, returned to the place where Sheriff fell. The dead man lay face downwards, and Bommy turned the body over. Terribly ghastly was that face-stiff and rigid the features, contracted by the death agony-the eyes partly open as if leering in mockery upon the murderer. Bommy shuddered. "Now-now he's gone from earth--now I have nothing more to fear. I wonder if any one saw him come in? No matter if they did they'll never see him go out. What shall I do with him? I have it. Ill hide him behind that old pile of carpet- No, somebody was here yesterday to look at that. Let me see-ah, I'll put him in the old stove I used last winter, nobody will ever think of looking in a stove for a dead man'? body-not a bit of it." iHe proceeded to the old stove in the far corner of the room, and taking off the top looked into it. "Yes, yes! this will hold him until to-morrow evening, then I'll contrive some way to get rid of him-a different lodging this than lie expected- very different-very different," and thus the old man murmured and talked to himself, as he drag- ged the body close to its destined receptacle. . With considerable exertion he finally raised the 1 body, anid head first he crammed it in the nar- v row stove, and replaced the top. r "Tere. Jolln Sheriff, my reveinge is complete." a The old man turned, and thenl reeled back, his c hand resting- on the stovec, for there, standing b)e- fore him-sltandingl in the pl;ace where the deed had lc;(1 conlll;tl tcd, \was the exact counterpart of v John Shceril. Thllre it ::tood, thell arm raised, pointing with its I: finger directly toward himi. The i ale of the figuire h was livid, and around the eyes the cold, clammy c blue of putrcf-c etion was vis iD,e. Tllh perspiration oozed firol Boruniy's forehead, e and trickled down his checks. Could this be the fe spirit of his victim, awssuming this lhorrible apear- i 1 ance to driv-e him mlad, or Nwas it a reality. Bonmmy Iwan to feel his senses wander. Such tc a horrible vissitation would have appalled firmer rn nerved umen than him. , With one w-ild uerllc1 thly yell of nmortal agony of; a terror, omn-ry spr I nla folrward toward the phanl- b tom. It receded as: lie advanced, and finalllly vanlished h throlgh the door. t '-t, a s Ionllnyv again Lturned, there it was. as S gholitly a s eer, behind him. ' lvy God, Aly God! i'm haunted--fiend haun- tl tfl. T'hl r-. look,. there it is again."7 Bommy, his d mindl l]),; '!lhe p,.ntt of mtadnes s-- is wlhole soul a ol ". chaos--stopped not to look again into the den of iy horror which his room had now become. He threw open the door and rushed out, across the court, id through the alley into Centre-street. ie On he plunged through the darkness-through le the fast settling fog-as if pursued by a legion of demons. Once, as he passed Walker-street, lie looked be- re hind him, and again hie caught a glance of the w mind-phantom that haunted him, glaring on him as Ir if ready to hurl upon him its vengeance. e The very air, heavy with the night-dew moisture, - seemed as if he went wildly on filled with images of the dead John Sheriff. The ground, the flag- I stones, appeared to rise around him, and disclose ? huge pits and graves, filled to the top with decay- "ing forms, each bearing the similitude of John r Sheriff. I He knew not whither he was going, and cared not. All he thought of, or wished for, was to es- v cape the phantoms which his guilty act had conjured f up to torment him. Up Canal-street, faster and faster, he went, look- ing neither to the right or the left, and in fifteen or twenty minutes he was at the Canal-street Fer- ry to Hoboken. Hastily throbing the ferry mas- ter a piece of money, without noticing or caring whether it was too much or too little, he passed on. The boat happened to be in- he entered the cabin and taking his seat in a cornar, pulling his hat over his eyes, he gave himself up in despair to the power of the fiends which seemed to pursue him. Bommy, what a sad change two short hours have wrought in your whole being. Not all the inju- ries, not all the heart-griefs and sorrows of the past could have agonized you as this one deed of horror. You have your your revcnge now--it has come ; but the revenge has brought Kwith it all its retinue of ghoulish phantoms-has barred you for- ever from the fellowship even of the few of your fellow men, who were your Iricild l--all, all is ilest. And as the boat stems the river's rapid current toward the Jersey shllore, his mind reverts to the room which he has just left. Again, he is standing by the stove-again is the death scene enacted- i again is the blow struck, and as the warm life- blood drips from the knife-blade, each drop seems to transform itself into grinning, gory human heads, and as he turns appalled from the spectacle they seem to roll in pairs around him-rolling a Satanic polka, lwhile the death rattle in Sheriff's throat answers for the music,-again does he drag the stiffening corpse to the old rusty stove-again does he cram it in as if it were a mere bundle of old carpeting. ' And now the knives he had picked out for Trump begin to clash and clang together discordantly ;-the whole room appeared to be fixed upon a pivot, and whirled around by invisi- ble hands-the walls ceased to be dingy-their color changed to a deep red-blood was dropping from the ceiling, falling like rain, deluging evely- thing. Then from the stove arose the mangled body, and leaping forth from its iron sepulchre- it caught Bommy around the waist and com- menced a frantic death waltz, on the slimy, bloody ftoor-then from amidst the uproar, in a solemn tone chimed forth a voice, chanting the Catholic burial service--then came a crash, like that of the lightning when it strikes the oak. Bommy sprang to his feet-the boat had landed at Hoboken, and it was the collision of the boat with the bridge. T7hich had aroused him from that terrible waking dream-from the frightful labarynths of his haun- ted imagination. A re-action began to take place-nature was nearly if not quite exhausted ;, and as he stepped through the gateway his limbs seemed almost to refuse their office. He wandered up the street, and entering a little grocery called for some liquor. The officious Dutchman handed him brandy -pouring the glass two-thirds full, Bommy swal- lowed it at a draught. It was now approaching morning, and the slumbering neighborhood began gradually to arouse itself, and occasionally here and.,there the denizens of the place passed Bom- - my-some of them with their tin dinner buckets in their hands hurrying toward the city--to their daily toil-yet they all appeared happy and con- tented; but Bommy heeded them not. or if he did it was only to avoid if possibly being noticed--on, on, he wandered, without any apparent object in view, unnoticed by any one. He had become in a manner hardened to the sight of the ghastly phantoms which peered at him a from every bush and fence-from the alley-ways, and over the roofs of the houses : or, if he was not hardened to them, his mental and physical attri- butes had become so weakened, that even desola- tion itself would have had no 'terror to him. Broad daylight-nearly ten o'clock--and he had walked to within three or four miles of Newark-- wearied with his long, and for him unusual tramp, he sat down upon a heap of stones by the road- side The exhilirating and strengthening effects of the brandy had passed away, long before. The k dull wintry sun beamed up1on his haggard features; but he cared not even for its cheering light-his thoughts were where the shadows only of the sunlight could penetrate-in the room te where the bodv of his victim lay cramuped and re packed in silence-unseen, and unknown. John to *Sheri was forever at peace, and Bommy, whom fate has covered with its bitteres' destinies, was yet sur rounded by misery woe and guiit. CHAPTER VI. THE BRIDE AND Ttr, BRIDAL TOUR-GEORGE AND BOLTER-'-TIE PIISONER OF THE ORDER AND TUrV PRISONERS SON. ON the morning after the wedding Marion Argall and her husband, :.'.-re en route for Albany. George had promised to reveal all to her-to unveil every- thing that might plreviously have seemed strange to her; yet after they arrived in Albany-after they had been there for two or three days-although he had treated her with every kindness, and anticipa- ted her slightest wishes, he never once alluded to the subject upon which her thoughts were most anxious. She only knew the name he had given to her, and to the minister at the wedding. The name he had given throughout the whole period of his visitation to her father's house, was George Whee- ler: "On the fourth morning after their arrival, George returned from the Post Office apparently ruffled in temper, and entered the apartment and threw a letter on the dressing table, which he had crumpled entirely out of its original shape. "There, Marion, you see I cannot even enjoy a few days repose from my business. When I am away everything goes wrong-to-morrow morning we must return home-to-morrow by the Hudson River Railroad. I cannot help it, so you must not be angry with me."' "Angry with you, Geo ge I No. Whatever be- falls you, either pain or pleasure, in your daily contact with the world and its strife, I will not be angry. A smile shall always greet my dear hus- band. But why have you to return seo soon?" "Read that letter, it will explain all." Marion took the letter and unfolding it read : WHnELER :-DEARI FiuE ND:--Come on to the city instantly on the receipt of this. There are some heavy notes to pay at the close of the week, and as you have always attended to the cash ac- count for us, it will be absolutely necessary for you to come. McQuiggin, Bung & Co., have failed, you know their failure affects our firm to a great extent. Yours truly, SNIOTHER, S rrIT &-, Co. "Why, George, I hisis nothing. It does not in- terfere with our plans at all; besides, our speedy return, even if it disappoints us, will be a pleasure to my father.' page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] "Yes, yes, to be sure it will," and then he mut tered to himself, :, It will when you see him again and to my thinking he'll experience the pleasure, if he ever does, in another world." "Come, come George," said Marion, embracing bm, "i do not be moping now; never mind, Alba- ny is nothing t, us We have enjoyed ourselves since we have been here. Had you any particular business here, that the recall troubles you?" "No," replied George, hesitatingly, " no, oh certainly not. I was only troubled on your ac- count, that's all." ' Let us talk of something else. Come sit be- side me on this chair, won't you George." "Yes, my little wife, I will. Now, what shall we converse about?T "About ourselves." "About ourselves??" que; led George, casting a slspicious glance upon Marion. "About our- selves?' "Yes, now," and she playfully rested one hand upon his shoulders, while, with the other, she amoothed back the hair from his forehead, "now tell me, George, what you promised me. I know part already: that you having received from me the gift of my father, and that you are now a part- ner in thefirm from whom you have just received this letter. Why not tell me the balance? You know you promised you would tell me the day after our wedding-it is three days after-yes four days-and you have not told me yet.' "Marion, circumstances of which you know noth- ing, but which, when you do know them, will vin- dicate me, have prevented me from fulfilling my word; but one thing is certain, the day we arrive in the city to-morrow. or to-morrow evening, I pledge you my honor you shall hear all. Are you satisfied dearest?"' I "Indeed I am, for you would not, no, you could not deceive me. That is settled, let us talk of f something else. What shall we do this evening to d pass away time, dear?" "Anything-go to the theatre." No, I'm tired of theatres-thev always play b such abominable pieces, and always have such mis- erable actors to sustain them, especially in the sl country--no, no theatre for me. Shall we go and hear the Serenaders?' c "Burnt cork, George, that's what my brother fr calls them. Burnt cork musicians, he always says. a, whenever there is a band of negro minstrels-bot- tie corks are scarce." "To the concert then?" t "I've been to so many, George, besides, ten f chances to one whether the Prima Donna of the e evening, whoever she may be, will sing. My broth- w1 er 77 n ut- "Why, Marion your brother must have beenl in, your preceptor, you quote him so much.' re, No, not at all. But he says buying a concert ticket is like buying a ticket in a lottery the ng only hope of getting the value of your tickets is )a- to make a "side bet" you, losc-ah he's a wild 'es harum-scarum boy, is my brother." ar "Why was he not at our wedding? "I told you once-don't you recollect?" h "I believe I do. Drop the brother, Marion, and c- decide where we shall go this evening; it is now nearly noon, and the afternoon will fly away fast." e- "Will you do just as I say, George?" "I will, if it be reasonable." 'e "Then let us stay here, are you willing?" "Perfectly ; and now I have a treat in store' for you, Marion, guess what it is?" a "When am I to have it? "To-morrow afternoon we will be in the city by d four o'clock, if not sooner, and we will have full e two hours to spare before I take you to our future v home, at your father's house." w "Well, well, tell me, George, what is it?" e You hate the Catholics, do you not?" "No, I hate no sect, George, I only hate their 1 superstition and bigotry. "I heard you one day say that you would like to see the inside of a nunnery; that you would like to see how they lived, and be convinced wheth- er the nuns were happy or not." "Indeed I did say so, and there's nothing in the world I would like better than to see a convent or a * nunnery-those nuhs, dear George, must be very unhappy." "Why so, Marion?"George watched with lynx- like vigilance every expression of his victim's countenance. "Because," she answered, " they always look so forsaken, when we do happen to see one. They dress in black and never wear the gay colors of fashion-they must be very, very unhappy." "And do you not think, Marion, the nunnery to be a good institution?" "No, for God never intended his creatures to be shut out from the bright and beautiful world he created for them; he never intended them to live cloistered away in those little dark rooms, away from the gladsome, cheering sunlight, away from all that they should cherish and love. No, no, George; and it is wrong to have such things in this country, where the person should be as free as the mind. My father has told me this, and my father says, too, that true religion never conceals even its most sacred rites, that if the Creator had wished to be worshipped in little rooms or cells, he never would have made this earth as he has. He would have made it a barren waste and 'would have so ruled that no man should know his broth- er, or a woman know her sister. He would have had every one alone." "H think as you do, Marion; yet the Jesuits who founded these institutions had a good mo- tive." "No motive can be good, George, which has am- bition and superstition for its foundation. That is good which continues to be as it commenced; con- cealment begets concealment, and that is why so many American Societies are secret in their trans- actions; they have to be so, because foreigners-- devotees of the Catholic Church-have adopted that course." "Ah! but, Marion, is it not a glorious thing to be a priest, or a Bishop, or a Cardinal? to have millions repeat your name with a holy reverence? to be attired as the minister of the most high-in the magnificent robes of the Pontificial Court- would it not be a worthy emulation to strive for such a position?" "No, it would be blasphemy-to repeat the name of any man with holy reverence is blasphemy-an insult to him who alone should be reverenced. From the vatican at Rome to the- rude log church of the far west, ambition only isethe main spring of4 its success." "You argue as if you'd argued all your life, Marion; but let us cease our religious' debate. 1 Will you go with me when we return to the city and visit the Houston-street Nunnery-the Sisters of Mercy?" "Before I go to our home?" 'Yes, dear, before will be better than after; be- sides, I would not have your father know of it, if r he did he might }e angry." "As you say, George. Yes I will go." "You will be pleased, I am sure." George gazed into the loving eyes that were so fondly up- t] turned to his, and imprinted a kiss upon her fair v cheek. Hypocrite! you are worse than a thief. r Hypocrisy, where is there a more terrible sin? And where does it abound more than among the h Jesuits? Upon almost every page of the history of down-trodden Italy, Spain, Portugal, and nearly st all the world, where Catholicism has left its ao mark, there too, will be found the indelible traces of its hypocrisy. But a new era is dawning upon the world, the night of Popish bigotry is passing ye away-the clouds of darkness .are rolling back, y bearing with them the phantoms of superstition- while the light of toleration and intellect is spread- ye ing its brilliancy and glory over city and town, hill and dale, leaving not a shadow for priestly op- ni pression to conceal its deformity. an ld Shortly after the conversation George left the- h- apartment, on, as he said, urgent business, and did ve not return until between seven and eight in the evening. ts Where he had been Marion knew not, nor did she o- ask. He seemed cheerful and satisfied-that was enough for her. In the morning they left for the city in the cars. s Marion was delighted, at the kind assiduityof her - husband, and the prospect of once more being un- s0 der the parental roof with those she loved and s- with those who loved her. While one heart is happy how many are there d filled with misery, and perhaps the happy one is beating its slow march to a fate which could it per- ceive through the mists of the impenetrable future, the terror of the coming reality would silence it forever. It is well for mortals that we know only the' present, and can judge only by the past. At three o'clock they arrived in the city. George e placed the baggage in charge of a carman, to be i conveyed to her father's house-then taking a car- riage, and giving directions to the driver to con- h vey them to Houston-street, they were rapidly con- f veyed on their way to the nunnery and the con- vent of the Sacred Heart. The carriage stopped-George assisted Marion to alight and then conducted her up the steps, and rang the bell. "Shall I wait for you," enquired the driver. "Yes, we will not be here but a short time," re- plied George. At' this moment the massive door of'the Nunne- ry swung open, and the portress, appeared. "What is wanting?" George unobserved by Marion, gave a signal with his right hand, which was as quickly answered, then George spoke, "We have merely called as visitors, to see the interior of this strange building. I have here a note, which you can read if necessa- ry, before you admit us." The woman, who was habited in black serge from. head to foot, opened the missive and read it. It was written in cypher-but she well under- stood its contents, it was signed merely with three crosses. It is all right-you arc welcome, very welcome, I will show you into the reception room, where you can remain for a few moments until I mention your presence to the Lady Superior." They were ushered into a cold, dreary looking, yet well-furnished apartment. As the woman passed out another sign of recog nition different from the first, was given by George and answered. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] Marion's attention was attracted by a beautiful painting of the Virgin Mary, which hung against the wall, over the mantle shelf. Beneath it, on the mantle, Was an elaborately worked crucifix. "Now dearest. be seated and I will return in a moment." "Do not leave me alone, George, in this dreary room-where are you going?" "Only to the door-I wish to settle with the driver, that is all." "Don't be gone long, dear,.it is like a grave- yard here, cheerless and lonesome." "I will not stay hardly a second." George stood at the door nearly a minute gazing at Marion, then without a word, left the apartment. "Driver," said he, as he descended the steps, "'The lady who came with me has concluded to re- main here a while, therefore she will not accompany me. I wish you to drive to the corner of lrince and Mulberry-sts.-be as quick as possible-your com- pensation shall be liberal." George stepped into the carriage, and it rattled away over the stony pave at a furious rate. Marion,.poor Marion, was waiting, uneasy because he did not return. And in the loneliness of the room. as she sat wondering to herself why George staid so long, and why some one did not enter to keep her company, a strange foreboding of danger came into her mind-at first indistinctly, then gradually increasing until a sort of nameless terror thrilled through her, almost paralysing her, and as the room seemed to increase in gloominess and soli- tude, her memory brought to mind the death bell her father had told her of. Where was George-why did he not conme. Presently the Portress entered, followed by a heavily built, tall woman, with an austere and rigid face, clad like the domestic, in black.' She was evidently advanced in years, and from the expression of her eyes, advanced as well in bad temper. * This, my friend," said the Portre ss, s" this is the Lady Superior-she will, if you are ready, conduct you through the various portions of the house.": ' Olivia," said the Lady Superior, with a digni- fied wave of the hand and a pompous step or two towards Marion. 'Olivia, you can retire for the present." "My Lady," Oaid Marion, shuddering at thel freezing formality of the personage before her ' I would rather wait until my husband comes in-he t is at the front door settling with the driver of the carriage in which we come-the girl can call him."1 "My child, your husband is up stairs," answered the Lady Superior, " he has been there some mnin- 1 utes. It is at his request that I have now come. t He told me he wished me to conduct you to him in the upper room, then he would accompany you-he T bade me tell you to make haste." "Singular," murmured Marion, rising-", I am a ready, my Lady." She followed the Lady Superior up the stair-case, and on the second floor her guide paused by a small doorway-she pushed the door open and then mo- tioned Marion to precede her. It was a small, narrow apartment, almost entirely divested of furniture, far more dreary than the larger one below. Marion had advanced to the centre of the room, and was just uttering the words, "why, George is not here, my Lady," when she heard the door shut with a violence that almost stunned her. She turned and ran to it. It was locked, double locked, above and below, and now for the first time, she noticed that it was thickly studded with heavy nails. She was a prisoner within the walls of a Romish Prison-within the walls of a building consecrated to the service of Mercy, Benevolence and Charity. And this was the terminhtion of her bridal tour. Frightened-her senses confused-she screamed till her voice became a hoarse whisper-and vainly threw herself with all her strength against the door. It did not even jar. "George-George-dear, dear George-where are you--he, like me, may be incarcerated in a cell. George-Father-the death bell-George-George -come to me-do not leave me thus--come back to me--dear, dear Husband-Oh, God! Oh, God!- what can have happened to him--this horrid, horrid den-spirit of my sainted mother, lo6k down and protect me--George--Father-Brthher-come to me, come to ne--do come-the room whirls around -am I growing mad-no window-no hope-no hope-no hope-ah, I hear them again!-horror!- horror!-they are coming to murder me-no!- no!-s'ave himu---I will die f6r him-now they chime the death bellwe- Low dark it is-George--dear George-conie back to me--come back once more- come-colne---" She fell exhausted to the floor, the intensity of agony and delirium had thrown her into a swoon. The door was opened and three or four nuns and the Lady Superior entered. "Good," said this disciple of mercy, "good. She has fainted take her to the Red Room-carry her gently, for she has much to endure before we can tame her to submission. The blessed virgin guide her in the right path," and in the excess of her re- ligious fervor she crossed herself after the most approved fashion. The nuns raised the senseless form of Marion and bore it in their arms from the apartment. The Lady Superior followed them, muttering to herself sundry prayers. Had she been called the sister of a demon in- stead of a Sister of Mercy, it would have been more appropriate; but, thank heaven, all of her asso- ciates were not, nor are not, like her. Now let us follow George-follow him before the retributive action of omnipotence, be it sooner or later, over takes him in his guilty career. Paying the driver at the corner of Mulberry and Prince-streets, he dismissed him, and then hurried to the Cathedral. Passing up the aisle, he entered the vestry room through a small door by the altar. Here he encountered a priest. This priest was the one who had betrayed the servant girl, Mary, in the house of Josephine. Fit compatriots they were; those twin hypo- crites, serving by their hypocrisy the grand master of hypocrisy, the Pope. As it had grown somewhat dark a light was burning upon a side table. "George, are you here?-so soon, too-we did not expect you here until to-morrow." . "I said I would be here to-night, and -I have i kept my word." "Have you accomplished all?" "Yes, everything. The heretic Marion is now in our power, and for what I have committed, to t attain the wishes of my superiors, they are account- able, not me. But enough of that-where is he whom I wish to see?" "He will not be here until to-morrow evening. You received the letter, did'nt yomt? That was a rich joke, wasn't it?" "It might have been a joke to us; but to some it has been the commencement of a sorrowful reali- ty. which, unless we are cautious, will give birth to a spirit of revenge that will crush us and our cause forever. Let the storm come, I care not; I have weathered the storms of guilt too long to quail now. A blighted heart has no feeling but one of retribution and desolation; to me, Thaddens, : the whole earth is nothing, now. The jewel whosee] effulgence Would have made it radiant with joy was stolen from me, and now I would have it one vast sepulchre, entombing the victims of my ven- geance." i " Psha-don't talk so; enjoy yourself as I do- let the past go for what it is worth now, not what it has been. Do you know you are to meet Bol- ter." " No, although I suspected as much-when?" "As soon as practicable." an "And the purport of that meeting is to entrap e him?"no ' It is." to "Who is to aid me in this?" "I was instructed to act with you in conjunction n- with three others." re "Members of the Order?" o- "Ye." ' And when he is in our power where is he to be he taken?" or "To his fate. He will meet his father, his father will be sent to join his wife, and he, the son, will d occupy his place." d "And now tell me, can you conceive the ulti- mate fate of her I married--the final destiny at our n hands of Marion ArgaIl?" "Yes." s "What is it?" "The fate which will be the portion of Josephine when she falls within our toils.', "Josephine, again; wherever 1 go that name r haunts me like an evil spirit," muttered George., "Josephine will-- ') "Do not mention her name again in my pres- ence. Curse them all, say I ; to the world I am the model of piety and calmness, like yourself; -but within the cloisters of the church, and within - myself, I am a demon. I have been often to see Bolter, but he is never at home. Where is he to be found?" "We havetforged a note, which will decoy him to your presence." 'In whose hand-writing is the note written?" ' In imitation of the writing of Josephine-she and Bolter are intimate, and are together very often. The original, from which we copied the style, I procured from Mary, her attendant." "When will this note be sent?" "In a few moments. The time or meeting has been left out until we ascertained the time you would be ready." "Then let it be this evening." "Just as you say, George-your Reverence, I should say,"-the priest bowed with a mock gravity of demeanor-then continued, "I say your Rever- ence, because we are all Reverences here." "This evening, at half-past eight-the place of the appointment designated in the note is-", "In the ladies' drawing room of the Irving IIouse From there you can lead him whither you please, by telling him that you are conducting him to Josephine." "That plan vil! not do." "Why not?" "Because he knows that even were Josephine and I to meet, it would be as strangers--would to Heaven it had always been so-I have it-send the note as we first intended, then send a servant, one page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] that we can trust,. to wait his arrival at the Irving ITouse-and when he comes, let this servant be ttle one to deceive him into going some where else--he will readily do this--let the servant tell him that Josephine-how I hate the name-wishes him to come to her house--the servant can have a carriage at the (door-Bolter, unsuspicious, will enter it and then-" "What?" "Chloroform will do the rest-and by this pow- erful ally, rendered senseless, he can be handled like a child--it will be much better than my seeing him. for he might suspect me." "'You are a prince of a priest and a king of plot- ters. It shall be as you say then, by half-past nine." "The carriage containing Bolter will have ar- rived at the corner of Mott and Prince-streets-he can be lifted out and carried into the vaults under- neath, where we now are, without a struggle, with- out trouble.' "Good, good. Now for a glass of wine ltther, then we'll separate. "No wine for me-no wine for me." George whipping Iis cloak around him, walked tywards the door. "Good night, until half-past nine." George I'lft the vestry room, and his companion divesting himself of his priestly robes, wended liis way to the residnmce of the Archbishop. George had not but once or twice thought of 'Mat';o i --he cared not, his heart was callous to all heclin s "x.::', ng tto.-e which gratified hIs evil Put }ie!..)t tit the t wronl,. he had experl- enccd ald fIor which he sought revenge, were cre- ed 1 Ihns elf--that he was the first to provoked the d,:.truction of his friendship for all hunlan kind. C 'T!e ii-ncscii:er was diespatched with the note to Bolter. It was delivered at his residence. Fortu- N nately, or rather as the sequel proved, unfbrtu- nately. Bolter happened to be at home, and almost instantly departed for the Irving House, to fulfil f the command of the missive. Arrived at the Iving. lie went to tio Icliaies t Drawing and Ilceptihon Rooml. where, as had been previously planned, tith srvant met him. "Exclc se me,' said the emissary, , but I 1iust use cautnon. Excuse the question. but is not your name Bolter t e' It is." Joiilphine, imy mistress. . requested me to convey you to her presence imnmedlitely on your arrival q here.' Well. you see I have come. and am ready to follow yu.' hi "There is a carriage at the Chambers-streetu en- ;g[ trance waiting for us-will you be kind enough to {e accompany me?" e "Lead on.'" it There was something in the manner and action to of the servant-something too much of officiousness :e and servility-that Bolter did not like ; yet not for d an instant did he falter in his determination ,to obey what he supposed to be the wish of Josephine -not the slightest suspicion of treachery crossed his mind ; he was blindly rushing into the snare, e and yet, though he did not know it, even in that i. vile plot there was one gleam of joy which for years he had been hoping for. What that one joyous moment was we shall see hereafter. In the carriage the servant seated himself oppo- - site to him with his hand in the breast-pockqt of e his coat. The vehicle was driven up Broadway to - Prince, then turned in the direction of the Cathe- - dral. They had scarcely passed Crosby-street when the , servant suddenly drew from his pocket a handker- Chief, saturated with-chloroform, and crammed it um:!er Bolter's nostrils. The movement was so quic'k and so dexterous that ,his victim could not have avoided the effect had he been ever so watch- ful. The chloroform did its work, and Bolter!;cc.:eii insensible. "Ah ha!" muttered the servant. ', nothing L,:: , it-this little piece of linen, saturated withl the s:,ub t fletid, did more in one second than coald the strength of three men. Ah, the chemist's art is a gloriois one-a glorious one!"' The carriage halted at the corner of Mott-street in iPrince-strcet, directly in front of a low, wooden gate, or door, in the wall which environs the Cath.- dral and the grave-yard. He gave a signal, a peculiar twirring sound, which was almost instantly answered by some one within. A moment more and the gate we espoke of was opened, and three men, attired as priests, came forth, followed by Thaddeus, the pious father conlessor, with whom George had previously held the conversation in the Cathedral. 'Is he insensible?' asked Thaddeus. "Yes," answered the servant. " lIe's good for tell or fifteen minutes yet, and the sooner we get hln out of here and into his future abode the bet- ter."' Come, then, let us bie speedy." Two of the party entered the carriage and as quietly and easily as possible raised Bolter from the seat. The other two, on the out-side, caught hold of his legs while the two in the carriage locked arms beneath his body. Thus1- supported, he was conveyed to the inside of t':,' trave-yard. :' The Ilack was d(ismissed-there was no danger of ,a betrayal on the part of the driver--he, like the rest. was I' one of the Order," and sworn upon tile Holy Cross never to divulge aulght concerning any d-edl l:,at his compatriots might accomplish for the s'ippDOs-i bnctefit of the cause-the noble cause of Ronlanism. 'Tit',lens locked the gate, then whispered to one ,' h companions :--"Do not take him to the cell ittroughl the Cathedral ; go by the private way, nand hurry, for he na:ty recover before we have se- cix d him."' e' ec will,"' was the reply ; and carelessly, yet quiickly. they proceeded to consumate their design -- -treading upon the graves as though they were but nmole-hills- death beneath them and aroundl theum what cared they for sacrilege, or for thoe fCelhigs with which men regard the silent homes of their departed kindred?" They paused in front of a marble slab which ap- parently covered the entrance to a family vault. In the centre of the slab was tan iron staplc, to which was tattached a ring. Passing a stick through the ring, three of the party, by a strong effort, dis- placed the slab. Th-Iddeus threw open a dark lantern, and its rays falliingi upon the place where the slab had been. rbcovered to view a flight of. steps descendlng into a subterranean passage. Down these steps the party descended with their burthen--o ne only remaining above-who, after re- placing the slab as nearly in its original position as he could, went towards the Mott-street end of the Cathedral. When the party had arrived at-the bottom of the stoeps. they enterel a long vaulted passage which led towards that portion of the Cathedral which frointed upon Mulberry-street. Presently, they caine to a low iron door, fastened with a chain and a padlock. T'lns door Thaddeus unlocked and threw open-- it grated horribly as ,it swung back upon its rusty hiih.---:-a low moan issued from the lips of Bolter. 'Qttick---quick--hie is recovering--quick, quick, or we mtiy have a desperate struggle-quick "--ex- clia illed Thaddeus. Tlhey obeyed him, and a few minutes sufficed to bring tlfnm within a large square apartment, direct- ly beneath the Church. ThIe sides of this vestibule were lined with small iron barred doors. Now atnd then the rumbling of the carriages and t carts passing through Mulberry-street. sounded c through the damp noisome place, making it seem t almost like an abode for thunder. The doors were numbered, and there were eight of them on each side. Tile numbers commenced from the right hand side next to the entrance bf the vaulted passage. "Shall we place him in No. six-that one has not had an occupant for many years.'" "No," answered Thaddeus. "Put him with tlhe old man in-No. four." Thaddeus, who akppeared to be the key bearer of all the dungeons in christendom-judging from the immense number of keys of all sizes and shapes, which he carried-unlocked the door marked No. four-' there, throw him in there-probably Jose- phine may have the pleasure of hearing his groans some of these days-who knows." Bolter was rudely shoved through the narrow aperture, and then the door was closed. The heavy clang of iron meeting iron was echoed by the noise of the bolts, securing the victim in his dismal cell. "Now,'" said Thaddeus, " father and son are to- gether, and I hope they'll have a merry time of it. Our work is done, at least your's is, if mine is not. M'ike, you who feed these Heretics, must give young Bolter the same, and no more, that you give the old one : and, above all, never speak to them, un- der any pretext whatever ; no matter what either of them may ask you, let your tongue be as still as that oi a dead man."7 "' Yis, your riverence," answered Mike, " yis ye may be sure 'iv that. Divil a word'll the Heretic- al scoundrels git out iv me, barrin a few curses.'? "Now let us leave this damp place, it makes my bones ache-come on brothers. The Brothers departed, following Thaddeus-- threading their way along the vaulted corridor, elated at having accomplished their brutal task, and soon emerged into the open air. From beneath, by their united endeavors, they had removed the slab, and when above, replaced, it. Each one, after tne usual compliments were passed, departed, Thaddeus proceeding to the house of his highness, the Arch Bishop. And this was the fulfillment so far, of the comn- mand of the Grand Lodge of the ancient Order of Hibernians. #An innocent, pure girl, torn from the joys of a happy home; deceived, betrayed, anid lost forever, through the means of those in whom she placed her greatest hopes. An innocent man, too, whose only apparent crimes were an indefatigable and untiriring search after his father, and a strict fidelity to his dear- est and best friend, Josephine, and his determina- tion to avenge-terribly avenge the murder of his mother. page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] For thi., and for his hatred to ; relirrion that usurped the perogative of the Creator it pretended to worship, he was betrayed. Misery and despair, misforterlne and death hurled amid those who wrongly loved-amid those whose whole lives had been pass9ed in the pursuit of that happiness we are all so anxious to possess. And yet, retribution is following them-slowly, yet surely dogging their tracks-blood-hloulnd like, never missing the scent, never faltering, never losing a sinngle Ifootprint. Guilt, whether it wear the insignia of Royalty. or paraphranalia and robes of the Church, inevit- ably reaps in the harvest of its grealtest triumphls, the reward which it would mete out to those whom it would crush. Let us turn to a new scene in the Drama-a new episode in the detail of our strange revelations. CHAP!.'TEll VIII. THE HSTORY OF THE. PAST SPEAKS ilTHE PATE CF 'lTHE FI'T;; U-TiE .ATTORNEY. NASSAC-STREET. the home of Gotham's Literature, from whose mysterious realms, flashes upon the wrestern world, the light of ,genius, the wisdom of our philosophers. and the governing power which rules even the rulers of our land. Far along through the drelary hours of the night. Ihten the streets are but the whilonme tombs of thle l'.arkness, there wells up from this region otfink and paperdom, the steady, heavy jar of the Levitian ctcam presses. Rumble, rumble-puff, pullf-jar. jar-until through the sm,.ke and lfog, the lazy, wintry day-light crawls out and tills the tlor- oughtlare with the hurrying to and fro of business.- Nassau-street-with thy black and dingy look- 1 with thy inky walls, dark stair-ways, and dreary 1 windows--with thy yelling newsboys, and thy ac- 1 commodlating coffee and cake saloons--we love thee a -and our love increases even when we behold a fellow professional stnnding upon the corner, ragged 1 and forlorn, forsaken by the rude world, cuffed into f poverty's grasp by relentless fate, and tazing wist- fully at the brightly burning larip which ornaments 1 the entrance to "Cooper's.7' Our love increases for thee then, Oh, Nassau-because thou art that p man's last hope-and it is seldom tha this hopes re- p main ungratified. Thou art the parent of any anll opuscule of the e newspaper business-many an eighllt by nine inch w daily shoots from thy recesses, into the iir of ex- j istence, like a sky rocket, anld like it too as q uickly descends to oblivion, beariug with it the brilliant b prospects of may be, an hundred aspiring scribblers. in Great mammoth weeklies, too-literary bed blan- ta t kets come stalking out, prout as lucifer, but gr uIa- 1 ally the pride disappears, and finally, pride, panper, prospectus, prin ters and editors. are gone altog ,bh- d er, leaving only probably a few unpaid bills to tell e of' their ever having existed. t Oh, Nassau! If the Recording Angel lkecp. ;:,. accouznt of all your mishaps, and all the misdo!ns , and heart griefs of your tenants, his library (. , journals and blank books, must fill the grea;ter parr; ' of the coU't of Heaven. Butt our business is not with the scribblers or the trible editorial-it is with a member of one of the - lost tribes of Isreal. An Attorney. There are a few lawyers in Nassau-street, and there are hosts of men who, for the sake of avoid- 7ing the law relating to vagancy, call themselves lawyers. There are Notaries and Commissioners of Deedls, who would commit, and have committed, from timnge imnmemorial, deeds of all kinds, good and bad. obr a very small armount of money. There is one building to which we call cspcc a] attention-it is a little below Fulton-stre(et on fl. right hand side as you walk towarts Wall-sterlt--- the, numbers the building bears are s'ev:n(y.:'-. and seventy-seven. The front portion is devoted exclusively to LI:v-. yers, who pay, or promi se to pay, exorlbi;t;an1 ,;::^ for excessively ill-ventilated an(d cramped roolm-- the rear portion is somewhat mixed, the apa:'tnl .; t. being on each floor equally divided between lawr- yers. brass finishers, (who probably supply a k- :l demand in their line,) pocket-book maklers, aiinl architectural draughtsmen. The only s-ngularity there ever existed in recga;'d to the occupants of the front offices was, the iact that they invariably were dressed to the very ex- tent of fashion's most vigorous decrees--yet two- thirds of them were as devoid of clients or businehsp as they Nwere of' money or intellect, No tailors were ever seen rushing in with lorn bills and hopeful countenances, or coming out with either money, anger, or despair. Some must have certainly pecuniarily sullcr#o)d but who, none ever knew. Piles of letters were carried in every day by ithe postman to the front apartments, but he rarelly penetrated to the rear buildling. Lawyers always contrive to have an immense correspondence wi1,h everybody, in every part of the habitable globet which generally amounts to nothing, the only ob- ject being display. In a back room upon the third floor of the rear building, two days after the occurrences mentioned in the last chapter, was seated at a largc, round table placed in the centre of the roomn, a thin, small,. 1gray kaircd man, intently poring over a quantity of manuscripts. This man's face was marked with every peculiari- ty Of c xprcssion which could be attributed to the legal profession; cunning. decision and covetous- His features were rather sharp; his forelhead narrow but ligh, aud from beneath his grey, heavy eye br1ow sparkled a pair of blright, piercing eyes. undimmed by age and time. He was attired in a suit of brown cloth. The walls 9f the otice were covered with lmap s and charts, intermingled here and there with ol, lithographs, SherIffs notices of sale. and directorics. guides, and counterfeit detectors, hung by chord s to brass-headed nails. The single window at the end of the office was somewhat dusty, yet ift betray- ed cleanlincss enough to admit light suficient f;l all the tenllant's purposes. "How good llat was in his Holiness, the Billop. to assign to me the business of the Order-their legal business. Ah, it pays, it pays; yet it is dif- ficult, very difficult; so many links in the chain oi the inheritance they so covet; but they are cun- ning, very cunning; yet they cannot overmatch me. Their religion, psha, bumgh, a mcre fiaw in the iadictiment; but the. flaw will prevent, them i ever being convicted or sentenced to Heaven. Let i rc see, to-morrow week, they told me, I mnust have all prepared. Can I (o it? can I do it? that is 0 the question. Let me sfe, let me see.", and he 1I commenced arranging the documents and manu- c serp)ts in regular order. " There now, perhaps I r may, perhaps I may get this case ready,. but it is n doubtful-let me once more read them. How many o histories of Right, conquered by Wrong, have I s not read? Ah, life is but a farce at least-the o, nurse opens the seene-rascality makes the plot, li and all it requires to bring about the finale are ani attorney and undertaker, and I'm thinking- in this 1 case the undertaker will be dispenscd with."' p He selected several papers from among those he d: had arranged, and began to carefully read them. ti one after another." The first one was evidently a siort of synopsis of b the whole. The claim appeared to be that of an inheritance. ce The claimants, as it appeared upon the records. m were the Order of Hibernians, and the clerical au- IV thoritics of the Catholic Bishopric of New-York. il The authorities of the Papal Church were repre- on sented by the Archbishop. The attorney was the an man whom we have introduced, and the small, tin ki: sign, tacked upon the outer side of the door, told TI his namne. It was SIMON CLOUD. b This was the first paper he read. It was in the Jo handwriting of the secretary of the Archbishop- th- ty evidently either a copy or written froln dictation. Thus it read : 'i- Mly DEAR Asn ADMRED FRIEND: he The %eal and readiness with which you have here- i.- tofore dischar;ged the heavy and respnonsile dlj- ties assigned to you as our legal a dvser. has con- vinlced us that in no better hands or to a. m(or Torthy t person than yourself could we place tl( s. fate of the vast amuount now at issue, as d:,cri d and explained in the enclosed( docu lenllts. We have been Ftriving for many months to arranto s and classify our claims as stated ia thes:e papmel7, 1 in order that you night exp'erience as little dilli- , culty : possit le in tleir final al:d complete ad- s ,justmeit, lwhich it is to lbe hopled ;will be speedy. e On the part pf the presiding loficers of the Grandtl 7- Lodge, we e requested, und gladly do w- do it, t o return their most sincere thanks-were all as zealous in the cause of our holy faithl-so careful to leave no chance unnoticed, that would lcad to r its welfare, we should feel most grateful. We have thoughbt proper, in this our missive to you, to give yon an outline of the history of the cli'iml whicl - we demand, and which we will posses in spite ol' a I whole Protestant world. In examining the nomtlu- scripts you will carefully compare our statemenls' ill this, with those that appear in them, and note any disagreement, however slilght it may be. Some yeare since there lived uponl the bankll of the lIudson', within a few mIiles of Al- bany, a man and his wil'e. He was a believer in our most holy religion, and a devout oels:rveL o0 its most strict rite I and ceremonies. Previoi.- to hI. marriage he had accumulated a small compthency, earnl(. by the labor of Illis hands. His pl arlnlts re- sided in England. Early in their if,- thoy had em i- gratecd to this, cor1ntry in the ho,t:: f;!' ;lln a re- lief fi'oml the persecution of cOdine po:.u,! cr a enemies ,which thoy hiut in London. They wenre wortlh in landed piroperty and money one hundred thousaint pounds, or in American currency nearly five h:r- dfed thousand dollars. They renmaim,1 brut a sho ft time in this country--not Inor ('1han twSo years---- during ;which timel their only son, ,olh:I Polterl, wais born. When they dleparted on t:cir r trn to Lon- don, although agains t le wisi),.s of the fltlher, the child was leIct behind inll chare of t : lpriest (of h most holy church, who rearcid h1im in the trulce ftith. When the boy arrived at the age o f ;yelvo y(. sit, intelligence arrived that his mother had died N !,; ' on a tour through Austria. She expir t : t, i nua, and shortly after hin father also died, havinj been killed in a duel with a certain Count de Froilmberg. Their immense estate, we had hoped, would have been left to the only living heir w-ev knew of, the son, John Bolter ; but the will, which his deccased fa- ther had left, duly executed, bequeathed only the page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] the sum of two thousand pounds to the son, and all the balance to a rc!ative of the mother, a certain Richard Morrell,vhlo, by some means had ingratia- ted himself in thefavor and affection of his wealthy benefactor. Thus you see the holy father was deprived o! having the means to make his charge of value to the church. We however determined (as he was entirely ignorant of thie great inheritance which was legally his right, to deprive him of all chance of ever obtaining the slightest clue or chance to do so,) to educate him to take Ioly Orders. In this we were frustrated by the lures of a young girl, beautiful, fascinating and endowed with all those charms which so captivate and lead astray the worldly minded. In vain, the reverend father depieted to his charge, the danger he was in-in vain lie w arncd him that he was devoted to God and the mother church, not to the sins and iniqui- ties of this world. In vain he threatened to launch :,')a him the thunders of an excommunmeation. T'T . soul, the mind of the youth was lost in the viirlipool of passionate love. Eighteen months passed on, and John Bolter was a man-twenty-one years of age-and despising all admonitions, married the giddy cause of our disappointment. The two fthousand pounds we could not take from him--with this he and his young bride travelled through the principal portions of the Union until the legacy was reduced to barely sufficient to enable them to return. Ihis wife, now Mrs. Mary Bolter, was a P'rotestant, and to lcea5e her, he had been married by a ministcer of that accursed faith. They settled down contentedly, in a neat cottage house-as we have informed you, near Albany. The friuit of this union was two children--twins- George and Abraham Bolter. Shortly subsequent to their birth, the father came to this city in search of employment--here lhe was met by one of our an- cien:t Order of Ilibernians, who had been previously introduced to him by the Holy Father who had him in charge before his marriage-he persuaded Bolter to join the Orlr dr--he did so, and from that time commences the date of our surveilance of his most trivial movements. Finally, by means of a trick, we induced him to betray a portion of the secret transactions of the order-tlthe offence was in reality. a, trivial one, but we magnified it to such an extent that we frightened him out of the city-he returned home to his wife and family. Through our instruc- tions, as Archbishop, the Order dispatched a priest to his residence to bring him back-we might a have secured him while here, but we preferred giv- ing his wife a chance to observe the control posses- sed by our church over its proselytes, even though q he had been staunch to the Catholic fath, yet his o "wire never imagined for a moment that he cared n particularly for any religion. Our emissary called L- twice-three times-and the last time the priest y gave him the fearful signal of the Order-the sig- nal of command which as yet, since the foundation )1 ofour'Order, bas never been disobeyed. Bidding o good bye to his wife, he came to this city with tlhe is Brother and suddenly disappeared--none ever knew o what became ofhim." I Simnon paused in his reading then as he turned over r a page of thIe communication, said: "Disappeared. y eh?-how cunning in my worthy clients not to say hiow he disappeared-ah, they know--'m thinking a tlhey could tell where he went--lhow cunning-how !I cunning, to be sure-there's a great many disap- y pearcd in the same sudden way-well, where's the r odds to me, so long as I get my fees-let me read n farther." I Then he continued with the reading of the mranu- - script. "We sent word to his wife to that eficct. For - a while, she seemed inconsolable, but time gradually lbrouoght relief. The twins grew up strong and healthy, but the mother's health was broken. She afterwards came to the city aud resided in Roosevelt- I st., and left George at Albany in the care of a person ) whom she supposed to have been a firicnd of her - I husband, but who was fortunately a member of the Grand Lodge of our Order--George, suffice it to say, has since become one of our most worthy priests, and is one of our most efficient secretaries-his brother, Archibald, is now in this city-he accom- panied his mother when she came down, but in the course of a few years he became associated with a wild set of lawless men, whose purposes in life were not of the most honest character--he will, we trust, soon be in our power. These two are now the only known heirs to the immense estate which the will of their ancestor deprived them of-we can get the property-but it must be by contesting the will and producing George Bolter as the only direct liv- ing descendant of John Bolter, now deeeased-(at least, so we can say.) The person who received the bulk of this inheritance of the Bolter family-this Morrell-after his sudden accession to wealth, mar- ried a lady-a native of Birmingham-andc emnigra- ted to this country. By this union he becarne the father of two girls, one of whom, at thie age of seven- teen, married a Mr. Argall, ot this city, and who is yet yIving, occupying a house in White-street- his wife, the eldest daughter of Morrell, died a few years after she had given birth to Marion Argall, and Marion Argall is now in our power--and grief and despair will soon end the life of her father. She has a brother, but he is only an adopted one, conse- quently he can do us no injury. The other daughter of Morrell-Josephine-- was never married, but was -seduced by an officer of the navy, who afterwards endeavored in every way lie could, to persuade her to marry him, but in vain-she gave birth to a child which she named after herself-Joselhine.- That cliildt is now living in one of our Avenues, in a splendid mansion, snrroundeld with every luxury heart can desire. She and Marion Argall-by tis tatement,-you can see-now that Morrell is den are not only relations, but are the solo heirs on the, Morell side, to the estate we claim--they are igno- rant of this fatct, at least we know tlhat Marion is-- as for Josephine-l-she is either ignorant of it. or elsc cares nothing Ibfr it, and she will, ere long, become our victim-she like her wortlhy mother, was be- trayed from the path of virtue, by our worthy col- league, George Bolter, who, we think from his after ctions, came very near abandoning out holy cause, and becoming her husbanid-no matter, she fell, and through our agency. The estate is now in the hands of the executors, wlio are anxious to get rid of their trust as soon as practicable. Now sir, we wish to Iend an nagent to London, whlo will bear with him the necessary documents, which documents we wish you to make out in strictly legal form, and we will! then witness them ourself--while we at the same time will insure to you the signature of the parties most intcrested-thieir autographs once placed to deeds of assignment, giving to us, for the Holy Church, it will be then to us. a surety. One circumstance we w had forgotten to mention r to you. The wiife of John Bolter died in the apart- 1 irent she hired in Roosevelt-street. She was at- t tended in her last moments by a priest, and as she supposed, (and correctly, too,) thIe person who d :brought her husband to this city. There were two other plersons present, one was a Mr. Trump, and a h 'deformed Ileing known as Bruin. Mr. Trump has f of late been of' considerable trouble to us. and we t shall be compelled soon to notice him ; his object n is as hle says, to find the assassin of Mary, the wife of John Bolter. Bruin. his former companion, is, as we have ascertained, in the service of thie hereti- cal Josephine. The estate, valued at first at one hundred thousand pounds, has now increased in I 'alue, so that it cannot be worth less than that sum W with fifty thousand pounds more addled. HHaving m thus given you; my dea:r fri'iend, as near as practi- H cable, a sumimary of the contents of these docu- " ments, and of what we wish to do, it is our wish t that you will expedite proceedings as much as the affair will permit, and in conclusion, allow us to give you t he blessings of our diocess for your worthiness.. Yours, with Heaven's blessing, ce f Jonu. "There,'" ejaculated the attorney, as he laid h down the letter; " there, that's a comfortable doc- ,ds ument for me to possess; rather gives me an ad- icr vantage, I'm thinking, over his Highness and the a Order, who so liberally palronize me for being - equally as rascally as themselves; very singular, in howeverthey should go to so muchl troubleputting ry people out of the way. I wonder when they ftsten uis them up?-however, it's no business of'mine. This d, letter is worth to me a compe'tency. Yes, yes, I'1l lie expedite matters-but they'll pay for it-they'll o- paf' for it-that I'm sure of. Now let me take an- - other look at the balance of these precious papers. se Ah, here's a queer sort of a folded letter. I won- ie der if I've noticed this befbre? don't remember O- that I have-let me see." I- ie opened the letter-it read as follows:- , PHmmILADELrPHA, June, 1849. d To OUR WELL BELOVED iDoTlmER, AND } Is P. G. L. A. 0. O. H. Greeting. r Our Brother, George Bolter. after a sojourn in o this city of two months, has at length accomplished "the praiseworthy task assigned to him by the Grand hi Lodge. The young heretic, known as Josephine. 1 and whose remote relation to time Morrell estate as e an heir, imperatively demands that she should be s in our power. This Josephine, I say, has become the willing victim of George Bolter-she is now r defenceless. The only bar to the complete success rests in the fact that from some source unknown to us she has received a legacy, or bequest, of near- - ly five thousand dollars, alind will, in all probabili- - ty, leave this city forever. The memory of her * shame, unless we use precautionary measures, will , die; it must be proclaimed throughout the city. She is beautiful, haughty, anmid proud, and now hates and despises her betrayer as much as she be- forec loved him. Look for iher-watch her-and in the mneantime believe me to be ever at your com- mand, In Brotherly Love and the Holy commission of our Faith. TInAD])Es. "Urn, more trickery, more experimental religion. I love these Jesuitical dogs, they're so cunning; what excellent criminal lawyers these priests would make, they'd be so np to the tricks of the trade. Here's another missive ; ah, two of them, one with- in the other. I've read these before, but I'll read tlhem again; I may have missed an item or two." He read the outer letter first :- BIrrrMxInAr, Eng., Nov. 20, 18-. MY DEAR ARGALL ;-I have made inquiries con- cerning your father-in-law, Mr. Morrell, and have finally found him. He is residing in Liverpool but is feeble, and I should not be surprised if he should die before the new year. You can direct your letters there and he will receive them. Hop-, page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] ing this letter will find you and your lady enjoy- ing your usual health and prosperity, I remain yours truly, ROBERT ELLISTON. "No, I've missed nothing in that-and now for the other. Ah, cunning-how cunning-what pen- manship-what a delightful bit of forgery is this-- who would ever suspect that this letter was writ- ten in this country, the imitation of the original is so complete. What a world of mischief, and wrong and robbery a few lines of writing can do, espe- cially when they are forgeries a" He read letter number two; the forgery he spoke of being an imitation of the handwriting of the previous letter :- BIRMmINGIAM, March 10, 18- MY DEar SIR :-Your letter has been received, regarding the present condition of Mr. Morrell, I regret to state, in answer, that he is dead, of which fact, as you request, I send you an affidavit, signed and sworn to by his attending physician. How the immense estate, of which he is the un- doubted possessor, will be disposed of, it is utterly impossible, at least for some months, to determine. Any legal business, touching the inheritance, you may wish transacted, our firm will be most happy to take in hand. If any, an early answer will oblige. Yours truly, ROBERT ELLISTON. Firm of Elliston, Marin & Co.. Solicitors, etc. f "Beautiful-beautiful," almost involuntarily ex- claimed Simon, gazing upon the letter with pro- found admiration. "Give me these Jesuits, and at chicanery ant deceit I can defy the competition of all mankind. A master-piece is this missive- every lbtter. every word-and the signature, the post-mark-all fiultless. Monroe Edwards, thou art, indteed, outdone. Now let me see ; alh! here is the affidavit-another Iorgery--cqually as good tand perfect as the other. I'll not read that over now. Hlere is another letter; who is this from? Ah, I perceive, from a certain Mr. Trunp, to John SlheIrif'--I'll rad this: N:;w-YoUK, Octhber 17, 1852. FRIEINo riJiriF ;---You canll meet meat the usu- al place this evening. I am in hopes Bolter will be there too--thcen we will proceed to Bomrny's old shop. lie is a stranger toy'ou, but you will upon acquaintance find him what I am, a refgular trump. The knife I have not yet found but perseverance knows no failure. Remember the hour-eight o'lock. By the way, Josephine intends to visit Bommy-when she does, you shall know. Yours as ever, TarP. "This Mr. Trump talks of knives, eh. 1 won- der what in the name of Coke, what creference the ; knife has to the Bolter and Morrel estate? I must look into that, it may be an important item, possi. bly." His cogitations were interrupted by the opening ' of the office door, and the entrance of a city dis- patch postman. "A letter for you Simon." "Good; bring me dozen a day if you like. Paid eh-that's something unusual, isn't it?" "es,-rather." The Postman departed, and Simon opened the note. It read thus: N. Y., O. t A. * *, 23. ESTEEMED FRIEND :-Will you call immediately , upon the receipt of this, at my residence? Busi- ness of vital importance demands a conference bc- i tween uas. Bring all theletters and documents with you. You understand. With our blessing this cometh Greeting. t JOen. "Yes, yes-I understand, and I'll obey. Noth- ing like humoring such eccentric and worthy cli- ents-nothing like it. Simon gathered up the papers, and throwing them into a small baize bag or sack, he placed hip rather shabby hat on his head, left the office, car,- fully locking the door and securing the key in hip pocket. CHAPTER IX. "FATE LS BUT THE JANITOR TO TH1E RAMATIA Oi ETERNITY." A-rtEn he had sat nearly an hour crouching. up,:i the heap of stones at the roadside, Bommy sud- denly sprung to his feet, his hands clutching cn- vulsively at the air. "Oil;" he shouted, "off, of; fiendish shadows:! I--I'm only an old man, go-go haunt those who made me kill him; don't come to nme, don't. I never did the other world any harm that it shouldii send its ghastly spirits here to torment tre rniv deed was done here on this earth, let the tmenanlt o earth punish me, but not you, no-no-..not yoa : not at least while I am living : oft--don't touch :-I' with your cold clammy fingers, dent." The cause of his desperation, had n(, l:f't mi'e. for as he had sat trying to think no more of thle past, he fancied he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder, heavy and chilling; and to his leated and distorted imagination, came the thought of John Sheriff. It must have been the hand of John Sherif;f, it could have been none other. Again, on he went, as wild and reckless as ever on, until he found himself in the suburbs of Ne- ark. As he entered the city: he seemed to reo somewhat from his delirium. "Yes, yes, this be Newark. I know it by that church spire; a it is many a year since I htave been here, butthat was in my happy time; yes, in my happy time' when I had plenty of friends-plenty of them- plenty, plenty!" The old man straggled upon the sidewalk he was now in Broad Street. A new recollection seemed to dawn upon him. Thronging memories. of the meridian of his life. The panorama of life's earlier scenes, rolled through his teeming brain bright, glorious and golden, as it was when it was real. For the moment he forgot the awful deed whose consequences had haunted him; vampires the mind. "Yes, this is Broad Street let me see, there is' Market Street, too; ah, there is the same old corn- er, and' there still stands the old post by which I've stood so often. I'll go down Market Stret n there's no one here now who'll know poor Bom eR- my: no, not one! the mnemory of man is as frail it nod uncertain as the object upon which it , placed: no, no-I-m-I'm not afrtaid here.: m Turning the corner of Broad and Market Street b Ihe walked towards the Railroad Depot. There is a small narrow street which runs from ce Market to a quiet little street below and parallel y with Market, down this Bommny wandered then it turming around the corner, upon which stands de church; he paused in front of a two story frame ni building, resembling in appearance what miht be int termed a double house. th A flight of broild wooden stops led to the Iront room ; the windows were shaded on the inside by not tastefully draped curtains. giving to the whole cx tcrienor a look of neatness. and quietude. of Bommy crossed over to the opposite side of hr I way, and leaning against a tree box, stared wist- cou Ilhlly at the house. "That's ithe place-thce same ou house-- everything unchanged-evpn the window- two !shutters stand open as they used to-and there's stov the same colored window-curtains. Old House il how I love you! in that parlor how often have I oe iat and built castles in the air-castles of love , which like the one I intended should Inhabhit them he with me, have all faded. Yes, she is gone friom ue, too,-gone--gone-she is rolling in wealth- hi Bo, not wealth as it should be-but the wealth that ad prostitution earns-wealth whose enjoyments prove e a to be disease and death; ah, well-let her go; I won- an der if now, her mind, in some quiet hours, does not A wander here? does not again ponder over the tite, ever; happy time, when she vou the love of hm who New- would have been her's lorever; does not return, too, with sorrow and anguishj to the bitter recol- toser lection of what she might have been, ---does not must hate, in those quiet moments the fools who flat- ah! tered her vanity, and despise the pridc, unholy as that it was, which sent her forth upon the world an lime' abandoned being-does not, too, in those same m- quiet moments, wish a thousand times, over and over again, for Death,-ah, old house good hyc! he Bomnrey must leave you now---must leave you tion now to come some other day when the sun shines ies. *out warm and bright-.when everything around is fe's merry-l o that his soul may feel the leas sad, the in; less dreary. Yes, yes, II go--I'll go t" ms eTaking a, sort of lingering look at the building !ed, he had thus apostrophized, he turned away and of' retraced his' steps to Market Street, brushing the tears from his eyes as he went, with the sleeve of is: his coat. in- Poor, forsahen, heart-broken Bomnry. The 'ye world in its wisdom may denounce you as a mad- et, man, yet the world had better not turn State's m- evidence, for it might criminate itself as being, by- "I its persecution of you, as bad i' not worse than is yourself. Many a man is condemned by his fellow- mortals for being too much of a man to deny t. being what they themsclves in reality are. In iMarket Street, thr a while he appeared un- m certain which way to bendl his steps. Fatel hle is el yours! he turns again toward the Rail road depot: h it was now nearly three o'clock; as he neared tie a depot, the wild, terrible feelings of the previous c night, began again to come, the samu dreadful e intangible forms of horror grinned :.,; danced about; him as before,. t All that day he had catch nothing, yet hle had not, till he looked into tihe windows of a little con- fectionary a few paee-s fro:, the car house, thought of hunger or thirst. Ite entered the place, and throwing upon tihe counter a two shilling piece, he commenced de- vouring a pie and piece, f cheese. There were two or three lolungers :itting around a diminutive stove in the bhck part of the shop, who stared witht wonder at Iommy : he was so hog,,rd so woe-begone, pale and shrunken, it was eough to cause wonder ; some whispering, to the ei;tclt that he might bo a lunatic-or perhaps an m(c:wirld con- vict. One sugcste!d the propriety o ,:.".in him oni suspicion of having committed :a ,-.i,i- he had read of in the papers in which the murder- er appeared to have fled. Yet none scmned very anxious to carry the suggestion into leffect. After he had satisfied the crax iuns of hi-, appe- tite, he appeased hi thirst by' drinking half a glass page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] full of brandy; no water for him now-not a bit of it. Somewhat refreshed in body if not in mind, Bommy left the shop and went to the depot. The four o'clock train for New York was just ready to start; impelled by a strange irresistable feeling, or fate. he purchased a ticket at the office then seated himself in one of the cars. he had hardily formed the resolution to return to the 'city, and l5raving all danger, all the chances of detection, once more revisit his old shop-once more take a glance at the iron tomb -which contained the decaying remains of his former foe. And while he is rushed forward toward the great city, let us precede him an hour or two. All the morning of this second day of Bommy's disappearance Mr. Trump had been closeted with his particular friend, the Reverend Tribulation Winder, who was and had been for many years the head and front of a limited congregation of a sect of which he himself was the founder, and had named after himself"Tribulationists." How Mr. Trump became acquainted with Tribu- lation Winder, was very simple. Mr. Trump at- tended a sale of" odds and ends" at auction in the utipper part of the city, wherein the Reverend gentleman had an interest, inasmuch as the articles disposed of, belonged to him. The only particular failing the Reverend leader of the Tribulationists had, was his universal habit of blessing every body and everything he came in contact with. Mr. Trump's business with Winder, was to as- certain if possible, the whereabouts of John Sheriff who, for the first time in his life, had failed to keep an appointment. John Sheriff, although a Catholic, and a member of the order of Hibernians, had, through motives known only to himself, become a zealous convert to the peculiar tenets and religion of Winder, and' had ever been one of the loudest to bawl forth the glory and greatness of the Mighty Founder. He knew that for some reason or other, Sheriff had regularly called upon the Reverend Tribulation Winder every evening when not otherwise engaged, so he judged that if there was any place where he could obtain a clue to his whereabouts, this was it. Hie had never thought of going to Bommy's sbtp to find him. "'And you dent know then, Friend Winder, where I'd be likely to find him? "No, I could not inform you; he has been all the past month, excepting the previous day or two- a strict communicant of our church at Mr. Trump's; he's a good man is John Sheriff: his piety is re- markable-remarkable-and his road in the other world will be paved with gild-ded bewty-and cherry bims will chant h3zeannahs toe his praise- indeed they will, Mr. Trunp." "Um! perhaps-yes-I havent any doubt of it, when was he here did you say?" asked Trump taking B!old of the door knob. "Ah, bless him! bless his very -footsteps; he last departed from this humble, though spiritual abode, the day preceding yesterday." "Where did he say he was going?"This time, Trump opened the door. "Let me think a moment-only a moment-ah I: the Reverend Tribulation Winder rolled his eyes in an upward direction, then rolled them down again- to their original and natural position. He contin- ued, "'ah, yes-bless him--I remember, he said he was going to visit on that evening, an old friend of his ; a Mr.-Mr.-really I forget the name." Whether he addressed a congregation or individu- als, he iivariably emphsised words after a fashion of his own. "Was the name Bommy?" "Yes; it was Bommy, bless him /" "Well, I'm in a hurry, Mr. Winder; in a great hurry; you must excuse my staying longer, indeed you must." "He that the Lord giveth, the Lord hath a right toe take away; go and be my blessing around about you now and forever more ;, good day, Mr. Trump." "Good day; I'll call again soon." Trump descended the stairs, and the voice of his Reverend friend followed him dismally chanting, "Tht blessings of my flock are yours." Trump, after he had .attended to some little business in another part of the city, and had also amused himself an hour or two, proceeded to Bomn- my's shop in order to discover by him the wherea- bouts of Sheriff. It was a quarter of an hour after four o'clock when be started for Bommy's shop. It wasjust a quarter of an hour after the time I Bommy had left Newark for New York he met Mr. Trump on his way. Up through the alley, which from each day's neglect, had become more and more filthy--more slimy and noisome than ever--across the narrow court, pushing his way through a labyrinth of dir- ty-faced boys and noisy girls, cross dogs and hump- back cats, quarreling over meatless hoaes, until he came to the dilapidated door leading into the apartment occupied by Bommy. Contrary to his usual custom, he knocked at the door. The only answer that he received was the lonely echo of his knock. "Well, that is wonderful: Bormmy not in-not about-first time in my life I've found him awav' Again he knocked, only the echo answered. He opened the door; there was a singular efiu- via in the room--something of a damp and. musty odor, which he had never experienced before ; he quietly as he could, closed the door. The room had become darkish like, and he made his way as best he could to the mantlepiece to light the lamp Everything around him seemed dismal: seemed to be sleeping, and when he had lit the lamp the knives upon the board almost spoke out through their forlorn rustiness, "The dead one is here." The iron hoops, pieces of stew-pans, piles of rust eaten nails, the cold passionless stove, and its fel low in the corner, seemed to have stolen mantles of 1 dreanriness, out of which they could suggest, : their solitude, "the dead one is here." The very walls, blankly facing each other, dusty, cracked and begrimmed, as if to say, "The dead one is here." rrrump, though, was thinking of the living. Ap- pearances did not often trouble him. kAtera cur-, sory examination of the knives, he walked towards a the spot where the Sepulchre of the dead Johi Sheriff stood. Thir nauseous odor of the air seemed stronge JeZye^8 airseemed stroD^ ^c there than anywhere else. "Queer-peonmy life," said he, half audibly. , "Queer, such a rank, pestiferous smell, like the in- t side olf a vault, that has not been opened for many yeanrs. Queier, for Bommy, and he left his shop door unlocked too; he can't be gone far." The door creaked on its hinges, and a small, tan- h, gled, uncombed head protruded itself. ' "Are he in , to Trump came forward, with the lamp in his hand. u The rough head came in further, and brought with it a pair of shoulders ornanented with an exceed- ingly ragged coat. -e "Are he in?" repeated the head. c "Wh}o? Mr. Bommy '?' "Yes!' " w"Gone outn ' replied Trump. "Whatdo you r want?'? "Sell himn a lot of spoons-pewtor-coiime by 'em honestly. Never steals. cosnobddy buys things as is stole."-s "Wait, my little joker, the old chap will be in directly. Come in and sit down on that big stool."' Head and shoulders, body and legs, all, now ap- poeared, timidly anl fearfully. The now comnier was a boy not over the ag-e of twelve or thirteen. we to a- lag that peculari regalalia which the rules aid' regu- lations of necessity compel the united order of the sons and daughters of Povertyr and Misery too ' a io l -the regalia of rags, ornamented with dirt. -not The boy elevated himself upon the stool, and bc- y" came as impassive as though he hal grown there, or had taken root and spread fast during thie pre- lu- valence of a heavy rain. But his lips opelu d. sty "Mr. Bommy never buys nothing as i: 'stole-- he he's a very good old feller,; but he don't ,:ivc poor om ones likeme a chance. I could steal all kimds of as things and nobody ever be the wiser, i: I could p. sell 'em; but it's no use, not a bit." to "Little boy--juvenile--you must' nevro.: steal!" ;he said Trump. gh b"Yes, that's what all the big nobs say: but when a feller comes to find 'em out, they is a thun- st- derin' sight bigger thieves as us, cos we only steals l- for to live and they does it for to git rich on, and of be called fortinate speculaters. j knows 'erm like )y a book, I does." Trump moved away without noticing the boys Y, last remark, and began a further scrutiny of the *d shop near the stove. The whole room was so appallingly lonesome in - - comparison to what it had been, that a sort of fcar r- or nervousnes affected Trump. He looked around Is at the boy, but he was gazing intently at the a board of knives as though he had conceived it to be a board of Alms House Governors, about de- r ciding upon his eligability to their protection. Trump, placed his handupon the top of the stove ; a moment's pause, then he raised it and held the lamp close to the opening. What induced him to do this so quickly, so sin- gularly soon after his entrance to the apartment? The same fate, the same great destiny that was hurrying Bommy upon the wings of steam, back to the scene of the murder. The same irresistable unconquerable fate' which brings in contact and close communion, men, whose roads in life appa- rently hand been diverging from, instead of aproxi- mating to each other-making them the arbiters of each other's destiny. Thie light revealed but one thing, and that caused Trump to drop the lamp. and almost sink to the floor with horror. Filling the top of the stove, even with the sur- fice, lay the livid, ghastly face of Sheriff; the face turned upward. the dull, glazed eyes partially open, looking straight up with death's leaden stare. The boy, frightened at Trump's alarm, and hor- ror stricken appearance, jumped from the stool and ran to the door. "Stop, ate)," gasped Trump, Mslillty recover- ing, "don't, don't go yet; come here, I want you to help me; it's nothing that will hurt you or lie.'* "Don't know 'bout that i iit ..Ii , ; inan i might skeer a boy wus. What ii 4 . el' m" rs--itas , dead body. Somne o,:c's been mur- page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] dered here ; it's poor Bommy I expect. Ah, I see, I see, its clear now-either Bommy has been mur- dered by Sheriff, or else Sheriff has been made way with by Bommy. I'm not frightened now; I'm over that. Wait boy 'till I light this lamp-wait." Trump re-lighted the lamp and then returned to the stove. The boy crept cautiously after him, dropping in the excitement of the moment. his bunch of spoons. and then treading on them. "Blast sich doins," he muttered, "never bring no luck: there goes my spoons: what do ye want?" "Hold this lamp and don;t drop it." The boy took the lamp. anxiously trying to keep one eye upon the moveroents of Trump and the other upon the crushed spoons. Trump closely examined the face; there was no mistake, the broad, long scuar across the forehead, proved too conclusively, it was he whom he had come in search of-John Sherifti "It won't do for ine to move it out of here: I must have help; there's been foul work here. Now, boy, set the lamp on the floor, run out and find a policeman, or somebody; bring them here, and tell them there's been a murder; hurry for your life. "t u;," queried the boy, doubtfully, ,. who's go- ing to pay me for them are spoons? They is all smi:-'-:a up, and old Bommy never 'ill buy 'em." "Go ,:, and I'll pay you for your trouble-go quick, for. mercy's sake." T-' -7 '.'started, muttering, i' wonder who Mer- cy iz- hJ' sake ain't much I guess. I'm off like a busted biler." In less than five minutfs after the boy made his exit, ho came back followed by a crowd of all ima- ginable kinds of people. A real murder is a surer card for attraction, than all the mai-ciemn f'f;y ]3arnum'y could invent. fn they came, all of them led on by a square. bodied policeman, who had collared the boy, in or- der to make what he called, in his wise calculations a sure thing of the young shaver-collatteral evy- 1 dance in the cae male and pervided." Trump st;ll remained by the stovo. b 'A murder ch ; where is Ihe body?" said the C policeaani, looking at Trump. I "He r. in th'i stove." Tb:' po:licem: walked up to the stove. The t cro;'i v; -r inercaing.: old wonmen, with blue cada- vetou., ipi, ::fp irenfly worn blue by incessant use o of ah'r to:uc? ; great, burly men, of all nations, t( jostlin- oa:ch other and getting the little boys un- k der foot; young women, with dirty faces and clothes drabbled with mud and grease; every imitation of ri every quality of humanity, pressing, pushing-all I :xiously gaping over and under each other, to f e, catch a glimpse of the body, and thereby have :- something to talk about. y Behind them, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, n and knowing still less about affairs. was a reporter "seated upon a barrel, taking down, upon a sheet of o paper, creased by folding--the items 'of ," the late horrible, terrible, feariul and frightful murder and a discvery of the--"; here he left a blank until he , received information as to whether the policeman had found the body or murderer. The policeman assisted by Trump, proceeded to e extricate as safely as possible, the body from the stove, which they finally succeeded in doing, but not without difficulty. "Drive this crowd out," whispered Trump to the policeman. "Drive them out." The Policeman had not before discovered thd in- utility of the assemblage, inasmuch as he was like most of his " efficient and vigilant" brethren gen- erally, in time of trouble mixed up in mind. Now he repaired his oversight by instantly flourishing his club at an awful rate, and yelling, ," Clear the room, clear it all of you." A struggle of almost inextricably mingled arms, legs and bodies occurred-groans, shouts, swearing and beseeching filled the room with a sort of spas- demoniac delirium. However, the washed and un- washed-with the exception of the solitary repor- ter, were after due time hustled out into the court, neck and heels. "Now, youngster, , said the policeman. "Now kin you be trusted with an errand, eh?" "Nobody ever trusted me, no, for not over a penny, they sez I hain't good-wot are yon goin to do with that dead feller?" Trump asked the boy, "Will you go for the Coro- ner, or get a policeman to go with you and find him?" "Yes, I'll do that-jist mind tho' you've got to stand the mopusses for them spoons!"The boy started not even waiting for an answer. Trump and the officer, after clearing the knife board and placing it upon a couple of barrels, raised the body and laid it out. Decomposition had already began its festering work despite the coolness of the atmosphere. "Poor John, little did I think when I left. you, that our next meeting would be such a one as this--sad fitful dream is' this life-and now John Sheriff your dream is over forever. It is Bommy's work, I know it is: or, else he would be here-there must have been some terrible secret between them. I, say officer, you know this shop-it's owner I mean?" "Oh, yes, certain, this is Bommy Hoop's-it's al right. I know what you're thinking it's just what I've been thinking: Bommy's the one that let this fellers wind out, and daylight in'--, A commotion in the crowd outside. More cursing and swearing, and soon there came a heavy knock at the door. The officer opened it carefully and admitted the Coroner, who was followed by a Jury he had summoned on the way. The boy brought up the'rear, and not having any great anxiety regarding the proceedings of an in- quest busied himself by gazing at the reporter, who in turn was looking at a hole in his boot-search- ing for an idea. The Coroner paid no attention to any one in par- ticular, and but little to the body, any further than to express his belief, "that the deceased lhad been defunct for some hours." "All ready gents," said the Coroner. The Jury nodded affirmatively, "who's the man that first found the body?" "I am," said Trump. "Did you know him before his decease?" "Yes, his name was John Sheriff." The reporter nmade a note. "Who occupies these premises?" "Bommy Hoop." "Where is he?" i( We do not know. I think it was him commit- ted the deed?" "Yes, very well. The wound is in the back, done with a knife!" and as he spoke he turned the hodly over as carlessly as though it were a shoulder of mutton. "The evidence is conclusive, can't be (dodged. Gentlemen of the Jury!-your attention one moment'if you please: this man has been killed by a knife-wound inflicted by, ah! Yes, by Mr. Bommy Hoop the proprietor of these premises-- that's my opinion, and of course yours agrees with c it?" The Jury all answered yes, as a matter of course, for with one exception they had been during the whole examination engaged in debating the subject of Hard and Soft Shell Democracy. The exception alluded to, was asleep-accord- ngly Bommy was the murderer. * "Had better have a coffin here as quick as you can," said the Coroner buttoning up his coat con- sequentally-"'Mr. Flinkflins you attend to it for- me?"7 Flinkflins was the policemen ; and he rushed out at the door instanter. Very soon the coffin was brought, and the re- mains of John Sheriff laid in it. No shroud was around him, for save Trump and two or three others there were none that knew him, and he would re- e; main in the strangers vault until some relative- sc his wife or sister, or brother-came to claim him P and give him decent burial. The crowd had grad- ually dispersed, all save a few who,lingered around m until the coffin was carried ou. The reporter had t ig hurried away to the dark Typoetical regions of -k Nassau-street. Trump and the policeman remain- id ed waiting in hopes of the return of Bommy.- y The darkness of the night had fairly set in, and the flickering lamp-standing on the board-where the y body had been, made the Pom still more sombre- i- more ghostly than ever. They had waited proba- o bly, nearly an hour; talking together in' a low tone, i- when the hasty tramp of feet sounded through the court. - It is Bornimy iiy! soul on it. that is Bommy!" L whispered Trump. 1 Again Fate came forward. The policeman placed himself directly opposite the door; a moment passed; and the door was thrown violently back, i and Bommy rushed in, hatless, his coat partially torn of--his thin grey hairs flying over his haggard face: and his pantaloons and shoes, covered with nimud and filth. The first object that met his gaze, was the form of the policeman : he was standing almost precise- ly in the spot where John Sheriff had stood when he received the fatal blow. "Again, again,--that gory phantom! oh, God, oh, God, have mercy! have mercy!" shouted Bon- my. "A million more like you, come on--ha! ha ha! death is coming---ha! ha!---death, death-ha!" He fell forward upon the floor his head striking heavily; for an instant he clutched convulsively at his breast---tearing from the folds of his shirt a string with a sqare plate of gold attached. He was evidently in a fit. The froth oozed from,his mouth in flakes, while his eyes, yellow as saffron rolled convulsively. Then his limbs straight- ened out, and he became perfectly quiet. Trump and the Policeman knelt beside the old man and endeavored to raise him. "He'll never need you to arrest him," murmured Trump solemnly, "For death has done it for you-- he is dead--he and Sheriff are now together.?' "Dead, yes, so he is-dead, dead," and a tear stole down the hard weather beaten cheek of the policeman as he spoke. Yes, Bommy was dead. Bpt three days behind his victim, through the trackless waste of Eternity -on the way to the Judgment seat of an offen de Deity. Thus crime,no matter what its palliation may be, finds its own recompense. Trump picked up the plate of Gold, and without examining it--put it in his pocket, saying as he did so, " This, Bommy will I keep in remembrance of you." Yes, Trump. Remember him--poor dead Bom- my-his weary pilgr!mage on Earth is over, may that other world, be to him a better and a brighter page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] one-when his troubled spirit 'will find the rest it vainly sought for on Earth. CHAPTER X. THE FATHER: AND THE LITTLE ROOM-MARION' AtGA L --JOSEPHINE AGAIN. STIRRING in his library endeavoring to see through the blinding tears that fell thick and fiast from his eyes, upon the paper on his desk, his hand grasp- ing nervdusly at his pen, was the father of Marion Argall. Since the morning of her departure he had heard but once from hs child, or her husband, and that was, when the carman according to the in- structions he had received from George, had de- livered Marion's trunk. The carman's knowledge, however, only extended to the fact that she and George had taken a carriage--where they went it was impossible for him to say. Since then, becom- i ing alarmed, frightened and susuious that there 1 wae some dark plot working against his peace and a that of his daughter, he had instituted a search throughout the city; but not the slightest trace a could be discovered of either George or Marion. At last he advertised for them in the Herald- that proved useless; and worn out, exhausted with grief and trouble he had abandoned the fruitless search. He was troubled too, in regard to his adopted son-not a word had he received from him, and he w had earnestly promised to visit his father and sister . within the week in which she had been married N and now, in this extremity, the father had not evern y him, as a last resource, as a consolation. Sorrow never comes single handed,-it always brings a life-guard of miseries with it. He had been for an hour or two endeavoring to th write a letter to his son ; but his hand trembled so -seeming to vibrate in its tremulousncss with the heavy throbbing of his stricken heart-that the ef- fort was vain--he could not write, he could only t weep. The tears of an old man-tears wrung from the proud, stern old heart of age-tears that speak a Tolumes of agony as they glisten through the dark clouds of woe, even as the stars seem to shine the hin brightest in the darkest night. The Grief-tears of "v age-children of youth's tears of joy-born in l beauty, fading in gloom. Where are you now my dear child-Marion the my daughter, you now are gone from me, God re- turn you to me-God shield you from harm-pre- mis serve you-preserve you: formy sake-let the YOU spirit of thy dead mother watch over you-ah! p those death bells, meant you-meant you." " The library door opened, and the house maid en- be b 9,L t, it tered, one who had been employed since Marion's,. departure. "Mr. Argall." "What do yon want?" "There is a gentleman at the door who withes to. see you, on, as he says very particular business?-' L ' "What is his name? ' "That he did not tell me, he said though that iL Igh was about your daughter that was-" his "Enough, show him into the fiont parlor---I'll b1 sp- down instantly-instantly. i- ion The girl obeyed, and the visitor was ushered into, he the parlor. Id, "Now for a scene," said he to himself---thiese oldt in- men never know how to behave themselves--never, le- yet he must know all--that is all 1 choose to tell, ge, him.' nd The visitor seated himself upon the sofa!"al,. it this sofa reminded me of old times--it will now wit- n- ness my revenge-if there walls had audible. re language, what a jolly romance they could tell id Ah, that they could." Mh Marion's father entered, then started back in ue amazement. "George!-George!-you here?" - "Yes; you see I'm here." h "Where is Marion? my child Marion?" S "She is safe, in my charge-safe, very safe, but she will never return to your house! never!" d "Liar! liar!" shouted Argall almost delirions e with; rage at such a cool vindictive assertion. r "Liar! she would not thus desert her old father! ; No! no! There is foul treachery at work-land i you--you George are the traitor!" v "Be calm now, there's no necessity for anger yet. Your daughter-my wife--is not only safe, but she is in the enjoyment of excellent health; the reason of her not wishing to return." "False? there is no reason; you are deceiving me; you know I read it in your wandering eyes that dare not meet the bold look of honesty and truth. You lie! you lie! bring back my daughter and I will believe her-not you!!" "Exactly." Argall was nearly paraylized at the audacity of him whom he confronted; he could only mutter "villian! robber!" "Hard names those, to apply to your son-in-law ; but I forgive you, men, in anger generally try their best to imitate lunatics." "Must I bear his insults as well as my own misery? Leave the house, ingrate, robber that you are!" thundered Argall, throwing open the parlor door. "Silence old man, listen to me! I may as well be both brief and candid with you, for I have but little time to waste either in conversation or bitter recrimination ; for years I have been haunted by lbut one thought, but one aim in lite-for years I have nltursed with all the powers of milnd and action that thought, that ailn--it is the dakl and evil spirit as men call it of Revenge! never have I abandoned it-never has it abandoned me--evn my dreams have become the plotters for its success. and as yet in nothing, pertaining to it have 1 failed. Yoilo may remember a circumstalnce vhch oc- curred twelve years, no, only ten years ago, il yourl store, or rather the store in which you had an I interest. The incident was this: I repeat it. merely to refresh your memory. A poor, ragged outcast came in and asked you, who stood by the counting room door, for work, or anything to do to save him from starvation; he was filthy, squalid in appearance, yet young and hopeful- honest in his poverty, preferring labor's reward to that of thieving. This starving being---young in years, yet old in misery---asked you, and your reply was, "I give work to none but honest people, and honest people never go ragged ;"7 ah, how those words fastened themselves to the memory of that youth-became an imprint of living fire which Revenge kept burning brightly, through all the decays of fortune. That youth was educated in the Roman Catholic faith, but disliking its strict discipline, and the business of an Acolite displeased him, and he ran away from his preceptors. Stop old man be quiet! I'll not detain you long. I i came here to tell you this, and you mlst listen. The youth then asked you, for he had heard, through the lying gossip's rumor of your benevo- i lence, for a few cents; a sixpence or a shilling I with which lie could get some food. "You told him to go to the alms House----he told you his story; a few pence would then have deprived the Jesuits of one of their best allies--.-deprived the Most Holy church of one of its chiefest supporters ; suffice it to say because the boy at the door as he was leaving, asked one of your porters for money, and received it : you came forward kicked ^ him into the street, and discharged the porter, ^ for giving money to a Catholic beggar. That action, old man, has caused you the loss of your daughter-the youth returned to his faith, to his ti preceptors; thut swore to yet have his revenge f upon the society of a city that fondled the high- - born, and cuffed the lowly beggar." a "' This has nothing to do with you, scoundrel!" "It has! I AM THAT BOY! I am the one whom ten years ago, you so injured. The wormn was e crushed, but came to new life-grew strong-aha!!o old man-you see-H-George your son-in- law am the one 1' "And for that hasty act you have-' "Robbed you of a treasure that you will never recover. I am going, now--I wish you a very a good day." George arose to depart. "With a single bound the old man, rejuvenated by anger and despair, sprang upon him, catching his neck-cloth and twisting tightly, " not withhout me do you, go hencc--ha, ha! not without me--you have awoke that unconquerable spirit of wralt which protects injured innocence." "Away! Argall release your hold--or by the holy cross, you'll repent it!" "Never, inever; until you take me to my child, t. imy Marion. Fiend, I have you now, and you shall not escape me. Struggle, attempt violence, and I call for help. Take me to my child. " "Damn your child, and you too, you condemned of Heaven; bceware, or I launlch upon you the- thurders of our most holy Church." "I care not! my child! my child!" "Then take your doom," and suddenly, as the lightnings flash, George struck the old man a frightful blow with his fist upon the temple. The grasp was released, Argall fell heavily to the floor senseless, the blood trickling down through his grey hair, clotting it together. George, placing his hat upon his head as nonchalent as though he had done a praise-worthy action, looked down up- on his prostrate victim, and giving him a slight kick, muttered savagely, "That but partially pays the debt-the interest I mean. The principal is yet to be paid. Marion shall pay that; good by i My style of excommunication is more dangerous than most of the priesthood dare indulge." George rapidly passed out, leaving Argall to his fate, be it what it might, regardless whether the blow would prove fatal or not. Let us now revert to the child-to Marion, the victim of Jesuitical lust--the prey to the most ho- ly avarice of the most holy Catholic church. To the Convent of the Sacred heart, and to its sister sink of iniquity, the Convent of St. Catha- rine. Two monumental relics of Barbarism and super- stition, flourishing in the metropolis of enlightened America. Relics of the age of iron, when lilind bigotry usurped the throne of reason, and forced tolera- tion into darkness and oblivion. Relics, close shut from public scrutiny, that the laws of our Republic should throw open. Relics, arounld which the dust and grime of Romish hypocrisy clings, as its last secure abiding place. To these two palaces of corruption let us again return, and unveil more of its sacred mysteries. Let us count a few beads for them. Marion, it will be recollected, was, l'ythe orders page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] of the Lady Superior, conveyed to the Red Room by some of the hopeful sisters. Nearly all that night she remained in a lethargy. Restoratives of various kinds had been applied, but they were useless; it was no common grief, no ordinary calamity, that had taken such a direful effect upon her-yet to those who surrounded her bedside, nothing in the way of treachery or deceit seemed unusual. They had their prey-the bird as caught, and they knew the treatment to ad- minister. The Sisters moved about the apartment noise- less as shadows; gliding in and out; flitting here and there, and speaking, if at all, only in whis- pers. Along toward morning, Marion began to show symptoms of returning consciousness, and the Lady Superior was sent for. This specimen of antique austerity had just been indulging in an hour's quiet repose, and awaking ler, increased her natural disposition of ill-temper, to downright anger. "Has the obstinate Heretic revived," she inquir- ed, as she came to the bedside. "Yes, my Lady, there is some hope.' There will be a surety if I get hold of her." Marion turned uneasily-her eyes opening, their glance fell upon the Lady Superior, then upon the others who surrounded her bedside. "Dear George," she murmured. "Dear George i. lfather coming? Answer me." "Your husband is not here, neither is your fa- ther. Be quiet, you can see them in good time,' said the Lady Superior, trying to speak mildly and h assuming her best quality of meekness. "Do not, dear, worry yourself now, when you are stronger you shall know all." " Yes, that is what George told me once, but I have forgot when or where. Where am I now? I don't remember this place : how came I here. The walls look like scarlet curtains too. Tell me, where am I," said-Marion faintly. It was evident she had lost all recollection of the occurrences of the g previous day-her mind was partially shattered an by the fearful scenes in which she had been the cr principal. ' Dora-Sister Dora," said the Lady Superior, th speaking to a small, pretty, black-eyed nun. "Do- ra, go below and bring up a little gruel and a bit of bread; our suffering Sister may be able soon to partake of it; it will be so bracing to her, it will I know." Pr Our .uffcring sister! What a sacrilege upon the ne holy name in such a woman's mouth. do Dora retired, and soon came back, having pre- pared that which had been ordered. Marion dur- nev ing this time had been continually murmuring and as oam raving incoherently-imaginilg herself at Albany with George, then again preparing for her bridal, gy. then pleading before some one for her fathers life. ed, Once a name passed her lips which caused the La- no dy Superior to bend down close to the pillow-it ful was evidently of peculiar ilt,:rest to her. The her name was that of Morrell. eit "Marion-Sister Marion-come take some of ird this broth-this gruel and a Bit of bread-it will Id- strengthen you, I know it will; do, that's a good girl." se- "If George was here! but he's gone out on bu- re siness, hasn't he? Never mind, I'll eat, yes, I'll is- eat." Two of the Sisters raised her to a partial sitting ,w posture. She ate a few spoonfuls of the gruel and ly a little piece of bread, then sank back upon the pillow. She was yet too weak. en "Ah! Sisters, you see she is relapsing into the Ig lethargy again; it will be many days, I'm afraid, r, before we shall be able to convince the erring one of the evil of her former life. She must almost be r- a heathen," said the Lady Superior in a low :tone. " We had better retire for a while and leave:( her in charge of Sister Margaret. Come.'" The Ladiy Superior, after crossing herself; led the way. r Sister Margaret, who remained, was ai thin. p .le, e consumptive looking being, just lit to be an :itdl- ant upon the sick, or a chief mourner at a fLni ral. It was now daylight. The Lady Stlperior re- tired to take a little more rest, and probably a dose ; of medicinal gin or wine. The black-eyed sister Dora, hurried off to her room and carefully locking her door, softly exclaimed: "Thaddeus-Thadde- us, come; I'm alone now." From a little outer room, or closet, stepped forth no less a personage than the secretary of the Bish- op-the priestly spy who had betrayed the servant girl Mary in the house of Josephine. Thaddeus caught Dora in his arms, and kissed her. " Ah, Dora, who of the Heretics would not give. his life to be thus loved-to have you to love, and aholy love it is too, for it is within walls sa- cred to the cross." "Thaddeus, you made me a Sister of Mercy; through your representations I came here, and have I not been merciful to you?" "Indeed you have my pet--would that we lived in the olden age, i hen the world, ignorant of Her- etical Protestantismn; but in lowly reverence to the Priesthood-now we are watched and berated- never mind Dora, we enjoy ourselves for all of that do we not: you are happy, are you not?" "Oh, yes, happy in your love, marriage need never be necessary for the union of two such hearts as ours; but have you seen our new convert-our newly acquired sister that is to be-the Heretic Marion?" "Certainly, she was brought here through my agency." "Your agency?" "Certainly." "Your agency?" repeated Dora. "To be sure, now don't be jealous, she is nothing to me nor ever was." "I was not jealous, Thaddeus--not that-but I pity her: but pity will soon wear off: for if she be like me, she can find comfort here." "She is not like you: but come it is getting late in the morning. I should have been away before this,-is the hall and stairways clear?' "Yes love-the sisters are by this time at their devotions."' "The same devotions we have enjoyed for months past?" "No, dearest no. When will you come again- to-morrow evening, you know the Lady Superior will not object v" "Not to-morrow. I have business then which I cannot neglect." "When shall it be then?" "On the day after, pet-I will come. Now one kiss before we part, only one." The kiss was given and taken, and included a warm loving embrace; rather too much so for a Priest and a Nun. "Good bye, good bye dear Thaddeus, don't. for- get your promise. I will go part of the way down stairs with you. I want to see how the new comer v gets along." "Is she dangerous?" asked Thaddeus as they de- scended. "Oh, no, not at all, she's only frightened." At the bottom of the second flight they separa- ted. Dora revisited the red-room, when her anxiety in regard to Marion was satisfied by the discovery that she, as well as her guardian were asleep. Marion t( was much easier and in all probability on awaking would be able to converse freely. Dora, though y one of the erring ones of Earth, yet, retained that which is often the sole cause of female errors in a life-a good generous heart-all loved her, none g envied her. Yet sometimes the Lady Superior was w suspicious of her entire and implicit belief in the Faith: or the virtue of its Professors. to Dora pitied Marion and inwardly resolved un- known to Thaddeus to as far as practicable or con- te sistent-befriend her and alleviate her sufferings- in until she had become used to the life she was in future destined to lead. Not wishing to disturb her up she glided softly out, and returned to her own apartment. ,: tic Thaddeus made his way, after leaving the conl- vent, to Williamsburg, where he, was especially ay called, to aid in getting a rich man's soul through purgatory-by means of fifteen dollars worth of prayers, as he went, his mind was scheming and twisting into shape, some plan or other, by which he could get still more important information ig touching the movements and actions of Josephine. Bolter and his Father were now within the grasp I of his compatriots. Marion shared their fate-her )e father would soon be no more ; and Josephine the only powerful enemy his Order or Religion had, ;e must by some means be placed in their power ; but e how to entirely and successfully accomplish the end, was the question. r Josephine cared but little for the machinations of the Jesuits, and still less for him who was once s all in all to her. He was no less an object of re- venge to her, than his allies; but she was cautious, - believing with Friar Lawrence, "that they stumble r who run fast." Bruin had informed her of the failure of his scheme as regarded the prevention of I the nuptials between Marion Argall and George; and then how bitterly she cursed him-not with opened mouthed curses, but in her heart; and the thought-echo of them was Revenge. "As he ruin- ed me so will I ruin him." She was sitting in the front parlor of her resi- dence, conversilig wita a lady of her acquaintance, who like all female friends had " dropped in as she was passing," for the express purpose of hearing some nice little lots of scandal, for retailing at ad- vanced rates to other particular friends. Mary opened the parlor door and came in." Y'our wish Mary?" "A person at the door wishes to see you."7 "Who is it?" "I never saw him before."' "Then get his card or his name." "I did endeavor to do that; but lie says he will tell you himself." ' "Madam, you will excuse me one moment will you not, until I see who this person is?:' With pleasure-perfectly excusable-men are a great trouble, but we poor, weak women cannot get along without them-very excusable, very," was the Lady's reply. "Mary," continued Josephine, " ask the visitor to step into the back parlor." Josephine entered the apartment she had designa- ted, and a few seconds after, the visitor was ushered in by Mary. You can retire Mary-and bye the way--serve up some wine and refreshments for the Lady." "I will." Mary disappeared. The stranger was a well dressed individual whose page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] age might have been probably forty-five or fifty well proportioned, with large, full, expressive eyes. From his vest pocket depended a massive gold chain at the hook of which dangled a few charms and emblems. As he came in, he bowed, and placing his hand upon the back of a chair near the door, said, "Is this Miss Josephine I have the pleasure of addressing?" "It is sir." "And I presume you are the Lady of whom I have heard my friend Bolter speak so often, and so favorably?" ' Before I answer that question, sir, you will ex- cuse my asking you one?" With pleasure, what is it?" "Your name?' I have two names-the name by which I am known in England is Morrell; the name which I have assumed here, is Hodin." "You are frank at least in the explanation. One question more; why is an assumed name necessary?" "You will pardon me, I cannot now answer that. "As you please; and I will answer your ques- tion. I am the one concerning whom Mr. Bolter may have spoken to you. Are you a friend to Mr. Bolter?:' "' I am. He told me the last time I saw him that should I have occasion to call upon you, if I would mention my real name, you would recognise it." So I did, sir, the name of Morrell is familiar to me. I have heard it often before-in other times in other places. Have you visited me concerning Mr. Bolter?"' "I have."' "And what is the purport of the business which my dear friend. Mr. Bolter, confided to you for transaction '? " None, for the past four days." "And why then is this visit?" ": I camne to enquire when last you saw him?" "When last I saw him?"Pray be seated-your words are strange, they alarm me. What meant you sir?:' "I thought I might discover from you his where- v abouts.' "Again, I ask, sir, what mean you?" said Jo- sephine, moving her chair closer to her strange vis- tor, and gazing at him earnestly. She was alarmed; a vague presentiment of evil flashed upon her mind. She repeated the question. it "What do you mean?" "I mean, lady, that four days ago, late in the el *afternoon, he, while sitting and conversing with in -- me about our affairs, the servant brought him a es. note, which he opened and read, then folded up din quickly, and rising from his seat, told me that ur- ad gent business required his attention-that the note was from you." nd "From me," interrupted Josephine. "Go on go on!" of "Yes, from you. He requested me to wait un- til he returned; that he would not be gone over two or three hours. I waited until ten o'clock in I the evening, but he did not return, I then left and id called the next day. He had not yet come back--- another day and another passed, making, in all, x- four days, and he has not yet appeared. His friends are alarmed for his safety, they have searched the city throughout, and left a description with the chiel of police, yet no tidings of him have been heard: m all is wrapt in mystery, and to make matters still I more singular and intricate, I this morning re- ceived this note by the postman. I will read it-- n. there isno date to it whatever :" ie NEW-YORK, -- Ma. HODIN :-Your friend, whom you have been in search of, Mr. Bolter, is undoubtedly murdered. 'On the evening he left you he went to the Irving c House, from thence, with a person who met himl there, he proceeded in a carriage to a private res- idence, at present occupied by a young wolma n named Josephine. The person who had accorlpa. B nied him got out of the carriage, and the lady took his place, The carriage drove off, down town. It was then nearly eight o'clock. The carriage stop. ped at the corner of Greenwich and Duane-streets. t Josephine and Boltqr alighted ; he paid the driver; the two then walked slowly toward the river, and they were last seen together, standing upon the ex- treme end of apier. A person, who is a clerk in a store, who had seen them leave the cartiage, saw, twenty minutes after, the woman (Josephine) re- turn alone. She passed up Duance-street hurried- ly. Mr. Bolter, who was extremely intimate with Josephine, has been assuredly murdered by her. and if you desire it, by addressing a note to me through the Catharine Square P'o-t Omce, you can be assured of this fact, by hearing anld seeing the witnesses. I have known this since yesterday, and knowing you to be his particular friend. I consid- ered it my duty to first make the revelation to you. Yours truly, and a ddress, ISAAC WALLER, Cuatham Square P. O. "What have you to say, lady, to this note? Is it not a curious development?"7 "It is false-wholly false-yet I was out .until eleven o'clock on that evening ; but not there, not in Duane-street. There is some hidden plot cor- nected with this letter. Do you believe it to con- taln a word of truth?" "No, I do not, yet it must be carefully examined. Bolter is missing and it may be that he is murder- ed.", "If he is murdered, then the man who penned that note is the one who committed the deed, and it will prove so.' "I hope so. You have not seen him then, with- in these four days?" "No, but I have I assure you, been in search of him myself for two days. Yesterday he and I were to have met here. I would not for worlds that Bolter-my best and dearest friend-he that was always ready to assist me in all my undertakings should have been thus foully dealt with. He has, if that letter be not a deceit throughout, been as- sassinated by the men who wrote it or his accom- plices; and he and they are Jesuits-none but that devilish and cunning creed could be capable of con- cocting and executing such a conspiracy. It is our duty now, though we be strangers to each other, to unite and find out this mystery,-are you will- ing?" ' Indeed I am." "My friend Bruin will be here this evening--can you call to-morrow morning?" "I can and will, if you say it is necessary." It is, absolutely, Mr. Hodin." "Call me Morrell, when we are together, it sounds better to me, and some day when this sad attack is settled, I will tell you my history." "I shall be happy to hear it," answered Jose- After some further conversation of but little connection with the subject matter of their previous discourse, Hodin departed and Josephine, her mind filled with the feartul perils with which her foes seemed to surround her-joined the lady in the front parlor. As soon as possible, consistent with the courtesy and politeness due to a visitor, she dismissed her and was again alone; and who or what were her thoughts upon? The Past; or were they peering foroward striving to unveil the future? Or was the fate of Bolter-the interview with Hodin; or her o,-n position in society the theme? We can answer-it was Bolter. Why it was she, knew not; but despite her endeavors to the con-, trary-he, his image, was always haunting her-. 'ould it be love? No, not that-the first love of a young and trusting heart, once broken, never can oe renewed. Love, like the world in which it finds i birth, can have but one life-that life closed- there is no resurrection-'save beyond the grave of ,ts mortal hopes. She could explain it. It was Friendship the sister of Love, that was it. That evening Bruin came, and to secure an uninterrupted privacy during her interview with him, she conducted him to her Boudoir, instruct- ing Mary to say to all who called, that " she was not at home." CHAPTER XI. THE BISHOP's LIBRARY-ANOTHER PLAN. THREE persons were seated in the Library of the Bishop. One was George, one, the Bishop, and the other, Simon Cloud. It was early in the afternoon, only two o'clock. Simon, with his expressionless face, and quick, sharp eye, seeing everything, yet apparently seeing nothing, was seated at a table or desk covered with books, small charts, plans, documents,-all surrounding an ivory Crucifix. George was reclining upon a lounge; the Bishop opposite to him, his hand resting upon a small stand at the side of his well cushioned arm chair. "Now, my dear friend Simon, in whom we have placed so much confidence, do you think our plan feasible? do you think that we can make it suc- ceed?" George said half audibly as if he were pondering upon it. "No, it is too intricate!" "Not intricate at all, not in the least. But let us hear Simon's opinion- his opinion concerning it; he, you know, is better versed in such matters." Simon fumbled among the papers a moment, then answered, " you know I always am frank and speak to the point with a-with you. It is better with one's clients to be truthful; they like it much better than cunning; I never was cunning, it isn't any part of my system. The plan, if it oper- ates as it should, and proves successful by its own ingenuity may, may I say. be the best one we could have adopted." "To-morrow proves its success or failure--" "Failure, surely will be the result!" interrupted George. "And why?" asked the Bishop. "Yes, why?" asked Simon, fixing his keen eyes a moment upon George. "The explanation is easy ; Josephine, now that Bolter is missing-now that John Sheriff is dead, will be more watchful than ever; and the letter will be by her explained. She will prove where she was at the time; she is charged with having page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] him or his apparent influence with the Bishop. George withdrew, excusing his sudden depart- ure, on the grounds of " urgent business." Simon Cloud, after gathering up a mabs of papers and securing them about his person, followed exam- ple, and hurried toward his office. By this interview, another adroit deception appears, particularly invented to destroy, if possi ble, forever, the character of Josephine. George had a secret basis, which he did not expose to the Bishop, for his opinion that the scheme would fail, and that was, the influence-the sagacity and acuteness of Bruin, Josephine's confederate. Who Bruin was, he knew not; only having fairly seen him once, but he knew that if Bruin poescssed any degree of common sense in regard to duplicity, he would see through the whole ar- tifice. Had the Bishop known Bruin's character as well as George, he might possibly have had less confi- dence in himself. Half an hour after their departure two persons issued from the residence of the bishop. Both of them were attachees to his grace, both being Secretaries. One crossed over to the little wooden door or gate in the brick wall, which partially circumvents the Cathedral, and disappeared. The other passed up Prince toward Broadway. The one who went in the latter direction, was the same person who had called upon Josephine, and represented himself as the fiiend of Bolter. He was the Mr. Hodin, alias Morrell. He was attired exactly as when he had intro- duced himself, and was now proceeding to fulfill, if 1 possible, the completion of the project which was to completely place in jesuitical hands, the inherit- ance which rightfully should have, years before, i been divided among the heirs. f But the soi-disant Hodin, alias Morrell, had an enemy to contend with whom he knew not of. t The difference in duplicity between the tvo, ex- I isted only in the fact, that Bruin used deceit to aid t his friends and foil his enemies, while the disguised Secretary used it to deceive those whom he did not 1 even know. and who had never injured him either o in word or deed. Both were almost masters in the art of intrigue; bn tone warred for right, the other for might. Ti'lh :;irl iMary ushered him into the front parlor. i Josephine and Bruin confronted him. As he entered she rose from the chair. SC Bruin did not move, nor hardly seemed to notice the visitor. p "Ah, I am so glad, Mr. Hodin, you have called. I expected you sooner. Be seated." Hodin took the proffered chair. This," continued, Josephine, "This is the t- friend I mentioned, when you honored me with an your first visit. This is Mr. Bruin." Id "At your service," said Bruin. - "Happy of your acquaintance," replied Hodin. "Have you enquired into the affair which you n communicated to me?" i "I have--I have seen the persons who were men- re tioned in the letter as being witnesses of the trans- e actions it mentioned.'" ", "Have you also seen the clerk indicated in the d letter?" "I have." "And do all these confirm that which this letter n has asserted?" "They do, and are willing to testify to it." "Then I had better do as my friend Bruin de- sires me!" "And what is that?" "Surrender myself to the proper authorities and demand an investigation at once." "Yes, that was my advice. The only way I know'd of to fetch matters to a crisis. They do not convict an innocent person on the doubtful tes- timony of a lot of Greeks, no way." "I depend," continued Josephine, "upon this one thing: I am innocent." Yes, just as innocent as she kin be. For my part, I don't believe, nor never have, that John Bolter is dead." "Not dead," interrupted Hodin, swddenly-",not dead! How know you that?" "I don't know it any more than by guess work. 'Cordin7 to law no man is legally dead until his body is found." "I understand you,"' said Hodin. 'And if Bolter is not dead, and his body isn't found, he's been feloniously and deceitfully abduc- ted, and hid away by a lot of priests or Catholics- or, may be, by some of them there secret orders of the Irish. I'm goin' to work to unravel this affair. I rayther think Bruin will be enough for them in the end, if he is not now." "If he is not gone forever, then he may have fallen into the hands of that crafty faith you speak of." Hodin saw that he must be on his guard-le was aware of the sagacity which lurked within the mind of Bruin. ' I would be in no danger were I to follow rau- in's advice-not in the least, I am sure of it." Yet," said Hodkin, " there is no necessity of so precipitate a measure." "Have you the letter with youl?' asked Jose- phine. "I have the letter, but the envelope is torn. I tore it to day. mistaking it for another." perpetrated the murder. Then, you see, having too, so many friends to sustain her-she, with an alibi-will not only free herself from our toils, but perhaps gain a clue to the origin of it, which will seriously injure the cause by the exposition. That is why I say it will be a failure--" "-Ah!" interrupted Simon, "My dear George, you have forgotten two great axioms of modern law-that it is harder to prove a truth than a false- hood-and that it is easier to convict an innocent man now-a-days, than a guilty one; so by these infallible rules, they're cunning ones, too, I judge that onr scheme will not fail; perhaps, George, you do not entirely comprehend the whole of it; eh-it's plain to us-is it so to you, eh?" "If I did not, I would not speak as I do." "But there may be some little particulars which have escaped your notice," said the Bishop. 'No-there are none." "So cunning," suggested Simon. "So cunning is it my friend George, you may have forgotten- indeed you may-let me recapitulate. The note was written and directed as required, to the Chat- ham Square Post Office. This was done in order that it might appear as genuine, directed to Mr. Hodin. The accusation was perfectly framed and made out in the letter, and one of your grace's Private Secretarie's became for the nonce, Mr. Hodin, a former friend of the supposed mur- dered Bolter; he, of course, took the letter from the office, and, as we had previously instructed him, proceeded at once to the residence of Joseph- ine; and to her presented and introduced himself as Hodin, Alias Morrell; the name of Morrell being a "blind" to deceive Josephine, and lull any suspicion on her part. 'The victim has so far fallen into the snare. To-morrow after her conference with this Bruin, and after our ally shall have called upon her again, we shall, in my opinionm be assured of our success-and Josephine-she's a. canning one, isn't she? Josephine will be an in- mate of the Tombs, charged with the murder of a man, who, for all I know, may be yet living." "I knew all that before, my mind is not altered; it will be a failure." "Not if we get her imprisonment; our witnesses never fail." "Even then, I repeat it, it will be a failure ; we C shall feel the recoil!" "No, no! This Josephine, my dear George, isn very cunning-cunning enough-but when two of one faith, and one of them a Nassau Street at- te torney, unite, she cannot circumvent us-no, it will in succeed!" said Simon. iIt shall be triumphant " suddenly exclaimed the Bishop, rising and casting a glance of anger 1a ig upon George. 'By the Holy Cross it shall be, in even though we have to wade through a sea of at Heretical blood to accomplish its consumation. ill even if some who should not do, predicts a fail- at ure!" The sarcasm passed, thrown at George, wa e, unnoticed or if observed, not heeded. rn George knew the Bishop's temper-fitful, unU e- even, and annoyed sometimes at the veriest trifles it -triffes which others would not notice. se Yet he replied with an air of assumed meekness, re "Your reverence forgets-I merely predicated my e, remarks upon the plan, from my own conclusions.' "True, true!' returned the Bishop. "You arxe too true yourself to speak otherwise. How is it. my Brother, with Marion, your wife that was--our h prisoner that is?" "Your Secretary, Thaddeus, can best inforr you regarding her; he has sheen there within the- past week; was there, too, one day after her first - entre to her present delightful abode of sanctity- I have not been there myself." "George, you are witty, extremely so; but rlevity is not necessary in my presence. I have - often reproved you for it-I hope you understand i. me-I do not like it. My dear Simon, frielnd, s mean, I will see you again soon, at your othice. nnle'ss I shoild wish for your presence, here ; hul. above all, do not forget our scheme-do not l;,av i a single trace whlereby you will re-aw\.;k the suspicions which we have now lulled to a slulmber, which I pray may be eterinl. /;v blessing go with you all." The Bi-shop wrapping his dressing gown of bhlaci velvet around him. left the Library. " ,Leav not a trace" did he say? little dream!lll, hle that tlt trace was already found. George," qaculated Simon, "George, yolu re a cunning one. So. to humor the Arch-Bi hol,'!: * little whims-it's the way we all do." "'Bah! he is my best friend ; he and I m;.. bound together by more than ordinary tics." '"Exactly, I understand you. More than ordi- nary-how cunning-and those ties arc-I'm not inquisitive at all; but those ties are--"and as iTh uttered this speech, his eyes were fixed'upon his companion'scountenance as if to read his very soul. "Those of religion ;" answered George. lruru- ing the glance with a look of unconcern. Simon saw that it was perfectly usclss lto at- tempt a cross examination of George, fo: that individual was too much of a rogue himl-slf to allow his tongue to betray his thoughts. George laughed within himself at Simon; laughed at his duplicity, and cared but littlr for page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] ("Never mind the envelope-the letter I wish to :show to Bruin. It may be an aid to him." "Certainly." Hodin brought forth from his inside coat pocket a bundle of papers, and selecting one, handed it to Josephine. As he done this, the parlor door opened, and Ma- ry entered. The noise occasioned by the door, drew his attention for an instant from the letter. Josephine opened it hastily, speaking to Mary as she dcne so. "Your wish Mary?" "Excuse me, I did not know, my lady, that you were here. Excuse me, I merely came to dust the furniture for evening, I thought you were in your boudoir." Mary knew she was lying-for she saw her mis- tress and Bruin come in. She had a curiosity to know who the third person was. While Mary was speaking, Josephine handed the letter to Bruin. Not a muscle of his pale face moved-it was as rigid as stone, as implacable as fate itself. le quietly folded it, and then calmly asked Hodin: "You will let us keep this, wont you? It's of no further use." To be sure, anything to assist you in elucidating this mystery-keep it in welcome." Mary left the parlor. Josephine again turned to Hodin: "Have you obtained the names of the witnesses.?" I did not think of it at the time, but I shall get them to-morrow--for to-morrow I have arranged to meet them again." "Its no difference, 'bout names," said Bruin qui- etly. "We'll get them time enough." "I'm iu somewhat of a hurry," interrupted Ho- din, I have an appointment at five, it is now half past four. .Yet I would like to know upon what you have decided. My lamented friend's blood cries for revenge. I have no doubt, Miss Josephine of your entire innocence. I am convinced of it- convinced that you could not possibly have com- initted so terrible a crime as to murder your best friend. Yet the singularity of the case demands rn investigation. I have a plan to propose-in one week, or, if not convenient, in two weeks--" "Two weeks-more time for getting ready"-- sententiously suggested Bruin. "Two weeks then from this day." "And at this hour," interrupted Josephine. "Yes, at this hour, two weeks hence, I will agree to call here again, and bring with me, these per- sons who have been shown to me as witnesses, as well as the one who wrote the letter. They shall be confronted with you and such of your friends as you may think proper to have present ; but let it all be done quietly." "Yes, quietly ; that's my word, said Bruin. "And if the examination of these witnesses should prove unfavorable to you Josephine," said Hodin, rising. ' I will abide the result," answered Josephine, proudly and firmly, " for in either case I am inno- cent." "I'll be bound to that," said Bruin. Then, on this day, at this hour, I and those I have mentioned will be here. Your servant, sir.' He bowed to Bruin, and then again addressed Jose- phine: "You must excuse my haste." "Of course, an appointment has no law of ace- lay." Hodin, with another bow to Bruin and polite wave of the hand to Josephine, departed. The moment Bruin heard the front door close he began a series of most extraordinary gymnas- tical movements over the floor. "Why, Bruin, what on earth are you about? are you crazy?-what is the matter?-behave yourself and don't act so!" "Can't help it; its too rich a joke. Iiow that fellow has put his foot in it. Oh, my eyes, what a go-such a sell." Bruin roared with laughter. Josephine was frightened. '"Bruin, Bruin, tell me what ails you? Speak to me-what has oc- curred?-you are acting outrageous." "Didn't you read the letter thai feller give you?" "No, I handed it to you." "Sucta jolly letter-there it is -read it-read it." Josephine took it and read it. There were only a few lines upon it, yet they told a whole history. "Aint we got em, yelled Bruin. "Read it, it's a beauty." She did so. Thus it read TIlmIADEJS :-Be sure that the Brother who gives the food to Bolter, does it without Ypealking, and when you visit our prisoner be sure that the broth- er accompanies you. This is sent you by the care of our Secretary. x-6--21-o--xx. t. The game is ours-they won the first tricks-they commenced this fox hunt. This time next week we, ha.! ha! will be in at the death," exclaimed Josephine. '; 1 see it all! oh? ithe crafty Jesuit-1 see, I see-the name of Morrell was well used as a bait to catch me, and it did, too; but this note, this note is worth kingdoms. Yes, yes, they shall come two weeks from now ; but the reception, we'll attend to that." "Now we've got 'em, the means to find Bolter I'll attend to. I've got the idea--I'll fix it, see if I don't; let everything rest; I'll find himn. I'll find him," said Bruin. "Do that and we are safe." "It shall be done. Now old Hodin, old Secreta- 'ry to the devil's brother-in-law, the Bishop,we'll as- tonish your weak nerves, won't we, though." Bruin seated himself upon the sofa. CHAPTER XII. aSAGGED N/IBS-LIFE, LIBERTY AND DEATH-FATHER AND SON. ,LOOKING wistfully up the alleys as if trying to see ,something that couldn't be seen-loking into the :shop windows as if to take minute inventories of lreir contents--looking up to the house tops a,) ,though expecting the eaves to fall-looking along the gutters as if anticipating the sudden discovery -of a gold piece shining from amidst the black mud -looking in the faces of the passers by as search- ingly as a deputy sheriff in quest of an evil-doer- looking everywhere where anybody had ever looked before-and looking curiously in many a place, and at-many a thing- that no one but himself would think of looking at, was Ragged Nibs. About the doors and lanes, the filthy courts and. :sinks of bad liquor, miscalled porter-houses, of Centre Street-Ragged Nibs had been known for years. Kno1wn to the police so far as personal ap- pearance is concerned-unknown to them in any legal transaction--and known more particularly to ,the j unk shops and fence cribs-from his unlimited business with them. Bomumy Hoop had been his principal patron, but 3ow that Bommy was dead, he seemed to be almost lost-more idle than ever, and if such a thing coulk be, more ragged. Nibs was the boy who came to dispose of the spoons at Bommy's shop at the time Trump dis- covered the body of John Sheriff. Since that time a strange sort of feeling had come over him, a sort of haunting Presence-a shadowy, indistinct thought, or Memory of him for whom he had in- tended the spoons. Now that Bommy was gone. She began to love him-as he should have done when Bommy lived. Often and often had the old man let him lie all night by his stove, when he had not made anything through the day-gave him food sometimes-paid him occasionally for running on errands-all those acts of kindness, he cared but little for at the time, now came welling up-yet half stifled by the darkness of ignorance with which his mind was shrouded-came struggling up to the light of his memory. He remembered the kindness now. but the re- membrance was of but little use. At the time we speak of, he was strolling lazily along Prince Street-it was just at that period when the daylight and darkness of Gotham begin to fight with each other over the Las-lamps-which di'pute, the gas-lamps invariably settle by putting both out of existence, usurping both their supposed inalienable perogatives. Looking everywhere-looking with his saucer- like eyes at the ;curtained windows-at the door- steps--hecedlessof the busy roar of life around him, heedless of the jolly songs and the rattle of domi- noes and dice that floated to the outer air upon clouds of tobacco smoke from the lager-beer cellars and liquor shops--heedless of an occasional jostle into the street--heedless of everything, yet looking at everything--heedless of all save his own thoughts. 'Where's the use." murreaurcd Nibs, as he trudged along," where's the use of my gittin in a fe- ver 'bout a dead feller, lie can't kinow nothing of me never not agin--he's dead, and ef a dead man can't tell no tales he can't listen to none not no more- Bommy wos a good teller--tallerbul, that is, he was sometimes a little mean like--but tlhat's nothin now. Wish I had them biskits in that winder- wouldn't I eat 'em thourgh--wonder where 1'll git rmy supper----gitrin hungrier every minit; ef them lellers as puts sich big beef-steaks and shoulders of rmuitton and bulgin stavin piles of sassages in their catin-house winders only knowd how bad it made tellcrs feel as hadn't the ruopusses for to buy 'em, guess they'd take 'em out-it's no dif. though, poor tellers lilk me will never be not nothin else but poor--take care wot yer about, don't run agin a feller cos yer clothes is good';, I wish folkis wruldn't run agin me--old Bommy wasn't very rich, wonder ef his ghost in t'other world the parsons talk about 'Il 'socipte with the ghosts of rich idlers, like the Rothschilds--aristocracy among ghosts, I guess, don't 'mount to much." Tihus bli nIumbled--st'l1 looking, and starirg,-- until he came in front of the Cathedral grave-yard wall. Then lie stopped and looked at nothing 'else but it and the church. "Now look at that wall, fencin the dead folks from bein stole by the livin folks; People serve poor folks when they're dead the sam? as they do when they'r - livins---thley puts no house over their hi-ad-: when they live, nor no tomb-stones over 'ern when they dies. This ere eternity the parson tells of, must have n11 awful big-alms-house for the souls as is too poor to git on eny further on the road to heaven." As he finished his speculative soliloquy the wooden door in the wall opened, anl 'Thaddeus camns out and crossed the street rapidly. A sudden thought, what it was he knew not, im- pelled Nibs to examine the gate ; over '-e went, his ragged clothes rustling and flapping loosely about page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] his limbs--as lonely like as a solitary penny in a beggar's charity box. He saw the priest when he came out lock the gate, but, to his surprise, when he pushed against it, it yielded and flew open. 1I was evident Thaddeus had not turned the key be- fore he took it from the lock. Nibs, seeing the way clear, walked in and closed the gate after him. He had hardly done so, when it was reopened and Thaddeus entered again, accompanied by a short, thick set, ruffianly sort of a man, evidently from his swagger, a pot-house Jesuit, or else still worse--he carried a lantern in one hand and an iron bar in the other. Nibs shrank back in the darkness and ensconced himself behind a tombstone, muttering to himself--- "Here's a dodge-wonder wot's up--them can't be resurectionists, they're out too early for that sort of cattle. Suthing up, I knows that much." Thaddeus and his companion proceeded to the place we have before described, taking the lantern, he held it, while he with the crowhar, removed the Nibs hadcrept from one grave-stone to another until he had got within hearing distance. "Michael, you must stay above and keep watch until I return. Should George come, it will be from the vestry entrance-he will not come this way-but be sure and keep a lookout." 'Yes, I always do that yer riverince; let me alone for that, be the Mither in bally ragget's owld cat, it's me that kin kape watch like a soger." Thaddeus disappeared down the opening.. He was evidently about paying a visit to John Bolter and his father. Nibs, seeing the descent of Thaddeus was imme- diately invested by curiosity with' a desire to follow him and "see wots up ;" the desire no sooner came, than his fertile imagination, fertile in all such expedients, contrived a scheme to attract lor a moment from the aperture, the attention of its guardian. This, he accomplished by throwing a stone against a marble monument, just beyond where the sentinel stood. ' Be jabers, what's that? be me sowl I blave there's a blaggard iv a boy behind that monimint; jist let me take a look." He ran to the monument. The moment his back was turned towards the opening, Nibs quickly, yet silently glided from his concealment, and plunged down the steps. The sentinel returned almost instantly to his 1 po-t. saying " it's only some ive the dhirty boys in the g:reet; that's all, hevin sthones over intill the yaard." He saw nothing. The lapse or time between the descent of Thad- c deua and that of Nibs, was not over three or four X minutes; consequently the former was but a ittle distance in udv.:!ce of the latter. 1 Nibs followed as cautiously as he could; ahead of him by the faint glimmer of the lantern he saw Thaddeus unlocking the first door; he harried on t faster; the door was left open; still he followed, watching with intensity, the movements of the priest. The last door was opened, and Thaddeus was at the entrance to the cell of his prisoners, little dreaming that his every motion was noted by any, save Him above, whdm he pretended to worship. Nibs was now certain in his own mind, that, as he expressed it, f' there was suthin wus than day light murder agoin on; maybe I might do suthin as 'ud git some poor feller out'n a scrape ; I'll try for it, ef I have to knock a hole through that feller's kingdom come!" Thaddeus unlocked and opened the'cell door, and entered it. As he did this, Nibs crouched along the walk until he was close to the door; so close that he could hear without difficulty, all that transpired within. He was, though he did not know it, on a trail that would eventually, did he but succeed in tracing it through, be the means of elevating him beyond the reach of poverty and its rags, to a position where he might have a chance to enter the society of the respectable. Thus, in his purposeless wandering, Nibs hadr guided by Omnipotence, become a useful atom at least for the time being, in the great world for the fulfilment of a certain fate. When Thaddeus entered the cell he discovered by the glimmer of the lantern, John Bolter sitting in the corner gnawing at a crust of hard bread, and his father lying on the truckle bed, apparently asleep. "Who are you?" said Bolter, "another torment- or?" "Who! who's there?" exclaimed his father urning in the bed and coughing-violently ." Kill me-kill me-for God's sake, and end my mis- ery!" "Who am I? well, that's cool in you, when my voice alone should remind you both that I am what I always shall be; Thaddeus, who holds such mortals as you in contempt; you, old man, as well as your son can now, if you but do as I wish you, leave this place, and once more become tenants of the upper air-be free again!" "Name what you wish us to do, if it is honorable we will agree, if not we will die here ; but I tell you, mocker of my Father's sorrows, and betrayer of me, you shall yet feel what it is to bear the weight of the vengeance of truth." "Bah! Stuff, I make my living by vengeance- listen to me, If you will sign a certain paper, and also solemnly pledge your honor never to divulge to a living being, the fact of your ever having been imprisoned, you shall go free." Nibs, outside, crawled still nearer to the door in order not to lose a word of the conversation. "I want you to sign a conveyance transferring your present property, real and personal, and all that you may hereafter obtain, either by actual inheritance or legacy, to the use and sole behoof of Marion Argall; who, in turn, has agreed to pass it to the benefit of the most Holy Church-will you sign?" ' Never!" said the old man, "die here in this loathsome place, before doing such a thing!" ' What is the nature of the documentsyou would have me sign?" a Ah! ha! Priest as you are, H am yet a match for you-Ah! ha! you have now expressed your- self. What you and your damnable avarice would clutch at, is the AMorrell Estate, the inheritance which should be mine-would have been mine years'ago, had I not fallen a prey to your cruel power. Never, shall my son, nor never will I sign any such conveyance!" * M AMy Father," interrupted Abraham Bolter, "do not think me so base as to purchase a few years of X Ife and liberty at such a cost. Coward! dog! did I I not know that your hireling companions were at f hand to aid you I would throttle you. The Mor- t rell inheritance is as far beyond your grasp, as I hope it is beyond mine. Five years, yes; more c than that. have you, in various places or rather t prisons, kept confined this old feeble man, my s father. For six months you have had him here, s here in this loathsome under ground dungeon; where his only knowledge that man still exists, I that the bright world he once loved and lived in, was still as glorious as ever, is what he has obtained b from me. Here, even'here, when pealing down w throughl the damp earth, he hears faintly the o swelling strains of your cathedral organ. He is now blind ; and made so by your cruelty! May pn the curse of Heaven against you and your religion. ti lie written upon the recordiig angel's book, with C the blood of your victims. No! I will die here m beside my father-you have caused to be murdered; hi my mother-perhaps my brother George-complete a your work upon the father and the remaining b son '" "Oh no," sarcastically replied Thaddeus, " we are not common cut-throats!" "'Rayther think not,",said Nibs to himself; 'rayther onkimmon than kimmon; good enough He, at the bizness to be a boss workman ; guess you'll be git tuk down though dreck'ly-" "Well," continued Thaddeus, "you now know on the alternative ; you have your choice." to "We hae m ade it!" xclaimed Abraham er Bolter. "Father, we will die together. The Su- preme Being will, in his own good time, avenge in our wrongs. Go Priest! fiend! go-My father cannot now rise from that miserable bed-his ng limbs are paralyzed by the noisome dampness of all this prison; ere many more days shall have passed al he will be in another world. Begone from here!'. of "You'll think better of this,' said Thaddeus, ss stepping backwards through the doorway; "I'll ill call again-H know you'll change your mind- you're excited now-" is The words had hardly escaped his lips when he was suddenly hurled to the earth, pulled back- Id wards; and before he could recover from his as- tonishment at such an unexpected attack, a rough h piece of cloth was forced into his mouth, and a r- pistol taken from his coat pocket and held to his d head. e This was the work of the outcast Nibs-ragged e Nibs. 1 "Don't yer move nor make not no noise, if yer n does, you'll hear not nothing no more werry soon after it. Now old buster, keep quiet-you're gone in on this game, an I don't think you'll win the f next one," said Nibs. Abraham Bolter, the mo- ment he perceived the action of his unknown friend, sprang out of the cell-but it was al- through with before he could render any assistance, I "Haint got not no time to lose, Mr. Bolter," ex- claimed the boy, "cos there's 'nother chap wus * than this one, out at the gittin in end of this ere sewer-don't move, old feller, 'thout you'd like ter swaller a bullet-don't bother yerself. Hurry up Mr. Bolter-shoulder yer old man ef he can't walk. I'll tend to this feller." Bolter re-entered the cell and called to his father, but no answer came. He took the lantern and went to the bed-side. One glance was sufficient, one touch of the hand told all. His father was dead. The excitement of the past few moments had released him from persecu- tion forever. Another death in the register of Catholic crime. "Boy," said Abraham sadly, "boy my father is dead. Peace be to his ashes--peace to his soul in heaven. Farewell, dear father." Taking a last look at the body of him who gave him his being. he stepped from the cell and closed the. grated door. " Iave you the keys, boy?" "Don't call me boy, my name's Nibs-here's the! keys-this chap had 'em in his hand." Bolter took them and locked the door, thus, at least for a time, securing his father's remains from, being disturbed. " Now," said he, " let us go." "Not without this feller-wont I make suthin on this go-this is better than huntin old iron." "Now, priest, you are in my power; you shalL page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] now know what revenge is. Nibs, you take these' keys, and go back the way you, came and look the doors, if there be any, between here and the en- trance, then return-I'll keep this ruffian quiet." Thaddeus bit his tongue in his impotent power- less rage, he was fairly in the toils, Bolter as- sumed the boy's position, who immediately pro- ceeded to obey his orders. "What is your name?" sternly demanded Bolter. ' Speak." ' Thaddeus." "Your other name?" "Thaddeus Macarty." "Then Thaddeus Macarty answer me-is there any other method of exit from this dungeon?" "There is-but do not, do not leave me here-I will never--" " Silence. Where is the other way?" "Opposite the one I came in at." "Through that door?" said Bolter, pointing. "Yes." "Then I will let you rise; but remember, the least attempt at escape, the least movement, by word or sign, to betray myself and the boy. your wretched life shall pay the forfeit. Now get up, but beware-foryour existence depends upon your action." As Thaddeus arose, the boy returned exclaiming, "All right, doors locked, now what's to be did? fHow kin we git out'n this cussed hole?" "This wretch will show us. Where does this other passage terminate?" "In the Cathedral, behind the altar," answered Thaddeus. "Is there any one in the Cathedral now?" "No, it is too late." "Now lead the way. Nibs, you unlock the door, you can keep before us with the light; I will fol- low at the heels of Thaddeus, he may want my assistance." Ten minutes elapsed, and the three stood behind the altar of the Cathedral. Thaddeus was utterly belpless--completely in the power of his former victim. "It is not locked," hesitatingly answered Thad- leus, He would have given twenty years of his life could lie have dared to strike Boltcr; but the pistol was at his head, and the cloth still remained in his mouth. "Nibs, hurry out and get a carriage; we will wait here, it is the safest place. When you return give a low whistle." The boy started-this was a dif'crcent business than selling iron. Nibs soon obtained a carriage : the whistle was 'given, and Thaddeus found himself seated between his captors, and driven rapidly away from all pros- pects of succor or relief. Away they rattled, down Mulberry-street, Bolter having instructed the driver to convey them to his residence. Thus a ragged, penniless child of poverty, looked upon, even by his own associates, as worthless, through a mere freak of curiosity, became the lib- erator of Bolter. But now that Bolter had one of his prosecutors in his power, to what fate would he consign him? What was to be his. revenge? to deliver him up to justice give? No, he would now him' law of his own, that required not the aid of a lawyer for its exposition. Thaddeus said not a word, but his eyes flashed fury upon Nibs, whose countenance tauntingly worked itself into a variety of grins. Bolter still held the pistol in his hand, watching his prisoner; once only, did he speak, and then how sad were the tones of his voice : "Father, father, you shall be avenged. Dear, dear, father!" CHAPTER XIII. A NOTHER CONSPIRACY. Two hours-two hours of impatience did the senti- nel, Mick, keep guard over the entrance of the un- derground dungeon in the Cathedral yard, and yet not a sign of relief. Thaddeus had promised not to be absent more than half an hour. Michael began to be weary, and finally, conclud- ing that Thaddeus might possible have left by the other passage leading to the Cathedral, replaced the stone and left the yard. He proceeded to the Bishop s residence and gave to one of the secretaries, or priests-there are gen- erally four or five hangers-on about an Archbish- op's residence, who are called secretaries-word to be delivered to Thaddeus, that he " got tired in waiting for his riverinee." An hour subsequent to this another person came, this was George. He demanded an immediate in- terview with tis Holiness. George was instantly escorted to the library. The Bishop appeared to have been busily engaged in writing; he was seated at his table and hardly, noticed George as he entered. "Now I am sure the plan of which you, Simon, and myself were conversing will fitil. It is beyond dispute a failure.' "Ah!" said the Arch-Bishop, looking ,up, "ah, what is that-some more of your frivolous doubts -more of vour frivolous fantasies?" "No. They have escaped." "They-who-what do you mean.?" "Who? I had believed your grace aud the Order had but three prisoners-but three victims- Marion Argall, and the two Bolters?" "' Well, they are safe." "No, two of them have escaped."' "Two-speak man, slak-who are they?" "John and Abraham Bolter!" "Curses light upon them, and those who had them in custody! We are well nigh ruined-how did they escape?" "That I cannot tell. I know how one escaped." "How?" "By death! The father is dead in the cell." "Aha: good! good! would the son had shared his fate. But the discovery-how did you discover this? where is Thaddeus? I sent him there just at nightfall; where is he? He can explain all.' "He could, but cannot now-he, too, is gone." "Gone-gone--he-he is not dead, too?" "No, not that I am aware of; but listen, half an hour since, agreebly with my appointment with Thaddeus, I waited for him behind the altar; he did not come: growing suspicious that something might happened, I descended the stairway leading to the passage, to my surprise I found the doors all wide open. I hurried on, arrived at the hall of cells, and entering the cell in which the prisoners had been confined, the first object that met my gaze was the body of the old man, stiff and cold, exam- ing still closer by means of the light which I brought from the vestry room, the passage outside of the cell, I found this scrap of paper, or rather t envelope, which had evidently been dropped by c Thaddeus. Abraham Bolter has escaped through the church, and by some unknown means hlas secur- ed and taken with him as a prisoner Thaddcus."' - This is a terrible blow." Not so-it is the proiogue to a greater triumph h ibr our cause-it is the best thing that could have happened." ' "Why? Tell me, schemer, that doubts the schemes of all others save yourself. Why?" "For the reason that if Thaddeus be true- -" "I answer for him,"' interruptrd the Arch Bishop. "It' he be true, and keep a close mouth, we can incarcerate Abraham Bolter, despite all he 'nay say or do, in the Tombs as the murderer of his father. i We, you know, have witnlcsses whose testimony will exactly agree with these facts." "Well." "We can arrest him; as for Thatddces, he can declare he is a victim of a vile conspiracy, origina- ted by this Abraham Bolter, but there is no dan- ger but what he will effect his escape. I know this Ablraham Bolter too well, by reputation, to think for a moment that he will place his prisoner me in the hands of Justice. he will reser ve hls revenge - for himself." ' . "I see, I see--it is our only chance. Ilow much time will it take to complcte this pla'nm:' "But a few days ; but do not let us l,e too hasty -a little slower in order to be a little surer. Leave it all to me, and I will agree to consumate a an- d other design." v "And that is--, "The possession of Josephine." " *' That woman, aha! I would almost resign my chances of being a cardinal, and perhaps, in my old age, the pontificial robe, could I ,ut gain poB- 1, session of her." r "You shall have her in your power without any t such resignation. In a fortnight she shall be even as close a prison as Marion Argall, and as destitute of hope for release." "George, you are my guardian angel still. You are still an honor to the cause-would you were a Bishop." "I am bad enough now, your grace. Had it not been for that woman, earth would have been a Paradise to me, as it is now, it is a waste of desola- tion." "I have a question,Gcorge, to ask you ; answer it; frankly, I will not betray your confidence: did you ever lvce Josephine, in reality?? "Did I love her? ah, Bishop! did I love her! If I had not do you think I would have followed her, day after day, week after week---and after that fatal hour in Philadelphia--after I had ac- complished her ruin, do you think I would have knelt to her, would have implored her to become mine? If I had not loved her do you think I would have suffered all the contumely, th]:e scorn. and misery which she heaped upon me, would I have haunted her night and day, even when I heard she had become the vilest of the vile-an acknowl- edged courtezan? Had she have possesicl in a year as much love for me as I did for her in one short, fleeacting hour, Iwould not have been a priest, your Confident, nor she what she is now, an enemy whom I will pursune to the death. From the bower of love, there is but one st)p for the mind of man, and thaft is to the dark chlambers of hate. 1 have taken the step." "It is all over now, George, let your hate alone be the guidiig :,tar to lead you to a bitter revenge.'. "I will, Bishop, I will do not fear me, I will, until memory ceases to be." George bid the bishop adieu and thus ended a contrenee which revi alpd the beginning of another conspiracy; defeat to such i:nh1 was but the found- ation for a triumph. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] No wonder such an ill starred fortune preyed upon the life of George, no wonder-no wonder. Could he have known who his intended victim was, could he have known that he whom he was about to cause to be arrested, was his own brother, his twin brother, perhaps his course would have been different. He knew the name was the same, but never treamed of such a thing as rclatoonship. But all was for the best; great crimes some- times work out their own redemption by giving birth to great virtues. So may we hope it will be with George. So may we hope it will be with all who err. CHAPTER XIV. MARION ARGALLT-TIlE BISHOP'S ORDERS. ANOTHER day had passed and another night, and Marion had become stronger, able to walk about the room, but she was not the Marion Argall of other days. Misery had stolen the hues of health from her cheek and left there, instead, the impress of anguish. They who had seen her at home, in her father's house, would not now have believed her th be the same person. She had been attended constantly by the slim, wan, pale-faced Nun we have mentioned before, and a vigilant guard had been kept over all her movements y the Lady Superior. One only had seemed to commiserate her desolate situation, and one alone had endeavored, by words of consolation and acts of kindness from the heart to alleviat hter sorrow and dispel in a measure, the darkness of dcspair which was fast gathering around her senses. That one was Dora-the mistress of Thaddeus. Thus, even in the midst of evil, in the very place where the spirits of bigotry and deceit held their court around the throne of Popish fanaticism, lived. unextingui:hed by the influences surrounding it. one single lhart that still throbbed responsive to the voice of suffering that stili could pity, even if it could not aid. That heart was Dora's. Dora and Marion were seated near each other-- Marion in a large arm-chair---Dora upon a lounge. The coiiln-mptive Nun was not present. They were alone in the Red Room. " I have now told you all; you must ose that it is impossible." " Yes, yes, I do see that I am lost, lost forever! the gay, glad world with its thronging millions, with its joys, and hopes, its bright sunlight, is no ,more to me; lost, lost! my poor dear father, and George too-all lost! all lost!" " "No! there is always hope. Hope, Marion, like the Star of Bethlehem, shines the brightest when i the clouds of despair are darkest; leading some- times, the wanderer forth from the gloom into an Eden made glorious by the realization of our wild- est wishes--could I aid you--could I assist you in leaving here, I would ; ,but it is impossible-I am watched as well as you-besides I love the Faith in which I was nurtured; I love the Religion which my ancestry believed in; and 1 love-but that is nothiug. Time may make you love this like; when you will have forgotten the outer ) world, or remember it as you would a distempeted dream, then, peihaps-- 'No! no! never. Did George know of this-did he but know " "You will I fear never see him again!" "Yes, I will," replied Marion, quickly, pointing with her finger. There-there, at least I will meet him at that Tribunal, where Justice is neither blind nor armed-there we will meet again!" The door swung noislessly open and the Lady Superior entered. "Sister Dora," said she, "Your presence is required in the chapel." "Yes, my Lady I will go." Dora glided away, and the Lady Superior stood before Marion. "; Sister Marion," said she in a chilling tone of kindness, that made her words seem like icicles, dropping from the spar of a ship in the polar re- gions, "Sister Marion, within an hour you must leave here!" Marion's face flushed with joy. "Thanks- thanks--I knew you were too good to keep me away from those I love!" "Wait Sister, until you hear me through. You nfay not like the change. We have, within the past three hours, received orders from his grace the Arch-Rishop concerning your removal; he has comnmuImatea Lt us these commands and we shall obey them. There will be a carriage at the door shortly; You, with one of our Sisterhood will be ready to enter it, and you will be conveyed to whatsoever place His Grace may have ordered those who will have you in charge to conduct you. You will not know of your destination until you are at your journey's end; furthermore, you are to be blind-folded in order to prevent you from observing the localities through which you may pass- --but you need not be alarmed, for this much 1 will tell you, you are going to meet your Father, perhaps, your husband!" "Then I will go-I will, indeed I will; any place is preferable to this lonesome house; but do not blindfold me, you can close the carriage up- close the blinds. You would not deceive me-I- I-at least I think you would not now, after what I have suffered. Tell me again-tell me-will I meet my father and my dear, dear George-will I?" "You will." Artrul deception was tis to practice upon a helpless girl, in order to prevent her attempting to raise an alarm while in the carriage. Artful thus to destroy any thought on her part of escape. But as Simon Cloud said, "these Jesuits are so cun- iaingY. ". Then 1 will be ready." "And I, too, will get ready for departure," said 'the. Lady Superior. "I will tell you when you are wanted." The Lady Superior sailed from the room slowly -and majestically, a fair sample of pride launched upon a sea of dignity. The hour expired and Marion was summoned, as she fondly hoped, to leave forever the gloomy in- terior of the Convent walls-its terrors and its ,mysteries. As she passed from the front door to the carriage how gloriously did the open air, the waning light 'of lay, appear to her. Hope yet had its anchor of Prophecy in her heart. She stepped into the carriage and found in it two occupants. One was a priest, the otheri one of the Sisters. The blinds were closed-the door fastened. The driver mounted his box; a moment more and the vehicle rumbled off-up Houston-street into Broad- way, turning towards Union Square. And that was the direction sle was taking in or- -der to behold her father and her husband, while that father was lying upon his bed suffering from the effects of a blow from the hand of her hnsband. The reason of her removal can be easily account- ed for. The Bishop, after heariug of the escape of Abraham Bolter and the disappearance of Thad- deus, was fearful that his secretary might be com- pelled by him who had captured him, through force and torture, to divulged the place of Marion's concealment. He knew Thaddeus to be trusty and faithful, yet he knew that no means would be ne- glected whereby the secret could be obtained from 1 him. Therefore he had made his preparations immedi- ately after the departure of George from his libra- i ry, and sent instructions accordingly to the Lady f Superior. But where was she to be taken? We shall ee t hereafter. i a -CHAPTER XV. I THE BROTHER OF SIMON THE LAWYER AND TRUMP. TuE AGENT FOR ENGLAND. THERE are but two eras in a lawyer's life; one is that portion of the time which he dedicates to defending crime, for the purpose of pocketing the fee which the doer of the crime has earned in a nefarious manner; the other, is in dreaming of the bench in vain lo i ings after the honor of being a judge. As a general fact, the judges who occupy and have occupied the exalted position which has ena- bled them to be called "The Court" at the com- mencement (,1 every lawyer's plea, are far better Judges of Mutton chop and Heidsick than of Law. Since such has been the case, how can it be won- dered at that our modern metaphorical figure of Justice has been allowed to retain her sword, and yet wears a bandage upon her eyes. The Judges of our Courts have, in the generality of their de- cisions, been blind to Justice, and why should not Justice be blind to them. Metaphorical Justice too, has always held up to the gaze of her votaries, a pair of scales so evenly balanced that the weight of a sixpence would turn them either way. But when the ministers of the Law, when the judicial functionaries of our courts hold the scales it takes more than sixpence to turn the balance; it takes all the available funds Mr. Defendant or Mr. Plaintiff may have. The Sword which Meta- phorical Jutice holds, we presume is intended to represent the Jndge's charge, to the Jury; said charge, cutting off at a single swoop, the heads of any ideas of their own, which the Jurymen might otherwise bring to bear upon their decision. The Sword is Law and so is the Judge's charge. And the Dignity of the Bench-that is another portion of Legality which ought to be metaphori- cally represented, and what could imitate it better than the image of an owl with an associate owl on each side. Or, should any artist be so inclined, he mtght allegorically represent the court and all its promi- nent features; for instance, an aged owl grown old in endeavoring to wink without shutting his eyes, flanked by two young ones that never knew any better than sitting up all night on barn-yard fences. These three could be the Judge and his associates. The owls in the allegory could occupy the summit of a hollow stump, the stump being indicative of the shallowness of their intellect- around could be painted a variety of buzzards, chicken-Hawks, Hyenas, and Foxes united in a sort of happy family arrangement-all industri- ously engaged in devourinar two or three fat / page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] pigeons; these would answer for the lawyer and his clients. Surrounding this classical group could be painted twelve respectable looking geese each goose standing on one leg with his head tacked under his wing; and these of coursef, m!.iht be called the Jurymen. Simon Cloud might be considered as a umeta- phorical ITyena; a human b'ein with tI? gcneral attribute or that unpopuDar animal, the tHyena. Simon's hold upon a client never relaxed until the very last hope of fees and perquisites faded away in the emptiness of the said client's purse.--Simon could not by any possibility le cited as a buzzard, because the buzzard sometimes leaves a little remnant of its prey for the next comer to lunch upon-Hyenas gorge bones and all leaving not a trace behind. So Simon Cloud was a Legal Hyena and caged himself in the midst of the buzzards and crows, that hover around, in and out of number seventy- five and number seventy-seven, Nassau Street. Woe to the unlucky pigeon whose fine feathers attracted their notice-woe, to those who wandered within their reach, for, as they would come forth the very walks and tin signs would almost grin and audibly articulate, "Plucked!" Finding their feathers gone, their hearts would echo, if their tongues did not, "Plucked!" Plucked-pilfered-and plundered! Reader, never go to law, but let the law come to you. Simon was not entirely alone in the world: not isolated from the ties of kindred, he possessed a brother, and as is very often the case, the two were is distinct and different in their looks as in their habits and persuits. Rollin B. Cloud, was one of that kind of mortals who are happy, no matter whether misery or joy knock for admission to their hearts. Jolly, always jolly, careless and reckless; younger than Simon by some half dozen years, never accumulating any personal property except jokes, which he gave away, interest and all-never secing any side of Life's pathway but the bright one, he was a poor companion for the plotting subtle Simon. We can sum up all his perfections and imper- fections in few words, he was an actor. Simon hated actors-hated Shakspere-hated theatres 1 and every thing connected in the remotest degree writh the stage. He despised everything that did : not relate to law. Simon's brother was an actor-a real genuine t actor. Among his companions, the players, a among all his acquaintances in the "show busi. r , Wess," he was universally known as Roly, Boly r Cloud, and Roly, Boly he was, in every sense of She word. 1 The only material failing Mr. Rely Boly Cloudli I possessed, was a fondness for the Strong wate" 1 distilled from corn and rye, and sometimes fronm I the grape; he would get most gloriously " tight" : as he termed what the uninitiated would callP "drunk."' One afternoon Mr. Cloud Junior having become. 1 considerably obflustricated with various decoctions of gin and brandy, suddenly took the idea in his * head to call upon Simon and annoy hinm to ith- utmost extent of his ability. Off he started from the dingy porter house in whioh he had been whiling away the pasing time. Off he started, and soon he was ascending the stairs of Seventy-five and Seventy-seven. Passing the downward bound, Hawks and Bunz- zards-the pigeons who were getting plucked by the week-the postman, passing on without as much as looking at them-he finally arrived at the door of Simon's office. Not a sound-not ,an echo was there-Simono had evidently gone out, and was fortunately pre- served from being tormented. Roly Boly looked around himself in order probably, if possible, to discover a good comforta. ble place where he could sit down and wait the return of the Legal Hyena. An hour passed' on. Roly Boly having in the meantime quietly seated himself on the floor with his back against Simon's door-and another houn brought the night sixty minutes nearer; and, at last the well remembered slow and stately step, light yet firm, sounded upon the stairway. Roly Boly during the last hour had become - tenant of dream-land, and when Simon halted on the landing he had the satisfaction of observing his brother snoozing away at a delightful rate. "Rollin, Rollin, ah, the dog, he's an actor-ac- tors are not cunning-no, no, not a bit, if they were they would'nt be a sitting in people's door- ways. Ah! what a pity! Rollin, Rollin, get up.' Rollin received a shake from Simon which caus- ed him, instantaneously, to bounce upon his feet- throw himself into a theatrical attitude, and ex- claim :- ' Give me another drink-bind up my wounds- have mercy, Jemmy." "Stuff! confound it come in here," said Simon, unlocking the door. "Come in? of course. The cold wind blows- the storm increases. I'll no more of this mumery: away, away. Exit right hand upper entrance,' roared Rely Boly, rushing into the office and drop- ping himself into a chair. Simon, after closing the door, seated himself op- nosite his brother. "Brother Rollin." , "Well,brother Simon-Fabien dei Franchi--what is it you would have of me? Speak, let me not burst in ignorance music-slow curtain." "Bah," ejaculated Simon, thoroughly disgustced with the maudlin theatrical style of Roly's conver- sation. "Bah-stop such nonsense ; it is not cun- ning, not a bit of it. What brought you here to- , day?" "A pair'of as stout, limbs as ever bestrode a Tem- plars steed, good, my lord-light half down." "' Rollin, cease this, or I, I'll put you out. "Put out the lights, and tihen-put out the lights." "You have been drinking, Rollin-drinking again; what a beast you do make of yourself!" Rollin again quoted. "Oh, that a man should put .an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains! enter servant with wine, first entrance left hand." "Rollin, talk sensible, now do. I have once to- day for the first time in my life almost, wished to see you; I have something in view for you." "Distance lends enchantment to the vie\w blood ready behind set door-second entrance right hand; well, what is the something, old wax- end?" "Something that would be profitable for you." "Throw profit to the dogs, I'll none of it!" "You had better lie down; when you're sober I'll talk to you." "Ah, Sweet, you do not know your dear. Sleep Death's counterfeit-I'll not to bed!" "Fool!" muttered Simon; "curse thou those who have made him so foolish-ah, he'll never re- form-never!" "Reform it altogether." Roly Rely was evi- dently fast hecoming oblivious; the heat of the office, the closeness of the atmosphere, and the fumes of the liquor he had drank, were rendering. him stupid, and at the same time partially iln- sane. "Come, come!" said Simon, shaking him. "Come lie down upon the carpet you'll be much better." ;I am what I am!"Your words are like a madman; come, get up!' 1 "Mantua's Law is death to any one that utters c them. Men call me mad because over the wild Chaos of my distempered imagination Time drives the chariot in which rides the grim phantoms of the past: H-am not mad-ring down the act drop-everybody ready to commence second act, e somebody bring me my boots-bell rings-1-Is. I'm fly-poor Tom's a'cold"-and Rely Reoly very judiciously ended his disconnected jargon by going fast asleep and falling off the chair. c ' Simon grinned horribly; it was just what hc 't wanted, for the sooner, according to his belief, his- t unfortunate brother died the better, unless he aban- doned his present course of life. 1 Rollin, like himself, had been educated for a law- - yer, but he had preferred the roving, uncertain life - of a player. Both brothers were players-one was a player upon the stage, the other upon the credulity and? - purses of his victims. Simon drew his chair close to the table and com- menced copying a letter, but he had scarcely writ- ! ten a dozen lines when he was startled by a tre- mendous knock upon the door. : . "Come in," said Simon. The door opened, and a great, square-shouldered 1 sort of giant entered. This man was over six feet, in height, and built in proportion; he was in fact a human embodiment of Pompeys pillar-vast ani collossal. "Is this the office of Mr. Simon Cloud?" '"It is." "Is Mr. Simon Cloud in?" "He is." "And .which is Mr. Simon Cloud, the gentleman on the floor, or you?" "I am Simon Cloud." "Ah, are you busy?" D"Oh, no, nothing that will prevent me attending to you." "Yes, well, there's room enough here, I presume for my friends?" "Your friends, certainly. Legal affa..il I pre- sume." 'IPerhaps! Wait." The human Pompy's Pillar stepped out of the door, and called: "Come on boys, its all right. He's in." Four persons now, one after the other, came in and stood near the table. "What is it now? Speed is everything, if it be united with caution. What is your name?' "fly name is Castlc-Elephant Castle, somtec folks call me." ': Well, Mr. Castle, and your friends-itcrereted parties-witnesses." "No, not witncsses. Is that man under the ta- ble a partner, or only a client under the influence of liquor?" "Miy brother." "Urn-ah--well--he's asleep, isn't he?" Then we may as well state the cause of our pres- ence here." i"Of course, proceed. "'; You are the real Simon Cloud?" "There is none other by that name in this page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] "We have come to demand of you certain pa- pers which you now have in your possession." "Demand?" "Yes. demand." "How cunning. And what papers have you reference to?" "Documents in relation to an English inherit- ance. now held in abeyance for the appearance of the lawful heirs. ' Um--cunni n. Yes, what inheritance, eh?" : The inheritance is the Morrell estate. There are some papers connected with the interests of the surviving heirs, which being in your possession -we wish them transferred to ours." Simon trembled. "- And allow me," said he, his voioe sounding harshly and somewhat huskily, "to ask how you intend to proceed in case I do not give up the documents which you say I possess." "Choke you," said Castle. "What, use force. Commit a robbery?" "No. Only strangle you a little." "I'll, 'll alarm the neighborhood-I'll --" "Keep qui t, old man, don't over-exert your- self. Are 'ou going to deliver to me those docu- ments?" How; how did you klow I had them?' "None of your business." The expression of Simon's face was like that of a demom-he was in the toils. "You shall not have them!" "We will." The Collossal Castle advanced one step nearer Simon. "I repeat, we will, d'ye hear." This is robbery-beware." ': We are used to robbery, and so are you in a legal sense. Give those documents to us." "I have not got them here; they are at my house." "You lie, Simon Cloud." The human jugger- nant again advanced a step. Simon shivered like a leaf: "Gentlemen, and you, Mr. Castle, I assure you the documents are not here-they are at my resi- dence." "Then we will accompany you to your residence, instantly." Simon was cornered-with a frightful look of despair and anger he sprang to his feet. Castle moved not an inch-he seemed calmer than ever. Scoundrels!" yelled Simon; "fiends--robbers, you shall not have them-I will perish first." No you wont, you'r too valuable a servant of the devil's gran:dfather, old B]lackstonc, for that-- be quiet, the papers are here--or the last time I ask vou give them up." Simon was almost frantic, yet, despite his rage, he had still enough of his natural senses left to understand that further opposition was useless. Groaning-biting his lips until the blood came- cursing bitterly the misfortune that had thrown him in the power of such a man-he took from the shelf a small tin box and dashed it upon the table, ' There, thieves, take your plunder. "Not overly polite," was all the answer Castle condescended to give, as he carefully took posses- sion of the box. "Now, Mr. Simon Cloud, if when we examine the contents of this and find that you have- deciev- ed us, you may expect a visit from me that will not terminate as this has. "That box contains all the letters I have, all the documents, now go-torment me no more!" "Thank you--one more favor-the key to this box." "The key?" '; Yes, the key." "Take it!" said Simon vindictively-throwing the key upon the table. "Good! you are acting quite rational." The Rhodian collossus placed the key in his pocket and the box under his arm and opened the door. He motioned to his comrades and they passed through. "As a parting observation, Mr. Simon Cloud, let me request you to give my very best respects to the Arch-Bishop and his friends; good bye, until we meet again." - Mr. Castle stalked out, his feet sounding as they struck the floor like the falling of pile drivers. Simon was alone with his brother. And now both brothers were intoxicated one with passion, the other with liquor; which was the -happiest of the two-he that was unconscious of his degredation or he that was conscious? CHAPTER XVI. TIlE FIRST LINK OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. THE evening succeeding the one upon which Abraham Bolter had escaped, the first link was forged of the chain of guilt, which was intended should fetter with a death like grasp, the fate of an innocent man. And with him would fall the hopes-the pros- perity-the fortunes of an hundred others Abraham Bolter once within the flngs of the law, once surrounded by a complicated mass of evi- dence, manufactured in the work-shop of Romish iniquity-Josephine once within the grasp of the Jesuitical horde who were persecuting her--Marion Argall and her father dead-the Arch-Bishop and his faithful coadjutor, George, would revel in the wealth of the Morrells-would glory in another riumph of their villainy over the innocent, who had chosen rather to believe in God and Liberty than in the Pope and Slavery. And the first movement- towards convicting Abraham Bolter was this : The body of his father was, upon the evening in question, taken from the subtereanean cell and carried, by three or four of the Arch-Bishop's sat- telites, through the churcl-yard into Prince-street, down Prince to tnhe corner of Mott-street and placed in a carriage. It was thus conveyed to Clinton Court, in Beek- man-street, and there thrown into a cellar-way. As the villains threw the body from them, the clock of the Beekmau-street church struck twelve. Twelve o'clock, but all was not well. Previous to leaving the body, one of the party took from his pocket a long, thin bladed butcher- knife, and plunged it several times in the breast of the corpse. Upon the handle was ingeniously carved the name of Abraham Bolter. After this was perform- ed, the knife was thrown carelessly in the corner of the basement entrance, and the party leaving the court, re-entered the carriage, and were soon back to the place they had started from. This was all done in silence. Not a word had been spoken. Each man knew his duty-knew how to perform it-consequently there was no ne- cessity for orders or directions. The orders and directions had been previouly t given by the Arch-Bishop. Tie ;as the supreme -being of Gotham Catholicism. At the time the body was thrown in the cellar- c way, the basement was unoccupied. This the Arch-Bishop had discovered previously and he had forseen, and justly too, that the body when found, which it would inevitably be on the next day, would t be thought, by those who first discovered it to have lain therel for several days, and his deposition be- fore the Coroner, of course would be to that efict. f The knife wounds would be seen, and on search be- ing made the knife would be found, bearing upon the bandle the name of Bolter. "What better testimony " as the Arch-Bihop P argued to himself," would be needed for a New i York jury, or a jury of any country, which by w adroit management could be composed of two thirds Catholics, to convict the person whose name T the knife bore of the murder, especially when o among the Jesuits, witnesses could be produced those who would swear to anything tncir priest m might consider as corroborative of the main accu- sation. A great power was this Jesuitism and a great lever of human enslavement is it now. hu er Who else but a band of Jesuits, would have o thought of such infernal means to destroy an y enemy. The murder of a Father-accusing the son of g parricide-of committing the crime of which they themselves had conmitted-consumnating it with n such vindictive, such fearful malignity, with such 1 persevering, indomitable cruelty Even the Arch Fiend himself would recoil with , horror, from the perpetration of some,of the atroc- I ities that have been committed by the Jesuits; would shrink back--would shudder and think - himself an almost immaculate being. If his regions are paved with good intentions. e it is more than the floors of Jesuitical Convents- Popish palaces er Catholic Cathedrals F CCIIAPTER XVII. EARTH LOSES A SOUL, AND I1E:AVEN GAINS AN ANGEL. TnE carriage containing Marion Argall and her , guardians, after nearly an hour's journey, was driven close to the pavement in front of a splendid mansion in East Broadway, not far from the junc- tion of that street with Grand. "Now," said the one who sat next to her, "now, you must. let us bandage you eye; we are in the upper part of the city-we are now in Forty-First- strect, yet we do not wish you to see the exterior of the building which you are about to enter. Marion assented-she tholught of but one thing- had but one object in view, and that was the chance of once more beholding her husband, and perhaps her father. A handkerchief was tied tightly around her eyes, and then she was supported fron the carriage, into the hall of the Mansion. The bandage was not removed until she had been conducted to an apartment upon the second floor. The apartment in which she now found herself, was large and furnished luxuriously-in the latest style-carpets, mirrors, mantel ornaments, costly paintings ; everything in fact arranged so charm- ingly, that they would have tempted the eye and won the admiration of an anchorite. Her attendants, all save the Nun, left the room. The Nun laid aside the bonnet and shawl of Mari- on. "' Is it here Sister," asked Marion, " that I am to meet my Father and my dear George?' "It is, Sister." "And where are they now?" "They will be here shortly; at least your husband will." page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] "I will be happy then. George will release me he will take me home-he will be with me again." Marion did not notice the smile of scorn which passed over the face of the nun-a smile meaning more than words could convey. "Your' death knell will be but the echo of your husband's voice."' "Is he in the house now?" "No, replied the nun. "I must leave you for a, while. Sliould you wish for anything, ring that bell upon the mantle. A servEnt will answer the "all immediately." The nun glided from the apartment and closed the dour after her. Marion stepped lightly to tne door and tried to open it. It was fast, locked upon the outside. She was yet a prisoner. She turned from the door, then recoiled in affright, for there before her, standing almost in the centre of the room, was George. The affright changed to a delirious, a frantic joy She rushed forward and threw herself into his arms. "Dear, dear George, I am with you once again bless you dearest, bless -you. Again, again I am happy."7 She cared not to ask how he had entered the room so quietly, noiselessly, so strangely-she was with her heart's idol once more. 'Yes," said Geobrge, in a low, sweet voice; "yes, dear wife, we meet again." "You will free me from here, will you not?" "I will, love, I will." "You, too. have been a prisoner, have you not? You was tak(en from me, my own dear husband; thank h( avcn you are now safe." ' Marion, I have not been a prisoner, but it was out of my power to rescue you'; but I think when I leave this room, when I give your pale brow my parting kiss--when those bright eyes have looked upon me as I leave you-when the last faint ca- 9 dence of my voice dies upon. your ear-you will be free!"' "Wht mean you, George? H do not under- ] stand you." "Marion. be seated: I have something to tell you.' "Strange!"7 murmured Marion, as she obeyed. "It is strange," replied George, "n3vertheless 1 you will find it true." "What true, George?-you talk so singular, so wild like." j "Marion, you must prepare for an eternal adieu a with me." a "No, no, George, you-you do not mean that."t "I mean this, dear Marion, I mean that I, having i accomplished the purpose for which I married b ; you-having attained that for which I had' beca 1 striving - having now no further use for you, h your love, or your presence, I mean that we must g seperate forever.' I do not love you, nor Hnever h did!"' s Marion listened to him like one in a stupor ; but as the last words fell from his lips she gave one wild, piercing shriek, and dropped to the floor an av senseless as though she were dead. t George stood unmoved, not a change in his coun. e tenance, not a quiver of his lip, nor even a inotiha of his eye; he was the same cold, calm, unimpas. I sioned being, as devoid of pity as he had ever been, Could he have ever loved? Could he have ever o possessed the kindred feelings of humanity which we all are supposed to have in common with each other? ' i Yes, once; and that was when years past e 1 had been beloved by another. "Poor Marion F! he muttered; "you are worthy the love of one whose whole soul could be yours: s not of me-for I love none-I hate all-despise all and fear none!" He turned toward the mantel and rang the bell I A servant unlocked the door and entered. "Attend to this lady-say to your mistr * when she comes, that I have gone." "I will." "And tell her, too, that I will not 'call .again- tell her that such is the command his. Reveren the Arch-Bishop." "I shall." "Of what has passed between you and I, should the lady who has now fainted, when she recover ask any question, you must know nothing." I will be silent in regard to that."' George passed from the apartment by the do b he had entered, by a small, single panel door, op posite to the one by which he had made his exit. The servan, after he had left, rang the bell and a monmeat afterwards the Nun and a second servant entered. The three lifted Marion from, the carpet and placed her upon the bed, then all but the Nun die- appeared, she seated herself by the bedside. Presently a person came in, a middle-aged, 1e- nevolent-looking woman. This was the one George had referred to, when he spoke of the mistress of the house, "How is she?" said the lady. "Gone again, poor creature-quite gone, nrs. Burtine. She's in one of her usual fits; when she awakes from this one she'll rave as she always has, about her husband and her father." "We must keep her quiet as possible," said Mrs Burtine. "Dear soul, she ought to have' been brought here sooner, she would have beeh easier Ilured than as it is; but it's all for the best. Did nis Grace, the Arch-Bishop, tell the person who arought her here anything of the nature of the zase, beyond that which I have been previously in- ,formed?" ' "No. Mr. George only left word that she was to 'be cared for." I'And this unfortunate girl is His Grace's niece, is she?"7 i "She is, Mrs. Burtine; we had'a great deal of trouble with her at first, but she's gradually been getting stiller like. Myself and all our Sisterhood watched over her as though she had been one of "She may never recover her natural senses. DIear me, what a pity ; did His Grace ever tell you the cause of her insanity?" "Not particularly, he only told our Lady Supe-- rior that she had been in a crazy way for nearly a year." Another deception. The house that the persecu- ted Marion was in was nothing more nor less than a private mad-house, kept lor the purpose of curing the rich and more wealthy portion of the lunatic world.' Mrs. Burtine was the proprietress, and Mrs. Bur- tine, albeit she was a zealous Catholic, neveithe- less was a good, kind-hearted woman, who, know- inagly, would not have done aught to harm any one. The day before the one upon which we have intro- duced her, she had received orders from the Arch- Bishop to prepare an apartment for the reception of his neice, whom he wished to remove from the Convent of St. Catharine; that his neice was de- ranged, and he wished if possible to have her cur- ed ; that she had been under the care of the Sisters of Mercy, but was too much trouble, and that she, Mr. Burtine, must not heed what she might say in her ravings. Mrs. Burtine never doubted the words of the Arch-Bishop, not in the least; he was too holy a man to descend to untruth, and George and the b "mm must be sharers in his goodness, or else they would not act for him. Thus Marion was a closer prisoner than ever, for sheI was regarded as a lunatic. Could she have een the rear portion of the building, both above and under ground, she would not have remained d in her senses long. The rear building was divided into cells, in which were confined the more violent of the insane. ' ' Marion lay without motion, scarcely breathing g for threeor four hours. Mrs. Burftine having now t become her sole attendant, the nun had retired to b recover from her fatigue. d Night shadowed the city-night, that shadows d with its ebon wings the guilt and misdeeds of hu- manity--night, the thief of passing time, which steals along with noiseless step, throwing its ob- scuring veil over many a scene where red murder reigns supreme. Night again shrouded the city- the honest daylight was no more. And night, too, had closed around the Asylum in which Marion was. Night had crawled in, creating equalityv doing what the Northern Abolitionist cannnot, making of white black--doing what Elohim never has done, in making everything wear one color, one hue of blackness. )f "Poor soul," said Mrs. Bertine, " she does not seem to revive yet. How cold her hands are-like s. ice-yet the room is warm. I will order a light: u it's too dark.?" The bell was answered by the servant. "Martha, bring me lights." The servant brought a a large glass fluid lamp, and placing it upon the table, withdrew. Marion began slowly to recover; her eyes un- I closed, but there was no brilliance in them ; they seemed to bear the leaden impress of approaching death. "My dear," whispered Mrs Burtine, " my child, - you will be better soon ; come, now-these spells- these fits will leave you after I have-" "Silence, woman!" almost screamed Marion, partially rising, and so suddenly that the old lady stepped back from the bedside. 1"Silence, woman! who are you-who are you, I say? I am not one of your class-I do not belong here in your den-no-no--my George will soon be here, my own George---my husband-- not the one who' was here just now, but the dear, good 'George who loved me so: he will be here and he will rescue me from your clutches -leave me woman! it is your fault-he-he is--" she 'fell back upon the bed exhausted. " She is dreadfully gone in her lunacy." said the old lady. "Dear soul, the Arch-Bishop must have had a bad time with her--a sad time in- deed!" Presently, Marion again revived. "TThe spas- modic ravings of her. mind relapsed into a, low murmuring, her voice sounding as sweet and clear as the voices of the angels we hIear in our dreams-like the melody the soft winds ot summer bear to our hearing. from the Eoliimn's chordls. "Come,. George," she murmured, throwing her arms across lher breast: ' come, George, let us go---let us go away--leave this place, let us go to anotnher clime--wander away to some land of beauty, where summer reigns the year round- don't stay here-they will put us in prison again- do George, come-my father will go withl us, too; and in some beautiful valley, away from the noisy page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] strife of cities and towns, we can be so happy and forget all; there, we could live for each other and the solitude of that life can be peopled with a thousand images of Love! ah, George, do come with me-and our walk surrounded by hills and mountains clad with verdure, their tops melting from our vision amid the vapors of the morning; the vapors, that fading before the noon day sun, leave all clear again; we can climb those mount- ains, too, and from some lofty peak, looking down upon our home, we can feel, that, being .so happy and joyous below--how--how much more so we will be when our souls shall have exhaled to the world beyond Eternity-come George, come!" "I must humor her. Dear, you shall see George as soon-yes, as soon as you get a little better." Marion was deaf to all but the wanderings of her own mind. She was evidently amid a world of her own-living in a world within a world. For a few moments her voice became almost in- audable. Again she spoke more plainly, then seemed as if she was listening to some distant sound. "No, no, father, those are not the death bells. No, no, that is music which we hear, sweet music, sounding through the shadowed dells, singing it- self to us upon the wings of thought. Music, music; ah, father, let me sing to you a roundelay -a song. I can sing, too-yes, yes." And in a soft, chanting tone, she half murmured half sang these words:- "Ah! think ye that this wearied soul May yet again be blithe and free- That changing seasons as they roll May bring a change o'er me? And say ye that this broken heart May yet be weaned from forms of sadness ; That aught in nature can impart , 1 To it one ray of gladness? I Ye ne'er have felt, ye cannot know The blight of hope, the withering gloom t That comes, when all we loved below Lies in the silent tomb. d Oh, there was one, one only tie, to Affections purest, tenderest token, That bound me to myself. Oh, why Was it so rudely broken? d 1 know, I know my prayer is vain; a Alas! I cannot breathe another; s There's madness in my burning brain, My dear, dead, dead mother. I'll fling the rosies o'er thy tomb- Fling them freshly gathered there- - "Ah, father, see, there comes mother, leading tl George; how pale mother looks, she seems to float ne id to us upon the air, wafted by .the. music's sound. It Id is getting darker, darker; the chimes of the vesper a bells are ringing. Save me, father, mother, ae George, save me, save me, the chimes hare chang- td ed. Now I hear the death bell-save me, save ig me." ; How she trembled and shivered. "It's growing R, cold, very cold. The stars, put them out, they t- must not shine so bright when it is so cold; no, no, 'n they should go home to their cells of light, far be- y yond the blue ether, away from sight of earth; the e - noon has rolled away to it's home." e Again her voice faded into the dreamy murmur. and finally the sound ceased altogether.' :e Yet her lips moved, and accasionally a smIle hovered around them, seeming like the transcient ,r gleam of a meteor against a cloud-filled sky. r Her young life was now, where it should have been in its bloom, waning fast. Even as her lips L- moved might she not be conversing with the tenants 1 of that invisible worl I, which all creeds recognise t as being an Eden of glory, a garden of joys and pleasure, where sin cannot exist, where sorrow is not known. , Mrs Burtine took Marion's hand in hers; it was damp with moisture. "She is talking now to herself; how she will r suffer when she revives from this crazed lethargy," said she, "yet I cannot aid her." Marion's hand suddenly grasped that of the old lady: the old lady clutched it firmly. "Do be quiet, dear." "You tell George," whispered Marion, "tell George, and tell my father and my brother--tell them, will you?" "Tellthem what, my dear?' "Tell them that I am going-I'll not be gone long-only a short time-I am going to see my new home-as I have seen it in my dreams; it is so glorious and radient, so beautiful they will like it too--I'll come back soon and take them there, too-indeed I will tell them-a--a flower grew up to health and beauty one night--and the dew- drops, when the morning sun shone upon it, glis. tened like diamonds; but when the evening came again, a surly, relentless frost passed by and chilled it: its color faded, its leaves withered and drooped, and it died; tell them as it died, an angel hovering near, gathered the perfume, that still lingered around the dead flower, and bore it through the upper air, and gave it to the Being who had created it: tell them this, will you?" Tears stole down the cheek of the old lady; tears of compassion for the deserted one who was thus suffering from what she supposed to be mad- ness. It was madness then, but it was reason when she rst came there. She turned her face away from Mrs Burtine. her and relaxed its hold and her arm fell against the de of the bed, but yet she breathed. i' She is sleeping now-I will leave her alone, the leep will do her good, and when she wakes she will ot suffer as she has, she will be much easier." Mrs. Burtine left the apartment, carefully shut ing the door after her. Ah! yes, Marion would be happy when she woke; she would be easier, for the dead know no Half an hour glided from the darkness of the ight to the still darker realms of the past, and [rs. Burtine stepped softly into the room. Marion's head was resting as when she had left er, the arm still laying upon the side of the bed. She took the lamp from the table, and coming lose to the bedside, looked at the sleeper. One glance was sufficient. I Marion was still asleep, her face calm and plaid, 1 he eyelids closed, the lips parted, as if about to peak. She was yet asleep, but it was not the sleep of arth, it was the slumber of Eternity. v ,Marion Argall was dead. The dream of life was over. The poison had one its work-not the poison that invites death by t estruction of the body, but the insidious poison of he mind, the poison of Jesuit plotting upon the ind, that had done its work. n She was dead; no more would hope be the hand i( aiden to her wishes'; no more weuld those pallid w ps whisper out upon the air the holy name of t} lother; no more would soothe a father by the f- aress of that little hand now stiffening for the mb. b Snow would come and melt away beneath the arm foot-prints of spring; spring would fade en ith its clouds, and buds, and dewy vapors before ex he full richness of summer, and summer ripen into he golden glory of autumn-all seasons, of sun- hi line or shower, would pass on in the grand march Da life to eternity-yet to her they would be no ore. A little mound, perhaps a headstone, bearing ,h er name, would be the only -visible memento left, p omark that an earthly race had been run by a ortal for' the prize we all seek-that of happi- t ess; out death held the stakes, and kept prize ' id winner. Marion Argall was dead. Earth lost a soul, and W eaven gained an angel. CHAPTER XVIII. AGAIN ON TIE TRAII-R. TRUMP AND HS KNIMFE. THE AGENT TO ENGLAND--THE NIGHT BEFORE THE MEETING. LET us take a glance at the affairs of Mr. Trump; ill Mr. Trump whose sole and principal occupation appeared to be, the pursuit not of happiness, but t- of a knife. It will be recollected that when the priest mur- Ie dered Mary, the wife of John Bolter, in the house in Roosevelt Street, Trump and Bruin were the only persons present; that together they knelt at ,e the bedside of the murdered woman and swore d revenge--and that together they went forth to fulfil their oath--that working for that fulfilment * they had been ever since-though time in its mu- tations had somewhat separated them and had g given them other duties--they still held true to- their purpose. Bruin had for a while possibly partially neglected the pursuit of the murderer in 1 the advancement of the welfare of his protector o- Josephine but he had never forgotten it. Trump, on the contrary, had but little else in f his leisure hours to attend to. By leisure hours, we mean the time he had to spare from the busi- ness by which he supported himself. His great idea of the knife was this; the thought had gradually taken possession of his mind, that. r the priest of whom he was in questrmight have either thrown the knife away with which he com- mitted the deed or had sold it; it was a singular, idea-a peculiar one to entertain, that a priest would do either one or the other; probably it was the singularity of it alone, that induced Trump to fasten upon it with such tenacity. He had searched in every quarter of the city both for his ideal knife and the one who had used it; watched at the doors of the Catholic churches ; entered them on Sundays: had handled over and examined the old rusty knives in every junk shop he could find. By the latter search he had began his acquaintance with Bommy Hoop, whose real name he had never known. Yet so far his search had been in vain. Trump was hurrying up Broadway, on the two. shilling side of the street, thinking of his favorite pursuit, when he heard somebody call his name. "Mister Trunp, say you, you young feller-Mis-, ter Trump.)" Trump looked around and beheld the same boy who had been with him on the evening of the dis- covery of John Sheriffs body, the boy who had the spoons. "Well, what do you want?" "Not nothing, 'n no way for myself." *' What did you call me for?" page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] "q C' yetu's wanted by somelody as is somebody else 'sides myself--as is a reg'lar genT'nlan. "Who is it?" "My protaketer, he calls himself, or suthin like that; he told me that whenever I should happen for to see you, I wos to tell you that he want- ed to see yer, and not nothin' else." "And who's your protector? Don't be all day telling me, I'm in somewhat of a hurry." "Why, don't yer know him? he's wot I calls a reg'lar up-and-doin' feller-it's Mister Bolter-" "Bltc(r! Bolter! Where is he?" "Thought you'd know him when you heard his name. Don't he know suthin more than common tho', don't he?" "When does he want me&-want to see me, eh?" "To night, er this afternoon, at his house, he's to be there most all the time; he's a great feller-a big feller, he is, he duz so much for me." ' Well, come along ; I'll go to his house now, im- ancdIatcly--come." "No yer don't." "What now?" "No yer don't do not no sich a thing'; Mister Bolter told me not to." "Not to -what?" "Why, not ter foiller any of his friends any- 'wheres, and I aint agoin' to do it, not no way, I adut, cos he's bin a doin' too much for me, he has, fur me to serve him that way. "Well, then, go on ahead and tell Mr. Bolter I am conin'."-- "11-I'll- lldo that-I'll do that cos that's not agin orders not no way-dont be ma-i with me tho -I want to tell you suthin-you wos a friend ot Coomrn y's was'nt you?" "Ctertaily I was." "I thought so-I likes' you fur it coz I likes' bliun ust rate but somehow I did'nt know it till he went and gone and died-I wos werry sorry he 4ld'nt die in the nateral way-he alles bought -everything of me I got 'er picked up through the 'day 'ceptin what I prigged outin other peoples pockets and sich like--don't be mad and treat Tne the way them big bugs duz-now ccz I tVlls yt,)u I llkes you-indeed I doz likes you next to titter LBoiter, jist as good." '1 rui;Ip shook the hand of ragged Nibs exclaim- ing a, h did so, "No, my boy, I like you too- 4Cieu': noW, we're even: hurry-on, I'll be there alolust as soon as you." On went ragged Nibsjostling his way through the iiia"s of humanity that all the day long strag- glr up and down this great thoroughfare; on he w:llt anxious to do all his friends especially Bolter and Trump a service. * Trump no sooner ascended the steps of Bolter's house, than the door was opened and he admitted. He was conducted to a front-room up in the second floor, there the servant left him, saying: "Mr. Boltel will be here in a moment." And Bolter came within the mintue-entered the room and met Bolter with a cordial grasp of the hand. Bolter was yet somewhat emaciated and care worn in appearance, caused by his confinement in Cathedral dungeon. "Ah! Trump, I am glad, very glad to see you- more happy than I have been ito see some others. I did not expet you so soon, but your early arrival is better, better than if you had delayed until morning. Did you see my messenger, or did he leave word for you?" "I saw him-happened to meet him in the street. in Broadway. What was it you wanted, Bolter, eh; anything particular?" "Yes, something that concerns both you and I materially." "Then I am yours, time and all. "All right-I have a question or two to ask you." "Go ahead--I'm open for investigation." "Are you, or have you ever been, acquainted with a priest known as Thaddeus?" , "-No, not that I am aware of." "Do you know--of course you do-why should I ask? you know Bruin, the confidante of Jose- phine?" "I ought to." "You were with him, a witness of a murder per- petrated some time since, in Roosevelt-street." "I was, I was--three years ago." "Would you recognise the countenance of the priest, or person who committed the deed." "I would-I have never forgotten his appear- ance." "And do you think Bruin would recognise him?" "As quick as myself, if not quicker." "Then come with me; if you recognize the one whom I show you as being the person, instantly accuse him of it; he has divulged to me that he knew'there was a murder committed there, and he has given me to believe that the person who was assassinated there, was my mother!" "Your mother!" '"Yes, my mother--Mary Bolter! and I know that my mother lived there-I know that she died suddenly, but did not know that she had been murdered. This Thaddeus is now a prisoner in my custody. I have him secure, and never shall he escape me until this mystery is unveiled; he says he did not commit the deed, but that he knows the murderer," "Force him to disclose all i" "No. he will yet betray himself; come with me "He is in the room above this." They left the npartment and ascended the stairs. Bolter paused before a door which seemed to be barred with iron in all directions. Taking a heavy key from his 'pocket he unlocked the door and stepped into the room, followed by Trump. And there sat the Priest, Thaddeus his wrists m-wnamented by a pair of handcuffs, and attached to his right leg just above the ancle a chain which ':?ttered h:i fiast to the floor. He looked like the ;:iTrsonification of despair. "Here, Mr. Trump, you see is my wild beast-- 'Mthis is the representative of a largt class of va- :igrants and scoundrels, known as priests." Thaddeus scowled. (' Sec, friend Trump, what a beautiful, amiable ; :mile he has. ' Very," said Trump. s "Is this the creed of Protestants, to heap scorn ;'and coutuniely, to insult and degrade those w;'ho -amnot deftend themSselves?" 'Silence. When'you are wanted to speak you 'Jdl be asked."- 'Thaddeus shook his manacled hands with fury. j' You," continued Bolter, "You, friend Thad- ,' ,icus, had your turn at me while I was in your pow- ,r. Now you are in mine, and you must take the the consequences. Trump, is this wretch the one r-?"ho committed the Roosevelt-street murder?" Trump replied without hesitation ; "No, it is not ; he is not the one, though he '.ooks mean enough to do anything, from a murder d lwn to stealing pennies from a blind man." "' Not the one. You will know this one though,. ' tis Thaddeus again, wont you." ' Never forget a face-I never have yet." "Very well, let us go down stairs to the front parlor and have a glass of wine, and leave this :arthly demon to himself; I know he'd rather .one." "'Curse you, curse you. May all the curses of' '.,ur holy Church fall upon you and yours," yelled Thaddeus, driven almost to desperation by the -.'taunts of Bolter. '"These walls are thick, so yell away, n'obody l' 'll hea:tr you,'" said Bolter. Bestowing an ironical wink upon the infuriated yet helpless Thaddeus, Bolter, followed by Trump, I left, the apartment and descended to the parlor. "Now, friend Trump'," said Bolter, "I have a samething else to tell you-something that will please you as well as satisfy your long continued thirst for revenge." c " Out with it-out with it." "I am now," continued Bolter, "thoroughly y oanvinccd that in a few days you will, through my s instrumentality, be enabled to see, and have ar- rested, the murderer of my mother. But what has ever become of my twin brother I know not. I do not think I would recognise him were I to meet him. In a few days there will be a singular meet,- ing; a sort of private examination of witnesses re- garding a certain aftfair, at the residence of Jose- phine I wish you, for particular. reasons, to be there. Will you comply with my request?" "Yes ; at what time?" "At half. past four in the afternoon; will that suit your convenience?"' "It will."' "In to relat'ori this inheritance there are many val- uable documents and letters, which heretofore have been in the possession of the Arch-Bishop, or rather in the keeping of a Nassau-street lawyer. I dis- covered their whereabouts through that cowardly dog up stairs. I sent a trusty friend of mine, who firom his enormous size is called Elephant, his real name being. however, Castle, after these papers, Mad he procured them, although not without diffi- culty. They are now mine, despite the shrewdness o 'my lord the Arch-Bishop ; and the day after to- ,norrow I shall send an agent to England, with full power of attorney, to act for me in bringing matters concerning the Morrell estate to a speedy and final adjustment." ' Bolter," ejaculated Trump, '. Bolt r, your are hrewd enough to have been a Jesuit; but who is the agent you propose sending to England?" " No less a personage than. my friend the Levi- athan." "The who?" "The human Leviathan, Mr. Elephant Castle, he will take the letters and documents with him, and wlken be arrives there you may rest assured there will be an exposure which will not agree very well with our friends the Jesuits."' "How long will be be gone?" "Not more than three months." "Then within six months you and the rest of the heirs will have possession of the property?" "Yes." "How many heirs are there?" "I have not as yet ascertained." "Josephine is one, is she not?" "She is, being a direct descendant of the Mor- rells." " Has the Arch-Bishop sent one of his numerous agents over' to England?" "Not yet, but he may; it is of little consequence whether he does or not, he and his clan of renegade cut-throats are now in my power, not I in theirs' My watchwords of Josephine and Retribution shall yet ring in their ears a knell of defeat to all their schemes." ' page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] "It is getting late, Bolter, I must be off. Is it necessary that I should be here again previous to the meeting at the residence of Josephine?" "No, at all; if anything should occur that would demand your presence I will send for you." "All right-be sure and keep a sharp eye upon your animal up stairs." -"Never fear that; after I use him and satisfy my private revenge I shall hand him over to the tender mercy of the law, and the law may possibly suggest to him the propriety of a few year's retire- ment to Sing Sing." ' That's it-good bye for the present." Trump placed his hat jauntily upon one side of head and departed, wondering to himself whether or not his friend Bolter was on terms of very par- ticular and close intimacy with Josephine. He still wore upon his coat the square plate of gold, and at his lodgings, carefully laid away in his trunk, he had the counterpart to it-the one he had found at the shop of Bommy Hoop. Had he examined the plate which he had found, he might have made a discovery of an unpleasant nature, and that discovery would have been what Bommy's real name was, and who he was. Time enough, though, for all these revelations. Let us pass over the intervening space of time between the day that Mr. Trump re-visited Bolter and the day fixed upon for the meeting-let us pass -to the day previous to the meeting. An old man, his grey and white hairs hanging uncombed about his face, was wandering along f Grand-street, gting with a sort of listless half t crazed air upon everything around him. Down Grand-street he goes, as if he had no set- o tied place of destination, as if he recked not whether d his next step placed him in the grave or upon a c throne. As he came to the junction of Grand-strcet with East Broadway a funeral procession passed him on r/ its way to the ferry. There were but three car- cl riages besides the hearse. '-Ah," said the old man, ' ah, there goes another morta:l-they have to come to it-death, where is t thy conqueror. I, I, I'll follow this procession Il -I love to follow these funerals; yes, I love to se follow these little processions from life to the rc- gions of tln dead. The dead are all good, there is at no tr.. chery or deceit with thcm-they are cold to oh fielnds ir fo-s, and silent to their faults or follies. ho &tv ,:l o,--so we do-yes, I'll follow this little cort, -.. ' On ilh. went, keeping close to the procession, of. lotinlg chiJishly at the dark hangings of the ( hearse, and ocean o7nally getting a glimpse of the Al coffin within. we On the ferry boat, 'creasing to Williamsburg. to 3 it The old man stands near the hearse, apparently to absorbed in the'speculative fancies which to the re- flective mind so often rise within us, while we stand eld in the presence of or near the dead. "Hallo, old man-any relation of yours?" in- on quired the driver, who had been noticing his strange follower; "any relation, or only going sty along for fun?" ;he "Fun," exclaimed the old main, "fan, there is ly not much fun about a funeral, is there? No, no, re- not for fun. Say, driver, tell me now, confidently, you know-tell me, will you?" "Tell you what, my old fel." "Who is it. eh?" of "The dead one?" "r "Yes." r- "Why, it's a young gal as died aday or two ago for want of something else to do." of "Young girl, dear me, a girl; and where are in you taking her too?" he "To Calvary Cemetry. Are you going out to see the corpse dropped, eh?" 1, "Me, me go? oh yes, I like to see burials--I It like to see such things as that. :My daughter may at want me some day to follow her there." "Come, old man-I don't know your name, but s. it's not the slightest dif about that-if you're goin' e why you can climb up here and sit alongside of r me, I want company; will you get up?" S The old man climbed up to the box and seated himself with the driver. g By this time the boat had landed and the hearse ; followed by the three carriages slowly moved on f toward Greenpoint. Arriving at the Cemetery sacred to the burial - only of good Catholics or those whom they may ' designate as being worthy of reposing in conse- crated ground. The coffin was lowered in the grave. As it sat by the side of the grave, while the ropes were being placed around it, the old man curiously peered over the shoulder of the driver, and read the inscription. One terrific yell more like that of a demon than that of a human being, from the old man, and he hurled the driver from before him and threw him- self upon the coffin. '"Here-here at last oh! ho! 1 have found you at last-found you-found you -my bonny one- oh, ho! found you at last-now-now we'll go home together--we'll go home together." "He's as mad as a March rabbit; I thought so before--what ails the man? Here, boys take him off;" roared the driver. '"Mad-mad--yes certainly ; so the world says. All's well--'ve found her-i've found her-now we'll go home together; yes, together, never more to be se'arated!-" On the coffin lid was a small silver plate shaped like a cross. It bore this name "MARION ARGA LL." It can be easily guessed who the old man was. It was her father or X ather the wreck of her father changed to an almost senseless being. Grief had destroyed his intellent; and having recovered friom the injury inflicted upon him by the ingrate George, had day after day wandered through the streets under the delusion that be might me'et his child, his Marion.. And now by the accident or rather chance we have recorded he had found her. Yes, he had found her; but not with the warm living heart that had so often throbbed against --not the form that had so often joyously passed before him. He had found but a corpse. The soul was now a tenant of another and perhaps a better world. We meet in life to part in death. "Marion-Marion look up! come, leave this place-dont deceive me--dont deceive your father ho never wronged you-you are not dead-no E "Why, this is the girl's father! Curious is'nt it t ow things will work round--who'd ever have " ,Iought it?" said the driver to his companions. "Fool! fool, that I am! this is some horrible rick. My child is not in this cofliin-she cant be -she was too young to die---she was too good to ave died without sending for her father-this is ome horrible piece of Jesuit pleasantry. Oh-no this is not my Marion, it is some one else. Ma J( ion! yet there is the name-the name I gave her he very name. Tell me some of You--tell me here is my child---is this her, is it-is it?" "Take him off--away with him--chuck him an into one of them empty carriages; we'll take the se old codger where he'll find what he needs more than he does his daughter; he wants a straight vi waistcoat worse than a child!" The men advanced to obey the driver of the fU hearse, but the old man started up and gave them of such a glare with his blood-shot eyes almost start ag from their sockets, that they recoiled, half do frightened. "This is my property; mine, all mine-this is far my child, and some of you have killed her-killed im my darling-curse you---curse you all--deny me; I way with you---I'll tear you limb from lim---I'll and cave not a shred of you-go away, I'll bury this body-I'll be your' Sexton, come let me be with th her, won't you? come now, I wont be noisy,'? and ef again he threw himself forward upon the coffin I embracing it with his arm. The men suddenly rushed forward and pinioned pici him their grasp, and despite all his resistance, serv )late' they finally forced him into one of the carriages and held hini there by main force. "'There, old chap guess his grace the Arch-Bish- was. op 'll pervide you with more comforttalde lodgings. ther than you've any idea of; hold him there till Iick had and I lower the coffin--the Sexton's a coming red yonder--the old fool ought to have been here long rate before this; just you hold him there a minit then the we'll be off:"The driver every few words, gave his trong indications by his peculiar accentuation of having some claim to Irish nativity. The Sexton we came and commenced throwing the dirt in upon the coffin. The first few shovelsfull rattled down rm sounding dismally; then came the regular heavy his sodden noise. The drivers mounted their boxes led and the Sexton was left alone. Thus were the remains of the young bride, the broken hearted Marion Argall followed to the grave by a mockery of empty carriages and heart- less attendants ; and thus did her father meet her is Ah, Fate! fate, what have you not to answer er for? Fate, that around the pathway of Life, ! scatters its toils to entrap alike the watchful and the careless. Thou art oh Fate, the true Salathiel, it the one that will tarry until He comes-He whose re mandates are the children of an all-ruling destiny, Back to the city did they bring the old man; ;e what became of him will appear hereafter. e s CHAPTER. XIXL JOSEPHNrE--TTHE MEETING-THE DOUBLE ARREST- THE OATH FULFILLED--ON TIlE TRAII NO MORE. COME we again to the residence of Josephine. It was on the morning of the appinted meeting, I and Josephine was seated in a front room of the second floor, seated at the window, apparently awaiting the arrival of some expected guest or visitor. The room was neatly though not expensively furnished, and seemed to have been used as a sort of sitting apartment. "He should have been here an hour ago; why does he stay? I sent word for him to be here this morning particularly-he could not have again fallen into the hands of the Jesuits; no, no, that is impossible." A footstep sounded upon the front steps. !"Ah, that is he--indeed it must be." She arose and walked to the door and listened; she heard the hall door open; she heard Mary's voice and that of some man-it was one she had never heard before; directly the door closed and Mary was de- scending the basement stairs. For the first time an indistinct shadow like sus- picion flashed upon her mind in reference to her servant. She called "Mary, Mary." page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] ' Y( ., I am coming.' "Mary came up. "What is it yon wish?"' : W'.', :.as that at the door, a visitor?" Mary looked her mistress full in the eye, and an- ecrced :- "It was only the paper carrier, he that leaves the mo:-:i:ag ppcers." "WI:let did he want?" "N otiiag,'that is, only wished, ma'am, to know if Mr. Frederick Vollenburg lived next door-that was all." "Al'ltr this, Mary, when any one comes to the door. riu imatter who it is, let me know of it imme- diately-do you understand?" "I do." "It is very odd that the carrier did not ring the 'bell as he usuall he usually has done, very odd." "i He did not ring it, ma'aum." "How did you know he was at the door?" "Oh, I saw him from the basement window go up the steps."' "Very well, you may go." She had hardly spoken before the bell rang. i"There, go and see who that is ; if it is Mr. Bol- ter, show himni to this room; if it is any one else, conduct them to the front parlor." "I shall, ma'am." Mary descended and opened the hall door. The visitor was Bolter. Josephine met him at the door of her room and led hinm in. "I am so glad, Abraham, that you have come. I have waited so impatiently that I had almost threatened to give you a scolding when you did make your appearance." 1" 1 could not help it, Josephine; I was making preparations for this afternoon-all is now in read- iness. Where is Bruin?" "I do not'know-he was not to come here until two or three o'clock." , Josephine."' "Well, ry ' Sir Oracle,' whaf now?" "I have a serious question or two to ask you?" "Have you?-out with your catechism, but don't be impertinent; come, commence, father con- fessor." "Not a father confessor yet." "Proceed." "I am in earnest, not joking. Will you do what you promised one day, a month or two since?" "And what was that?" "Tell me your history, that is, such portions of it as 1 may not have hearad." "And why are you so anxious." "That I will explain hereafter. Do Josephine, 'we have plenty of time now, and are free from in- terruption." "On one condition I will." "And what is it?" "That you will never call me Josephine again-- call me by the same familiar name that he used to. Call me Joe-only Joe." "Well, then, Joey." "Not Joey-Joe, simply Joe. Your voice when you utter it seems familiar, it brings back to my memory the recollection of other days, of other times, when I little dreamed, of being what 'I now am ; but never mind, such thoughts make me feel sad-makes all around me seem lonely-let it be Joe, simply Joe."' They had seated thermselves side by side upon the sofa. "Joe, will you now comply?' "Yes, willing ; you may think me tedious-when you do tell me." "No, you cannot tire me, for I love to hear you talk." "Flattery-but be quiet and listen." And thus, as told by herself. was JOSEPuINE'S STORY. As regards my birth and the days of my childhood you already know ; you know that I am not what the world wudld call of genteel parentage ; that I am not the one uhoma the rigid moLralst would cite as an example; but my origin I could not help. After my mother died, God bless her' memory, I was left aloe in the world, almost friendless- almost destitute even of an acquaintance. I was then in the fourteenth year of my age, and was as handsome, excuse rmy vanity, as any girl could wi h to be. My mother had depended for support : upon a legacy of which by'sone legal process or other I was for four years deprived. Then I was in Philadelphia a stranger ; what to do I knew not -finally noticing an advertisement in the papers of' a Theatre I saw that they wanted young girls for the ballet, I as a last resort applied . and was accepted and made my " first appearance upo: any Stage" as a Swiss peasant girl ; my salary was , small at first but through a passing fancy the stage * manager had taken for me and for my general neatness of appearance both on and oil the stage it was increased so that I was enabled to get along very well; aibout this time I obtained while look- t ing over a box of old letters and papers which had belonged to my mother ; a knowledge of the fact of my being 'an heir to an immense estate in Eng- f land which bore at that time and still bears the name of the Morrell inheritance. I also foufld upon further search that my mother's sister was living in New York and was married to Mr. Ar- gall; that is one reason why I have since thoug the cause was unknown to all save myself take such an interest in the fate of Marioe Argall hr daughlcr who has since married a negade an by hin she has been conveyed heaven only knows where.-but of her and her fate, I will speak here- after. I remained at the Theatre the whol] season and while tlsere or rather while I was under an engagement there I met and became acquainted with the person who has been the cause of one half of my misery -with George Wheeler at least that was the name le was known by-ther? was a mys- tery at least it seemed so to me--his ostensihle business at that time was . that of a stove dealer and had or pretended to have a store or an inter- est in one on Markvt Street; he boarded at the Lame house with myself and ingratiated himself in, my favor by using all those artifices whichl were likely to win the intention of one as thoug:Atless and as innocent as I was. I will not recount to you ail the conversation that occurred between ua-or how by his unwearied attentions and his sophistry he finally won miy consent to b. his. I gave him my love, my affection. One day he came up stairs to the ladies' parlor or sitting-room, aa apartment about the size of this one-and' furnished very nearly like it. It was in the middle if the after- noon and I was alone-trimming a dress which I was to have worn on that evening in one of the pieces at the theatre. He came in-and I noticed almost immediately after he entered a strange flush as if of excitement upon his face. I asked him what the matter was, lie replied "Nothing, merely the fatigue of' walking. ' He seated hn- self beside me even as you are now-I had laid down my sewxing and he took my hand in his I Shall I tell you all the events of the succeediing hour? Shall I detail to you the incidents of that one short hour of my life-in which were born all my after miseries? encugh for me to say that when he left the room I was in tears weeping bitterly. We were to have been marriet the next Thursday--but how easily is the hopeful fabric which the imagination of the Present rears for the Future destroyed by the destiny which that Eututre conzeals. When lie left that room, I was no longer innocent. Like the serpent in the fable-he had i charmed, fascinated and betrayed me. Delirhious- intoxicated with a passion that thrilled thriough my heated veins-my whole befig -my soul seemed almost to have exhaled from i sn mortality into an existence of indescribable extac'y--I fIorgot in those few wild maddening moments everytthin,. honor, virtue-all-all-I fainted-an d when I recovered he was gone. Oh how bitterly I cried. i but the tears of all the angels could riot blot the t record out. I wis lost-I was no longer pure-I t was degraded-and the single sin of my mother r had been visited upon me. Weak and faint though I 'r I was--though my mind was filled with anguish, d yet I tried----oh how I tried to recover my corn- ,s Sosure-.and to appear as calm and as innocent as e- I was be:fore!. The very eflhbrts I mat de almost ap- le peared to betray the truth, to speak too Plainly to r' be mistaken-fallen-fallen! "That night I went to the theatre ia usual; f that nighlt. after the perfbrmance was ev er as usu- t al, George was waiting to see me hon. I took his :- rm and we walked four or live sqmu:a. s I; silence, neither of us speaking a word, then ;:-e beoan by protesting to me that the errors co;a..-sitted in the - afternoon were his fault., and his a!"- e; that it would never be known-that our v, iding being near at hand would conceal all, and :.r,.t we both would forget the past in the happiness of' the present, s Singular as it may seem, the very remembranc e of that which should have bound him to me th!e closer made me almost loathe the sight of hint,.,;. I I found that my heart, instead of beating resspos,ive to the echo of his voice, instead of throbbing with love at , the sound of his vows of constancy, only harbored t a single thought, only a single sense--th.! t of ha- tred., My love had changed to hate. I -,:id noth- ing to hirm, however, until the next day when he called I met him in the lower or public hall-I re-. turned his look of admiration and love with scorn and contempt, and when he asked me could he have a few moments of private conversation. rela- tive to our wedding, I told him indignatly.' NO, never again, George, speak to me of omarriai-e-g never again dare to speak, to man, either nirso- or elsewhere--henceforth we are st langesrs--c(imies -foes--deadly foes if you will.!!, never cross my path ; what -has passed ;'trv,'-cn us until now you must, as you can, fiorget; 1 never will. Now go, go; and keep from ily :igh ty , I camn protect mryseilf:.' le didi not answer inc. li;t givin r mne a terrible look tirned and let 1hie rtit..:np--letl the houtse. Whether it was love I do ::,.t linow, biut for weeks tifter that he pc'rsevecrinsly followed me. until in order to free. myself' from his odious presence I camnie to this city, previouss, hiow'-Cver, to leoaving' PLiladclihLiia, one day on retuirnlin finom rehears-al I found. a letter addressc:d to as", which hlad b,-mn left by the penny postman-it ior thile cit vpo4t mark. 1 opened it. and foul in it a ;draft four one thousand dollars. The note ioncr. Iv statedt that for the termti of eight years [ wcuM, icceive that amount, no matter where I might happen to be that I would receive it thlercl;ti'.r oi the first day of the first month of each year--the note bore no signature nor any mark whnlo'chy I could trace the identity of' my unknown .lcmn,'icfor. Since that time I have received the yearly remittance regularly, in accordaiscc with is I Ir:1mui;se of that note, but as yet have not found the mysterious page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] donor. I came to this city, and after a week's sojourn at a hotel I rented this house, and here I probably may remain for some years to come. George, my destroyer, is now in this city, but I know not what to think of his actions; I hear from private sources sometimes that he is a Catho- lic priest, that he has been seen attired as such in the street-at other times that he is a man of plea- sure, and then again I hear that he is. the agent and chief busine ss man of a large establishment in the lower part of the city. One fact I do know, that he has capped the climax of his guilty purpoes by a marriage with Marion Argalll; but there is a destiny awaiting him which he does not dream of The rest of my history you have known from your own personal knowledge-lafom what I may have related to you on past occasions. I have now told you all you wished 'or." "And I anm n tified," said Bolter; ",thut since you hate tte one whom you once loved so fondlly, why do you sk mate to call you as /he ddid--to call you Joe?)" "Abraham, even about the recollections of those we late, if they have ever been fiiemlls to us, there lingers a faint thought ol' resfpect, a kind of way 1 ward charm, which ,omnelillm, stitles the hatred ' with a soothng f ni'liig, akin at ;least to fpity.' "Ah, I comprl hend you. 'h'h first love of your heart would indeeled have Kten. a treasure to an upright ,uan-llto o;e who coull pplreciute tlose qualiii. wich .so (endear your s x to ourl Jose- phine. answertq' me one mlore qulestion. " W"n it"h pleasure, Abrllham; but you h:ave forgot- ten--rl:'nem!qr , from you to Inc, no more Josephine J(e is tl, word." "Weell, then Joe. Have you any doubts in re- t gard to this firol charge against you?" "Have I? curious question that is, when I have before me the evidence of its falsity, in your pres- ence. You, I believe, are the person whom I was to have been condemned for murdering. Why did you ask that?" "Merely for a reason which I will explain to you at some other time." "Mr. Tramp will be here will he?" "Yes." And Mr.--Mr.--what's his name your agent I mean?" "Oh-Mr. Castle-Elephant Castle as we call in him-yes, he will also be here-he sails to-morrow ir for London. lagg-d Nibs, the boy who resced me and aided me in the capture of Thaddeus will be here, and the animal himself will be here-so that altogother I think we will have a jolly meet- ing."- "And I have Bruin as my adviser-and as my to accuser I have the sharp, shrewd Mr. HODIN, als unl k's Morrell who, after he gets affairs fixed for my con- I demnation will be rather astonished at beholding ne. living, the very person whom he has asserted is I dead." *ar "He may not come at all-- what then?" ro- "No fear but what he wail come-although he in even may know of your escape--rest assured, there ea- are other reasons that will induce him to come at nd the appointed time-reasons which, though uu- he known to us now-may be the consummation of at another plot." "y "Let them plot away--truth and justice must a eventually triullmplh. The power of these fiends, anf thank Heaten,will ere long be among the things ur that were." ye "But before that time what evil may they not Id - nccomplish--what desolation, what destruction may they no' cause around thLem. The fabric of :e their ambition m1lay fath but its ruins may crush y, those who have sappedl its foundations." ,11 "That will ever I)e." "I lholp not." Some other conversation ensued not of material interest, after xwhich Josephine descended to the ', parlors in order to '-m!ke the 'necessary arrange- Imenlts toward the reception of the expected vis- itors. r Uoltcr remained seated upon the sofa thinking of the strange career of Josephlline-o the vicissitudes of fortune and fate which had brought them to- gether so closcly-thhat had united them in one common cause against tihe disciples of Jesuitism. Let us pass on to the hour of the meeting. Exactly at the time appointel the emisalry of the Arch-Bishop was admitted to the front parlor by Mary. Josephine received him, and motioned him to a seat, but she did not observe the rapid signal made by her guest to the girl. Mary answered it by a nod. "Yes, it was all right," the nod meant; but what was all right? We snall know soon. Hodin was followed by three men, all apparent ly what the world would, judging from their ap- pearance, call gentlemen. They also were motion- ed to be seated in the same silent manner. Hodin's features gave evidence that he was fear- ful of the result-he glanced uneasily upon his companions. Next came Bruin, who rolled into the apartment in his usual slovenly, ungainly way, and seated himsell by the window; he did not even bow to, or notice in any way, Hodin or his friends. oosephiine sat down opposite to Bruin and con- versed in a low tone, until the sound of carriage wheels gave notice of another arrival. "That completes our company," whispered she to Bruin. "Do you keep quiet and say nothing- unless you are spoken to." "All O R., ma'am,"-answered Bruin, looking ou osf the window. Three persons came from the carriage, ascended the stairs and were, escorted to the back parlor. These three were the servant of Bolter, the priestly prisoner, Thaddeus, and the faithful Ragged Nibs. Mary entered the front parlor, as she did so Bruin aroase and motioned her to retire. She obeyed, and 8 as followed by Bruin. "Now look ye here, I've bin watchin' you all mornin' and I've jist got one thing to say to you, and that is, jist you walk down to your barracks in the kitchen, and stay there; when you're wanted you'll git sent for, and after we git through up here we'll have a little bizness up here for you that wont be so very profitable; now mosey, will you?" Mary's face became pale as a sheet-she trem- Iled, for she saw that despite all her caution she was suspected. Muttering a half intelligable ac- quiesence she descended to the basement. Bruin opened the door of the back parlor and called, "Mister Nibs, here, I want you." Nibs came out. '* Now, young chap, I want you to do me a fa- vor, I want you to mount guard by the head of them basement stairs and keep that girl down there-every body else that comes up you can let 'em pass." *' I'll come for to go to git to do it in less nor three shakes of a ribnosed sheeps tail." "That's right, now for fmin." Bruin returned to his former position by the window in the front pairlor. Bolter cautiously came down from the upper apartment and joined his prisoner and the ser- vatnt. Ten minutes after this Trump arrived, Josephine S then re-entered the front parlor and addressed Mr. i Hodiu. I "Mr. Hodin, are you ready to allow these; gentle- o men to state to me in your presence what facts t they can be able hereafter to testify to regarding i the supposed murder of Mr. Abraham Bolter?" Hodin trembled-it was out too evident that p beneath the calmness and apparent nonchialence of Josephine, there lurked a feeling of triumph. With b an assumption of security which he did not by any b; means feel he answered: I "Quite ready, and I am glad to find that you are so too. These ara the gentlelen I arid the p, note which I read to you referred to as being able to substantiate that which I before communicated in to you." "Before proceeding turther, M1. Hodin, will you at allow me to introduce to you my only evidence, pr the only refutation I am able to procure--wil you consent to an introduction?"7 1 1 ut The smile that passed over the fair countenance of the speaker calsed Hodin to shiver in every ed limb. His companions looked at each other and at their leader with astonishment. Certainly -anything to satisfy you---to relieve you from this most painful position." Josephine gave a signal to Bruin who, partially opening one of the folding-doors between the two parlors called out. "Mr. dhbrahana, olltcr ."' A fearful spasm thrilled through Hodin. He saw that at least with Josephine his game was up, that his stakes were, lost. Ip Bolter ellt;'ed anld bowned to those before him. u This," s: ,l Josephind proudly, taking him by "the hand, " this is the man which these tort hy gentlemen, leti thither by you, my dear friend t- Hodin, would have sworn I murdered. You see e he looks very life-like, for a mangled corpse!" I- odin arose from his seat, his eyes glaring like those of a maniac and yelled "Ah! ha! you have 1 foiled me in this-you have entrapped me in the first scheme--but beware-for now-even now you shall feel what the vengeance, and what the power - is of those you call Jesuits!" f He struck the heel of his boot violently upon the t floor producing three distinct raps. These raps were answered immediately by three more from beneath-from the front basement. Josephine and Bolter, conltident though they were of their success, interchanged glances of alarm. "What can this mean!-treachery?" almost in- voluntarily murmured Josephine. "Aye, woman, treachery!" shouted Itodin. c"Treachery even in the midst of your Protestant household-here where you fancited yourself most secure. NoTW comes my turn to triumph. Now, Abraham Bolter, you shall answer for your crimes before a tribunal of your country as you call it, our country as it really is-and we will see whether the native-born Americans can save you. Michael Malroony, come in and seize your lprisoner."' The three, Bruin, Josephine and BoBte, were paralyzed at the daring audacity of the Ian whomn they supposed would have been completely awed by the toils with which he had but a rmomenet before been surrounded. They were almost speechless-dumbfounded. The door leading to the hall opened and two policemen entered. These policemen had been admitted in thie morn- ing by Mary, and it was the noise of the door closing after them which had attracted Josephine's attention while she was in the room up stairs, previous to the arrival of Bolter. Mary did not know however that her lover Thaddeus, the priest, was in the back parlor. page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] "There" continued Hodin, as the policemen came in, " there, Michael, in the name of the law, in the name of our holy religion, I bid you take in custody that vile murderer and the son of a traitor" whom lie has slain, that man, Abraham Bolter-I here denounce him as the murderer of his own father!" Horror! horrore! almost screamed Josephine. "Now who triumphs-who are the victors now, you or we?" exclaimed Hodin his whole frame quivering with the excitement of the moment. "Oh my Friend, my friend! you too are in the toils-you are again to be sacrificed to these ruffins--this terrible accusation," said Josephine her voice sounding husky through the choking of' her agony, and as she spoke she turned and bent her head upon Bolter's shoulders. Hodin almost roared with his demoniac delight, at the apparent misery of Josephine. "Never mind," said Bolter calmly, "do not heed him or these hirelings; I will yet come forth' from this ordeal unscathed. They may arrest me but they'll not keep me long--as for this arch fiend, the agent of another arch fiend worse than himself now that he has cast off the peacefulness of his most holy religion and assumed the attributes of his true nature-I now will respond to his kind- ness. Bruin, call Trump.7" At the name of Trump Iodin shuddered; the name sounded familiar to him, and well it might Bruin obeyed Bolter's order and Trump ap- peared through the opening of the centre doors. "Mr. Trump," said Bolter, " do you recognize any person here as being the criminal of whom we have heretofore conversed of, and endeavored to find?" One glance at Hodin wuas sufficientfor Trump. "Yes! yes!" he exclaimed, ," there is the m!"an "Make your accusation then," said Bolter. "I accuse," said Trump in a loud clear voice that fell upon the car of HODIN like a death knell "I accuse that man whom you call Hodin with the murder of Mrs Mary Bolter the mother of Abra- ham Bolter. Ah I thought I could find you some ' day, for myself and another person swore as we knelt beside the body of the murdered woman that we would avenge her fate by the detection of the s assassin; now that oath is fulfilled for I havec found the wretch, you are he ; I would have known you among a thousand-officers do your duty- arrest him and I will accompany you in order that he shall not escape. "Now." exclaimed Bolter, sternly, " who are the tl victors now? who has triumphed now? Your charge against me, for the murder of my father, is t( pnd will be proved to be as false as your own lying a -tongue; but the one now made against you for w )n the unprovokedassassination of my dear mother k.: v, true; your guilt betrays itself in every linanmein n of four hang-dog, popish countenance; we'll b r,- fellow prisoners for a while, but will not be kong -I you have played your game well- against a w^E'leI, n and timid woman, but a Trump has turned ui;, you little expected. Now beware! for your time is short in this world, if human law and divine- , retribution are of any avail. I had another, w;it e ness here, probably an intimate friend of yours. lbu as I find we shall not need him you will forpa whki:. e be debarred the pleasure of seeing him." e "And you, Abraham," said Josephine, faintly. are now a prisoner-you, whom H-" f "Only for a few hours ; but that man is a pns., t oner only to be released from his bonds upom scaffold ; see, Joe, how he trembles-what a eowas:c ,a man is who has to keep company night and da2- with a guilty conscience. Come, Josephine, 5e' t Bruin conduct you to your private ap-ad ' ment, where you can recover from the effects a. this scene." "No, I will not, I have other business now thar-, reposing-- I am strongerl: now-much better. Imcy shall'we manage your prisoner, Thaddeus?" "Let Bruin attend to him until my friend Castlk- arrives. He will then take care of him, and con- vey him back to my residence. Come, officers, L am ready, but if you choose you can use my ca:- riage, which is at the door, it will be better thae walking-what say you?" "We're agreeable-are you, Michale? "Certainly-ride, by all means." "I am not guilty-this is some heretical con- spiracy-some protestant plot!" yelled Hodin. "Can't be helped," said the policeman who had accompanied the one apparently in the employed Hodin. "You must go with us; I'm bonndim take any man when another makes a charge &: boldly as this one has." This policeman threw a peculiar signrd to Trump. It was evident that the two were members of an American Order, for as the policeman stepped to- wards Hodin, those in the apartment noticed that he and Trump both wore the golden device--a, small, square plate, bearing upon it an invces: cross. Hodin noticed this, and saw that resistance was useless. "I submit, but will ere many days turn the scale upon my prosecutors." "Then let us be off. Good bye, Josephine, Ibe the present," said Bolter. A few moments more and the four, ITodiun Bol- ter, and the two policemen, were in the carriage. and Trump, taking his seat with the driver, 'ie5' were rapidly making their way to the Tombs. The Tombs, fitly named, for its cells are the graves of guilty men's hopes. Half an hour more and Mr. Castle arrived Learning from Josephine how matters had trans- pired, he procured a carriage, and accompanied by Bruin, conveyed Thaddeus back to his former place of confinement. Thus a double arrest was consumnated, and thus Trump, finding the long-sought murderer, was on the trail no more. Thus was the oath of Bruin and Trump fulfilled. On the evening of the day of these occurrences an Irishman was seen leaving the house of 'Jose- phine, carrying on his shoulder a small trunk. 'Ie was followed by a girl, closely veiled, habited in a dark plaid calico dress, and a thick, heavily-fring- ed shawl. The girl was Mary the servant of Josephine. Bruin had discovered her locality and through his advice she had 'been discharged from a place where she had received kindness and good treat- ment-where she might had she been grateful and true have remained for years. She was now thrown upon the world once more, while her priestly lover was a prisoner to the very ones whom she had attempted to deceive and betray. And now she met her reward. CHAPTER XX. THE ARCH-DISHOP AND HS ADVISER-SIMON CLOUD's IDEA-THE RESULT OF THAT IDEA. His most worthy and Exalted Highness and deputy vice chancellor to the court of Pope Pius, the Arch- 0 Bishop had heard of the proceedings at the house t of Josephine and the only particular circumstance that annoyed him was the mention by Bolter, of the other witness. And well the Arch-Bishop knew who that wit- ness was, for there was but one other that could d be of any avail toward the triumph of his foes and a that one was his Secretary and confidante Thad- I deus. He would have given the Cathedral that .loomed J up against the smoky sky opposite his dwelling, l could he have discovered the slightest clue to the place where Thaddeus was imprisoned': all he was s certain of was, that he was yet in the keeping of sC Bolter, but where? that was the question. I He sent for his legal adviser the amiable Hyena h Simon Cloud, and Simon Cloud soon made his appearance. "Simon have 'you heard of the arrest of Bolter?" "Yes. "h "ie "And of the arrest of his accuser, Mr. Hodin?" "Yes, I heard that Bolter was arrested for the I. murder of his fatther!" "- "Which will be proved upon him." y "And I heard that Hodin had been publicly e denounced by a Mr. Trump as the assassin of Mr. Bolter's mother; ah! that was cunning-it was a is cunning affair all through-was'nt it very cun-- u ning?" "Not so cunning Simon, but what we can over- reach it ; you know too that Thaddeus is yet il s the hands of Bolter or his friends'!" "Yes, that is a cunning piece of business too- sharp fellow, that Bolter. Now 1 have something to tell you which you will relish equally as well as the loss of Thaddeus." "More ill news, I suppose." "Yes, but it was so cunning-too much so to, please me." "What was it? out with your report, Simon." * "It is not a report, it is truth. The papers, tho letter, the communications and the documents con- cerning the Morrell inheritance are lost." "Lost! lost! you are joking, Simon." "Yes, lost to us. I was robbod of them in my own office, in open daylight, by a ruffian who call.. ed himself Castle." "Damnation,"' exclaimed the Arch Bislhop, sud- denly. "Hard word that for a Bishop to use-not very cunning that." "I cannot help it, that is, H-did not' mean what I said; but how could he have thlns robbed you?" "Very easily; by a cunning device he, this. Brobindag ginlit, Castle, brought with him three or four more ruffians, and made me, compelled me, ta deliver up the box containing them, and then left-telling me to give their respects to you." "Who is this Castle?" I have since ascertained that he is the agent of Bolter, and that three years ago he sailed for Lon- don. He was at the house of Josephine yesterday and to-day ; with him he has taken the documents. He has gone to England to claim thie inheritance, on the part and petition of Abraham Bolter and Josephine Morrell. Of the twin brother of Beollter lie knows nothing." Then our course is plain-George Bolter inust sail in the next steamer-- must follow himii and pre- sent himself in his own proper character, as George Bolter, the brother of Abraham Bolter, and the heir to the estate." "That is what I was about to propose. In re- gard to the examination of Bolter and Hodin, it will not be best for me to attend. I will see that the prosecution of Bolter is ably seconded and page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] that no pains wh! be spared to accomplish his conviction. As for Hodin, I will contrive that he -sihall escanpe--he shall be saved at all risks."' '"Good! good! but the loss of those documents hlas well nigh ruined our hopes of the possession of that inheritance. ": I have an idea." "Well--what is it?" To eresh thb cause of Colter beyond redemp- Ihow?' ' By min(s of the press. Are you willing to pay :lbjrally lor it?" "Y; Ces." "Thenu you can see how cunning things will oiperate." "But how do you propose to do this?" "Easy. my estimate is this. The editors of the "Daily Brimstone" can be bought body and soul for one thousand dollars ; the editor, or rather the supposed editor is a Scotchman and a staunch Catholic. He is utterly reckless of his character- -caring mnore for the dollars than he does for a repu- tation; for every ten dollars he has ever received as black mail, he has on the average received five -cowhidings. besides numerous smaller insults, such as nose-pulling, kicks, punches in thie eye, and , knock-downs ; you know him, his name is Nebbett --Jem Nebblet."' "Well, go on; I like your idea of the editorial portion of tee newspaper bnsiness , go on-one thousand dollars for Jem Nebbett." "Then" continued Simon, "then next, the "Daily Soap-bubbleism.- The editor of that wont cost us anything-hot a cent, providing we can get -a conference with him." "Why not?" "Because lie believes in everything he hears and a good deal more than he or anybody else ever i heard of; his name is Greedy---his influence dloesnI't amorunt to much, but still it helps---every o drop of rain helps create a flood. He will head the articles we give him to publish 'A NEW AND ASTOUNDING DEVELOPEMENT OP BARBARISM'7 and he'll make it all -ism." "Well, go on." "As for the balance of the dailies, they are issued by the proprietors only for the purpose of private circulation among advertiscrs.' t "The weeklies, what of them?" "Their name is Legion ; the editors of these vie with the proprietors as to which can be the poor- i est in purse and the richest in debt, and so far, they have come out even. They can all be bought cheap--they'll publish whole columns of abuse or a very small suni of money; they will kick up, -more public excitement for the purpose of privately uis earning a few dollars and a bottle of bad wine, he than the trumpet of the angel Gabriel, were he to blow it to-morrow, calling all to Judgment. The its independence of these papers amount to about what of their circulation does--boundless in report, nothing in reality; put them down at one hundred dollars each."' "How many o!' them wil be necessary?" "- Ten is all we need ; the remaining ones never set up original matter--their editorials and miscel. lany being copied and stolen from their contempor- iy aries." "An exalted idea you have of the independent press of New York."7 " "It's a cunning one though, isn't it? and a true one; as for the papers which are attached to our cause, they dare not do otherwise than what your of grace may dictate, for you can crush or elevate d the m, just as you choose--but to the rest, they dare r do-and do, accomplish anything whether it be h right or wrong."7 "There is another planet in the constellation of L- papers you have forgotten." '( What one is that?" "The Sun." "Oh, I did not forget that-but it would be a 1 useless expenditure to conciliate that, although it t shines for all. I believe it has been hiding its light under a bushel, or else has suffered for some time under the affliction of an eclipse; it is invalu able only as a reminiscence of the post or a post- office directory." "Then we shall not need the luminary." "No, not at all unless we wish the object for which we are striving defeated.' "I will send a draft or check for the amnount to your office Simon, this very aftei'noon ; how soon will this be accomplished the result I mean of your idea!" "In two days' time you will see articles in each of the Journals I have mentioned." "That is soon enough. Ah, the iiberty of the press, Simon, it is a glorious thing, so the Protest- ants say!" "'Yes," said Simon drily, yes but it has very poor lodgings in the purses of those who worship it most; it feeds upon money and when the food is taken out ot its lodging, it either expires or else flies to another lodgting better filled with the shiners." And after indulging in a glass of wine with the Bishop Simon returned to his oflce leaving his patron to indulge in such speculative reveries as might rise in his imagination eitfher in reference to the schemes of the present or his ambitious hopes of the future. Success to-day and a cardinal's hat to-morrow. i Ah Arch-Bishop remember in your day dreams :and your night ones too, when Ambition whisper to you "you will be a Cardinal" that if you ar thus exalted by his Holiness the Pope, you will be Ihe only Irish Cardinal that has ever existed. Remember it! CHAPTER XXI, AN EXAMNATION--ITS RESULT. EVERsaBODy knew Justice Pump--and Justice Pump's acquaintance with everybody wasnot limnited by any means. He was a perfect human institution of dignity standing upon ignorance. His knowledge of common law did not possess anv great extent, but then the amount he seemed to know was prodigious, and woe generally befell the unfortunate Pettifogger, who dared to contro- vert aught than Majestic Pump might suggest. From morning until night did Justice Pump sit , in judgment upon such erring mortality as erring, Policemen'would place at the bar of justice; and looking over his spectacles with an air of'stunning profunditysend the trembling culprits to---tht Tombs. Early in his youth the back of his head had scraped acquaintance with his shoulders, or else the shoulders had commenced an upw-u-d growth after the head and body had settled inmo a quiet repose. Had the head Leen turned aroundcl the awful Pump would certainly have been a very full breasted man. His eyebrows were heavy and shag'y,. hangi h over his small grey eyes like dead grass over the edge of a precipice. His contour was rcmarkable for being entirely unlike anybody else, renderedtl more so by a certain looseness of his clothing. co Like many of the wooden species of Pumps the Justice was compelled to submit to the inflic- tion of suckers'--such as ex-policemen, deputy Sheriffs and various no noithings, who for the most part rejoice in fainlt hopes of being one day trans- e formed from the grub hanger into full blown gen- n uine Policemen. As for the Justice's politics, he believed more in holding office than in either democracy. abolitionism dis or whiggery. As to Native Americanism hr Catholicism tihey were questions of too trivial importance for himr to notice, any further than was absolutely neces- sary in the business of his ofice. Bolter and Ilodin were arraigned before him on n the morning after their arrest at the house of Jo- "o sephine. The Court room if we may so designate it, was cr as the reporters say, "filled at an early hour," T inside of the railing were congregated all kinds A ams and qualities of Lawyers and Lawyer's clerks, the pers clerks continually looking importait and continr- are ally brushing their hair to a perpendicular position I be and whispering to each other, which of course gave the crowd outside a vast idea of the mystery which always shrouds the intricate maneuvers of legal proceediings. Bolter ant Hodin were scated in front ofJustice Pump, andT on ach side of them were reDorters and a few favored spectators who had obtainied an inside sieat; everything was in readincss to proceed with the exception of the presence of the Coumcil c for the prisoner Mr. Bolter. Ilodin's attorney was an already armed and equipped as the law directs with a collection of witnesses, sufficient in number to have convicted the 'President and his cabiiet of nyhigh treason. to It is a curious fact in regard to Judicial pro- i ceedings that in a criminal case, the Attoney for the defendant is invariably late. iMr. Bolter haid "engaged Mr. Muffin Mulcy, at a it venture, his own attorney not being in the city. g From Muffin Muley's account of' himself lihe was the d .undoubted hyad and front of the legal profes sion of g New York, and public opinion too, had given him no small degree of reputation for bein a " rg'lr dtwister." igare'r ^ All wcroe anxiously waiting the arrival of Muley, and prcscently he entered and a general buz of the crowd announced their anticipation of sport in ease hle should cross examine the witnesses fbr the pI' posecntion. Hie was a stout square built man, with a fore- hiead the upper portion of which he kept shaved in oeder to make it look high; his hair was long, and resembled in color, the complexion of cor01silk--being a sort of faded yellow. He took his seat' and with a bow to the Court and a pompous nod to MaIncJunk the Counsel fobr IProsecution announced himself as ready fbr tihe examiniation. Behind iMr. Miuley had followed a little whiy faiced lad, bearing a green bag filled with law books and newspapers, which the learned Counsellor emptied upon the table in sucli a mannecr that said as plainly as dumb show could, "There's the law dispute it if you dare!" The Court being convened, and several police- nmen having worked thence lves inio a state of Ilerspiration and hoarshess by crying "order," silence,' and a very red fticcd apoplectic looking reporter having twisted himself through tihe crowd' and taken his seat, Counsellor Mac Junk arose and "opened for the prosecution.': Thie people of the State of New York against Abraham Bolter for the crime of murder. The complaint had previously been read. After several premonitory coughs and legal page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] grins-and after several times pushing his hands into his pantaloon's pockets and taking them out again and after picking up and laying down every- thing upon the table within reach, he commenced, Your Honor,--whew,-your Honor, this case wherein the people of this State are the complain- ants and in which, your honor, in which I should say Abraham Bolter is the defendant and in which he is charged with the awful and fearful crime of murder-is in my opinion, one of the clearest, one of the plainest in evidence against the accused that I have ever had the pleasure--I mean the-the-- a-that is to say,one of the most atrocious on record--yes I repeat your honor one of the most atrocious on record-and I trust that stern justice will sweep from existence, into the labrynths of nothingness all such monsters that would commit such a crime in such a manner, at such a time, in such a cool and deliberate method! And your honar, that is if your honor please, there is no doubt but that a foul murder has been committed and that the murder has bcen com- mitted upon the body of an old man and soi,;Iody must have committed the murder, and I am oi i:' opinion your honor that we shall be able clearly and distinctly to pfove that the prisoner at the bar Mr. Abraham Bolter is the guilty monster that has thus in one short fatal moment deprived of exist- ence an ag-ed father. The first witness we shall call after reading the verdict of the Coroner's Jury will be Mr. Cark. The learned counsellor took his seat. "Mr. Clrks" was called, but being a modest man did not mi:ake his appearance until he got every- body in a lei'rful state of excitement. Mr. Carlk was examined thoroughly by Mac- Junk and then handed over to the tender mercies of Bolter's counsel, Mr. Muley. Nothing particular was elicited fromn this witntess excepting a good deal of grumbling at being call- ed. Smithson was next called, and did'nt ap- pear to know anything in regard to the matter, ex- cepting that. he found the body in the basement of which he was the lessee. A whole series of witnesses were called, some of whom were blessed with memories which were ex- tremely short, while other had various indistinct recollections of having seen and heard something, but when and where was entirely beyond their comprehension. Then two .witnesses were brought forward by the prosecution, upon whom it relied to sustain the al- legation of murder. They were two miserable looking specimens of the genius Celt--unshaved-uncombed, and as dirty as though they never had known what soap and water were ; the only fluid, from appearance, they had indulged in was appalently very bad gin. These were the suborned hirelings of the Jesuit- the arch-Jesuit-the Arch-Bishop. These were the men who were to swear away thc- life of a fellow-being, because that fellow-being happened to be a Protestant. And now let us turn to other scenes and to other places. The last act of our Romance is upon th stage, but are yet many more scenes, very many more scenes--'changing one after the other-chang- ing even as we change; changing, moving on, like. the shifting views of a panorama. We will now leave the trial scene for a while,. and follow to another land the agent of Bolter- follow him on his errand of Right. CHAPTER XXII. ELEPHANT CASTLE AT CASTLE INN, LONDON-AN AI- VENTURE AND A TTORY. Mn. ELEPHANT CASTLE embarked on the day ap. pointed'for England, taking with him all the docn- nim:ts and papers necessary to prove the claims of' Josel,'.ine and Bolter to the Morrell inheritance. After a passage of fifteen days the steamer land- ed at Liverpool, and Mr. Castle, the day after hfe first placed foot upon English soil, found himself' in the great metropolis of the world- -London. While in Liverpool he made the acquaintance o( an English rmerdcantile traveller, who directed hiin to stop at the Castle Inn, sign of the Castle anet Wolf, strand. To this place he proceeded, and was ushered by the obsequious, waiter through a tap-room filled with jolly, round-faced Johnny Bulls, into the par- lor. After depositing his baggage, or rather seeing that it was done, in time room consigned to him as his lodgings, ho entered the tap'room, and seating himself at one of. the tables and calling for a glass of wine, listened to the conversation of those around him. Everything was new and strange to him--cus- toms, habits, manners-all so widely difierent froll what he had been accustomed to, it was no wonder that Mr. Elephant Castle was somewhat aston- ished. There was some kind of a convivial club meeting: on the evening in question, and the parties were evidently waiting for some one to arrive, previous to their adjournment to the club-room. "You Brittons enjoy yourselves,"' observed Cas tie, to a busy individual who sat opposite to him. Oh, well, yes, we do sometimes--we likes oue alf-tand-alf, and we likc, conviviality. You're a foreigner, an American, arnt you?" "Yes, a Yankee." - "I thought you was." W'ly?" "Iccaue Yankees always begin a conversation, I've always noticed that; but will you join us this evening up stairs-consider yourself at home. You can csee some amnusement you little dream of; ,ve're waiting for Hookey, the drumner." 'Hiookey, the drummer; who's he?" "11uokey? all London knows him, and he knows all London. He's a crazy sort of a chap, that al- ways carries a huge drum with him ; he got his name of Hookey because he never does anything for a living but tell Theodore Hooks strories-he never tells any one elses, but then he tells 'em so well and goes at it so queer-he knows Theodore iHooks stories backwards. He's agoing to tell us one to-night-you'll like it, I know you will." A tremendous thumping upon a bass drum inter- rupted the speaker. "Ah, here he comes. Now we're complete." And Hookey, the drummer, entered; he carried in front of him, suspended by a large, broad, leath- er strap, a ponderous drum. large enough in all conscience to drum the whole English Army out of existence. He was a tall, thin built man, apparently about thirty years of age, with restless, uncertain sort of eyes, and a cadavenous face-his cheeks mostly covered with a short stubble beard. A general shout greeted him as he came in, which he answered by a few terrific thumps upon the drum. " Now, Hookey, take a pot of beer, and then come up stairs and give us one of your stories." "Not my stories-not mine-(a thump upon the drum,) not mine--Mr. Theodore Hook's, gentlemen, Hooks, (three thumps on the sheepskin). Here's your good health, and here's to the health of hlook," he swallowed his ale and then again bela- blored his drum. The party adjourned to the club-room which was on the second floor, where, after the ale was served up, Castle's fat friend introduced him to the club. Then Hookey commenced the preliminaries to is story, which preliminaries consisted of a series -of fantastic poundings on both heads of the unfor- tunate drum. 'Come, out with the story-out with it." "Yes, I'll commence-it's one of Theodore Hooks best." And then Hookey, interlading the story all the way through, at almost every period, with a few taps, tap-tap, rap-tap-tap, related the STORY OF WTIE GYPSEY. In the vicinity of Bedford-square lived a respec- table and honest man, whose name 'the reader will be pleased to consider Harding. He had married early ; his wife was an exemplary woman, and his son and daughter were grown into that companion- able age at which children repay, with their society and accomplishments, the tender cares which pa- rents bestow upon their offspring in their early in- fancy. Mr. Harding held a responsible and respec- table situation under Government, in an office in Somerset-house. His income was adequate to all his wants and wishes; his family was a family of love, and, perhaps, taking into consideration the limited desires of what may be fairly called mid- dling life, no man was ever more contended or bet- ter satisfied with his lot than he. Maria Harding, his daughter, was a modest. unassuming, and inter- esting girl, full of feeling and gentleness. She was timid and retiring; but 'the modesty which cast down her fine black eyes, could not veil the intellect which beamed in them. iHer health was by no means strong, and the paleness of her cheek- too frequently, alas! lighted by the hectic flush of her indigenous complaint-gave a deep interest to her countenance. She was watched and reared by her tender mother, with all the care and attention which a being so delicate and so ill-suited to the perils and troubles of this world demand. George, her brother, was a bold and intelligent lad, full of rude health and fearless independence. His char- acter was frequently the subject of his father's con- templation, and he saw in his disposition, his mind, his pursuits, and propensities, the promise of future success in active life. With these children, possess- ing as they did the most enviable characteristics of their respective sexes, Mr. and Mrs. Harding, with thankfulness to Providence, acknowledged their happiness and their perfect satisfaction with the portion assigned to them in this transitory world. Maria was about nineteen, and had, as was, nat- ural, attracted the regards, and thence gradually chained the affections, of a distant relative, whose ample fortune, added to his personal and mental -good qualities, rendered him a most acceptable suitor to her parents, which Maria's heart silently acknowledged he would have been Io her, had he been poor and pennyless. The father of this in- tended husband of Maria was a man of inportmnce, possessing much personal interest, through which George,the brother of his intended daughter -ii-law, was to be placed in tlhat diplomatic seminary in I)owning-street. whence, in due time, he was to rise through all the grades of office, (which, with his peculiar talents, his friends, and especially his mother, were convince 1 he would so ably fill,) and at last turn out an ambassador, as mighty and mys- terious hs my Lord Belmont, of whom probably my readers may know-nothing. The parents, how- ever, of young Langdale and Maria Harding were page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] agreed that there was no necessity for hastening the alliance between their families, seeing that the united ages of the couple did not exceed thirty- nine years, and seeing, moreover, that the elder Mr. Langdale, for private reasons of his own, wish- ed his son to attain the age of twenty-one before he married; and seeing, moreover still, that Mrs. Langdale, who was a little more than six-and-thirty years of age herself, had reasons, which she also meant to be private, for seeking to delay as much as possible a ceremony, the result of which, in all probability, would confer upon her, somewhat too early in life to be agreeable to a lady of her habits and propensities, the formidable title of grand- mamma. How curious it is when one takes up a little bit of society, (as a geologist crumble and twists a bit of earth in his hand to ascertain its character and quaility,) to look into the motives and manceuver- ings of all the persons connected with it; the va- rious workings, the indefatigable labors which all their little minds are undergo'ng, to bring about divers and sundry little points, perfectly uncon- nected with the great end in view; but which, for private and hidden objects, each of them is toiling to carry. Nobody, but those who. really under- stood Mrs. Langdale, understood why she so readi- ly acquiesced in the desire of her husband to post- pone the marriage for another twelve-month. A stranger would have seen only the dutiful wife ac- t cording with the sensible husband; but I knew t her, and knew that there must be more than met a the eye, or the ear, in that sympathy of feeling be- teen her and Mr. Langdale, which was not upon p ordinary occasions so evidently displayed. Like t the waterman, who pulls one way and looks an- i other, Mrs. Langdale aided the entreaties and a seconded the commands of her loving spouse, h touching the seasonable delay of which I am speak- ol ing; and it was agreed that immediately after the di coming of age of Frederick Langdale, and not be- P' fore, he was to lead to the hymeneal altar the deli- sn cate and timid Maria Harding. The affair got whispered about-George's fortune tv in life was highly extolled--Maria's excessive hap- c piness prophesied by every body of their acquaint- pa ance; and already had sundry younger ladies, H daughters and nieces of those who discused these h matters in divan after dinner began to look upon be poor Miss Harding with envy and maliciousness, and wonder what Frederick Langdale could see in str her; she was proclaimed to be insipid, inanimated, va shy, bashfiul, and awkward; nay, some went so far an as to discover she was absolutely awry. Still, how- th ever, Frederick and Maria went loving on, and poc their hearts grew as one, so truly, so fondly were "T they attached to each other ng George, who was somewhat of a plague to the the :pair of lovers, was luckily at Oxford, reading'away ty- till his head ached, to qualify himself for a degree ler and the distant duties of the office whence he was sh- to cull bunches of diplomatic laurels, and whence re were to issue rank and title, and ribands and cross- rs. ,es innumerable. ty Things were in this prosperous state, the bark of so life rolling gaily along before the breeze, when ch Mr. Harding was one day proceeding from his resi- "dence to his office in Somerset-street, and in pass- o0 ing-along Charlotte-street, Bloombury, was accost- ts ed by one of those female Gypsies who are found d- begging in the streets of the metropolis, and espe- cially in the particular part of the town in question. it "Pray, remember poor Martha the Gypsy," said it the woman; "give me a halfpenny for charity, d Sir." r- Mr. Harding was a subscriber to the Mendicant, a- Society, an institution which proposes to check "beggary by the novel mode of giving nothing to It the poor; moreover, he was a magistrate; more- i- over, he had no change, and he desired the woman r to go about her business. All availed him nothing: --she followed him and reiterated the piteous cry, - "Pray, remember poor Martha the Gypsy." - At length, irritated by the perseverance of the - woman-for even subordinates in government hate L to be solicited importunely-Mr. Harding, contrary to the usual customary usages of modern society,. turned hastily round, and fulminated an oath t against the supplicating vagrant. ".Curse!' said Martha; "have I lived to this? Hark ye, man, poor weak hauty man! Mark me, look at me!" He did look at her, and beheld a countenance on fire with rage. A pair of eyes, blacker than jet, and brighter than diamonds, glared like stars upon him; her black hair dishevelled, hung over her olive cheeks, and a row of teeth, whiter than the driven snow, displayed themgeves from between a pair of coral lips, in a dreadful smile, a ghastly sneer of contempt, which mingled in her passion, Harding was rivetted to the spot; and what be- tween the powerful fancination of her superhuman countenance, and the dread of a disturbance, he paused to listen to her. "Mark me, Sir," said Martha "you and I shall meet again. Thrice shall you see me before you die. My visitings will be dreadful, but the third will be the last." There was a solemnity in this appeal which struck to his heart, coming as it did only from a vagrant outcast. Passengers were approaching; and wishing, he knew not why, to soothe the ire of the angry woman, he mechanically drew from his pocket some silver, which he tendered to her. "There, my good woman, there," said he, stretch- ing forth his hand. "Good woman!" retorted the hag. "Money now? H that have been cursed? 'tis all too late, proud gentleman-the deed is done, the curse be now on you." Saying which, she tossed her ragged red cloak across her shoulder, and hurried from his sight, across the street, by the side of the chapel in the recess of St. Giles'. Harding felt a most extraordinary sensa- tion; he felt grieved that he had spoken so harsh- ly to the poor creature, and returned his shilling to hispocket with regret. Of course, fear of the fulfilment of her predictions did not mingle with any of his feelings on the occasion and he, pro- ceeded to his office in Somerset-house, and per- formed all the official duties of reading the opposition newspapers, discussing the leading politics of the day with the head of another de- partment, and of stgning his name three times before four o'clock. Martha the Gypsy, however although he had pooh-poohed her out of his memory, would, ever and anon, flash acrqss his mind: her figure was indelibly stamped upon his recollection, and though, of course, as I before said X a man of his firmness and intellect could care f nothing, one way or another, for the maledictions c of an ignorant, illiterate being like a gypsy, still c his feeling whence arising I know not-prompted d him to call a hackney-coach, and proceed en 1 voiture to his house, rather than run the risk of tl encountering the metropolitan sibyl, under whose 5 forcible denunciation he was actually laboring. ft There is a period in each day of the lives of re married people, at which, I am given to under- a, stand, a more than ordinary unreserved commu- al ication of facts and feelings takes place; when ju ll the world is shut out, and the two beings, who re are in truth but only one, commune together, freely and fully, upon the occurrences of the past day. At this period, the else secrets of the draw- ing-room coterie, and the tellable jokes of the s after-dinner convivialities, are mutually inter- an changed by the fond pair, who, by the barbarous in Customs of uncivilized Britian, have been separ- as ated during part of the preceding evening. Then ho it is, that the husband informs his anxious consort 'C how he has forwarded his worldly views .with such dir aman-how he has carried his point in such a im quaiter-what he thinks of the talents of one, of hi the character of another; while the communicative he ife gives her view of the same subjects, founded he spon what she has gathered from the individuals sho composing the female cabinet, and explains why pro he thinks he must have been deceived upon this con point, or misled upon that. And thus, in recount- e ing, in arguing, in discussing, and descanting, the mer blended interests of the'happy pair are strength- stra eed, their best hopes are nourished, and perhaps, The eventually realized. ear 'een A few friends at dinner, and some refreshments in -the the evening, had prevented Harding from saying a ing word to his beloved Eliza about the gipsy; and her perhaps, till the "witching time," which I have the attempted to define, he would not have mentioned St. the occurrence, even had they been alone. Most isa- certainly he did not think the less of the horribkI rsh- vision; and when the company had dispersed, and ngs the affectionate couple had retired to rest, he stated the the circumstance exactly as it had occurred, and ith received from his fair lady just such an answer as ro- a prudent, intelligent, and discreet woman of sense er- would give to such a communication. She vindi- ;he cated his original determination not to be imposed ng upon-wondered at his subsequent wUilingness to !e- give to such an undeserving object, while he had es three or four soup-tickets in his pocket-was some- er, what surprised that he had not consigned the bold "s intruder to the hands of the beadle-.and, ridicul- is ing the impression woich the hag's appearance is seemed to have made upon her husband's mind, id narrated a tour performed by herself with some re friends, to Norwood, when she was a girl, and when is one of those very women had told her fortune, not "one Word of which ever came true-and, in a d discussion of some length, animadverting strongly n upon the weakness and impiety of putting faith in Cf the sayings of such creatures, she fell fast asleep. e Not so Harding? he was restless and worried, and felt that he would give the. world to be able to f recall the curse which he had rashly uttered against the poor woman. Helpless as she wa n - and in distress, why did his passions conquer his ] judgment? Why did he add to the bitterness of refusal, the sting of malediction? Ilowever, it was useless to regret that which was past-and, wearied and mortified with his reflections, he at length followed his better half into that profound slumber, which the length and subject of his har- angue hadl so comfortably insured her. The morn- ing came, and brightly beamed the sun-that isw as brightly as it can beam in London. The office hour arrived; and Mr. Harding proceeded, not by Charlotte-street, to Somerset-house, such was his dread of seeing the ominious woman. It is quite impossible to describe the effect produced upon him by the apprehension of encountering her; if he heard a female voice behind him in the street, he trembled, and feared to look round, lest he should behold Martha. In turning a corner he proceeded carefully and cautiously, lest he should come upon her unexpectedly; in short, wherever he went, whatever he did, his actions, his move- ments, his very words, were controlled and con- strained by the horror of beholding her again. The words she had uttered, rang incessantly in his ears; nay, such possession had they taken of him, page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] that he had written them down, and sealed the document which contained them. "'Thrice shall you see me before you die! My visitings will be dreadful; but the third time'will be the last!" "Calais" was not imprinted more deeply on our Queen's heart, than these words upon that of Harding; but he was ashamed of the strength of his feelings, and placed the paper wherein he had recorded them, at the very bottom of his desk. Meanwhile Frederick Langdale was unremitting in his attentions to Maria ; but, as is too often the case, the bright sunshine of their loves was clouded. Her health, always delicate, now appeared still more so, and at times her anxious parents felt a solicitude on her account, new to them; for symptoms of consumption had shown themselves, which the difficulty, although they spoke of them lightly to the fond mother and to the gentle patient, treated with such care and caution, as gave alarm to those who could see the progress of the fatal disease, which was unnoticed by Maria herself, who anticipated parties and pleasures and gaieties in the coming spring, which the doctors thought it too probable she might never enioy. That Mr. Langdale's punctilio, or Mrs Langdale's excessive desire for apparent juvenility, should have induced the postponement of Maria's mar- riaga, was indeed a melancholy circumstance. The agitation, the surprise, the hope deferred, which weighed .upon the sweet girl's mind, and ti'de doubting dread of something unexpected, which lovers always feel, bore down her spirits and injured her health; whereas, had the marriage been celebrated, the relief she would have ex- perienced from all her apprehensions, added to the tour of France and Italy, which the happy couple were to take immediately after their union, would have restored her to health, while it insured her happiness. This, however, was not to be. It was now three months since poor Mr. Hard- ing's rencontre with Martha; and habit, and time, and constant avocation, had conspired to free his mind from the dread she at first inspired. Again he smiled and joked, again he enjoyed! society, and again dared to take the nearest road to Som- erset-house; nay, he had so far recovered from the unaccountable terror he had originally felt, that he went to his desk, and selecting the paper wherein he had set down the awful denunciation of the hag, deliberately tore it into bits, and wit- nessed its destruction in the fire, with something like real satisfaction, and a determination never more to think upon so silly an affair. Frederick Langdale was, as usual, with his be- trothed, and Mrs Harding enjoying the egotism of the lovers, (for, as I said before, lovers think their conversation the most charming in the world, because they talk of nothing but themselves,) when 1 his curricle was driven up to the door, to convey him to Tattersall's, where his father had commis- sioned him to look at a horse. or horses, which he r intended to purchase; and Frederick was, of all f things in the world, the best possible judge of a f horse. To this s eeping dictum, Mr. Harding, 1 however, was not willing to assent; and, therefore in order to have the full advantage of two heads, which, as the proverb says, arc better than one, the worthy father-in-law elect proposed accompanying the youth to the auctioneer's at Hyde-park-corner, 1 it being one of those few privileged days when the laborers in our public offices make holiday. The r proposal was hailed with delight by the young , man, who, in order to show due deference to his h elder friend, gave the reigns to Mr. Harding, and, e bowing their adieu to the ladies at the window, s away they went, the splendid cattle of Mr. Lang. f dale prancing .and curvetting, fire flaming from their eyes, and smoke breathing from their nostrils [ The el(er gentleman soon found that the horses were somewhat beyond his strength, even putting his skill wholly out of the question; and, in tub- ing into Russel-street, proposed giving the reins to Frederick. By some misunderstanding of words, in the alarm which Hardlng felt, Frederick did not take the reins which he (perfectly confounded) tendered to him. They slipped over the dashing iron between the horses, who, thus freed, from restraint, reared wildly in the air, and plunging forward, dashed the vehicle against a post, and precipitated Frederick and Harding on the curb- stone; the off-horse kicked desperately, as the carriage became entangled and impeded, and struck Frederick a, desperate blow on the head. Harding, whose right arm and collar-bone were broken, raised himself on his left hand, and saw Frederick weltering in blood, apparently lifeless before him. The infuriated animals again plunged forward with the shattered remnant of the carriage, and as this object was removed from his sight, the wretched father-in-law beheld, looking upon the scene with a firm and an unnioved countenance- MARTHA. THE GnISY It was doubtful whether the appearance of this horrible vision. coupled as it was with the verifica- tion of her prophecy, had not a more dreadful effect upon Mr. Harding than the sad reality before him. He trembled, sickened, fainted, and fell senseless on the ground. Assistance was promptl procured, and the wounded sufferers were carefully removed to their respective dwellings. Frederick Langdale's sufferings were much greater than thse of his companion, and, in addition to severe frac- tures of two of his limos, the wound upon the head presented a most terrible appearance, and excit the greatest alarm in his medical attendants. ir. Harding, whose temperate course of life was great- ly advantageous to his case, had suffered compara- tively little; a simple fracture of the arm and dis- location of the collar-bone (which was the extent of his misfortune,) were, by skilful treatment, and implicit obedience to professional commands, soon pronounced in a state of improvement; but a wound had been inflicted which no doctor could heal. The conviction that the woman, whose anger he had incurred, had, if not the power of producing evil, at least a prophetic spirit, and that he had twice again to see her before the fulfilment of her, prophecy, struck deep into his mind : and althoulh he felt himself more at ease when be had commu- nicated to Mrs. Hardiug the fact of having seen the 'Gypsy at the moment of the accident, it was im- possible for him to rally from the shock which his nerves had received. It was in vain he tried to shake off the perpetual apprehension of again be- holding her. Frederick Langdale remained for some time in a very precarious state. All visitors were excluded trom his room, and a wretched space of two months passed, during which his affectionate Maria had never been allowed to see him, nor to write to, nor to hear from him. While her constitution was gradually giving way to the constant operation of solicitude and sorrow. Mr. Harding meanwhile recovered rapidly, but his spirits did not keep pace with his mending health: the dread he felt of quit- :ing his house, the tremor excited in his breast, by a knocking at the door, or the approach of a footstep, lest the intruder should be the basilisk Martha, were not to be described; and the appearance of his poor Maria did not tend to dissipate the gloom which hung over his mind. When Frederic at length was sufficiently recov- : :cred to receive visitors, Maria was not sufficiently I well to visit him: she was too rapidly sinking into 1 *an early grave, and even the physician himself ap- peared desirous of preparing her parents for the worst, while she, full of the symptomm ti prospec- tiveness of the disease, talked anticipatingly of t future happiness, when Frederick would be sui- t vciently re-established to visit her. At length, how- c wever, the doctors suggested a change of air--a sug- c gestion instantly attended to, but alas! too late ; the weakness of the poor girl was such, that upon a o trial of her strength, it was found inexpedient to attempt her removal. In this terrible state, separ- v ated from him whose all she was, did the exemplary 1 patient linger, and life seemed flickering in her g flushing check, and her eye was sunken, and her a parched lip quivered with pain.. It was at length w agreed, that, on the following day, Frederic Lang- w dale might be permitted to visit her :-his varied d r' fiactures were reduced, and the wound on the head t- had assumed a favorable appearance. The car- i- riang was ordered to convey him to the Iardings a- at one, and the physician advised, by all means, tt hat ria should be apprised of, and prepared for, d the meeting, the day previous to its taking place. a Those who are parents. and those alone will be a able to understand the tender solicitude, the wary d caution, with which both her father and mother r proceeded in a disclosure so important, as the med- ical man thought, to her recovery-careful that 1 the coming joy should be imparted gradually to their sufiering -child, and that all the mischiefs re- sulting fr'om an abrupt announcement, should be - avoided. e They sat down by her-spoke of Frederick-Ma- - ia joined in the conversation-raised herself in s bed-by degrees hope was excited that she might soon again see him-this hope was gradually im- proved into certainty-the period at which it might occur, sDoken of-that period again progressively diminished : the anxious girl caught the whole truth--she knew it-she was conscious that she should behold him on the morrow-she burst into a flood of tears, and sank down upon her pillow. At that moment the bright sun, which was shining in all its splendor, beamed into the room, and fell strongly upon her flushing countenance. '-Draw the blind down, my love,' said Mrs. Harding to her husband. Harding rose and proceeded to the window. A shriek of horror burst from him--"She is there!" exclaimed he. "Who?" cried his as- tonished wife. "She-she--the horrid she ' Mrs. Harding ran to the window, and beheld on the opposite side of the street, with her eyes fixed at- tentively on the house--iMAiTu'A TTHE GYSY. "Draw down the blind, my love, and come away; pray come away," said Mrs. IIrding Harding drew down the blind. ' What evil is at hand?" sobbed the agonized man. A loud scream liom Mrs. Harding, who had returned to the bed- ;ide, was the horrid answer to his painful question. Maria was dead! Twice of the thrice had l1e seen this dreadful fiend in human shape; each visita- tion was (as she had foretold) to surpass the pre- ceding one in its importance of horror. What could surpass this? Before the afflicted parents, ay their inlocent child, stretched in the still sleep of dcath---neither of them believed it true-it seemed like a horrid dream. Harding was be- wildered, and turned, from the corpse of his be- loved, to the window he had just left. Msartha was gone-and he heard her singing a wild and joyous air at the other end of the street. The servants were summoned-medical aid was called in-but it was all too late! and the wretched parents were doomed to mourn their loved, their lost Maria, page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] t eorge, her fona and 'affectionate brother, who was at Oxford, hastened from all the academic honors Iwhich were waiting him, to follow to her grave his leloved sister. The effect upon Frederick Langdale was most ireadful; it was supposed that he would never re- tover from a shock so great, and, at the moment so unexpected; for, although the delicacy of her con- atitution was a perpetual source of uneasiness and solicitude, still the immediate symptoms had taken 2 favorable turn during the last few days of her life, and had re-invigorated the hopes which those who so dearly loved her, entertained of her eventu- al recovery. (Of this distressed young man I never, indeed, heard anything, till about three years after, when I saw it announced in the papers that he was married to the only daughter of a rich west-country baronet, which, if I wanted to work ont a proverb here, would afford me a most admir- able opportunity of doing so.) The death of poor Maria and the dread which ber father entertained of the third visitation of Martha, made the most complete change in the affairs of the family. By the exertion of powerful 1 interest, he obtained an appointment for his son to act as his deputy in the office which he held; and, having achieved this desired object, resolved on leaving England for a time, and quitting a neigh- c borhood where he must be perpetually exposed to c the danger which he was now perfectly convinced was inseparable from his next interview with the , weird-woman. George, of course, thus checked in o his classical pursuits, left Oxford, and, at the early f age of nineteen, commenced active and official life, not certainly in the particular department which a his mother had selected for his debut; and it was w somewhat observable, that the Langdales, after the li death of Maria, not only abstained from frequent at intercourse with the Hardings during their stay in cl England, but that the mighty professions of the th purse-proud citizen dwindled by degrees into an be absolute forgetfulness of any promise, even condi- pr tional to exert an interest for their son. Seeing t bis, Mr. Harding felt that he should act pruden- pc tially, by endeavoring to place his son, where, in pt the course of time, he might perhaps attain to that in "tnation, from whose honorable revenue he could vi ievc like a gentleman, and " settle comfortably." th All the arrangements which the kind father had do propo ed, being made. the mourning couple pro- le: ceeded on a lengthened tour of the Continent; and a it was evident that his spirits mended rapidly, e -when he felt conscious that his liability to en- the counter Martha was decreased. The sorrow of ros mourning was soothed and softened in the common the course of Nature, and the quiet, domesticated loc couple sat thumsedxes down at Lausanne, "the mh uas world forgetting, by the world forgot," except by )rs their excellent and exemplary son, whose good his qualities, it seemed, had captivated a remarkably: pretty girl, a neighbor of his, whose mother ap- )st peared to be equally charmed with the goodness on 'e- his income. There appeared, strange to say, in so this affair, no difficulties to be surmounted, no. n- obstacles to be overcome; and the consent of the Id Hardings, requested in a letter, which also begged en them to be present at the ceremony, if they were er willing it should take place, was presently obtainei se by George ; and, at the close of the second ye-s u- which had passed since their departure, the parents I and son were again united in that house, the very 3e sight of which recalled to their recollection tfeirs rs poor unhappy daughter, and her melancholy fate, h and which was still associated most ainfully im k the mind of Mr. Harding with the hated Gypsy,. r- The charm, however, had no doubt been broken. In the two past years Martha was doubtless either h dead or gone from the neighborhood. They wee a. ,f wandering tribe-and thus Mrs' Harding ehekedi. e the rising apprehensions and renewed uneasiness o 1 her husband; and so well did she succeed, that when the wedding-day came, and the bells rang,. , and the favors fluttered in the air, his countenanc 1 was lighted with smiles, and he kissed the gloawing - cheek of his new daughter-in-law with warmth aum. ) something like happiness. Supper concluded, the clock struck twelve, and the elders looked as if it were time for the young ones to depart. One half-hour's grace was begged for by the "King," and granted; and Mrs George. Harding, on this night, was to sing them-ra son about "poor old maiden"--an ancient quaintness which, by custom and usage, ever since she was t little child, she had annually performed upon this anniversary; and, accordingly, the promise being claimed, silence was obtained, and she, with all that show of tucker-heaving diffidence which is so. becoming in a very pretty downy-cheeked girl, prepared to commence, when a noise, resembling. that producible by the falling of an eight-and-forty pound shot. echoed through the house. It a- peared to descend from the very top of the build- ing, down each flight of stairs, rapidly and violently. It passed the door of the room in which; they were sitting, and rolled its impetuous couae - downwards to the basement. As it 'seemed to leave the parlor, the door was forced open, as if by- a gust of wind, and stood ajar. All the children were in a momenet on their feet huddled close to their respective mothers in groups. Mrs Harding rose and rang the bell, to inquire the meaning of the uproar. Her daughter-in-law, pale as ashes looked at George; but there was one of the party who moved not-who stirred not: it was the elder- Harding, whose eyes first fixed steadfastly on the half-opened door, followed the course of the wall of the apartment to the fire-place-there they rested. When the servants came, they said they had heard the noise, but thought it proceeded from above. Harding looked at his wife; and then turning to the servant, observed carelessly, thatit must have been some noise in the street; and desiring him to withdraw, intreated the bride to pursue her song. She did; but the children had been too much alarmed to enjoy it, and the noise had in its character, something so strange and unearthly, that even the elders of the party, al- though bound not to admit anything like appre- hension before their offspring, felt glad when they Iound themselves at home. When the guests were gone, and George's wife lighted her candle to retire to rest, her father-in- law kissed her affectionately, and prayed God to bless her. He then took a kind leave of his son, and putting up a fervent prayer for his happiness pressed him to his heart, and bade him adieu with . an earnestness, which, under the common-place t circumstance of a temporary separation, was inex- plicable to the young man. When he reached his bed-room he spoke to his wife, and intreated her ; to prepare her mind for some great calamity. b "What it is to be," said Harding, " where the blow h is to fall, I know not; but it is impending over us d this night!" "My life!" exclaimed Mrs Harding, "what fancy is this?" "Eliza, love!" answered her husband, in a tone of unspeakable agony, "I have ot seen her for the third and last time!" "Who?" lit "MARTHA THE GIPSY." "Impossible!" said Mrs. Harding, "you have not left the house to-day!" l" "' True my beloved," replied the husband; " but I have seen her. When that tremendous noise was Be heard at supper, as the door was supernaturally opened, I saw her. She fixed those dreadful eyes g of hers upon me; she proceeded to the fire-place, f and stood in the midst of the chileren, and there she remained till the servant came in." "My M dearest husband," said Mrs Harding, " this is but a an disorder of the imaginration." "Be it what it may," m said he, "I have seer. her human or-superhuman- p natural or supernatural--there she was. I shall not strive to argue upon a point where I am likely int to meet with little credit : all I ask is, pray fer- h vently, have faith, and we will hope the evil, gu whatever it is, may be averted." He kissed his wife's cheek tenderly, and, after a tril fitful feverish hour or two, fell into a slumber. The From that slumber never woke he more. He was found dcd in his bed the next morning. "Wheth- fire er the force ot imagination, coupled with the can unexpected noise, produced such an alarm as to wat the rob him of life, I know not," said my commMnicant all "but he was dead." iey This story was told me by my friend Ellis, in iey walking from the city to Ilarley-street, late in the om evening; and when we came to this part of the en, history we were in Bedford-square, at the dark and it dreary corner of it, where Caroline-street joins it. id, "And there!" said Ell is, pointing downwards to ", is the street where it all occurred!" ' "Come, a( come," said I, " you tell the story well, but I se suppose you do not expect it to be received as id as gospel.'" Faith, said he, "I know so much al- of it, that I was one of the party, and heard the 'e- noise." ".But you did not see the spectre?" cried sy I. "No," said Ellis, "I certainly did not." "No, answered I, " nor any body else, I'll be sworn." A. fe quick footstep was just then heard behind us-I n- turned half round to let the person pass, and saw o a woman enveloped in a red cloak, whose sparkling a, black eyes shone upon by the d'm lustre of a lamp s above her head, dazzled me-I was starlled- h "Pray, remember old MARTHA TIE G'PSm," said e the hag. It was like a thunder stroke-I instantly slipped s my hand into my poeket, and hastily gave her r therefrom a five-shilling-piece. "Thanks, my bonny one,':' said the woman; and setting up a shout of contemptuous laughter, she bounded down Caroline street, into Russel-strect, singing, or rather yelling a joyous song. Ellis did not speak during this scene-he pressed my arm tightly, and we quickened our pace. We said nothing to each other till we turned into Bedford-street, and the lights and passengers of Tottenham-court-road, Ceassured us. "What do you think of that? ' said Ellis to me, "SEEING IS BELIEVING," Was my reply. I have never passed that dark corner of Bedford-square in the evening since. Hookey finished the relation of his story with a grand flourish upon the drum and the absorption of a considerable quantity of half-and-half The club gave him two or three "hip, hip, hur- rah's," and then proceeded with the evenings amusement, which consisted of the relation of nu- merous other stories, jokes, witicinms and bon mots peculiar to the English. Castle amused himself for some time by convers- ing with the drummer, whom he found, although half-witted, to occasionally furnish, by his lan- guage, evidences of having once been a different being, of having once been possesse I of all those at- tributes which belong to an educated gentleman. The plague may sweep off whole nations; citlics may be levelled to ashes by the devastation of fire; armies may be exterminated by the sword and cannon of an enemy ; time may in his resistless cn- ward course hide from the remembrance of comn;i, page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] generations the monuments of the present, yet what are all these to compare with the living death which the mind endures, when thrown by some ter- rible convulsion of its own creating into a state of lunacy-a. shattered wreck of the grandest, the most infallible evidence we have of the existence of a Gc,-. Dead and yet alive! Alive to the mere sense of feeling! alive to the grosses senses of our being! alive to the mere animal existence of the body! Dead to the intellectual! dead to all the beau- ties of the pathway from manhood to the grave! idead to everything which the soul requires for its smstenance! Dead to human intercourse-human- ity should have intercourse! dead to that passion which renders one half our miseries, joys-the pas- sion of love! dead to life, yet living only in death! In the midst of tltsands, yet alone; a stranger amid friends, a friend amid strangers. Half-witted, crazed, innocent, helpless Hookey, you have many a brother in the world, yet you are strangers even to each other. The great change from earth to eternity will dis- pel the clouds from your intellect, and then when all is brightness and joy you can once more, if you ever have on earth, be, as man should be, the image of hLs maker. Between two and three o'clock in the morning the club adjourned, and Castle, receiving a thun- dering rap upon the drum as his farewell from the drummer, retired to rest, convinced that England, like the land of his birth, was full of "fun," and mixed with a goodly share of suffering. CHAPTER XXIII. WHAT APPEARED IN THE PAPERS. SIMON CLOUD in his idea of the independence of some of the leading journals of New-York, was pretty near correct, especially in the one regard- ing the "DAILY BRaISTONE " and its editor, the Scotchman. A Scotch fiddler, like any other, can be made to play any tune. The editor received Simon with a degree of un- looked-for favor, and received his money with un- limited expressions of cordiality. Money in modern times is the neplus ultra of life. In the days of the Revolution it was tyranny and oppression, trouble and toil, that tried men's souls, now it is money that tries their souls and buys their friendship. Simon was, although Elephant Castle had over- reached him, an extraordinary specimen of shrewd- ness and cunning. Nassau-street, the Court-room, and his client, the Jesuit, could not we venture to assert produce his equai. To the papers he proceeded, and was equally successful, and the next day he had the satisfaction of noticing the publication of such articles-pre- liminaries of course to the " grand crushers " that were to follow in the succeeding issues-as the fol- lowing :- FROM THE "DAILY BRIMSTONE."7 "'ABRa AMx BOLTEt.-With undisguised satisfac- tion we can now assert the tact that our city Po- lice are becoming everyday more efficient. A few days ago an individual named Abraham Bolter, a, natwist of some prominence, and a member of nearly all the secret American societiesl was, through the indefittigablc exertions of two of our Policemen, arrested and locked up for the murder of his father! It appears from the testimony of two or three estimable and worthy cillzens that he first stabbed his father in the breast with a large butcher knifb, and then threw the body into the basement-way of a store-the knife has been found near the body. Not the slighest doubt exists as regards the criminality of the prisoner. It is sup- posed that he committed the deed because his un- /brtunate father was a Roman Catholic. We shall report in full the trial of this atrocius scoun- drel.'" So ran the opening article of' the Daily Brim- stone. The articles in the other dalles, that is. (ex- cepting those which copied the Brimstone article with their own comments, were "got up 1' some- thing in the following style, all bearing the same stamp of independence :- FROM THE "DAILY COMET." "i HORRIBLE! TER RIiL I FEARFUL, AND APPALL- ING!-Our city has been thrown into a frightfil state of consternation by the disclosure of the per- petration of a diabolical and outrageous murder. Abraham Bolter is the assassins name, and the vic- tim is his own father. The cause of his thus becoming a parricide was that his father believed in Roman Catholicism! We shlall give the details as soon as the examina- tion of the prisoner shall have been concluded. We have no doubt of his guilt-thus the Catholics and the Protestants can see the result of their in- cussant quarclling and their unbounded bigotry." From the "SLAVE'S JOURNAL. ' THE MURDER OF A CATHOLIC BY A PROTESTANT NATIVE. By reference to our local items, our readers will perceive that the Nativists are be- ginning to consummate their designs to extermi- nate those fellow citizens who may happen to dis- agree with them in religious opinion: a scoundrel by the name of Abraham Bolter, who is one of the leaders of a secret Native American Society, cut his own father's throat from ear to car. It appears from the various conflicting reports we have hal. that a dispute arose in Clinton Court, Beekman Street. between the father and son regarding Cath olicism, when the son, Abraham Bolter, becoming enraged, assaulted and murdered his father. The horrible deed was pereptrated with one of the largest size of Bowie knives. We have not seen the knife, but have been informed that the blade is twenty inches in length and some four inches in width-it bears the name of the prisoner. CATHOLICS AROUSE! PREPARE YOURSELvES FOR THE WORST--THE FOE IS IN THE FIELD! DEFEND YOUR HOMES FROM THE ASSAULTS OF THE NATIVISTS! STAND TO YOUR RIGHTS! LET YOUR WATCHWORD BE LIBERTY AND THE POPE!" From the WEEKLY BLATHER. "ASSASSINATION.-A Roman Catholic was recently murdered by his own son. The perpetrator of this terrible crime has been arrested and is now in custody. Next week we shall give the particulars. The name of the wretched cuiprit is Abraham Bol- ter. ' And thus ran all the notices of the independent press of New York-but. not a word was said re- garding the arrest of Hodin, not a word in regard to the real culprit-no-for the Press had been bought--bought with the much talked of Jesuit gold-bought with the money of the Romish Priesthood! And thus it has always been. Men have been dIriven to despair-have been consigned to death and perdition by the venality of those whose first duty should be to defend and protect inviolable the rights--the constitutional rights of all! But, thank God, there are now established two i or three public journals whose opinion cannot be n bought-the expression of whose opinions cannot be silenced. And these are the so called "Nativist paper," S edited by men who regard Americans as men, and not as hirelings. CIAPTER XXIV. APPROACHING TO THE END. It would be needless for us to describe all the ' minutia of the trial, or rather preliminary exami- li nation of Bolter-suffice .to say the last witness c called upon the stand was no less a personage than Ragged Nibs., Nibs was somewhat astonished and somewhat alarmed at his position, never before having had the pleasure or pain of appearing as a witness be- fore such a dignified piece of judicial mortality as Pump. b "Ragged Nibs." , "Here I is." Take the stand." "Hev tuk it." "Have you any other name than Ragg,.i Nibs?" "Not no other name as I ever hecrd of, praps somebody might have come for to woen' and stole Af the tother one, and perwented my fathev -:viring it t to me, I dont know nothing else." "Where did you. first meet Abraham Bolter?" "Where I fust see him, lie's a wery good man considerin." "No equivocation-do you know le nature of' q an oath?"I ' "Think I do-anybody orter as bh, l,ceen arounn porter-houses and heerd fellows swear ',.s much as I "Do you know the nature of a legal oath?" "Did'nt know as swearing was legal--parpons sez its agin it." "When did you have any conversation--and where, with the prisoner?" "Werry often-ever since I helped him to git out of them are fellers as is Catholic's hands." "When was that?" "Sometime or other ago, dont know 'zactly the time-not 'zactly, I kin tell you the place though.'t "Where was it?" "Way down in under the boneyard of the cathe- dral in Mott Street." "Ah--proceed." Bolter looked toward his fellow prisoner-Hlodia Hodin dared not look up-he was now convinced that his case was hopeless. " This Mister Bolter was fastened up down there and hadn't had not no chance to git out, and his father was there too, the old genlm'n had bin cribbed, cordin to what one of the fellers said, a mighty long while-longer than his son." "What fellows have you reference to?" "Why, one of them cussed Cath'lics, the one I seed was a high private of some kild, leastwaya, he peared to be a sort of boss among 'em." "How did you discover the fact of the prisoner being thus confined?" 'Dont know nothin bout not no fact, wot I says I seed, I'll take my day I did see, and not nothia else. This Nister Bolter and his father was fasten- ed up there and th'other day as I was going along- like-inm Prince Street, I seed a chap agoin into the cathedralt-yard-I thought I'd foller him, and so I did. He went down a pair of steps in the boneo- yard, and so that's the way.7" " id you help Mr. Bolter to (.ceape?"' "Ycs, in course I did." "Did his father come out with him?" "No, it's not wcry likely he could, con-siderin breath was scarce. Old death seized onto him. It was werry hard for Mr. Boliter to leave his father dead in that are nasty place, but he had to do it." page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] "Had to do it?" "Yes, cos--one live man is worth two dead ones, and the old man he died on 'count of being too glad to hold himself in-consekently he busted his mortal thread of life plum in two. "Where was Mr. Bolter at the precise time his father died?" "With me." "Did you see a knife in his hand?" "No, I did'nt." "Nor any kind of a weapon?" "Any kind of a wot?" "A weapon." "Wot's a weapon?" "Anything that he could kill a man with." "Oh-ah-yes, well 'taint no use to lie 'bout trifles-he did have suthin about him that wos a kinder dangerous." "What was that something?" "Well it was his fists-they was werry large, they wos." "Now Nr. Nibs---" "Mr. Nibs! what a go that is, a callin me a mister!" "Now Mr. Nibs tell us all you know in relation to the matter in question." "Mr. Nibs" complied and related minutely, in his own peculiar way all that had occurred beneath the vault of the Cathdral. Ten minutes more passed of consultation be- tween the council, and of consultation on the part of Justice Pump with his clerk and Abraham Bolter was discharged from custody. But Mr. Hodin, the execrable Hodin was still retained for examination. Now let us turn to another one of the closing scenes of our Drama. CHAPTER XXV. A THE LN'HERITANCE-NEW-YORK AGAIN-THE' LAST OF THE VICTIMS. au AWARE that delay might ruin all the hopes and te expectations of those in whose employ he was com- missioned, Elephant Castle proceeded, on the day following his arrival and subsequant jovial enter- ol tainment in London, to institute inquiries for the er locality of the firm of Eliston, Marin & Co., Solici- tors, etc., or rather the place of business of that th particular branch of the legal profession. All the information he could procure on this in point, was an earnest entreaty from his worthy to host of the Castle Inn to abstain from all inter- course with lawyers, for in his opinion they were El a class of sharpers, who only obtained their living do by plundering other people's pockets, and taking his opportune advantage of the quarrels and misfo.- es, tunes of their less cunning neighbors. He held oo that no one could have anything to do with a law- his yer, and get clear, without some kind of a mulcta tion, either in the shape of fees, counsel, or some- lis thing else X and besides, Mr. Absalom Peabody had an eye to the finances of his guest, from the no less laudable motive than that- of securing what loose change he might have to spare to the receipts of the Castle. Actuated by these very disinterested motives mine 'ost of the Castle Inn could not inform Mr. Elephant Castle where the Messrs. Elliston could be found; " but," said he, "I can tell you where an immense pack of his craft may be found, that tis, if you are determined to ruin yourself, and that a is at Gray's Inn, in Valorem-street; but I would advise you, as a friend, to keep away from them." Regardless of the praiseworthy admonitions of De his obliging host, Castle proceeded at once to find his way to Gray's Inns, where by dint of some in- quiry, directed by him to complaisant clerks who a were ready to serve him and willing to guaranty that their firm could transact any business which n he might entrust them with quite to his satisfac- tion, and fully as cheap as any in the legal profes- sion, he succeeded at length to find the place he was seeking. In the centre of a long row of lofty buildings which flanked one side of Gray's Inns, on a large sign-board, in gilt letters, he read the words.- "Elliston, Marin & Co., Solicitors," and up the flight of steps leading to their offlce he directed his steps. On entering the spacious and neatly furnished office of the firm,Mr. Elephant Castle wrs confront- ed by the head clerk, a pompous individual, who inquired respecting his business. "My business is with Messrs. Elliston & Marin. Are you either of the party in question?V " Whatever business you may wish to entrust to the care of our firm shall be promptly attended to, and being at leisure this moment I will readily at- tend to you." "Are you one of the firm?" "I am-that is, I have the honor to be, your obedient servant, their principal and confidential employee." "Ah, that is another thing. lMy business is with the firm itself." "Take a seat, sir, take a seat. The firm will be in, that is, Messrs. Elliston & Co., will be at leisure to wait upon you directly." At the expiration of some twenty minutes, Mr. Elliston, the senior of the firm, entered from a side door and very graciously enquired the business of his visitor. He was a hale, hearty old gentleman, and his countenance indicated a benevolent dispo- tioa and keen perception. Castle remarked that his business was of an important nature and conse- quentiy required secresy; whereupon the above- named gentleman introduced him into the precincts ,of his private conference room-the one from which he bad just issued. This latter was tastefully furn- ished, but upon closing the door total darkness alone was visible to its occupants, until a lighted phosphorus match had been applied to a gas-burn- er, which had the effect of producing a mellow and brilliant light, very appropriate, inasmuch as it re- minded one of the secrecy of seclusion which de- -Emanded its aid at such an hour of the day. "Now," said the attorney, with dignity," we are slone-may I inquire the name and business of muy visitor?' "My name is Castle. The object of my visit is to obtain from you the title of inheritance and other papers relating to the Morrell estate, in be- half of my clients, Abraham Bolter and Josephine Morrell,for by that name it is necessary to designate a'r, as her mother did not marry my client's father and consequently cannot claim his name for her- 1 self or heirs, the only one living of whom is my l worthy client, the said Josephine Morrell." ' I am partially aware of tnese facts, sir; but 'thse are, or ought to be, certain papers in your possession which it will be necessary for you to produce In order to substantially elucidate and sustain your claim-papers relating to the proofs 9 of your client's birth and the genuineness of their a identity." "You shall presently see that am amply pro- e vided on that score," replied Castle. i And without more ado he proceeded to open the daentical box previously delivered to him by the A Nassau-street lawyer, Simon Cloud. c The perusal of these papers at once convinced v the English attorney of the genuineness of the fr heirs in question, and of the legitimacy of their st claim, and his only further inquiry was in relation to whether George Bolter, the brother of Abraham, h had positively been ascertained to be dead. Of Pr this Castle could not inform him, as that was only in the supposition produced by his long absence, and re the fact that none of his co-heirs to the estate knew Ju what had become of him. He had authority, how- e ever, from his clients to give the Messrs. Elliston ar & Co., a full discharge of all, obligation towards in him, if living, based upon an agreement already fir drawn up and signed by them, endorsed by ri. one of the leading firms in New-York, to the effect cr that in case of his appearance to assert his claim to a share of the property it should by this agree- ca meat be insured to him. we This paper having been attested to by Mr. Cas- sp -e and secured by the English attorney, the latter da o- proceeded to put the former gentleman in posses.. at sion of all the "inheritances, titles, deeds, testas ie- ments, and papers thereunto appertaniing,7 of tle :e- Morrell estate, in behalf of his clients, Abraham ts bolter and Josephine, and George Bolter, if living. h On the following day Mr. Castle, after bidding n- adieu to his host of the Castle Inn, who very much. ss regretted his early departure, took the morning Ad train of cars for Liverpool, the great head-quarters i- of Ocean Steam i--.vigation in Europe, at which. d place he was fortuillate enough to arrive in time for e- the next steamer lt,r New-York. e- Nothing of note occurred on the passage, which: was unusually .lhort, and two weeks from his em- e barkation on l,ard the Europa, at Liverpool, Ele- y phant Castle had the pleasing satisfaction once more to tread upon American soil-and that soil was the s land of the Pilgrim Fathers-the Commercial Em- p orium of New England-Boston. Boston-three-hilled, far-famed city of Litera- ture--hail to thee! for in thy many publications, thou art justly esteemed the granary of Educa- tional knowledge-but thy charms arc not sufi- - cient to detain within thy courts the stranger whco has just arrived from bonny England. With im- patience he places himself in the train which is to convey him to his destination-the Empire city-, -and restlessly does he count the moments as he is whirled along by the resistless strength of the snorting iron horse, to the presence of those whoc are so anxiously expecting him. But while he is on his way, let us call the read- er's attention, for a brief space, to another, and sad incident in our fitful drama, Between two Hirbernian ruffians, on the day of Marion Argall's funeral, in a carriage, with blinds carefully closed, and curtains drawn, did they con- vey the wretched old man, her father, crazed and frantic at the loss of his beloved child, the only stay of his declining years. Right glad were these minions of the Pope to. have the old man in their power, for they were apl prehensive that in his crazed and incoherent rav- ings, he might, probably, disclose that which might reflect unfavorably upon their dark cause; and 'judged also, that their worthy Arch-Bishop, pleas- ed at the zeal displayed by them in his capture, and the meritorious bravery ot the act, might beh inclined liberally to reward them, so they kept hinm firmly gagged, and bound to his seat until the car-. riage stopped in front of the Convent of the Sa- cred Heart, in Houston-street. Come Tim,"7 said one of the ruffias, " let us carry the oli heretic inside. By Jasus, ould boy, we'll convay ye to where ye'll never be afther- spaking iv ye're daugther agin, within the light oC day, so we will." page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] An indescribable terror seized the poor old man; 'he thought they were going to put him to the tor- tare, and he shrieked: "Unhand me villains! release me-let me go and save my child-my Marion ; you have buried her alive!" The priest, George, happened to be within one of the front parlors of the Convent. and observing the carriage draw up in front, his attention was arrest- ed, and he sallied out, appearing in front of the carriage door just as it was opened. The wretched man recognised him, and in accents of wild fierce- ness exclaimed : "Ah, traitor! fiend! villain! Yon have mur- dered my child-you have blighted the once peace- ful home I possessed-and for this I curse thee -yes, curse-----" What further he might have given utterance to. can never be known on earth, for at that moment Mr. Argall was seized with a violent spasmodic fit of appoplexy, which overpowered alike breath and utterance, and he sank back upon the cushioned seat of the carriage. "Begorra, but I think he is quite done for, yer ]Riverence," exclaimed one of the Irishmen who had brought him thither. "Be me soul, sir, ye frightened the oul divil to death, sir." Old Mr. Argall was dead! George looked on the scene without a shade of emotion, and commanded the menials to convey the body into the convent. Argall was dead-his soul had departed to the ,lark realms of eternity-he had gone to join his daughter. The last victim of the Argall family had been immolated to the awful shrine of popish revenge and treachery. CHAPTER XXVI. JESUIT GOLD AND THE DAILY PRESS-TIIE FATE OF MB. JEEMS DORGON NEBETT, the satanic editor of 0 the "Daily Brimstone," by the application of an- , 4other cool thousand of that article denominated Jesuit gold, from the cofFers of the Arch-Bishop to bis own well-stored purse, was with very little dif- ficulty persuaded to follow up his first great article D upon the "late astounding murder" by another, A worded something as follows : "L -NVESTIGATION OF THE CLINTON COURT AFFAIR- AcQUITAL OF THE PRIsoNER.--Yesterday our city was thrown into a state of intense excitement, g caused by the acquittal of the prisoner Abraham a Blolter, who was arrested three days since charged z, lwith the murder of his father, an aged and estima. I ; ble citizen of the Roman Catholic faith. Justicee - Pump, before whom the prisoner was arraigned for examination, we are sorry to say, found it im- possible to procure evidence sufficient to, in his 1 mind, warrant the committal of the accused feob trial. The public feeling, however, was unani.. f mous in the condemnation of this man--whro,' everybody believes to be guilty. In our opinior - it is high time that the public take the matter inte consideration, and decide, by a great public denm- 1 onstration in the Park, or Battery, whether justice -is to be dealt in even-halnded measure, or whether the culprit, who in a fit of bigoted passion, aEsas- -sinates his neighbor in the most diabolical manner, - for the mere gratification of his rabid religious, oi rather irreligious, antagonism, shall go unpunish- ed upon the flimsy pretext of a want of evidence, when at least a dozen of witnesses were examined, all giving evidence crrroborative of the prisoner's guilt. Yes, the public voice calls for a further in- vestigation into this horrible affair, and we hope te see the people take the matter into their own. hands. Citizens, to the Park!" Thus did the editor of the "Daily Brimstone" sell himseif to the accursed adherents of Je-mitisti, for)the purpose of poisoning the public mind aun inciting the people, and particularly the Romarn Catholic portion of the New-York populace, to a bitter and vindictive feeling, and even acts of rc- vengeful violence. And further, from the pre- cifts of his extensive Job Printing establishment the following monstrous hand-bill was issued, and posted upon the walls :- CITIZENS TO THE RESCUE! INDIGNATION MASS MEETING IN THE PAPe. The time has come when the citizens of New. York are called upon to stand up in defence of their rights and to assert to the rVation and to the world at large, whether the religious privi- leges of one of their number, purchased by the blood of our forefathers, shall be trampled upon with impunity by legalized injustice, and whether a certain class shall be subjected to the danger of slaughter and persecution from the deadly as- saults of members of the Jlativist, and other big- oted secret societies organized in our midst. COME ONE, COME ALL! On this, Friday evening. at 8 o'clock. DENNIS OFLAHERTY, TIMOTHY O'SHAUGHNESSY.- MCHAEL FINNIGIN, OWEN MCGOWN, PATRICK MCGINNISS, HUGH 0' BRIEN, AND ONE THOUSAND OTHERS. This flaming poster had the effect to draw to- gether, at an early hour, in front of thQ City Hall, a concourse of some two or three thousand "citi- zens," the majority of whom spent their last Christ- mas in Connaught and Tipperary. Several remark- ably elephant speeches were delivered by natural- ized. and half-starved politicians, solicitous ot obtaining votes at the forth-coming election-and the proceedings were very spirited throughout until about nine o'clock, when two stalwart Hiber- nians, who had evidently imbibed something stronger than tea or coffee, got into a dispute con- cerning whether the Pope or the Virgin Mary were the better man. A sort of general row was created by the two gentlemen pitching into each other with desperate whacks of their shillalahs, when. unfor- tunately for the fair termination of their dispute, a company of American fireman, who were returning from a fire in Maiden Lane happened that way, and observing that there were good indications of a free fight, halted, one of their number demanding what the trouble was about, to which he received an in- sulting answer-whereupon the whole company "went in," or, in other words, rushed pell-mell into the scattered ranks of the assembled crowd of indignant "citizens," knocking some one way and some another, until the ground was fairly cleared, by the precipitous adjournment of the latter. Thus ended the indignation meeting, got up at great labor and expense. Bolter belonged to an American Order, and his friends had both the ability and courage to defend him. The Arch-bishop's gold was spent in vain-but the unkindest cut of all, the ungrateful editor of the " Daily Brimstone," Mr. Jeemes Dorgon Nebett, finding how public opinion stood, two days after- wards came out with a lengthy article representing \ the much persecuted Abraham Bolter to be one of the worthiest gentlemen in the metropolis. Bolter appeared little in public, and despite the herculean eflbrts of the, legal hyena, Simon Cloud, to blast his reputation, and cast disgrace upon his h name, he escaped from the fiery ordeal unscathed, and for the most part unharmed. The day for the trial of Hodin at length came, r and pale and emaciated from his long confinement w in the Egyptian Tombs, the prisoner was brought before the Court of Oyer and Terminer, over which a presided Justice Penny, the learned and dignified tc magistrate. His legal adviser, Mr. Junk, was ever n at his side, whispering words of encouragement in his car; " Keep your spirits up, old boy," observed I he, "I will get you clear-don't be alarmed, take , it easy." A large crowd had assembled to witness the trial, despite the efforts of the Arch-bishop to keep the , matter in the dark. Several witnesses were examined by the Counsel for the State to prove the identify of the widow Bolter, and the fact that she had lived in Rosevelt kD Street at the time of the alleged murder. These d- all underwent a severe cross-examination at the ot hands of the prisoner's counsel, who endeavored to 'd show that such a person was not existing at the t, time, or if existing, had no. occupied the premises r- designated in the specification to the charge. The g landlord hlad sold out since tlhat time, and having a- removed from the city was not to be found, and -e the evidence of the other witnesses examined was- d not calculated to convince the Jury of this, the h leading fact in the case. At length thile clerk called out the name of' a Trump: "Here I ,am,' was the reply. i "Let the witness be sworn." e "Mr. Trump, was you ever acquainted with one t Mary Bolter?" - "Yes, yoear honor.. --Iknew her when she lived in the attic room in Roscvelt Street. You see, sir, 1 she was sick, very sick, and having been deserted f by her husband and all the friends she had except I her eldest son, Mr. Abraham Bolter, who was ab- , sent, in Philadelphia, on business, I was obliged to s attend her as well as I could, for Mr. Bolter, her son had left her to my care: and although she was attended by a reg'lar doctor, it was plain to me, and my friend, Mr. Bruin, tha; she could not get well, so we got a friend to write to Philadelphia, requesting Mr. Bolter th return. He did not come, however, until after her death, and-- " "Did she die of the illness from which she was. suffering?" ' I was just coming to that, sir. You see; sir, that one night she was very sickl we dli1 not expect. her to live, and Bruin and myself were sitting up with her. I had been out on an errand to find Mary Bolter's other son, George, but did not suc- ceed. Well, I had been back about an hour, and had been conversing with the sick woman awhile when we heard a rap at the door, and as I was re- quested, I opened it,' when the prisoner entered the room, accompanied by a tall man; the prisoner was represented by the tall fellow to be a priest, and he proceeded to the bed-side of Mrs. Bolter, and the two endeavored to force, or persuade lier to disclose some secret, which she protested she did not know. Mary,--lhat is, Mrs. Bolter I mean, re- quested them to tell her what had become of her husband, but they refused ; wo had so(me words with them and tried to get them to tell her, but they suddenly left ; and, when they were gone, we went up to the bed-side, and found that the. sick woman had been suddenly and inhumanly mur- dered." "In what manner?" "They had stabbed her-stabbed her with a big knife to the heart?" " That will do, Bruin," page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] "Iold,' exclaimed McJnnk. "I have not cross- :examined the last witness."' "Vecry well. proceed." The cross-exam;nation was lengthy, and when it was finished, the last witness for the prosecution was examined; Bruin, the humpback, whose evi- dencc corroborated that of his friend Trump. The counsel for the defense opened with the ex- amination of two or three witnesses, to show that the two men last examined by the prosecution were possessed of no character or standing in society, and consequently their testimony should be con- sidered as unsafe and not reliable. He was about to close tie case by calling the attention of the ju- ry to this fact, and to the probability that the per- son who accompanied the prisoner on the night in question, if such a thing really occurred, had mur- dered the woman without the knowledge or con- sent of the prisoner; who could not, therefore, be deemed an accomplice in the act. The address of Mr. Junk to the Jury was termin- ated, a:-:d that body were about to retire, when a tall stranger entered the court rooom, and request- ed them to place him upon the witness-stand, which request was complied with, much against the wish ,es of the prisoner's counsel. All observed the deadly pallor which overspread Ihe countenance of Hodin, as the last mentioned witness took the stand. He had brightened up just before, with hope, but now his features were the personification of despair. The tall witness :-said:; "May it please your honor and gentlemen of the jury, the last two witnesses examined for the arose- , cution, gave as evidence, that the prisoner now be- fore you, upon the night on which the murder was committed, was accompanied to the residence of Mary Bolter by a tall personage-; gentlemen I am that man--thait woman was my sister. She knew not that I was her brother, however, for she had r not seen me in many years. I had no affection or respect for her, I will admit, and was only desir- f ous to obtain from her the purport of her son's visit to Philadelphia. But I had, on my part, no design to take her life, although I had long been c angered against her for opposing my wishes in mar rying-John Bolter, who, at that time, differed with a me in religious faith, nor did I possess any knowl- edge, or apprehend that there was any design on t the part of the prisoner to murder her, for had I beenl aware of it I should have opposed such a proceeding. My belief is, from what the prisoner told me afterwards, that he is the person who com- nitted the deed. I am done.'7 A perfect buz of excited surprise filled the minds of the crowd assembled in the Court-room, as the ' witness concluded his testimany-and the very ex- ss- presslon of the prisoner's countenance was corr rative evidence of his guilt. Hodin's counsel made an ineffectual attempt it rule out the evidence of the tall witness, on on ground of informality. &c., but Justice Penny i- cided that it was valid. The jury retired-and after an absence of tw x- ty minutes brought in the verdict. at The verdict--the judgment which must deci re the fate of a fellow mortal-death-like stilln y, pervades all the spectators, breathlessly as tm n- listen to catch the response which must follow it question: a- "Guilty, or not Guilty?' r- GUILTY." [n Hudin sank back in mute despair. r- The spectators with almoft unanimous acco - seemed to be satisfied with the decision of thej e ry. 'Justice Penny commacded the officers to co. vey the wretched culprit back to his cell, unl t. such time as the sentence of the law should a passed upon him. The immense crowd quietly left the court-room h as the prisoner was taken away to the Tombs- some impressed with the awful solemnity of death to which he was condemned, and others only an.' ious to ascertain the length of time which inter. posed between them and the gratification of thei curiosity to see a murderer meet the penalty of his crimes. But strange are the decrees of fate-their cn. osity was destined never to be gratified, for thri nights previous to the day on whiclh he was going to be hanged, the wretched man put an end to his own life, in his gloomy cell, by means of a pen-knife with which he opened his veins, and bled himsel to death. On leaving the court-room Abraham Bolter step ped up the tall witness who had last occupied the stand and requested to confer with him a moment The latter consented, whereupon Bolter disclosed to him that he was his nephew, and requested the former to accompany him to his residence. The latter declined at first, but at the earnest re- quest of Bolter, Bruin and Trump, he finally gave consent, and accompanied them. The four gentlemen were ushered into a ple- antly furnished room, and at the request of Bolter were seated. There for the pressnt we shall leave them. CHAPTER XXVII. SIMON CLOUD AND THE ARCII-BISnOPs-JOSEPHNIE AIM BOLTER-THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE L a splendidly furnished apartment of the Arch- Bishop's mansion, that personage was seated m in his easy chair, apparently in anxious expectation of the arrival of some one, for he had been careful- ly perusing the morning papers. which gave an te account ot the arrival of another European steam- do. er. He cogitated something after this sort: "It will be surprising if they do not come bac en in this steamer ; indeed I fear that they must have met with some difficulty-that Bolter is so shred and he has got the papers--but hark, someone rings.", In a moment George entered, followed by the - gal Hyena. The countenance of the former betokened bitter disappointment; that of Simon the fixedness of a settled purpose. "Aha, my friends, so you are arrived. Wel what news?" "Bad news, Holy Father, bad news. We arrived in London just in time to be two late. The agent f that knave, Bolter, had just preceded us by four day'stime, having all the necessary papers and roofs of his client's claim in his possession to sub- tantiate that claim, and upon that ground the ti ties to the inheritance was delivered to him, and is now, doubtless, safe in his possession." "It was in vain that we protested that he was an aposter, and had robbed us of those papers, all he satisfaction he could give us was a paper he ad received from our adversaries, whereby one third of the property is insured to our client feorge Bolter, should he ever appear to claim his hare. All you can do is to secure this, and I thinl i oa had better do it as soon as possible.:. By heaven!" egclaimed the Arch-Bishop clenching his fist," we shall have the whole or one. Prepare te institute proceedings immediate- G ! before Justice Daly; and by Saint I'Patrick! if j hero be any virtue in the power of gold we willSC ilthem yet." "And if we fail," drily observed George. ' ' Fail! there is no such word in my vocabulary. the law will not declare in our favor.'then we ill take another method." i "And that is-- M "The distrucftion of those who oppose us." CO Simon thought a moment, and remembering his h acounter with Elephant Castle in Nassau-street, e observed: th "Well, holy Father, I have only to say that I 'ved served you to:the utmost of mny ability, and twithstanding my utmost endeavors, your cause ecs to be likely to fall to the ground, unless you wil an content yourself with the fifty thousand which es ils to the legitimate share of our client. If you ire williLg. to make this your ultimation, I will do y best to procure it for you; otherwise, I must'adv tion bid you God speed, while I resign the task you fuil have furnished me with to a more talented person an than myself to accomplish." "What, do you decline the commission?": "Most respectfully, I do." "Beware, Simon, I will launch against you the maledictions of the Church!" "Oh, well, you can launch away-they never nedid any one any harm as yet, that I am awnre, and I will try to grin and bear it; but you must take care and be light in your deviltry, for you know I am possessed of somine secrets which your adversaries would be glad to become acquainted with." "Aha, you threaten me, do you? We shall shortly see wlhether you shall have the opportunity to prove traitor or not," so saying, the Arch-Bishop rang a bell, the handle of which was attached to ed the wall. Simon rose hastily and made for the door, but he was met by two brawny Hibernians, who just at that moment entered at the sunmmons of the Arch- Bishop. "Seize that man," cried the latter, pointing to Simon, and convey him to the under-ground cells No. 8., and keep him there until further or- ders." Simon struggled fiercely in the grasp of the two giants, shrieking piteously, but his efforts were unavailing, and he was borne away. He was secured. Simon, you will do no more mischief--your incarceration will only end with your last breath. Such is Romish Poison; the very contagion of which fills our local atmosphere With the most perfect nonchalance imaginable, George looked at his watch and asked his co-ad- jutor what was the news, and how affairs progres- sed in tihe metropolis. "Sad news--sad news, George,' replied the latter. Hodin, faithful Heodin, has been found guilty, and condemned to ignominious death. He would have been acquitted Ibut bfor thile interpo- sition of another traitor, Barcalow, the Uncle of Mr. Bolter, the man in whom we placed so much confidence, has turned Protestant, and betrayed him. George, we must take a terrible revenge upon this man, so soon as we shall have effected the escape of Hodin, and finished this work with those arch-intrigners, Josephine anid Bolter. " "It is all very well to talk of revenge, but how are we to accomplish it?" "Never fear. With the aid of my auxiliaries, I will weave a web around them, yet, friom which escape will be impossible!" "Is Thaddens still a prisoner?" "He is-and this shall yet prove the ruin of our adversaries." page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] "If he remain faithful?" "Thaddleus--reared in the Roman Catholic faith from infancy. he will be staunch as a rock. We have nothing to fear on that score." Leaving the two worthies engaged in their animated conversation, let us turn to another and more pleasant scene. In a small but neat apartment of Josephine's mansion, that lady was seated on a sofa, at the very moment that the above transaction was taking place at the residence of the Arch-Bishop, and on a low ottoman in another part of the room, sat Abraham Bolter, who had just called. le had been reading to Josephine some com- ments upon the conviction of Hodin, from the daily papers, and was interrupted by a remark of the former: "Abraham, have you any idea of the course which our enemies intend to pursue in regard to the matter of our inheritance?" 'Well, no; not exactly. I should think it the height of insanity for them to attempt to contra- dict our claim, since the proofs are all ill our possession, and, in consideration of the extent to which they have compromised themselves in the affair, I think also it would be madness for them to appear against us-even though we are involved to some extent, by the manner in which we ob- tained those documents." ' But think you not they will be crafty enough to bring this charge against us, and endeavor by the same means to prove that we are impostors? That dame devil, George is courageous enough to undertake anything." "Impossible." "How so?" "Well, because I have a very good friend and witness in my newly discovered uncle, Mr. Bar- calow, who has already done some good service to our cause, and under such circumstances might still be of service. But Josephine, or Joe, I have a proposition to lay before you." "What is it?" "My brother George may perhaps never turn up to claim his right to a share of the property, unless he be advertised of afairs through the papers, and I think we had better also avail our- selves of the fortunate presence of Mr. Bar- calow to adjust the affair of his recognition should he appear to answer the information transmitted to him, if living, through the medium of the S press.'" n "Well, about the proposition?" ; Oh, I was coming to that, Now if he should to not appear to claim his share do you not, on your S part, think that we had better keep the property and estate just as it is-undivided?V" "Certainly; I think we shall not quarrel c ith that score. As I understand it, it will only) Ve necessary for each of us to reserve such portion our yearly income as would fall to his share wen sir he in possession-that is, in case he be not foundil nd "But Joe, dear Joe-cannot we arrangethi matter on our part without a division, in any c e's c umstances? Listen to me--we have been, ar he still are, enlisted together in the closest bondsu *as friendship, and a common sympathy, against t, insidious schemces of our enemies, who have sougi m to exterminate us; Joe, permit me to tell you that on my part, you are endeared to me immcae m urably, and if this neccessitated arrangement0 e friendship must ever cease-my proposition i f that it cease only to be renewed by a closer bond one of matrimonial alliance; which, from th sincere affection with which I have learned to regard you,and the gratuitous esteem forced upo my mind by your many good qualities of dispos tion and character, I am but too happy to ocef e you, trusting that my own sentiments may, i y some .measure, at least, find a reciprocation o o your part." shade of joyous pleasure for a momen illu! :natcd the countenance of Josephine a Bolter commenced speaking in this strain, buti [ quickly passed to give way to one of painfu melancholy ere he concluded. h "Ah, my dear, kind friend, little can yo realize the painful emotions which your worde , calculated as they are to thrill my heart wit! rapture, produce upon my mind, for, after file sa disappointment and wreck I have undergone, th memory of which can never be buried to my recul lection, never have I found the person to whoml 1 could again yield my once betrayed love until came to know you, and to appreciate the noblenes of character of which you are possessed. Biut ) Abraham, believe me when I tell you, that there i an impenetrable barrier to our happiness-on which must ever separate us. Ah, my friend. I an a poor; fallen creature-in an evil hour I fel before the tempter's snare; you know this-the why do you seek the hand of one so unworthy but which, nevertheless, Ihave honor sufiicicn left, and esteem for your own goodness, to evy suffer you to possess at the sacrifice of your owi honor and self-respect. No, Bolter; althouogh frankly confess I love you, yet never, never can suffer you thus to degrade yourself by an alliance with one like myself. Do not urge me further-d, not, I pray you!" Bolter directed his calm, yet impassioned glance to Josephine-her eyes were suffused with tear? Silently, sadly she suffered him to take her hand, "Josephine-dear Joe, I would say; let ii: bring to your mind an occurrence in which ou havior, when on earth acted. a conspicuvus part, ' hce he repeated those ever memorable words: Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more.' [ere is hope--do not be cast down, but avail your- lIf .of it; for, believe me, Joe, there is in your L;aracter that of nobleness which can only inspire Sy highest admiration, and which must immovably. oise you in my esteem above your past fault. 'reat, great indeed must have been the power and rcacherous subtlety of the tempter who could ictray a mind like yours-but great as was his riumph, much greater was his loss; for, in losing ihee, fate sealed against him forever the possession f one of the best of her sex, and one more than any other calculated to make an honorable man happy, in whatsoever exalted position. Ah, Joe, dear friend, your excuse cannot be accepted, es- pecially as you acknowledge, much to the pleasing satisfaction of your humble servant, that your heart reciprocates my own ardent passion-at least, in some degree. Let the past be forgotten-- buried in oblivion, if you will; let us triumph over our enemies-and be happy." "It cannot be." "But it must-it must. Joe, you cannot be so unkind to your old friend, who has so faithfully stood by you in all your difficulties, your sorrows and triumphs, as to render the remainder of his troubled existence miserable and unhappy." "Well, Abraham, my good friend, if you think my hand worth possessing, you may retain it-but do not, oh, do not in after years despise me for this act-for how can I withstand your solicitation- this, and this alone, must be my excuse." Bolter clasped the fair one to his arms-their lips met in tue first ardent kiss of affection-and thus was the contract sealed, for life and for death. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TALI. WITNESS AND HS HSTORIY--RAGGED NIB S AND TIuE PRIEST TIIADDEUS. AT this point in our eventful history it is neces- sary for us to make a short retrogression, in order to carry our readers back to the hour subsequent to the conviction of Hodin, in which we left four of our prominent characters seated in the parlor of Bolter's comfortable residence. Barcalow, the tall witness, opened the discussion: "Nephew, are we in this room, beyond the reach of inquisitive ears?" "Yes, uncle." "Well then, what I have to say I shall take the liberty of relating before these two gentlemen, your confidential friends--with whom I am better acquainted than you suppose." "Indeed 1" ejaculated Trump. lruin sat motionless, his eyes resting upon the tali witness. "Gentlemen,'" said the latter, "I have a short history to disclose-I would not w\eary your pa- ,tience with its recital, but as there are some things therein which have a direct bearing upon yourselves I wish you to give me an uninterrupted hearing unto the end." "I was born of parents whom I kqow to be of humble birth, on the banks of the IIudson, not far from the city of Albany. Iy parents were both Irish, and staunch Catholics-do not start, Mr. Bolter, I am not your uncle. It so happened, however, that near my father's residence there lived, at the time I was born, an American family in comfortable circumstances of the name of Bar- calow; and about the time of my birth there was a child born in this family also, a little boy who had the misfortune to be humpbacked. The pa- rents of this child were ashamed of it, and by an arrangement with my parents, in which the latter became the recipients of a considerable sum, an exchange was effected by which your humble servant, in his first recollection, found himself an inmate, and an acknowledged son of the Barcalow family." "- Well, time passed on, and I became a boy. The old Irish woman who lived in the cottage near the Barcalow mansion, was, I observed from the first, very fond of me, and frequently used to give me presents, and call me her boy. iler kindness to me won my heart, especially as I was subjected to many slights at home from my pretended pa- rents, who, having a daughter, my sister, nominally, two years older than myself, upon whom they lavished much amore attention and kindness than myself, a proceeding calculated to wean my affec- tion from my parents. While the Irish family treated me thus kindly, however, they did not fail to maltreat and. abuse the little 'humpback com- mitted to their charge, upon every trifling occasion, so much so, indeed, that at the age of twelve years the little fellow suddenly disappeared, and it was said he had run alway. Soon after this time, the Irish woman, one day when I was at her house, took me aside and informed me that I was her son -she explained the whole matter to me, and also told me that the people I was living with were heretics, and that I must be, careful not to put any faith in what they told me in religious matters, as, if I did I should be lost and damned forever; but that I must come to her house twice a week, se- cretly, and be instructed by a priest, who used to call there."' "I will pass rapidly over some few years of time that passed, suffice it to say, that I became a thor- ough Roman Catholic, loved my real parents, and detested the Barcalow family. At this time I was page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] sixteen years of age, and there came to the place a young naval officer named Williams; he was on leave, and he shortly began to be a frequent visitor at the house of my quondam parents, and was very attentive to my sister Mary. There was something very winning in the young man, who was about ten years my senior, and it but required me to hold one or two conversations with him to make me his firm friend, although he was a Protestant, for the glowing description of his adventures at sea so pleased me that I was in love with a sailor's life and anxious to accompany him. I hated my pre tended sister, Mary, with a supreme hatred, and that although she was very beautiful. I observed that she treated my friend with indifference, and received the addresses of one John Bolter, a young man who lived in the neighborhood, with unwonted cordiality. At length she married the latter, with the consent of my parents, much against my wishes, which maddened me. and greatly disappointed my friend-with whom I conceived the design of run- ning away and going to sea. He attempted to dissuade me, but I was resolute, and he consented. I informed no one of my determination except my real mother, who was sorry to have me go, but. gave me her blessing, and exhorted me to bea good Catholic, which I faithfully promised. f 'On our arrival in New York, I found that my friend had been suspended, and finally cashiered from the navy on account of the seduction of a young lady of respectable parents, of the name of lite name of Morrell. The affair was kept still, however, and I ascertained that the young lady clandestinely left for Philadelphia, with her infant daughter. My friend, Williams, was anxious to find her, however and we proceeded in company to Philadelplia where he instituted a diligent search for her, but all in vain. He then procured an appointment as second mate on board a merchant vessal, bound to the East Indies, and procured for me a situation as captains clerk, &c., and we made one voyage to Canton and returned in in safety. On his , a n my friend ascertained that his mother haa died during his absence, by which a considerable sum fell to his portion, and he concluded to give up the te sea, and try his fortune on land. I wAs also tired of the water, and gladly availed myself of the of- fer of my friend to become his clerk in an exten- It sive shipping office which he established. There he soori became acquainted with a Catholic young ger lady whom he married. At the solicitation of his c wife a priest of that religion performed the cere- mony. "Well, Williams continued to live on very hap- py terms with his young wife forsome months, when a young je hller formed an acquintance with them. and from this time his ruin was decreed. ce a The intimacy between the wife of my friend, anl on this young man soon became town talk, and in itor process of time they eloped together to the Soutl, ery I looked on the matter with indifference, as John ing Sheriff, the paramour of his wife, who had really out never loved him, was a Papist like myself, and be- to sides I had grown to despise and hate Williams, as ake I could not brook the restraint under which I wa, aut, kept by him while in his employ. He became d. sea jected at his misfortunes, however, neglected ief wife, business, and squandered large sums of money, il consequence of which he became bankrupt, and re- duced to extreme poverty. Unable to bear hi; disgrace in a place where he was so thoroughly known, he abandoned Philadelpia, and came to, New York, whither I soon followed him, and by chance kept track of his career, until he was re duced to keep an old junk shop for support es, Thither, for some reason or other, one evening, not ny many months since John Sheriff, who had never n- ceased to persecute him, iepaired, an altercation to ensuedand .ommy Hoop,for that was the name he d. had now assumed, murdered Sheriff. The body y was found, and recognized, and the officers were at; about to arrest Bommy, now grown prematurely a old, when the poor wretch fell down in an insane fit and expired. "At the time of his first acquaintance with Sher. d ifi, Williams had employed the latter to manufac- tare for him, a square plate of gold, with a pin at- f tached, upon the back of which was carved the- initials of his name, '4"H. W.," Horatio Williams, t This he always wore about his person, until about the time of his death. The reason of his doing this was that he had lost a little brother when the latter was but a child of three years, which had just crept out in the yard to play, and had suddenly disa. peared, having probably been stolen. At the time of its disappearance, this child had upon its person a plate precisely similar, bearing the same inscrip- tion "H. W.," which stood for Henry Williams and he was in hopes thereby to obtain some clue to his lost brother. "With my trasactions at the death of my sup- posed sister, Mrs. Bolter, you are already acquain- ted-I was then a Roman Catholic, but have since embraced Protestantism, convinced that itis the true religion, and the Jesuitical oaths I have taken I considered it no harm to break, when I fully realized their iniquitous characters. And now gentlemen, as I see you are impatient, let me con elude by assuring you that when I set eyes upon a. countenance, I seldom if ever forget that counte- nance-therefore allow me to say, that in our crip- pled friend here, Mr. Bruin, I recognize'the veri- table brother of Mrs. Bolter, and son of the Borca- low family, by whose demise he is still entitled to some fragment of a fortune, now in the hands of e Romish Church; and in this other gentleman, r. Trump, I presume I have the honor also to see e brother of my once friend. Horatio Williams I am led to this conclusion by the sight of the late which he bears upon his coat; the manner in hich he obtained it, must further explain." As the tall witness concludedTrump, Bruin, and olter rose to their feet with simultaneous accord. d clapped their hands, ready to burst with long appressed surprise. The two plates were com- ared, and as they were just as described, and ump, that is, Henry Williams had from his earl- st recollection been the possessor of the one he en wore, there could be no doubt of hils identity the brother of Horatio, alias Bommy Hoop, the other of Josephine. But what was more certain still, was the fact at in his old 'friend, Bruin, Bolter beheld his real cle-his mother's brother. It was a droll sight to see those two worthy gen- lemen who had lived to past middle age without owing themselvesnow discover their identity for e first time. Trump felt sad, for he had discor- ed no relations, Dave poor old Bommy, who was ow dead, nor had he come in possession of a for- ne, while Bruin had found both, and was conse- uently overjoyed, not so much at the latter con- deration, however, as at the former. When this scene was finished, Bolter rose, and rspetfully addressing the gentleman who had im- ated all this information, he asked: "And now, kind Sir, will you be so obliging as o impart to us your name, so that we may know whom we are indebted for all this information, o invaluable to us all?" "It is of no consequence-my name is Hogan." "The very same which those whom I supposed be my parents bore"-exclaimed Bruin,--' and ouare indeed the tall boy who used to come to ur house, of whom my mother was so fond?' "The same." "Yes, I recollect it well, but I should never t ave recognized you." "I possess great advantages on that score-but Mr. Bolter, while I am with you I wish you to speak of me as your uncle, and address me as such i -consider me your mother's brother, as I was by adoption." "Oh, certainly, so trifling a request shall be s readily complied with-but, gentlemen, it is get- r ting late, and I think that some refreshments e would not be unwelcome to any of us. Let us v proceed to the supper table." Thus has the veil been rent asunder and another t phase of the Romish Poison exposed. e Leaving this singular group to regale themselves f, With a hearty supper, let us direct the attention of d the readers to another portion of our drama. C Thaddeus sat in his rooom, with his hands man- e acled as usual; his long confinement began to !, grow exceedingly tedious and irksome, for during e his long incarceration, not a drop of wine, or a 1 single pipe of tobacco had he received wherewith to regale himself. He was highly excited and in- i dignant to the utmost extreme during the first few , days of his captivity--and being withal of an un- cautious disposition, he had conceived that by put- - ting on a bold, undaunted front to his enemies, and boasting pretty largely of the prowress of his -popish friends,and the vengeance which Bolter and his friends might expect at their hands if they de- tained him, he conceived that by this course he might frighten them to release him. Bolter had ta- ken advantage of this mood of his, in the first in- stance, by a careful proceeding, to worm from the excited priest a great deal of information which turned out to be of the most vital importance to his cause, as the past events Helated in the preced- ing chapters have clearly shown. Having obtained everything from him that he deemed could be of avail to himself and friends, the course which Bolter adopted from' thencefor- ward was of an entirely different character. He now gravely informed Thddeus that the disclosures he had made had ruined the cause of his Catho- lic co-adjutors, who were, he had reason to believe highly enraged against the prisoner for his injudi- cious course in thus disclosing secrets of the greatest. moment to them-therefore, he observed, that he only kept him confined for the purpose of protect- ing him against the infuriated wrath of the Arch- Bishop, and not from any animosity which he bore against him, for he could but look upon him as his, friend, in consideration of the valuable assistance he had, by his disclosures, rendered to him. The- priest was loth to believe this at first, but as Bolter rehearsed to him the events which had flowed out of these disclosureswrung from him in the midst of ex- cited madness, he became convinced upon reflec- tion, that such was really the case-that he had undoubtedly incurred the displeasure of the Arch Bishop; and he began seriously to reflect how bhe might escape the terrible displeasure of one whomn he so much feared, and of whose vengaance he ha(t seen such appalling proofs. While in this frame of mind, the image of thec servant girl, Mary came to his recollection-the remembrance of the many stolen pleasures he had, enjoyed in her society, filled his thoughts-and he would have given the world to see her once more. for he felt that he had wronged her, and with this thought came the consciousness that he really lov- ed Mary, and that she was worthy of his affection for she had, indeed, proved faithful to him. Gra, dually'he began to regret the tyranny of the Church towards those placed in his position, and page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] indistinct fancies of the happiness he might enjoy if he were freed from his priestly garb, in the matrimonial state-and when this idea came across his mind, there was one whose remembrance plead equally in her behalf, while it tended also to cause him to reflect the more seriously upon the course he might adopt to bring this about. Difficulties, almost disheartening to reflect upon presented themselves in the way of any such course as this--he feared the displeasule of the Church, particularly directed against apostate and renegade priests, for in this light he well knew he would be considered-and moreover, he knew not how to escape their vengeance. No one entered his prison apartment save Bolter Bruin, Triump, or Ragged Nibs, upon whom had -devolved the duty of taking care of him, and bring- ing his meals, for Bolter had become convinced from past experience that he was possessed of an acute perception, and was to be trusted, besides, he felt in duty bound to provide for and protect the Toy, in consideration for :the great service he had rendered him. The fourth mouth of his confinement was near completed when one day as Nibs brought in the dinner to his prisoner, lie observed that he looked unusually perplexed in mind. he was a shrewd boy-was Nibs, andb h lhad foir ome days previous been sounding the priest to discover, if possible which way the land lay, and had reported progress to his master. Upon the occasion in question, ob- serving the f,'amL of mind in which he forund Thad- leus--he sat down his tray and rushed out ex- claiming : "H've forgot soinethin. holy pap--I'll go for to be back agin in a ji ilffy-so I will.7 Nibs came jumping in, in a minute or two, bear- ing in his hand a bottle, and a couple of glasses. D'ye see holy pap, my ole man's havin a jolly time to-day, lhes on a reg'lar bender, he is, and he thought as how he would 'low you poor devil to jist jine in a little kinder, to drink the health uv a great big 'merican feller wot's dead to day, least- wise he died, I 'blieve this day twelve-month, or somewhars abeout that time--d'ye see they call' im 3r. Washin-town he was a reglar trump, he Was, a real brave, bold, dare devil genral, w'ot licked ther British and giv'em fits--so fill ycr glass, holy pap, let's drinks'is health--whoorah fur Mr. Washin- town!-you needn't go for to be afeared the bottle ' won't hold out, there's more whar it come from. "Well, then, Mr. Nibs, here's, hell to the soul of Washington-the bloody heretic!" "tHold on thar!" cried Nibs, snatching the glass from his hand, " dnt you go for to get off any uv yer cussed Cath'lic slang, or I swear to you, you sha"t hey the first drop ona't. Now jest take this glass and drink Mr. Washin-town's health, and be quiet about it, or else I'll go for to take your din. ner away before you've tasted a smell on't D' ye hear, you persecutin devil?"' Thaddeus took the glass and drank the much coveted liluor off in silence. Nibs took a small swallow of his, and threw the rest against the wall. "Now, I will give you a toast," said Thaddeus z "Werry well-let's have it."' "Here's a health to old Ireland, forever." "Well, I goes in for Ireland. I does; but blast the Irish-them's my sentiments." Thaddeus drank his toast which nearly complet- ed the bottle, which, however, was immediately re- plenished by Nibs. Dinner was a superfluous af- fair with him for that day, and the drinking con- tinued until Thaddeus began to be better, natured and somewhat talkative. "Now look-a-here, holy pap, you'd have,bin a purty good sorter chap ef you had'nt a fell in with them blasted Cath'lic chaps, wot's pizened you agin everything that's good and vartuous. Was you ever 'quainted with a gal that you liked werry well, and kinder would, a liked to marry, ch?" "Yes, Mr. Nibs, and she was a good creature, too; but you know we priests can never marry." "Wot, never marry anybody? Why, then I would'nt be a priest. You can bet your life if I was big enough I'd have a gal, an I'd take 'era to the theatre every night, I would. But about this ere gal o' yourn ; I've got'a bit of adwice to give you, holy pap." ' What is it?" "Now, you see, you've got in a muss with all them high-devils in your church, an if they ever git their hands on you agin they'll kill ye i d'ye know it?" "I'm afraid it is so." "Well, d'ye like this ere gal o' yourn?" "Yes, Nibs, but I do not know where she is to be found at present." "Wot name did she go by?" "Mary." "Mary!" 'twas'nt Mary McCarty, was it?" "Yes-do you know her??" "Well, I recon I does. She was a sarvant gat in Miss Josephine's house once, but they sent her off on 'count o' her Cath'lic tricks. I see her 'tother day in East Broadway-she's got a place thar." "Do you think you could find her?" '"Course I could. Now see here, holy pap, I'll git you that ar gal in twenty-five minutes by the watch ; but you see, no foul play, now. You mus marry her." "I cannot." "Why?" "I am a priest, and dare not." "'Oh, ah, you are afraid of the bloody crew of Cath'lics, aint you?" "Yes, I am fearful that my superiors will punish me." "Well, now, see here, hev you ever hearn tell 'o Westkonstant?" , "Wisconsin, yes-its out in the west-a new country." "Jest so. Wel, wot I was a goin' to say wos, that I think, considerin, you likes this ere gal an she likes you, you'd better jest tuk her under yer arm an be off to Westkonstant-there the hounds can't foiller yer, an theyhll never know wot's be- come 'o you, never." "But I have no means to get there." "Why, there's plenty 'o steamboats and railroad cars as'll carry you, all ,the wav there, cheap as dirt-so they will." "But I have no morley." 'Oh, that's it; now jest you look-a-here, don't say nothing-this is all atween ourselves-suppose my ole man should jest konklude ter let ye have the money, what'll ye do about it?" "I!l fro.7 "Nuff scd. But see here, will you swar on the ' rale genewine Cath'lic bible-one wots got a big gold cross on the kiver-that you'll do it, an will you give my ole man a paper to show you was never kep here agin yer will, ef he will give ye the money, and I get ye the gal to go along with you?" "Yes, I will-I will." "Oa yer word?" 'Yes." "You'll leave rite off?"' "As soon as I am set at liberty, the money placed in my hand, and the girl found." "Werry well. You jest hold on till I see my ole man an the gal about it, an expect to hear frum me direc'ly." So saying, Nibs left the apartment of Thaddeus to go in quest of Bolter, whom he found in the din- ing room with some friends, having just returned from the procession. It was the 22d of February. CHAPTER XXIX. 1 NEW PLAN OF THE ARCII-BISHOP--THE SEARCH--UN. DER THE SOD. RETURN we again to the parlor of the Arch- 1 Bishop's residence. Three gentlemen were seated in the room from ( whence the unfortunate Simon had been forcibly abducted, in earnest conversation. Two of them S are already well known to the reader, namely, George and the Arch-Bishop-but the third, and last is a new character, an attorney of the Simon Cloud stripe-whose successor he is, in the man- agement of the affairs of the Arch-Bishop. "Now, Mr. Cribbs," said JoimN with dignity, ' the case is clear-we must act with decision and boldness, in the matter. You must proceed at once to the residence of this Bolter, with the pro- per 'officers--whose services you will be able to secure so soofn as you have stated your case before the police Court; you must be prepared for a des- perate resistance, and it will be your duty, at all hazards to liberate Thaddeus, and secure the ar- rest of Bolter and his accomplices. This done, we will immediately institute proceedings against them conjointly for the detention of Thaddeus- we shall convict them of this charge; and while they are in limbo for this crime, we will open a suit against Bolter, Josephine, and their attorney, for fraud, and robery, in the manner in which they obtained the papers, and procured the settlement ot the inheritance, which virtually of right belongs to our friend, here, George-and we can substan- tiate our claim the more readily when their char- acters are held in execration by the public, and 'themselves inmates of the Penitentiary." "But have you a witnes who will attest to the fact of the robbery in Nassua-street?" "We had one, on whom we could rely-but he is gone ; however, as necessity demands it, we can procure another." "All right-I will proceed, them at once." Cribbs look his departure. Bolter and Bruin were seated in the reading-room of the former residence--the former engaged read- ing the new paper, "The Sachem 7" and the latter' in playing with a pet canary, whose cage hung in the window. Trump, and Barcalow, or rather Hogan, had just gone out to the post office, and Ragged Nibs was trying on a new suit of clothes which the tailor had just brought him. Suddenly the door-bell rang, and Lawyer Cribbs, and another gentleman, an acquaintance of Thad- deus, accompanied' by four policemen, entered. The leader of the police force immediately stepped up to Bolter and demanded if he was the occupant of the dwelling, to which he received an affirmna- tive answer. " Then," said the latter, it is my duty to arrest you on a charge preferred against you by this gen- tleman of having illegally detained and deprived of liberty one Thaddeus McDermot and weltare also ordered to search your house for his body-you will please deliver up the keys to us, without re- sistance." page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] "Let one of your men ring that bell, sir, and the servant shall be directed to procure them." The bell was rung' "This is one of his accomplices," said the friend of Cribbs, pointing to Bruin. "Take him in custody," said the officer, addres sing his men. Nibbs entered. Nibbs, go down into the kitchen, and tell the housekeeper to give you the keys of the house." "Wat shall I do with 'em?" "Bring them up here-be quick," The keys were brought. ' This youth is also an accomplice," observed the friend of the lawyer. "Very well, take him in charge-and now, gen- tlemen, let us proceed to our duty." The house was searched from garret to cellar- but nothing was found of the alleged prisoner At the suggestion of Cribbs, a spade was procured and the ground dug up in several places, under the cellar, as that gentleman though perhaps he might have been murdered,and the body concealed there. Nothing however, was found of the mis- sing priest. ".We must adjourn to the police office," said the the leader of the party, in order to give the prison- ers an examination before Justice Pumps. Let us proceed. To the police office they went. "I say, Mr. Bolter," said Nibbs, " wot's these M. P,s a goin to do with us? They haint a goin to lock us up for not doin' nothin', ar they?" "Iold your tongue, boy." "Haut got nothing to hold it with, seein' as how my hands is inside o' this ring." "Silence!" "Whew! ye might as well kill a feller as to scare 'im to death." "Ah, Mr Bolter, you here again," said Justice t Pumps, with a self-satisfied air of mock-dignity. "What is this gentleman charged with, officer Hartigan?" i ' He and his accomplices are charged,your Hon- or, with the detention, and unlawful custody of one w Thaddeus McDermot,' replied the officer. "Who are the accusers?" ' These two gentlemen." Alh. very well, gents, give us your names, and o we will proceed with the examination." The names were taken down-and the investiga- d tion commenced by the examination of witnesses to show that Thaddeus McDermot had been missing fur some time, and also to set forth the grounds sc upon which suspicion rested against the prisoners. The first witness examined was the friend of ha Cribbs-and while he was being interrogated, A Trump and Hogan entered the Court room and the "former was immediately arrested. While this was going on Hogan stepped up to Bolter, and whispered a few words in his ear. The next witness called up was Cribbs "Hold!" said Bolter, "I object to this witness." "On what grounds 7" asked Justice Pump. "i On the ground that he is an escaped convict e from the Pennsylvania State Prison!" How do you know this?" "This gentleman, Mr. Hogan, identifies him as such." "Very well, officers, place the witness under ar- d rest." The policemen were severally examined, and - testified as to the facts of the search of Bolter's house, during which time Cribbs, who was now a - prisoner, interrupted the Court repeatedly by de. claring that this was a vile conspiracy against * him, as he was entirely innocent, and was not the r man he was taken for. Justice Pump ordered him to keep quiet, assuring him that his case should He i looked into as soon as the investigatotn now be- fore the Court was concluded.-It was looked into -and ended in the culprit being remanded to the Tombs, to await a requisition from the Governor of Pennsylvania. Bolter now produced a paper, which the clerk read to the Court, as follows: NEw-YoRK, Feb. 23, 185-. To all whom it may concern: This is to certify that I was not detained at the house of Mr. Abra- ham Bolter, as some may have supposed, but le- mained there for a season to escape from my ene- mies, whom I had reason to fear were intent upon assailing me so soon as I should appear in public. I this day take my departure, without any hinder- ance on the part of Mr. Bolter, for another State, where I hope to be enabled to elude the pursuit of those who would seek to injure me. "THADDEUS McDERtIOT." "Officer Hartigan, do you know this hand writ- ing?" "I do. It is that of Thaddeus MeDermot, with whom I am well acquainted." " Discharge the prisoners!" The party who had just been in durance vile lest the Court room very well satisfied with the decision of Justice Pump, accompanied by their friend, Ho- gan, whose opportune appearance had had such a disastrous effect upon the fortunes of lawyer Cribbs. The last powerful ingredient in the Romish Poi- son had failed in its cffect. Josephine and Bolter, you can now fulfil your happy destiny of peace and prosperity, for your Arch-Enemy has been foiled at all points. While this scene was taking place in the police Court room, two funeral processions of empty car- riages were slowly wending their way, by different routes, to the Calvary Cemetry. The one started from a small tenement adjoining the residence of the Arch-Bishop, proceeding down Second street to the Houston street ferry, crossed over to Williamsburg, just in advance of the other, which had left the Tombs, and passed through Grand street. in the public plot of the Cemetery two graves ;ad been freshly opened, side by side, of the ordin- ary length for adult persons. The funeral trains halted nearly at the same time, two plain coffins, bearing no inscription were taken from their respective hearses, and having been lowered into their last resting place on earth, the priests proceeded to go through with the fun- eral services of the Romish Church, in the pael ence of some eight or ten spectators, consisting of the pallbearers of either party. They concluded their solemn mummery-the earth was replaced over the remains. and the damp sod adjusted in its place, over the two graves. One contained the remains of Hodin-the other that of Simon Cloud. Early that morning on going into the cell of the former, he was found dead, surrounded with a pool of blood. The law had been cheated of its victim. On the same morning Simon had been found dead in his place of confinement, which had not been assigned to him by the law, having apparent- ly died in violent convulsions of cramp, to which he had sometimes been subject-and which were doubtless produced by the chilly dampness of his dungeon, without the knowledge, aid, or presence of any in whose power it was to assist him. The sod was closed over their crimes forever. CHAPTER XXX GEORGE AND THE ARCH-BISUOP-A DISCOVERY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES-CONCLUSION. THE Arch-Bishop sat in his library in a very uneasy mood-he was evidently in anxious expecta- tion of the arrival of some one. It was late in the afternoon of one of few plea- sant days of February, and the sun cast its mellow and subdued rays through the window of the gloomy apartment In which JouN was sitting. Ever and anon the sole occupant of the room rose and paced the carpeted floor, soft beneath the tread of his velvet slippers, and as he occasional- ly helped himself to a swallow of lemonade, strong- ly tinged with a cogniac, from a silver pitcher which stood upon the table, he muttered half in- audlbly to himself: "If this plan fails, then we are foiled-lost be- yond hope, the property cannot be secured, except that portion of it which rightfully belongs to Goorge,and we must allow that wiley brother of his to retain possession of it. This must not be- George must possess it all,in order that the Church may pascess it all--One Hundred Thousand is too great a sum to yield without a struggle, and we have struggled long and powerfully despite the cunning of our e;l mies and the treachery of our friends. All now depends upon Thaddeus, it he re- main true to iuJ, we shall yet triumph; if he prove false we shall be defeated, but a terri- ble revenge aw. aits him should this prove to be the case. If Bol. r and his co-adjutors, through his treachery still continue at large, then it will be useless to contend any longer save to secure the portion of George, for, unfortunately, public opi- nion is against us, and our chances in a fair trial are worth nothing. Still I cannot but admire the crafty genius of this man Bolter-what a capital ecclesiastic ho would make. Had he been educa- ted in our faith the Pontifical chair would ulti- mately be his station, but as it is, poverty and a. blackened reputation await him-but some one is at the door-it must be George-now for the great and final question?" George entered. That same look of imperturba- ble gravity and unconcern still shaded his counte- nance, ho quietly passed the Arch-Bishop, who had rushed. to meet him, and took a seat. "George, George, I have nearly died of anxiety, in waiting for you-what is the news?" "They proceeded to the house, searched it from top to base, but found no trace of Thaddeus"- "They have murdered him!" exclaimed the Arch-Bishop in an excited tone. "No they haven't. Please do not interrupt me and I will relate the whole affair. The officers then arrested the whole gang and brought ihem be- fore Justice Pump for examination. An investiga- tion into the matter was immediately instituted,and upon your attorney, Cribbs, taking the witness stand he was immediately recognized by that rene- grade traitor, Barcalow, or rather Hogan, as an escaped convict from the PennsylvaniaState Prison, and arrested. The Arch-Bishop looked aghast. l' There was nothing of importance elicited from the witnesses, and at the close Bolter procured a piece of paper signed by Thaddeus, in which the latter stated that he had not been detained at the house of the former against his will, but had taken refuge there to escape his enemies, and finally had left three days ago, with the entire consent of Bol- ter, for another part of the Union"- "It was a forgery!" page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] "Unfortnnatqly it was genuine, for the writing was attested to by Hartigan, who knows Thaddeus well, but does not know so much as he might, or he would have held his peace. I saw the paper myself, and although I said nothing I recognized it as genuine." "Well, what followed?" "Why, the charge was prononnced groundless and the prisoners set at liberty." JouN was thunderstruck. He arose, clenched his fist, and launched forth the most terrible invectives against the traitors Hogan and Thaddeus, and the whole posse of their adversaries-swearing the most awful -evenge against the former. "Come, come, my friend-calm yourself. The fortune was to have been mine, not yours. Why do you feel so dreadful about it?" "This is a terrible blow, George." "Well, well, suppose it is-brave men should meet their misfortunes with calmness and courage. We are alive yet-and, so far as I am concerned, perhaps that is the worst of it. The only being on earth that I love is going to marry Bolter. What are you going to do about the matter-let itdrop?" "Of that marriage, do you mean?" "No, of the whole affair together." "Do? Why, we must put in a claim at once to your share of the property." ' My share? what do you mean? You certainly do not intend to carry this thing any farther-my pretended heirship, Yc., to an estate already in the hands of its legitimate owners?" George' I tell you, you are entitled to a share in the property. You must become acquainted with it sooner or later-you are the brother of Bolter!' '. What! you surely are jesting?" "Not at all. As true as the Holy Trinity, you are the brother of Abraham Bolter, and the cousin of Josephine Morrell." It was George's turn now to be thunderstruck. 'Whatsoever ye sow, that also shall ye reap'- he had sown ingratitude, deceit and treachery-the fruits of these are Retribution and Remorse. George arose. and glared upon his companion in fierce wonder for a few moments---tnen reeled back into a chair, and laughed hysterically. It was that : fearful laugh which is the precurser of insanity. S "Come, come, George," said the Archbishop, 1 'what is the matter? I am more of a man than you, after all. These newly discovered relatives of yours are nothing to you more than ever they were-they do not know you to be a relative of r theirs-nor do they want to know you-for they t have got your property, which I wish to put you e in possession of." "You lie" a "What!" 'Yes, you lie I they have not got any property * of mine-I disclaim it, for I do not deserve it-nor * do you seek to procure it for me, but or the ag- 1 grandizement of the Church--but by the eternal God! you shall never get it-from henceforward I am an infidel!" "George, you are raving!" "No matter-I can speak the truth now. Yon, and your accursed band must be quits with m, hereafter. I have been duped and destroyed by you-you induced me to seduce the girl I lovec and would have married, which also would liav saved me from your clutches, the recollection of which has poisened every moment of my existence -and you now seek to rob me of the filthy lucrt left to my right by my father, whom you haw murdered, as also my poor mother, who Lkewise shared his fate!" "Beware, George, you know what my vengeance can accomplish." "Do your worst, Satanic monster-- I defy you. I am going from you now, forever-no, not forever --I shall meet you there!"-and with his fincrr George pointed upward, toward Heav;n. "Never shall you leave this apartment without my pleasure," said the Arch-Bishop, interposing between the door and his intended victim. With one bound, like an infuriated tiger, George. sprang upon his antagonist and with a powerful blow from his clenched fist levelled him to the floor Then ere he could recover, he bounded out into the hall, jerked open the street-door, and rushed down the steps into the street. Leaving his former patron and co-adjuthr to lecover from the effects of the stunning blow he had received, as best he might, George hurried at a rapid pace through the streets. He was not con- scious of whither his steps were tending, until darkness overspread the city, overcome however by the giddy glare of gas-light, from the thousands of street-lamps with which the thoroughfares were studded. Dim phantoms pursued him-he was absent minded, and regardless of what passed around him, but one image was ever present to his thoughts- Marion Argall-nor did he fail to be troubled in, soul at the recollection of an old man, a corpse beneath the Cathedral-his father. A violent fever racked his brain-madness had almost overpowered him. In this frame of mind, George sat down fora few moments to endeavor to collect his scattered thoughts, upon the doorstep of a handsome resi- ence in Warren Street. All seemed to him like a frightful dream from which he had not yet awakened. He was suddenly aroused by some person opening the door to pass out, and looking up he recognized Bolter. "Abraham Bolter!" cried George, "oh, my brother-my brother-I am going mad-you must assist me!" "Who are you?" "George, your brother?" "No, you are George, the Priest, the seducer of Josephine. I recognize you now; what brings you in this quarter?" "I have come to ask your forgiveness. Abra- ham. your brother, and the priest, George, are one and the' same person-behold him before your eyes!" Abraham rushed forward and caught George in his arms to prevent his falling-for it was evident that he was quite overcome with the conflicting emotions which passed rapidly throughl his fevered brain. These were the visitations of Remorse. Three weeks passed-and we must now call the reader to the bedside of a young man, dangerously ill, within an apartment of Bolter's residence. Faintly did he breathe beneath the light cover- ing-and his attenuated form bore the dread im- press of Death. Friends sat around the bedside, one was weeping -that one was a female-the betrothed of Bolter-- all, all pitied the unfortunate. Before the bed knelt a clergyman, habited in the simple unassuming garb of the Protestant faith, and offered a fervent prayer for the poor sufferer- Abraham approached and took the wasted hand of the invalid, and murmured: "George do you feel any better?" "No, Abraham, I am very, very weak-do not leave me, dear brother, I shall not be with you long. I have done you much harm, but I knew not what I did. I trust you will forgive me? My fever has been violent, has it not?" "Yes. you were out of your mind several days. Brother George, I freely forgive you, as I hope myself to be forgiven by our heavenly Father. Can you not in your last hour embrace that inesti- mable gift of pardon vouchsafed in our holy reli- gion?" "Talk not to me of religion, it has been the curse and ruin of my soul. Had I never seen a church in my life I should not be where I am now. I can seek no pardon from an offended Deity fr past offences-it would ,be presumption to expect any; I must submit uncomplainingly to his final ar- bitration upon the actions of my life. How is it, Josepine, my friend, Joe, can you forgive me also? I have injured you deeply but, oh, be- lieve me, my friend, it was the Romish Poison in- stilled into my youthful mind that led me to act thus towards you-instilled by those who sought your ruin, that they might possess your wealth!1 Josephine stepped up beside Bolter, and took the band of George in her own. "I forgive you, George," said she, as her hot tears fell fast and thick upon his hand. "I trust you may seek and ' obtain forgiveness from that Great Being against ' whose laws you have chiefly offended." A troubled emotion flitted across the counte- - nance of the dying man as he placed the hand of Josephine in that of Abraham, his brother, both of whom retained his hand in theirs. The exertion overcame him, however, and he sank convulsively back upon his pillow. Tears trickled down the cheeks of Josephine and Bolter as they glanced upon the marble-like coun- t tenance of George, whose eyes now bore the glassy imprint of Death. "It is the last great struggle!" observed the man of God. "The spectators who stood around were awfully impressed with the terrible solemnity of the dying scene. George breathed his last. "Such is the end of man," said the minister. "In life let us prepare for death." Here ends our eventful history. Reader, fare- thee-well. THE END.
